#and that's just human nature for you i suppose. but i don't have to like it

[rosetyler42]

1. For Simon, the main question that lead to him was "What if Dracula had a more human-like son after the events of HT2 with Dennis?" Though it didn't really come together until I thought of basing him on Normie!Pubert. For Lucy it was a mix of "What if there was a female dhampir with vampire powers?" "What if I made a little terror like Dennis was advertised as?" "What if I made a kid more based on Dracula and Mavis?" Etc.

2. Both Simon and Lucy are ship children, so they're heavily based on Dracula and Ericka. Though Dennis, Johnny, Mavis also play a big role in the inspiration.

3. Lucy comes from the Dracula book itself: Lucy Westenra, the first turned Vampire we see. (It was either that or Mina.) Simon came from an old version of Johnny (and possibly a precursor to Ericka) Simon Van Helsing. His name also means harkening, a joke on the Harkers and the fact Drac needs to listen more.

4. Probably the whole message of discrimination and it's effects. The message of different kinds of people coming together, love overcoming hate. That kind of thing.

5. Much like Normie!Pubert and his mom, Simon has blonde curly hair. Lucy I wanted to fo with a more Dracula-like do since alot of people complained about Dennis being a redhead or wished he was goth. However, I didn't want it to look too much like Mavis', so I made it brown (blonde + black) and wavy (curly + straight.) It still looks alot like Mavis' in sketch form. Biggest difference is she's got Ericka's side part.

6. Both are blue because Dracula and Ericka both have blue eyes. The biggest significance is, Lucy has her father's bright sapphire eyes as a foreshadowing of her vampiric nature, while Simon has Ericka's blue-gray/Cobalt eyes. That said, he does also have Drac's dark circles to give him a bit of creepiness and make who the monster's going to be a little harder to tell.

7. Both are tall as bleep because Dracula and Ericka are clearly breeding for tall. Lucy is 6' 2" (similar to my father) and Simon is 6' 3-4" (similar to my brother.)

8. Lucy is kind of the one similar to me in personality: Loud, weird and proud, a smart alec. Simon's a bit more like my brother in he's more cautious, timid and shy. Though I did kind of give him some of my experiences with internalized fatphobia.

9. Lucy definitely is similar to me. I didn't PLAN it that way, it just happened in giving her a mix of Ericka and Johnny's personality, but we are quite similar. Simon's more similar to my brother but I suppose he has more of my shy awkward side.

10. I actually didn't make love interest's for them. Lucy and @lovelylivelyv 's Jack Nephalem kind of became friends or a QPR after I put them together one day and had them interact. I DID kind of use Jack as inspiration when making the twins though, especially Lucy, since I was going in a similarly monstery Addamsian direction and Lucy ended up going a different direction than her parents. Simon kind of ended up possibly pared with @speedygivermusic 's Stacy due to both being large and them kind of having a Dennis and Winnie dynamic.

11.I knew I wanted one Bi and one Ace, but it took a while to decide who was who with the non-human aspect and personality. Simon is Bi, Lucy is ace. Basically All or nothing siblings.

12. Making sure they were distinct from family members and just getting their rather cartoony designs right. Simon especially with that coffin head but Lucy's hair also posed problems.

13. Lucy and Simon are born and concieved in 2023, about a year after the events of Transformania. However I've done bits about them from baby-hood all the way to adolescence and adulthood.

14. For Lucy:

• Looks like she could kill you, actually a cinnamon roll/sinnamon roll

• She's a prankster who loves scaring, but she's not mean or evil. Very much about "Confuse, don't abuse" unless someone provokes her somehow. Or like The Addams where they're just having fun and don't realize they're scaring other people or being offputting.

Simon:

• Looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you. Very "Beware the quiet ones."

• Despite him feeling like the odd one out and kind of a disappointment, his family genuinely does love him. They may clash and get on each other's nerves sometimes, they're not perfect by any means. But they love him and he loves them.

15. Both Lucy and Simon can be quite funny. Lucy is a cartoony and Addams-esque little terror and prankster while Simon has more of his father's dry and biting snark and his mom's smart-aleckiness. He gets sass on both sides.

16. Probably the intergenerational trauma and Simon's struggles feeling enough while Lucy is kind of the spare and the "black sheep" since she's the 3rd kid with vampire powers, the 2nd girl, and came after the more "golden child" Mavis ontop of being Dracula's daughter. That said, Simon's is kind of the most heartbreaking with him feeling like the odd man out and a bit like he doesn't measure up to being the son of two legends.

17. While I don't regret adding them, I do sometimes wonder if I'm handling the fatness/being plus-size and jewishness/mixed identity right. There's been some jokes from Lucy I've wondered if they were in bad taste particularly. They do deal with monstery antisemitic tropes but are meant in a kind of Mel Brooks tongue firmly in cheek satirical kind of way rather than promoting it. It's meant to poke fun at those tropes, not endorse them. Very similar to the kinds of jokes I think Genndy himself would do.

18. For Lucy: Probably either her love of Marigolds or theatrical makeup and costuming, Or the fact both her and Simon can both hear and speak backwards.

For Simon: Probably his love of Kung Fu Panda and Encanto (He relates to Po, Viper, and Mirabel.) Or his David Cross adult voice claim.

19. Simon has a strong love of piracy and HATES the dumbing down of it for kids: that quote from Jake and the Neverland Pirates is like his version of "A monster always shares." It never ceases to get a rise out of him. For Lucy: Honestly it's how she doesn't fit the stereotype of a vampire while still loving monstery things. She absolutely ADORES goth creepy stuff but she's loud, rebellious, punky, a cheerful ball of chaos, totally ace despite being willing to cute charm or seduce others into things con artist style and actually HATES how vampires - especially girls, are all portrayed as seductive temptresses, her Addamsian love of scaring but not being mean or malicious about it...she's her own person without fitting into any of the stereotypes put on her and I love that.

Questions About Creating Your OCs

‘Cause sometimes the stories of how OCs come to be are just as interesting as the OCs, themselves. Tell me how your virtual kids came into the world.

What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)? 

Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind? 

How did you choose their name? 

In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts? 

Is there any significance behind their hair color? 

Is there any significance behind their eye color? 

Is there any significance behind their height? 

What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story? 

Are they based off of you, in some way? 

If they have an LI, how much of their character is tailored to be compatible to that person? 

Did you know what the OC’s sexuality would be at the time of their creation? 

What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)? 

How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all? 

If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be? 

What is something about your OC can make you laugh? 

What is something about your OC can make you cry? 

Is there some element you regret adding to your OC or their story? 

What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC? 

What is your favorite fact about your OC?

[finniestoncrane]

For the 3k event here to snitch on YJ Eddie wanted dead for mishandling goods. Idk if that's taken I'm nervous and idk why I'm stressing out about it :')))

YJ!Riddler x Fem!Reader, ficlet a/n: no need to be stressed ever it's all FUN!! and speaking of, this was delightful to write, i love a nervous man with a palm full of tit lmao main event post • event masterlist • tag: finnie3k • main masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: breast play, nipple teasing, very shy eddie getting to grips with a pair of tits my beloved tbh, premature ejaculation, moaning, groaning, whimpering ALL THE GOOD STUFF

Eddie's hands hovered over your skin, not quite touching, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from you however. It was just flesh. Skin, fat, muscle, nothing different to any other part of any other human body. But somehow it still was. It was yours. Those were your breasts. A part of you he'd only dreamed of seeing before, now you were exposed in front of him, offering him the chance to touch you. It was all too much.

"You can touch them, Eddie. Promise, it's ok. I want you to."

"Uh... Th-thank you. But. Maybe. Maybe silence would help. If you say things like that, that you want me to... Ah... I just..."

You understood. He was already flustered, already drooling and sweating. Maybe a little bit of sweet talk would push him over the edge into a fainting spell. But he had to move a little bit faster. This was tortuous, waiting for him to finally make his move. The teasing, the way he was so close and yet so far, was driving you mad. For the last ten minutes you'd been standing with your thighs pressed together, desperate for him to just grab you. If you waited any longer...

Taking control, you grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to you, palm coasting over your erect nipple, fingers immediately settling against the curve of them against your chest, his breath caught in his throat in a complete panic. And when he finally found his words, he stammered over them.

"N-now what?"

"Now you can do whatever you want, Eddie."

He whimpered, his whole body shuddering with an exhale that was clearly him trying to calm his nerves and concentrate on the task, quite literally, at hand.

"Well, I've never... do I just...?"

You took his chin in your own palm, directing his gaze to yours.

"Eddie, seriously. You can do whatever you want. I'm yours."

"Oh..."

His voice trailed off into a groan that rumbled through his slender torso. He was still unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, but maybe you weren't all that bothered about that. Maybe, he thought, you were really just happy for him to play with you, however felt natural to him.

At first, he grabbed at you, his hands on your chest, gripping whatever of you he could collect. He squeezed, jiggled, cupped and pushed against your breasts, moaning under his rbeath the entire time. And then he let his thumb flit ovr your nipples, hard already, but stiffening at the attention he gave them. The way you reacted to the touch enticed him, and soon he was flicking them with both fingers, watching you bite your lip, collecting saliva in his mouth as he drooled at the idea of how you might taste.

And before he knew it, he was teasing them between his thumb and finger, pulling them out, watching how you hissed and cooed with each pull, each release of tension.

"God, Eddie, that feels so good... Just like that... little bit harder... fuck... you're good... Ah!"

You let out a squeal in response to the pain, the tight pinch of his fingers against your sensitive nipples, moaning in relief when he released them with a gasp.

"Oh! Oh... Oh, oh... oh no... Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no, I am so sorry, I..."

He lifted his hands away, trying to cover himself, an evident stain forming at the front of his pants. It had you blushing, to think a little bit of praise, a minute or two with your bare chest, and you could have him spilling all over himself. Flattering, really, and very adorable.

"Don't be sorry, Eddie."

"I am though! For... for that, for embarrassing myself. And for hurting you."

"Oh! Don't be silly! I liked it, Eddie. I like the pain, it feels sweet. Good."

"Wow."

"And your fingers are perfect for it. You're perfect."

His eyes seemed to dilate, vision unfocusing as he took a seat, needing a moment to calm his nerves before he lost all composure.

