#like he hasn't used that same technique before

[mysteryandnonstopfun]

Endless gifs of Neal Cassidy ( 31 / ∞ )

To the bathroom? Did you really fall for that? He's your son.

[bi-writes]

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

[literaila]

three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

*

year one.

"no, satoru." 

how many times have you said that today? 

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything? 

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five. 

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely. 

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind. 

so you're not sure what to expect. 

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him. 

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried. 

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week. 

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert." 

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way." 

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?" 

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists." 

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks. 

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face. 

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school. 

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back. 

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right. 

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him. 

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red. 

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us." 

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy. 

megumi swallows. "i like dango." 

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some." 

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--" 

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again. 

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want. 

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by. 

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air. 

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head. 

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart. 

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed. 

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly. 

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side. 

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear. 

satoru is already looking at you. 

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors. 

"what what?" 

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?" 

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?" 

"what do you mean?" 

"why are you acting weird?" 

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning. 

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?" 

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes. 

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..." 

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want." 

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything." 

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids." 

"everyone?" 

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait." 

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?" 

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi." 

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it." 

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable." 

"by invading his space?" 

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close." 

"you antagonize." 

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again. 

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances. 

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him. 

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second. 

"about the kids?" 

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up." 

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days." 

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you. 

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up." 

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically. 

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know." 

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward." 

"maybe it's too much, too fast." 

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?" 

"everything." 

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out? 

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right? 

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this." 

"well, i have to do it for the both of us." 

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days." 

you sigh, nodding reluctantly. 

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..." 

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you." 

"hey, yes he does." 

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up." 

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding." 

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you. 

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy. 

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall. 

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading. 

she nods immediately. 

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek. 

something inside of you warms, just briefly. 

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you. 

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?" 

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--" 

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning. 

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave." 

megumi glowers. 

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--" 

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need." 

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll. 

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like." 

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit. 

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him. 

you try not to flinch away from the contact. 

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you. 

he's trying to be reassuring. 

so you smile back and let him hold your hand. 

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

*

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice. 

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart. 

*

next part

[bennysblabbering]

How they act when they have a crush on you

ft. Namami, Choso, Shoko, Gojo

g/n reader

Nanami:

-Absolutely would never confess first. He'd never want to make you uncomfortable if you didn't reciprocate the feelings. He appreciates the friendship you already have and would rather have that than nothing.

-Even so, he can't help but smile a little more when you're around. Considering he's not the most smiley man in the world, the way his demeanor changes around you is more evident than he realizes.

-He definitely touches you more often than with others; he just can't resist. Nothing too much of course- small little touches on your back or shoulder, a squeeze of your hand, maybe even a hug before parting. Small gestures of appreciation are okay, right?

-So after you kiss him on the cheek as a thank you for saving you at the last moment on a mission, his face is redder than you've ever seen it. And that little giggle you respond with after noticing? He hasn't felt his heart flutter like that in years.

-Maybe....maybe there is a chance with you after all?

----------

Choso:

-Doesn't even know what a crush is.

-He's completely oblivious to his own feelings. He thinks he might be sick. Why does his stomach feel so weak? Why are his hands so sweaty? But...it only happens around you. Is he allergic to you? Can you be allergic to a person?

-When you brush hands accidentally, he gets so dizzy he has to close his eyes for a moment to keep his composure.

-Eventually he asks Shoko about it. Maybe it has something to do with him being half curse. Maybe your technique makes curses feel sick.

-Shoko laughs at him and has to explain what crushes are, and that if he likes you that much he should try telling you or making a move.

-He'll definitely need to study up on this a bit more to figure out what he should do...

----------

Shoko:

-Represses it represses it represses it

-God dammit. There's no way she has a childish little crush at her age. There's no fucking way. Nope.

-Usually drinking makes her forget things, so it annoys her that she thinks about you more when she's tipsy. How soft your lips look...how you'd feel while kissing her...running her fingers through your hair...

-Get your shit together, Shoko. There's no way they'd go for someone like you, she thinks.

-When you come in injured from a mission and you need her to use her RCT on you by touching you, she blinks for a moment and mentally short circuits before nodding and yelling at herself to mentally separate this stupid little crush from her job.

-Even still, she trembles a little as her hands so gently massage your back and shoulders, moving over to your arms, and then your thighs...fuck. Fuck she can't think straight.

-What the hell is she supposed to do when someone as perfect and gorgeous as you is around?

----------

Gojo:

-He realized pretty early on what his feelings are. Even if you don't feel the same way, he thinks it's fun to flirt with you. Little do you know, it's 100% genuine.

-Calls you "cutie pie" a lot.

-Everyone else can tell just how much he likes you by the way he grins like an idiot and always specifically chooses to sit next to you when at meetings. You, however, are completely oblivious. He acts silly around everyone, it's not a crush!

-Eventually he builds up the courage to put an arm around you when sitting on a couch together, and you can feel his heartbeat. Does it always beat that fast? Damn, he's like a hummingbird.

-He thinks he's really slick at hiding it, but he really isn't. He acts a giddy little teenager. But there's noooooo way you'd be able to tell.

-He hopes. Fingers crossed.

[deadhands69]

cursing each other over and over again [1/3]

MDNI

Toge Inumaki x cursed speech reader (not quite the same as his)

Super fluffy but eventually it gets smutty.

Warnings/content/etc: Toge Inumaki x reader, fem-bodied/gn pronouns, unestablished relationship, swearing.

AU: Jujutsu University, all characters over 18.

This is part 1 ; part 2 - part 3

Text key: 🖤 You 🤍 Toge

Since you can remember, your cursed energy was always hard to control. Sure, you could speak logically but the moment a hint of emotion leaves your lips, you feel the curses spilling out. Laugh, and everyone laughs with you. Mumble one angry comment and you take out half a city block. That’s how you ended up here, being placed in this class with a small handful of other jujutsu sorcerers in training.

First day of school; maybe you’ll make friends? It’s a very small class. Sinking into the only empty seat in the room, they all begin introducing themselves. Maki. Panda. Yuta. Everyone but the light haired boy seated next to you who waves and mumbles “kelp.” 

“Hi, I’m [y/n].” you say to everyone, before looking curiously at the interesting boy to your left.

His amethyst eyes lock onto the curse marks wrapping around your lips (**photo at the bottom.) You’re used to it. Everyone does that. Then, he slides his phone to you.

🤍 [you can use normal words???]

Looking back up, he partially unzips the front of his jacket to reveal marks of his own. They’re cute, you think, noticing how they line up with his dimples when he smiles. He’s cute.

You open your mouth to speak but feel the cursed energy ready to give you away. He’s too cute.

🖤 [well, not now] 🖤 [my cursed technique uses my emotions. so I CAN speak just not anything emotionally charged] 🤍 [why not now?]

Your fingers fumble to reply. What are you supposed to say, “hi random nice stranger I just met - I can’t talk to you because you’re hot?” No, that won’t work. And you don’t want him to think he offended you so you have to say something. Que the spiral.

Dias ex machina: Gojo, the eclectic teacher who brought you to this school, makes an abrupt entrance.

Phew. 

After class, the blonde boy slides his phone to you with a blank ‘add contact’ screen open. You try not to think too much into it - he’s in your class and it’s the easiest way for you both to talk. While you input your contact info, he rejoins the rest of the class joking about something. They’re laughing hard when you slide his phone back in front of him. As you’re walking out the door, he texts while catching up to you.

🤍 [hey!] 🤍 [it’s toge] 🤍 [so why can’t you use words now?]

Shit. Shit. Shit.

🖤 [just nervous, first day of class and stuff]

It might be in your head, but he looks slightly disappointed that he’s not the reason you’re nervous. He nods.

🤍 [oh, got ya. well, if you wanna hang out later let me know] 

You reply without thinking.

🖤 [yeah, i’d love that] 🤍 [come by my room at 8?] 🖤 [see you then!]

Fuck. What did you just get yourself into? Being around attractive people has never gone well for you. Of course you've had crushes, who hasn't. It’s fine, as friends for a little while but the moment you utter a single word without thinking, you feel your cursed energy fly out on accident and they never want to be around you again. You can’t blame them. Maybe spending time with him will be different? It’s not like he can speak freely either. He has to understand, right? Plus, he’s just being nice because you’re new so there’s really no pressure. On the other hand, with such a small class it would be really awkward to fuck up and alienate yourself from one of your classmates. Especially when they all seem so close. Maybe this time it'll be different, you hope.

Before you know it, six hours have passed and you’re nervously standing outside the door of Inumaki’s dorm room. You’re still not sure how you can talk to him but hopefully in a more chill setting, your nerves will calm down and it’ll be easier.

Knocking a few times, you hear “(((come in)))” and you find yourself opening the door and stepping inside. You laugh, it’s weird being on the other end of that. (plus, hearing his voice makes you giddy - so much for easy and chill feelings.)

Toge sits cross-legged on the floor in front of a Mario Kart loading screen. He’s not wearing the jacket from earlier so you have a clear view of his neck. And arms. He didn’t initially strike you as the type to workout a lot but he’s definitely athletic. As he shifts his weight turning to you, every muscle in his arm tenses. He’s like the skinny version of a Greek god with a perfect face to match, there's absolutely no way you can actually talk to him now. 

You opt to smile, wave, and sit next to him. 

He hands you a controller before texting: 

🤍 [still not talking to me?]

He smiles. Happy to see he’s not offended, you can keep it playful.

You send him the “why are you so obsessed with me” Mean Girls meme. Fortunately, he laughs and you’ve successfully dodged the question again.

