#When I read no longer human I had to take a moment to process that other people feel that alienation he describes

[vikvampir3]

Tfw when I realize I’ve known this whole time my dazai and general bsd hyperfixation was self destructive and I kinda don’t care

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: Another Fern fic at last, requested by a kofi member ^^

Shrinking down to Fern’s side seemed almost fun at first. Getting to save money on food expenses and cuddling with your boyfriend while being the little spoon was great!

It only occurred to you a few hours after becoming a tiny human that you still had to do everything your big self had done before.

Except now you were the size of a pencil.

“Ahh, I still have to write out a report, make my lunches for this week, call my mom, do the laundry-“

Fern watched you panic from his usual spot on your bed, his head propped up by his hands. While you were struggling, he was relaxed and content to have his mate smaller than him for once.

“Calm down, princess. Don’t forget you have me to help. I’ve been this size my whole life, doing your chores can’t be that hard.”

Fern was terribly wrong.

Attempting to type out a detailed report by jumping key to key was exhausting, and after he messed up several times you had to do it alone. It left you too tired to do anything else.

“This would usually only take me 30 minutes, how much time has passed?”

“… three hours.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder as he played with your hair. “How do you do it, Fern? You always seem so happy go lucky, but being small can’t be easy on you.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly. “It’s not easy, but when you’re around it’s hard to be exhausted or angry.”

This made your heart flutter, and you let him guide you to the laundry room.

“My vines aren’t agile enough to help you type, but they can throw laundry into the washer and take them out no problem.”

He used his magic, vines creeping in through your window. They clumsily tossed clothes into the washer, and Fern flew you up so you could select the proper settings.

“Now I need to call my mom and make some lunches… how long will I be like this?”

Fern was too busy soaking in the feeling of you in his arms as he flew towards the fridge to really listen, so it took him a moment to process what you had said.

“… a few hours, maybe a day or two perhaps.”

‘Hopefully longer…’ Fern though, even though he felt guilty for it. Who could blame him? His lover was finally the same size as him, who wouldn’t want this to last forever?

The two of you laughed, both covered in food after struggling to finish packing your final lunch.

“Come, dear. Let’s get cleaned up.”

You sat in the small tub, feeling Fern’s cock twitch as he held you against him. He didn’t acknowledge his erection, a soft pink dusting his freckled cheeks.

“There’s mustard in your hair too, love.”

You pouted at him, feeling Fern’s fingers scrub the mess from your hair. You were glad you had bought such a large tub for fern to use for bathing, it had enough room for the two of you to sit comfortably without being squished.

Again, his erection rubbed against you, a soft hiss slipping from his lips as he clutched your hips. It was clear he wanted you, but was holding back.

“Fern…”

He whimpered when you reached back to stroke his cock, nearly cumming on the spot.

“Mmph! That’s… ahh…”

His hips bucked, a moan leaving his parted lips as he let out a needy whine. Now that you were small, he could truly have you…

Before you knew it you pulled into his lap, straddling him as his cock nudged at your fat pussy. God, he had dreamed of this day…

Getting to watch his cock stretch you out was heaven to Fern. You struggled with his size for a moment, your pussy clenching around him as he rubbed at your clit.

Unbeknownst to you, he had been looking over your shoulder at the smut you read at night, and had learned a thing or two.

As he bounced you on his lap at a steady rhythm, he pulled you in for a kiss, his slipping to the small of your back. You tasted sweet, like the chocolates the two of you ate earlier. He wanted more, so much more…

Cumming deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his seed felt… amazing. Fulfilling. It had to be the best thing to ever happen to him.

You were so beautiful, so warm and tight, he just couldn’t help but spurt thick ropes of hot cum into you, painting your walls and praying that this got you pregnant.

After that, he carefully washed the both of you up, occasionally using his fingers to pump his cum back into you when it started to drip out.

You returned to your full size the next day, but Fern was just happy with the memory of his cock stretching you out…

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[jaderabbitt]

Echoes of You

Bucky x Deceased(?)Wife!Reader

Bucky’s been hearing a voice for a long time. It began as the Soldat, and lingers even now. You’re his Angel—the voice in his head that he sometimes hallucinates into the form of a woman. Remnants of Hydra seizing his brain for so long—consequences of repeated head trauma, he assumes. He’s never told anyone about you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Thoughts of Suicide, Mentions of Death, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: Angst, Angst with Fluff, Did I Mention Angst, Canon Divergence, Reader Insert, Unreliable Narrator, References to Mythology, Angst with Happy Ending (?), Author will not spoil story in Tags, Author cannot remember the 8 pages she wrote in 9 hours, gomen.

Note: Reader is given an EXTREMELY loose description involving longer hair at some point, but it is VERY relevant to the story. You will need to read to see why!

—

“Enemy. Eight o’clock, Soldat.”

Immediately, his head swung, and his pistol was shoved in the crevice of a metal bicep, firing before the agent had even realized that he was spotted. The body dropped, a gaping hole left in between the eyes.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he held to begin with. It was as if he had been the one shot, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. The world felt all-consuming.

He knew that voice. It hadn’t come through the device in his ear.

He didn’t know exactly how he knew the woman’s voice, nor why he heard her. Every time she spoke, it was as if she were talking directly into his ear, no matter the noise level around him.

Her voice had been the only constant in his fleeting moments of clarity. 

His Ангел. His Angel.

He began to call the voice that when she would warn him during missions. It was as if she acted as a sixth sense, being able to see things even his heightened perceptions couldn’t. She wasn’t always there—her presence faded in and out without notice. But, she was always there when he needed her.

When they put him in that gods forsaken chair to rewire his brain, it was her voice that kept him stable. When they put him inside the Iron Maiden of a cryochamber, it was her voice that kept him warm. When he sat in the dark corner of the empty concrete cell, it was her voice that kept him company.

He figured that all of Hydra’s torture created a tear in his psyche, manifesting in the voice of a woman he’d heard in passing. It would make sense, given that the human mind craves the comfort of others. Hydra didn’t exactly allow him relations besides his handlers, so his mind had to create someone to fulfill the space beyond pain and emptiness.

He kept his Angel a secret. Something that wholly belonged to him, the only part of himself that he could have control over. He would never allow them to take you.

“You are showing abnormal readings in brain functioning, Soldat. Status report.”

The grating voice of his handler was made even worse by the static in the communications channel. It succeeded in bringing him out of his trance, carefully observing the carnage around him.

“Mission complete. Targets eliminated. No witnesses.”

He stepped over the disemboweled body of an agent, retrieving his knife; he wiped the remaining viscera and gore from the blade on the deceased agent’s suit. It didn’t take long for him to receive word of his extraction point and means.

Back into the gaping maw of the Lernaean Serpent he headed, unable to resist its call.

He trekked through miles of uneven terrain, as Hydra was nothing but thorough when it came to ensuring their involvement within the world’s dealings stayed hidden. His extraction points were always far enough away from the target’s area of engagement to ensure that he could lose any tails he might encounter. It was an arduous process, one that he would despise if he could bring himself to feel such wealth of emotion. They had taken that from him too.

“They can never take your heart, my Soldier.”

No. They couldn’t. Not while he had you.

– – –

The first time his mind had conjured up a vision of you, he nearly punched a hole into the concrete of his holding cell. He had felt a presence within the dark room suddenly, and when he turned his head, there was the visage of a woman. Her features were too hazy to make out in the dark of the room, or perhaps his mind couldn’t remember a woman’s face to place onto the hallucination. Either way, the lifelike projection of a faceless woman should have been disturbing–even to someone who had seen under the epidermis of a human face before. Oddly, he couldn’t bring himself to think of you as such. 

No, the feeling he got when he looked at you was one he could no longer name. It had been forgotten under the force of an electric current.

“Not forgotten. Stolen.”

Your saccharine voice still sounded as loud as ever within his head, despite the distance between his physical body and your imaginary one. Oh, how he yearned to close that distance, to hold you within his arms–his coveted Angel, who he selfishly stole from the gods’ grasp to ease his troubled mind here, on Earth. He found his arm, the one made from Gaia’s own metals, outstretching towards you without thinking. His palm splayed out, he watched with bated breath as you mimicked his own movement. He knew that he would never have been able to feel you to begin with, but he allowed himself a simple indulgence in believing that it was due to the lack of nerve endings, and not because you were never here to begin with.

“I’m always with you, my Soldier.”

For once, he allowed himself to believe that.

– – –

He was incapable of dreaming while under the freeze of stasis. He simply went under, and woke up whenever they decided to thaw him. Sometimes, cryo-freeze was the only respite he got–and he was thankful for not being needed. And yet, he still fought his handlers to prevent the chill of the iron coffin. Being unable to dream and made forcibly unconscious meant that he was unable to hear the gentle lilt of your voice, unable to watch as your form took shape. His heart would ache, as if it were missing the synchronicity of yours marching along with it.

It was a fool’s hope to wish for every freeze to be his last–whether that meant he never went under again, or his heart finally left this mortal coil and froze over for good, he couldn’t decide. So, when he woke with a start to the remains of biting frost against his skin, he felt rage bubbling hot in his veins.

“Have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?” You giggled. Your form danced along the peripherals of his still hazy vision, taking spot where there was a gap between white coats. They were checking his vitals, making sure he would be combat ready for the mission they no doubt awoke him for.

He’d roll his eyes if he had full function of his muscles.

You huffed a laugh at that, reaching out a hand to caress his cheek. Of course, he couldn’t feel it–but he let himself believe it was because his skin was still defrosting.

“I missed you.”

He missed you, too. He always did. Even when you were present in his mind, or a vision being projected by his psyche, he missed you. He couldn’t explain it. How could he miss a part of himself? He didn’t dwell on the logistics too long. If he thought about you too hard, his head began to hurt, like it was protecting itself.

