#which as some of you know made me experience the entire range of human emotion

[mycological-mariner]

The conclusion in this 1920’s visitor’s guide to Boscastle really just went all for it, huh

[lollytea]

Up until a month back I liked a guy. And I really liked him. But I found out he didn't like me back. I was really upset, but I didn't want to hold it against him, but then I found out he had a reputation of being a player (which, at our age of 14 is flirtatiously texting girls and then just. Ghosting them).

And I felt really upset. I began to question if he even saw me as a friend, and whether the way he texted me was even friendly. What if he secretly loathed me and was just doing this to get a kick out of it? What if he knew about my feelings and they were just a joke to him?

I wanted to cry, but I told my friends and my sister I was okay. But I wanted to scream. Its not my fault I was born ugly. It's not my fault my face makes me unlovable. And even though I wanted to distance myself from him I felt some sort of perverse pleasure every time he did something embarrassing in front of every one.) And that's when I think it hit me.

That's why I'm unlovable. I am unlovable because I'm a terrible person. My friends tried to comfort me saying that he's a shitty person who can't see my beauty/cuteness, but friends are obligated to say that. I wanted to believe them because they're all so beautiful, and they would never lie to me because they love me. But they deserve a better friend than me.

I want to cry because I want to experience having a whirlwind romance, and falling in love. I also know I'll probably never have that.

And AGH I feel so upset. Because all my life I've known I was ugly. But when this guy showed me attention, was nice to me, it made me feel special. Made me feel like I was having my own romance.

I hate it I hate it I hate it. I hate that I can't be loved, I hate my face, I hate myself for feeling these things. Last year when I suspected I began liking him, I told myself not to fall too deep, and here I am, ranting to you on tumblr dot com.

Lollytea, I love your writing and I love your posts. I love how confident you are of yourself. I'm very sorry for ranting in your inbox about my shitty love life, if this makes you uncomfortable, please delete it. But if you don't, I genuinely would like some encouragement. That my time for my own romance will come. That I will learn to love this face.

You're not unlovable. You're just 14. It just happens that being 14 feels a lot like being chronically unlovable. But no, that is not actually the case.

Maybe you've heard this a lot. And I imagine that it must be frustrating to listen to. That being a teenager just means your emotions are bigger and more intense than they will ever be in your entire life, so they're irrational and silly.

That's not the case either. Your feelings matter. And they're worth being listened to. But I do need you to keep in mind that the age range you're in right now is one of the most difficult periods of time that a human being will ever go through. Being a teenager is very hard. Being an adult is hard too. But me and every adult I've ever met would not trade it for being 14 again. No way in hell.

It does severely influence how you see yourself and why your emotions feel so strong and messy and all over the place. But I assure you that you're doing a fantastic job for a person in your situation. It's rough and you're getting through it and I'm proud of you.

Firstly, I'm going to say this quite bluntly but dont take it as me insulting them. Most of the boys in your class probably aren't that smart. And they are the absolute worst people to be seeking validation from. I promise that their opinion of you is not worth worrying about because they are...stupid, frankly. They won't be stupid forever. Probably. But being 14 is a weird age for boys too and they're quite mean for a while before they mature and chill tf out. Please try not to let it get to you if one of them doesn't like you romantically. I promise you it is not remotely a big deal. None of them have any idea how to be good boyfriends yet anyway.

No, you're not unlovable for occasionally having spiteful little thoughts about somebody who was mean to you. Everybody has those every once in a while. As long as you maintain some self-awareness and don't let cruelty consume your whole brain, having a few mean thoughts doesn't make you a terrible person. What WOULD make you a terrible person is external terrible behaviour. It's your actions that matter. So just be kind, alright? Be kind to your friends. Ignore the people you don't like but be civil. Don't hurt anyone. If you stick to all of this, you're golden. Considering that you already seem so self-critical of being a bit bitchy inside your own head, I think that's a promising sign than you won't do anything worse than that. I hope so anyway. Be kind, that's all you can do. Your friends love you. If you put your all into loving them in return, then you can have something so special.

You're not ugly, you're 14. Sorry, I'm getting a bit repetitive but I think it's relevant information to this whole situation. At the age you're at, your face is probably in this weird transitional period between child and adult so maybe that's why it might look "uglier" than usual to you. It might last a few more years but it won't look like that forever. I assure you that your face is beautiful because it's doing exactly what it's supposed to do. It's alright if you've felt ugly your whole life. The way you look at your own face is way more personal than the way you look at other people's faces. We don't really notice the flaws on others the way we notice our own. We're wired weird like that.

All I can say is hang tight. If you don't like your face then please try not to let it upset you that much. Your face hasn't fully developed yet. For the time being, you look exactly the way you're supposed to look and you're perfect. Let's see how it looks in a few years before we make any rash decisions about it being as ugly as you think it is.

Don't be hasty in the belief that you'll never find love and romance. I assure you that the age you're at is the absolute worst time to get a boyfriend and its perfectly okay if you don't experience it for another while. It's normal. You're fine. It's okay.

I know you want it. I know it sounds nice. And I promise that if its important to you, once you're older and the people you're interested in are a little smarter, you will have it.

I'm serious when I say that for the time being, focus on being a good friend. Focus on school. Focus on your own physical and mental health. Focus on your hobbies. Being wanted by 14 year old boys won't mean shit in the long run.

Things will be okay. You talk so much about how you'll be alone for the rest of your life. But your life has only just begun and you hardly know who you are yet. It's impossible to tell what will happen in the coming years. I promise that you'll be okay.

I know you came for me for reassurance but from that last paragraphs, I'm sure you're already smart enough to know the things I've told you. But I imagine that you just needed a second opinion. Take care, love.

[bluejaybytes]

I’m curious why you found Inside Out 2 insulting? I recognize that everyone is different, but as someone with an anxiety disorder I personally found it pretty relatable

Throughout my teenage years, when my anxiety was at its most debilitating and my coping skills were basically nonexistent, I was repeatedly met with the idea that "every teen is a bit anxious". This, to an extent, is true, being a teenager IS scary and you're probably going to have some level of anxiety. However, I had an active anxiety disorder. I was prone to frequent panic attacks, skipping school because I couldn't even fathom the idea of going to class out of just sheer intense dread and fear, and all around just having an extremely bad time. I went into the movie with an already decently negative expectation because of that, I didn't like how anxiety was shown to show up ONLY when Riley became a teenager, BUT I was willing to set aside my own distaste of it for the sake of like, I do get why they went the direction of adding new emotions as characters, as much as I disagree with that.

However I found it wildly insulting because I feel the level of intense anxiety Riley is shown to have breaches what I'd consider a "normal" level of anxiety and instead feels more like an anxiety disorder, which, again, it angers me to be once again met with the idea that you only get anxious once you're a teenager, or when signs of much higher levels of anxiety than just normal nervousness are brushed aside with that excuse.

Barring that issue, though that is the biggest in my opinion, basically at every corner I was annoyed by something. This movie felt like it could've been incredibly relatable to me, I was a horrendously anxious teen (Still am anxious just not a teen and also I'm better at coping now) in competitive highschool sports (Yes marching band IS a sport I DO die on this hill), but like... it just continually let me down. The coach is genuinely an asshole, doing things like not showing what the expectations are and then proceeding to single out who she knows are the newcomers as breaking rules that had not been properly established, failing to recognize Riley clearly struggling mentally, and honestly, the biggest sin, fucking letting her in the sport at all. Riley's outburst at the other players should've gotten her taken out of the running entirely, I refuse to believe otherwise.

Which, this is kind of all over the place because I'm not really writing this as a full proper breakdown and more just "Jay angrily rambles to an anon with no direction", but hey, SUPER don't like that Riley's over-practicing isn't really called out at all as being harmful. The ROOT of it is, we know she's only doing that because anxiety is driving her to do that, but like... she performs really well. She's met by the older student (I forget her name, God) with positivity for this, and I'm personally just kind of uncomfortable with how her overworking herself is viewed as just like... neutral. And it's only the fact it's stemming from anxiety that's bad.

There's a lot more (I found the pacing bad, I think, ESPECIALLY given that this is a childrens movie, Riley should've been given EXPLICIT help from the people around her barring just "her friends say they're still friends", I think things like anxiety driving her to look at the notebook yet NOT considering the janitor walking by is just... stupid, and in my experience, not at all how anxiety manifests, ect, ect), but ultimately this is not like, a serious breakdown, more just me listing off the top of my head the things that really fucking annoyed me. Also, Ennui was a stupid character. I mean all of the new emotions were fucking stupid because they're all VERY derivative of OTHER emotions if you've made the commitment that the entire range of human emotion be boiled down to just joy/sadness/anger/fear/disgust, but whatever.

I thought the video game guy was funny though. I'm a sucker for those kinds of jokes. I like that his hair routinely was clipping through his outfit

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 93

Chapter 93: “The End”

Happy! The word you’re looking for is HAPPY! His life may have been cursed but these two made his life worth living which is so very important to a boy who wanted to end it all! Aaahh, they’re literally so damn special to him and I’ll never get over how deeply he loves and cares for them both.

I would never wanna experience the wide range of emotions Ray must be feeling during this moment. How hard his heart must’ve dropped the moment he saw his best friend get brutally stabbed, the way he became speechless as her seemingly lifeless body falls to the ground and all the panic he feels at the sight of all the blood.. the mere thought of being in a similar situation makes me feel sick and lightheaded.

Of course he’s absolutely seething with rage as well. Emma was one of the friends he swore to protect from the very beginning and to witness her now bleeding out as she lays motionless on the ground with some despicable demon lingering over her as it taunts the rest of the kids.. oh yeah, Ray’s far beyond pissed off. The amount of anger Ray expresses reminds me very much of that one panel back during ch65 and I love when he becomes unhinged whenever one half of his living emotional crutches is taken from him and/or hurt.

I think one of the reasons why this moment causes such anxiety between its characters and us readers is how the humans are plain and ordinary in this world (excluding those experimented on at Lambda). They have no special powers, magic, etc to fall back on which makes every injury permanent and real, so in the midst of battle where one fearsome enemy remains standing and no medical assistance is nearby, we’re lead to believe that Emma is truly in danger. Doesn’t matter that she’s the main protagonist either because she has indeed been seriously hurt in the past, with Isabella breaking her leg and our girl chopping off her own ear.

Teeny-tiny GP trio is precious to me. I wanna hug them.

The panels of Emma struggling to keep herself afloat as she slowly starts to sink causes “Diver” (Shippuden OP8) to play in my head every. single. time. I revisit this chapter. without fail. And I read this chapter back a lot.

Of course it’s very sweet that she thinks of Norman again during all this and I also love how Emma’s shown to be reaching outside the panel. Really puts in perspective how desperate she is to hold on.

No surprise here, but the moment when Isabella offers her assistance and encouragement is my favorite helping hand of the bunch. Since everything happening here is all inside Emma’s head, it proves that she still thinks of/cares for Isabella despite everything said woman has done in the past. What I really love about all this though is with Isabella being the final person that pulls Emma back into reality, it’s almost as if Emma’s first big enemy is helping her now defeat her current enemy and I think that’s neat. (thankfully this ain’t gonna be the last time momma helps out our girl either).

Sweetie, where exactly on your person where you hiding the pistol this entire time? And poor Nigel is still in tears, but they’re happy ones this time. Ray probably forgot how to breathe again though.

I love this duo so much.. he doesn’t even question how the hell she’s standing again and reads her mind perfectly to relay the plan she has to everyone else so they all can continue fighting and win.

In the previous chapter, Leuvis said that he wouldn’t fall for the same flash bomb trick twice, but I guess third time is the charm. He could’ve very well closed his eyes, though it would’ve left him open to the barrage of other bullets regardless, and with the flash bomb already detonated, he really didn’t have enough time to decide on another solution. Seems like Palvus has taken cover because he knows they’re already screwed.

Even though Leuvis starts to regenerate from the onslaught, we get Yuugo successfully avenging his family from many years ago with a critical hit to the poacher’s core. (well, one of them).

Favorite panel/moment:

To see a normal 11-year old girl stand back up after getting stabbed by one of the most intelligent and strongest demons in the series is such a thrilling and badass moment that completely captivates me every time I see it. There’s no power system for her to tap into and get some last minute boost like your typical shonens usually have and hell, not even some convenient medical attention helped get her back on her feet. She got up with pure fury, hostility and determination! Yeah yeah, plot-armor is a huge help here and she passes out shortly after this.. but regardless! Not only is this absolutely my favorite panel of Emma, but my favorite panel out of the entire story as well. This is very moment I truly fell in love with this girl and when she actually replaced Ray as my #1 character for quite some time. There’s so much I love about this moment for her and everything and aaahhh.. would’ve loved if the “63194” theme played here too.

[hjellacott]

Grey's Anatomy Decay (Acting edition)

AKA trained actress rates some of the best and worst current acting in Grey's Anatomy.

First and foremost: The Trident of Super Women.

Chandra Wilson (Dr Miranda Bailey): She has GOT to be the best actress in Grey's Anatomy at the moment, which is not weird, considering her amazing training and experience. Over all these seasons, Chandra has given Bailey such depth, complexity, character... She has managed to show the evolution and changes of Bailey without erasing the very essence of her, and every time she shows up un screen, her whole face and body are full of natural emotion. She's the kind of actress that makes the job look easy. That makes you forget she's just an actress and that Bailey is, in fact, not real.

Kate Walsh (Dr Addison Montgomery): What skill, ladies and gents. She comes second probably just because she comes and goes from Grey's and we don't get enough of her. This is an actress who also fills her character with pure life, but you see her in something else, and she's a chameleon. She can play anything. She gives so much information just by expertly raising an eyebrow, looking in a "certain" way... And like in the previous case, she's brilliant at keeping the essence of the character while showing incredible character evolution, showing us her heart, her soul, her mind... She's at times full of expression and at times completely lacking, perfectly fitting the circumstances. She's, I'd say, the Sandra Oh of the later seasons, and if anybody could effortlessly become the new lead of the series, that's her.

Caterina Scorsone (Dr Amelia Shepherd): She's an absolute monster. I've seen her in both Grey's and Private Practise, and essentially, she's, like Walsh and Wilson, an expert on showing the depth of human emotion, personality, character evolution, expression... She's an expert at nuances too. Wilson and Walsh are simply a tiny bit better.

And on our way down:

4. Jake Borelli (Dr Levi Schmitt): He popped to mind because I used to really dislike his character. But the thing about Borelli is, he really understands Levi, not just that, but he's truly made him his own. Levi wouldn't have the nuances he has if anybody else had played him, and it's hard to imagine Levi being any different. Borelli has also done remarkable work with him, particularly in regards to character understanding and character evolution, but shows a limited range of expression. This means that if you pay attention, it seems like his emotional range with Levi is like, six expressions, three tones of voice and little more. Might just be poor script. Note I still quite dislike the character (and wouldn't mind if it just disappeared), but Borelli makes Levi worth watching.

5. Jaicy Elliott (Taryn Elm): Let this be the ONE time a barely-there-actress makes it to my top five. Listen up folks, Elliott has a lot of potential. Every time she shows up, something about her makes me want to sit down and really listen to her and really get to her essence. Once they discargded the useless and stupid storyline of her love for Meredith, Elm grew. She became a whole person. The fact that she quit medicine was explored by Elliott so well, showing a depth of emotional sensitivity to her that was entirely new, which is why she had to stay in the show somehow. She's the new wise, all-seeing, all-knowing bartender substituting our favourite gay couple in the earlier seasons. And she plays it so well. That being said, her acting potential is being wasted and she absolutely needs to make a gigantic comeback to main role. And she has one thing that another brilliant actress, Sara Ramirez (Dr Torres) also had, which is the great ability to know when to do a lot of acting while seemingly doing nothing. The nuances, man!

6. Niko Teho (Dr Lucas Adams): Behold, one hell of an incredible actor. When you have a relatively small but with a lot of potential role like Teho has, you have to do something to get people interested. And when I look into his eyes, there's just a something hidden there that makes me want to know more, and see more. That's top shelf acting. That's the human nature of showing up but not giving your bare essence in one second, whlist making it obvious that there's more. You look into his eyes and you can see the thoughts moving. And that, with actors, is actually very uncommon and difficult to achieve (and is considered great acting). Normally actors just kind of "show up" like deers in headlights, and do what they think is imitating real life. Actors like Teho, turn it into real life. They make themselves real.

7. Anthony Hill (Dr Winston Ndugu): He's only here because the other day I caught him in another series when he was much younger, and it actually took me a second to realise who he was. Not like he's changed (indeed, the only physical difference was the beard, in spite of the years), but his soul was different. How often do you see actors show their characters' souls? In the US, very infrequently. I see it far more in British actors, which I'd argue is because in Britain, you don't even HEAR about casting notices unless you've got a lot of acting training and are a graduate from some important acting schools. So, this is a quality that really isn't there often, and Hill has it. However, he doesn't quite become his character, I can still see too much of Hill when I'm trying to see Ndugu, so we'll see. But I'm glad he remains in Grey's.