Hours go by and neither of you have felt the need to use words, just glances and faces when the other throws a banana or passes you. It’s comforting. 

You notice the way he leans into you, every time he turns in the game. Skin brushing warmly against your own. After a while, you get used to the controls and he gets bolder - throwing an arm in front of your face, bumping you over, etc so he can pass you.

On the last lap, you use a booster and overtake him. He responds by throwing all of his weight into you, leaving you both a tangled laughing mess on the floor. Cursed energy seeps out in your laugh, but that’s fine. It’s harmless and isn't making him do more than laugh harder. Besides, he used his technique on you earlier too so you don’t think he minds something this mild. 

He does mind that you’re coming into the final stretch and still ahead of him though. Having dropped his controller in the commotion (that he created) earlier, he resorts to the first impulsive thought that comes to mind. “Hmmmm!” you manage to hold back, swallowing your words when his bite connects with your arm. Close one. Is he flirting or just that competitive? Probably competitive. Yet, he’s still laughing and throws his hands over your face in one last attempt.

Not bothering to sit back up, you keep your hands on the controller, pulling through the finish line to beat him for the first time all evening. His hands slide off your eyes and you both sit up, much closer than you were before. Watching the cute characters bounce on the screen, you’re amused: this has to be the most dangerous activity happening on all of campus. If either of you slip-up, there goes the neighborhood. You text him this.

🤍 [DEATH BY MARIO KART] 🤍 [nah you’re too cute to be mad at so i wont say anything. even if you cheated]

“(((Hey!)))” your sudden words are playful, but knock him back nonetheless. He smiles at you, still not caring. You extend a hand to pull him back up, mouthing ‘sorry.’

Then it hits you. 

He thinks you’re cute??

You re-read his message, to be sure you aren’t imagining anything. 

Yeah, he really said that.

So he was flirting? Or something like flirting?

🖤 [wait. is that why you asked me to hang out?]

To be fair, it’s part of why you wanted to hang out with him - but it would be nice to get clarification on his end. Wouldn't want to act like it was a date if he was just being nice and meant cute in some other way. Watching his hands type, you really hope the answer is yes.

“Salmon” he says out loud before the text shows up.

🤍 [you were staring at me blushing for half of class too so i thought we were on the same page?] 🤍 [plus, I had to ask] 🤍 [my friends were all taking bets on if you’d actually show up to my room]

They what? That last text hits like a ton of bricks and he sees it on your face.

So, he’s just hanging out with you to prove to his friends he could get you in his room? This is probably the joke everyone was laughing about before you left class today. First day and you’re already the joke. That’s disappointing, he seemed cute and nice. Now class will be awkward. You press up to leave. Seeing your face, he realizes how you took it.

“Caviar! Benito flakes!” he yells waving his hands before pressing your shoulder, urging you to sit back down. Confused, you stare at him before the onslaught of texts come in.

🤍 [no no no nononono not like that] 🤍 [i said you’re cute because you are cute] 🤍 [i asked you to hang out, because my friends said i’d be stupid not to] 🤍 [well Panda and Yuta did, Maki said you’re too hot for me] 🤍 [and i think Panda just wanted to watch me take an L] 🤍 [but Yuta thought i had a chance] 🤍 [so they all bet on it] 🤍 [and pushed me to ask you today] 🤍 [otherwise i probably would have debated it for a while] 🤍 [i still would have asked] 🤍 [just probably not today] 🤍 [but i really wanted to hang out with you] 🤍 [and Yuta thought i had a chance] 🤍 [besides, even if they were wrong and you didn’t think i was cute, it would be cool being friends] 🤍 [like with another cursed speech user] 🤍 [this shit sucks sometimes] 🤍 [i kinda figured you understood] 🤍 [it’s nice being around you]

He tears his eyes up from his phone to look into yours. He looks sad and desperate to be understood. You know that feeling well. 

There’s a bang on the door and you hear a woman’s voice “I never thought I would say this to you, but can you keep it down in there?? You’ve been banging around all night laughing now you’re yelling?”

“(((go to bed Maki)))” Toge yells at the door.

🤍 [fuck] 🤍 [she’s gonna kill me for that tomorrow] 🖤 [i think she’s just mad she lost the bet]

He smiles slightly, still looking concerned.

🤍 [are you okay?] 🤍 [i promise i actually like you] 🤍 [not just for the lolz] 🖤 [i think so] 🖤 [i had a lot of fun with you] 🖤 [it just sucks being the butt of the joke on the first day] 🤍 [oh] 🤍 [you’re not] 🤍 [me getting someone to like me was the joke] 🤍 [which is fair i guess] 🤍 [but it made me even more nervous] 🖤 [you were nervous?] 🤍 [you're pretty] 🤍 [and you can use more words than me] 🤍 [i thought so, at least] 🤍 [what am i supposed to say to you?] 🖤 [i get that] 🖤 [i was so nervous too] 🖤 [i have no game]  🖤 [i can’t even talk to you] 🖤 [your friend was right tho] 🖤 [i do think you’re cute]

**not my photo, but here's what i think your curse marks look like:

part 2

m.list

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Digital Circus with a Mime Reader, who CAN speak but prefers to use sign language and gestures: they find find Kaufmo in the middle of abstracting and try to calm him down (against their better judgement). It doesn't go well, ending with them locking and closing Kaufmo's door, and running to find Caine... Only to hear the theme song suddenly stop and Jax say something about a "new character" as they approach...

Ough finally some Kaufmo angst-

........

Approaching Kaufmo's door, you stopped in front of it and politely knocked, wanting to check up on him before Caine could summon everybody to perform the Digital Circus' "theme song" musical number.

As of late, your fellow clown hasn't been feeling up to snuff, since apparently nobody was laughing at his jokes anymore...

Although said jokes have all mentioned something about an exit--a way out of the digital realm you've grown quite comfortable living in. But even when he is dead serious, the others are convinced he's only kidding around, pretending to laugh and sometimes asking him if he could joke about something else.

Least to say...it grew frustrating for him.

The only reason he hadn't totally lost it yet was because of you, a mime who has lived in the circus for the past five months and befriended him quickly. Together you've put on many acts: with his wacky props and your invisible techniques, your shows were amusing to all.

That being said, you didn't want your longtime partner to think about any exits too much, as you've lost several friends in the past when they started talking about the same thing.

It happened to Queener, Kinger's beloved wife, and the poor chess piece has been on the brink of abstraction ever since (honestly, it's a miracle he didn't immediately follow her).

Fortunately, he remained stable enough to be around everyone.

As for Kaufmo?

He didn't look so good last night at dinner, and you haven't seen him all morning. Normally he'd be up and about, juggling random things as he walked or approaching you to brainstorm new acts to perform.

Him locking himself away in his room was not normal.

Especially when he knew this musical number was super important to Caine.

After waiting a minute or two, you perked up as he finally answered the door.

At first you smiled in greeting, although that was quick to fade when he only kept it open just a crack--enough for you to barely see his face...

Which bore a terrified expression underneath his runny makeup, making his frown look worse than it actually is. His hat was nowhere to be found, either.

''Are you okay, Kaufmo?" You signed, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

That was your usual way of talking, despite knowing you could very well speak freely. You had no clue if you were proficient in sign language before entering this circus, but regardless it always came in handy, and everybody did their best to communicate with you that way (or at least those with fingers, unlike Zooble or Gangle).

Since your performances usually involved silence and expressive gestures, you didn't see a need to talk often--and that was usually fine with Kaufmo, who'd always chatter with you in sign language right back.

But when he attempted to respond, you swore you both saw his own hands glitching, before he quickly retracted them, clearly frightened.

You, on the other hand, wanted to believe it was just a "digital hallucination".

That's all it was...right?

"I-I'm sorry, [y/n]..haven't been..feeling like myself-f-f lately.." Even his own voice was betraying him, as it sounded distorted, lagging as though he was a slow computer program. "But you believe me, don't you?"

"Believe what?"

"The...the exit, of course! The thing I've been talking about this whole time!! It's real! There IS a way out!! I-I can show you!!"

You blinked, before shaking your head. "Kaufmo, let me in."

"Oh no, I think that's a bad id--wait! Wait!!" Despite his pleas for you to stop, you forced your way into his room, shutting the door behind you so nobody else could intrude or eavesdrop.

The last thing you needed was Caine listening in.

Yet after taking a look around at the state of his quarters--with everything being a complete mess and the word "EXIT" scrawled onto every square inch of the ceiling and walls--you were nothing short of terrified for his mental well-being.

'My god....what has he done..?' You thought to yourself, mortified.

"No, no, no, no!!"

Looking back at Kaufmo, you saw him back up against the wall, holding his face as black glitchy polygons started appearing on his body. He gasped in horror, looking at his hands...and then up at you.

"What's..h-happening to me-e-e?"

Your heart sunk, knowing exactly what was going on.

"You're abstracting.." You whispered, your voice small yet shaken.

"I-I didn't...think I'd be next...it hurts so much! Christ-!!!" He began crying, his makeup oozing as he stared at you with empty, soulless black eyes. One of his arms was already taken over by the glitches, morphing into a large one covered in jagged polygons.

"Make it stop..MAKE IT STOP!!!" He screamed, slumping to the floor.

You were frozen in a state of panic, unsure if you should go get Caine or stay here and try to pull him out of his abstraction.

Either way, you had to do something fast...lest you lose him forever or become infected yourself.

"Just focus on me, pal. I'm here. I'm here." Kneeling down, you grasped his non-glitching hand tightly with both of yours, attempting to guide him through a breathing exercise.