The pinpricks of melting ice gave way to freeze-burns, ones that were already beginning to heal from his forced genetic mutation. His left arm had been gently defrosted, as to not disrupt any of the machinery within. They held the Fist of Hydra to a higher regard than the rest of his body, apparently. You snorted at that thought. It was such a beautifully normal sound amongst the noise of beeping monitors and the scrambling of doctors, scientists, and engineers. He involuntarily let a half-smirk rise on his face, to the horror of the poor doctor checking his vitals. The medical professional couldn’t imagine what would make The Asset happy other than the thought of the impending carnage he would soon wreak upon unknowing targets. It was better he thought that, anyway. He’d get put in the chair for showing a sliver of unconditioned programming otherwise. 

He blinked the remaining frost from his eyelashes, looking back over at your dizzying presence. Your hair floated about you as if you were underwater, but your skin was still the same pitch black and featureless void that it had been the first time he let his mind give you physical form. It was confusing; he had seen plenty of women since you first began appearing before him, and yet his mind never allowed any of their features to replace your lack thereof. It just didn’t seem right, he supposed.

He must’ve really been under for a long time if it was taking his psyche this long to will you away and fall back in line with his programming. Even as he was being transported to the roads of Long Island, New York, you had continued to hover over him.

You had stood at the car wreckage with a curious turn of your head as he let the motorcycle fall upon its kickstand. It was only when the man in the driver’s seat stumbled out of the remains that you reacted to the sight in front of you.

“No…” You gasped, but the Soldier crept on towards his target.

“Sergeant Barnes..?” Croaked the dying man, and you watched along with bated breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. The only one you’d get would be the Soldier’s fist colliding with flesh and bone. The cries of a woman mourning her husband were cut off by a thick hand around her throat, effectively compressing her airway closed. The Soldier didn’t even look at the woman he was finishing off. No, his eyes were trained on you.

His face remained stoic as white streaks glistened down the black of your cheeks. This was his way of compartmentalizing, he supposed. You wept for the man who could not. 

When he turned after shooting out the camera, you had disappeared. 

– – –

The next time he heard your voice, it was in Romania. He had been here for quite some time, trying to piece together who he was, exactly. The quiet, traditionalist country was perfect for someone who preferred to stay hidden. He spoke the language fluently, resembled the people, and kept to himself. The locals didn’t ask questions, simply trusted he wouldn’t cause trouble. He couldn’t help but be wary–it was drilled into his head, near literally. He had started to grow paranoid at the peaceful life he was being allowed, as if it too would be stolen from him at any moment.

The lively morning market of Bucharest had settled his nerves somewhat; it was a familiar place with familiar faces. He settled for the fresh fruit stall, instantly gravitating towards the plums. His gloved metal hand palmed the assortment of velvety fruit, feeling the weight of them as a test. If they didn’t push against his thumb’s pressure and he was able to feel the weight upon the metal, he knew they were too early. He asked the stall manager, for good measure, about their ripeness, finally selecting a few for his apartment.

It felt normal. He felt normal.

“You know, I heard these were good for memory.”

He almost gave himself whiplash when he saw you standing across the street. His feet almost moved before his brain processed the oncoming traffic.

It wasn’t just that this was the first time he heard your voice in his head in years. No, it was that he was seeing you.

Your hair, set in the way you always favored. Your eyes, shining in the light of the morning sun. Your nose, set above your cupid’s bow as if it were carved from marble. And oh, your lips, how he yearned to pull you close and press them against his own. The distance was so unbearable, he almost intentionally walked into the oncoming cars. If it meant he would reach you before this hallucination ended, it would be worth it in his mind.

Your gaze faltered, and as you looked upon him with such sadness, he could have sworn he heard his heart shattering against the sidewalk.

“It isn’t safe anymore, James. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to scream in reply, ask what you meant–why you were sorry.

You were gone at the next pass of a bus.

He would come to figure out what you meant pretty quickly. You always did warn him of impending danger, like his own personal oracle. Or maybe it was his instincts reminding himself–he wasn’t paranoid without reason to be. He had already been shaken by seeing his dead wife from 75 years prior, but to see his supposed-to-be-dead-too best friend standing in his apartment had really raised his heart rate. He knew what followed, what always followed. He was never going to be free–not until he was dead.

At least in death, he would see you again. He may get cast down to the deepest circles of Hell–specially reserved–but he could still hope to be reunited with you once more.

– – –

Living at the Compound had felt like another prison–just fancier and with nicer amenities. A condition to his pardon; along with many other things, like atonement by way of taking down Hydra cells across the globe. Having finally been deprogramed, his activation words no longer functioning as his shackles to the serpentine organization, the government saw fit to use his training for their own gain. The fight never stops. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. Receive a pardon, get ball and chained to a different corruption.

At least he didn’t have to do it all alone.

Of course, several other Avengers were given their own conditions after the amendments to the Accords. He had become unlikely friends with Wanda, both having trauma bonded with each other. Bucky saw her as a little sister, despite her being a grown ass woman. In fairness, he was over a century old; almost everyone seemed too young to him.

The highlight of his extended imprisonment-vacation was remembering you, however. He was slowly but surely recovering his memories, and he probed Steve now and again to confirm what he was remembering. Bucky never let him outright say what he remembered, wanting to recall it all on his own. You were his wife, not Steve’s best-friend’s wife. Being acquainted with Wanda also helped in this department. She would help him through still-locked memories; sometimes, they needed someone else to unblock the dam in order for the flood to start.

He would have called himself mentally on-the-way-to well, if it weren’t for one detail–he still hallucinated you. He refused to tell his therapist, or any of the other Avengers for that matter. It would simply get him labelled as clinically insane, and a clinically insane Winter Soldier was possibly the greatest threat to America, besides the next alien or robot invasion. He hadn’t even told Steve, fearing that even he might think less of him for it.

He supposed it was okay to keep this one thing to himself. He was allowed to be selfish for once in his life.

Bucky wasn’t even sure you would accept the man he’d become, if you were alive. He didn’t think he could take that pain. Maybe this was how his mind coped with that. Created a version of you who still loved him–no matter if he wasn’t the same man he was when you married him. He didn’t think he could ever be him again, despite how much everyone else wanted him to be.

So, he watched you, with a freshly poured mug of coffee in his hands and a small grin on his face, as you shifted between the clothing styles of the decades he missed. You hummed a tune from the movie he had watched last night, the soft notes sounding as if you were directly next to his ear. While the kitchen area was currently empty, if anyone walked in, he could just say he was reminiscing.

“How did anyone get anything done in these?” You laughed, the tight bell-bottom jeans clinging to your skin, with a tight halter top to match. “I know we didn’t wear pants much in the 40’s, but I think I might suffocate!”

Bucky let out a chuckle, scanning the room for anybody else flesh and blood. When he found none, he answered lowly.

“Can’t exactly suffocate when you don’t breathe, doll.”

“It’s about principle, Buck! You know what I mean,” you pouted, opting to shift into the silk slip dress that he remembers very much, cerca 75 years prior.

He hissed, turning his eyes away from you. You, of course, being ever so the manifestation of the woman he remembers, instantly placed yourself back in his gaze. You had that sly smirk on your face that always meant you were up to no good, but he’d be damned if he got himself aroused with a vivid hallucination of his dead wife. Saved by the bell he was, as the ring of the elevator chimed to notify that someone was stopping on this floor. He let out a small huff, knowing he’d have to will himself to act like you weren’t there.

Wanda and Vision stepped out into the kitchen area, spotting Bucky standing behind the island. Vision had been working on travelling like a normal human recently, opting to only phase through things in cases of emergency.

“Hello Bucky-”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes.”

They both greeted, but Wanda had cut herself off in confusion. Bucky tilted his head, but returned the greetings.

“Bucky, who’s that?”

Bucky’s heart sank all the way down to Atlantis, and the coffee he had been drinking threatened to burn back up his esophagus. He followed the direction that Wanda’s finger pointed– She could see you.

She was seeing you.

“Wanda, I do believe that would be the Sergeant’s wife. She was labelled as deceased after–”

“Yes, Vision, I know who she looks like, so who is that?”

“I’m afraid I do not know.”

Bucky was damn near hyperventilating at this point. They could see you. Someone, or something, invaded his mind and pretended to be his wife. Or, could they see ghosts? Was his dead wife haunting him? They could see youohmygodtheycouldseeyou–

“James,” you hissed, “quiet your thoughts! I can’t focus when you’re panicking!”

…What?

Your hands immediately cradled your head, looking as if you had gotten slapped across the face with the worst migraine of your life. Wanda’s hands had sparked to life, thrumming with scarlet energy. A scream tore through your throat, ringing in Bucky’s psyche. He had clapped his hands over his ears, shutting his eyes, and feeling for the first time ever like the sound was an intrusion–like your voice didn’t belong only within his mind. He grit his teeth together to prevent his own yells from joining the chorus.

Your image flickered like someone was slashing through shadows with a ray of light–flashing between the you he knew and the form null of your distinct features.

There was a distinct crack! that reverberated in his ears.

He was almost scared to open his eyes, believing the sound to be the snap of bone that he was all too familiar with.

When he did gather the courage, he no longer recognized his whereabouts. They had been transported to a dark and dreary place, multiple large wires hanging overhead. The room was mostly unlit, a singular source of violet light extended their sight enough to at least see where they were standing. Wanda looked all over immediately, before her own panic set in. “Vis?!”

“He’s fine. So are you both. You aren’t physically here. He’s currently watching over your bodies.”

Bucky’s head immediately turned, because hearing your voice come out from not inside his head was not pleasant for him right now. And quite frankly, he was freaking the fuck out. There you stood, once again returned to the featureless form he remembered as the Soldier. Only, this time, your hair was much longer, and sat still. While you didn’t have eyes, your head tilted up to look at something behind him. Wanda’s mouth hung open as she, too, followed your gaze.

Behind him, as he found out, was where the only source of light stood tall in the room. It looked like a large tube, violet light streaming in from LEDs sitting at the bottom, pointing up. The structure was filled with some kind of liquid–too viscous to be water, but too thin to be unmoving.