8. Kevin McKidd (Dr Owen Hunt): This hurts me because McKidd has been done so fucking dirty by the script writers for years and he's really tried to do the best he could with the nothing he was given. Whenever his character really had a proper storyline (so for approximately the first 10 minutes of him appearing in Grey's), he was amazing. McKidd gave Hunt such depth, such emotion, such rawness, and also made him so intriguing. But Hunt has just been losing since and to me, McKidd lately looks old, tired and demotivated. He doesn't give me the energy of the trauma superstar any more, more like... An old lion who doesn't want to retire.

9. James Pickens Jr (Dr Richard Webber): Speaking of old lions who just won't retire, with all due respect. So, I have a lot of affection for Webber and ergo, for Pickens. He's not even actually old. But man, he's gone down a lot. He was such a vibrant presence in the earlier seasons, but after all these years... I was Googling whether he'd had hip surgery or knee surgery. I mean, I don't imagine him running to a surgery or to the loo. And truth is, to an actor, our bodies are our tools, and when the body decays, you better be excellent at finding new tools (or when you can't use your body, as it was the case of the amazing acting from Eddie Redmayne playing Stephen Hawkin) and Pickens hasn't. He lacks expression, he lacks energy, he lacks life... I suggest a very long holiday and returning to acting later, or a change for a less active role. Webber is supposed to be an old surgery beast who still has it in him. Pickens doesn't seem to have it in him any more.

10. Harry Shum Jr (Dr Benson Kwan): OK so I've seen Shum for many years, and one thing I've always had clear; he's a top class dancer, but he's not an actor. The US (where I see this most often) tends to make the mistake of pretending anybody can act and hiring anybody as an actor. Dancers aren't actors. Singers aren't actors. You can have incredible actors who happen to be great dancers or singers, but not the other way around. And that is because singing and dancing are great skills and difficult ones, but people devoted to them typically don't have the time and energy to also do advanced acting training. But for actors, learning proper singing and dancing tends to be a must. My opinion with Harry Shum hasn't changed even though I've seen him in a bunch of things by now over many series; He's expressionless, plain, boring, lacking juice, lacking a je-ne-sais-quoi that makes it impossible for me to really believe his characters. I just keep seeing Harry over and over. And he needs to take a page from Sandra Oh, who was the first to show me how fucking full of expression and nuisances Asian actors can be, with or without big eyes.

11. E. R. Fightmaster (Dr Kai Bartley): This is another example of a non-actor. Fightmaster is a fantastic musician. And I can sense that they're also a very sensitive person. Indeed, they've given Bartley that inner depth of a well-written song. However, they're just not actors, and it's always felt to me like I'm just watching E. R. Fightmaster, that Dr Kai Bartley is simply they're doctor alter ego.

[adhdo5]

That quote about horror somehow being particularly cruel and hating you as a genre and how it doesn't want you to have a good time is so unbelievably stupid and full of shit and a vivid example of "if I don't like it/if it's a bad experience for me then it's because it's an objectively horrible experience". And honestly I find the replies talking about how horror is particularly specially equipped as a genre to force one 2 confront things is also dumb

Horror is a genre. It is like literally every other genre. Horror is not the only genre that challenges you or tried to make you experience negative emotions, oh my god. I know tragedy also gets this treatment but tragedy is the same ? Comedy, mechanically, can function similarly? As can romance? As can anything?

All works of art are trying to communicate something, whether it's a deep truth of the human condition or "hey wouldn't this thing I made up be cool" or something in between. The only thing that distinct horror from its peers in this is that whatever it is trying to convey, which again can range the entire spectrum of meaning and then some just like any other genre, it conveys using fear as a vehicle or topic

That's it. Horror is just an art medium that conveys its plot, thematic, etc information through some evocation or other some form or another of fear. It is not any more malicious or any more deep than a genre that does so through the evocation of grief, or rage, or amusement, or sentimentality, or horniness, or anything. It does not "hate you" any more than tragedy hates you, any more than spicy food hates you, any more than a rollercoaster hates you. Of course, just like tragedy or spicy food or rollercoasters, not everybody finds this evocation something that communicates effectively with them, and even people who may enjoy it broadly or enjoy some forms might not enjoy others, because any one evocation of it might be trying to achieve different things in different ways under the same umbrella. It is absolutely absurd to consider it particularly challenging either as a way to condemn or elevate it it's a GENRE it doesn't all hate you it doesn't uncare it is A METHOD OF COMMUNICATION

Whenever I finish a good piece of horror media, when the initial fear wears off and I enter the stage of processing "I just consumed horror media," there is a profound fun to it, just like when some work of art or other makes me angry or sad. Through that simulacrum of emotion there is the sense, even and especially when it makes one uncomfortable and unsettled, of WOW! THAT IS A BANGER SIMULACRUM OF EMOTION! I JUST EXPERIENCED SOME GOOD ART! EXCELLENT STUFF! Y know. Like how experiencing art is

"Horror doesn't care about you" "horror is an awful houseguest and is evil and upsetting always" "horror is this" "horror is that" Horror is when you see something and you go OHHHHHHHH FUCK!!!!!! and you think about it and whatever concept it was for the next week because DAMN THAT WAS SCARY!!!! THAT WAS FUN

[fairytales-and-creativity]

Week 39 - The language of emotions - SILKE -

How many languages do we speak? We started off mumbling and sticking out our tongue to later start to speak the language the people around us spoke, then somewhere we started to learn how to speak English, maybe somewhere along the way you learned some German or French or something else. But one language is always forgotten... One language we all know, we all hear daily but interpret differently... All depending on the person who hears this language... Music.

Last week I wrote about what art can do to people, how we can recognise ourselves in certain paintings which can cause certain emotions to be released.

This week's theme is based on music and it's use. There are many ways music can be used or created. One can discuss that ticking a pen on a desk could be considered music, one could even compose an entire piece out of these pen-ticking-sounds. Music in one way is also considered an artform. Art is often considered the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way that appeals to the senses or emotions. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations and ways of expression, including music, literature, film, sculpture and paintings. (About Art - What Do We Really Mean, 2010)

As discussed in last week's blog post, art can cause someone to become emotional, feel certain feelings. So why or how can music move us like that also? From a simple, lonely melody to an intricate sonata, sometimes it feels like music can speak directly to your heart, in a language that you don’t know, but your emotions understand. Can music be considered a language? If yes, how can we understand perhaps classical music? Where no words are just, just sounds created by movements. And if it's just sounds, how can it be that they convey emotions? Music can be considered the language of emotions. (Why does music make us emotional? | Inside Science, 2017) You have minor and major chords. The major chords tend to sound 'happier' and more bright where minor chords sound more 'full' and darker. (Nemeroff, 2022) When we first start learning our mother tongue's language we hear sounds and try to mumble.. try to mirror the movements and sounds... This is also the stage where we unknowingly are also learning a second language. As a babe, you're laying in the cradle, your father tries you to hav you say 'pappa' before you learn how to say mamma, and in the living room there's your mother's favourite symphony playing.

Much of the emotional significance that we find in music comes from our own life experience: whilst still in the cradle we learn to associate the music we hear with the emotional environment we hear it in -- so a mother’s lullaby might imprint us with calm memories for major keys, whilst a lovers’ lament in A minor would remind us of breakups and ex-girlfriends. Although it wasn’t always this way around: After all, western cultures have a very different appreciation of dissonance to Arabic music, or to Indian ragas. (Why does music make us emotional? | Inside Science, 2017b)

Through auditory stimulation, music could drive neurons to fire at a specific rate as though our brains are resonating to a beat that sets our overall mood. But some of our most powerful responses to music come from expectation, tension, then resolution.

Then, for me. I also 'imagine' scenes happening when I listen to (mostly) classical music. The music makes me feel a certain way, might feel as if someone might be running.. I create an entire scene in the inside of my head, using only imagination and the music I'm hearing... (I do not mean to say I have Synesthesia, where you see shapes/figures upon hearing music). The song down below is an example. It's a piece made with chello, piano and violin. It's very delicate, but gives away a dark sometimes eerie feeling. Sometimes I get upset whilst listening to this, I might cry or I might start to get angry or creative.. You could say, in this case, that the art I'm listening to is the song. But the art I'm creating inside my head is made out of the language of emotions.

Nemeroff, B. (2022, 2 september). What is the Difference Between Major and Minor Chords? Geraadpleegd op 2 oktober 2022, van https://www.fender.com/articles/play/minor-vs-major-chords#:%7E:text=%E2%80%A2-,What%20Makes%20a%20Chord%20Minor%20or%20Major%3F,scale%20that%20it’s%20named%20for.

Why does music make us emotional? | Inside Science. (2017a, december 29). Geraadpleegd op 2 oktober 2022, van https://www.insidescience.org/video/why-does-music-make-us-emotional#:%7E:text=Through%20auditory%20stimulation%2C%20music%20could,expectation%2C%20tension%2C%20then%20resolution.

Why does music make us emotional? | Inside Science. (2017b, december 29). Geraadpleegd op 2 oktober 2022, van https://www.insidescience.org/video/why-does-music-make-us-emotional#:%7E:text=Through%20auditory%20stimulation%2C%20music%20could,expectation%2C%20tension%2C%20then%20resolution.

[blackstarising]

coming back to this post i made again to elaborate - especially as the ted lasso fandom is discussing sam/rebecca and fandom racism in general. there are takes that are important to make that i had failed to previously, but there's also a growing amount of takes that i have to, As A Black Person™, respectfully disagree with.

tl;dr for the essay below sam being infantilized and the sam/rebecca relationship are not the same issue and discussing the former one doesn't mean excusing the latter. and we've reached the glen of the Dark Forest where we sit down and talk about fandom racism.

i should have elaborated this in my last post about sam/rebecca, but i didn't. i'll say it now - i personally don't support sam and rebecca getting together for real. i believe what people are saying is entirely correct, even though sam is an adult legally, he and rebecca are, at the very least, two wildly different stages of life. for americans, he's at the equivalent of being a junior in college. there are things he hasn't gotten the chance to experience and there are areas he needs to grow in. when i was younger, i didn't understand the significance of these age gaps, i just thought it would be fine if it was legal, but as someone who is now a little older than sam in universe, i understand fully. we can't downplay this. whether or not you think sam works for rebecca or not, even despite the gender inversion of the Older Man Younger Woman trope, whether or not he is a legal adult, i don't think at this point in time, their relationship would work. i think it's an interesting narrative device, but i don't want to see it play out in reality.

that being said!

what's worrying me is that two discussions are being conflated here that shouldn't be. sam having agency and being a little more grown™ than he's perceived to be does not suddenly make his relationship with rebecca justified. i had decided to bring it up because sam was being brought into the spotlight again and i was starting to realizing that his infantilization was more common than i felt comfortable with.

sam's infantilization (and i will continue to call it that), is a microaggression. it's is in the range of microaggressions that i would categorize as 'fandom overcompensation'. we have a prominent character of color that exhibits traits that aren't stereotypical, and we don't want to appear racist or stereotypical, so we lean hard in the other direction. they're not aggressive, they're a Sweet Baby, they're not world weary, they're now a little naive. they're not cold and distant, they're so nice and sweet that there's no one that wouldn't want approach them, and yeah, on their face, these new traits are a departure and, on their face, they seem they look really good.

but at a certain point, it reaches an inflection point, and, like the aftertaste of a diet coke, that alleged sweetness veers into something a lot less sweet. it veers into a lack of agency for the character. it veers into an innocence that appears to indicate that the person can't even take care of themselves. it veers into a one-dimensional characterization that doesn't allow for any depth or negative emotion.

it's not kind anymore. it's not a nice departure from negative stereotypes. it's not compensating for anything.

it's patronizing.

it is important that we emphasize that characters of color are more than the toxic stereotypes we lay on them, yes, but we make a mistake in thinking that the solution is overcorrection. for one thing, people of color can usually tell. don't get it twisted, it's actually pretty obvious. for another, it just shifts from one dimension to another. people of color are still supposed to be Only One Character Trait while white people can contain multitudes. ted, who is pretty much as pollyanna as they come, can be at once innocent and naive and deep and troubled and funny and scared. jamie can be a prick and sexy and also lonely and also a victim of abuse. sam, however, even though he was bullied (by jamie, no less), is thousands of miles away from home, and has led a protest on his team, is usually just characterized as human sunshine with much less acknowledgement of any other traits beyond that.

and that's why i cringe when fandom calls sam a Sweet Baby Boy without any sense of irony. is that all we're taking away? after all this time? even for a comedy, sam has received a substantive of screen time over two whole seasons, and we've seen a range of emotions from him. so as a black person it's hurtful that it's boiled down to Sweet Baby Boy.

that's the problem. we need to subvert stereotypes, but more importantly, we need to understand that people of color are not props, or pieces of cardboard for their white counterparts. they are full and actualized and have agency in their own right and they can have other emotions than Angry and Mean or Sweet and Bubbly without any nuance between the two. i think the show actually does a relatively good job of giving sam depth (relatively, always room for improvement, mind you), especially holding it in tension with his youth, but the fandom, i worry, does not.

it's the same reason why finn from star wars started out as the next male protagonist in the sequel trilogy but by the third movie was just running around yelling for REY!! it's the same reason why when people make Phase 4 Is the Phase For Therapy gifsets for the mcu and show wanda maximoff, loki, and bucky barnes crying and being sad but purposefully exclude sam wilson who had an entire show to tell us how difficult his life is, because people find out if pee oh sees are also complex, they'll tell the church.

and the reason why i picked up on this very early on is because i am an organic, certified fresh, 100% homegrown, non-gmo, a little ashy, indigenous sub saharan African black person. the ghanaian tribes i'm descended from have told me so, my black ass parents have told me so, and the nurses at the hospital in [insert asian country here] that started freaking out about how curly my hair was as my mother was mid pushing me out told me so!

and this stuff has real life implications. listen: being patronized as a black person sucks. do you know how many times i was patted on the back for doing quite honestly, the bare minimum in school? do you know how many times i was told how 'well spoken' or 'eloquent' i was because i just happen to have a white accent or use three syllable words? do you know how many times i've been cooed over by white women who couldn't get over how sweet i was just because i wasn't confrontational or rude like they wrongly expected me to be?

that's why they're called microaggressions. it's not a cross on your lawn or having the n-word spat in your face, but it cuts you down little by little until you're completely drained.

so that's the nuance. that's the subversion. the overcompensation is not a good thing. and people of color (and i suspect, even white people) have picked up on, in general, the different ways fandom treats sam and dani and even nate. what all of these discussions are converging on is fandom racism, which is not the diet form of racism, but another place for racism to reveal itself. and yeah, it's uncomfortable. it can seem out of left field. you may want to defend yourself. you may want to explain it away. but let me tap the sign on the proverbial bus:

if you are a white person, or a person of color who is not part of that racial group, even, you do not get to decide what is not racist for someone. full stop. there are no exceptions. there is no exit clause for you. there is no 'but, actually-'. that right wasn't even yours to cede or waive.

(it's also important to note that people of color also have the right to disagree on whether something is racist, but that doesn't necessarily negate the racism - it just means there's more to discuss and they can still leave with different interpretations)

people don't just whip out accusations of racism like a blue eyes white dragon in a yu-gi-oh duel. it's not fun for us. it's not something we like to do to muzzle people we don't want to engage with. and we're not concerned with making someone feel bad or ashamed. we're exposing something painful that we have to live with and, even worse, process literally everything we experience through. we can't turn it off. we can't be 'less sensitive' or 'less nitpicky'. we are literally the primary resources, we are the proverbial wikipedia articles with 3,000 sources when it comes to racism. who else would know more than us?

what 2020 has shown us very clearly is that racism is systemic. it's not always a bunch of Evil White Men rubbing their hands together in a dark room wondering how they're going to use the 'n-word' today. it's systemic. it's the way you call that one neighborhood 'sketchy'. it's how you use 'ratchet' and 'ghetto' when describing something bad. it's how you implicitly the assume the intelligence of your friend of color. it's the way you turned up your nose and your friend's food and bullied them for it in middle school but go to restaurants run by white people who have 'uplifted' it with inauthentic ingredients. it's telling someone how Well Spoken and Eloquent they are even though you've both gone to the same schools and work at the same workplace. it's the way you look down at some people of color for having a different body type than you because they've been redlined to neighborhoods where certain foods and resources are inaccessible, and yet mock up the racial features that appeal to you either through makeup or plastic surgery.

it's how when a person of color behaves badly, they're irredeemable, but a white person performing the same act or something similar is 'having a bad day' or 'isn't normally like this' or 'has room to grow' and we can't 'wait for their redemption arc', and yes, i'm not going to cover it in detail in this post but yes this is very much about nate. other people have also brought up the nuances in his arc and compared them to other white characters so i won't do it here.

these behaviors and reactions aren't planned. they aren't orchestrated. they're quite literally unconscious because they've been lovingly baked into western society for centuries. you can't wake up and be rid of it. whether you intended it or not, it can still be racist.

and it's actually quite hurtful and unfair to imply that concerns about racism in the TL fandom are unfounded or lacking any depth or simply meant to be sensational because you simply don't agree with it. i wish it was different, but it doesn't work that way. i'm not raising this up to 'call out' or shame people, but i'm adding to this discussion because, through how we talk about sam, and even dani and nate, i'm yet again seeing a pattern that has shortchanged people of color and made them feel unwelcome in fandom for far too long.

coach beard said it best: we need to do better.