[merrymorningofmay]

and you know what, i get it, i get that a european or canadian or australian official can not just go on stage and say "hey comfortable western burgher, we may need you to go stand close to a war soon," not least because right wing asshats will jump at the opportunity to say "ah see, they want you to go to war, why don't you vote for us instead and stay comfy with your clocks and cabbages" which won't do anyone good either, and i get that the western burgher is unwilling and unready just as most ukrainians were up until the first bomb dropped, but i simply don't have any sympathy left for them, because they're sowing the wind right now, and ukraine will be reaping the whirlwind before they do. we already are, in fact

[sylas-dove]

I don't believe that you want gender roles to be based on sex, not really. I do actually believe that you consider yourself a feminist who is helping to push the envelope towards a more equitable society. I just don't think that's where your ideas actually lead, because I'm seeing the consequences of the policies radfems agree with, and because I see the type of political figures radfems associate with.

I'll get back to your 1st point towards the end of this.

As for 2: Nobody is denying the material reality that some people produce sperm and some people produce eggs. The problem is that you make a lot of assumptions about that material reality that aren't grounded in material reality-- you yourself create a false binary by saying "one type of human produces sperm and the other type produces eggs." (Implying that there are only two possible modes of being.) Some people (like me) say that "sex is a social construct" because more specific statements like yours collapse under scrutiny. What about people who produce no gametes? Are they no longer people? (Obviously not.) What is their sex? Some would say, "Yes, but all bodies are supposed to produce a gamete." (I know you disagree with this statement, don't worry; I'm using it to illustrate a point.) Says who? We can observe patterns (most human people produce a gamete) but attempting to apply intent or reasoning to those things goes beyond the limitations of material reality and starts to appeal to a quasi-sentient force of "Nature," or G-d. You could try to define a sex binary based on any other feature (presence of a uterus, or the capacity to grow a beard, or anything else), but there will always be people who do not fit that binary both naturally and due to medical intervention, because materially, sex is not binary. You have reblogged posts that say "a female is a female, no matter what you add or take away." This is a position many radfems hold! Much like how many trans-positive feminists say, "a woman is a woman, because she says so." The concept of "sex" is a social construct, just like gender.

With regards to point 1, the place where we differ here is that I believe the dismantling of sex-based categories is the dismantling of the patriarchy. Sex-based discrimination can only exist if you have sex-based categories. If someone's sex (or gender, even) is completely meaningless societally, discriminating on the basis of sex would be like discriminating against people who aren't brunettes. Arbitrary and ridiculous. (Unless of course you actually believe that it is, say, essential to the biology of one category of person to discriminate against another category.) We don't only do medical studies on brown-haired people unless the fact that they have brown hair is somehow actually, materially relevant. Sex-based categories only exist (in Western society) because of the patriarchy. I fundamentally do not believe that you can have one without the other. Any attempt to dismantle patriarchal structures of oppression must go hand in hand with dismantling sex-based categories. How could you possibly dismantle the patriarchy and create a society where all people are truly equal if you're still expecting people to fit into sex-based roles?

Respecting transgender people when they tell you who they are is a very small, simple way to fight back against the patriarchy. The existence of transgender people inherently challenges those sex-based roles. The problem transgender people have with radfems "discussing female health and sex differences" is that radfems misgender trans people to do it. They also fail to include trans women when it's relevant-- for example, discussions about how medications only studied on people with testosterone-based endocrine systems will affect people with estrogen-based endocrine systems (a more polite and scientifically accurate way to phrase your sentence "we only used male cells to test this drug so it works worse for women") among radfems rarely consider that trans women on estrogen will be affected in the same way as many cisgender women.

You are not a feminist because you exclude some women on the basis of transphobia. If you truly want to dismantle the patriarchy, you cannot do it while continuing to hate, fear, and distrust transgender women. I fundamentally do not think it's possible. Misogynists will revel in using your beliefs as a pawn. They will pass laws to harm trans people that you will cheer for, and then later you will realize that these laws hurt you, too. This has already happened-- radfems just tend to blame the trans people for this instead of the lawmakers.

And because this post has gotten very long, and because I have sifted through a lot of things on your blog that I have deeply disagreed with, I would like to reiterate:

This dugong (it's actually a manatee but whatever) loves trans women. So do I. Trans women are women. They always will be. The fact that they reject the sex-based role forced upon them to be women makes people who uphold the patriarchy blind with incandescent fury. People accuse radfems of upholding the patriarchy because you exhibit this same incandescent fury against a group of people who are not harming you. (Also because many radfems are anti-sex work, intersexist, and anti-kink, among other beliefs. I don't want to have those arguments-- but I do genuinely believe that these beliefs reinforce the patriarchal hegemony that harms all people, not just women.)

holding onto mama

[light-wrath-paradise]

*remembers Dungeon Meshi* The Winged Lion

[sskk-manifesto]

\\

[pa-pa-plasma]

I hate how half of people think "natural climate change = humans cause all climate change" & the other half thinks "natural climate change = no climate change is caused by humans at all"

"the Earth's climate naturally changes over time" & "human activity has caused rapid, unstable climate change" can & should co-exist

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

No one:

Me: Okay, but what if their relationship has nothing to do with Sonic and Tails? What if Metal literatally just saw Eggman working on Tails Doll and assumed without proof that they were created for him? What if Metal quite literally attached to Tails Doll through this assumption and then their partnership progressed naturally? What if the inorganic creations fell in love as an unorthodox power couple and just so happened to resemble a famous partnership?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

as ever like: no two things Need to be juxtaposed, much less like material vs material deathmatch Only One Can Be Good, much less am i thinking i have thee objective word on fuckall b/c who does and it's like perfectly boring & unserious whenever someone just throws out Takes that are just "i think...[xyz] is [adjective]" like okay.

but anyways thinking of how, though differing in execution in a lot of ways ofc, deh & bmc start out in a v similar place & explore a journey to self-acceptance from a despairing starting point....it feels like a lot of the hindrance in deh's exploration of its own Theme there is in like, hey. :) hand on your shoulder. it's okay b/c you'll be able to be more normal. whereas w/bmc it's that it's okay b/c you'll be able to be more abnormal

[ourceliumnetwork]

the list of traumas i need to unpack still and my coping mechanisms (or, more frequently, lack-thereof) keeps getting longer and i'm not sure i like that. I think i like less how much i already know they're hangups before they become a problem i have to actively work on, too.

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[burgojo]

DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER

summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.

wc. 9.1k

tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)

notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)

[ requested ]

Deep in the beech forests of Northeast Japan, Geto Suguru stands delicately amongst the verdant green undergrowth. He glances around, petting his large winged cursed spirit absently, and gathers his long dark robes in a hand. He glances over his shoulder.

"Despite your insistence on coming here, you've been awfully quiet. Is it not what you imagined?"

Bent at the waist to inspect massive green leaves as large as his face, Mahito looks up. "Huh? Oh, I was just curious about how they went about their plan. This place is maaassive. How are we supposed to find him? Maybe they cut him up? Sprinkled him from the highest mountain?" He sighs. "Whatever they did – they chose a green place to do it. Hanami would probably like it."

Dismissing his cursed spirit with a wave of his hand, Suguru chooses a direction and begins to move. He doesn't so much as walk as glide, his long skirts and the heavy undergrowth obscuring his steps. The tall, slim beeches are set just far enough apart for one person to slip between their trunks, and Mahito is forced to fall into step behind Suguru.

He flexes his fingers; stretches his arms; kicks ferns. Twigs tug at his hair and he huffs, glaring at the tree that dared touch him. He clasps the section of hair to his chest, dragging his slim fingers through it obsessively.

"You're twitchy," Suguru says without turning around. "You never did say how you heard of this curse. Seeing as you're not busy running your mouth, why don't you tell me now?"

Mahito sighs, skipping over a fallen log overrun with moss. He gazes up at the trees and notices the way the thick emerald canopy filters the sunlight until all that's left is an even, misty glow. Shadows are soft and deep around here.

"Not much to say," he hums thoughtfully, knocking a branch out of his way. "Lotta curses back in the day. Just makes sense to have some hidden around the place."

"Yes, but how did you come across such old records? Surely sorcerers would've kept something like that far, far away from prying eyes."

"Humans get tired. They get clumsy. They misplace things."

Suguru raises a brow. "And you kept it? For a thousand years, without purpose?"

Airily, he says, "So what if I did? You really expect me to act like one of you, doin' things with reason and purpose? C'mon. I liked the pictures on it."

He may think Suguru falls for it, but Suguru is nothing if not perceptive. Mahito flings his arms out too wide. Each stride is too long, each twirl around a slender beech too motivated – no, he sees it all. He's playing at carelessness when it couldn't be further from the truth.

Absurdly human of him, really.

Suguru hums, halting in his tracks. Mahito almost bumps into him. Again – too eager. Suguru lifts a hand, palm down and fingers splayed, and closes his eyes. Thrums of warm sorcery crackle through his veins – weak, barely trace amounts. Expected for thousand-year-old jujutsu. To be able to feel it still was a feat all in itself. Just how intense was the battle that raged here?

"We should be right in front of it," Suguru claims, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. They stand before a slight ridge of the earth, exposed tree roots weaving in and out of rich brown soil. A heavy blanket of moss hangs over the ridge and ivy grows beneath their feet. "Yet... I don't sense any spirits nearby."

"Hey," says Mahito suddenly. "The scroll mentioned a 'tomb'. You said in front of ya, yeah?"

Nodding, Suguru folds his hands within his robes. He watches as Mahito's arm lengthens into a massive cleaver, and he steps back at the wicked smile that spreads across his lips.

Mahito lifts his arm, pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Man, I so hope I'm right!"

With a slam that rumbles the ground beneath their feet and strips the nearby trees of their leaves, Mahito splits the earthen mound before him clean in two, leaving a shallow ravine that extends into the horizon. The soft earth parts like melted butter, soil and chipped wood exploding forth with such strength that Suguru narrowly avoids a pointed root that embeds itself into the trunk behind him.

When the dirt and leaves settle, they reveal the chiselled stone set into the earth. Split not quite perfectly in half – for Mahito loves chaos, and halves are better off-kilter – is a room carved into stone, hollowed out with a single podium erupting from the centre.

Upon the roughly-carved podium is a mid-sized box plastered with ancient seals and talismans. Peeking inside reveals that the inside of the 'room' is covered in the stuff, too – old, yellow, and faded, they flutter from wind they haven't felt in aeons. One peels off and comes to rest gently at Mahito's feet.

"Huh," he says eventually, staring at the cuttingly-familiar brushstrokes. He reaches for the wooden box, soft and rotted with age. The moment his fingers brush the surface, he pulls back with a jerk and makes a face. "Ouch! Spicy."

"Strong seals," Suguru comments, making no move to help. Mahito huffs and blasts the talismans away with a burst of cursed energy, testing the now-bare box with the tips of his fingers like one might with a freshly-microwaved plate.

He cracks the box open. Inside, innocent as a fresh lamb, lays a shallow, red-lacquered suzuri-bako.