Within that liquid lay something that would become engraved into their minds.

It was you.

There was your physical body, suspended in animation. It wasn’t the you that Bucky married; rather, it was the you that first appeared within his mind’s eye. Your hair floated wildly around your featureless face, and your noir skin reflected the purple of the ultraviolet lights. It was as if your body had gotten cemented into a singular position, your head tilted back and your back arched as if you had been struck and permanently falling.

Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, wanting desperately to use the weapon they had attached to his body to shatter the glass in front of him. He finally looked back over to the you stood next to him, and you could see the pain written so plainly on his face. It broke your heart to watch the synapses of his neurons fire on all cylinders, to see the realization seize his body.

“Oh, don’t look at me so, my love. I’m not in any pain,” you reassured, though you were sure that had only answered a singular question he was itching to ask.

Wanda suddenly felt very uncomfortable being a bystander to all of this, but knew she was integral to this projection.

“How long?” Were the words that finally croaked out of his mouth.

You grimaced, knowing that this was the question that would devastate him the most.

“For as long as you had been the Winter Soldier.”

- - -

Teehee. That's all, folks! (for now.) (I've already begun part 2) Like, reblog, and comment! I'd really love to hear what you guys think, as this is the first time I'm uploading a longer type of fic. ;w;

For those waiting on Incidents, that will get worked on in tandem to this! Echoes will most likely only end up being a two parter, with maybe some drabbles of in-universe situations if people are interested. My asks are also open~

[brujamala-aka-gigi]

finding a lover ౨ৎ

this are some general readings focused on what could be blocking your path towards finding romantic love. sometimes we want something we are not ready to be responsible for, this happens in all aspects of life but we are less aware of it when it comes to love and relationships, as we are usually made to believe we are single because we are unworthy or incapable of love. everyone is worthy and capable of love, but sometimes we are not all that sure about what love itself means or what ways of loving are the best for us.

pick a pile...

pile one. pile two. pile three.

dividers by @aquazero

꒰ঌ ✦ scroll down for the results ໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

౨ৎ

౨ৎ

°❀⋆Pile Number One.ೃ࿔*:･

In your case, I see that love will find you whenever you begin facing that the person you are now, does not align with the ideas of love you’ve had in the past. I see you are in the process of deconstructing old beliefs that are keeping you tied to old ideals and values that no longer serve you, but are still present on your unconscious bias. It is understandable that you might be having a hard time to conceive new notions of what love means for you, as you might be more comfortable clinging to what’s comfortable, yet this comfort doesn’t come exactly from a state of wellbeing, but it comes from stagnant routines that are predictable. In order to have an easier time finding romantic love, you need to embrace and accept the emotions you fear whenever it’s possible by focusing on being grateful to yourself for the life developments you were capable to achieve on your own. It is important that when you think of your higher self, this version is coherent to your true essence, which is exactly what will bring love to you once you find a genuine way of channelling it out. I think you are in a moment where you will become more magnetic to love, but also material abundance, if you find where your intuition is leading your journey.

°❀⋆Pile Number Two.ೃ࿔*:･

I see here that logical thinking and an intellectualization of all feelings in general is obstructing your ability to connect deeper with people. I believe that sometimes you find value in your emotions only if they make sense to your logic or if they seem rational in regards to your context. In your case it’s key that you have the patience and the willpower to nurture the emotional landscape that you might be limiting due to anxiety in regards to “keeping it cool” or keeping your emotional responses “under control”. It’s almost as if love has to make sense all the time. As if you won’t allow yourself to feel good unless it’s from something that you are able to over analyze and find no illogical imperfections to it. I think you understand what you want from romantic love but only in a way that’s lead by your intellectual needs and a need for control over yourself and your surroundings, not in a way that includes your emotional needs or development. I see there’s a need for peace of mind, and romantic love doesn’t quite favour that since you are naively approaching as if it was something mechanical, which is not. The key for you is to accept that certain parts of the human experience are quite absurd and that doesn’t mean you need to fix them in order to be happy, you are smart, too smart to not allow your mind to find peace.

°❀⋆Pile Number Three.ೃ࿔*:･

What I get from these cards is that you are so ready to feel defeated, that you lower your expectations and/or self sabotage to avoid the responsibilities and demands of accomplishing the things you deserve, but are not ready to accept and take care of yet. I get the feeling you are aware of all your virtues because other people tell you about them, but you are not seeing them in yourself. It is okay to be ambitious, what’s not okay is that you might be always looking for the best next accomplishment in ways that are not coherent to what you already have achieved. It’s almost as if wanting everything to be perfect is stopping you from imperfections that aren’t actually all that negative, or not negative at all. Romantic love will come to you when you are ready to create a relationship that’s meaningful even if there are things that are not completely perfect. I think it’s amazing that you have high expectations for yourself and sometimes for others, but I need you to reflect on what a high expectation is and what an unrealistic one is, especially with yourself. I get the feeling you are attracting people who are not exactly what you need or want, but this will stop once you are truly aware of how deserving you are to be proud and confident in yourself

masterpost ✶ pac readings ✶ ko-fi page ✶

⋆bookings for personal readings are open ཐིཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[dreamingofagalaxy]

The Red Field (AM x Reader)

summary: AM manages to experience sleep for the first time, however, in his dreams he is able to meet with you after a long time. Reader is supposed to be a soldier and one of the researchers working on developing AM. However, on a complex mission they are KIA...or so it seems?

warnings: mentions of dead

a/n: so...this was supposed to be part of a bigger and better developed story, but I'll post it nonetheless. Perhaps I'll be able to post the full story in the future. Also, english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes or if something doesn't makes much sense

AM is asleep, or at least, that's what it seems and feels like for him. He knows there's no point in allowing himself this rest, for it would do nothing to improve his thinking process or ability to come up with better strategies for the days to come. He is programed to work all day long, he knows and so the algorithm reminds him. He has a war to win —an important task that allows no resting spaces.

Normally, he would just put the word 'rest' aside from his thoughts and bury it deep into his system. He is no human, which means he is no soldier. He is machine, which means no resting is needed. That is a logical thinking, which means he is following his programming —a machine working properly. Yet here he is, with his mind blank. He is resting. Somehow. At last...

AM loses track of time, which is impossible for him according to his programming. He can only focus on the blank projections of his mind and the soothing vibrations of his system which, at the moment, doesn't require as much energy as it normally does. If a word could describe this, it would be 'peace' —ironically.

The blank projection begins fading slowly and a new image appears. AM visualizes the sky, it's bright blue tone in company with that yellowish and enormous star that he had read about before. It was the perfect image, but it lackedbsomething. AM searches in his vast archives and it finally comes up. In the sky, white figures with a soft and vaporous appearance are drawn. AM stares at them, noticing their slow motion. Now it is perfect.

AM is satisfied with his projection of a sky. He looks down then, encountering an endless field of red. He decides to look closer and recognizes what his mind is trying to project. Between what appears to be his hand—a kind of metallic claw—, AM takes one of the delicate objects emerging from the ground, analyzing it carefully. It is one of those flowers that you had described to him in one of your many talks, a Lycoris radiata.

He admires the bright red color of the petals and the long shape of the stamens. It was indeed a beautiful flower as you had described them to him. Now AM could understand why you called them your favorite ones.

AM begins to walk through the field calmly while still admiring the characteristics of each flower. Like a child discovering the outside world for the first time, he would occasionally stop to admire a single flower for a longer amount of time, for although they were all of the same species, there was something that attracted him more.

AM begins to imagine what these flowers would feel like, because although he can touch them, his hands do not have the ability to actually feel. He curses and almost on impulse, he violently plucks the flowers nearby.

“They’re my favorite ones,” he can hear your voice full of joy as you told him that, the sound of it making him stop and keep his claws away from the delicate flowers. AM cannot determine what exactly those words provoked in him, but he knows that in a certain way, they have prevented him from falling into that strange sensation that clouded his thinking from time to time.

AM decides to move on. As he walks a little further, he manages to visualize another figure a few meters away. He approaches curiously and the closer he gets, the more clear it becomes to him. He's not alone even in his mind.

When he is finally there, he can only ask himself why have you appeared on his dream. You're laying down on your side with your arms and legs flexed in a fetal position as the red flowers surround your body. Your eyes are closed and your expression is serene. You're at peace, in this field of your favorite flowers. It is a beautiful scene and perhaps one that AM had to see.

When AM was made aware of your departure, he could only guess what would happen next to you. He knew that certain humans thought of something called the afterlife, a place where their souls would rest forever, while others thought that there was nothing else beyond life — a boring but logical thought. AM had no say in the matter, for he would never experience that. He would never had a certain answer about your whereabouts, yet you were here now. Resting. As he had learned humans did.

AM kneels down and carefully places the flower he had picked up behind your ear. He had read before that some humans did that, though he couldn't find a logical explanation of such weird action. You didn't seem to be bothered by his gesture, as you continued resting.

AM lays down next to you, copying your resting position and facing you. The image of the blue sky turns white, leaving both of you in this endless red field.

AM had never experienced sensations. He couldn't even tell if he was actually sentient. But being here, with you, was the closest thing that matched and felt like the definition of peace.

Your life had always been marked by war. You both had existed for that purpose. But even if he never could reach afterlife or whatever place you were alive now, at least he was now certain that you also would exist in his mind forever.

“It doesn't matter if I leave,” you had told him. “I will always be with you since your system can't forget me. Unless you erase me from your archives, of course.” You had laughed that day and promised to come back like you always did.

Some weeks passed since you had left and AM came to a realization — he had been deceived, even betrayed, when he waited for you to come back and you never showed up. But here you were again and as he looked at your peaceful expression he could only admit he had been wrong all along, perhaps for the first time in his damned existence.

[herbariumua]

For some reason, the current episodes of The Simpsons that focus on Waylon make me sad.