[theerurishipper]

The Ackerbond

One of the most controversial topics in this entire fandom is the concept of the Ackerman bonds. Beliefs range from insisting that the Ackermans are slaves, to insisting that there is no such thing as an Ackerbond. Not made better by Isayama's very vague descriptions in his Answers book, and by Eren's speech to Mikasa.

So, I'm writing this post to hopefully address all the interpretations out there and also share my own.

The Ackermans

In chapter 63, Mikasa and Levi have a chat, in which Mikasa reveals that her father's clan was persecuted in the cities, which led him to flee to the mountains. Levi reveals that Kenny Ackerman once had a moment where he felt an absurd amount of strength flow through his body, and then he knew what to do. Mikasa and Levi admit that they had moments like those too.

In chapter 65, Kenny's grandfather reveals that the reason the Ackermans were persecuted was because they refused to bow down to the ideology of the King any longer, after years of being the royals' sword and shield. They were one of the clans that was not affected by the power of the Founder, and so they were hunted down. Their persecution continued even after the head of the clan surrendered, and only ended when Uri Reiss put an end to it.

In chapter 93, Magath tells us that the Ackerman clan is a sub-product of Titan science, and that they only existed in the legends of the royals. So they don't know all that much about them in Marley either.

In chapter 112, Eren says that the Ackermans possess the power of a titan in a human body, which is why they are so strong. They receive the experiences of the previous Ackermans through Paths and are able to channel them.

In chapter 126, Hange points out that the only reason Levi survived his injuries was because of his Ackerman strength.

In 138, we find that Ackermans are not affected by the gas, and cannot turn into titans. It was kind of unclear in the earlier chapters, because it was unclear if Levi even drank the wine.

Eren's words

The controversy creator, the chapter that had all Mikasa haters on the edge of their seats. I'll just let Eren take the floor, cause his arguments are so poorly thought out on hindsight.

Basically, Mikasa imprinted on Eren in that moment by mistaking him for her "host," and lost her free will and her real self, becoming enslaved to Eren, which is why she follows him.

Now I could go ahead and shoot all this down, could let myself go to town on this, but why should I when Zeke does it for me? Chapter 130, for reference.

So there you have it, straight from the mouth of Zeke Yeager himself! There is no programed behavior or impulse. Mikasa just loves Eren so much she wants to follow him to the ends of the Earth (One could wonder how Zeke "emotional constipation is real, life is meaningless and nothing matters" Yeager is so knowledgeable on matters of the heart, but I digress).

Answers

The other most valuable resource for learning about the Ackermans, vague as Isayama is in it. @lostcauses-noregrets has an Ackerman Masterpost on their blog where there are some translations for what exactly has been said in the book. I'm not putting them here because they aren't mine, but the gist of it is that the Ackermans have the quality of choosing a person to "bond" with, but that it is simply their nature to choose someone to follow.

And they are not enslaved and unable to carry out their own wishes. Despite being "Ackerbonded" to Erwin, Levi let him go even when he could have saved him. Despite being "Ackerbonded" to Eren, Mikasa beheads him. They all disagree with the person they consider their liege many times, but they still continue to devote themselves to that person. And that is by their own choice.

And Isayama says that if they bond with someone, they are able to unleash amazing power. I think we see it when Levi chases Zeke, or with Mikasa in Liberio, or maybe when she chases Annie. These Ackerpowers are different from the Ackerbond though. The powers are awakened presumably when the Ackerman is in a high stress scenario, and then they know what to do thanks to the instinct.

We can't say when Kenny might have "awakened," but Mikasa awakened when she killed her kidnappers, and Levi might have awakened at the end of ACWNR, which I am inclined to believe because of how this paragraph is written.

Everything that Farlan and Isabel had—their dreams and hopes, their happiness and their sadness—they had taken all of those important, valuable things, and erased them from this world.

The six titans, done with eating every other person in sight, spotted Levi standing alone in stunned silence. They began to all approach him at once.

“You……bastaaaaaaaards—!!”

Something within Levi exploded.

Unbounded anger overtook him, painting his sight red, and whatever followed didn’t show any trace in his memory.

But this is my personal opinion, so feel free to disagree.

That being said...

The Ackerbond

It is established that it is an instinctive part of the Ackermans to form bonds with a person. It is also established that this does not stem from any sort of programming, rather from their own nature. Mikasa and Levi especially, are the kinds of people whose nature it is to protect. Their desire to follow someone isn't slavery, rather it is a conscious choice.

Let me put it this way. Anger is a trait that can be learnt in life and also acquired through genetics. If it is so, then anger is literally in a persons genes, it is part of their nature. They can't help but get angry. But whether or not the individual choses to act on it is not part of that. A person can choose to blow up and yell, or simmer quietly, walk away and calm down. That is a conscious choice that is made, whether or not to let the instincts take over.

It is the same here. Perhaps the desire to form that sort of a protective bond with someone is a common trait shared by all members of the clan, but whether they choose to act on it is up to them. In the story itself, all three Ackermans have found some person with whom they have established this sort of bond, because if they didn't, then what's the point of introducing this sort of concept?

The three bonds established in the series are Mikasa-Eren, Levi-Erwin and Kenny-Uri.

Mikasa and Eren

Mikasa and Eren's bond is the point around which the story revolves. It starts when Eren, in an act of kindness, wraps his scarf around Mikasa after she has lost everything. The world Mikasa had known before the loss of her parents had vanished and Mikasa had lost everything. In that moment, Eren gave her a home when she had lost hers. He saved her when she had lost everything. The scarf she wears, to Mikasa, represents her home, the kindness that Eren gave her. Eren is her home, and she does whatever is in her power to keep him safe.

As for Eren, Mikasa is someone who will protect him no matter what, and will love him unconditionally no matter how not special he is. Even if he thinks that people should live freely and not tied to another person, Mikasa's love means a lot to him.

What Isayama says he intended to portray with them is that Mikasa looked up and admired Eren as someone who gave her everything, and swore to follow him and protect him, but Eren was even more childish than Mikasa. The fact that Mikasa swore to follow someone who was a child, as a child herself, both lacking development as individuals helps us watch their journey.

Mikasa clings to the image of Eren as she knew, as the one who wrapped the scarf around her neck, and is forced to confront the reality of who he is, someone who has been kind to her, but also someone who is willing to hurt others. In the end, she comes to understand the part of Eren that she has ignored all this while. She decides to stay true to her principles and morals by killing Eren in the end, but now with a full understanding of who Eren really is, she decides to continue loving him for what he means to her, for all he had done for her by giving her a home and for promising to wrap the scarf around her.

Kenny and Uri

Kenny is someone who is driven by a desire for power, it is to power that he is a slave. Kenny hunts down Uri Reiss who captures him in his titan. When Uri kneels in front of him and asks for forgiveness, Kenny is amazed and moved that someone with so much power would bow down to someone like him. It is at this moment that he decides to follow Uri, to understand him.

As for Uri, I guess that the memories he inherited from the titan made him disillusioned in humanity, but meeting Kenny restored his faith in humanity, and he longed to build them a paradise. It was meeting Kenny that set him back on this path, and to him, their friendship is a true miracle.

Kenny sees that Uri has a unique vision of the world. He wants to build a paradise for people, he's kind, and despite his power, he kneeled before Kenny in humility. For Kenny, a person with power is capable of anything, and having power is the most important. But the one with so much power willingly bowed to him. Kenny sees the titan power Uri has, and he wants it so that he can see the world the way Uri does. The scene Uri sees of compassion, is what Kenny wants to see as well. It is for that reason that Kenny continues to fight, to see the scene that Uri saw, which is Kenny's connection to his liege, the person that saw something good in someone like him, who believed in him despite everything he was.

In the end of his life, Kenny realizes that even Uri was a slave to something, and understands that the power is not what makes someone compassionate. In a poetic end to his story, Kenny gives Levi the serum instead of using it on himself in a selfless act, and finally sees the scene which Uri saw.

Levi and Erwin

Levi and Erwin don't meet on the best of terms. Erwin coerces Levi into joining the Survey Corps, and Levi is intent on killing him. Upon the loss of Levi's only friends, everything he had, Erwin gives Levi a speech which awakens him to a sense of purpose. Levi understands that Erwin sees something he cannot and wants to understand what it is, which is why he follows him. In the years that pass, Levi understands that thing and decides to help Erwin achieve it. Levi decides to follow Erwin because he thought that he had altruistic motives that Levi had never considered. Erwin gave him purpose and direction in his life, which was otherwise empty.

As for Erwin, Levi is someone with whom he can share his burdens, someone he can truly trust to always be by his side. Levi gives Erwin his strength and provides him with motivation by offering support and encouragement no matter what his decision lead to. Even when it is revealed to Levi that Erwin has selfish motivations, he still remains unflinchingly loyal to him, and continues to follow him. And when Erwin finally breaks down on that crate, Levi is there to assure him of his worth and helps him take control of his life once more, and helps him let go of his dream and ride to his death. And Levi again, chooses to let Erwin rest so that he does not have to come back and suffer as a devil once more.

Levi makes a promise to Erwin, and it is something he is intent on carrying out as it is to him, Erwin's last order. Certainly he has his goal of saving humanity, but the promise is tied to Erwin in a way that makes it personal between them, as it is something they shared. This is what connects him to Erwin, and he is determined to carry it out. And no matter what, he will not regret letting Erwin go, and he will carry his burdens, content with the fact that he has let him rest at last.

A metaphor for Love, I would say.

Despite the obvious difference between Mikasa-Eren compared to Levi-Erwin and Kenny-Uri (both of which have some parallels if one wants to look at it in that way), there is one thing in common. In all of these, the person each Ackerman chooses is someone who has had a lasting impact on their life, without whom they would not be who they are today. This person is an integral part of their characters. And there is something tangible in the story itself, that connects the Ackermans to their lieges.

What sells it for me that this is not a relation between a master and a slave, however, is that even the people who are the "lieges" are impacted significantly by there relationships. The most significant scenes in their character arcs (for those who have one) happen alongside their Ackerman. Which means that it is a mutual, equal relationship on both sides.

The lieges in each case, give the Ackerman something worth living for, when they have lost everything, be it a home or purpose in life. They give the Ackerman a reason to live. And the Ackermans, in all cases, devote themselves to this person, and support them unconditionally, continuing to remember and fight for them even after they have passed. It is the ultimate expression of loyalty and devotion. It is the ultimate expression of love.

The end of the story itself, is about love. Ymir Fritz loved King Fritz, but wanted to break free from him, because she did not want to be a slave. She saw in Mikasa the ability to break free from her slavery to him. She saw in Mikasa her capacity for unconditional love, how she would continue to love Eren, and yet be able to break free from him. She saw how she would love Eren, always, but be able to kill him if that was what had to be done.

Eren believes that one must be unattached to be free, but fails to realize that Mikasa's freedom is in loving Eren, and following him. The freedom the Ackermans have, is in following the person who gave them everything.

I believe that SNK is perhaps not a romance, but it is most certainly a love story. Love is not portrayed as the magical, pink hearts and rainbow-y thing that we find in most kids shows. But however, love is a strong force in the story, something that can drive a person to do anything. Like Carla's sacrifice for her son, or the love between Ymir and Historia. In my opinion, no one represents this better than the Ackermans.

Mikasa, who would love Eren no matter how he hurt her, no matter what he's done, because she knows him, and she can accept him fully and continue to love him.

Levi, who would love Erwin enough to take away all his burdens from him, and allow him to rest in peace, even though he would like nothing more than to bring him back.

Kenny, who would admire and love him Uri he had never loved anyone else in his life, who wished to see what he saw, who fought for him even after he passed.

They aren't slaves. Everything they've done, they've done with free will. They loved freely and they were loved back.

Eren, who would love Mikasa for all she has done for him, and want her to be happy and free, who gave her a home to return to.

Erwin, who would admire and trust Levi deeply, more than anyone else, who would give him a purpose in life, and thank him for everything with a smile no else gets to see.

Uri, who would believe in Kenny and see the good in him, even when no one else would.

It's the selfless love, a powerful feeling. It is the one responsible for the start of the titan curse, but also the one responsible for its end. The relationships between the characters move the story forward, and not many are as significant as the bonds between the Ackermans and their lieges.

I wrote this somewhere else, but I'm putting it here too.

Ultimately, what he Ackerbond term means is that someone with the last name “Ackerman” decided to follow someone else. It was all their choice, and they chose to follow a person and devote themselves to them.

I have always held firm in my belief that one of the main themes explored by SNK is “the power of love.” Not that love is the ultimate force that overcomes all, but love itself, as one of the most powerful emotions in the world, something that can make people do unimaginable things, that is so strong and so beautiful. The Ackerman family explores that love. The Ackerbond is a metaphor for love. It shows how much people are capable of loving, how much this love impacts everyone, and what love entails. Devotion, commitment, security. It’s not just romantic love, it’s love in all forms. Mikasa and Eren’s love changed the world. The bond between Mikasa and Eren, Kenny and Uri, Levi and Erwin was integral to them and their characters, and in each case there was a facet of love explored.

And the Ackermans are the poster people for the theme of love, but the relationships between characters have been driving the story for a long time. Like Armin and Eren, Ymir and Historia, Jean and Marco, and so many others. Isayama has always placed an emphasis on love. It’s the most powerful feeling in the world. People can do anything for love. SNK might not be a romance, but it is a love story. And no one exemplifies that theme better than the Ackerman family.

[azureashes]

Sukuna’s Curse

TW: NONCON, VIOLENCE, BLOOD AND GORE

Summary: Some cruel fate bound you to Sukuna's side. You could not escape. You weren't sure you wanted to.

Sukuna x Reader

Wordcount: 10 K

Rating: Explicit, MINORS DNI

I don’t know if this is even any good at this point owing to the fact that I’m dead tired, BUT I wanted to finish this off, so here it is.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

But this time, something was off. The taste was almost tame in comparison - mild. Even the sensation of swallowing wasn’t quite the same, squishy and slimy instead of roughly scratching his esophagus all the way down. If he hadn’t been so eager to just get it over with the way he always was, to make it as short and painless as possible - he might have noticed something was off. He might have pointed it out to Gojo, to the principal, to anyone before swallowing the ominous, blotchy blue-green scrap of flesh they had given him.

It didn’t taste like one of Sukuna’s fingers.

Yuuji always tried to drop the disgusting, decrepit digit as close to his throat as possible so that he wouldn’t have to taste the bitter, corrosive flavor that burned on his tongue like decaying flesh - but he couldn’t avoid it entirely. There was always a lingering acidic remnant that stayed in his mouth long after he had swallowed one of the curse’s fingers.

He might have spared you your fate.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was bored.

It was boring in Itadori Yuuji’s subconscious. The boy was as empty-headed as he seemed and the scheming King of Curses could only look on as the fool fell into one trap after another, made misstep after misstep while he stumbled his way forward, trying to navigate the Jujutsu sorcerer’s life.

It was a cringeworthy affair.

Sukuna had laid his plans carefully and could only drum his fingers on his throne of skulls restlessly as he waited for them to come to fruition. But he was never as dangerous as he was when he was bored. When he had energy to spare and time to kill. When he was on the lookout for some sport, some prey that could satisfy his instinct to hunt, something to toy with, to devour.

When you arrived out of nowhere, coughing your lungs out, on hands and knees in the bloodied water surrounding the area - your limbs shaking as you struggled to support yourself, weak with what must have been centuries of disuse, his eyes glittered with malicious anticipation.

For once, the idiot had done something right.

You coughed and hacked as if seeking to free your body from something it had long grown unaccustomed to - breath. Life. Motion. Thought. Terrible, terrible things.

