#THE DEMON CURSE IS BROKEN

[untowonder]

Shalom my beloved! You know I slapped her in her beautiful new skin the moment I pulled her.

btw ...

My Mary Ann Coquelic looks funny

[dindleseed]

Ergon the Necropolist

[murasaki-cha]

Out of topic but I need to get this off my chest

I need Castor Valor/Chaos BIBLICALLY!

I need him in a way that is concerning to feminism!!

SHOW ME WHAT THOSE FANGS CAN DO PRETTY VAMPIRE BOY!!!

[wilyzombie]

okay second head story time

[anthromimicry]

forever thinking about how, according to maslow's hierarchy of needs (or simply the self-actualization pyramid) that is basically this motivational theory in psychology that's made up of a five-tier model of human needs, that misao went from being on the third tier in her childhood to reverting back to the first tier currently which is food, water, warmth, and rest.

[ here's a picture of it for reference, y'all ]

so, in other words... she is just trying to survive SO badly right now at this point in her life, that she can not even worry about things like safety or security and especially not friends. and that is UHH... i might, or might not be sobbing right now

[loosesodamarble]

Hi Erika! Sending you lots of positive vibes and much love! Also a couple of questions for you for your new ask game:

Demon Slayer or My Hero Academia?

Tanjiro Kamado or Asta?

Zenitsu x Nezuko or Finral x Finesse? (Flirty Guy x Sweet Girl pairings hehe🥰)

Mist Breathing or Love Breathing? (In honor of the new KNY season)

Thank you so much, friend! Cheers!! 💖

Thank you for the vibes, Acacia, they are must appreciated... 💖

Now, to answer your questions!

Show: Demon Slayer. Hngh... I still have a fondness for MHA but for the earlier arcs. The current arc is just... dragging. I miss the simpler days when the students weren't expected to lead the front lines against the Villains. Okay yes, I know Demon Slayer has the same problem of having youths being the main fighters against dangerous foes, but it feels different. I don't know how to explain it, it just does. Also, the way the two medias handle the whole "the enemy is hurt" thing is done better in KnY. When Tanjirou is fighting, he's thinking of fighting and of how cruel demons are for the evil they commit. But once they're defeated and Tanjirou can let his guard down, he softly watches them pass and laments their tragedy (Rui and the Upper Moon 6 siblings in particular). But then Ochaco is in the middle of drowning on Himiko's Twice copies and she's like "I like seeing people happy so I notice when they cry." Like, my child, your life in on the line right now; stop the sympathy and kick some butt right now.

Character: (frantically looks between my two boys like I'm in a burning house and I can only save one) Girl no, this is too mean!/lh I'm sorry Asta. I'm sorry baby boy, I do love you but Tanjirou is who I pick today. Tanjirou is just... a little less yell-y compared to Asta. The boys both share an ability to touch the hearts of others and while I do love how Asta inspires the Bulls and other characters to change, I prefer how Tanjirou inspires people while those characters still get to draw power from other places. Tengen is impressed by Tanjirou but it's his love for his wives and wish to be a better man that keeps him going against Upper Moon 6. Genya and Sanemi... Enough said. Kanao's change of heart was started by Tanjirou but ultimately, it's her bond with her sisters that pushes her through her final battle. I think it's lovely to see Tanjirou be one strengthening aspect to characters, like how everyone Tanjirou meets also strengthens him.

Ship: Ahsiuhfast! You're right! That got those base traits in common! UIehsrt! I think I'll have to pick Finral x Finesse this time around. I do love Zenitsu and Nezuko's wholesomeness. Zenitsu is a young lad in love and is so mushy-gushy about Nezuko. And she's there just kinda taking it in (her subconsciously remembering Zenitsu's sweetness though, that has me all kshasrtuisarht IT'S TOO CUTE DARN IT!) 😂. But Finral and Finesse is so... Ah! It's wholesome as well, since Finral's flirtatiousness doesn't really show around Finesse. It's a little stronger for me since Finesse isn't in a state like Nezuko. She can actively observe Finral and recognize what he's trying to do for her sake. And the fact that she doesn't judge him and simply encourages him as he tries his best. It's so sweet and lovely and ajshgiaushtr!