"A... writing box?" Mahito murmurs to himself. He reaches in and takes the smooth box into his hands. It feels much heavier than it should, and an oppressive weight shudders through him, dark and cold and familiar. "Geto-san? It's a cage. I don't have the key."

"Let me take a look." Suguru stretches out a hand.

For a fleeting moment, Mahito hesitates – the slightest tilt of the box towards his chest. And Suguru knows.

With a growing smile, Suguru folds his hand back into his long sleeves. "Ah... I see. You know this spirit."

"I—" He pauses. "Maybe. Once upon a time."

"Interesting," says Suguru, "that something as old as this still has an effect on you."

"Nah – boring, actually. I'm old and sentimental." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. He chuckles and tosses his hair over his shoulder, tracing the edges of the box. Power tingles against his skin. "Pretty thing, for a cage. Maybe I could just – ease it open—"

Suguru raises his long sleeve to shield his face as the box pulses with a sudden, growling shockwave, forcing him to step back to keep his balance. The ferns sway around his knees.

Mahito clicks his tongue, a pout forming on his lips. "Damn it! This should be simple!"

The second attempt has the birds squawking and flying into the skies as the surrounding trees shudder violently. For the third, Suguru winces slightly as Mahito slams his fist – a giant mallet – against the box, resulting in another shockwave of barbed cursed energy. He lifts a hand, placating.

"Ah, Mahito... Perhaps I can give it a go?" he suggests. "It may need a... sorcerer's touch."

Mahito's eyes widen. Of course! Those ancient douche-canoes probably knew he would come for what was his. It only made sense to weave his name into the seals.

"By all means," he replies, stepping aside. "Take a gander."

Stepping forward, Suguru tugs his sleeve to his elbow and scoops up the box from the floor. He dusts off the cover. "Lovely craftsmanship," he muses and hovers his palm over it despite every nerve in his body writhing and begging to pull away. Some instinctual, ancient force warns him off it. He lets energy seep into the age-made cracks in the seals, and from within, gently burns away the net holding its prisoner still – like taking a lighter to the end of a frayed rope, creating spaces big enough to squeeze through.

The lid cracks open.

Like a floodgate opening, freezing shadows and smoke pour out of the gap, forcing the lid to clatter uselessly to the ground. Darkness bleeds down the walls. Suguru's eyes widen as his pale fingers, deep within the thick black smoke continuing to billow forth, begin to turn blue at the tips, visible frost surging over his skin. Smoke fills the air around them, fading out the sun until it could be a misty grey night. Rivers of shadow pool thickly around his knees until he can't see his feet, and he hurries to set the box on the podium.

As he lets go, a shadowy tendril curls around his exposed hand and arm, burning white frost into his skin. His breath hitches.

A freezing hand seizes his wrist. Inch-long black nails dig rivulets of blood – his red, all-too-human blood – out of him, and his heart plummets at the sight of the hand, wrapped completely around his forearm as if it's a thin piece of rope. On instinct, he yanks back, and the hand comes with.

Then, a flood of smoky shadow spews from the open box – and a cowled figure claws its way out, formed from the very shadows that plunged them into a sudden night. It rises and straightens, towering over them both.

Suguru's arm hurts. He clutches his wrist, his blood coagulating over the delicately-patterned frost, and chances a glance back at Mahito.

Arms spread wide and palms open, an unnervingly breathless smile plastered on his lips, Mahito gazes up at the wispy figure unblinkingly. Wide-eyed and panting softly, he laughs – bright and jubilant, victorious.

"Yes! Yes! There you are!"

He skips past Suguru, giggling madly as he takes one large, clawed hand in both his own. He presses the palm to his cheek as he hops in place, stretching up to reach for the round silver brooch pinning the cloak of shadows together over the shoulder. He hasn't seen his eyes in so long, and this stupid hood is in the way!

Mahito?

The voice comes from within Suguru's head. But, unlike Hanami's, this voice slithers among his own thoughts, slipping between them as light as a ghost. It could've been his own, for all he knew, except for the fact it carries a sorrow so profound it eclipses every other thought – he can focus on nothing else.

—

Everything is on fire. Everything is on fire and it is all because of you.

Of course, the fire was the easy part. One day, perhaps your beloved will forgive you for using such an overzealous amount of cursed energy to make your grand entrance. It completely overshadowed his own.

Everything would change here. It would be your end, or your beginning. Before you stand the most powerful sorcerers in the land, all gathered to rise against you one final time – or die trying.

All so tense. A sigh flutters through your lips as you brush a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Mahito has influenced you too much – you are bare from shoulder-to-waist, oil-slick blood coating your arms up to the elbows, and facing the strongest adversaries you have ever met. Yet, all you can fret about is your poor hakama, now no more than a shred of memory. You donned your best silks for this, and the first thing the cruel little bugs did was burn it off you.

At the very least, your sashinuki may be salvageable.

"You are strong," a white-haired sorcerer calls above the roar of the flames towering into the sky. "Some call you divine and pray to you for aid, but you do not listen."

"I listen," you reply coolly, and slick back your hair with a blood-soaked palm. "I help them to lose the burden of their regrets and relieve their physical pains. I daresay I help more than you."

"They call you a healer, but what you do is not healing. Once, you numbed a man to his wounds until he fell to exhaustion fighting in your name. You are a spiteful creature. Desperation is your lure."

"If I hear it, I answer. If they think I am their saviour, who am I to disagree? It's a rather pretty title – though, it is amusing to be lord of maggots. I like to watch them squirm."

How did a curse of night, of the endless dark, grow so powerful? Every secret done in the dark, every lie and gnawing shame, was yours. There had always been something different about you, and they were fools to ignore it, even upon your first meeting:

You, tall and regal, kimono the darkest shade of navy blue damask, had been nothing like their other curses. You looked quite human. Perhaps there was something godly in your stride, something primordial in your voice, that cowed them all like children. You spoke to them, soft and paternal, and suddenly, each and every one of them was afraid of the dark and you were their only solace against the monsters beyond the window.

Enchantment, they'd called it, upon blinking awake and finding you gone. Perhaps it was your domain, to cull their thoughts until all that remained was the ancient instinct to fear the black night. Had you heard them discussing you, hands shaking and faces drained of blood, you would have laughed.

—

Suguru's eyes flicker, and the scene flips to a forest clearing.

—

"Mahito!"

The cry of his name is guttural, a thousand voices coalescing into a roar and a shriek. Across the battlefield, he falls, and you catch the flames reflecting in the shine of his widened eyes as he grasps the unfamiliar black blade piercing his chest. His soul writhes around it, pierced by it, unable to slip away unscathed as he has so many times before.

In that split second, your attention lapses, and black chains lash your body, slamming you to your knees. You snarl, straining against them.

"Surrender," the sorcerer before you orders, white hair stained red with blood. Despite his injuries and the loss of an entire arm, he stands tall and steady above you. "We will let him go if you choose to die."

"If I choose to die?" You run your thumb over your knuckles, regenerating three lost fingers. A rather good trade, you think, for taking off his arm in the process. "You'd allow a spirit, able to shape the soul into something inhuman and unrecognisable, to walk free in exchange for my life? My, my. I must be particularly disruptive to your little society."

"You're beaten." His voice is sharp despite his clear exhaustion. He struggles to restore his arm. "No matter how many of us you kill, you will lose first. Give up."

"Such misplaced confidence. 'Choose to die'..." You sneer and the black iron chains wrapped around you tighten, far colder than you are. You have warmed, somewhat, in Mahito's presence. You cannot be bitter about it when it is he who marks your soul. "Hah! Nothing stops you from killing him anyway – so, politely, I decline. There are only so many of you. You will run out of bodies before I do."

As you speak, your image flickers in an attempt to split your consciousness into the deep shadows around you. The chains chew into your skin and you hiss as your control dissipates like a candle blown out.

"Interesting," the sorcerer murmurs, gazing down at you pensively. The red flames swirl behind him. "Interesting that your bond with that curse truly did win us this fight. I admit – I was sceptical it would work. You're... not what I expected."

You turn your gaze to Mahito, crumpled on the ground with his long, straight hair creating a curtain over his features. He grasps the handle of the blade, trembling slightly, and his breaths are shallow and rapid as he attempts to pull it out. He can only whimper in pain – too quiet for anyone to hear. But this battle is a secret under darkness and belongs to you. You close your eyes to his furious cry and panicked breaths as the blade refuses to budge and saps more of his strength with every second.

Run, you implore, and his head shoots up, pale eyes meeting yours. Cursed energy surges beneath your skin, rippling and bubbling with bloodthirst. Run and don't look back. Mahito, you must survive at all costs. Do you understand?

The chains quiver and the links bend out of shape, their strange unearthly metal creaking. Your body strains against it, fingers elongating into claws and mouth growing jagged fangs. Your skin rips and flickers, bleeding dead galaxies. The chains bite into your shadowy flesh, but you grow larger despite it.

The sorcerer takes a step back.

Go, your voice rasps in his head, syllables rough and struggling in the monstrosity of your own body. Mahito's eyes widen as the chains groan, shuddering with effort – and snap.

He pulls himself to his feet, pale grey kimono tattered and stained. He grips the blade lodged in his chest and stumbles away, chasing the safety of the tree line.

You roar, twice as tall as the sorcerers around you, cutting them down with rapid, decisive blows. In his state, he doesn't notice the sorcerer turning in his direction.

But you do. With a shriek, you launch yourself at him, breaking through the ranks of sorcerers trying to stop you in a burst of viscera and bone. You seize the man giving chase after Mahito, and his whip-like technique is nothing against the overwhelming strength of your new form. One slash of your razor-sharp claws and his technique putters out in his limp hands.

Mahito spares you one last, desperate look, before turning and running into the darkness. You pull the shadows closed after him, deepening the shadows around him until you have him in your grasp.

Live, you say wistfully, releasing him from your shadows as far away as you can by a riverbank. He collapses and attempts to slip the blade out from between his ribs. He quivers with effort, and you don't turn back to the sorcerers picking themselves up for one last push. As long as none of them find Mahito, you will accept the consequences of your hedonistic actions. Live for me. Please.

You languish in your prison for one thousand years.

—

Mahito beams, nodding so hard his head threatens to fall off. "You remember me! I knew you would!"

Slowly, as if learning how to move one muscle at a time, the hand cupping his face brushes its knuckles down the edge of his cheek. When it reaches his chin, long fingers wrap around his throat as if to choke – then, they release. Using the first three fingers, the shadowy spirit grasps Mahito's face, turning it further up towards him. The top of Mahito's head only reaches the spirit's ribs – or where they would be on a human.