"You'll get through this." You mouthed, but he just shook his head, noticing a single glowing eye forming on the surface of the glitchy flesh.

"Wh-Whatever you do...don't tell Caine, I beg you-u.." He pleaded. "He'll lock me away...a-and I'll be all alone in the dark..I don't wanna be alone.."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head, and he gazed at you in confusion. "What do you mean "no"? You'd let him throw me into the cellar with the rest of them...?" He started to grow angrier, feeling betrayed. "I thought we were partners!"

"We are partners, Kaufmo. Always will be." You sighed, wishing there was another way to stop this from happening. "But there's nothing more I can do...he needs to know-"

"Fine...maybe things will be better if I'm not around to tell my stupid jokes anymore."

"Kaufmo-"

"Go....run, [y/n]...run-n-n-nnNNNN------"

Immediately after he said that, you let him go right as his other hand quickly became overtaken by the abstraction, almost taking you with it.

You got up and took a step backwards, watching in mute terror as he rapidly grew in size, turning into a massive amalgamation of glitch black polygons. Even more glowy-trippy eyes were popping up in different places, looking in every direction.

Within seconds, Kaufmo no longer resembled the clown you once knew (or a person, in general)....but was instead replaced by a horrific digital beast with a long neck, standing on four legs.

You gulped as every single eye on his body suddenly shifted to stare directly down at you.

'Uh-oh-'

You hastily created an invisible wall just as he lunged at you with a ferocious roar, slamming right into the illusion like a bird smacking into a glass pane.

'He still falls for the oldest trick in the book..oh Kaufmo..'

Although it pained your heart to abandon him like this, he was too far gone to be saved. He didn't even recognize you anymore.

The only thing you could do now was get Caine before he harmed you or anybody else--even if it means you never saw him again. He could very well threaten the entire stability of this world if he got loose.

You quickly ran out of the room just before he could break through the "wall" and go after you, slamming the door shut and locking it tight.

Moments later, you heard him ram into it, the hinges damn near breaking off (but by the grace of cartoon physics, that didn't happen).

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, making a mad dash out of the dormitory section of the tent in a desperate search for Caine.

Unfortunately, you could already hear Bubble's singing in the distance as the gang's musical number routine was already starting:

"Gangle, and Zooble, and Kinger, too~!"

You ran as fast as your legs could possibly carry you. They were already aware of both of your absences, and they chose to go on with the song anyways.

'Jerks..they couldn't at least wait for me?' You huffed. 'Caine never tells us when we're doing these musical ditties-'

By the time you arrived, however, you heard the music abruptly cut out.

You stopped upon seeing your friends tumbled over each other on the floor, with Gangle's comedy mask being broken and Jax picking himself up in annoyance.

"Caine, is this one of your NPCs or is this a new sucker?"

Blinking, you glanced at the new person he was referring to, surprised to see a girl dressed as a red and blue jester.

"........."

Now you couldn't say anything to Caine.

Not right now, at least.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hear me out this. Hanzo falls in love with a woman who's in the Lin Kuei.

(You can make it as horny as your brain wants)

(Please?)

Oooooooh our resident spicy boy!

Fire & Ice

Hanzo Hasashi x Fem!Lin Kuei!Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sexual tension, pining, opposites attract, slight spanking (briefly) unprotected sex, bath sex, PiV sex, temperature play(?) wee bit of Kanon fudging

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Hanzo is just MMMMF also Raiden is Light Aligned here for a wee bit of context

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

It all started during one of the first peace talks after the budding brotherhood of your Grandmaster, Kuai Liang (AKA Sub-Zero) and the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu.

Once the cease-fire between the clans was initiated, it was met with mixed results. The original Shirai Ryu were annihilated (including Hanzo's wife and child) by the forces of the previous Grandmaster, Bi-Han (whom everyone later discovered was actually the evil sorcerer Quan-Chi in disguise).

However it came to light that the initial fires of hatred that were lit were orchestrated by the Grandmaster before Bi-Han himself; before Bi-Han became the void-creature known as Noob Saibot, before Cyrax and Sektor were "cyberized".

All of course, with Quan-Chi's aid...

But when Kuai Liang and Hanzo Hasashi buried old prejudices and hatreds and pursued an avenue of peace and allyship, they proposed training scenarios between the ninjas.

You were one of Sub-Zero's top members. Your flexibility and cryomancy a deadly and graceful combination.

Naturally, at some point you found yourself pitted against your complete elemental opposite, Scorpion.

Not only was he your elemental opposite, he was vastly more skilled than you. Having spent years as a revenant under the control of Quan-Chi, training others in the way of the Shirai Ryu, working with Lord Raiden... Yeah. You were a child compared to his prowess.

But you however, did get some ideas for your own weaponry from him. Instead of a normal kunai attached to a chain, you settled for a chain with blunt ends, allowing your cryomancy to shape various weapons at the ends. After all, they'd been useful for making things like spears, scythes and various others in the past...

And to say the man was floored when you used his own techniques against him--and mastering them with your own twists while you were at it--was an understatement.

It became rather normal for Hanzo to seek you out for sparring sessions, seeking to experiment with your respective powers you both created various attacks and techniques to better battle one another.

However it was during one of your sessions, where you were to be chased and he the hunter, that the two of you finally figured out that what was between the two of you was more than camaraderie, more than diplomatic friendship.

Hanzo himself realized a lot sooner than you did. The warmth in his heart (and not from his flame) and the increased rate of beats when you were around, how his thoughts would drift back to you when it was quiet, when he would pace the Fire Gardens...

It was a feeling he hasn't felt since Harumi.

He was hesitant to bring it to your attention, for fear of a repeat performance of some cruel twist of fate robbing him of the one he loved once again.

He couldn't dare hope one as vibrant and beautiful as you could feel the same.

Until that night, when he had you pinned to the tree, breathing hard from the chase.

He barely had a moment to realize how close he was to you before masks were torn from faces by your hand and lips met lips in a kiss balanced in his hot and your cold; a kiss so passionate steam wafted as your mouths parted.

It was under the snow-heavy branches of that tree where your hands first explored each other. Not in heated sexual passion, but with the desire to map out every detail you could, so when the two of you parted ways again you would always be able to mentally trace those lines, commit them to memory like a well-read book.

Kuai Liang had suspicions of a budding relationship between the two of you. If anything, you had to wager that he probably knew your true feelings for one another even before the two of you figured it out for yourselves; but he wouldn't bring it forth. He knew you two needed to figure it out at your own pace.

After all, his friend was still nursing a broken heart from the loss of his wife and child. But he knew this was still good for him, for the two of you, for both clans.

Hanzo Hasashi had finally fallen in love again.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Your first real "intimate" moment with Hanzo was when you showed him to the hot springs in the mountains. Heat, ice and snow all together in a blissful harmonious oasis.

Not unlike your love for one another, a peaceful respite in tumultuous times.

"This is... Beautiful." Hanzo said, his breath coming out of him in a cloud that swirled with the snowflakes. "But won't it still be too cold to bathe?"

You chuckled and pulled off your mask. Shaking your hair free of icy flakes. "Well, Hanzo, that's why the goal is to stay in the water. Where it's warm."

He blew out a chuckle and shook his head. "Obviously." He turned and looked around, the red leaves of the maple trees surrounding you casting a beautiful scattering of color among the white and gray.

"But it--"

His voice died in his throat as he watched you strip your uniform from your body.

You held no shame, clearly, as you stripped bare in front of him, your wonderous body on full display for his longing, hungry eyes.

You took pride in your athletic frame, muscles and soft curves in all the right places, your body a gorgeous shell for the violence you were capable of committing.

His dark eyes met yours, a twinkle dancing in their depths as your smile reached your ears. You beckon him towards you, your fingers curling in a silent request for him to come closer.

It is a silent request his body obeys before he realizes he's even moving, his blood rushing in his ears.

When your fingers wrapped around his tabards you begin undoing each bit of his ornamentation slowly, peeling it off of him like a juicy piece of fruit you couldn't wait to take a bite out of.

Maybe you would... later.

Once he was naked, you gave him enough dignity to spare looking between his legs, knowing he wouldn't be ready for you to look at him there just yet, you felt like he would set the very air ablaze; each snowflake that landed on his body melted with a soft hiss as it came into contact with his skin.

At first you were concerned that maybe he was too hot, that the spring might make him sick with the extra heat added to his body; but as you sank into the water, he didn't seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, his eyes continued to take your form as he thought you weren't looking.

Every scar told a story, and he wanted to hear them all, wanted to hear a symphony of your voices together as you breathed your love into one another s lungs as you shared scorching kisses.

You could have sat next to him. You could have.

But you didn't. As shameless as you were, you sank down in front of him between his parted knees, slowly, a soft noise escaping you as the water crept up your cold body and you pressed your back against his chest.

You pretended not to hear the sharp inhale of breath as his raging erection pressed firmly against your back, the heat from it almost hotter than the water you were reclining in.

You hummed softly as he slipped his arms around you, pressing a hot, damp kiss to your icy shoulder.

You'd swear he could probably leave burns with those lips of his.

"Hmm... How did your meeting with Lord Raiden go, Hanzo?" You ask him, sliding your hands up his thighs and to his knees, feeling the knotted muscles tighten and flex beneath your touch.

"Ah..." He said, his voice tight in an effort to control himself.

"It... Went well. Young Takeda was there, it was good to see him again."

"How is Takeda doing?"

"He's spending more time with his father, and I believe he and Jacqui Briggs are officially a couple." Hanzo chuckled.

"That's good, they're a nice match." You sigh, relaxing into him more, maybe, just slightly intentionally grinding your ass against his cock.