Other: Yes, in honor of the new KNY season! I pick Breath of Love (yes, I know that's not the actual terminology used in canon but it's what I adopted when I first started reading and while I usually adopt the terminology in canon material, not this time). Breath of Mist is a very cool (ha ha, because mist is... hah... you know...) breath style (oh my gosh the way it was animated was a feast for the eyes) but I prefer Breath of Love for its uniqueness. The way Mitsuri fights is like she's doing a ribbon dance, light and graceful. But she's also in extreme control of her body when she fights. Also, Mitsuri canonically has the coolest weapon in canon which just adds to my love of her breath style.

[v011d]

TAG DUMP. Based of various song lyrics.

/ My dark side won today / ( - Musings -)

/ Won't you come and dance in the dark with me / ( - Open rp - )

/ I'm meaner than my demons. / ( - Void study -)

/ Goddamn right you should be scared of me. / ( -In character -)

/ You are ripped at every edge but you are a masterpiece / ( - Visage -)

/ Cursed with rage / ( - Prompts -)

/ My mind is like a deadly disease / (- Aesthetic -)

/ Out of black holes / ( - OOC - )

/ If I can't have love I want power / ( -Main-)

/ What doesn't destroy you leaves you broken instead / ( - Dragon age verse -)

/ I am not a martyr; I am a problem / ( - Supernatural verse -)

/ Hell won't have me / ( - Lucifer verse -)

/ All of this is temporary / ( -Queue -)

[inlovewithl3vi]

I think it would be hilarious if the brothers forget that MC is human sometimes.

Like when Asmo prepares a spa date and forgets that MC can’t handle water that’s like a million degrees

Or Satan and Belphie forgetting that it’s pretty easy to accidentally curse mc so often when pranks backfire the curse immediately applies to MC

Or when Beel tries to get you to try some new food until you read the name of it and it’s something like “cyanide and stomach acid pasta!” And you have to explain that that will in fact instantly kill you

Especially if you do something that doesn’t happen to demons, like cracking your back after sitting too long and they forget that humans aren’t like demons and just because it cracked doesn’t automatically mean it’s broken.

[exculis]

Len KILLED SOMEBODY??

[transmigrationisunderrated]

ya know, I'm a big fan of roleswap aus for SVSSS, ya know, with disciple SY and shizun Binghe. The thing I've noticed, however, is they never have Binghe purposefully shove SY into the abyss.

I've seen it as a qi deviation and as SY shoving himself in, but I think SY should get the full Binghe treatment.

Here's what I'm thinking;

Luo Binghe is a Demon Lord and a Peak Lord, his climb to power underhanded and bloody, a boy broken by the world, trying to get back his own.

Not as severe as Bingge did in PIDW, this one never had a teacher to crush his dreams of being a religious cultivator, I think.

In this version of PIDW, Shen Jiu is Binghe's treacherous disciple, constantly sabotaging his fellow students and leaching on any woman who came in within two feet of him. He was a pitiful street rat who came to Cang Qiong sect during the test and Binghe's close friend Ling Yingying took pity on and convinced Binghe to let him onto his peak.

He discovers his Shizun is a half demon during the IAC and taunts him, threatening to reveal his identity to the entire cultivator world. In response, Luo Binghe tosses Shen Jiu into the Abyss.

Shen Jiu returns five years later, wielding the demon sword, Xin Mo, coming to wreck his Shizun. Luo Binghe is able to defeat his wayward disciple and claim Xin Mo from him. He then proceeds to have truckloads of nasty sex about it.

Shen Yuan dies cursing the lost potential, as Shen Yuan often does, and is reborn as Shen Jiu, fresh off a qi deviation following one of the harsher punishments Shen Jiu never seemed to learn from.

He goes out of his way to make himself indispensable and undeniably good, as soon as he can get his ooc lock off. In the skinner demon equivalent, Shen Yuan finds himself saddled with a newfound realization that he's 1) gay, 2) gay for Luo Binghe.

Which is the worst realization Shen Yuan could have at this moment, which is exactly why he's having it. Because I want him to suffer. He now has to grapple with his sexuality, who he's into, and what who he's into might do to him, if he fails to change the plot.

He manages to change a lot (saves head disciple Liu Qingge and what not) and grow incredibly close to Binghe (sharing the bamboo hut, sharing meals... isn't this stuff Binghe would do with his first wife Ling Yingying? Could... could that mean..?!) by the time the IAC is coming.

Shen Yuan sees his master's facade be revealed and... Luo Binghe is no innocent child here. He's a man who has hurt so many people to get where he is with minimal regret. Can he really trust one person, a boy who has made him feel alive for the first time, when he's lived a life that's proven trust is a lie?