You recalled your last, conscious thought when faced with an aging, balding monk. The strange man had carried with him a rosary around his neck and attached to the string of beads was what had oddly resembled an ogre’s thumb. You hadn’t the slightest clue what the monk had wanted from you until he sealed you into the ogre’s thumb - an intentional, cruel irony on the buddhist’s part.

“Go to your master, demon!” He had shrieked.

Master.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you shuddered at the very thought. The monk must have thought he was being clever. Sealing you in a fashion resembling the way the King of Curses had been sealed, but Sukuna was not your master.

You had scarcely been freed of the terrifying demon’s presence, barely been able to dream of a life outside of his paralyzing, horrifying shadow that the accursed monk had appeared to seal you away to a slumber of many thousand years.

No matter.You were free now.

By some miracle, the seal had been broken and you would live in a world where Sukuna had been sealed away somewhere far from you. You would stay away from humans and jujutsu sorcerers and society as a whole. Find a deserted scrap of nature, and live out your days among the plants and animals in peace somewhere.

That was a good plan, you told yourself, straining to breathe slowly and deeply, your eyes still pressed shut because seeing anything at all was overwhelming to your senses after their long rest. It would be alright. Your suffering was over.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine. You would recognize it anywhere. The deep baritone that seemed to make your very bones rattle.

“What do we have here?” Uncomfortably warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear as he spoke on a hiss.

You saw him clearly in your mind’s eye, his image brought into sharp relief, triggered by the sound of his awful voice that sent a flood of unadulterated, gut-wrenching terror through your body. Your body’s reaction to him was one of instinct, a reaction learned.

It was possible to forget one’s love and similarly, to neglect one’s hatred. But one could never forget what one truly feared. Fear was not stored in hearts or minds, but contained in the body itself. In every inch of your skin, every ounce of your flesh. Fear was intermingled with your blood, a part of your very being. Your mind may have slept, and you, a curse, had no need for your superfluous heart - but your body remembered. Your body would always remember.

When you finally dared to turn, the sight that met your eyes was precisely the one your mind had conjured. He sat perched on a mountain of skulls, some fresh and whole, some decayed and crumbling, but you knew they represented only a fraction of the lives the curse had taken. He was draped in a robe that seemed made for royalty, or perhaps it only seemed that way because of the individual they clothed. The King of Curses exuded an aura that was every bit that of the king he was known as. His hair was pale-pink, his eyes narrowed and sharp, the scarlet irises the very shade of the deluge of blood you had seen him spill in your lifetime. Much of it yours.

Black markings traced his form - on his face, his wrists, his arms, just like you remembered, and the sharp, long black nails on his hands made you shiver with the memory of how easily they could draw blood, puncturing through your skin like it was paper.

“S- Sukuna-sama…” Your barely audible whisper, wavering with sheer horror rang in his ears like the sweetest praise. He liked you already.

When he had spoken, it had sounded as if he had been just behind you, and so you were stunned to see him at such a distance. The corners of his lips were curved in a smirk, his sharp canines peeking through as he lounged on his grotesque throne, his head leaning languidly against the knuckles of his right hand. He looked amused.

Amused was good, you thought numbly, trying to reason with yourself through your terror. His amusement manifested itself in some cruel mockery of mercy on occasion. It was his boredom that terrified you. The things he had done to you when bored defied imagination.

You shuddered and your mouth opened and closed wordlessly, incapable of producing sound, incapable of taking breath. The minute you had thought yourself free of him you had been taken captive, and the minute you had been released from your captivity, you were confronted, once again, with your worst nightmare. There seemed to be no escaping for you. You were hounded by the worst fortune the universe had deemed fit to produce.

You were a minor curse, born of the grudge of the inhabitants of a village that had been wiped out by none other than the King of Curses himself. The dying breaths and resentment of those villagers had accumulated with bitter hatred and you came to be. For reasons, you could not fathom - perhaps because the villagers’ grudge was rooted in righteous human indignance - you maintained a form like that of a mortal woman and had scarcely any powers that you knew of. Mortals could hear you cry, you knew. But that was the extent of your abilities, and you had no desire to spend an eternity haunting hapless humans.

By virtue of your birth, you were compelled to seek Sukuna out, desiring revenge, the force of the villagers’ dark emotions driving you forward. But the minute you had come face to face with him, your resolve had abandoned you. Your cursed energy flickered like the flame of a candle in the midst of a hurricane and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were out of your depth.

You had sought to escape, but he had seen you. Had begged for forgiveness, but he did not know the meaning of the word. You had screamed for mercy, and he had laughed, asking you to repeat the entreaty - but louder. He had shivered in pleasure at the sound. You would never forget it.

But his eyes now were merely aglow in mirth and anticipation - not recognition. There was a chance, however slim, that he had not recognized you. Indeed, despite tormenting you for centuries, much time seemed to have passed since then, and he had never truly held you in any form of regard even when you had been by his side. You were a thing to him, never a person. Something to relieve the boredom. An unbreakable toy - the very best kind. And as with all things unbreakable, he had tested that claim in every way possible.

“My, my…” he drawled, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. “You recognize me?”

And it was those words, more than anything else, that gave you hope. If he did not remember you, perhaps you could escape. Perhaps you could find freedom. Perhaps you could offer him something worth your release.

You did not even attempt to voice an answer - you were having enough difficulty breathing - and were afraid to provoke recognition. Your eyes darted around the area, taking in your surroundings, but there seemed to be nothing but the watery blood pooled on the ground which you were currently on all fours in - the throne of skulls, and surrounding that, a thick mist veiling whatever lay beyond.

You knew from experience that you could not hope to outrun him, but what other option did you have but to try? What could you possibly do to save yourself?

“Not answering?”A voice murmured in your ear again, “Rude.”

You whirled around to face him with a gasp, sure you would find him hovering just over you and fell to the ground with a splash, drenching your clothes in bloody water.

Panting, your eyes searched for him, but were surprised to find that he was nowhere near you, still reclining on his throne with that same bemused smirk.

You collected yourself as best you could, and turned to face him as you lowered your head in humility, bowing low in the hopes that your hair would hide your face from view. Feed into his ego, you told yourself. That was your only hope. Show him how terrified you were, how great you believed him to be - with any luck, he might just eat it up and let you go.

But when had luck ever been on your side? Not once, from the moment you were born.

“Please accept my apologies,” you choked out in a raspy voice, hoarse from disuse. “Where exists the fool who does not recognize the great King of Curses?” You took a deep breath, and cleared your throat, forcing yourself to go on. “My Lord, please forgive my disrespect, this humble servant dared not speak in your presence.”

You spoke in a low voice, hoping to disguise it as much as possible.

“Oh?” there was an echo of ominous amusement in the single syllable that did not bode well for you.

“I meant not to intrude, Great King. Please,” your forehead hovered just above the water as your palms met in front of you, your arms trembled too violently to truly carry your weight. “Please allow me to leave.”

A sinister chuckle fell from his lips. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Please,” you repeated in a tremulous voice, unable to utter anything but the simple word.

He hummed in mirth, your desperate plea little more than a joke to him. “Asking me for mercy, you must not know me as well as you had me believe.”

When you refused to answer, he smirked at your quivering form, “Do you know where you are right now?”

Hesitantly, you slowly raised your head to take in your surroundings again. You’ve never been in a place like this. Was it some kind of innate domain?

A sensation swept over you, little more than a whiff of air, and suddenly your gaze fell on a pair of black Tabi clad feet in Zori sandals. Before you could move, protest, or even think you felt the weight of the rough, thick sole of one of the sandals on the back of your head.

You should have known better than to cry out, after everything you had been through. Your instinct should have told you to hold your breath rather than waste it on a scream and so, you could only curse yourself for a fool when your sharp cry was cut off on the gurgling sound of your face being pressed into the shallow, sanguine water you knelt in. You pressed your mouth shut, panic seizing your limbs as you thrashed and sought to free yourself. The more you struggled, the more weight Sukuna placed on the back of your head, leaning forward now, one forearm draped across his knee as he chuckled at your plight.

“I warned you once already,” he spoke over the splashing sounds of your struggles. “That it is rude not to answer when spoken to.” He watched your desperate flailing with an aloof air.

“Having fun?” He teased, watching your movements slow, your limbs growing still as your consciousness started to fade. “Now, now… giving up already? Don’t be such a poor sport.”

He stepped back, freeing you, but you lacked the strength to lift your head. He tutted in disapproval and, nudging your shoulder with a toe of sandal, flipped you over with enough force to send your body flying several feet.

You coughed and sputtered for air, lifting yourself into a seated position with trembling arms.

It was beginning. He didn’t care what you had to say, or what you felt. He only wanted to amuse himself, and he knew no limits in doing so.

Slow footsteps approached and the very heart in your chest froze over with fear. You clenched your eyes shut like a bird of prey in the face of the most fearsome predator.

He knelt down in front of you, peering into your face and you stared more determinedly at the ground, letting your hair veil your features. “Well,” he sneered. “Don’t be boring.”

You lifted your gaze despite yourself, that phrase could not mean anything good for you.

“Run.”

The command served simultaneously as permission, and you staggered to your feet as you stumbled away from him - seeking distance from the most terrifying being you had ever known. Millennia at his side would not suffice for you to grasp the extent of his depravity, the limits of the lengths he would be willing to go to torment you.

The sound of your footsteps splashing through the water echoed throughout the realm as you raced away from him, hoping, praying that you would be allowed to escape - that you could somehow, just once - live a day away from Sukuna. Just one day where you didn’t need to guard each breath like a dragon guarded his treasure.

You slipped past the thick mist, refusing to allow yourself to feel trepidation in the face of the unknown, running faster and faster until the fog passed by in a blur but you only pushed yourself even harder to escape - each step was a step further away from Sukuna, a step towards security. Although you could not hear him in pursuit, that fact gave you no peace - he could be as silent and sure-footed as a panther when he so desired.

When you felt the mist thin, some small relief tingled in the back of your head. Maybe, by some miracle, he would allow you to escape? Perhaps he was bored of you and your presence. Perhaps he wanted to be on his own. It wasn’t unthinkable, was it? Freedom beckoned.

You crashed into a tall, solid figure and nearly lost your footing. You looked up in horror, to find Sukuna grinning down at you, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, the throne of skulls, and surrounding the two of you - the same crimson water. You raised a hand to your mouth to stifle a sob. This couldn’t be happening.

You forced yourself to your feet and turned on your heel to race back into the mist but this time, you didn’t get far. Sukuna caught you by the hair, jerking your head backwards. You cried out in alarm, but he only smirked in response, pulling your head further back.

“You had your chance, little one, but you ran right back into my arms,” he chuckled. “Guess this is where you want to be, hm?”

You sputtered protests, denials, on a thin, desperate wail, tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face as he jerked your head further back, bringing your gaze to his own.

He seemed taken aback, for a fraction of an instant, as his eyes widened.

“ You .” The single syllable was spoken in accusation, recognition - and surprise.

He released his hold on your hair and stepped back with a laugh. He pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head, amused beyond measure. He waved a hand at you.

“You wanted to run? Go ahead. Run.”

Unable to understand why recognizing you had prompted such an unprecedented act of mercy, you wasted not another moment and dashed back into the mist - only to step back into the clearing moments later. You turned back into the fog again - and again and again, but no matter how many times you ran from the clearing, every path led right back to Sukuna’s side. Each time you stepped back into the clearing, Sukuna smirked at you, waiting patiently.

By the fifth time you stepped into the clearing you pressed your hands to your temples and sank to your knees with a scream. There was no way out.

Sukuna stalked towards you and you made no attempt to evade when he reached out and cupped your chin, lifting your eyes towards his own blood-red irises, a grin on his lips as his eyes traced your features. Sobs trembled from your lips as tears streamed from your eyes, streaking down your cheeks, dripping from his fingers and falling to the scarlet waters below.

“Now, there’s a familiar face,” he crooned. “You sure have some sorry luck. But you’re the one who came to me first, wasn’t it?”

“The village -” you stammered. “It was the villagers - I didn’t - I wouldn’t -”

“ Didn’t, wouldn’t ,” he mocked. “Breathe deep now, nice and slow, let’s hear your pathetic excuses, shall we?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stem the tears, struggling to regulate your breathing, before you mumbled, “The villagers’ resentment sent me, I would have never dared. Sukuna-sama, you know I would never have dared stand before you.”

“Village?” he scraped one long, black fingernail down the side of your face. “What village?”

He didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t. That village he had ruined - only one of many to him, apparently - would scarcely register in his mind.

“Forgive me,” you voiced instead in a hushed whisper. “I did not intend any disrespect.”

“No,” he smirked in agreement, and there was something ruthless and cutting in the expression. “And yet you ended up here again. There has to be something to it, no? Isn’t that what they call ‘fate’?”

It was. That was precisely what they would call it. The cruelest fate there was.

His lips curved further into a sneer, his sharp canines glimmering in the dim light, as his eyes lit up with a diabolical expression. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who betrayed me. The reason I was sealed.”

Horror flooded through you. A Sukuna who wanted to amuse himself with you was terrifying, but a Sukuna who wanted to punish you, to get revenge on you, would be worse than hell itself. You couldn’t allow him to believe it!

“Sukuna-sama!” You clung to his arm, meeting his gaze imploringly. “I would never betray you! Please, I - !” You could make any number of wild claims - you could claim to be loyal to him, you could claim to love him, you could claim to respect him - but only one claim would actually soothe his nerves and please him, that much, at least, you knew.

“I fear you far too much to ever betray you!”

“Is that so?” he drew back, and kicked one of the skulls lying beside him into the air and caught it smoothly in one hand, his long, black nails contrasting against the pale grey of the animal skull. Breaking off one of the animal’s horns, he turned it in his fingers thoughtfully, as if considering it from all angles, before that crimson gaze turned back to pierce right through you.

“Prove it.” He tossed the sharp horn towards you and you caught it unthinkingly.

“Gouge out your eye, and I’ll believe you weren’t the one who sold me out.”

“My - my eye?” You blinked at him, praying he wasn’t serious - but you knew better. He leaned against the tower of skulls and crossed his arms, bored.

You stared at the horn in horror. How could you gouge out your own eye? You felt those familiar tremors afflicting your hand and you reached up with a second hand to better steady yourself.

“Is that too much for you?” He crossed over towards you and trailed one sharp fingernail lazily down your throat, before flitting over your collarbones. His finger slipped between the folds of your robe before resting just above your heart. Sukuna pressed against the skin there and a dribble of blood leaked down your chest as a sharp fingernail broke through the skin.

“Pierce your heart, then. Punish the lying organ and I’ll be satisfied.”

Your lip trembled in horror. Take out your eye, suffer immense pain, and live - or pierce your heart and die?

“Well, what’ll it be?”

You lifted the curved horn in your hand and trailed the pad of your thumb over the ridges of the bone. Testing the tip, you noted with some small relief that it was fairly sharp. Living meant living through more of Sukuna’s torture. Dying was clearly the better option.

You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the horn firmly in your fist, ignoring the way your hand trembled. There were worse things Sukuna could do to you. There were always worse things he could do.

You lifted your hand high into the air and refused to acknowledge the way your entire arm quivered violently. If you lost your nerve, and didn’t pierce deeply enough the first time - would you have to do it again? It was better to have to do it just the once - who knew if you could collect yourself enough for a second attempt?

That meant using all of your strength. Even as you worked through your thoughts, battling your mind’s instinct of self-preservation, your arm remained in the air for what felt like hours as you struggled to build up the nerve to do what he had asked.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” Sukuna yawned, lifting a hand to his mouth. “Or would you rather just confess and accept punishment instead?”

You would not. Whatever he had in store for you, it was surely worse than what you were being ordered to do. Your hand plunged downwards and the tip of the horn pierced through skin and flesh, before being deflected by your bones. You screamed in agony as the horn fell from your grip and blood gushed from your wound.

Your ribs. Your ribs had been in the way. And now you would have to do it all over again.

You pressed both hands to the wound in an attempt to stem the blood as a pained, undying scream pierced through the air, seemingly endlessly. Sukuna winced as he cleared his ear with an index finger as if blocking out the annoying noise.

“Well, don’t give up.” He gestured to the horn poking out of the water. “You almost made it. Come on, you can do it.”

You stared at him in horror, blood still gushing forth between your fingers. Even as your mind obediently worked out how to continue. Now that you knew where your ribs were, it would only be one further attempt, slightly above the bone, and this ordeal would be behind you.

Just one more time.

Once more, and he would see you as a toy again, possibly, but no longer an enemy. Once again. Clenching your teeth against the pain, you reached with trembling fingers for the horn, blood streaming forth more fervently as you bent down.

You did not allow yourself time to think or hesitate, knowing you would lose your nerve if you did. Shutting off your mind, you pierced the horn straight into your own heart and blinding, mind-shattering pain burst through your body. Blood dripped from your lips as you stumbled backwards, lost your footing and collapsed into the water.