His arms tighten around you and he leans in, his lips at the shell of your ear.

"You're playing a dangerous game, my lotus." He growls.

"You know me... I live for danger." You purr, grinding against him once more.

He groaned in your ear and rolled his hips to meet yours.

"I have to ask..." Hanzo said, one of his rough and calloused hands rising to give your ribs a feathery touch.

"I'm experienced, don't worry." You assure him playfully.

"Good..."

Was that... disappointment you heard in his voice?

"Awww..." You reach back and comb through his ebony locks. "Hanzo... Are you sad you're not my first?"

"No..." He lied. "I'm merely content to know this will be fully enjoyable for you, then."

You gladly take a mental note and stow that information away for a later scenario you wanted to play out with him...

"Hanzo?"

"Hmm?"

You turn your head slightly and capture his mouth in an awkwardly-angled kiss, teeth and tongues grazing, nipping, and twining together in a passionate affair.

You lift your hips enough in the water so the head of his cock is squished between your thighs. You roll yourself against him, letting his cock stroke between your legs as you flex your muscles, gripping him as tight as possible.

"Agh... You truly live for danger, hm?" Hanzo groaned hotly in your ear. His hands kneaded your breasts, his fingers heating up as he pulled and twisted your nipples in time with the lazy rolling of your hips.

"Hanzo..." You keened softly.

"You need to stop." Hanzo said, gripping your hips, effectively stilling you.

You pout in protest, and look at him over your shoulder, waiting for an explanation.

Hanzo's tongue darts out to lick at a bead of water that rolls down your shoulder, and nips at the skin, there.

"When I finish, I want it to be inside you." He growled against your skin.

His voice and the way he was touching you sent a jolt of excitement racing up your spine.

"Yes." You breathe, your heart beginning to flutter in your chest like a flighty bird.

"Do you want me, my lotus?" Hanzo asked you. "Do you want me inside you?"

"By the Elder Gods, yes." You reply, your voice shaky but certain.

Hanzo quickly helped you up, turning you around so your breasts were squished against the rocks below you, your hands balling in the snow, ice creeping out from beneath your fingertips.

You eagerly spread your legs for him, water rolling off your body as his searing grip kneaded and squished the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks as his chest heaved while his eyes drank in your swollen and waiting sex and prone form.

"Hanzo, please?" You pant, pushing back into his grip.

His cock twitched at the sight of you, at the feel of your icy skin in his hands. Any normal person would be a shivering mess, being practically face down in the snow. But not you. You were Lin Kuei, a cryomancer.

His little ice lotus.

He gripped the base of his cock and took his time lining up, a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as you squirm impatiently.

He wasn't sure why, but something told him to raise his hand and slap your ass in a reprimand.

The squeak you made at first gave him the impression that he'd seriously hurt you, but when he noticed how demure you became, he chuckled softly.

"Behave, lotus. You must learn patience. It is a ninja's greatest asset." He said, his chest tightening as the tip of his cock slipped through your wet folds, the walls of your pussy gripping him in a greedy vice.

"Please, Hanzo..." You cried softly, trying to sink yourself deeper against him to sheathe his cock fully in the waiting velvet of your body.

Hanzo's hands prevented that, and it frustrated you, but your complaint died before it could form as he slowly eased himself inside, inch by torturous inch, until the tip of his cock just barely kissed your cervix.

He certainly had girth and length that was definitely going to make you see stars, tonight... His size complemented the roped muscles all throughout his body.

You make a deep, throaty moan as his weight settles into you, your muscles squeezing him down, trying to pull him deeper.

You feel the short coarse hairs that reached his navel brush the skin of your ass as he brought his hips firmly against yours.

He leaned in, kissing up your back and over your shoulder until his mouth was at your ear.

"How do you want me, love?"

"Fuck me hard. Please?"

He kissed your shoulder, biting down and sucking the skin, marking you as he pulled out and slammed his hips back in.

Your cries shook birds from the trees, the sensation of his balls slapping against your clit sending shivers up your spine, the pressure of his cock pounding you and pressing against that one divine spot within you, each drag of the vein running up his length driving you further and further into madness.

No other man you'd ever been with had been so precise or skilled in the art of sex.

Your previous partners were paltry compared to the sharp, angled thrust of Hanzo's hips, his cock cramming into you at such a harsh and heavy rate that you swore you were going to cum at any second, gushing around him, leaving a nice creamy ring at the base of his dick as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He grips your shoulders and pulls you up against him, so your back is pressed against his chest.

His hands rise to your breasts, his fingertips almost glowing as he pinches your nipples, the soft mounds bouncing and jiggling in his hands with each upward thrust of his hips into yours.

"Hanzo!" You cried out, tossing your head back with a wail of ecstasy, your vision going cross as he brings one of his searing hands to your clit, rolling vigorously, the heat feeling like it set every nerve in your body alight with fire.

"Come for me." He softly commands.

And just like that, your body obeys him, clamping down, squeezing him, trying to mold yourself around him; commit his shape and size to memory so he and only he could ever fuck and satisfy you ever again.

He hisses out a breath, steam rising in waves off his body as he fucks up into you again, riding out your orgasm as he rapidly approaches his own.

Hanzo eases you back down, his hand sliding up your sweaty, chilly spine as he tips his head back, his lips parting in a moan as he cums, jerky thrusts and loud whimpers from you as his boiling hot load paints your insides a nice, pearly white, threatening to burn a hole right through you.

He lazily fucks you, some of his spend leaking out around him and dripping down your thighs as he rides out the blinding high that took over every range of his senses.

Once the two of you regain your breathing, he keeps you firmly seated on his cock as you both sink back into the water, relaxing as the heat soaks through your chilled core while Hanzo gently pours palm fulls of water on your skin, massaging your shoulders.

"Mmmh..." You sigh, relaxing against him as he kisses the top of your damp head.

"You seem content." He chuckled.

"Hanzo, I'm pretty sure you're going to have to carry me back home." You laugh. "Had I known what kind of weapon you were packing, I would have been just slightly more hesitant..."

"Only slightly, hm?"

"Just a bit." You murmur, kissing the knuckles of one of his hands.

Hanzo grins and plants a kiss over the bruise he'd left on your skin.

"You will get used to it, my lotus."

[badaziraphaletakes]

I have some questions

Hi... Aziraphale had no way of going to hell in search of Crowley??????

Oh wait that's not a question, that's a statement. Lol nvmind.

And how would Azi even get him back out? Stop blaming her for what the heaven/hell apparatus is doing to Crowley and to her. (Y'know what, I'm gonna be referring to Azi as "she/her" in this post, because we all deserve more of that. So deal with it.) Do you think she hasn't been racking her brains trying to think of a way to save Crowley ever since the Fall, and even before that?

Also - If Aziraphale went to hell and got stuck there, she'd probably be forced to torture people and that's not cool. (She probably wouldn't get a job on earth like Crowley.) Whereas there is no evidence whatsoever that Aziraphale has to actively do harm as part of her current role on earth. There are very good reasons Crowley doesn't want her to go to hell / become a demon / whatever. He doesn't want Aziraphale to suffer the same moral injury that he has.

Also also - Aziraphale mouths "Crowley" instead of screaming it because she knows it'll only get them both in more trouble if heaven/hell finds out they have an acquaintanceship, let alone that they care about each other. As an ab*se survivor, it's one of the most painful moments in the series for me, seeing Aziraphale distraught and having to hide it.

Azi mouthing "Crowley" while frantically trying to keep a straight face is the equivalent of Charles immediately trying to run after Edwin. It's arguably even more loving, I'd say. Aziraphale loves Crowley so much that she saw her worst nightmare come true (or rather, didn't see it? you know what I mean lol) and still managed to keep her "We don't know each other" mask more or less intact. Utterly devastating. This was the ultimate test of her love for Crowley, and she passed it.

*** Side note: If Aziraphale behaved the way fans want to demand she behave, hell would have killed Crowley so many times already lmao. And then of course the fans would be blaming her for that instead. << Babygirl can't win. She's damned (ha) if she does and damned if she doesn't. ***

You can see the horror and terror and devastation in her eyes.

Here's a really good post about it:

But even if we didn't have that glimpse of her face at that moment... FUCK thinking Aziraphale wasn't worried about Crowley then. There is literally NO reason to assume she wasn't upset about seeing him dragged to hell to presumably be killed. (And yes, Azi knew hell was ab*sive and violent to Crowley, even back then. I'd argue she's known since NLT Uz. After all, she knows Crowley didn't "kill" the goats and the kids because he wanted to. She knows it was because hell made him do it.)

Also also also: She literally did go to hell to save Crowley, later on?

And wtf is wrong with what she wrote in her diary? "That was the last I was to see of Crowley for some time" is (so far as we know) a factual statement. She's writing about an upsetting experience. Journaling is a healthy coping technique. But apparently that's bad now lmao. (Not to mention there were so many things about that diary entry that were so blatantly weird that it's clear we can't take anything about Aziraphale's journals at face value anyway. But I guess we're just ignoring that.)

OH AND ONE MORE THING! That's "husband" or "wife" or "spouse" to you, not "friend"!

[majeoeje]

Start over

Megumi x reader (male implied reader)

I wished we were two other people more times than everytime you had forgotten about me

"You have really pretty lashes"

Megumi has heard you uttered these words countless of times before, at first he didn't harbor a lot of opinion on this, but now it serves as a painful reminder that he had to start over with you once again. But even now he can't comprehend how to respond other than a simple thank you

"You're Fushiguro right?"