He decides he can't. Despite Shen Yuan insisting and pleading that he won't tell Luo Binghe's secret to anyone, Binghe tosses him into the abyss.

When Shen Yuan climbs out, early, he is not angry. He... he gets it! Really he does! He's not mad, shut up, Xin Mo, Shizun Binghe, really, he's- why are you running.

[the-faceless-bride]

Some Of my current ideas and obsession Blurbs (if you find any of them interesting, I'm open to hearing ideas 👀👀)

Part 2 ->

Imagine being a demon...

Imagine Part of your power has to do with death, corruption, and seeing who someone was when they were alive... as a demon, the death of Rengoku Kyojuro broke you. He was such a beautiful, loving, caring man. Giving such an unfair and unfortunate death... you just couldn't accept this...

Imagine You bring him back as he springs up after your ritual. His hair was a mess, covered in dirt, his clothes ripped. He gasps for air as if it was the first he's had in centuries... "Poor unfortunate soul, so sad, in need... come allow me to give you a second chance."

Imagine His horror. Him. Now a Demon. Tethered to you. Unable to die again unless you give him permission to do so... he tired. Sat in the sun. But while he felt weak and itchy, he didn't die. He hated it. Hated himself. He hated you. You who, while yes, didn't have malicious intent. Who gave him a second chance at 'life' as you called this... you who brought him back and unlike when he was alive in his final moments felt no pain, no hunger, he hated you.

Imagine slowly helping him come to terms with his eternal life. From Enemies (one sided) to Lovers letting him stay with you in your small hidden village of other demon families that have also been brought back and tethered to you. Still fulfilling his dreams, taking down the demons who "lost their humanity and deserved their eternity to end."

Imagine the conflict you face, when His once friends and found family find him... a demon... still classic Kyojuro but yet so different... what do you do? An angry group of Hashira Pillars cursing you for what you did to their friend. Kyojuro broken and ashamed of what he is once more at the heart break of his friends being scared of him, some of them hating him all together...

Imagine him calling out to you, help him. Make them listen. Please. His Angel... his little firefly... please make them understand. He can't bare the way they look at him... help him... he needs you.

Rengoku Kyojuro × demon Reader Trope: Enemies to lovers

Now also Imagine being a demon...

Imagine being a demon who was so desperately, hopelessly, in love with Gyomei Himejima. Hopelessly devoted to a man who didn't even know you existed. You watched him at night, singing your sweet song and lulling him to a deeper sleep each night. Wishing nothing more than to one day be able to caress and memorize every inch of his mind, body, and soul. Wishing to kiss his soft looking lips...

Imagine desperately trying to deny what you know is true... you've heard it from your fellow demon 'friend' over and over again. And tonight, you were desperately trying to hold on to your dreams... "[name] just face it... he's a Demon slayer. A hashira. And to him, you're a monster... that something no amount of love is going to change. You'd be better off not thinking about him anymore. If you really love him, you'd let him go... besides a pretty human girl will probably catch his attention sooner or later..." You hang your head as tears fill your eyes, it's not true... it's not. He could love you. He could...

Imagine one day, you run into him in the Forest. The Forrest trees are so thick that the completely block out the sun, it's only a small section of the Forest. You liked to come here to lay in the flowers, and apparently Gyomei had thought the same...

Imagine He needed a quiet place, today had been a very hectic day. No peace and quiet today at all. He'd simply sat under a particularly large tree, focusing on his breath. You'd sat so unbelievably still. Not wanting to move and risk ruining this perfect moment. You were so close. You'd never been this close to him before and it made every part of your cold body ache.

Imagine accidently rustling the flowers catching his attention instantly, and he jumps to stand in a defensive position. You quickly kneel head pressing to the ground as you apologize for disturbing him, and not wanting any trouble. But oddly he doesn't attack you and instead he apologizes for startling you. At first you were confused. But then it clicked, you Had not attacked him like a demon would. He's blind. He doesn't yet realize you're a demon... this was it. Your chance. To speak to him. To hear him address you... to hear him say your name...

Imagine Pretending to be human, making it seem like you were a measly human girl who came here to sit in the flowers to relax... and this was how it went for some time... days turn to weeks, and weeks turn into months. You'd been keeping this secret of yours for 3 months, your love for Gyomei stronger and flame of obsession brighter. And he'd become so open to you. Telling you almost eveeything... sure you'd felt guilty lying to him... but you just couldn't let him. Go...