There was a buzzing in your ears associated with your fading consciousness as blood gushed out of the wound with every beat of your heart, interrupted only by shrill laughter. Blinking through the blurry haze, you saw Sukuna doubled over with laughter, nearly in hysterics.

“You actually did it! You idiot!” His shoulders shook with mirth, and he wiped a tear from his eye. “Did you seriously think you could ever be important enough to betray me? Do you honestly think anything you could do could result in me being sealed? Are you a simpleton?”

He cackled endlessly, his cold, shrill laughter ringing in your ears as you bled out. “What a fool…” he chuckled, crossing over to you. “What do you think you are? Entertaining illusions of self-importance.”

He was still laughing, even as he reached down to cup your face, squeezing your cheeks and turning your face from side to side. “What an idiot,” he snickered.

You were going so numb, you couldn’t even feel his fingers on your face, and his cruel expression was fading from view. Maybe you were an idiot, but at least now you would finally be dead. Dead and free of him. That wasn’t so bad, you thought to yourself. It was the first and last kindness he had ever done for you.

His face was blurring in and out of your vision, and you were waiting for the moment it would settle to black. The moment you would never have to see his face again, but the blurriness receded and his face reappeared in startling clarity. This was wrong, it was all wrong. Why were you seeing him? Even in death? Was there a hell after all, and had you gone to it?

You slowly grew conscious of Sukuna’s hand on your chest and his cursed energy flooding into you, sealing the wound you had gouged open, closing the flesh you had stabbed apart, healing the organ that refused to let you die.

“No,” you sobbed. “No, no, no, please…” You lifted weary hands to your face and wept miserably, your shoulders shaking. “Please, just let me die.”

Sukuna tutted in response, “Where’s the fun in that? Don’t disappoint me now, you were doing so well.”

You were alive again. Your body healed. Only your mind was still addled by the pain you had forced it through. You blinked up at Sukuna and couldn’t find the strength to bring yourself to move.

He cocked his head to the side as he observed you. “What should I do with you?” His smirk was slow and salacious. “I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.” Another low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

You couldn’t find words to answer him as he tugged at the silk belt holding your robes closed until the layers of fabric loosened and fell apart. His eyes roamed down your chest, over the swell of your breasts, the dip of your navel, he traced one sharp, long fingernail along your ribs. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He muttered, “Have you been keeping yourself for me?”

You didn’t know why the unspoken implication, the assumption that you might have intimately known anyone at all other than Sukuna in the duration of your miserable existence made your skin crawl. You swallowed thickly. “I was sealed,” you stammered in response. “Same as you.”

He snorted at that. “You really do have the worst luck. I almost feel bad for you.”

He trailed a single finger up your breast, grazing past the nipple in a mockery of a caress. “Then again, you could think you were made for me. Born from that stupid village’s grudge. Being sealed away with me and finally waking up, only to come right back to my side. You’re my plaything aren’t you?”

You whimpered in response. Not wanting to confirm his statement and make him even more reluctant to ever release you, but also not wanting to deny it and provoke punishment. “You remember the village?” You asked breathlessly instead, staring numbly up at the gargantuan ribcage spread out as some kind of makeshift ceiling. His earlier behavior had given you the impression he had forgotten entirely. Or maybe it had simply taken him some time to recall when your twisted relationship had begun.

“Of course I do,” he sneered. “I remember everyone I’ve killed. It’s only normal to cling to good memories.”

Your eyes slipped towards him. Was that true? Was that really how he felt? You felt foolish even doubting it. After everything that had happened to you, nothing should surprise you anymore.

You felt a hand close around your throat and lift you up into the air. You were too weak to resist, and not foolish enough to attempt it. You could only watch him from beneath a veil of thick lashes as he tugged your robes from your shoulders, allowing them to fall to the ground and soak up the bloodied water.

You shuddered in his grip. There was nothing you could do but allow him to have his way with you. If you were quiet enough, pliant enough, perhaps there was a chance you could avoid the worst of the pain you knew he liked to inflict.

His gaze was no longer on your tormented expression as you gasped for air, but devouring every inch of flesh exposed to his seeking gaze. It had been centuries since he had last seen you. Before he had been sealed, he had made no bones about taking what he wanted from whoever he wanted, but there had always been something peculiar about you.

Was it the fear in your eyes that never seemed to diminish no matter how many times he took you? Was it the submissive way you gave yourself up to him, hoping for mercy although you should have known him well enough to know that he scoffed at the very idea? Or was it something else entirely? Was it the familiarity? Mortal women could only take so much before the life went out of them. He never returned to them, he wouldn’t have even if that had been an option. Even if there had been something left of their mangled bodies to fuck. Why return to something old and used when there was always new, live prey on the horizon? Dead women didn’t scream, dead women weren’t afraid.

But you.

You never feared him any less, no matter how long he had held you prisoner. Your screams never died out. He could push you farther than he had ever pushed anyone else and not only would you not die, but you would only submit to him ever more determinedly. As if that had ever done you any good before.

Home was a foolish, mortal concept, he could never understand the appeal of, but as his claws traced along your flesh, inadvertently drawing blood wherever he was careless, he had to admit that there was something intoxicating about the return to the familiar. About reclaiming a body that he knew well. A body, he noted with dim satisfaction, that had never known anyone’s touch but his own.

You might be nothing more than a plaything for his amusement, but you were his all the same. He really ought to reward Itadori for so thoroughly alleviating his boredom.

Despite how willing you had been to die only moments earlier, you weakly raised a hand to his forearm, resting it there in a desperate, wordless plea for breath.

He glanced briefly at your tear-filled eyes, your rosy lips parted for air that would not come, and your reddening complexion - before ignoring you entirely and continuing his exploration of your body. Two hands pried his own robes open as a third came up to fondle your breast, pinching the nipple cruelly between his fingers, causing a pained squeak to leave your lips with what little air you could manage.

Your eyes rolled back in your head and Sukuna sighed, “Air is such a ridiculous thing to depend on.” He licked upwards against your nipple and noted how you shuddered in his grip, before going limp. “Hey. Hang on a little longer. Aren’t you supposed to be a curse?”

Curse or no, you were losing consciousness and that would not do. It just wasn’t the same when you weren’t begging him to stop and screaming when he refused to listen. Clawing to get away from him, and shuddering violently when you orgasmed against your will. No, he could not have you unconscious.

Reluctantly, he released your throat and caught you by the waist when you slumped forward, your chin resting on his shoulder despite yourself. It was a mockery of affection. It looked almost romantic, if one did not consider the circumstances.

“Oi,” he chided you. “Isn’t this just cute?”

He trailed a black talon up your spine and you shuddered against him. You knew it was utter stupidity and probably disrespect to lean on him this way, but you were having difficulty collecting yourself. After your near death experience and the oxygen deprivation, your limbs tingled as sensation slowly returned. You only needed to pull yourself together and apologize. That was all. Just as soon as you found the strength to.

But his body was so warm and solid. So firm. When he wasn’t hurting you, you were reminded of the fact that his presence was the only constant you had ever known. Wasn’t he almost like your home at this point? His touch filled you with trepidation, made you tremble violently, made your heart riot fitfully in your chest in fear of the pain that would doubtless follow and yet - for that split second before the pain began… wasn’t there something almost comforting about his touch? You wished there was a way to prolong the interim. The fleeting moment between being deprived of his touch and being impaled by it. That fleeting instant was almost pleasant.

He guided your thighs around his waist and you crossed your legs around him obediently, fearful of what he might do to you if you failed to comply. The memory of being impaled to a wall so he might more easily have his way with you was still fresh in your mind.

His hand dug into your hair and jerked your head brutally backwards, looking down on you through narrowed, mischievous eyes. The other pair of eyes was shut, dormant on his cheekbones. You caught your breath, fearful of what would follow. He had said he wanted to reward you, but there was never a clear distinction between reward and punishment with Sukuna.

“You aren’t going soft on me now, are you? I’m expecting a lot from you.” His low murmur made you shudder involuntarily as his warm breath caressed your face. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just by your ear. “Don’t disappoint me.”

You gasped as you felt something warm and wet against your womanhood, only realizing in that moment that, in the way you were clinging to him, your most intimate area was pushed up against his stomach shamelessly. In horror, you dropped your gaze to find a horizontal slit had opened across his abdomen and that a large tongue, dripping with saliva had appeared and was probing your nether regions, pushing urgently past your lips to explore you thoroughly.

Sukuna observed your reactions with amusement as the tongue prodded harshly against your clit and journeyed up and down in its explorations before poking past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance. You clung more tightly to Sukuna’s neck as the impossibly thick tongue lapped at your inner walls, eager and insistent, thrusting further in than you would have thought possible. With more vehemence than you could remember.

“Surprised?” Sukuna chuckled. “My, aren’t you forgetful.”

You bit your lip to keep from crying out in pleasure as the tongue wriggled its way further inside of you, poking at your cervix. You could not hope to distance yourself from it without falling and you were certain that would provoke Sukuna’s displeasure, so you held onto him desperately and allowed yourself to be molested by his tongue, biting your lip as you held out until it bled.

Sukuna’s hands roamed your body all the while, your lust-dazed mind could barely follow along, barely registering where he touched you as the coil of heat tightened within your body with every insistent thrust of his tongue. Sukuna lifted your chin and licked away the blood collecting on your lower lip. Your irises were blown wide with lust as you clung to his shoulders, and he trailed his thumb over your lip.

“If you hold back your voice,” he chastised in a voice that was both threatening and seductive - like thick, black poison. “I’ll have no choice but to make you scream.” A lone, sharp black fingernail trailed down the nape of your neck, breaking the surface of your skin ever so slightly. A clear warning.

“Sukuna-sama…” you mewled, both in complaint and in surrender.

His hands toyed with your breasts, long nails scraping over your areolae. One hand rolled a pert nipple between his fingers with deceptive gentleness, before pinching it mercilessly, painfully. A mouth had appeared on his other hand and sucked harshly on your breast, not letting up in the slightest until you feared he would break the skin and leave you bleeding. The other two hands squeezed your buttocks as you writhed against him in response to his ministrations. His grip was bruising and cruel, you could feel blood pool and trickle down your skin where his claws had pierced your flesh.

You moaned out his name repeatedly, not daring to fall silent for fear of the consequences it could bring as the tongue within you curled upwards, roughly stroking a spongy patch of flesh within you that made you lightheaded, each movement of the thick, wet muscle straining your inner walls. The heat pulsing through your body intensified by the second, driving you higher and higher until you crashed and fell, his name leaving your lips in a breathless cry. Your inner walls convulsed and spasmed around the tongue still burrowed deep within you.

“Hurrying on ahead on your own, are you?” Sukuna accused, but he didn’t seem displeased. At least, you hoped he wasn’t.

You had not sufficiently descended from your high to be fully conscious of your surroundings, still clinging weakly to Sukuna’s neck when he took hold of your hips and pulled you away from himself, you felt his thick tongue slip out from between your legs and inhaled sharply at the loss of contact. Before you could so much as think, however, Sukuna tossed you bodily backwards, causing you to land roughly on the tower of animal skulls.

You cried out in pain as the many horns poked and pierced you in various places, you couldn’t even number your injuries, so scattered was your mind. Sukuna cocked his head to the side and watched your blood drip out over the pale bones and admired the contrast.

You held still, like a rabbit in the face of a lion, as he stalked closer with all the grace of an experienced predator. “Why is your blood this way?” he mused, watching it streak down your skin in rivulets.

“Pretty.”

You gaped at him. You felt warm and lightheaded at the compliment. It was your blood, you reminded yourself. Not you. Your blood that he found pretty. How out of your mind must you be, to be so foolishly flattered by that statement. But you were. There was no denying it. It dulled the pain, to know he was enjoying the sight.

He let his robes fall to the floor as he approached you further still. Your eyes trailed down his form, before stopping with horror at the girth between his legs. How could you have forgotten that ? He was larger than you, stronger than you, faster than you - you had never had a chance of escaping him in the past. You shuddered as you recalled the first time he had impaled you - no other word did the act justice - you recalled how you had bled, your flesh torn from the intrusion. A similar horror caused you to whimper in fear now, unable to tear your eyes away as he stroked his thick cock confidently, not even his large hands able to completely close around its thickness. Nudging your ankle with the toe of his sandal, he nodded at you. “Spread your legs for me.”

You should have complied. You knew it. It would have made everything easier if he didn’t need to be rough with you. If he didn’t punish you. But the fear of having something so huge shoved between your legs, of tearing you up again the way you had multiple times in the past, you couldn’t help but squirm, squeezing your thighs together as your mouth went dry and your lips parted, seeking words that might invoke mercy.

“Sukuna-sama, please, I…” but you didn’t know what else to say and so you gazed up at him, your eyes filling with tears, as you struggled to speak around the choked sobs threatening to tear free from your throat.

Sukuna smirked, but his eyes flashed dangerously. “Look around you,” he instructed. “What is keeping you from becoming one of them?”

You turned your head to the side obediently, your gaze skimming over countless skulls, some animal, some human, but most of the skulls merely remnants from other curses.

“You amuse me,” Sukuna drawled, towering over you. “That is all you have to your name.”

The implication was clear, that he would not hesitate to tear your head from your body and add your skull to his collection the moment you ceased to be amusing.

You swallowed thickly and forced yourself to separate your trembling thighs. To make yourself available to him. Your hands gripping at anything to better steady yourself, you were horrified to find a smooth skull beneath your seeking palms but held on anyway.

Two hands gripped your inner thighs and shoved them apart roughly, causing you to cry out in surprise and discomfort. With a sneer, Sukuna descended upon you, a third hand closing around your throat and applying controlled pressure. Judging by the fact that you could still breathe, you knew he was holding back, and as you met his ruthlessly gleaming eyes, you understood the game he would be playing. Air would be the reward, and whether or not you were permitted to breathe, would depend on how well you did.

As he applied more pressure to your throat you forced your legs wider, desperate to appear compliant, and the hand on your throat loosened.

“Clever little thing,” Sukuna purred, and the praise swept through your veins like liquid honey.

The last of his free hands found its way between your thighs and you held your breath in fear that one of those sharp claws would tear open your skin. When he toyed with your bundle of nerves, you wanted to scream in terror, knowing how badly he could hurt you with a twitch of his fingers and how little he would think of it. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting him to continue, not wanting him to stop.

Sukuna drank in every one of your expressions greedily. Whether your eyes were unfocused with lust, or wide with terror, each emotion of yours was equally satiating to him. If he was more partial to your fear that did not mean he could not appreciate his own skill in driving you to pleasure despite your open terror.

When his long, thick fingers pushed past your entrance, you sucked in a cold breath. Forgetting yourself, you breathed his name on a reverent exhale that was almost worship. He did not slow, or pause, preparing your body for him with an almost methodic rhythm. But if your eyes hadn’t been squeezed shut in that moment, you would have spied the confusion flitting briefly through his crimson irises. Would have seen the curious way he regarded you.

He positioned himself at your entrance and you felt his member prodding your core. The haze of lust cleared instantly, giving way to blind terror. There was no way he would fit. Regardless of the fact that he had, many times before. Forgetting yourself, cold dread settled in your stomach and you scrambled backwards, trying to inch away from him as you shook your head.

Sukuna’s gaze lifted to yours and his eyes narrowed in displeasure. Two hands gripped your thighs more firmly, as the pressure of a third hand intensified on your neck in a cruel reminder of how fully you were at his mercy. But fear had overcome your mind and you could not talk yourself down.

“No, no, no, no…” you whimpered pitifully. “Please, please don’t - “

Before you could speak another word, Sukuna ruthlessly pulled on your thighs, bringing your entire body towards him and impaling you on his member without warning. A shrill scream echoed through the realm as a painful fullness, the feeling of your walls being forced to stretch wider than should be physically possible overwhelmed your body.

“Stop! Stop, please, I’m going to -”

But there was no stopping, nor had he ever intended to. If anything, your pained cries only spurred him on. You realized suddenly that his hold on your neck had not tightened, and that the only reason for that could be because he enjoyed your screaming, because he liked you begging. That he liked it almost as much as he relished denying you the mercy you wept for.

The realization set you to tears and you held onto his thick wrist as thrust into you, your whole body sinking deeper into the mountain of skulls with each thrust until you feared you would be buried alive.

“Sukuna-sama…” you sobbed, knowing your cries were falling on deaf ears.

He hummed in approval, and ran a hand through his hair as he smirked at you. “Go on, don’t stop. Let it all out.”