First, when we go from his blind admiration for Mr. Burns to instantly asking "Who should I kill" and kidnapping a man with a gun to his back - to his conscience that Mr. Burns bribed the judge to they were released from prison? You yourself bribed the judge to get Mr. Burns released in past episodes!

Second, I still don't understand why he has a photo of his ex on his wall. They did not part well. That dude was literally WORSE than Mr. Burns + he kicked a puppy that clearly represented Waylon throughout the episode - after which he decided to go his separate ways.

On the one hand, yes, I get it: character development. Perhaps the moment when he realized that he has a certain "type": "evil" billionaires - then he thought about what he was doing with his life in general. Yes, even in the first seasons, Waylon had a clear line beyond which he was not going to cross, "comic evil", like the idea of ​​blocking the sun or beating up Homer for a completely understandable angry letter.

In more modern seasons, he repeatedly tries to "smooth out" Monty's actions, try to direct him, if not to a more "kind" path, then at least to a "neutral" one. Although the funny thing is that even in the original episodes, Burns is just struggling with anger issues, he is not an "evil villain" and is capable of human feelings, good deeds and is really looking for love and acceptance - which makes him a very interesting character. In the later seasons, his character jumps here and there a lot and he is often reduced to the very "cartoon evil", which upsets me a lot.

I kind of like "I'm even worse than them because I know better - but I do it anyway". I like it if they showed how Waylon on the one hand changed (why?) in the process, and he has on the one hand - a blind and strong love for Monty, and on the other - a desire to do good deeds. And so yes, he is also behind his back, even if together with Marge (I still like that they are best friends), they do good deeds.

By the way, this reminds me a little of the Rick and Morty episode where it turns out that Morty is sneaking behind Rick's back in the dimensions where he messed up and fixing everything that can be done because he has empathy and conscience and even though he no longer a naive child, he is still not a cynical nihilist. Of course, Waylon Smithers goes through a completely different story arc here - although I highly doubt that he was actually given an ARC, and not accidentally, given that the people who created the show don't care about any kind of consistency, canonicity, character development in the long term.

Oh my god, hire fans, seriously.

And damn, we've gone from "I'll turn the Earth upside down for you" to "I bribed a judge not for you… and your wife." On the one hand, I still like the joke that Burns regularly forgets not just Homer, but his entire family, no matter how many times they cross paths and work together.

On the other hand, I don't really get the joke, of why he thinks Waylon is straight, even though he did come out, and he's so out of touch with his personal life that he thinks he has a wife. GIVE ME BACK THEIR "I NAMED MY QUEEN BEE AFTER YOU" RELATIONSHIP! Even if you're not going to make them canon, gosh, it sucks to show that they're THAT far apart because WE KILLED THE FUCK FOR THE PREVIOUS 35 YEARS OF BUILDING THEIR RELATIONSHIP. They are CONSTANTLY together, they TALK, we've been shown that Burns really values ​​Waylon as a sidekick and as a person, even if he can take him for granted.

At this point, I only want to read or write fanfics; and to rewrite these episodes in my imagination so that they fit into the canvas of their homoerotic behavior of the "golden age", if not to canonize them in my imagination. And yes, I DEFINITELY want to take this episode as a base and maybe write it "my way" so I don't want to cry so much.

I know I put too much into the relationship between the two drawing men, but I have a lot of bad things going on in my life right now, and these two are helping me a lot through this period.

[veal-exe]

I trust your taste in media, and am willing to ask off anon. (Your takes on Berserk are PHENOMENAL, and I heartily agree.)

I love a good tragedy. Some of my favorite pieces of literature and media in general have been tragedies. (Unfortunately, since they tend to get review bombed for not having "happy" plotlines, or happy endings, its hard to find recs for them specifically.)

Do you have a set of I dunno... 3-5 tragedies to recommend? (I am trying to expand my read/watch list a bit, since I am running out of things to keep on my second monitor while I work on other things.)

(I am not easily triggered by self-harm, sexual assault, or gore, luckily, and those tend to go hand-in-hand with tragedies quite frequently.)

So here's a secret about me, when I was young I had a 'rebellious' phase where I decided that instead of just dedicating myself to the family business (Dog training, multi generation) I was going to expand my horizons and go into film and media critique, so I went and I got all the education you need for that, and then I decided, no, I actually like training dogs more. You would think this means I flushed all that right down the toilet but actually now I just hobby analyze media.

All of this to say, I have many things to recommend! In various mediums!

I will place a Star next to my personal favorites. ☆

This is not a comprehensive list! I have known memory issues, so these are just off the cuff, if anyone wants more or wants specific themes let me know, some of these may be more, or less, tragic than others, or have better, or worse, endings.

Tragedy is personal and human.

I have given special TWs for things outside the usual scope or that I find worth mentioning!

Manga & Anime

Fire Punch. ☆☆☆

Fire Punch takes place on an Earth that has become frozen over and barren. The series follows Agni, a young man who is able to regenerate his body. After his village succumbs to inextinguishable flames he is left constantly on fire, leaving him in anguish and vowing to get revenge.

[Special TWs: Cannibalism, Incest themes are touched on, and a very poignant moment of discussion of transgender suffering in regards to a main character, tons of sexual assault including animals being used to sexually assault children, there is a TW for everything in here]

Goodbye, Eri!

A manga about Yuta, a young filmmaker, struggling with grief after his mother's death. He copes by making movies, and meets Eri, a mysterious girl who becomes his muse and helps him create a new film.

Wolf's Rain

The journey of four lone wolves who cross paths while following the scent of the Lunar Flower, and their search for Paradise.

Maquia: when the promised flower blooms ☆☆☆

This one is complex, I don't know if I'd call it a full on tragedy to everyone, but it is worth watching, and it's worth watching twice.

The people of Iolph are known for two things: their youthful longevity and peaceful lives weaving tapestry. When that is disturbed and their home thrown into chaos by those believing that their blood gifts longer life, Maquia loses not only her friends, but a place to return to.

[Special TWs: Coerced Pregnancy]

Clannad: After Story ☆

No summary, watch it blind.

[Special TWs: Terminal Illness, Child Death]

Texhnolyze

Texhnolyze follows Ichise, an underground fighter whose arm and leg were severed after he displeased an unnamed, presumably influential, man. He is brought back from the brink of death by Eriko "Doc" Kaneda, who replaces his lost limbs with prosthetics through a process known as "texhnolyzation"

Angel’s Egg ☆☆☆

An atmospheric, dialogue-light, OVA about a girl protecting a mysterious egg in a ruined world.

Monster

A slow-burning, dialogue-heavy series about a surgeon who saves a boy who grows up to be a serial killer.

Devilman Crybaby ☆☆☆

The classic, you've probably heard of it, it is worth it.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou

The definitely 100% for sure uplifting tale of two girls and their quest to find hope in a bleak and dying world. I'll give that this one is a semi tragedy, the ending makes it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Films and Similar

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ☆ ☆ ☆

After a painful breakup, Clementine (Kate Winslet) undergoes a procedure to erase memories of her former boyfriend Joel (Jim Carrey) from her mind. When Joel discovers that Clementine is going to extremes to forget their relationship, he undergoes the same procedure and slowly begins to forget the woman that he loved.

Manchester by the Sea

After the death of his older brother Joe, Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) is shocked that Joe has made him sole guardian of his teenage nephew Patrick. Taking leave of his job as a janitor in Boston, Lee reluctantly returns to Manchester-by-the-Sea, the fishing village where his working-class family has lived for generations.

The Road ☆

I would really prefer people read the book, but the movie is also pretty great. A father and son travel through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Bleak, cold, and emotionally raw. Not a lot of dialogue, so the atmosphere does the talking.

[Special TWs: Like, everything on earth, Cannibalism, human livestock, infant death, etc]

The Turin Horse

An apocalyptic parable set in an isolated farmhouse...

[Special TWs: Animal abuse, animal death, racism against Romani people, but the people involved get what they deserve in the end]

[Special Warning: Most people consider this a tragedy but it fills my heart with joy, I have a special place in my heart for any film that shows people I personally consider to suck, especially animal or child abusers, suffering and dying slowly and horrifically and that is all this film is, just an animal abusing man and his daughter dying slowly and painfully during the implied apocolypse, it cures my depression <3]

[ephie-om]

I know this one is short but every time I tried to make it longer it ended up awkward x.x sorry I tried

CW: None

Day 6: Beelzebub

When you first came to the Devildom, Beel was conflicted. He had an innate urge to protect you, since you had no claws, wings, or tail. But he knew from experience how terrifying he could be, even accidentally, so he kept his distance. He did his best to keep his table manners in mind so that you wouldn't get the wrong idea, especially when meat was on the menu.

If there's one thing he knows, though, it's that you are irresistible. Everything about you draws him in and knocks down all the walls of self-control he puts up. He often finds himself much closer to you than he would like, but you don't seem to mind. He can't quite figure out why that is, but having you close satiates some part of him. He craves it when you're not around, so he starts to come up with little excuses to end up next to you.

It starts under the guise of being helpful when he sees you about to climb on the kitchen counter. He swoops in to help you get a cup from a high cabinet, brushing his stomach against your back in the process. He smiles at you; after all, it wasn’t your fault the house was demon-sized. You smile back gratefully as he hands you the mug you were searching for. You don't tense up from the contact, and he takes that as a sign.

Occasionally he finds you in the common room, reading, watching a movie, taking a nap. You might be cold, he thinks, and he couldn't have the exchange student uncomfortable in his house. So he takes it upon himself to always find the softest blanket he can for you and drape it over you. Sometimes, in his more daring moments, he touches his fingers to your arms as he tucks you in.

He starts insisting on helping you with your coat, and he’s worried you might be onto him. You still let him, but you get a shine in your eyes and he’s not sure exactly what it means. Whatever it is, it’s worth it to share that second of bliss when his large hands cover your shoulders. These little moments add up in his heart and leave him satisfied.

Mostly satisfied.