Imagine one evening, the sun setting, the fireflies and the colorful flowers surrounding you... you gain the courage to confess... stilling your heart of how much you admire him, you know that he way not feel the same way... but even if he'll never belong to you... that's OK, you are happy to just dream and be his dear friend... but to your shock and joy he accepts your confession. He's gained feelings for you. You could almost cry... but then... in an instant the happiness... your happily ever after was ripped away from you in an unfortunate series of events "Dearest... your hands are so cold..." - "GYOMEI!" A his friend Mitsuri calls out her foot steps quickly approaching, more footsteps following behind. "AWAY DISGUSTING MONSTER!" she cries her sword just barley missing you as your arm is severed clean off. And instantly Gyomei's face goes through so many emotions... worry, Confusion, shock and finally realization... and he let's you go. You dash away vanishing... "Gyomei! Are you ok?! That awful creature tricked you! She must've planned to devower you then and there if I hadn't noticed your absence! Are you OK my friend!?" The sounds of other Confused voices all speaking over each other planning to find you... Gyomei thinks of her question... is he OK?... honestly... he doesn't know...

Gyomei Himejima × Demon Reader Trope: unrequited love/Forbidden love

[misctf]

Christmas Curse

Hey everyone! Happy Holidays. If you have any holiday-themed asks, I will try to prioritize those. Hope you enjoy this story!

“Yeah, yeah Stacy, I know.” Matt grumbles, “You’ll be here soon. Got it.” He rolls his eyes, “ Jesus Stacy, I got the kids their presents. I know how to be a dad.” He hangs up, “Fuckin’ bitch.” He mumbles.

Matt yawns and starts preparing his morning coffee. He was going to need it. While he didn’t really mind having his kids over, he did hate having to see his ex-wife. Always nagging him, even after they signed the papers. It was that nagging that drove him to cheat on her with one of his clients at the gym. At least that’s how he justified it. A small frown formed on his lips as he sips his coffee.

“First Christmas since the divorce.” He mumbles, looking around his empty apartment, “Damn.” A part of him starts to feel guilty- his kids deserved better. No decorations, no tree, not even a single light, “Fuck. I won’t hear the end of this.” His thoughts return to his ex-wife.

He quickly walks to his closet where he had a few things that he got from the house after the divorce. He sighs as he realizes most of the decorations he took were broken- likely due to how unceremoniously he treated them during the move.

“Oh god.” He grimaces as he pulls out their Elf on the Shelf, “Terrifying little fucker.” He chuckles, “Yeah, you got me good, Stacy.”

It was the one decoration Stacy insisted he take in the divorce. Likely because of how much it creeped him out. Just another petty move on her part, he figured. Yet part of him can’t help but smile. His kids loved the thing.

“I guess this’ll do.” He quickly walks back to the kitchen and places it lamely on a chair.

He walks over to grab his coffee and upon turning around, he raises an eyebrow. The damn thing was on the ground. Matt walks over and quickly places it back on the chair, making sure there was no way it could fall.

“Creepy fucker.” He mumbles, turning around again.

Thump

“Really?” Matt turns back to find it on the ground again, “Seriously, what the hell?” He picks it up and looks at it closely, “Stay put.” He realizes he sounds insane- talking to an inanimate object.

“Make me.” Matt’s eyes widen as he realizes the decoration just talked to him. Its eyes blinking. Its giggles echoing in his ears.

“Gah what the fuck!?”

Matt cries out as it bites down firmly on his thumb and he throws it across the room. He stares at the small teeth marks on his thumb and watches as the little demon scurries away, its giggling filling his apartment. Matt’s breath became heavier as he stumbled to the kitchen sink and started cleaning out his cut. His thoughts were racing and he was feeling dizzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” He’s mumbling to himself, and he shakily grabs his cup of coffee.

But when the bitter liquid touches his tongue he gags and drops the mug. Its disgusting. Bitter, sour, and he spits out as much as he can. He quickly rushes to his fridge, looking for anything that might get that disgusting taste out of his mouth. But none of his protein shakes look appealing, nor does almond milk or his protein smoothies. Matt doesn’t know what compels him, but he grabs the chocolate milk he got his kids last time they visited. Without much thought, he begins to guzzle it, downing the carton in a matter of seconds.