Mahito, the spirit calls joyfully, lifting its other hand to cup his face with a flourish of a long, wispy sleeve. Draped over him, the spirit's shadowy robes engulf him almost entirely. Oh, Mahito, my darling pale bone-shard...

He laughs, accepting everything with a smile that seems too ancient for someone like him. It's the smile of one who's known loss – not his usual grin of frivolous naivete.

"You look awful," Mahito says, with a little pout and a frown. "Come! I'll get you back to full strength. But I suppose that guy behind me will want introductions. No number of old scrolls or tomes would get him your name."

That name was never mine, the curse declares. Humans could never know me as you do. My strength is not theirs to invoke.

"Alrighty," Mahito says. He spins on his heel, hair bouncing, and points above him, where the spirit stands – floats – behind his shoulder. "Geto-san! This is YN! I knew him back in the day. He had a bit of a cult, too, so I think you'll get along splendidly."

That piques his interest. That white-haired sorcerer – probably a member of the Gojo clan, Suguru thinks with an achy little throb, if his paleness was a family trait – had mentioned something about your perceived divinity. He wonders why you'd pay attention to any of those ignorant monkeys.

"You're probably thinking about the whole cult thing, right?" Mahito comments offhandedly, tossing and catching the silver brooch he stole from you. Despite this, you haven't pulled down your hood. The straggly ends of the cloak hang by your arms.

"I won't say I didn't wonder."

"Don't worry, it's not a long story." He clears his throat importantly. "Back in the day, we didn't have curtains or anything to hide the results of our actions, so what we did must've seemed like magic or something paranormal to humans. My YN was often seen before and after destruction like plagues and floods, so word began to spread of a beautiful man who would save those he appeared to. Of course, this was survivorship bias. If he killed 'em, not like they could say that to anyone, right? So that's how people began to worship him."

"How fascinating," Suguru murmurs, eyeing you up. "Before, I saw your... memories. Was worship how you grew so much stronger than a normal curse?"

You finally look up, having been concentrating very hard on Mahito and his new appearance. His clothes are strange, but you're beginning to come around to them. Apologies. My body is not quite... complete. Some portion of me may have passed through you as I formed. You touch Mahito's hair, rubbing the strands between your fingers, and he giggles up at you. Perhaps you are right. Evolution was always within Mahito's portfolio, not mine. I should have been constant, unchanging, like the night. Odd, isn't it?

"The form you gained right before you were sealed away – do you still have it? Or was it a result of their belief?" If he could sway you to his side – gain your abilities – it might be enough. Just enough.

You consider his question. Human emotion is potent. I may no longer have shrines made with my image or prayers whispered in my name, but there are infinitely more humans now to draw from. I may gain it back – in time.

"Fascinating," Suguru repeats. He extends his uninjured hand with a kind smile. "Then please – allow me to be your host in this new era. I own a temple with a not-insignificant number of human visitors. It may help you recover."

You glance down at Mahito. He nods encouragingly. "He's not a bad guy to be around, I promise! A little uppity, but with the strength to back it up. You'd be with me. We'd be together again."

You pause, your large hand halting on top of Mahito's head, where you'd been petting him. He blinks up at your featureless face, and shadows waft from your shoulders –  a sigh, or what passes for one with your inhuman anatomy. Very well, you relent, taking one of his ponytails and tugging lightly, I will follow. Be grateful that I bow to you.

"Oh, yes," Mahito giggles pleasantly, leaning into your stomach. He props his chin on your ribs, staring up at you with a grin. "Verily, my lord. When we arrive, I'll even show you how grateful I am."

You cup his face gently, squishing his cheeks. You run a thumb over the stitches below his eye. Dubious little creature... Lead on – we have much to talk about.

—

Recovery, you find, requires mostly time. The first thing you do when you regain sufficient strength is create a new body – one Mahito is familiar with, and which looks almost entirely human. For all your distaste, their physical anatomy is simple and useful, and you can spend less effort holding it together than most other shapes. Geto Suguru, as you come to know him, is incredibly interested in you and your capabilities, almost invasively so, and hates humanity quite a lot. You avoid him where you can.

You enter the room you were given by ducking under the lintel, one which Mahito now shares with you. Once you heard where he used to reside and what it was had been explained to you, you had been firmly insistent he come with you rather than you with him. Sewers, you claimed, were no place for the beloved of a god.

He is at the dresser in a grey kimono, which grabs your attention. He runs a brush through the pale blue-grey hair swept over his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, a smile automatically tugging at his lips.

"You're back," he says warmly. "What did Geto-san want this time?"

"He has trouble sleeping," you reply, taking a seat on the bed. It is odd, you thought once, that a traditional temple like this would incorporate such modern furniture, but Mahito seemed to like it, so you kept your mouth shut. "I drew him to slumber."

Mahito hums knowingly. "Humans, right? So messy. Him especially. Man, emotionally, that guy is a wreck – gets so worked up over nothing."

Politely, you ignore the invitation to complain. You may be a curse, but you have some dignity. "He freed me from a thousand years of imprisonment, Mahito. It's the least I can do to repay him."

He frowns. "I freed you."

"The seals prevented you from doing very much, Mahito," you say, amused. "If he wasn't there, you'd still be banging away at it. However, you did figure out where they kept me and kept me alive in your memories when no other did. I am grateful for that."

"If you were less judgemental of the other curses, I'm sure they woulda remembered you fondly," he rebuts. "You were too much of a lone wolf. 'Ooh, Sukuna's eating my worshippers 'cause I told him he's not cool! Kenjaku badgers me way too often about his dumb plans!' If you didn't complain about them to their faces, I'm sure they would've been happier to remember you."

You scoff. "Why should I care? I have you."

The tone of your voice warms what passes as his heart. He turns on the stool to face you, setting down the brush and picking up his hair ties. He begins to section his hair into three parts.

"I mean that much to you, do I? Little old me, more important than the favour of the great King of Curses," he coos, rising to his feet. He offers you a hair-tie with a soft smile, and you accept it. He crawls into your lap, sitting with his back to your chest. He hums as you comb your fingers through his hair, fumbling only slightly with the intricacies of a braid. It's been a long time since you've had hands.

"What does the King of Curses have that I care for? He is strong, but has many enemies. He is an arrogant, fickle creature and desires no equal, only slaves and followers." You adjust the thick locks of hair you've left loose to frame his face. He seems to like threes, so you'll keep it similar. "I like to do as I please. He is feared – I am fear."

You consider your next words. "He is also very rude."

Mahito barks out a laugh. "Careful. If he hears that, you'd be sliced up quicker than you can say 'oops'."

"You say he is now little more than a set of relicts. I wonder – if I kicked him around, would he know it and come later to kill me?"

Mahito presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think so. They don't seem to hold any sentience by themselves. Even curses empowered by the fingers don't look like they contain any part of 'him'."

"Interesting."

"Remind me to never let you carry his fingers."

"Of course." You tie off the end of the braid, sitting back to admire your handiwork. A human had come in with something similar, and you'd been too preoccupied with how it might look on Mahito to really care for what Geto was doing.

(You didn't care much for what any of them were doing, truthfully. Their idea for a world of curses was not quite uninhabited enough for you, as the god of the endless night and the perfect, empty void. It was only because of Mahito's unique technique that you let him live beyond your initial meeting, after all.)

"You kept your hair long," you say, voice a low murmur.

Mahito glances over his shoulder, gazing up at you through his messy bangs. A sly smile curls at his lips. "Oh, you know," he waves a hand carelessly, "you liked it better this way."

You prop your chin on top of Mahito's head. He grins. "You always wore it like this?"

"Well, I sat like a rock at the bottom of a river for a couple hundred years, so no, not always. But when I did like to have hair – yes, it was long."

You rest your hand around his throat, like a collar. Mahito smirks, dancing his fingers over your knuckles. "Hey, now... What's this doin', big guy? Careful – I'm half your size."

"You do not have to look like you do. I would adore you regardless."

"How cute! But it's no fun when we're both too big for the bed." He turns in your lap, straddling your thighs, and playfully plucks a thread loose from your haori. He cocks his head to meet your eyes with a smile when a brief scowl crosses your face. "C'mon, lighten up! You're out of the slammer! What better way to celebrate than with me? If you want, we don't have to do it on the bed. Maybe on the floor... Out in the forest... Drenched in human blood..."

"Mahito, Geto is across the hall. You are loud."

"He can plug his ears. I'm sure he's got a curse somewhere in him for that." His grin broadens freakishly. "I also want a curse inside me."

"Mahito," you growl, your grip tightening on his hips.

"Oh, say that again." He shows the whites of his eyes briefly with a teasing moan. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, wiggling around and settling comfortably in your lap. Your shoulders tense. "Such a bore. Hey – I'm better with my technique nowadays. Y'know how much fun we could have?" He leans in with a giggle, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gimme ideas. I'll make you feel so good."

Concentration was always the common denominator. He was once easily overwhelmed – he'd like to think he improved.

"I still tire quickly," you say, and not even you can obscure the annoyance in your voice. "Belief is so hard-won these days. I fear you'll have to be gentle with me."

He giggles, though his expression softens – or as much as it can for him; perhaps 'less-crazed' is a fairer term –and he drags his tongue hotly against your jaw. It's a kiss – his version of one.

"Okay," he sighs dramatically, kicking his legs childishly. "Hm... How about this? Tonight, shall I be your prince, princess, or," he winks, "your master?"

Your lips purse. "Gods do not have princes or princesses. 'Divine right'." You scoff. "Don't make me laugh."

"You'll always gimme your 'divine right', though, yeah?" He wiggles his brows cheekily. "Your sacred sceptre. Your god rod—"

"Mahito."

He sulks for only a moment before perking up again, tugging at your sashes and collar to open you up for his eyes only. He traces the marks on your skin with a hum.

"You and Sukuna have a lot in common, you know."

"He's a fool. I hope that's not what you mean."

He snorts. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that. I like you more, anyway."

"I'd certainly hope so." You flex your fingers, lifting one hand to measure against his waist. "I endured a thousand years of imprisonment for you."

"You're gonna bring that up constantly, aren't you?"

"Only when important. Do you know how small it was on the inside?"

He sighs. "I'm never winning an argument again."

"You've already won my heart."

"Your heart!" He laughs. "What a human thing to call it."

You lean back, allowing him to push your kimono off your shoulders. "Call it what you like. Be what you like. I've spent too long away from you to care for names and titles." You trace the stitches running across his hips. You lift your eyes, and Mahito's breath hitches at the hunger in them. They swirl with empty galaxies and dead stars, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning in, longing for that cold, dark and very gentle place. One day, at the end of all things, you will bring him there, lord of nothing and lord of everything. Perhaps he'll learn how to touch his soul to yours, like bubbles, and you'll never have to leave him again.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers as you strip him bare, his grey silk kimono pooling on the floor. "Me? Just me?"