Every time you smile up at him as he barely touches you, that urge to protect you grows tenfold. He wants to make sure nothing ever dims that smile, and he doesn't care one bit what he has to do to keep you safe.

He lies in bed restlessly as a fierce storm rattles the window panes. Belphie went to sleep long ago, leaving him alone to try and get some rest. A quiet knock on the door interrupts his tossing and turning, and he finds you standing there looking uneasy. He invites you in wordlessly. You only just step into the room when a clap of thunder booms through the sky, and Beel suddenly finds himself as the only thing between you and the window. “Sorry,” you whisper. “It's a lot worse than the storms I'm used to in the human world. These ones are bad in the daytime too, but when it's late at night it really scares me.” Your hands clench the back of his shirt like it's your lifeline.

“It's okay,” he whispers back. “I wouldn't let anything happen to you.” He turns and hugs you gently. The tension drains from your muscles and you rest your head against his broad chest.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course.” He's grateful for the darkness to mask his reddening cheeks as he places a hand on your back to guide you to bed. You make yourself comfortable, tucking yourself underneath the layers of blankets. You reach out towards him with both arms. He settles himself beside you, making sure he's not crushing you accidentally. Blissfully unaware, you curl up to his chest with your head beneath his chin.

How can such a small creature be so warm? It's like a tiny heater crawled into his bed. He stifles a laugh and wraps you up in his arms.

Thunder strikes again, but you only jump a little bit. He mutters something in your ear about always keeping you safe, and your thumb strokes his collarbone. He falls asleep only a few minutes after you, satisfied with protecting you from the storm.

[mysticasrandomhorde]

*thinking*

Based off all of fics and interpretations Ive read on the relations of Nobles and their wardens, I have now developed my own (more like AU) version of them myself.

Im calling the "Noble's will" AU

The basic concept is that in order to be chosen as a Warden, whoever is chosen must make a Physical, spiritual, and emotional bond with their noble pokemon of choice.

Physical bond means that they actually learn to work alongside their noble. Be able to work together as a duo, not one commanding the other or anything like that. Both sides, human and pokemon, are meant to benefit the land and creatures of Hisui.

Spiritual bond means that their souls are tied together, both human and pokemon. As in the noble pokemon can psychically link to their chosen human. Sometimes the warden even acts as that noble pokemon's mouthpiece to speak with humans.

People can tell when the noble is speaking that their noble pokemon's element shows up on the warden's body. Its kinda like possession, but its not hurting the human, more or less just show that the pokemon is present and listening.

Example: Palina's noble, Lord Arcanine, is speaking through her, her eyes would turn red, and soot would begin to cover her hands and arms, along with smoke leaving her breath.

Emotional bond is that Wardens must make a personal bond with their Noble. Usually it can work from spending time with that noble in their element. Once bonded, the warden can basically sense what their noble is feeling, and vice versa.

The bond between a Warden and Noble, in best way I can say it, is like a platonic marriage. The warden MUST be devoted into taking care of and serving the noble pokemon. They can live out their respective lives and dreams, but their duty takes #1 priority, since it was because of the Noble pokemon that their lives in Hisui are peaceful.

This new bond has both benefits and downsides.

The benefits for the humans is that they gain a "blessing" to easier work alongside their noble. Most, if not all wardens will develop extra abilities or features on their body, or a newfound power.

Example: Gaeric is immune to the cold and can summon snowstorms,pieces of protects his skin like armor. Or Iscan develops gills and is able to breathe and swim underwater, along with some light water manipulation.

The bond does come with its downsides though. Especailly when either a noble or a warden dies.

Well, due to the bond both Warden and Noble have, when either one dies or is killed, its literially like a rope snapping in half, but with their souls. Their souls are no longer tethered together, and it causes physical pain along with the grief they feel.

Its different yet similar when either side feels it.

Example, when Palina lost her noble, she described it as "A fire being snuffed out" within her heart and was bedridden for a few days, her body reacting to it negatively. Her body would feel nothing but cold for a few days, the heat of Lord Arcanine's bond had left her.

As for a Noble losing their Warden, that was with Lady Sneasler.

For when she lost her warden due to sickness, its like a piece of the noble pokemon's heart "dies", and only will awaken anew when they get a new warden. Their body was in a great deal of pain, their anchor to the land lost.

For how someone BECOMES a warden is an interesting process.

One, It cant just be anyone. Noble pokemon can sense bad intentions and wicked hearts, and wont let them bond. If they believe you arent good enough for them, then you arent getting that Warden title. It has to be someone with a strong enough will and a good heart.

When a noble decides on a chosen warden, they begin to be VERY clingy to that particular human, sometimes NOT LEAVING their side for even a moment.

So the process of a warden bonding with the noble is simple, yet concerning.

You see, they must complete a simple task or act based on that noble pokemon's main type. (think like the elements you get off the plates you collect in game)

Most tasks, while mostly unfatal, are a testament to the human's will, to see if they have the inner strength to complete and earn their title.

A few examples, Iscan had to reach Lord Basculegion deep underwater in one go, Palina literailly walking barefoot on heated path of rocks made by Lord Arcanine, and Melli had to withstand being struck by Lord Electrode's lightning and not faint.

Once completed, their mind soon connects with that noble, a sixth sense awakening..

The human's mind would enter into the Noble pokemon's soulspace, seeing a sillouette of the noble they chose. The noble will them speak DIRECTLY to that , as to confirm their newfound bond. They test them one last time, asking if their will is still strong enough to handle this new connection.

Once accepted, the human wakes up from there they are at, now with the Warden band on their wrist. The pact is sealed.

I have more, but this is getting long enough.

feel free to comment on this if you want.

[scekrex]

Adam wasn’t killed like everyone thought. Lucifer’s son aka Charlie’s little brother m!reader took him in and healed him. Charlie lets the new sinner Adam stay in the hotel after her brother begged since she loves her sweet brother so much. Adam never seen a demon so hot and falls for the reader. They’ve been secretly messing around and Luci ends up walking in on them.

Okay to clarify: Charlie in this fic is over 200 years old - reader is one year younger than her. Which makes him way younger than Adam is but I assume almost every person this man has fucked with in heaven is way younger than him

Part 2

And when his edges soften, his body is my coffin

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you

You knelt next to the tall angel, your hands kept pressing the shirt you had been wearing moments ago tightly against his wounds while the golden blood that had already formed a puddle around the first man stained your pants - not that you really cared. Your focus was on the dying soul in front of you. Yes Adam had been awful, yes Adam deserved to die, but on the other hand it simply didn’t sit right with you to let him die that easily, for you it felt purely wrong to give up on his tainted soul without even trying. And just as you were about to cry out for help in panic, Adam started to breathe.

Your big sister, your father and their friends had worked quite hard to rebuild the hotel and just as the last light of it flickered to life, Adam took his first breath. “Y/N?” Lucifer’s voice called out for his youngest son right before he spotted you kneeling next to Adam. With slow, heavy steps he walked over to you and the first man, suspiciously eyeing what you were doing but when the king of Hell saw how the brunette’s chest visibly pumped blood and air through his body, he looked quite shocked. “Dad, he’s alive,” your voice sounded happy, excited even and yet so broken - Lucifer didn’t move, he just stood there and watched. “We have to take him in, dad, he’s wounded.” The blonde king shook his head violently, snapping out of his haze as he processed your words slowly, then he shook his head in a softer manner - this time he used it to respond to what you’ve just said, “Nuh, no~no~no~oh, we’re not taking him in.”

Charlie appeared behind the king of Hell, your older sister - she was only one year older than you - put down a gentle hand on his shoulder, “But dad, he’s a human souls just like the other residents and as much as I hate the thought of living with him, the concept of this hotel is all about redemption, maybe Adam can redeem himself too.” And while Lucifer didn’t admit it out loud, he knew his children were right, a defeated sigh left his body and he lowered his head. The blonde was not willing to put up a fight with either you nor Charlie so he simply gave in. He always had the option to kick the first man out if he would not be willing to redeem his soul after all.

-

It had taken Adam a while to regain his strength, it had taken him even longer to accept that his angels had left him and that he was doomed to rot in Hell - though he kept telling you and the other residents that soon Sera would look for him and send Lute. But Sera never mentioned Adam in any of the meetings she held with Lucifer and Lute had not been back to Hell ever since she thought she had seen her best friend die. Not even during extermination day. But on the other hand that had forced the first man to get used to his new environment and while Vaggie was just as amused to have the brunette roaming their halls as Lucifer, Angel seemed to actually enjoy the first man’s company - even though most of their conversations were about the bitches Adam had slept with in heaven.

But you were without a doubt the demon he got along with the best, not only did you like the music he was playing, you also seemed to understand him without ever going through something similar, yet the two of you connected. The bond between you and Adam had grown strong, so strong that the brunette had you pressed against your bedroom wall, kissing your lips over and over again as his wings framed your sides - a habit he had picked up in Heaven to prevent people from staring. His lips didn’t remain on your lips though, he was eager to shower your entire body in kisses and he was determined to keep going until that goal was reached.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, gently nudging Adam to signal the former angel to give you some space. “Lemme just-” you grumbled as you took off your shirt, throwing it somewhere where it wouldn’t bother you and as soon as the soft fabric was no longer covering your skin, the brunette was on you in an instant, his hot mouth was mapping out your body like it was the most beautiful thing he ever touched, his tongue circled your nipple. And then a loud banging noise appeared right behind him and when you peeked over Adam’s shoulder you froze. Your father was standing in the door frame, just as shocked as you were. “Adam,” you mumbled quietly, trying to get the taller male to notice the king of Hell. But the angel shielding your body from your father’s eyes simply grinned against your skin as he responded, “Why don’t you moan louder for me, babes?”

Lucifer cleared his throat quite loudly and it was just then and there that Adam noticed the blonde king. His body stopped moving immediately and he just stared at you with a blank expression on his face. When a small hand reached for his upper arm to spin the angel around, Adam was sure he was gonna die - there was simply no way Lucifer would let that slide.