“So good...” He giggles, wiping his mouth.

His eyes widen at the realization of what he just did. He just ruined his macros for the day without even thinking about it. At least the taste from the coffee was gone. Matt shakes his head- realizing he has bigger things to worry about. He needed to find that elf. As his thoughts return to his predicament, he can hear a giggle coming from the bedroom.

“Fudger...” Matt mumbles, “Fudger? No I meant fudger! What the fudge?” He shakes his head, trying to curse, “Sugar plums... I need to find that thINg.”

Frustrated at his inability to curse, and the strange cracking of his voice, Matt rushes to his room. Desperate to find the monster and give it back to Stacy. Of course she gave him a cursed doll. And as he storms down the hallway, he absentmindedly scratches at his beard. The hairs falling away, leaving his cheeks smooth and hairless. Unbeknownst to him, they take on a rosier complexion, filling out slightly and becoming rounder.

“ThERe you ARe.” Matt’s voice cracks as he notices the decoration sitting atop his tall dresser, “Come here.”

Matt approaches his dresser and reaches to grab it but finds his arms no longer reach the top of it. The elf grins and teases Matt, reaching out to Matt, who is unable to grab it. Just missing ever so slightly. The personal trainer is growing frustrated, now standing on his tippee toes as he desperately swats at the elf.

“Why can’t I reach it?” Matt thinks. At 6’3” he never had an issue reaching the top of the dresser.

And as he lifts his arms above his hand, he catches a whiff from his exposed pits. But it’s not his musk that invades his nostrils. No, it’s sweet. Like gingerbread and holly. He lowers his arms, not even registering that his pit hair has vanished.

“What’s happening to me?” He whispers, his voice softer. The masculine edge diminished. He looks up at the elf, who is smiling at him, “What did you do to me?”

Matt turns and looks over at his full body mirror. A high-pitched gasp leaves his mouth as he catches a glimpse of himself. He’s short... at least 5’4”. And his muscles look softer. He saunters over to the mirror, feeling his smooth face, rubbing a hand through his dissipating chest hairs. His tokens of masculinity vanishing at an alarming rate. His face cute- elfish even. Just like... just like...

“No, no, no!” Matt’s voice has settled on its higher tenor, “Stop this!” He hisses, hating how pouty his voice sounds, “Please! I...” He turns to confront the elf.

But it’s no longer on the dresser. Matt’s heart is pounding in his chest as he swings back to watch the changes continue. He grunts as his meaty pecs let out a hissing sound and deflate before his eyes. Days of chest flies and bench pressing seem to reverse themselves as his chest becomes flat, his two nipples becoming perkier and sensitive to the cool air in his apartment. He can’t help but massage his flat chest with his dainty and smooth hands. Part of him enjoying how cute he looks, another part utterly horrified at the loss of his gains.  

“Wait, please don’t... not my arms!”

In a moment of lucid thought, he realizes that his impressive tris and bis are releasing the same hissing sounds. Rapidly becoming stick-like and nonthreatening. Matt feels tears well up in his eyes. He loved to flex- to show off to his clients. He loved holding women in his muscular arms. How they would run their hands along them and his abs... His abs! He watches as they too smooth over and vanish, giving him a lean tummy. His treasure trail, another symbol of his masculinity has similarly vanished. The hairs falling to the ground, leaving Matt smooth.

“Oh god...” Matt feels for his Adam’s apple and frowns, “Even my voice...” He stumbles backwards and slides down the wall, “Oh!” He moans as his inflated ass cushions him, “Wh-what...?” He moans as he feels his larger ass. His hands filling with the flesh of his larger, jiggling mounds, “Ohhhhh...”

He gives them a squeeze, part of him embarrassed at how sensitive they are. At how each squeeze causes his dick to harden with pleasure. And as he moans again, he can’t help but realize that the bulge in his pants becomes less prominent. While part of him screams to stop, the pleasure he’s getting from just squeezing his ass overpowers any remaining willpower he might have. When he finally does pull his hands away from his ass and looks down his pants, his heart sinks. His dick has settled on 2 inches hard. Far from the thick meat women would beg for. And while part of him wanted to cry, to beg to return to his masculine form, another part urged him to give his ass another squeeze. And he did. Again and again and again...