"I have no need for anything else. Power, armies, what have you... Sukuna, Kenjaku, even this Geto – their plans are so short-sighted. Everything will come under my hand eventually. Until that day arrives, I am content with you."

"So romantic," Mahito murmurs, a coy smile pulling at his lips. "Can I also come under your hand? Pretty please?"

"Must you ruin everything I say with a filthy joke?"

He pushes you backwards onto the bed, hovering over you with a grin. He grinds down on your lap under the pretence of getting comfy and he relishes in your groan. "You just set them up so perfectly for me! How could I not?"

You click your tongue. "I indulge you too much."

"Not enough, I'd say. Took me way too long to get into your pants. Do you know how desperate I was at times? You expected me to see you doused in human viscera and not want you all up in my guts, too... Ridiculous, in my humble opinion."

"Sex is such a human notion."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he whines. "I have to say, it's pretty fun. You like it, too, don't you?"

"Hm."

"C'mon, we're both here because of humans. We aren't, like, appropriating anything." He reaches down, palming the bulge below your kimono. His grin widens. "If you don't like it, why did you give yourself the parts for it? Ha! Checkmate."

He yelps as you grab him and toss him down onto the bed, pinning him under your weight. He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his loosened kimono gaping at the chest and stomach.

You rake your eyes down his lithe, pale body, humming when his breath hitches at your touch. You glide your hand down his side, tracing the smooth curve of his waist and hip.

You reach down by his hips and part his kimono further. When the silk falls open, you are greeted by a neat patch of grey hair – and glistening pink folds.

He giggles at your expression. He twirls his hair around a finger and bats his lashes, which might be thicker and longer than usual. "Now we match."

Clicking your tongue, you curl your fingers around his slender thigh and part his legs, eyeing him unblinkingly. He's not sure if he should be aroused or offended – you're hard to read and he's never sure what you like. Perhaps that's part of why he stayed – you were like a game – but now, a thousand years later, he can't help but feel... unsure? Nervous?

Afraid?

He wants to laugh at the concept. Him? Afraid of your opinion of him? How disgustingly fragile.

You're talking now, and the sound of it snaps him out of his spiralling thoughts. You've always had that effect on him.

"I'm not sure how we match at all, Mahito," you're saying. "As spirits, we are incapable of siring spawn. I would say we match less."

He whines. "Hey...! I put all this work into looking nice for you, and you're telling me now that you don't like it? Besides, who're you to say we can't have some little curse babies, asshole? There's never been another me – maybe I'm the exception. Maybe I'm better than the rest of 'em."

At last, you lift your eyes. Mahito wants to curl up beneath your gaze – you are terrifying and comforting all at once. "No," you say softly. "You are one of a kind."

A smile splits his face, cocky, and he sits up, leaning back on his palms. His kimono slips teasingly from his shoulder. "Mmhm, that's right... Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."

You tilt your head, considering something. You stroke his thigh, absent-minded, and he presses into your touch. "You don't know for certain – about spawn."

"Obviously not. I was sitting among the rocks of the Shinano River for, like, eight hundred years. You want me to fuck a fish?"

"Why?" You lift a hand as he opens his mouth to snark at you. "About the river, Mahito. Not the fish."

He frowns, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "You told me to survive! I did just that. I'm not sure why you sound so disappointed."

"You, resting in the same place for hundreds of years? Wouldn't you have grown bored? I'm sure it did not take that long to heal from your wounds."

He huffs, crossing his arms. He tugs his leg out of your grasp. His hair falls over his features. "You were dead, for all I knew! When I didn't know much about anything, you were there to teach me. For the first time ever, you were gone, and if they'd managed to kill you, what would they do to me?" He flicks a wrist, sleeve whipping your side. "You told me to live. To survive. So I did, okay? After all, it was the last thing you ever said to me. I had nothing else left of you."

The air is heavy. Neither of you moves a muscle.

"Mahito," you say softly.

He throws himself backwards onto the bed with a bounce and a soft thump, hands over his eyes. He tries to kick you, but you catch his ankle. He scowls. "Stupid. Asshole. Jerkface. Don't say my name like that."

"Mahito."

He gulps as you close the distance between you, your palm pressed to the mattress beside his head. His breath hitches as your hand glides from his ankle to his calf, holding it over your shoulder. You don't quite pin it there, but you leave your palm open, steady against the outside of his knee as it presses against you.

"You've grown soft," you observe.

He crosses his arms and tries to glare. It's a little hard when you're kneeling between his legs, your lips six inches from his own. Do you still taste the same? "No, I haven't. You just knew me before I lost everything."

"Let me return this to you, then." You part his kimono fully, the silk pooling on the bed. You reach for your own clothes, though your eyes remain trained on his. They remind him of a fox, quick and clever and sly. "Can I make it up to you, Mahito?"

He sniffs, glancing aside. His arms uncross. "Fine."

"Thank you."

You're so stupid. And polite. Ugh.

Your fingers travel down between his thighs. His throat bobs as you slide your middle finger between his wet folds, coating it in his slick. He shifts as you thrust it in gently, exploring him. Your warm palm cups him, something possessive in your touch, and as he relaxes around you, you slip a second finger in.

He gasps sharply, his hands shooting up to wrap around your biceps. You halt, buried in to the knuckle. It's hard not to be – his walls pulse around you, sucking you in.

"Am I hurting you?"

He shakes his head. He offers a brief, breathless grin. "Nah. Just feels different. Good different. Keep going."

You nod, sitting back on your heels to watch the way his cunt flutters around you. You stroke the leg thrown over your shoulder, kissing the ankle, and Mahito lets out a muffled mewl as your thumb presses against his clit.

"Sensitive," you murmur to yourself. You glance up. "Have you done this before?"

He licks his lips, steadying his voice. "What, changing myself like this?"

"Yes. For your own pleasure, rather than for battle."

"No," he admits, legs tightening around you. "This is the first time."

Humming, you glance up at him, allowing a smile to grace your features. "Then we can explore it together."

You pull your fingers from him – and with a thoughtful look, you place them in your mouth. Mahito's breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around your fingers, relishing in the taste.

"Sweet," you declare, and place his leg gently down on the bed. You settle at the base of the bed and tug him down by the thighs, staring up at him with playful eyes. "You wouldn't mind if I had a taste from the source, would you?"

He shakes his head, and it tips back with a moan as you bury your head between his thighs. You lap at his soft pink folds, and as you push your tongue inside, he slickens up, walls hot and pulsing around you. He squelches as you push in deeper, slick dripping from his eager hole. He grips your hair with both hands, moaning in delight as you fuck your long tongue in and out of him, curling roughly against the spot inside him that makes his head spin.

"Awh, fuck," he whines, laughing breathily as his spine arches and hot pleasure laps at the base of his spine. "F-Feels even better than I thought it would—! Ah, hah, gimme more!"

You draw your tongue out of him, making him whine and pull your face further into his fluttering cunt. You suck at his clit, lifting a hand to raise the hood of it as your tongue circles and your teeth graze it – he jolts in surprise, hands tightening in your hair. 

"Patience," you purr, tongue laving over his reddened clit. You push it inside him, wriggling about experimentally as his throbbing walls stroke the length of it, hungry and devouring.

"I already waited a thousand years!" he says, almost angrily. His heels dig into your shoulders as he lifts his hips, chasing a high. Your tongue is so long – it massages that rough patch of nerves at the back of his cunt and he seizes, crying your name as you grip his hips and lift him to your lips.

He takes what he wants rather inconsiderately, slick dripping down your chin as you kiss his hot folds. He's practically humping your face, grinding against your mouth and the tongue sinfully deep inside of him. You groan as his moans pitch higher, whorish, and he begins to tremble around you.

So quickly? You're amused. He's missed you more than he's willing to let on.

You fuck him with your tongue, saliva and slick mixing on his fair skin, and he's positively dripping, every thrust squelching and pushing out a sweet gush of pleasure into your waiting mouth. You swallow it blissfully, your thumb circling the wet nub of his clit.

With a wobbly, high-pitched cry, he shoves your face into his gummy cunt and comes on your waiting, writhing tongue, thighs seizing around your head and locking you in place as he coats your chin in his hot, sticky slick.

With your tongue buried deep inside him, flicking about and pressing curiously against his soft walls, he lets out a shaky whine, grinding against you with rough rolls of his hips. It's not an unfamiliar motion. He takes you so prettily, soft smooth folds now dark with lust.

Shakily, Mahito releases you, body sagging into the mattress. He pants and gasps, the tense heat between his legs unbearably achy and needy. He wants to melt.

"S-So… good," he sighs, a broad grin crossing his face. You lap at him lazily, and he twitches. "Mm… Now gimme your cock, 'kay? Nice 'n' deep. Promise me."

"Promise what?" you ask, licking your lips and wiping away his come. Your eyes glint with satisfaction as you set down his unsteady legs and crawl between them, the bulge in your trousers straining in its confines.

"That you'll fuck me up," he whines, turning onto his stomach and lifting his perky ass. He gazes over his shoulder at you, wiggling his hips and spreading his knees further to show off his tight holes. "You can have either one – jus' want you in me, okay? I miss having a big cock in my belly, miss being fucked and filled up until 'm all swollen and can't move." He pouts, his eyes half-lidded, and presses his ass against your bulge, grinding lazily. "C'mon, big guy. Don't you wanna put your baby in me?"

His eyes shoot wide open and his jaw drops as a thick, throbbing intrusion splits his pussy apart. He can't help his eager moans as you set a steady pace, his loosened pussy sucking you in with ease. He scrabbles at the sheets as your grip tightens on his waist and drags him down to match every thrust – he grabs the headboard as your cock kisses his cervix, making his eyes roll back.

"Oh! Y-You're cold – big – so muh – much," he cries brokenly, pressing his palm against his stomach. He shudders at the icy temperature of you inside him, making his hot walls ache and throb with such need that it borders on pain.

On every harsh thrust, he feels you glide against his palm, filling him up so completely that he can barely breathe – that feeling, of every breath physically restricted, makes his eyelids flutter and his pussy clench and flutter. His wet warmth surges down your thighs with his high, and you groan as he jolts and whines.

"You can handle it, Mahito," you note with a soft hum. Your touch grazes his clit and his breath stutters. "You have before, haven't you?"

"I-I'm rusty," he tries to joke, but it comes out flimsy as you shift and he clamps down punishingly around your cock with a moan. "Oh, fuck!"