"That's correct"

here we go again, he thought

"It's nice to meet you, i hope we can get along" you gave a lazy smile before entering your shared dorm room, all beat up from your previous fight as if it was just another day.. well you pretend that it was everytime because what else can you do? You once had told him

"Yeah...it's nice to meet you too" he told you. As if he was in a same play for who knows how many times

Megumi had lost count on how many times you had introduced yourself to him, he knew everything about you. Yet you're here asking about his name once again. Your cursed technique is the one to blame for this strange dynamic

That being said, your curse technique transfers memories into curse energy and a technique which grant their wielder the power to imbue a weapon of their choice with curse energy and a guarantee that it would cut anything as if it wasn't there

A cheap cost to pay for power, some would say. But he always watches the fear in your eyes everytime it has to come down to it, afraid you might use it too much to the point you'll forget how to breath.

Afraid...yes you were always afraid. Afraid that your life would succumb to nothing but blank pages of nothing. To the point you'd write every last detail of your day until late at night so that at least your days could amount to something. Even if it were as simple as you went outside and train like how you usually do.

"I'm kind of hungry, you got anything to eat?" You said perking up your head from the non-fiction book you curiously skimmed up from Megumi's bookshelve trying to gather information from the stranger in front of you

"Gojo-sensei dropped some apples earlier, suit yourself" he said pointing to a basket from the corner of his desk remembering how the unusual white haired man hasn't change over the years

"Well don't mind me" you say, picking one up before looking for a something on your side of the room

You didn't have to go through a lot before Megumi tapped you on the shoulder making you face him

"Looking for this?" He pointed to a small knife on his hand

"Oh thanks a lo-"

you didn't even finished your sentence before he took the apple from your hand

"Your hand's fractured, Miss shoko said you shouldn't try to move it a lot in the mean time"

He said, pulling a nearby chair before he started to peel the apple for you. Just how you liked it.. a prefrence that has never changed no matter how many times you've erased your memories

"Aye you did it in one peel, impressive" you commented "How'd you know that i like my apples peeled?"

"You made me do it for you for months when you broke 7 bones on your body" he said handing you the peeled fresh fruit

"Eh, really? Tell me about it" you rested your hand on your desk as you sat comfortably on your chair as if you were getting ready to catch up to an old friend after not meeting them for years. And despite how bad he think his storytelling abilities was, Megumi couldn't disappoint that glimmer in your eyes, never.

"That day you saved me from a first grade curse" he started, as you bit into your freshly peeled apple

"you used up your curse technique to the point you forgot how to wield your weapon"

Megumi was not one to run his mouth, he preferred to listen most of the times. But in times like this, he feels the need to encapture every detail about that period of time as much as possible. And in turn, you'd listen to his voice, tuning in his gentle tone. Perhaps you got distracted at some point but that is surely not your fault

"We must've been pretty close" you grinned, hearing him finished his story

"We were"

You were practically attached to the hip from middle school, so it'd be a lie to say you weren't. But on the darkest pit of his heart he still wished you two was so much more even after knowing you like the back of his hand. How you'd swing your weapon in such way as if you were a dancer, how you'd give a lame excuse on how you peeled too much orange or apples just to get him to eat , how you purposely talk to him to keep him out just to watch a horror movie program in the middle of the night, how you'd play your music loud enough to cause hearing problems when he's not at the dorm, how he knew that you were just assigned a roomate to exploit your Curse technique, how disconnected you truly are from the world, how you'd laugh, how you'd cry, how your skin would make him shiver everytime it touches his

There was never enough of you for him really. Yet he'd wished for the impossible everytime

"So..what's your curse technique?" You asked and he would always answer

Just what was one more start?

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 8: Seance

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2.9k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

Soon enough, you, Megumi, Yuuji and Ino are in front of the veil.

" Nope, it didn't even budge." 

Ino is watching with wide eyes as Yuuji punches the veil, which rumbles in response.

"N-nice try." 

It must be his first time seeing Yuuji's strength.

"  The veil's sturdy. We'll have to find a weak spot and put a hole in it, even for a moment. We can't do anything without getting inside."

While Megumi's speaking, Yuuji casually drop kicks a curse. You're not useless either. You've uncapped one of your two water skins, and have created a whiplash of the water, hitting curses left and right.

Ino glances at your skill, impressed. He's never seen anything like it before.

" Water Manipulation."

You answer the question he hasn't asked just yet.

His brows raise in surprise. He's never heard of that technique before.

Meanwhile, Yuuji blinks.

" Huh, why not?"

"Yuuji, this is the veil that keeps sorcerers from entering." 

You point out, cringing as Megumi's Demon Dog digs into the curse Yuuji just drop kicked like it's a meal.

"Veils are for cover and protection, right? Which fundamentally means that the one who deployed it must be inside." 

Soon enough everyone is brainstorming. It gets down to it that there's a good chance that the one who cast the veil is outside of it. Besides, if they were inside, Yuuji's punch must've worked. Which it didn't.

" By that logic, they must've centered it around a place that stands out, don't you think? because the increased risk of discovering would make it even stronger?"

You find yourself nodding to Megumi's words, eyes flicking to the high building behind you. If Megumi's words were true, then the building behind you would be a good, not so subtle, hiding spot.

" A place that stands out?"

All three guys follow your line of sight.

Cerulean Tower.

Soon enough, you've formed a plan together. Megumi would summon Nue, and Yuuji would use the cord he has kept around casually in his pocket (Maki said It'd be useful) to catch them off guard. You and Ino would take out the veil, which must be in some kind of bolt looking object, according to Yuuji. 

Soon enough, the plan is set in motion. Yuuji casually takes all three curse users by surprise, taking them with him with the cord, exactly according to plan. 

Ino glances at the odd bolt like sealed object.

"So this is the foundation of the veil?"

Yuuji nods, explaining that the conditions  for the veil were already inside.

soon enough, Ino breaks the object. 

However, the veil doesn't break.

" There must've been three."

You mumble, judging by the dots in the ground. You glance at the curse users, as do the others. Ino seems to catch sight of the curse user who's holding the remaining two at the same time you do. Yuuji is already chasing at the curse user by the time the two of you notice.

He calls something to Megumi as he launches himself and the curse user off the building, leaving you and Ino to deal with the two in front of you.

A grandma and her grandson, judging by the looks of it.

Literally, that's how they address one another.

" Now, I've got my underclassmen to look out for. I better snag some achievements and hit that first-grade rank." 

You're not sure why he's sharing this with you, or the curse users.

You don't bother asking, or uncapping either of your water skins. You need to be careful in your use of water. It's not like you can ever run out of a water source to be exact, but still.

You'd rather not turn to those measures.

Beside you, Ino summons something.

" Y/N. Join your classmates. I can handle this."

He'd rather keep all the first years together, just to be sure.

Your eyes flash with surprise. You glance at the curse users.

" Are you sure?" 

He nods.

You search his features before nodding. Turning around, you make quick work of jumping down. Still, you scream as you plummet right towards your friends. You hurriedly uncap one of your water skins, manipulating the water in it to the ground, the water reaching for you like an elegant wave. Megumi and Yuuji both seem surprised at your arrival.

" Wasn't the plan that you'd stay with Ino?" 

" he wanted me to join you two. What's the situation looking like?" You ask.

The two of them nod in front of them, towards the man who lies rolled up on the floor.

" Huh? His body is clean." 

You point out with a raised brow. Megumi nods.

"Exactly. Get up, sneaky old geezer!"

For a moment, the man doesn't respond. He simply remains there, ignoring Megumi's words.

" Good grief. Kids these days got no pity for us old folks." 

You watch as he gets up, snapping the wire around him like it's nothing.

" We can't waste time here."

" We won't. Y/N, follow me in."

You glance at Yuuji in surprise, before nodding, enforcing your whole body with cursed energy.

He must've remembered the training the two of you did not too long ago.

-

" Hey Y/N, we know you're pretty skilled with your cursed technique, but are you also good in hand to hand combat? Considering you always keep enemies at a distance." 

You glance up from where you're resting in the grassy field of the school, leaning against Nobara.

" What kind of question is that, Itadori? Do you want to fight her?" 

Nobara scowls at him from beside you. You smile at her expression.

Yuuji hurriedly shakes his head.

" Ah, no. I didn't mean it like that. I was just curious.-"

" I am. My mother wasn't sure if I would manifest a technique, so she made sure I knew how to handle myself if the other kids of the clan ever decided to pick on me. I used to fight a lot." 

Nobara raises a brow, turning to you in surprise.

" You did? You don't seem like the violent type."

" I'm not. At least, not anymore. I used to be before I manifested my cursed technique. I was a late bloomer as well, it didn't happen until I was 8.- But I used to pick a fight with any cousin who looked at me like I was dirt. That was a lot of cousins. Not Noritoshi though, we got along since the day we met. our mothers are fond of one another."

" Ah, right. You're part of the Kamo clan. what was your life like there?" 

You blink, shrugging.

" Hard. The Kamo clan hates me. My technique renders their own useless." 

They both nod. Truthfully, they don't really remember what the Kamo clan's technique was. Nor do they really care.

" Anyway-" 

You get up, dusting off your clothes as you turn to face him.

" You wanna try fighting me?" 

Yuuji blinks.

" Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you." 

" For that you need to be able to hit me first.-"

You grin at him.

" -Besides, I'm you twi- Sukuna's best friend. You think he ever goes soft on me during training?" 

Yuuji hums, grinning as he too gets up.

Nobara moves to the side of the field, your water skins laid beside her.

Megumi blinks, approaching the scene as he rubs his shoulder.