And your fears were confirmed. He got off on your screams. He got off on your pain. You had always known it, but your long sleep must have dulled your senses. You wept incessantly, wiping at your tears as he continued pounding into you, for all his efforts, still only halfway there. You were sure he was going to split you in two. Sure you would not survive this. You could feel your lining stretched thin and pulsing against him in protest. This could not end well. As much as you told yourself you had survived this, many times before, you could not help but feel that the stretch was unbearable, unreal - impossible.

Sukuna’s grip on your thighs provided the leverage needed to reach the depth he sought, as he wondered how many more whimpers and confused moans he could tear from you. He wondered if he could make you cry enough to wash the blood from the skulls beneath you. He pulled you in towards himself as he thrust into you again and again and again. Almost there. So close.

As he yanked on your thighs brutally once more, a distinct, sickening popping sound met your ears along with a blinding, searing pain that raced through your hip.

Your eyes shot wide open as a shrill, agonized scream burst from your throat. Even Sukuna paused in his relentless abuse of your core and that fact - more than anything else - terrified you.

Shaking with dread you looked down, only to find your left leg hanging uselessly from your side. You looked up at Sukuna in horror, as if asking him what to do, but he did not meet your eyes, staring curiously at your leg instead. He poked at your leg and it shifted lifelessly at his touch, causing a branding pain to shoot through you anew. You bit your lip and stifled an agonized shriek of pain.

“Sukuna-sama…” you pleaded miserably, sweat beading on your forehead.

He shoved lightly at your leg again, jostling it somewhat harder than the first time and a shriek of pain exploded from you as you pressed a hand to your mouth, groaning in agony.

Now his gaze did lift towards you as a slow smirk spread across his lips.

“P- please,” you begged, your eyes lifted towards his imploringly. “Please, help me.”

“Mmm,” he mused, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he continued where he had left off, although at a slower pace. “One thing at a time, sweetheart.”

Your mind was already fuzzy from the immense, unbearable pain coursing through your body. The term of endearment only addled your senses further. Sweetheart? It was your pain, you assumed. Every new height of pain you endured for his sake, the fonder he seemed to grow of you. You glanced down at your useless leg again. You gritted your teeth. You could take it.

“Hang in there,” he teased, pushing slowly but firmly into you, the movement causing fresh agony to course through you. He hovered over you, bringing his lips close to your ear, he angled his head towards you and took your earlobe gently between his teeth. The touch was so tame and affectionate it sent shivers down your spine. You almost couldn’t believe it was Sukuna’s mouth on your ear. Your earlobe slipped from his teeth as he parted his lips to whisper words of encouragement. “ Ganbare, ganbare. ” He murmured into your ear as he pushed further into your core.

You bit your lip, sweat trailing down your face, and searched his eyes questioningly. The message was clear - take him, take the pain, and he would reward you. He would be proud of you. That alone could be worth it, if he would look at you with pride and admiration, the high of receiving his acknowledgement would be worth it all, wouldn’t it?

You nodded.

His eyes lit up with glee, his grin widening even further, as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. Where would he ever find someone else like you? Willing to take whatever he threw at you? With the sweetest screams he had ever heard, whimpering his name like a kicked puppy? You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without him. It was a good thing you had found your way back to him. This was how it was meant to be. You would be lost out there on your own. Probably get yourself killed in the blink of an eye by some more powerful curses or some fumbling Jujutsu sorcerers. No, the best place for you to be was right by his side.

Sure, he might break you sometimes, but he would always be sure to put you back together again after. Could the same be said for anyone else? Surely not. After all, you were made for him. Everything about your existence revolved around him. Maybe that was why he tolerated your presence, allowed your existence.

He hammered into you with abandon now, two cruel hands all but crushing your breasts in his merciless grip, as a third squeezed your windpipe allowing you only enough air to cry out in agony, as the fourth hand held your right hip in place - some small mercy to minimize the pain in your left leg - as he rammed into you.

You groaned in pain, gritting your teeth and struggling to hold back the pained cries as your walls slowly, finally, began adjusting to him. The searing pain in your leg rattled your senses, but the pleasure now beginning to course through your veins befuddled your mind until you didn’t know what was what. You couldn’t truly tell the pleasure from the pain - both were blindingly intense, both were driving you out of your mind.

Sukuna’s rhythm intensified, faster, harder, more deranged as he seemed to want to pound right through you and you were certain you would lose consciousness from the dizzying combination of terrible sensation as you heard the sickening sound of skulls tumbling from the towering pile and falling to the waters below as he drove you deeper and deeper into the mountain of bone until your view was obscured by the many skulls that had fallen over you - burying you alive, just as you had feared they would.

The fear, the pain, the pleasure of Sukuna within you, the coiling spiral of heat that only intensified with each thrust, the knowledge of how close he was to you. How the King of Curses relished tormenting you, how he tested you, how special you were to him, in your own way, was a dizzying concoction of delirious euphoria that cast you over the edge of ecstasy, despite yourself, just as Sukuna’s pace stuttered, having reached his climax himself, spilling masses of thick, hot liquid deep inside of you. You felt full, sated, on some cloud far removed from the unending pain and the constant threat of death.

You struggled to catch your breath, to orientate yourself, completely forgetting why you could not see. You felt sharp, long fingernails graze past your hip and a jolt of pain passed through you as the bone settled back into place and the surrounding flesh slowly healed, causing your pain to fade into nothingness. Sukuna’s fingers lingered, tracing lazy circles on your hip, sending his cursed energy into your body long after your injury was fully healed.

At length, he drew back, taking hold of your hand and pulling you out of the pile of bone you had found yourself trapped under. You fell against his chest and he stroked your hair behind your ear, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear that were so uncharacteristic you could scarcely believe what you were hearing.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his nails trailing along your scalp, digging through your hair. His lips met your jawline, trailing hot, bruising kisses along your flesh. Your whole body trembled at the affection you were so utterly ill-prepared for, so wholly unaccustomed to. “You’ve been such a good girl, haven’t you?”

You did not know what to think, or what to say. In that moment, escape was the farthest thing from your mind. You wished he would go on holding you that way, stroking your hair, running a hand up and down your back as he whispered praise into your ear that made you want to melt into a puddle.

Leave Sukuna? Never. Why would you want to?

He didn’t stop. His lips found all your weaknesses as he held you up. Two strong arms, supporting your weight while the other two roamed your body, clearly intent on rewarding you, for once, and not seeking his own pleasure. You felt as if you were a guest in your own body, so foreign was the experience. His seeking mouth on your body, leaving dark bruises everywhere it lingered, a second mouth smirking open on the hand he had pressed between your legs. A third hand massaging the nape of your neck.

You were putty in his hands. You had never known that Sukuna was capable of providing such pleasure. You trembled from head to toe as your mind dimly registered a disconcerting thought. What could you possibly do to earn this reward again? What wouldn’t you do to earn this reward again?

He pulled one orgasm after another from you, not waiting for you to come down from the peak of ecstasy before continuing with his ministrations sending you tumbling headfirst into another. It was a different kind of torture, but one you couldn’t bring yourself to resent in the slightest.

When he entered you again, patiently, slowly, allowing you to adjust to him bit by bit, you were stunned to find that Sukuna was even capable of taking you in this fashion. It wasn’t his style, you realized. It was simply a courtesy to you, for having taken the pain so well.

The words good girl rained down repeatedly on your ears until you almost believed them, until you realized that, after this, you would do anything to hear them again.

He took you again and again, until you went limp in his arms, prompting a chuckle from his lips. Something about your complete submission had touched him in an uncharacteristic way. And his desire to reward you, well… Sukuna was one who did as he pleased. And if he wanted to be gentle with you for once, why shouldn’t he? The two of you hadn’t seen each other in quite some time, but now that he thought about it, it was a good thing you had been released into his Domain. You belonged with him, clearly. His unbreakable toy. His good girl.

Slowly but surely, he was coming back to his full strength, and when he broke out of here, he would keep you by his side. He wouldn’t limit himself to you, goodness no, but he would keep the others away from you, and allow you to be close to him, the way he did not allow anyone else to be. Because you would go to lengths for him that others would balk at. And who would he be if he did not reward such loyalty?

He stroked your cheek with one long, sharp black finger as he observed your sleeping features with an aloof, thoughtful expression. There was something about you he couldn’t place. A sensation you awakened within him that he did not recognize. He wondered, briefly, if it posed a danger to him, before shaking his head and deciding no, someone as weak as you could never be dangerous for him.

It never occurred to him that he had missed you.

When you awoke at last, Sukuna was once again draped in that white robe, a black shawl wrapped around his neck. He leaned back in his throne, his chin resting against the knuckles of his right hand. You were draped across his lap, fully naked, as his left hand toyed with your hair. He did not seem to acknowledge or even notice your presence as he argued with someone you could not see.

The low, dangerous hum of his voice as he spoke deadly threats you knew he had every intention of carrying out, sent a shudder down your spine, drawing his attention.

His eyes shifted towards you, even as he continued curling a lock of your hair around his index finger and spoke with someone beyond this realm, someone you did not know.

“Don’t waste my time, brat. Why should I help you?”

He was not speaking to you, even though his narrowed eyes were drinking you in. You heard a plea in response, an agonized cry for help, that the person beyond had friends who were dying, that innocent people would be doomed if Sukuna refused his aid.

Sukuna’s eyes caressed every exposed inch of flesh before muttering a gruff response.

“People that weak deserve to die. And if you’re too weak to protect them, then you deserve to watch it happen.”

Sukuna traced a finger across your collarbones and down the valley of your breasts as he spoke. You could feel your heart racing in your chest at his touch.

“I’m busy, brat.” He barked, cutting off the connection. Sukuna turned his attention towards you, and you felt you were surely burning alive under his gaze.

But the boy’s voice returned, echoing throughout the domain. Sukuna growled in his throat in displeasure and you could not help but be concerned for the boy’s fate. He cast you one last, lingering look that seemed to indicate that you should wait for him, that he would return shortly, that he was far from done with you.

You nodded in understanding, and when you felt him slip away, you remained motionless on his throne, eagerly awaiting the moment he would reappear and find you, just as he had left you. Absolutely faithful to the letter and spirit of his command. Waiting to amuse him, to entertain him, to be the very plaything he had claimed you were. Ever faithfully by his side.

After all, where else would you go?

[galacticidiots]

I love your rec lists! I was wondering what are your all-time fave books (all genres)?

Oof, that’s always hard to answer. There are so many books that are so incredibly special to me. I’ll give it a try!

Pride & Prejudice, Persuasion, Emma, and every other Jane Austen novel basically raised me and turned me into the hopeless romantic with a vicious cynical streak that I am today.

Sally Rooney is quite possibly my favourite modern published writer. I hate her characters. I love her characters. I am her characters. It’s a very strange feeling. Normal People, Conversations With Friends and Beautiful Word, Where Are You are all books I’ve read several times and every time I experience the entire range entire range of human emotion.

This is How You Lose the Time War is perhaps one of the most magical reading experiences I’ve ever had. I had no idea words could do that.

The Song of Achilles crushed me in the most wonderful, devastating way. Madeline Miller knows how to break your heart.

The Illuminae Files I love for the writing style, for how unique it is, and for how much it made me feel. It’s a really exciting story but it never loses its heart.

I love dark academia, so The Secret History and If We Were Villains are some of my most treasured books. Recently, I read Lesson in Vengeance, which I also really loved. They Never Learn is a recent fave!

The Folk of the Air series, because Cardan and Jude are the idiot enemies to clueless lovers blueprint, and I could not possibly love them more.

Throne of Glass, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, The Wrath & the Dawn, Angelfall are all fantasies I loved once upon a time.

I absolutely adore Emily Henry’s romances. You and Me on Vacation and Beach Read were some of my favourite reads last year.

The Addicted series is, pardon the pun, totally addictive.

The Girls I’ve Been was one of my favourite thrillers from last year. It’s glorious and I’ve been obsessed with those girlies ever since.

The Midnight Lie was a real treat, and I won’t soon forget some of the beautiful words exchanged between the two leads.

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street and The Lost Future of Pepperharrow hold a very dear place in my heart. Similar to those — in terms of vibes, at least — The Binding was also incredible.

The Night Circus, I come back to it again and again.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower essentially saved my life when I was a teenager struggling with… surviving, basically.

But I feel like some of my absolute favourite stories aren’t traditionally published novels at all, and I would be remiss to leave them out.

The Fallout, Breath Mints/Battle Scars, Manacled, Landscape With a Blur of Conquerors, In Bloom, Chasing Ghosts, Nightmare, Ends of the Earth, Love And Other Historical Accidents, The Right Thing To Do, Growth, Embers, The Way To Tomorrow — these all shaped me, touched me deeply, left a huge mark, more than most books. This particular list would be endless but I feel like it’s way more personal than the book version, for so many reasons.

I hope hidden among these you find your next favourite read 🤍

[luxaofhesperides]

aggressive confession

900 words of kdj running from affection and yjh using his love as a weapon lmao. college au fluff where they get together. also on ao3.

. . .

He’s had enough. 

Yoo Joonghyuk can handle a lot, but this is pushing him past the limit. This being, of course, Kim Dokja and his absolute refusal to admit that there is any romantic tension between them because he doesn’t want to admit that he experiences Human Emotions.

No more flirting. No more dropping hints. Yoo Joonghyuk has no choice but to be as direct as possible about this. 

“Kim Dokja,” he says, “I am in love with you.”

“Haha, what?” Kim Dokja replies, already preparing to run away. “Did you hit your head?”

“I did not.”

“Then I must be hearing things. Anyways, I’ll see you later!”

And then he’s gone, swinging his backpack over one shoulder and speedwalking away so he doesn’t look like he’s escaping, just in a rush. Yoo Joonghyuk knows Kim Dokja’s doesn’t have class for another half hour. 

Unfortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk’s own class starts in ten minutes, so he can’t hunt down Kim Dokja and shake some sense and affection into him.

(Just for the record, Yoo Joonghyuk does not pay attention in class at all and instead spends the entire hour thinking up ways to get Kim Dokja to acknowledge his feelings. It’s fine, he’s reviewed this chapter beforehand anyways.)

The next attempts is when they meet up for lunch. This is a twice a week routine they’ve had since the semester started, and Yoo Joonghyuk knows Kim Dokja won’t avoid him if seeing him comes with the promise of food. 

Sure enough, Kim Dokja is waiting for him on a bench outside the building where Yoo Joonghyuk had his last (and only) class of the day. 

“I’m in the mood for dumplings,” he announces once Yoo Joonghyuk is within hearing range. 

“I could make you dumplings whenever you want,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, picking up Kim Dokja’s bag to carry it for him. “I’ll make you anything you want because I love you and want you to eat well.”

“Man, I’m so hungry I couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of my stomach growling,” Kim Dokja says with a smile. Then he takes his bag back from Yoo Joonghyuk and starts walking away. 

He doesn’t understand why Kim Dokja won’t just let them date already when they’ve already made out four times when they were supposed to be studying. What else does he need to do? 

More, apparently.

He doesn’t get a chance to pay for Kim Dokja’s dumplings, because the bastard had his card out of his wallet and ready to go the moment they stepped into the restaurant. This doesn’t stop Yoo Joonghyuk from buying Kim Dokja’s favorite bubble tea drink along with his own lunch, which Kim Dokja can’t even complain about because it is his favorite and he’s getting it for free. 

Kim Dokja barely thanks him for it, looking a little troubled as he eats his dumplings, but he lets Yoo Joonghyuk hook their ankles together under the table, so he doesn’t think too much of it. 

“Hey,” he says once they’re finished eating and just sit in the restaurant, finishing their drinks, “Why do you keep saying you love me today?”

What kind of question is that? Is he not being obvious enough?

“I’m saying it because I love you.”

Kim Dokja, insufferable fool that he is, still looks confused.

Yoo Joonghyuk sighs and gets up. At this, Kim Dokja startles a little, and reaches out to grab Yoo Joonghyuk’s wrist. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

“...To throw our trash away?”

Kim Dokja quickly lets go of his wrist. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

He’s acting strangely, but Kim Dokja is always acting strangely, so Yoo Joonghyuk puts it out of his mind and goes to throw their trash away. When he gets back to their table, Kim Dokja is already holding both their bags, ready to go. Yoo Joonghyuk takes his, then grabs Kim Dokja’s hand and walks them out of the restaurant.

“Um?”

“Do you have a problem with me holding your hand?”

Kim Dokja wiggles his fingers. “Yeah, you’re squeezing a little too hard. Let me just…” He pulls his hand free, then slides his palm against Yoo Joonghyuk’s and laces their fingers together. “That’s how you hold hands with someone.” He doesn’t meet Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes as he says this, his cheeks an endearing pink. 

He really does love Kim Dokja.

“Are you free this weekend?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to the beach.”

Kim Dokja frowns and squeezes his hand tightly for second. “But I’m poor, I don’t have the money to just go out of Seoul for a weekend trip.”