Your hips snap into him and he fumbles slightly, grabbing one of your hands on his hip. He slumps into the mattress, lifting his hips as you fuck into his swollen heat, slick and soft around you. Little chained moans fall from his lips as he twists the sheets in his fist; his body jolts back and forth with your thrusts, his long blue-grey braid bouncing over his shoulder.

"Feels so g-good," he slurs, legs shaking like leaves. He spreads them, reaching down to split his sticky pussy lips with the V of his fingers. His lower lip quivers as he gazes at you over his shoulder. His bangs are a mess over his lust-blown eyes. "More – more, more, I want more—! Make me yours again, ah, right there—"

"Quiet now," you murmur amongst his choppy moans. "Geto will hear you."

"Wh-Whose fault is that?" he whines, the expression on his face fucked out and deeply flushed. "H-Hah – bet he'd be jealous, anyway! He wants you but you're all mine! Mh—"

You chuckle softly, leaning over him with a palm braced by his head. He feels small like this – protected. He whines into the bedsheets, his pussy dripping down his inner thighs.

"Mahito," you say, almost admonishingly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of that – ah – human? No!"

You trail your lips up his shoulder and neck, nipping at his ear. "Mm, of course. But I do think it would be prudent to watch him carefully. That technique of his may prove... troublesome."

Mahito sniffles, come-slick walls clamping around you and making you grunt. "S-Stop talking about him."

"So you are jealous."

"I just don't like it when you talk about other people when you're inside me." He attempts a glare, but his ruined expression quivers when your cock kisses his womb, tears welling up along his lashes and sticking them together. "Th-That's a normal, hn, r-reaction."

"Would you like me to talk about you, then?"

He averts his eyes and nods, tiny, into the sheets. You press your lips to the stitches trailing over his shoulders, admiring the contrast between the dark lines and Mahito's pale skin. You pick up the pace, thighs clapping against his ass, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as his pussy flutters dangerously around you.

"My Mahito is so sweet to me, greeting me with this little piece of heaven here," you purr with a particularly teasing thrust into his cunt, nuzzling into his hair as he grips your forearms for stability. He nods reverently, lips parting and eyes rolling as you shift your hips and fuck him quick and hard into the mattress. His toes curl as he cries out, every thrust knocking a whiny moan from his throat. "My Mahito did so well, listening to me all that time ago... You're so good at obeying me, aren't you?"

"M-Mmhm," he whimpers. "Yes! Yes, I did, I always listen to you, oh, god—"

"Ah-ah-ah... You've been spending far too much time around humans, Mahito." You kiss his neck, and he shudders, your cock filling his belly until he can think of nothing else. He whines as you stroke his side, fingers fluttering over his stomach.

"I am your god," you murmur. "I taught you. I saved you. Perhaps I can even..." You press the smooth bump in his stomach and he lets out a ruined noise, muscles tensing. "Gods create, don't they?"

A choked, whorish wail rips past his lips. The glide comes easy – hotter, wetter. Waves of heat pulse through his core. His hole squelches as a thick ring of white forms around your base.

"Mahito." You tug his braid sharply and he whimpers as his head jerks back. "If you cry out to a god, it will be my name on your lips. You are mine. I won't tolerate anything less than your total loyalty. Do you understand?"

He babbles, whimpered half-words slipping from his lips. He nods to the best of his ability with your grip on his braid, arousal curling hot and powerful in his gut at the growl in your voice. "Yes!" he cries, his ass ricocheting off your hips. The rough pace makes his knees knock together. "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch, 'm sorry – you're my god – hnn, f-fuck, don't stop—!"

"Good, Mahito. Always so obedient for me."

Perhaps he reshapes himself because suddenly he's vice-tight, throbbing around you with a gooey slickness that tugs pink around your shaft when you try to draw your hips back. You suck in a sharp breath.

"Mahito," you coo, stroking his stitched cheek, and he whimpers, tears clouding his vision. "Let me go, dear. I can't give you what you want if I can't move."

"I don't want you to leave again," he sobs, curling his fingers through yours.  He can't think straight.

If – if he gave you a child, an heir... you wouldn't leave him, right? You couldn't. You liked him for his uniqueness – he wasn't like any other curse you'd ever met. You told him so. With the return of the Six Eyes, each day brings forth more powerful spirits, and you are like Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say. You, too, are fickle, and you are cold as the night over which you reign. If some other curse – or, fuck him, a human – catches your attention, it's not impossible you might drop him for them.

After all, you're so much older than him. What is he but an indulgent curiosity?

As his thoughts spiral away from him, his body reacts to you – his glossy, silken pussy hugs your twitching cock, and the smell of sex lingers heavy in the air. "Oh god, oh god," he whimpers sweetly, brainless and drooling and pierced on thick cock, "oh, god—"

"Yes," you hiss. "You belong to me." You bury your nose in his hair, skin slapping rhythmically and rocking the bed. You bury yourself in his sloppy cunt over and over again, wrapped so perfectly around you. With a low growl that has Mahito's pussy throbbing, ropes of thick come paint his insides, filling him up and dripping from his hot, slippery folds.

He arches into your cold, firm embrace with a frenzied wail of your name, a sound wrecked with pleasure and pent-up desire. He trembles as he creams around you, milking your cock with a hungry desperation, and the pale curls over his pussy are damp with a filthy mixture of slick and come. He throws his head back. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes roll back at the feeling of your seed spurting deep within him, his insides so much more sensitive.

Or maybe he's just missed you. Either way, his throat feels raw, and the shattered whimpers that crumble from his lips as he collapses into the bedsheets are all he can manage, his pale eyes half-lidded and fluttering as you continue to pump him full. You stroke his stomach as if he's something sacred and murmur sweet nothings into his ear as he twitches in your arms.

He mewls, panting, as you eventually pull out, his gaping pussy clenching around nothing as your seed dribbles down his thigh. Without your grip on his hips to keep him up, he crumples to the bed in a dazed, soiled heap. His cunt squelches when he moves and he licks his lips, trembling slightly as he raises his head to look at you.

You're beside him now, gazing back with those beautiful eyes of yours. If he stares into them long enough, deep enough, he might catch a glimpse of clashing black holes and dying stars.

That battle an age ago left you with something inescapable. Things used to be easier – you were of the night, and the night was simple with the whisper of something shadowy within the dark. Now you have sparks of something hotter within you. Evolution, change, all of it – Mahito had more of an effect on you than anyone could've guessed.

He presses himself into your side and you wrap his lean body in your embrace. You stroke his hair with a soft hum, combing your fingers through his bangs and tucking them behind his ear.

At last, he speaks up, head resting upon your chest. "I got all dolled up for you," he says quietly. "You made a mess of me. Ruined my hard work."

You kiss his forehead. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Hey... Don't twist my words."

"I'm sorry."

Silently, he leans up and nips at your jawline, soothing the spot with a kitten lick. He settles back down and you trace the stitches crossing his body, making him hum as you reach the ones following the V of his hips.

"I won't leave you, Mahito. Not again."

He glances up, a fist curling gently on your chest. "Really?"

You nod, staring at the ceiling. He fits perfectly into your side and you clutch him there, protective and possessive in the way he adores. "Yes."

He stares up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes with a secret little smile.

[danatron1]

Help trans people in the UK!

TERF island sucks, however thousands of innocent people are harmed by their tyranny. Have sympathy for brits like me who would rather be born anywhere else.

An unprecedented attack on trans rights took place last Wednesday, with the UK Supreme Court writing trans people out of the Equality Act by redefining "woman" to only mean assigned female at birth.

Protests erupted across the country, with thousands taking to the streets to fight for trans rights. With our current government, our suffering falls on deaf ears.

It won't be enough to just fight in the streets, but we need to fight in the courts. The UK Supreme Court is the highest court in the country, with no chance of appeal. However, there is hope.

The European Court of Human Rights can step in if we can get them to recognise this blatant violation of human rights. Leaving the EU doesn't get you out of it! This legal case will be time consuming and expensive, so please donate all that you can to help us win this fight. We're fighting JK Rowling money, but together we can make a difference!

If you can't donate, please share instead!

If you need to know how bad this situation really is, keep reading.

The Supreme Court's ruling, where 3 men decided what "woman" means, puts all women at risk. Male police officers in the UK now have the power to strip search any women they believe to be trans.

It is an offence to enter a single sex bathroom and changing room different from your birth sex, but also to enter one where your presence is "likely to cause offence". This leaves trans men and women with nowhere to go, as well as gender-non conforming cis people.

Non-binary people naturally have zero legal recognition whatsoever, the existence of trans men has been ignored again, and intersex people have been written out of existence.

Trans people are always sent to male prisons regardless of sex. If you don't know the horiffic ramifications of this, Google v-coding.

Gender Recognition Certificates, which were supposed to update your legal sex for all purposes, have been rendered functionally worthless. Trans people are being forced into their assigned sex at birth.

Trans women are banned from rape crisis shelters, domestic abuse protection, and discrimination claims such as equal pay. Trans women have also unsurprisingly been banned from Women's sports.

Trans women are banned from all lesbian groups and organisations, and not just that, cis women are too if they're dating a trans woman. The court ruled that "lesbian" means "AFAB attracted to AFAB", making cis women dating trans women legally straight. The definition also means bi women aren't a thing in UK law now - just a sidenote!

Trans people sent to hospital wards are now always housed according to their assigned sex at birth, regardless of their comfort.

If you're a trans minor, your life is even harder. Puberty blockers and HRT, despite being completely safe and legal for cis people, are banned nation wide for trans youth. The only "help" offered is conversion therapy, which the government calls "exploratory therapy".

And if you're thinking "well, people won't comply" or "My workplace is friendly," then I regret to inform you that this isn't allowed. The UK expects all organisations to update their policies to be trans exclusionary by this summer, and the so-called "Equality and Human Rights Commission" has announced they will persue any organisation which doesn't immediately comply.

By the way, earlier this year the EHRC made the trans panic defense legal. Even kissing someone without disclosing that you're trans is enough to get you convicted with sexual assault. Trans people must always out themselves before any relationship forms or be charged with a sex crime.

Any organisation with bathrooms, changing rooms, rape crisis centres, etc. will be for Ed to exclude trans people. If an organisation lets a trans woman (who in UK law is now legally a man) into a women-only space, they lose the right to operate the single sex space, and can be successfully sued for not letting cis men into it.

The EHRC's recommendation? Trans people use their "powers of advocacy" to request "third spaces" with regards to toilets. THIS IS NOT A JOKE.

We CAN put a stop to this. We CAN defeat transphobia. Bigotry has fallen before and it can fall again. Be the side history remembers fondly.