" What're they doing now?" 

" Training. How was your training with Maki?"

He grits his teeth, flexing his arm.

" Instructive." 

She smiles.

And then you and Yuuji move. 

You're surprisingly quick on your feet without your water skins adding extra weight on you. You dance around Yuuji like some kind of dancer, jumping around weightlessly as you avoid his hits and kicks. Sometimes, you dab at him right after you've avoided yet another punch.

Eventually, you haven't necessarily beaten Yuuji. However, he gives up, dizzy from the countless circling movements you move in.

-

Eventually, you end up making an easy gateway for Yuuji to punch through, time and time again. In between You and Yuuji's combined attacks, Megumi makes his way through with demon dog, along with aiming at him with a cursed tool. The old man is swift as well, avoiding most hits, and for some reason remaining unaffected by any other punch that does hit him.

Eventually, he takes out a pocket knife, shallowly slicing through Yuuji. Yuuji doesn't seem affected, back to punching him in the same second. Megumi comes between the two smoothly, Megumi's toad shikigami slinging the curse user into the wall.

" Itadori!"

" No worries, just a scratch." 

You follow the man's movements with your eyes, uncapping a water skin to heal the shallow cut on Yuuji anyway within seconds.

Yuuji nods at you in thanks.

" Such power. Such promising features."

How was this man still uninjured?

" Makes killing you all more worth it." 

Beside Yuuji, you can see Megumi puzzle as well from the corner of your eye.

Was he uninjured because of some kind of cursed technique?

" Demon Dog's claws can injure even special grades.."

" I hit him with all I got too.." 

" Then why..?" 

You can hear the frustration in Megumi's voice.

You wonder the same thing.

" Then how is he completely unscathed?"

You furrow your brows.

" He can't have something like cursed energy nullification.. right?"

All you get in response are furrowed brows of concern.

And then the man's on you again.

" We were free. But that freedom was taken from us! By Gojo Satoru!"

He manages to whack a kick right into Yuuji's face, Megumi's sword slicing right through the fence behind him.

" I will never retire!-" 

Megumi blocks his kick, the blunt back of his sword hitting the old man right in the head.

Sadly, he doesn't relent in his nonsense.

" I'll trample over the weak until the day I die!"

He manages to break free from Megumi, though Megumi does end up slicing him right across the face with his blade. You kick him away, creating a small distance again.

" Seriously, what's with this guy?! I get that he's tough, but there has to be more to it!" 

For a moment, you and Megumi try to puzzle his technique together, considering it has to have to do something with that.

"Hey! Gojo Satoru is here in Shibuya! You better leave the foundations for the veil behind and run!"

Both you and Yuuji glance at Megumi in question.

" What lousy bluff. Gojo Satoru is sealed. You guys yelled it out for the world to hear. Why do you think we curse users are out? Otherwise I would be sleeping."

So he can't beat Gojo sensei. It can't be cursed energy nullification.

" Fushiguro~, you suck at lying." 

Yuuji's pouting, laying a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"It's okay though. You tried."

He's being dramatic, all puppy eyes. You can't help but giggle slightly at the behavior. Megumi seems more annoyed by it.

" Shut up."

" If you don't want to fight, I'll kill you now." 

" get ready."

You do just as Yuuji says, this time uncapping one of your water skins.- But then Megumi's eyes widen.

" Rabbit escape." 

At once, multiple rabbits hop up, out of Megumi's shadow, they block the man's vision. One ends up in Yuuji's arms, and you pick one up too. It's surprisingly soft. You didn't except shikigami to actually be soft. (  You've asked your universe's Megumi to let you pet his rabbits. He's always said no.) 

You glance at Megumi in surprise.

" Did you figure out his technique?" 

He nods, tugging Yuuji back by his hood.

Inverse, that's his technique. The harder you punch, the less damage he receives.

Megumi has a plan, one you can follow with ease. Act like you don't know. You will land an exceptionally useless attack, Yuuji a rough one, and Megumi in between. It should render his technique.

It takes only a few moments, and then you're back. Megumi opens the attack, landing max elephant right on the man's head.

The man grins.

" Is that all that you've got?" 

Max elephant dissipates. 

" Come down and face me like a real man!" 

The man yells up to where Megumi is currently stood on top of a lantern pole. Megumi simply points down.

" That's more their style." 

Yuuji straight up throws a car at him. 

Where he gets the strength from, you don't know. 

You follow him in, your water skin uncapped as you chase after him, a long elegant line of water following you at your command. Megumi and Yuuji follow in too, charging up for what would be 'the final blow'. All three of you at once, locking him in position. At the very last minute, your manipulation on the water loosens. It turns into one big splash, only strong enough to push over a young child at most. Megumi summons a toad shikigami at the last second, and Yuuji punches him square in the stumic.

The attack works. He's coughing up blood. You don't stop there, the three of you each punch him one by one, landing a hit square on him.

He doesn't like it.

" Don't get cocky over that, you brats!"

The three of you jump away. Yuuji charges up with cursed energy, pretending to hit him square in the face once more. However, just before his fist is about to make contact with the man's face, he drops all cursed energy. The power behind it disappears, instead landing a raw punch square on the man's face.

it seems like Megumi's plan worked out.

" You're surprisingly adept." 

" Really?" 

Yuuji cocks his head at Megumi's words. 

You smile, about to add on to their conversation, when you feel something.

It's like a call, pulling at your cursed energy.

Your smile falters, turning around in the directions where you can feel it coming from.

Was there perhaps another you in this universe with cursed energy? Or was it someone else?

-

" Pickled mustard leaf?"

Sukuna is angry. And disgusted. And irritated. especially irritated. How dare you disappear at the hands of the cursed spirit, causing him to chase after you? He's got zero idea what's wrong with Shibuya today. He can't leave, because of the stupid veil that keeps him from leaving. He's beating up curses left and right. ripping through them with a wicked blade, it's edges reversed, jagged, meant to inflict pain on curses ( for his own sick amusement, you cringe at it every time you see it.) there's something odd about the curses he's ripping through though. They're bleeding. 

Nonetheless, he keeps going, only pausing to look at Inumaki.

" Who the fuck you callin' Yuuji?!" 

For a split moment, tension between them rises. Sukuna raises his free hand, probably to swing it down for added dramatics, when he pauses, completely stilling. his eyes are fixed on his bracelet, the water in it swishing in a particular direction, even when he stands still. Sukuna's eyes are wide, realization hitting him.

Meanwhile Inumaki studies Sukuna. He looks like Yuuji, and he looks like Ryomen Sukuna, Yet he's completely different. He's much more buff, and for some reason, he's tall, taller than Inumaki, and taller than the Yuuji he knows. This must be your Sukuna. His tattoos are similar, yet not the same. There's no mark on his forehead, no slits under his eyes that should represent another pair of eyes. 

Meanwhile, Sukuna's focus shifts to Inumaki, his gaze hard. He still has no idea what's going on. As far as he's concerned. He's in his Shibuya. He has no idea about what's going on just yet.

" Where's Y/N?" 

Inumaki tenses.

He's heard that your Sukuna is different, kinder even, yet he's still intimidated. He's got no cursed energy. Yet the blood that's staining the jagged side of his blade, splatters of it on his face and clothes too, make him appear much more menacing than most sorcerers he's had to face. Especially with the cold look in his eyes.

He looks like he's ready to kill him.

[ A/N: Smoll heads up, I'm only catching up to what happens after Shibuya now and well,, err- it's a puzzle for the story line. After the Shibuya incident, updates will be slow.

ps. Would you be interested in silly little drabbles to keep you guys engaged in the story about Y/N in her universe? ]

Tag list:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave @jenniferrvsesi @hanatsuki-hime @betizda

[themaevethcometh]

okay i've had this scene from an au stuck in my head recently so here's 3k of timkon identity shenanigans where kon has been recently taken in by luthor for nefarious reasons and is forced to attend a gala where tim and bruce show up. robin hasn't revealed his identity to the team yet even though they've been friends for years. canon/timeline has been put in a blender and liquified.

Kon takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out of his mouth.  It’s a technique that Robin taught the team when he was trying desperately to get them on a more bat-approved training regime, including meditation and an acrobatics routine that Nightwing allegedly used on the Teen Titans years ago.  Kon is fully aware that he’s got weird stuff going on with his body’s organs and systems compared to humans, but the slow, rhythmic breathing still brings comfort and helps center him, slowing everything down enough so he no longer feels like he’s going to accidentally fry someone with his heat vision.

He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, gulping and taking a deep breath again.  The shirt and tie feels so much more restrictive than his Superboy uniform, tightening like a noose around his neck, and the inflexibility of the suit coat makes him feel like a stiff, awkward mannequin.

“Stop that,” Luthor says, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.  Kon immediately stills, straightening and trying to relax at the same time.

“These people are vultures,” Lex says, voice low.  Kon tries to focus his super hearing on him, rather than the woman with the loud laugh across the ballroom or the clink of glasses down the hall where the staff is continuously loading and unloading equipment.  He can hear the steady beat of Lex’s heart, the rhythmic whoosh of air traveling in his lungs, the slight gurgle of his stomach (gross!).  Kon decides he doesn’t like listening to Lex Luthor very much.

“Remember what I told you,” Lex is still saying.  “Be on your best behavior.  Today is about getting your name and your face out there.  Be polite, but not a pushover.  Never let them see weakness.”

Kon forcibly bites back the retort that his only weakness is kryptonite and makes himself nod instead.