“It’s called a fucking date, I pay for you,” Yoo Joonghyuk snaps. 

“Oh!”

Yeah, oh. Kim Dokja shouldn’t sound as cute as he does saying that. He gives Yoo Joonghyuk genuine cute aggression. 

“Quit worrying about things,” he says, “We’ve practically been dating for months. This is just making it official. Unless you don’t want to?”

“I want to! I want to. Shut up. You know I’ve never do this before.”

“I don’t mind,” Yoo Joonghyuk smiles. He leans in closer to Kim Dokja, ducking down to speak softly into his ear, “I wouldn’t mind taking more of your first.”

Kim Dokja hits his stomach, blushing. “Shut it, you’re the worst.” But he’s smiling as he says it, so Yoo Joonghyuk takes it as a victory and starts planning their weekend date.

It’s going to be their first proper, official date. He has to make it good.

Otherwise Kim Dokja might think they’re just making out on the beach as two good friends do. 

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (3) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3.8k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | eventual smut, nightmares

Dark and suffocating. Every corner had entities reaching to restrain you. You were panicked, running down unknown streets despite lead-heavy legs— despite not being able to scream. Like a thick syrup, the stress crept into your chest, filling your lungs as your eyes darted back and forth looking for an answer, a way out.

This warped reconstruction of memories and experiences with sinister manifestations was never ending. A second weighed on you like a century; trapped in the box of dreams conjured by your mind.

The Sea of Clouds was nothing more than a desolate wasteland. Buildings you'd known for years looked unsettling with details that were a little off— stairs that led to nowhere, the shadowy forms that lurked in the deepest corners of your peripheral vision… This was the inescapable circumstance of the environment your mind constructed. Like a labyrinth of the mind that left a sense of impending peril. Though there wasn’t a soul that could be found in any of the deepest recesses of the harbor, there was an ever-present feeling of being followed— watched.

Something was after you. Down deserted streets and abandoned alleyways the ambiguous figures followed you. By the ominous presence of a colorless sky above the harbor, you knew anything encountered here would not seek to be well-intentioned. And still knowing this was nothing but a nightmare, there was always something that filled you with paralyzing trepidation at finding out what fate awaited you if the evil entities consumed you.

Fear of the unknown.

It was always like this. Yet you could never stop the suffocating dread that enveloped your form and drove you forward as adrenaline fueled your heavy limbs.

With legs fighting to continue forward, you take a sharp turn to increase the distance between yourself and the malevolent figures inching closer.

‘I’m scared.’ But your thoughts echoed helplessly around you.

The entities dripped with malice, pouring out of cracks in the buildings and trudging through the stone paths. No longer holding a cohesive form, they began to merge and fight to walk over each other to reach the nightmare’s victim.

You tightly squeezed your eyes shut, body seized with recoiling anxiety. But nothing came. Instead, there was a gentle hand that placed itself on your shoulder.

‘I’m here,’ Xiao’s voice reassured. He pulled you towards him, delicately holding you in a protective embrace. There was an immediate shift in the air around you. ‘I won’t allow them to hurt you anymore.’

Behind him, you could begin to see the harbor chip away into ashen particles that glowed wispily. The dark entities seemed to melt away, seeping into the cracks and grooves of the cobblestone like a murky syrup.

Your body became light and airy in his hold, and you wanted nothing more than to stay in his safety for all eternity. Now more at ease, you slowly raised your clouded gaze to meet his golden irises, firm and reassuring.

‘May this nightmare release you from its hold.’

Tenderly, Xiao pressed his lips to your forehead and the crumbling mind-space around you was forgotten. It was as if the nightmare was unraveled and recondensed within the palm of his hand, and left you feeling like a wave of drowsiness settled in to fill it’s absence. Everything went blank, feeling like you succumbed to another slumber within your slumber.

Euphoric and warm. Finally, peace found you for a restful sleep.

—

Distant hums of mourning doves and the tranquil drips of raindrops playing melodies on puddle surfaces greeted Qingce Village as morning settled in. The sky was grey yet maintained bright as the sun still managed to break through much of the condensed clouds. The sluggish morning greeted you with a breath of ease.

With a stretch and a yawn, you peered one eye open. Across the room, you spotted Xiao seated against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as his head slowly nodded off to the side. He was dozing off, if not already asleep. Had he stayed the whole night? You clutched the warm blankets a little tighter around your cozied-up form, eyes fluttering shut to try and recall your dream.

...Nothing.

No matter how much you tried to recall anything, even the vague feeling of the dream, ultimately you were left empty-handed. Though it wouldn’t be the first time that you woke up being unable to recall a dream, this time felt deliberate. There was a distinct feeling lingering in the back of your mind you couldn’t quite describe. You could only imagine that it meant the nightmare was eaten as Xiao mentioned.

You glanced back over at the dozed off yaksha, his face peaceful and loose stands endearingly strewn about his face. When he had first mentioned dream eating a few nights ago, you got the feeling he was a little reluctant to do so. Despite his usual calm, aloof demeanor, there was some body language you learned to pick up on. Xiao is never one to lie to you, as he is curt and blunt in his own polite way, so you could only hope he wasn’t putting himself in danger with this.

You force the spiral of thoughts away before it festers any longer. No use getting in your head about it. It would only worry you sick if you kept deliberating. And much like Xiao is straightforward, perhaps you, too, should just ask him about it. You’d think about it.

With quiet movements so as to not disturb the sleeping adeptus, you waddled over draped in warm covers to put around him.

‘He looks really tuckered out,’ you noted, brows furrowing ever so slightly with momentary worry.

The moment you crouched down to brush a strand of hair out of his face, his hand quickly shot out to grab your wrist. His golden eyes opened frantically, narrowing momentarily at the sudden disturbance only to be met with your startled whimper and remorseful expression.

“I–I’m sorry to scare you awake!” you apologized hurriedly. Upon seeing it was only you and not an enemy, his expression returned to a more neutral state as he released his deafening grip on your wrist. “I thought you might be cold sitting on the floor so… I…”

Xiao wordlessly eyed the large blanket that practically swallowed your entire form and trailed behind you. It made you look so tiny in comparison.

He eyed the way your fingers absentmindedly massaged where he gripped with a little too much force. Concern settled in, and his gloved fingers gently reached out to check the tender flesh.

“Your wrist— did I injure you?” His eyes searched your face intently for any hint of pain or discomfort.

It only tingled, the prior pressure lingering and slowly subsiding. You shook your head, gingerly draping half of the blanket over him and huddling up next to him. He didn’t protest the gesture, the gentleness of your actions becoming something Xiao’s grown fond of.

You offered him a reassuring smile. “No, I’m okay. I startled you pretty badly… Were you having a bad dream?”

He hummed, pensive as he leaned his head back to thump softly against the wall. “Adepti don’t dream. When a mortal dream is consumed, it lingers in fragments that soon disappear not long after. I can only briefly be part of that dream as a means to get rid of it, so it’s as close to dreaming as I can experience.”

Perhaps dreams were akin to adeptal realms, and he left such inferences at that. His only goal was to rid you of the nightmares that resurfaced as of late.

“I see...” You contemplated, both perplexed and enthralled by this ability Xiao had proven to possess. And though you didn’t actually witness it, the inability to remember last night’s dream was proof enough that it worked. “So, does that mean you got rid of one of my nightmares?”

“Yes. It’s fragments are mostly gone.”

With a looming sense of guilt, you asked, “Are they scary? The nightmares, I mean.”

“No,” he responded without second thought. Considering his past— the likes of which you were still vastly unfamiliar with— any nightmares he had consumed were few and far in between. “Nightmares are conjured by the mortal mind as visual human fears. Often adepti will not be able to experience this except for myself through dreams I consume, but I’m not afraid of what I encounter. No matter what I see, I know it’s only an illusion. The feeling of the dream only lingers similar to the taste of food.”

You felt like a curious child; asking too many questions about something that piqued your interest. Still, Xiao entertained you all the same, answering your questions about dream eating with all the patience in the world. It made for a nice morning chat on such a drowsy day made to be spent huddled under warm covers.

The sparkling glint your eyes held as you hung on every word, or the way your soft, pink lips parted slightly with a silent gasp as he elaborated— it never tired him. It made his chest ache sweetly with that recurring feeling. Perhaps if his range of emotions were similar to yours, he would be smiling like he biggest love-struck fool right now.

“So, think about it, okay?” You finished with a beaming grin.

Oh. You had been talking. How long had he been distracted? He can’t even remember the last thing you said, too busy sorting out his mind. The adeptus could only blink confusedly at you as you stood up, hands on your hips lacking admonishment with the amused smile that quirked the edges of your lips up.

Rare was the moment you would catch the highly-attentive Conqueror of Demons off guard. Though his face remained neutral, you didn’t miss the momentary bewilderment in his eyes when he wasn’t sure how to respond. You took that as cue that his mind had momentarily drifted elsewhere.

“I said I wanted to repay you for helping me with the nightmare issue, but you seemed distracted. Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” you jokingly teased as you waved your hand in front of his face.

Xiao averted his gaze, lightly scoffing, “Don’t be absurd. Adepti have no need for sleep. And payment isn’t necessary— I did this because I wanted to.”

There are many things you know about Xiao, and perhaps twice as many more things you had yet to learn about him. Your knowledge was already far surpassing what most mortals knew of him, but your advantage lay within the boundaries of a more personal relationship with an adeptus— a true rarity indeed. However, the subtle shade of scarlet twinging his ears as he hid his composed facade behind dark teal hair… there was no doubting it, much to his unvoiced chagrin.

Ah, you noted, so he’s embarrassed.

A relationship, unclearly defined by little gestures and subtlety in words that were mere whispers of deeper pining. There were complex feelings at hand, but the universe would show kindness and move for you both at the pace needed to meet each other halfway. Not rushed, but never stagnant. It was achingly slow and sweet to share moments of vulnerability among each other, here within walls that weren’t privy to prying eyes. And it was moments like this that fell into a rhythm— a wavelength— that seemed to pull an invisible string connecting you both together.

You didn’t tease him for the embarrassed pinks on his cheek, and for that he was grateful.

“Still, I want to do something for you.” You stopped him before he could protest, turning at the door frame of your washroom. “I’m doing this because I want to. It can be anything you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

With that, the door clicked shut and he was left with his lips parted in quiet bewilderment. Distant sounds of running water filled the deafening silence as he sat back with a deep sigh. Adepti are the ones relied on for favors and wishes. How strange— to have a mortal so readily offer to fulfil an adeptus’s curiosities with your limited capabilities. To bring him happiness… Something he didn’t see any benefit in, nor did he think he was capable of feeling happiness.

Xiao thought deeper into it, analyzing what exactly it was that filled him with a strange unease. Something that made him happy…

Happiness. He scoffed at himself at the mere thought. He was made to kill, to defend the land by any means necessary. His happiness… It was never a factor in his contract. It played no greater role in how swiftly he cut down blighted monsters. Happiness was not the weapon he relied on in the face of evil he vanquished. So, why was he giving himself a headache trying to figure out what made him feel happiness? An emotion he wasn’t very familiar with to begin with.

Here you were, showing— what? Mortal arrogance? No. His perceptiveness as an adepti was far too knowing, and perhaps the truth was what puzzled him more. What you showed him was genuine kindness, and perhaps a shred of naivete you clung onto.

He found himself warm with amusement when he thought about it— about how you treated him like you would any human. Where most would tremble at the sight of him or treat him with the reverent idolization that mortals do, you were instead treating him like one would a close friend. And maybe, if it were anyone else, he would see it as blatant disrespect. But if it’s you— since it’s you, he oddly sees no reason to raise a fuss about it despite himself.

It was a nice change of pace to feel at ease around you. A lighthearted reverie of mundane human life, and a moment of freedom from the heartache that burdened him as an adeptus.

Languidly, he scanned the room with unfocused amber eyes, your distant hums echoing in a muffled melody from beyond the other room. The glaze lilies from the other night had been moved to the desk by a window, the closed buds subtly glowing as they picked up on muffled hums of wordless songs and opened up shyly to your song.

Much like it’s difficult to find the right harmony favored by the delicate flower, Xiao wondered what made you bloom… and decided he would find happiness in figuring out your melody.

——

You blinked, mouth wordlessly opening and closing just the same. The words even made you fumble with your needle as you were stitching some intricate embroidery.

Finally gaining some composure, you cleared your throat but still ended up stuttering out, “W–Wait, I– Um– Could you…run that by me again?”

He had returned later that same day, when the moon was high in the sky and fireflies illuminated the still fields of Qingce with their soft glow. Seated patiently across from you, Xiao held your gaze firmly with arms folded across his chest.

“I’d like for you to enlighten me more about mortal emotions. If I want to get to know you better, I can’t avoid being a bit more knowledgeable about them.”

The way he held your gaze firmly and with undeniable resolve meant he truly deliberated this for a while, though you hadn’t expected him to actually come forward so quickly. Truth be told, you expected him to take on an adeptus stance and simply pay you no mind.

With a softer voice, he added, “Consider it the one thing you can do for me. I want to… understand you. Fully.”

“A–Ah, I see. Okay, so I did hear you right the first time.” You were already starting to put away your materials. Better to avoid any mistakes while your mind was taking a second to refocus. “Well, it’s… it’s a bit of a broad topic, and I’m no Sumeru professor. But, I’ll still give it my best.”

Dealing with a battle-hardened warrior in an area they were unsure of was a little intimidating. But, you’ve seen moments where Xiao has shown you a gentler side, one more tender and soft. It gave you hope that things would come naturally to him over time. More than anything, your heart was taking the heat of the nerves. There was just… so much and yet so little to emotions— taken for granted when they were embedded into you without much second thought. It was a little dizzying to figure out how to best help him comprehend things he hasn’t experienced much.

You shook your spiraling thoughts away before they over-complicated themselves and made you short-circuit. “So, uhm, are there any specific emotions you don’t fully comprehend?”

Xiao hummed, eyes closed and brows slightly scrunched as he racked his brain. In the end he came up empty. “I’m not sure. I’ll leave it up to you.”

With a slow nod, you pieced together possible ways to go about this. For the span of time you knew him, Xiao always expressed his puzzlement with how humans worked— not out of disdain, but rather voicing his disconnect with them. To hear him want to finally break the surface rather than choose his usual path of avoidance, was surprising to you in every way.

Still, humans are social creatures by nature and such interactions are what sparks the reactive emotions as a result. You were positive his curiosity didn’t warrant the desire to be put head first in a sea of emotional enigmas. He wasn’t a ‘people person’— something you knew all too well. This desire to learn was something Xiao allowed himself to entrust you with. You and you only.

“I have no desire to figure out how every mortal works,” he explained, hoping it would help narrow down your jumbled thoughts. His voice lowered just a fraction— volume just above a whisper meant for you alone to hear. “Understanding you alone is enough for me to work with. Don’t overthink it.”

There was an undeniable heat that twinged your cheeks. Xiao was looking to unravel your feelings for him without even knowing it. But there was a slight excitement you felt at the idea of the dense yaksha in front of you figuring out what the ties that wound you both together meant. There was plenty to explore.

“Alright, well,” you started, “What I think you need is just… experience. On a human level. Maybe then some things will click easier.”

He felt the warmth of your hand as you sidled over next to him, hand reassuringly placed over his gloved one. Xiao nodded slowly, a little apprehensive at the prospect of needing to adjust his perspective.

You cleared your throat, anxious to be prying more into his personal being. “So, what makes you happy, Xiao?”

There was a brief pause, the gears visibly turning in his head as his brows knit together. He was left staring blankly at you. “Could you… explain?”

“Oh, right… Sorry,” you apologized. “It’s whatever makes you feel… uhm, pleasant. Like a warm, sunny feeling in your entire being. Sometimes it makes you smile or laugh, but in the end always leaves you feeling satisfied for a fleeting moment and then everything doesn’t seem so bad— no matter how much you’ve endured. It makes things worth the effort.”

“I see,” he nodded slowly. “What makes you happy?”

Avoiding the question— though it’s not like you expected him to answer easily. Some examples would probably help him understand best and you reasoned this would be a very hands-on learning experience for him in the end, anyway.

“Me? Hm…” You pondered it a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with the adepti amulet he gifted you. “Sitting under the stars. It’s one of my favorite moments of peace under the calm of the dark sky… The world around us shifts every moment that passes, but it’s a comfort that the stars remain a constant when I look up for hope to get me through another day.”

There was a distant look in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed by Xiao. However, something about the delicacy of the moment told him now wasn’t the moment to prod into the heaviness that weighed on your heart. There was a reason you were still here, much like him— your will to go on became your greatest strength. You visibly snapped out of your musings, a rosy hue high on your cheekbones.