It was a few hours later when he heard a knock at his door. Matt was lying face down, ass in the air, his dainty hands massaging his thicc ass. He slowly pushes himself up and giggles. His rosy cheeks rounding out more as a smile forms on his cute face. He quickly walks over to the closet where he rummages through tank-tops and hoodies.

“So ugly and boring...” Matt thinks as he hums a Christmas tune to himself.

And then he finds it. He never really remembered buying it, but the red footie pajamas, white fluffy mittens, and Santa hat are absolutely perfect. He quickly puts them on and walks over to the mirror.

“Ohhh I look so good!” He giggles, lifting his leg and doing a twirl.

Part of him registers that he looks exactly like the elf. A near perfect, human replica. And while he feels deep down this is wrong, that he isn’t some elf-like, twink with a big ass, he can’t imagine being anything else.

“No please! Let me out!” Matt’s giggling stops as he listens closely to the voice in his head. And when he stares in the mirror, he sees who he used to be. A desperate fear in the man’s eyes, “Please! I’m not...”

“Shhhhh!” Giggling fills the air, “We have a lot to do!”

Matt leaves the mirror, the sound of sobbing echoing deep within his brain. But Matt can’t be bothered right now. He quickly swings open the door and grins when he sees Stacy.

“Stacy!” He sings, “Merry Christmas Eve!”

Stacy grins, “Seems like you found my gift.” She says, “I just came by to pick up the presents for the kids. I think they should stay with me this Christmas.”

Matt frowns, “Alright... It’s not like I’m ready for Christmas anyway.” He pouts, crossing his arms.

Matt watches as Stacy leaves with the few presents he got for his kids. Internally, Matt is begging to be freed. This isn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t... His thoughts slow as he feels hands grip his massive ass. The two Matts moaning in unison. Their minds melding in the midst of their shared pleasure. And internally, Matt realizes it’s too late. As the new Matt opens up Grindr to find a hairy daddy to fuck his brains out, Matt realizes by the time Christmas morning comes around, he and this new Matt will be one.

As he dreads his future, he can hear a giggle coming from down the hall. One last mocking laugh from the elf on the shelf.

[forgetriestowrite]

Allura got me thinking about M9 again

she said they have a "resilience to [the weave mind's] strengths" which is true but I haven't truly thought about HOW true it is, I was too busy screaming MIGHTY NEIN VOX MACHINA over and over in my head

but like... they really are the best people to take down a hostile hive mind

not only have they literally done that before, but Beau fought off the mind-controlling hold of a demon that had kept her wife captive for years

Then Yasha broke that hold on herself

Jester literally believed so hard in an archfae that she turned him into a deity, and she made friends with an ACTUAL HAG in order to get her friend's curse broken, and it WORKED

Fjord started the campaign in a soul-eating pact with a demigod and ended it as a champion of the Wildmother, which was jumpstarted by him doing the most insane thing he could have done to break Ukotoa's control

Caleb's whole journey was self-love and healing and learning to accept the dark parts of his past and use them for good

Veth not only helped him with that, but also spent the whole campaign working on herself so she could be the person her husband and son knew her to be

Caduceus found a way to bring Kingsley back even though it should have been impossible, because he saw how much his friends wanted it, and he knew what happened to Molly and Lucien was unfair

And to top it all off, they found out one of their own had been manipulated and abused his entire teenage and technically also his adult life, and proceeded to find the person responsible and bully him relentlessly ("I hope someone will mourn you when you are gone" is still the rawest line in cr history), then beat his ass and eventually kill him

these people have shown time and time again that they will not tolerate any kind of authoritative control, especially if it hurts one of them. They refuse to buy into it, and they will destroy anyone who even tries to manipulate someone else.

There is no one else who can go to the moon and completely dismantle their oligarchy. I don't know if there is anyone else who would be willing to do it.

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster

[onehundredelevven]

Pt. 2 of this

---

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE?”

The nurse flinched, clutching the clipboard as you screamed through another contraction. Your grip on the hospital bed’s side rail could bend metal at this point. Toji, your ever-so-reliable husband, was nowhere to be seen.

“I-I’m sure he’ll be here soon, ma’am,” the nurse stammered, glancing at the door like she half-expected Toji to burst in and make things worse.

Oh, he would.

Another wave of pain rolled through, and you let out a groan so guttural it felt like you were summoning demons. Just as you were about to demand Toji’s head on a stick, the door slammed open.

In he came, looking harried, out of breath, and… holding a bag of snacks?