Luthor leads him over to a group of people with his hand still clamped on Connor’s shoulder like a shackle.  From there, it’s an exhausting parade of schmoozing with millionaires and billionaires, shaking hands firmly (but not too firmly!), laughing at unfunny jokes, and pretending that he loves dear old Dad instead of wanting to punt him through the nearest wall.

Kon is charming.  He knows this.  It’s something that he’s known since he freshly came out of a test tube, and it’s something that he’s perfected with smiles and body language and a well-placed word or phrase.  Kon can get most people eating out of his hand with barely any effort, but it’s usually normal people a little closer to his age, not rich, egotistical, out-of-touch old people who want to pinch his cheeks but absolutely cannot be allowed to due to his invulnerable skin.  Kon forgets everyone’s name almost as soon as he hears it, clutching his flute of sparkling cider like a lifeline (but not hard enough to shatter).

Kon doesn’t know how long he gets paraded around as Luthor’s newest pet, but it feels like forever.  Everyone talks around where he’s been for the past 17 years of his life (nonexistent and then in a lab and then gallivanting around with superheroes and then, finally, as of two month ago a little farm in Kansas until Lex Luthor uprooted everything with a few well-placed threats), and Kon lets Lex tell the cover story about how he didn’t find out about Connor until recently, but he’s happy to be reunited with his son now.

Son.  Connor isn’t anyone’s son.  He was maybe getting to be a family member to the Kents finally, but Luthor threw a wrench into all of that.

Connor had a room at the farm.  He had a chore list to do and homemade meals to eat, and Clark has finally stopped flinching when he sees him.  Clark grinned at him the other day, not his public smile or a small, polite thing, but an actual, honest to goodness grin.  Connor bets he can kiss that goodbye now, just like he can kiss goodbye ever knowing Robin’s real identity, because there’s no way that Batman will let him tell Kon now that Kon is semi-legally under the guardianship of a supervillain, and just like there’s no way that Kon can have anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience as the ward of a billionaire and forced showpony, and just like–

“I’ll be damned,” Lex breathes next to him, interrupting Kon’s spiral.  Kon follows his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom, ears picking up the loud, boisterous laugh of Bruce Wayne clapping someone on the back a little too forcefully.  Kon has never seen Bruce Wayne in person, but he’s difficult to miss in the papers, especially with how often he finds himself in trouble.  Robin has told him of a few instances when he or one of the other Gotham vigilantes has had to rescue him, and Kon knows that Lois interviewed him once and Clark has informally run into him at a gala such as this.

Clark says he tried really hard to be the journalist from the Planet here tonight once Lex demanded that Connor be there, but it was too late notice.  Neither Clark nor Lois are among the reporters clustered in the corner.  Kon is alone.

“He didn’t RSVP,” Lex says, miffed.  Kon immediately likes Bruce Wayne significantly more because of it.  “Oh, and he brought a friend.”

Kon peers around the crowd that has quickly amassed around Gotham’s favorite billionaire and finally spots the person Bruce Wayne has a hand on the shoulder of.  It’s a teenage boy, dressed in a dark suit with dark hair parted in the middle to keep it out of his eyes.  He’s slight, but not skinny, and he’s not overly tall, probably closer to Robin or Bart’s height than Connor’s.  He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort at the press of adults around him, offering polite handshakes and letting the women kiss his cheeks the way some of them have tried with Kon.  Bruce doesn’t stray far, taking the boy with him when they finally finish with the crowd near the door and head to the bar.  The boy doesn’t seem to mind the attention.  Kon, however, does not appreciate the tone of voice that Lex used when he said friend.  He’s ready to do some superheroing if he needs to.

“Let’s go,” Lex says, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder again to steer him through the crowd.  “Let me handle Bruce Wayne.  The kid is Timothy Drake.  He recently became the head of his parent’s company when his father died.  This is the first time he’s been seen at an event since the death.  Bruce is almost certainly going to adopt him.  Timothy stayed with him when Jack Drake was in a coma, plus he has the dark hair and light eyes and Brucie favors in his kids.  He’s your focus for the rest of the night.  Forget about everyone else.”

“Lex!  I didn’t know you’d be here, you old dog!” Bruce calls before Connor has time to process all of that, slinging an arm around Luthor’s shoulders and seemingly crushing all of the air out of him in less than a second.

“It’s my party,” Lex wheezes.

“Good thing I’m here to liven it up, eh?” Bruce asks, elbowing Luthor in the ribs.

Kon really hopes that Bruce Wayne’s obsession with dark haired, light eyed boys is an innocent coincidence, because he doesn’t want to apprehend him for being a pedophile when he’s pissing Lex off so easily.

“Hello, Timothy,” Luthor greets, holding out his hand.  Bruce pouts at being ignored while Timothy shakes politely.  “May I just say, it’s refreshing to see you out and about.  I’m sure running your parent’s company is stressful all by yourself.”

Timothy tilts his head, reminding Connor vaguely of a bird.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says, polite but firm.  “It’s what my parents would have wanted, and they left things well organized for me.”

“And I suppose Bruce here has been giving you advice?”

“Now Lex,” Bruce says, wagging his finger at him, “you know that’d be a conflict of interest.  Besides, Tim could run circles around me.  I should be asking him for advice!”

Connor feels his eyes start to glaze over as Luthor and Bruce volley back and forth, seemingly forgetting that he’s even there.  Having Lex’s attention off of him and on someone else is a much needed break, so he’s not about to complain, but it’s also really fucking rude.  Connor hasn’t even been introduced to these two.

Timothy catches his eye, sweeping his gaze over to Luthor and Bruce and rolling his eyes.  Connor smirks.  Timothy raises an eyebrow and Connor mirrors him, just a slight quirk.

Timothy looks pretty nice, up close.  His eyes are the promised light blue, but his dark eyelashes are long and thick, framing them beautifully.  He’s pale, almost reflective in the glittering chandelier light, and he carries himself with a self-assuredness that Connor envies in this environment.  The suit fits him really nicely, hugging his shoulders and accenting his trim waist and long legs.  When he raises his flute to take a sip of the drink inside, Kon finds himself tracking the liquid as it disappears past his pale pink lips, his throat flexing as he swallows.

He’s not bad to look at.  He could easily turn out to be dull as a brick or a total douchebag, but so far first impressions are good.

“And who is this young man?” Bruce asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.  Luthor puts a hand on his back to push him forward a step, and Kon doesn’t have to move, but Lex is going to be mad if he doesn’t and the situation is delicate.

“This is my son, Connor,” Luthor introduces.  Kon offers his hand with his most charming smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking first Bruce’s hand (better grip than he expected) and then Timothy’s (rougher than he thought it’d be, skin warm).

“Son, eh?  He must take after his mother!” Bruce laughs.  Lex’s face pinches, but Connor doesn’t have a chance to relish in it before Bruce is sweeping Luthor away with another arm around his shoulder, talking loudly about secret children and parenting hacks.  Luthor tries to protest, but it’s quickly drowned out by Bruce, and he doesn’t have a chance to so much as glance back at Connor before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

Kon blinks.

“Bruce will keep him busy for a while, sorry,” Timothy says, not sounding very sorry.  He takes another sip from his glass, then leans in.  Cologne tickles Connor’s nose.

“Hold your drink by the stem, not the glass,” he says quietly.  “It’s supposed to keep your drink from getting warm, an old etiquette thing.  It’s small, but it’ll help you blend in a little more.”

Kon looks around the room, taking in the people with flutes like him and where they’re holding it.  The majority are holding the stem, and the ones that aren’t are people that Luthor hasn’t bothered to introduce him to yet.  Kon adjusts his grip accordingly, off-balance and embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he says.  Timothy tilts his head.

“You want to get some air?  There’s a balcony over there.  Your father will be able to find you easily once Bruce releases him.”

“Yes,” Kon agrees immediately.  He’s used to not fitting in, but having the eyes of so many judgy rich people on him when he’s pretending to be Lex Luthor’s human son has been exhausting.  No one has been too rude so far, but the weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder is heavy, and this complicated set of social rules that he still doesn’t understand puts him on edge.

Normally he’d say fuck the rules and do what he wants, but the situation is too delicate for that.  Clarke and Robin both told him that he needs to be careful and think twice about every move he makes, and for once neither of them sounded condescending about it.  He could tell that they don’t like the situation, either, worry and sympathy clear in their faces.

“Come on,” Timothy says, heading towards a set of double doors.  He doesn’t glance back, trusting Connor to follow him, and Connor does, stepping in his footsteps as he expertly weaves through the crowd, deflecting anyone trying to stop to speak to them with smooth excuses and a well-placed smile.  In no time at all he’s pushing open the large french doors, releasing them from the ballroom and into the cool night air.

Kon tilts his head up, blinking at the night sky above him.  It’s cloudy, obscuring what few stars manage to make their way through the light pollution to reach Metropolis.  Connor wishes he could fly up there, feel the dampness of early rain on his face, burst into the dark and escape everything.  For now, he keeps his feet on the ground, instead joining Timothy by the railing.

“So, how often do you come to these things, Timothy?” Connor asks, leaning back on his elbows.  The other boy perches with a hip pressed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tim, please,” he says.  “Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or you’re trying to swindle me out of a business deal.”

“Okay.  How often do you come to these things, Tim?” Connor corrects, testing the feel of it in his mouth.  Tim relaxes at the sound.

“Decently often, but I usually stick to Gotham,” he says.  “I’ll have to start coming to more now that I’m in charge of Drake Industries, but I grew up going to galas.  Is this your first one since Luthor found you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor asks.  Tim smirks, but shakes his head.

“I think I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these before.”