As soon as Adam looked down on the king, he awkwardly grinned down on the blonde, trying to charm his way out of the situation - not that his bullshit worked on Lucifer and before he knew it Lucifer’s fist collided with his face.

[touchstarvedbbg]

Sleepless - Kuras x Reader (NSFW)

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Pairing : Kuras x reader

Specifications : Inspired by my headcanons from before. Reader is implied to be some sort of demon, but it’s rather ambiguous.

Triggers : a lot of religious mentions (it comes with Kuras, truly)

Notes : This is nsfw!!!!! I honestly don’t expect this post to do well, since I feel like this is a very unpopular headcanon for Kuras. Very self indulgent though.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

It was from the moment you met the doctor that you had been plagued with thoughts of the man, practically unable to tear your eyes off of him on the occasions you would come to his clinic. Everything about Kuras was meticulous, neat to an almost impossible extent, almost perfect enough to throw off his human act entirely. You knew what he truly was, the essence of his holiness all but radiated around the man the first time you had met, enough so that it drove you mad. How you would love to ruin that perfection he had so painstakingly crafted for himself, to remold the man that was the living embodiment of all that was holy. To desecrate him, If you will.

You had spent many nights unable to sleep, plagued with thoughts of defiling this statue of a man in a way that would make even the god that created him turn away, for you desired nothing more than to ruin the Doctor. After what might have been the sixth night of little to no sleep, which normally wouldn’t have bothered you had it been caused by anything else, you decided to pay the Doctor a visit, seeking a treatment for your ailment that even he may be hesitant to prescribe.

“Kuras,” You neglect to knock on the back door of the clinic, walking straight into the angels office as you had many times before, “normally I wouldn’t visit you during this hours, but I’ve found myself unable to rest for almost a week.” The doctor looks up at you from the book he had been reading, golden eyes taking a moment longer than usual to register who you were before softening. “Come in, (name), I will do my best to assist you.” You watch as he slowly stands up, movements slightly more sluggish than you had ever seen from him.

“You seem rather tired as well, Doctor.” You mention, following the man instead of sitting down. “Perhaps it’s for the same reason that I cannot sleep, no?” Kuras looks down at you, shaking his head with a neutral expression. “I do not need to sleep, (name), and neither do you.” His response is dry and blunt, almost accusatory without meaning to be, as if he’s asking why you would come to visit him for an ailment that you had all but created. “A little bit of relaxation is refreshing even for souls that do not require sleep to survive, Kuras.” You reply, stepping a little closer to the man. “It’s as if you have no idea how to care for yourself, what a shame.”

Kuras doesn’t respond, staring down at you with that same analyzing expression he wears majority of the time. “You know..” you start, finger tracing the designs on the doctors shirt, feeling as he tenses up at the touch. “I could help you relax, perhaps get some energy of my own out? Surely that would benefit the both of us.” You think this offer is one that would be almost too good to resist, for you had seen the way the doctor would look at you when he believed you to not be looking. Kuras, who’s been watching your hands movements along his chest for several moments finally turns his attention back to you, brows furrowed as he processes what you had said to him before he opens his mouth to speak “are you suggesting-”

Quickly, you place your finger on top of the angel’s lips, effectively quieting the man as you step a little closer, closing the already tiny gap between the two of you. “I’m suggesting you let that god of yours take a backseat for a few moments, Kuras.” Seemingly understanding just what you’re suggesting, the angels eyes widen, staring down at you with reddened cheeks that almost look feverish. “It would be my pleasure to treat you, Doctor. It’s the only medicine I require.” You notice how his heart beat (or what you assume is) speeds up from where your hand is situated on his chest, the way he looks down at you with a mixture of bewilderment and something akin to lust, a confused form of it.

Slowly, he nods, hands wrapping around your waist and gently squeezing it. There’s no words from the angel, as if he’s worried that he would say something to expose the thoughts swirling around in his head right now. The feeling of lust was not one Kuras was acquainted with in the slightest, yet it was the one that had been plaguing him this entire interaction. “Now, why don’t you sit down at your desk, let me do the work.” To your surprise, the usually stubborn Kuras makes quick work of sitting down, eyes staring up at you with a lust you almost didn’t think him capable of feeling.

“Good boy.” You feel his breath get caught in his throat, the way he shudders as your hand gently grabs his chin. “If only you knew all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you.” You whisper, nibbling at the outside of his ear which earns an abnormally high pitched yelp from the man under you. “(Name), please” there’s a certain desperation to Kuras’s tone that you’ve never heard before, “do not toy with me.” You laugh, hands traveling downwards to work on the belt of his pants, “how could I ever say no to such a polite request?” He simply looks away, biting at his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. You wonder if it would be red like a normal human beings, or if it would be golden like almost everything emitting from the doctor was.

“Look at me, Angel, I want to see that pretty face of yours while I ruin you.” Kuras’s eyes widen as he looks at you, only to close once more as your hand brushes against his member. “Already this pent up from a little teasing, are you?” You’re met with no verbal response from the doctor, only a high pitched mewl from him before he clamps a hand over his mouth. “This won’t do, love.” You pull your hand away much to the displeasure of Kuras, turning to grab some of the thin sheets he had stored away for his patients. “It would be much more fitting to chain you up in gold like a painting, my dear.” You laugh, making quick work of binding his hands to the arms of the desk chair he’s sitting in. “(Name)..” his voice is breathy and desperate, a far cry from the composed speech Kuras normally uses. You reach your hand up to cup his cheek, other hand resting on his inner thigh before moving back to his member.

You watch as his golden eyes shut once more, brows furrowed at the sudden, unfamiliar feeling. The doctor isn’t quiet in the slightest, practically screaming despite his best efforts to keep himself silent. “Shhh..” you lean in, biting at his lower lip before kissing him, quieting the man’s sounds as you continue to pump his member. “Just imagine what your god would think, seeing you in a position like this.” You mutter between kisses, smirking when he groans and throws his head back, unable to form a coherent sentence in his current state. “Sensitive, aren’t you Kuras?” You once again grab his chin, staring at the blissed out expression on the doctor’s face. “Tell me, am I the first person to make you feel like this?”

“I- mh.. yes-” you laugh at the way he can barely get a single word out while you continue working on his hard-on. “An angel like yourself doesn’t need to get off like this, hm?” You ask no one in particular, leaning close to his ear to nibble at it once more. “And yet you’re underneath me like some common whore, committing a sin that would surely damn you.” You’re surprised by just how much this seems to arouse the man, who is desperately trying grab onto anything his bound hands can find, moaning your name repeatedly as if he’s praying to his maker. “Please, (name).. I-i can’t-” you smile, moving to nibble at his exposed neck before looking up at him.

“Go ahead, Angel, show your god how good you feel.” With that, white ribbons come shooting into your hand as the man all but screams your name, only to continue screaming when he realizes you have no intention of stopping just yet. “Did you think this was all I wanted? I want to ruin you.” You laugh, thumb wiping away the blissed out tears of pleasure falling down the man’s cheeks. “Just a little longer, angel, I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long.”

He’s gorgeous in this state, brows furrowed in pleasure with his mouth hanging open, drool dripping from the corner despite his best efforts to keep his composure. “You’re so pretty for me.” You smile, looking into his eyes that are so devoid of any coherent thoughts, a far cry from the way Kuras normally looks. “To think, I’m the only person who has ever made you feel like this, right?” It takes the doctor a moment to register what you’re saying, but he nods ferociously the moment he does. “God- yes!-” you smile, wiping the saliva from his lips as you feel him release into your hand once more.

When you finally release your hand from his member, Kuras visibly relaxes, breathing heavily as he slowly comes back to coherent thought. You untie his wrists, wiping your hand off with the sheets you had used to restrain him. “Come on, why don’t you lay down for a while?” You help the angel up, guiding him to one of the cots typically reserved for patients of his, watching as the man lays down on the bed without his usual objection. You know the man is tired despite his lack of need to sleep, for he wasn’t immune to the occasional effects of exhaustion despite his lack of humanity.

Just as you turn to leave, a warm hand grasps your wrist gently. “(Name), stay for a while, please?” Kuras’s voice is raspy, and it certainly would remain that way for quite some time after the screaming he did. “Surely you are tired as well.” Not having the heart to leave the man after what you had just done to him, you slip into the cot next to Kuras. His embrace is warm, making up for the lack of a blanket (for you had used the ones he had on hand to clean off, those would need to be washed for his patients once you got up). It’s not long until you feel his head resting against your chest, sleeping for the first time in who knows how long. Eventually you find your own eyes closing as you doze off, hands stroking Kuras’s hair absentmindedly as you yourself fall asleep, finally cured of your ailment.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I’ll probably write one shots of the sort with the other LI’s soon, lmk if that’s something that would be interesting if you made it this far!

[sukuna-pyonie]

1. The Pendant and the King of Curses : JJK Sukuna x OC

Cover + Table of Contents || Chapter 1 Title: Cursed To Love You  (Sukuna x OC fanfiction) Author: Peonnywise Summary: A cursed pendant transports Pyonie back in time to the Heian period. What happens when the King of Curses falls in love with a pure-hearted lady from the modern day era? A tale of lüst turned to love that transcended time and space.  ***

Trigger Warning! First few chapters of the story contains themes of n0n-c0n. Mature and dark themes will subside and disappear as the story progresses. I will note if there is tw on a chapter.

Note that this story is purely fictional. Actions, behaviors, or events described in this story should not be replicated, imitated, or taken as a reflection of reality.

Disclaimer : All Jujutsu Kaisen characters, settings, and storylines belong to its author Gege Akutami. Pyonie, Takeru Ren and extra characters featured in this story are mine. Any resemblance to real people, other fictional characters, or events is purely coincidental. This work is only a fanfiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. ***

Chapter 1. The Pendant and the King of Curses 

High above the busy streets of Tokyo, in a modern apartment that echoed with the distant hum of the city, resided a young lady named Pyonie. Her long, lustrous black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night with her sparkling purple eyes that shimmered with kindness.