“Sorry for… that— Where was I? Oh, right. It’s not too hard to find something that makes you happy if it’s something you like doing. Reading books, the people I love and care about, the colors of the sky as the sun sets— all of these make me happy, too.”

The subtle embarrassment that tensed your shoulders at first was subsiding, settling into comfortable conversation. Maybe it’s the attentive way Xiao sat with his face propped on his fist, expression relaxed as he took in every little detail you gave— it was hard to feel flustered for long.

He leaned back against the wall, his arms folding over his chest as he exhaled from the effort it took to think long and hard about what sparked some form of happiness in him.

“And if I were to say that what brings me happiness is you,” Xiao starts, his amber eyes glowing subtly as they focused on you, “what would be your response?”

There would be many ways you could respond, but the instant the words registered in your head you were suddenly at a loss for words.

“T–That would depend… on what you consider me,” you stuttered out, voice slowly growing meeker under his burning gaze. The moment of silence as he hummed in thought felt like it lasted an eternity, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“I consider you my person.”

Your plush lips were left parted in quiet awe, eyes glittering like the sky you so dearly loved as they visibly widened. Any words you were going to stumble over were cut off when soft lips pressed at your cheek. The tender revelation didn’t need words, as Xiao was a man of communicating best through actions. Both mortal and immortal sat in the stillness of the room with matching rosy cheeks adorning their features.

“You…” The heat in your face seemed to match the intensity of the ache in your chest. “Kissing me so freely… You want my heart to stop, don’t you.” But you were smiling as you buried your face into his shoulder to hide the increasing redness on your cheeks.

Xiao shrugged, “You do it all the time.”

...Screw it.

Any other lighthearted remark he was about to say was cut off by your lips silencing him in a rushed kiss. It was hasty and sweet, your eyes tightly shut as you chose to respond in actions like he did. Golden irises widened briefly before fluttering shut, letting the feeling lead.

It was warm— the feeling in his chest, the shy innocence reddening his face, the gloved hand that settled on top of yours as it tenderly cupped one of his cheeks. Here before him you bloomed so beautifully that it made his heart ache and his mind go blank momentarily. Yes, he was positively sure of it now.

You made him happy.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Regarding: Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness

I’ve been having an ongoing discussion with mutuals, and I’ve put this opinion out there in posts previously, but in light of the incredible content that has already aired in Loki on Disney+, I feel the overwhelming need to go on record now.

The thought and care put into the crafting of the first episode shows some of the best that Marvel/Disney is capable of, especially when working with an Actor of Tom Hiddleston’s caliber. 

This is no slight against any other Actor in the MCU cadre. But since Doctor Strange/IW/Endgame I’ve been craving the same sort of loving care and attention given to Stephen Strange and his story, which is so rife with loss and pain, fertile ground for the sort of PTSD that he would battle quietly without asking for any help from anyone. 

Namely, because he believes that 1) his needs are the last needs in the multiverse that deserve addressing, and 2) he still feels like he has a lifetime of penance to do for the man he was before he found his true purpose, exacerbated now by the tremendous guilt he carries about having to sacrifice Tony--not only a true servant of mankind, but a loving father and husband--in order to save the Universe. 

We all know (at least those of us who love Stephen Strange, in both his onscreen and comic book incarnations) that he would have been absolutely willing to be that sacrifice himself. To die so no one else would have to, in order to defeat Thanos. That’s one of the key reasons it took him exploring 14+ million timelines to conclude there was only one wherein humanity won the war. 

This is such an essential part of his nature, and you can bet your sweet bippy that that is one of the things that drew Benedict Cumberbatch to the role. A flawed, all-too human man who grows from his pain and experience into a Hero---a Hero that doesn’t even recognize that about himself. Strange’s story arc, and the astonishing range of experiences and emotions that are part of his journey, are some of the finest meat that any Actor worth his name would chomp at the bit to dig into.

Remember please, that Marvel allowed Benedict to read the whole IW script (I’m guessing Endgame too, for the complete picture) when most/all of the other Actors did not have that opportunity---so they at least understood that his method of working required him to understand the character’s motivations in full. This is testament to both the character and the Actor, imho. Which, to me, means they have no bloody excuse to underserve Stephen Strange (and the Actor who brings him to life) in a film that is SUPPOSED TO BE HIS SEQUEL. But with most of what I’ve read online, all the hype about the numerous cameos by dozens of other MCU characters...all the gushing that has been done about the powers of The Scarlet Witch and, as I’m guessing, we’re gonna see about Loki Odinson going forward in his series...I fear mightily that Stephen’s story is going to be secondary to all the glitter and hype of everyone else. One mutual in particular urges me not to give up hope---but I can’t help myself. I love Stephen so desperately that it hurts to think of the neglect I foresee coming, if I judge well by Marvel/Disney’s storied history.

I hope like hell to be pleasantly gobsmacked to find I have been worrying and railing about this for nothing. But only time will tell, after all, and the delay that came before covid even happened always made me feel like Strange was a secondary character to Marvel, not flashy enough to be their box office juggernaut. I gonna swear right here, right now, that if my Hero doesn’t just get the justice he (and the Actor playing him) deserve, I’ll be done with the entire Marvel franchise. You can take that to the bank.

Marvel/Disney- please, please, please prove me wrong.

[pan-fangirl-345]

In Every Universe, Forever and Always

Summary: You and Hinata have a very long history together. Across worlds, universes, and timelines, love always finds a way.

Or: A reincarnation/ soulmate AU with Hinata Shouyo and different times you have met and fallen in love.

A/N: I have no idea where the idea for this came from, but I'm now down to only five drafts and WIP, so stay tuned my lovelies!

TW: Murder, blood, bullying, fighting, violence, one (1) implied question about rape (none occurs), swearing, and no proofreading. If I missed anything, let me know!

The first time you had met Hinata Shouyo, neither of you had had names. You had been drifting presences, with no corporeal forms. It was hard to explain how it felt, what it was like. It was being everywhere, but belonging nowhere. It was being able to sense everything, but not touch it. Like someone breathing down the back of your neck but no one standing behind you.

He was a bright light, something that forced away the darkness. He had drifted from galaxy to galaxy, from blank space to blank space, spreading his light, even if some lasted longer than others.

Later, he told you that he wasn't sure what he was searching for, or if he had been searching for anything, but he had secretly hoped that he was searching for you.

He had been alone for his entire existence, but as he drifted, he found you.

You were a softer light than his, not as bright, and not nearly as warm, but you were there, and after such a long time of being alone, it was a great relief to know that he wasn't alone anymore.

He had slowly fallen in love with you, even if there hadn't been a term for it at the time, and you had fallen for him too.

But all too suddenly, there was another being, but it was something much darker than you and Hinata, it swallowed light and destroyed warmth. It was malevolent brutality compared to the kind gentleness that you and Hinata radiated.

You and Hinata had fled from the new being, trying to rekindle the lights that the being had extinguished, but it was no use.

Eventually, it caught up with you.

Instead of surrendering peacefully, you and Hinata fought together, trying to keep it at bay, but your light wasn't as strong as Hinata's, and you fell to the being before Hinata could reach you.

Overcome by grief at your loss, Hinata used everything he had in him to destroy the being, casting his light as far in every direction as possible, using every emotion in his arsenal.

Neither of you remembered whether you had defeated the being or not.

The next time you both remember having met, you were gods.

Hinata was once again a bright light, the humans worshipped him as the sun god, and he was indeed worthy of the title.

You, on the other hand, were the goddess of violent deaths. Humans feared your wrath, and the other gods isolated you because of the humans fear. You were the patron goddess of assassins, murderers, thieves, and sometimes considered the goddess of revenge as well.

Feared in the human realms and despised among the other heavenly beings, you fled into the sky.

You saw the galaxies the humans were ignorant to, you turned away from the worlds with intelligent life for fear of being called upon, and you slowly realized that you could create, as well as destroy.

Every time you accidentally ended the life of a star, you created something else. Sometimes it was a hole that sucked in everything, and even you had no idea where it ended, but sometimes other worlds were born, other galaxies were made.

Hinata, sick and tired of the other heavenly beings that flocked to him, ran from the heavenly realms, stumbling upon you.

You had tried to flee from him, worried how he would react to you, but instead he asked you to stay.

"But why?" you had asked, tucking yourself away behind a small star, ready to flee if he attempted to harm you.

"I remember you," he had said, ignoring your question. "The pretty little goddess that so many feared."

You winced at the reminder of your past, moving to hurry away, but Hinata had simply wrapped a hand around your wrist.

"Please stay," he begged.

"But . . . I might hurt you," you had whimpered.

"Nonsense," Hinata had said, so confidently that you had almost believed him. "Those aren't your abilities."

You had been so confused that you had stayed while Hinata explained that you weren't the one that caused the deaths, you were the one that went to the deathbed of the victim to ease them into death.

Hinata was the first person to see you as the one that ended the suffering, not the one that caused it.

Hinata had stayed with you for millennia, earning your trust, and falling for you yet again.

Somehow, along the way, you had fallen in love with him too.

"Come back with me," he begged, arms around your waist as you both laid among the stars.

"I can't," you told him. "I'm not welcome there. I'm feared by the humans, and the others are disgusted by what I am."

"You're beautiful, and you relieve the pain of those that are suffering. Why would they be disgusted by you?"

"Because no one else sees me the way you do, my love," you had said, stroking his face lightly. "They see me as some repulsive, but necessary, nuisance. They keep me around because someone needs to do the job, but they don't want to be the ones to do it."

"Come back with me so we can prove them wrong," Hinata pleaded. "I'm the king of the heavens, I can make you my queen! Then they would have to respect you!"

"I envy your faith in them, my king," you murmured, giving him a small smile. "But sometimes I think you are blind to the darkness in people."

"And you cannot seem to see the light in others," Hinata had countered.

In the end, you had returned to the heavenly realms with him, only to be met with the scorn and repulsion that you had been expecting.

Some accused you of manipulating him, others said that Hinata stayed with you because he was scared of you, of what you might do.

After only a year, you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped away from the bed you and Hinata had been sharing.

You had drawn the words 'Forever and always' on his chest, right above his heart, kissing it, before you fled.

You would remember later that the other gods had been plotting against you since your return.

One lower level D-list goddess had gone around slaughtering your fellow heavenly beings, planting evidence that you had done it.

A guard had 'caught you fleeing the scene in guilt', and forced you to your knees in front of the mastermind behind it all.

You and Hinata had, over the years you had spent together, remembered your previous life, and had reminisced over it in your time among the stars.

No one had anticipated Hinata fighting so hard for you.

He raged against his former bootlickers, defending you against everything.

One of the war gods became irritated with his staunch protection of you.

In an attempt to end it, the god had attempted to kill you with a throwing knife.

Hinata had other plans, and had jumped in front of the blade, which sank into his chest, right where you had traced the words earlier before you had attempted to flee to your former sanctuary.

Your screams had echoed through the gold and marble hallways of the heavenly realms as Hinata hit the floor in a spray of blood.

Everyone else was so in shock that you had been able to wrench free of the guards and get to him.

"Hina, my love, stay with me," you had pleaded, cradling Hinata's body against your own. "Please, stay with me. I love you, please."

"Forever and always," Hinata had gasped, touching his wound softly. "Promise me."

"I promise," you had murmured, smoothing his hair away from his face.

In the background, the other gods were fighting amongst themselves, arguing over who had started it, whether it was justified, and it felt as though you and Hinata were in your own little bubble.

"We'll meet again," Hinata had promised, wincing in pain.

Healing wasn't your specialty, you had never had anyone to teach you, and you hated yourself now more than ever as Hinata bled out in your arms.

"I know we will," you replied, kissing his forehead. "Nothing will keep me away."

"I'm glad you're here," he murmured, touching your cheek lightly, softly, despite the blood on his fingers. "I told you, you relieve the pain, you don't cause it."

"Hina, Hina, stay with me, please, you can't leave me here," you pleaded. "Hina!"

Tears streamed down your face as Hinata faded into a soft, warm, golden light that settled over you for a moment before disappearing.

You heard something inside your chest crack, and you were pretty sure, later, that it was the sound of your heart breaking open and bleeding that echoed in your ears.

Your screaming drew the attention of the other gods, and soon they had turned on you, despite the obviously genuine grief you were experiencing.

Someone reached out to touch you, but they stopped when the palace around them shuttered, granite and marble cracked, and something deep underneath them groaned like a beast roaring.

Fear settled over the group of heavenly beings like a dark cloud.

Tears streamed down your face as the last of Hinata's warmth faded.

Darkness leaked from you and something in you snapped.

These beings deserved no mercy from you. Not after what they had done, not after what they had caused.

Most gods experimented with their powers as they grew older, but you had never done that. You had tried to rein them all in, and only ever used them when they were close to destroying you.

With Hinata gone, there was nothing left in this world for you.

You erupted.

Every repressed cursed, every welled up power, forced out with the fury of an immortal being.

Screams rang throughout the heavens as you fractured the seams of the world, extinguished the humans below and detonated stars that you had loved so dearly before Hinata had appeared.

Of all the screams that were resonating about, yours was the loudest.

The sorrow, the anguish, the anger and disappointment, the love, the indifference all mixed together in a cacophony of rage and loss.

In this world, it really did end in screams.

The next time you and Hinata crossed paths, you were known as the Queen of the underworld.

Hinata was the Captain of the Royal Guard, and he had been tasked with tracking you down and putting a stop to you.

He had found you at a masquerade, dressed in scarlet, a burnt gold mask hiding the top half of your face.

Posing as a contact, you danced with him, until he finally figured out who you were.

"My orders are to take you back to the castle," Hinata had said. "There are people within the walls that seem to think you are one of the purest evils on these streets."

"You think differently?" you had asked.

"I've noticed that of all of your victims, none of them were ever children or mothers."

"So?"

"I don't think that you're evil, I think there's more to you than you or anyone else thinks."

"Is that so?"

Hinata had nodded, keeping an arm firmly around your waist, hand in yours.

"Come to the palace with me, help me, and I can help you," Hinata had said.

"Let me leave this party and I'll be able to help you from my own home," you had bargained.

"Meet me one a week at a neutral location," Hinata had argued.

"Deal," you had said, "but no other guards, no weapons, just two people."

"Just two people," he had agreed.

You may have been the Queen of the underworld, but you were a woman of your word.

You and Hinata met once a week for two years before you decided to go with him to the castle.

"Hinata, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Would you like to meet my son?"

That had stopped Hinata dead in his tracks.

At first, you were worried that he was going to be angry, but instead he seemed concerned for your safety.

"How old is he?" Hinata asked.

"Two years old," you admitted. "I had just had him when we first met."

"Was . . . did you . . . ."

Hinata, unable to ask the real question, seemed to be praying you understood.

"I thought his father loved me," you murmured, laying a hand on your stomach absently. "I was seventeen when we met. He was only three years older than me, and he had connections that I could use to my advantage. He didn't know who -or what I suppose- I was. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought he would be happy, I thought we would get married.

"Instead, when I told him, he beat me so badly I almost miscarried, and left me for dead in the streets. My loyal men found me, made sure I was cared for, and killed the father. I promised myself that I would never let another man in like that. And then I met you. You, despite your position, didn't want anything other than information from me. You wanted to help the people on the streets and put a stop to the corruption."

You glanced at Hinata, at those warm brown eyes.

Memories flashed behind your eyes, and you gave him a small smile.

"Have you started to remember yet?" you asked him quietly.

In the last three lifetimes, his eyes were always the same color. His hair and face shape were different, as were his height, and sometimes his personality, just like you, but his eyes were the same warm shade of brown.

"I wasn't sure whether you remembered or not," he murmured, nodding.

"I remember everything."

"It's nice to meet you again, (Y/N)."

"Hello to you too Hinata Shouyo."

You, your son, and Hinata were all assassinated in your bed during your first night at the castle.

The last words you said to each other were 'Forever and always'.

More lifetimes passed, more meetings, more deaths, more children, until this lifetime.

You were the manager for Seijoh, and -ironically enough- Kageyama's twin sister, despite looking almost nothing like him.

"Hey, Hinata Boke! Why are you drooling over my sister like that?" the setter snapped, drawing Hinata, and you, out of your memories.

"Ease up Tobio," you had chided, hitting your brother's shoulder lightly before holding your hand out to Shouyo.

"(Y/N), nice to meet you Hinata."

Hinata could read the unspoken 'again' in your eyes.

"You too, (Y/L/N)," he said, not bothering to hide the smile that was spreading across his face.

Every lifetime, every universe, you were destined to fall in love with Hinata Shouyo.

Sometimes you were enemies, sometimes you were friends, sometimes you were strangers, but in the end, you were his, just like he was yours.

Forever and always.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”