“Babe, I’m here!” he announced, as if you hadn’t just been swearing his name to the high heavens for the past ten minutes. He tossed the bag onto the counter, ignoring the judgmental stares of the hospital staff.

“Where the hell were you?!” you snapped, glaring at him with all the fury of a woman in labor.

“Vending machine was broken. Had to shake it down,” he replied nonchalantly, cracking his knuckles as if this were a normal day in his life.

“You LEFT ME for SNACKS?”

“To be fair, I got you something, too,” he said, holding up a candy bar like it would earn him redemption.

The nurse cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mr. Fushiguro, your wife is fully dilated. It’s time to—”

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!” Toji bellowed, panic flashing in his eyes.

“It means we’re having the baby, now,” you snarled.

His face went pale. The man who once faced off against cursed spirits without breaking a sweat now looked like he might faint.

“Wait, wait—like, right now? Right now?”

“Yes, Toji!” you yelled, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him close. “And if you don’t stop acting like an idiot, you’ll be the one who needs medical attention!”

That seemed to snap him out of it. He quickly took his place beside you, gripping your hand as the doctor and nurses prepared for delivery.

Toji was silent for all of three seconds.

“Holy crap, is that the head?”

“YES, Toji!”

“Damn, that’s… that’s kinda gross.”

“Shut UP!”

The delivery room descended into chaos. You screamed, Toji swore, the doctor gave orders, and the baby decided to make its grand entrance in the middle of it all.

“Push, push, push!”

“You’re doing great, babe,” Toji said, though his expression screamed What the hell is happening?

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, this is all YOUR FAULT!”

“Yeah, yeah, blame me later,” he muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead with his sleeve.

And then, at last, the wailing cries of a newborn filled the room.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor announced, holding up the squirming, crying baby for you to see.

Toji froze. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing.

“…That’s mine?” he asked, voice unusually soft.

“Yes, Toji,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “That’s our son.”

The nurse handed the baby to you, and you cradled him against your chest. Toji leaned over, his large hand brushing against the baby’s tiny fist.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s… perfect.”

For a moment, everything was quiet. The chaos of the delivery room faded away, replaced by the soft coos of your newborn and the warmth of your husband by your side.

Then, of course, Toji broke the silence.

“He looks like me. Poor kid.”

You snorted, exhausted but unable to help laughing. “He’s already got your big head.”

“Hey, watch it,” Toji said, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

The nurse stepped forward, gently taking the baby to weigh and clean him. Toji followed her like a hawk, grumbling under his breath about how they’d better not drop his kid.

When he returned, holding the now-swaddled baby in his arms, the sight nearly broke you. Toji Fushiguro—big, rough, intimidating Toji—was holding your tiny son like he was made of glass.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’m your dad. And, uh… I’m gonna try not to screw you up too bad, alright?”

Tears welled up in your eyes again. “Toji…”

He looked at you, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Thanks for this, baby. For him. For everything.”

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “We did this together.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. And we’re gonna kill it as parents, even if the kid ends up with your weird-ass cravings.”

“Hey!”

The baby let out a tiny, gurgling cry, cutting off your retort. Toji chuckled, bouncing him lightly in his arms.

“Guess he’s hungry already. Kid’s got my appetite.”

As the three of you settled into this new chapter of chaos together, you couldn’t help but think: If Toji could handle vending machines and ramen monstrosities for you, he could handle fatherhood just fine.

[retroactivebakeries]

It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can't get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can't tell. She's yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.

"No," says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—

"No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only 'an attack.'"

And the girl understood.

~~~

It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.

From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.

"No," says a part of her.

"You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple' foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every' attack. Only one."

"Oh," the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.

~~~

It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.

Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.

These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling's blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon's dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.

"No," she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.

The sorcerer-prince's brow furrows. How did she even do that?

"Parried it."

But—

"With my sword."

No—

"See, like this."

Stop—

"Well," the swordswoman finally says, "I figured that if I just...looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack...then I could block it."

That's not how it works at all!

"If you insist," says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.

~~~

It is now. It is the end. Death couldn't take the swordswoman, not when she'd spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild's crib, and she'd just give it a look. That's all it took, by then.

Heartache couldn't take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take...she'd just, move her sword in a way that's difficult to describe. And she'd keep going.

Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet's star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.

But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.

"No," says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. "This isn't the ending. And even if it was, it's not the ending that matters."

The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she's been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.