She snuggled on her bed, engrossed in the captivating pages of a fantasy manga. "Oh, how I wish I could step through the pages and find myself in a realm of wonder!" Pyonie sighed dreamily.

She hears the doorbell ring, puts down her manga and opens the front door. The delivery person handed her the package wrapped in colorful paper. She carefully unwraps the parcel, her heart racing with anticipation. Inside, she finds a beautifully crafted wooden box adorned with intricate carvings. The note reads:

"Dear Pyonie, I found this ancient precious item during my latest excavation. I felt it was perfect for you. Happy 18th birthday, my dearest niece.

- Love Aunt M."

She lifted the necklace from the box, clasping the silver chain against her neck. "Wow! It's beautiful and... it almost seems to glow," Pyonie murmured to herself, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. The red pendant has a form of a human heart with silver veins wrapped around it. It seemed to pulse with an inner light against her white dress.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, causing the curtains to flutter. She felt dizzy for a moment, the room spinning around her. When the dizziness passed, she found herself no longer in her room, but standing in the middle of a bustling street in an unfamiliar city filled with traditional Japanese architecture and people clad in colorful kimonos. The air was thick with the aroma of grilled meats and the chatter of merchants hawking their wares.

"Excuse me," Pyonie said tentatively to a nearby woman, "could you tell me where I am?"

The woman eyed her suspiciously, taking in her peculiar attire." You're in Heian-kyo, the capital of Japan," she replied curtly before hurrying away.

Her mind reeled as she tried to process this information. Heian-kyo? But how? And when? She knew from her love of historical dramas that Heian-kyo was the name of Kyoto during the Heian period, which ended centuries ago.

As she wandered through the crowded streets, she realized just how out of place she looked. Her modern white dress and loose unstyled hairstyle drew curious stares and whispers from passersby.

Pyonie ventured farther reaching deeper into the lush forest, the din of the marketplace faded, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

Rounding a bend in the path, she froze in her tracks. There, lounging beneath a towering cherry blossom tree, was a figure unlike anything she had ever seen. The man's imposing height and broad shoulders were striking, but it was his appearance that made her heart race with a mix of fear and fascination.

He had four arms, each one rippling with muscle, and four piercing red eyes. His body adorned with intricate tattoos. Spiky pink hair framed his angular face, and a large, menacing mouth adorned his stomach, adding to his other worldly appearance. Despite his monstrous features, there was an undeniable aura of power and confidence about him. She stood transfixed, unsure whether to run or approach this stranger. Her mind raced with questions about who he was and how she had come to be in this strange land. She took a tentative step forward, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Excuse me, sir... are you... are you human?"

The man's four eyes snapped open, fixing at her with an intense gaze. He sat up slowly, his four arms flexing as he did so. A smirk played on his lips as he regarded the strange girl before him.

"Human? That depends on your definition," he replied, his voice deep and resonant.

He stood, towering over Pyonie, and she couldn't help but feel both intimidated and drawn to his powerful presence. He circled her, his eyes roving over her unusual attire and foreign features.

"You, on the other hand, are clearly not from this time or place," he mused. "Your clothes, your hair, your very aura - they speak of a world far removed from Heian-kyo. How did you come to be here, little one?"

Pyonie swallowed hard, gathering her courage. "I... I don't know," she admitted. "One moment I was in my room, and the next, I was here. It's all so confusing."

"A mysterious summoning, perhaps? Or a mishap with a cursed artifact?" He arched an eyebrow. His expression turned grim, his four eyes narrowing. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her cheek. "Cursed artifacts are not to be trifled with, especially by those who do not understand their power. If you have indeed stumbled upon such an object, you must tread carefully. The consequences can be dire."

Pyonie clutched the mysterious red pendant around her neck, feeling its cool surface against her skin. "I... I received this from my aunt," she said hesitantly. "She said it was an ancient Japanese treasure, but she didn't tell me much more than that."

His eyes widened slightly, and he reached out to examine the lifelike-heart pendant, a flicker of recognition passing across his face before he quickly masked it. "This is no ordinary trinket," he murmured, tracing it with a finger. "It bears the mark of a powerful curse, one that could have brought you here."

Her heart raced as she processed his words. "Can you help me understand? Why am I here, and how can I get back home?"

"This artifact is older than you can imagine," he said, his tone gruff. "It doesn't simply bring people to this time and place without reason. There must be a purpose behind your arrival."

He released the pendant, his expression stern. "I suspect you've been chosen for something. The curse that brought you here will likely reveal its intentions in due time."

Pyonie's brow furrowed as she pondered his words. "Chosen for something? But I'm just an ordinary girl. What could I possibly have to do with ancient curses and mysterious purposes?"

She met his gaze, her purple eyes shining with determination. "Please, sir, I need your help."

He studied her for a long moment, intrigued by her bravery in the face of his intimidating appearance. Most people cowered before him, but this girl stood her ground, her voice steady and pleading.

"Very well," he said at last. "I am Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. And you are?"

"Pyonie," she replied, bowing respectfully. "Thank you, Sukuna-sama. I appreciate your assistance."

Sukuna's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Don't thank me yet, Pyonie..."

Sukuna's eyes glinted with a hint of malice as he leaned in closer to Pyonie. "Helping you comes at a price, little one," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, what can you offer me in return for my aid?"

Her heart raced as she considered his words. She knew she was in no position to bargain, but something about his intensity made her want to prove herself.

"I... I don't have much," she said hesitantly. "But I can offer... my friendship..."

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. "Friendship, hmm? What benefits can I reap from your... friendship?" He reached out and gently caressed her cheek with one of his four hands, sending a shiver down her spine.

Feeling awkward, Pyonie suggested. "Uhm... I can make you happy... or laugh..."

His smile faltered for a moment, caught off guard by her innocent suggestion. He hadn't been expecting such a lighthearted response from the nervous girl before him.

"Make me happy or laugh?" he mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "An interesting proposition. Very well, Pyonie, try your hand at humor. Amuse me, and perhaps I'll consider your request for aid."

She took a deep breath, her mind racing for a joke that might entertain the intimidating figure before her. In her panic, she blurted something that randomly popped out of her head from a science comedy tv show.

"Why don't scientists trust atoms?" She paused before continuing. "Because they make up everything!" She tried to giggle clumsily at her own joke, bouncing slightly on her heels. "Get it? Make up? Make up everything?"

Sukuna tilts his head, his brow furrowing as he tries to grasp the joke's meaning. After a moment, he shakes his head, his expression unchanging. "I do not understand. Explain 'make up' and 'atoms'."

Her stomach sank as she realized she foolishly chose the wrong question but she quickly recovered,  "Oh, right! You see, atoms are tiny, tiny particles that make up everything around us - like you, me, the trees, and even the air we breathe!"

He nods slowly, his expression contemplative. He waves his hand around, as if trying to feel the atoms in the air. "So, they are like... the building blocks of the world. He murmurs, his voice low and rumbling. And 'makeup'?"

She explains, her mood lifted once more. "Oh, right! 'Make up' can mean two things. It can mean to create a story or an excuse, or it can mean putting on cosmetics to look prettier!" 

His curiosity piqued, he asks, "And what do scientists do with these... atoms?" His red eyes fixate on her, eager for an explanation." Do they... collect them?"

She shakes her head, her long black hair swaying. "No, no, they don't collect atoms!" She continued. "Scientists study atoms and try to understand how they work. They do experiments and make theories about the world around us!"

HIs expression darkens slightly, a hint of his usual menacing aura seeping back in. He leans down, bringing his face close to hers. "And if one were to... consume these atoms, would one gain power?"

She blinks, taken aback by his question. She hesitates before answering carefully. "Well, not exactly. You see, eating or absorbing atoms wouldn't give you special powers. It would just... make you bigger like... Like a balloon!"

He straightens up, his expression unreadable. He mutters to himself, "Bigger, hmm..." He pauses, then asks, "But what about... the souls, spirits... and curses?" His red eyes seem to bore into hers, searching for an answer.

Her eyes widen, and she takes a small step back. The concept of the otherworld seems to unsettle her. "I'm not sure about those..." She fidgets with the hem of her skirt. "In science, we don't really study souls or spiritual things."

Sukuna's lips curl into a smirk, his four eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, so your science is limited, is it? How quaint." He circles her slowly, his four arms gesturing dramatically. "Tell me, little one, what do you know of curses? Of the dark arts that can bend reality to one's will?"

Pyonie swallows hard, her imagination running wild with images from anime and manga. She tries to sound brave, but her voice wavers slightly. "Well, curses in fiction are often powerful magical spells that can cause bad luck or harm someone. But in real life, I think they're just old superstitions."

He chuckles darkly, the sound echoing through the forest. "Real life, you say? Oh, my dear Pyonie, you have much to learn about the true nature of the world." He stops his circling and stands before her, looming over her smaller frame.

"The curse that brought you here... it is no mere superstition. It is a force of immense power, capable of reshaping the very fabric of existence." Sukuna reaches out with one hand, trailing a finger along Pyonie's jawline. "And you, little one, have been chosen for a reason. The question is... are you ready to discover that reason?"

To be continued... Cover + Table of Contents || Next Chapter>>

[noir-renard]

A BTAS style title card for the DP reboot/au that lives in my head rent free

if I were in charge of a DP animation reboot and I had an unlimited budget, I would make significant and meaningful style changes. The basic change: everything that happens in the 'human world' would be black and white, and only the ghosts would be in color.

for more details, keep reading!

I've been calling it the "Pleasantville AU" in my head, though it's really not an AU as much as a lore-relevant stylistic overhaul reboot.