We'll let you mock our accent if you stop innocent people from suffering first.

DONATE

[1mlei]

I absolutely love the idea that Danny kills the Joker (because creepy clowns eww) and Jason happens to walk in right as he's panicking all over the place. Danny is desperately trying to explain it was an accident, while Jason's over here simultaneously feeling the best he's ever felt since his revival and falling head over heels in love at the same time.

Very cute, very fun, wholesome murder, 10/10 will read every time.

----------

Danny: *shoving Joker's body behind dumpster in a panic*

Jason: "Is that a dead body?"

Danny, recognizing Red Hood as someone famous in the Realms for avenging murder victims: "Oh hi Mr. Hood, ma'am, sir.. See this isn't what it looks like, it was a total accident I swear on half my life!"

Jason: "Half your wha-"

Danny, still in shock: It's just he was being all creepy, and I've had bad experiences with clowns before, I and then this one had a gun so I pushed him a bit, didn't mean to kill the dude, honestly!"

Jason: *walks over to check body*

Danny: "Soo, total accident, and I don't feel like being arrested, so I'm gonna go.."

Jason, realizing that is indeed the Joker lying dead behind a dumpster: "Hang on, at least give me-"

Jason turning around and seeing his saviour has vanished: "Damn, didn't even get his number."

...

Jason: *giddily takes selfie with corpse*

----------

Jason: *patrolling in relative peace when he sees some random guy and the flipping Joker in an alley, said Joker has a gun pulled on the poor guy*

Jason: *about to swing in to save the day and take out the Joker*

Danny, faced with a clown pointing a gun at his head while ranting about all the creepy things he's gonna do: "Yea no that's not gonna fly"

Danny: *Goes full on eldritch abomination and eats the Joker's soul, leaving his body as a lifeless husk*

Jason, standing at the mouth of the alley in disbelief:

Danny, turning back into his human form: "Oh eww, so not worth it, that guy tasted terrible."

Jason: *frantically straightens his jacket, tries to fix his hair and realizes his helmet's in the way, then strikes a pose and tries to look natural*

Danny: *turns around and realizes he's not alone*("omg is that Red Hood?")

Jason, using all his rizz: "Hey there handsome, don't suppose you'd let me treat you to some dessert after a meal like that? There's a place down the street ;)"

Danny: "..What?"

----------

Alternatively, Danny and Jason were already dating but got into an argument.

Danny, walking down a street brooding thinking: "Man, I've got to figure out how to make it up to Jason, chocolates, flowers, maybe get him a book, hmmm.."

Joker: *creepy giggling as he yanks a random kid that looks like he could possibly be a Wayne into alley™*

Danny, eyes lighting up: "Ohh yes you'll be perfect, thanks dude :]"

Joker: "Wh-"

..20 minutes later..

Danny, walking into his and Jason's apartment: "Babe! I'm sorry about earlier, but I have something to make it up to you!"

Jason, peeking around the corner with a frown: "Well whatever it is it's not just gonna fix- is that the fucking Joker?"

Danny: "Yep! Don't worry he only looks dead cause I'm holding his soul hostage right now, I thought you should get to do the honours <3"

Jason:

Danny:

Jason:

Danny: "...I have chocolates and that book you wanted to read as well..?"

Jason: "Marry me"

----------

Mmmhhh yes I love this trope so much!!

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 13)

Goddammit, you never felt this small before. Sure, all hybrids are twice or thrice your size, but why do you feel this way only now that you were standing in front of Johnny's kneeled down form?

He was kneeling down. Kneeling down. And was still bigger than you standing up.

He was large too. All of them were, really. Men as buff as them naturally had large bodies—it was impossible not to notice that their arms were as thick as your torso.

So....

How exactly were you supposed to fight with him?

It's a play fight, just a play fight, but still, you didn't know what to do. This was insane, how could someone like you fight with a werewolf his size...? And he wanted you to "mess him up"??

You should've suggest playing UNO instead, this is torture.

"Mhm.... I-I... dunno what to do...?" You mumble, uncertain. Your eyes flick to his form—the way excitement buzzes through him, his tail wagging fast behind him, ears pressed flat against his head. His toothy smile never wavering.

Big canines too, bigger than Ghost's.

"It's easy, lassie." He cooed, voice more controlled and calmer than what his body language was showing. "Come on, ya trust papa, right? Papa will never hurt ye."

"I don't know how to fight...." You insist, frowning a little in worry, still shuffling quietly in front of him.

“Don’ have tae. Wha’ does a wee pup ken?” He snickers, rolling his eyes as his accent gets stronger out of nowhere. “Ah just like ma kids messin’ me up! Ye can bite, scratch, or anythin’ else, really. Ah can take anythin’, ye wee runt!”

You hesitate, still looking over his form in worry and confusion. You didn't even move from your position, just holding onto your hoodie as you rubbed your socked feet with each other.

Johnny’s excited, competitive demeanor softened a bit as he sized you up, his tail wagging less and his ears perking up again.

“C’mere, puppy, c’mere… pstpst, it’s alrigh’…” He cooed gently, beckoning you closer with a small hand gesture. “Come tae papa, he’ll teach ye everythin’, aye?”

You blushed in embarrassment at his attitude, letting out a quiet sigh as you approached, still clutching the sleeves of your hoodie.

He immediately flashed you a big, toothy grin—sincere, yet still intimidating. His dangerous demeanor remained as scary as ever. Honestly? He looked kinda insane.

And then—

Big hands grabbed you, making you gasp in surprise as he took you down onto the mat. Technically, he just kinda grabbed you and eased you onto your back, but still—you weren’t expecting it! It was fast.

“Down ye go.” He smiled in a terrifying mix of gentleness and smugness. “Now what, wee bonnie baby?” His tone was pure challenge.

You stared up at him with wide eyes, frozen for a few seconds. His big palm rested gently on your chest, fingers spread just enough to frame your neck as he held both your shoulders down with one hand, caging you in. His feral eyes and sharp grin never wavered as he loomed over you, kneeling like a true predator.

You breathed in shakily at the thought, both small hands coming up to grasp his wrist, trying to gently push his hand away. Your legs curling up close to your chest.

“Don’ let him pin ya down.”

Ghost’s voice immediately caught your attention, making you turn your head on the mat to glance at him sideways on the edge of the mat. He stood with his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face, watching closely.

“Aye, runt, why’re ye lettin’ me pin ye down?” Soap teased again, one of his fingers gently rubbing your cheek from where he held you against the mat.

You bit your lip at the provocation, anxiety creeping back in. You pushed with a bit more force, trying to make his hand move, but weakened your grip when he laughed mockingly, leaning his head down dangerously close to yours.

“Look at this… nae claws at all, such cute wee fingers… trimmed nails and all, eh, wee baby? Price was talkin’ ‘bout ye humans… how we’ve gotta keep ye groomed right—short nails on hands an’ feet, brushed wee teeth, and trimmed hair… are all humans frail wee thingies like ye, runt?” He snickered, a broad, teasing smile stretched across his face.

"Big talk for a dirty mutt." Ghost joined in, voice low and raspy as he steaped on the mat, feet covered in black socks.

You immediately tensed up in worry at his tone, eyes widening as your body locked up. It sounded harsh, and for a moment, you genuinely feared they might start arguing right then and there.

But...

Johnny just laughed it off, his smile still wide, his hand still pressing you down against the mat as he kept an eye on Simon entering the mat from his peripheral vision.

“Are ye gonna get in the way, Si?” Soap asked menacingly, tilting his head slightly, baring his teeth at the other man.

“No. I don’t plan on fightin’ ya. I’m here for the kid.” he answered simply, dropping heavily to his knees by your side. "Come on, fledgling. His fingers are wide spread, tuck your hands under them."

You blinked up at him, stunned for a few seconds, before quickly glancing back at Johnny’s hand. Letting go of his wrist, you forced your hands under his fingers, slowly but surely lifting it off your shoulders and chest.

Sure, Johnny wasn’t putting much strength behind it, and he was still cooing at you the whole time, but you managed to take his hand off of you, only for Simon to roughly shove Johnny down onto the mat.

“Hey!” Soap laughed, falling onto his back, his elbows holding his body up.

"Go, up, come on." Simon nudged you, pushing your sitted form in Johnny's direction gently.

You got to your feet, slightly unsteady, feeling the gentle push of his hand that made you tumble on top of Soap, who was just staring at you with a smile.

“Hurt him. Go for his neck.” Ghost instructed, arms crossed as he watched you both.

“Wi’ these wee hands?” Soap cooed mockingly, his hand coming up to gently grab yours and rub with his thumb.

Ghost sighed quietly at your lack of reaction, watching you sit on top of Soap’s waist, your hand held in his, looking uncertain. Truly, zero instincts with this one.

“Gaz was right… it really does feel like when we had only newborns.” Soap laughed quietly, messing slightly with your hand, moving it around. “Ah used tae put them on ma chest for tummy time, too.”

You frowned slightly in confusion at that, head tilting slightly to the side.

"What's that...?"

“Oh, it’s—Ah mean…”

Even though Johnny was still smiling, he frowned a bit too, apparently caught off guard by your question. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. For a moment, it even seemed like pity crossed his face too.

“It’s when ye put babies on a soft surface, belly to the ground, and leave ‘em there. Helps ‘em strengthen their bodies so they can start crawling later on,” Ghost explained calmly, pushing you up slightly higher against Soap. “Now, come on, try to hurt him. He can take it.”

You still hesitated at that, unsure about actually trying to hurt one of your foster parents. Still, you sighed quietly before grabbing the hand that was holding yours and pushing against Johnny's face, hearing him laugh.

"Yeah, that's not going to do much." Ghost commented dryly.

Before you could say anything else, you let out a small, surprised yelp as Soap suddenly switched places with you, grabbing your small body effortlessly and getting on top of you once again, big grin still plastered on his stupid smiling face.

This time, at least, you managed to place your feet against his chest, pushing him slightly away from your body.

"Ya ken, Price's always liked a rough fight," Soap chuckled, a smug smile on his face as his big hand wrapped around your calf. "Me too, o' course, but he's even more violent than me, if ye believe it. Big bastard roughed up everyone as a soldier, an' let all the kids rough him up right back as a parent. He loves it."

"To be fair, most of us do." Ghost nodded from his place on the mat.

"But how does a wee thing like ye plan to do it if ye dinnae even try?"

At that, your leg was quickly pulled back, your body dragged across the mat as you let out a small shriek, only to immediately laugh right after when Soap stopped pulling you by the leg.

Actually, you were so busy giggling in a mix of surprise and excitement that you didn’t notice Johnny and Simon looking at you with surprise and contentment. It took them a bit, but they finally managed to make you actually laugh.

And what a cute laugh you had.

"Guys, come on up, Price still wants to check if her cold's gone away and watch a movie!" Kyle called out from the stairs, smiling gently at the scene.

"Heard that, lass? Hope ye like cartoons, ‘cause we love ‘em!" Johnny smiled excitedly, helping you up onto your little feet.

"I actually developed a liking for them after bein' forced to watch thousands of different ones as our kids grew up," Ghost commented, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Coco's very nice. Would ya like to see it, kid?"

"I'm... not sure...." You mumble, not recognizing the name.

"Yer gonna love it, lassie! Ah guarantee!"

Part 12 /

[hitomisuzuya]

yandere!hybrid scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. porn with a little plot. breeding kink. cunnilingus. masturbation. cream pie. degradation. scara in heat. aggressive/possessive behavior.

i just wanted to write about scara as a hybrid for a bit. don't mind this high nonsense. it turned out way long, oml, i'm sorry😭

you could never have cats growing up. so when the opportunity to take one in presented itself, you naturally took it. scaramouche was very weak, and very injured when you found him laying underneath a cardboard box in an alley.

you couldn't bear to leave him out in the cold, and freezing rain. scaramouche huddled further into the cardboard box, hissing when you crouched down to reach for him. he fought you the whole time, hissing, scratching and biting until you finally managed to wrestle him into your arms, wrapping your jacket around him and cradling him to your chest so he could get warm.

the whole time you were cooing to him soothingly. "shh, kitty, it's okay. we will get you inside, and fed. i promise. and get you feeling better." scaramouche was incredibly startled finding out your voice was soothing.

a few instances on the way home, he thought he almost fell asleep listening to the sound of your heartbeat. it made him focus a little less on the pain in his very injured leg, and pain from being weak and starving. fuck it, it would be an opportunity to rest indoors out of the cold, and get something to eat before he bailed on you the next day.

and he was going to find and fuck up that alley cat he got into a fight with. maybe he would come back to your house, yowling for food before he fled entirely.

scaramouche sure didn't know what to think about you. what the fuck was up with you? any normal person would've just dropped and abandoned him after he hissed and clawed at them, but not you. you took it all with a calm, patient smile. he decided he would fiercely test that patience.

humans weren't as good as they liked to think, in his humble opinion.

scaramouche watched you with narrow eyes as you flitted about the kitchen, looking in cabinets to see what you had for him to eat. "i'm afraid you'll have to forgive me kitty, i still have to go the grocery store this week. if you don't like anything i have, i'll go back out to the store, and see if i can't find you something."

so test you he did. he turned his nose up at tuna, some cubed chicken breasts with gravy on them (even it smelled super good, he thought), some roast beef.

he thought, this is it! he was going to turn out to be right. you would undoubtedly get frustrated and put him back out on the street. or so he thought.

nope, you just made him a soft little nest on the couch with some blankets and pillows. turned on the tv for him, and told him you would be back with some other stuff. that you would find what he wanted to eat, it wasn't a problem.

you even looked happy to be taking care of him. and why the hell were you starting to smell really good every time you walked by him. he waited, curled up warm in your little hand made nest, glancing away from the tv at the door every now and then.

back you came, your scent more magnified than before to him. you brought fish, varieties of tuna, some cat treats and cat nip. you'd even stopped by the deli and picked up different things. for him. you didn't bring home any dinner for yourself.

scaramouche supposed he would feel like an asshole if he refused all of it. you'd gone back out in the freezing rain and wind to get food for him, getting nothing for yourself. he decided he was only going to be half the trouble, accepting some chicken and gravy that tasted better than he anticipated.

after that, you treated his injured leg and read to him until he fell asleep. he opened his eyes the next morning to discover you hadn't slept until he did.

scaramouche was incredibly weak from his injury. so much so that he couldn't transform into his more human form to make recovery easier. and if he had it his way, you would never know about it. a few days and he would be gone.

or so he told himself. before he knew it, one day turned into two. two days turned into a week. he got stronger everyday. oh how you smiled and clapped when he stood up without limping. your smile was beautiful, he admitted.

you'd put up with him all this time. the healing scratches and bite marks on your arms and hands proved that. what was in it for you? nothing. everything you did was for him. he couldn't find one hint of an ulterior motive. you even seemed to purely enjoy his company.

scaramouche was really starting to hate whenever you left the house, especially when you couldn't take him with you. why did you need to leave? he knew you needed to go out for food and things, but it would be so much better if you took him with you. you seemed way too nice. it probably made you really naive.

you were naive enough not to realize he was actually a hybrid with a very human form, and a name. A name you were talking about him needing eventually. a very human form with very human needs. you were smelling better and better every day. he almost couldn't stand it sometimes. it was intoxicating.

he was starting to jump on your bed with you at night to sleep, moving a little closer to you every night. one morning, you found him curled up asleep on your chest, purring softly. he avoided you for hours after that happened, darting off hissing in embarrassment.

that wasn't the worst thing for him. a few mornings later, he'd unknowingly shifted in the middle of the night into his human form, waking up very naked with a very hard cock. his arms wrapped around you, tucking you possessively against him.

to your credit (and his amazement), you didn't scream or send him away. he supposed he should've expected that. you didn't even throw him out when he scratched up your curtains, tore a hole in one of the couch pillows, and knocked what he thought looked the most valuable vase off the table, completely shattering it.

"scaramouche," he grumbled, his ears flicking as he looked away in embarrassment. "scaramouche is what you can call me," he could barely look at you that day. he spent most of his time in his cat form, hiding under the bed, or lingering from a distance, watching you suspicious eyes. undoubtedly your true nature would come out. a strange boy had woken up next to you, naked and hard from good you smelled. how warm you felt.

you, with your soft hair that looks oh so pullable. you, with your pretty lips and fragile body he was pretty sure he could break in half. now that he thought about it, you seeing his human form was really the best thing. now he could leave the house with you, and protect you from all the horrible things that would jump out from around every corner and snatch you away.

snatch you away from him. he couldn't have that, no matter what. especially not when you accepted him so completely.

as much as scaramouche tried to swallow these feelings, he was abruptly forced to accept them one day. he walked into your room while you were changing. he saw every bare dip and curve of your breakable body, caught sight of your breasts reflected in the mirror. something snapped in him after that.

of course, he hid away from you after that. only coming out to kick up an angry fuss about you running an errand. he snapped at you when you asked if he wanted to come with you, refusing out of pride and embarrassment for walking in on you earlier.

he was forced to accept two things that day. he was going into heat. and he was consumed with thoughts of breeding you. breeding you so fucking full that there would be no question who you belonged to.

what the fuck had you done to him?

while you were gone, he spent that time writhing on your bed, fisting his cock to thoughts of impaling you on it. making you cry and claw at his back to cum inside you. even better for him that you were starting to become twice as shy around him, looking at him with a blush on your cheeks.

he scented all your clothes, rubbing on them and rolling around on them in his cat form. he rolled around on your sheets and pillows. and as for you, he scented you while you slept. this is what was best. if you smelled like him, no one would so much as dare to take you away from him.

you are his, damn it.

when scaramouche is in heat, he gets twice as possessive. he was incredibly suspicious and weary of anyone that approached or even looked at you, especially another male. if he thought there were too many people around, he insisted on taking different ways home to avoid them. he can and will snap at people if he felt they got too close.

especially when you let him get handsy with you in a moment of weakness one night. he pinned underneath him on the couch, grinding his straining cock between your legs while he pawed at your clothes. his teeth nipping at your lips and skin in between angry and frustrated kisses. you just smelled so fucking good he couldn't control himself. you moaned and mewled so sweetly underneath him.

it did happen one day. he didn't want you to go into the cafe to get your hot chocolate. he insisted on doing it for you, but in the end relented and let you go inside. everything was going smoothly until the barista asked you for your number. you didn't need someone's phone number to give them a cup of hot chocolate. this asshole didn't need your number.

you already had scaramouche. was he blind? that was what went through his head. he wanted to tear the barista's head off. he bet it would pop off so easy, like a bottle cap under too much pressure. if it wasn't for your voice pleading with him to calm down, he would've gotten physical with the barista.

anybody would've gotten fed up and exhausted by now. especially since he raised a further argument when you both were banned from ever coming back. he bartered down for you to be allowed back but not him, since you didn't do anything wrong. that you really liked the whipped cream on their hot chocolate.

scaramouche is the type of hybrid that you have to isolate with when he is in heat. that much was obvious. and that was what he needed the most right now. to be with you, and hide you away from the world, making sure nothing and nobody touched you while he was in heat.

he knew you were strong, but that's exactly why you needed him to protect you.

after the incident at the cafe, scaramouche only completely calmed down when he was fucking his tongue into your cunt. "such a doting, delicate little thing, aren't you," he hissed, looking up at you from between your thighs. "it's going to be a pleasure breeding you," your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging on his ears in an intoxicating way as you pushed his mouth down onto your pussy.

his tongue swirled around your clit, groaning as you grinded on his mouth. he didn't know what was sweeter. the way you tasted or the way you moaned as he latched his lips around your clit.

how good it felt to finally sink his claw into his delicate little mate. you put up with him. cared for him. doted on and indulged him. you'd made him fall so in love, so much so that it was too late by the time he noticed.

now he was going to take care of you in the way you deserved.

and in the dizzying pleasure of cumming on his tongue, you didn't quite know what happened. but what you did know is that you were in love with him to. you didn't expect this cat you found injured to be the force of literal nature that was scaramouche. complete with cute ears. before you knew it, he'd pulled you right in, and you were happy to let him do it, in all the comforting weight of his dominance.

"i want to hear you scream it, slut," scaramouche moaned, his hands tightening on your hips possessively. he had the perfect view of his cock pumping in and out of your pussy from behind. your walls squeezed around his cock hearing him mock your moans as he bottomed out into your sweet spot over and over again. "babble about how badly you want to be bred."

your sopping cunt clutched tight and warm like a glove, your walls gummy and perfect. his eyes rolled into the back of his head how good you felt squeezing his cock.

"please, breed me. you feel so good inside me," you cried out, drool soaking the pillow under your cheek. he chuckled shakily behind you, you were always so eager to please him. even the way you shook, creaming hard on his cock was an intoxicating sight to behold.

a truly delicate gift for him to break.

the harder he made you cum, the more you begged him to fuck you full of cum. "cock drunk whore," scaramouche moaned, his thrusts turning sloppy as his cock pulsed cum inside of you. he doubted you could hear his soft whimpers of bliss over your own, which were much louder.