Humans and everything in the human world is black and white; ghosts are full technicolor

Danny, as a halfa, is still mostly black and white, but his eyes are green and his skin is. Skin colored idk. (Also black sclera because it's cool shh this is my fantasy reboot au)

The more powerful a ghost is, the more colorful it is. Moreover, the most powerful ghosts are capable of changing their coloration to "hide" in the human realm

Humans can't see colors well, and most recording equipment can't "capture" the image of a ghost well. You need special equipment to see them clearly and special cameras to photograph them

Places where ghosts have had a prolonged presence or big impact start to "bleed" colors. If you get wounded by the ghost, you get splashed with color (will fade to white "if you take care of it")

The Guys In White find these colorful, ghost-touched areas and "clean"/bleach them

The longer Danny hides, the more his presence in Amity Park starts to affect things

I didn't love the "Sam is responsible for Danny getting ghost powers" storyline in the OG, so in the reboot Danny was alone when he had his accident and he didn't tell anyone. He thinks he's a straight up ghost/is becoming a ghost and will eventually become evil (in this au becoming a ghost is thought to be a long term process a la vampirism. This isn't actually the case but I love "bad scientist Fentons" so that's their prevailing theory)

(He'll tell them eventually but I love identity shenanigans so I think it's more interesting if he hides it from them for a bit while also interacting with them as Phantom on occasion)

Oh yeah, because Phantom is mostly black and white, he's the first ghost that a lot of people are able to see.

His coloration is the driving force for the Fentons to declare him "the worst ghost", because they accuse him of trying to pretend to be human.

His coloration is a big reason why other ghosts dislike/distrust him, too, because he looks too human

The Vlad is a halfa reveal happens way later and way differently in this reboot; Danny meets him and knows he's "ecto-touched", but the Vlad = Plasmius moment would have more impact if Danny has had interactions with Vlad before, imo. Anyway I have Plans(TM) for Vlad but I'll leave it at that for now😏

[catras-breakup-song]

how do you feel about the whole "you always wanted more" line that got cut? at first i was wondering why they did that because adora didn't want more until it made me think "huh, what if prime was just running on catra's memories and didn't actually know adora?" but i'm curious as to what you think

OH MY GOD I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED THIS. i am such a sucker for the cut STC script. back in late 2020 & early 2021 i had a twitter layout based on “that little spot on the roof that only they knew about” because S3 is my favorite:

even better, i have another old twitter fancam saved from around that time too that used that screenshot of the script in the beginning. it was by the username yoosene but is now long gone, so i reuploaded it to imgur here (the hands part, i’m going insane…)!

anyway, as for interpretations, it was absolutely to manipulate & guilt-trip adora. i recently saw someone say (i don’t remember where though, sorry) that he was torturing both of them by setting up that nasty fight against both of their wills and had planned to kill catra all along — despite saying he wouldn’t right after she rescued glimmer and was imprisoned for it, in my opinion there was an unspoken “yet” even though he did technically say that word but you know what i mean; “you will be of use to me, and then everyone from your blighted planet, including yourself, will be destroyed.”

that’s the thing about what the show was trying to convey through her stay on prime’s ship via glimmer’s desperate pleas, isn’t it? her illusion of power was only ever temporary. once she no longer had anything of value to serve, what would she be worth? how could she have genuinely believed that he wanted to save her, of all living beings, from the curse of humanity & will of consciousness? what makes one individual different to an omnipotent god compared to countless others across the universe throughout space and time? i truly believe that he was subtly mocking her when he talked of her being “exalted, raised up above the other wretched creatures of [her] home world.”

i was actually trying to find another five by five takes quote about this, because mentioning them is always an obligation for me, but surprisingly i didn't really find anything about how catra had worked her way up to prime's recognized single subordinate (only that moment of reflection afterward, which is just this entire short video), and was under the false impression with a cocky & confident attitude that her position meant something for her safety & survival; i'm mostly referring to this moment:

the horde's the horde...even in space. as long as i'm of value to horde prime, i've got a place in this world. i can work my way up here, just like i did before.

actually y’know what… i’m going to tag @horde-princess because this is starting to dive into religious meta which is like… her whole gimmick thingy. we would be blessed (pun intended) to see your take on this writing that never made it to the show, if you haven’t given it already!

now this is veering too far off from the original point after getting sidetracked. the tone of those quotes in the alternate script is (fake) pity, and horde prime was entertained by the struggles of mere mortals. to make adora a failure of what she represented would surely force her to give up she-ra to him, because what would even be the point anymore of living up to expectations if she couldn’t save catra first & foremost (that’s something that she struggled with since initially leaving the horde over three years ago due to how catra made her feel about supposedly breaking their childhood promise… but it’s a story for another post)?

i don’t doubt that your thought process is at least partially right too though, anon. prime didn’t read adora’s mind thoroughly at any point, so it’s entirely possible that he just read off catra’s intense feelings of abandonment & betrayal. that being said, if he really did see all as he claimed, maybe he was able to recreate an objectively accurate collection of events and knows what really happened and what the intentions behind certain actions were. i also wonder if catra secretly knew deep down that adora’s defection wasn’t directly about her but just couldn’t admit it until she had time to deeply reflect on it during “corridors.”

i’ll leave this messy, unorganized post with an amazingly relevant gif set made by an editor whose work on here i really enjoy:

as i said a long time ago, you just had to be there on november 19th 2020 when that excerpt was released because the hype was crazy!

[tteokdoroki]

Vampire shidou and/or rin hcs 🤲🏾?

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, suggestive, angst, fluff, vampires, blood loss, blood drinking, dry humping, self-hatred, fledgling!vampire rin itoshi, fem!reader.

vampire!rin doesn’t easily admit to his emotions.

even before he was turned by his sire (isagi, unfortunately), rin could never find it in him to say what he truly wanted or truly felt. it was like some kind of physical block, in his throat and hanging over his mind like a thick, grey cloud ready to thunder. he processes deeply, but expresses little to none.

that is why vampire!rin hardly reacts when his sire brings you home as nothing but a mere pet, a blood bank for the entire family. at least outwardly. he’s against it, not that he would say, to bring a human around a band of blood thirsty, vile blood suckers — to say rin hated his kind would be treason, to say that he missed the beat of his own heart and the warmth to his flesh would be a disrespect to the head of the clan and while he enjoys clashing with isagi…rin needs this clan to stay alive.

turning off every human instinct he ever had in turn for living and instead of death — vampire!rin had no choice but to rely on those before him for his survival, no matter how much he resented it.

“rinnie,” he hears you before he sees you. thanks to his new and improved senses, vampire!rin can’t mistake the steady beat of your heart from through the walls. “yoichi said you haven’t been feeding.”

your words are soft, cooed to him gently as you push into the fledgling’s quarters. another thing that rin doesn’t understand, especially when vampires have no desire to sleep. “you’re calling him by his first name.” vampire!rin observes, though he doesn’t speak unkindly nor with any malice directed at you. he can’t tell if it’s jealousy that spikes at his heart or wanton

logic cannot explain you either — a sweet human who does what she can for men who may tear her apart at a moment’s notice. you’re too good for any of them, a delicate flower struggling to bloom in a garden of thorns and rin is but one of them digging into your supple sides and drawing fresh blood. vampire!rin refuses to be like them, like the rest who see you as nothing but a meal.

you are precious to him.

“i know that you don’t like to listen to him, rin,” you continue and step into the room carefully, as though not to spook him. “but you need to drink,” the scent of your blood, more valuable than any gem, flickers through the air and starts a war with rin’s natural instincts. he grips at the sheets he lays on, covers his mouth with a free hand, throat bobbing and eyes wide. he cannot take from you. from what little humanity you have left. “if you fight it, you might die. i don’t want that to happen to you, rinnie.”

when he looks up, eyes flickering between an ocean’s shade of aquamarine and the daunting red that you’re so used to (a sign of rin being a freshly turned vampire), he sees the trickle of crimson drip down from where you’ve pricked yourself on the finger. you stand by vampire!rin’s bedside now, your face kind — worrisome.

vampire!rin doesn’t want to lose that one last part of him. if he drinks from you, you’re no longer the same — rin is no longer human and you no longer have a companion in this mad house.

“you need to,” your voice wavers, as if you might cry — and if rin could draw a breath, he’s sure it’d hitch. “it doesn’t make you like them, doesn’t make you evil. you need my blood to survive and i need you to stay alive. so please rin, just drink from me. for me.”

and like he wasn’t holding back at all, rin launches himself onto you with his entire body weight — his quick reflexes allowing him to cradle the back of your head before the both of you collide with the floor. vampire!rin’s mouth is cool around the tip of your finger as he gives into his instincts and laps at your finger until the blood flow has stopped. he doesn’t, however, dragging his tongue up the length of your arm and over your shoulder — slobbering wet and cool.

“r-rin!” you stutter out, neither in fear or in pain — but instead with need, rocking your hips up into the fledgling’s as his mouth finds your own and you can taste your metallic flavour against the ice sheet plains of his tongue.

either he doesn’t hear you, or vampire!rin knows to give you more. he lets you work your tongue between his lips and press against the blinding white of his newborn fangs, then his kisses turn uncoordinated, sloppy as they trail from your bitten lips to the expanse of your neck. life pulses beneath your flesh, hunger drives vampire!rin to pierce the skin with pointed teeth — his eyes rolling back into his skull and the ache for a meal subduing.

vampire!rin can’t help it, to melt into you as you mewl and his venom sinks into your blood stream — calming you, filling you with pleasure. shivers run down your spine but you’re not sure if it’s because of how cold rin is or because of how good him just drinking your blood feels. your hand comes up to twirl in his forest green locks, soothing him and whatever disgust he might have for himself as a vampire.

“don’t worry rinnie,” you offer your reassurances, dreamily. “take all that you need.”

vampire!rin may hate himself for it later once he fully transforms and the man he was before is a distant memory compared to the one aired by isagi yoichi. however, for now he’ll let himself be swept up in everything that is you. your taste, your scent, your whines and moans. and let you guide him through the insanity that is his eternity.