Connor flashes him a charming smile.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”  Tim’s cheeks turn pink, his blush noticeable against his pale skin even with the limited light out here.  Kon takes a sip of his sparkling cider, satisfaction making it taste sweeter on his tongue.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re probably the only people under thirty in the whole building besides some of the catering staff,” Tim says. 

“You missed the toddler earlier,” Connor hums.  “She was throwing a tantrum.  I very much sympathized.”

“Did I really?” Tim asks dryly.  “What a pity.  Oh no.  How unfortunate that Bruce likes being fashionably late to everything.”

Connor snorts.

“Bruce Wayne, huh?” he says.  “How’d you two meet?”

Tim shifts so he’s leaning back against the railing like Kon.  Kon takes a moment to drink in his profile, tracing the sharp jut of his nose, the hair shielding his eyes from him at this angle.

“He’s my neighbor,” Tim says.  “I’ve kind of always known him, but our families weren’t really close until a few years ago.  When my dad was in a coma, Bruce took me in.  My uncle was supposed to get custody of me now, but…”

Tim trails off, searching for words.  Eventually, he shrugs.

“He’s fostering me right now.  We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Do you want to stay with him?” Kon asks.  Tim considers his words carefully.  Connor’s mouth is always running away with him, but Tim seems to have the opposite approach.  Everything is measured and careful, cold and tactical.  It reminds Kon of Robin in the middle of missions, keeping his reactions even and methodical to counteract the impulsiveness of the rest of the team.  Kon wonders if Tim is the type of person to let himself be stupid and emotional around friends like Robin is, or if he always keeps everything bottled up.

“Yeah, I do,” Tim breathes eventually.  “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Another pause.  Kon does Robin’s breathing exercise, staying patient.  Some people need time to talk, and Kon can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“I guess I don’t want him to adopt me because he feels obligated,” Tim says.  “He has a family.  There’s–It’s a long story, too long to explain now.  Sorry, this is a weird first impression, huh? But enough about me!  What about you?  Where were you before Luthor found you?”

“Uh,” Connor says, still recovering from the whiplash of topics and searching for Luthor’s cover story.  “Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, Kansas. I was in the foster system for a while, then I got adopted by this nice old couple who live on a farm in Smallville, which is just as small as it sounds.  I didn’t know anything about my birth parents until Lex showed up.”

“Wow,” Tim says.  “This has to be a big adjustment, then.”

Connor scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Kon’s whole life feels like a big adjustment, from adjusting to existing and Clark’s negative feelings towards him, to adjusting to working for Camdus and living in Hawaii, to adjusting to Young Justice and Teen Titans, to finally trying to adjust to Smallville, only to be ripped away from that and forced into Metropolis high society.

“Do you miss them?” Tim asks.  “The old couple who adopted you?”

Kon swallows against the unexpected pang that rolls through him.  He can almost taste Martha’s pancakes on his tongue and hear the crinkle of the newspaper as Jonathan hands him the cartoons.

“I wasn’t with them very long.  Only a few months.”

Tim tilts his head.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Connor shrugs.  He doesn’t know what the right answer is here.  Martha and Jonathan are the closest thing he’s ever had to parents, but part of him never expected to stay with them.  When Luthor ripped him away from them, there was a part of Kon that wasn’t surprised at all, even if a bigger part was in agony.

Martha kissed his forehead when he left the farm and gave him a sad smile.

“You can always come back here, okay?  This is your home, no matter what Lex Luthor has to say about it.”

“If they formally adopted you, Lex Luthor’s claim as your biological father isn’t enough to force cut contact,” Tim says, pushing off the railing and taking a few steps closer.  “Trust me.  I researched this stuff when my dad came out of his coma.”

Kon frowns.

“He didn’t like Bruce?”

Tim wavers.

“It’s complicated,” he offers.  Kon snorts.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Tim’s mouth quirks up, giving Connor the shadow of a smile again.

“It’s not really a first meeting story.”

“Guess we need a second meeting, then,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.  “My weird family dynamic really captivated you, huh?”

“It was your eyes first, actually,” Connor says.  Tim opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide.  Kon holds his breath.  He says flirty things all the time, both to his friends and to people he rescues who seem like they need a pick-me-up, but it’s been a while since he sincerely flirted with someone he plans to see again.  He almost never does it with someone who only knows him as Connor rather than Superboy, much less a boy.

If this goes badly and Tim tells the entire Metropolis elite that Lex’s son is a homosexual, maybe the scandal will be enough for Luthor to send him back to Smallville.  If it goes well…

“You have… very nice eyes, too,” Tim says eventually.  Connor beams, then beams even more at the sharp inhale Tim draws in response.  Tim shifts.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks.  “There’s a decent ice cream place open late a few blocks away.  We can be there and back before anyone misses us.”

Connor glances towards Luthor in the ballroom.  He’s still talking to Bruce Wayne, and they’ve amassed a small crowd around them.

“Bruce will keep Lex busy for a while.  He likes to talk.  Besides, you can always tell him that you were networking,” Tim offers.

Luthor said that Tim should be his focus for the rest of the night.  He never said that they had to stay at the gala.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly towards the French doors.  Tim blinks once, then again, then smiles.  His eyes light up with it, and Kon suddenly understands why Tim had to inhale before.

“Come on,” Tim says, leading the way.  Kon follows just as closely as he did before, trailing him until they spill out into the Metropolis night and he can stand next to him, almost close enough for their arms to brush.

Maybe living with Lex Luthor won’t be so bad if comes with seeing Tim Drake, too.

[tobiasdrake]

what do you think of the most important relationship in all of dragonball? I speak, of course, of the world champion Mr. Satan and his pupil, mr. Buu

The entire Satan and Buu plotline is delightful, and it's not without reason that their bromance has become an ever-enduring part of post-Z materials.

Story-wise, this may be the best decision that the Buu arc made.

Toriyama sets this up in advance with the little boy whose blindness Majin Buu heals.

While flying around and slaughtering people for funsies, Buu finds this kid that's not afraid of him because he can't see Buu. He heals the boy's blindness so he can be properly afraid, but the kid is grateful rather than scared.

Buu finds himself enjoying that.

So Buu decides to offer his new friend a little more help, even while he's killing and blowing up everything else.

This moment demonstrates that Buu has a capacity for kindness; He just hasn't learned better. Like a child, he craves attention and validation from others but doesn't know the difference between negative attention and positive attention.

He's acting out because he wants to be noticed. Which brings us to the Earth's response.

The man who defeated Cell is here to slay Majin Buu and restore order to the world! Hail Satan!

He's fucked. He is so unbelievably fucked. Even he knows how fucked he is.

To his credit, Satan doesn't run for the hills as soon as these two guys leave. He actually did come here with the intent to confront Majin Buu and save the world.

Satan is often taken for a full-on coward because he does typically try to get out of fighting people who could end him in a flick of a finger. He's Pamput tier as a fighter and he knows these people outclass him by an unbelievable margin.

But I think it speaks very highly of him that when the world looked to him to save them from Majin Buu, he didn't try to run from it. He's not going to try and fistfight Buu, hell to the no, but he does make a good faith attempt to slay the dragon, to the best of his meager ability.

Hell, when all else fails, he even does try to fight Majin Buu directly.

It takes a lot of nerve to swing on an invincible god-killing monster who will absolutely turn you into candy and eat you the moment this conversation stops being fun for him.

This isn't cowardice. Satan's an arrogant blowhard who steals glory he doesn't deserve. As he and Buu settle into their friendship, he even makes plans to steal glory for Buu's defeat should it ever come to pass.

But he does want to save the world from Buu. He just has no idea how to do it. This is so far beyond him it's not even funny. Even after he basically moves in with Buu, he's still got victory on his mind.

He's here for the same reason he went to the Cell Games. Satan has the spirit of a hero somewhere under all that bluster, deceit, and glory hogging.

It's the arrival of Bee that changes everything.

This is the blind boy with the milk all over again. But this time Satan is here to see it, and it changes his approach to how he's engaging Majin Buu.

Once Satan sees this nicer side of Majin Buu, he finds himself armed with the greatest secret weapon he could possibly bring to this conflict. More powerful than bombs or poisoned chocolate. The one weapon that can truly defeat Buu: Empathy and understanding another person's point of view.

BOOM. It's done. Mr. Satan just saved the entire fucking planet from Majin Buu. His ultimate technique is asking Buu nicely to stop. No one's ever said this to him before. He didn't know better.

And this comes at the worst possible fucking time, oh my god. Seconds after Majin Buu agrees he won't kill or destroy anymore, snipers shoot his puppy.

This wouldn't be a big deal ordinarily. Buu would just erase these two assholes. But he just promised he wouldn't kill and destroy anymore. He wants to keep his promise. So all he can do is stand there and fume.

Buu has no idea what to do in this situation if he's not allowed to kill these two shitheads. Satan has not thought to convey the correct nuance for how he can behave in this context. So he's trying so hard to keep his promise in a situation where he should rightly be allowed to defend himself and his friends.

Satan's able to defuse the situation by beating the shit out of these clowns himself, and they save Bee's life with Buu's healing. But when Shooty McDickface shoots Satan in the back, Buu fucking erupts.

The contradiction between his promise not to hurt humans anymore and his furious need to waste these bastards is too much for him, allowing the darker aspects of the true Majin Buu an opening to seize control over Daikaioshin's innocence, which had up to this point resulted in this childish demeanor of his and made this friendship possible.

It's noteworthy that the first thing Evil Buu does is resolve the contradiction.

He does not care what he promised Satan. He's going to kill. And then he's going to resume killing. It was a mistake to have ever stopped.

The other really noteworthy thing, after he becomes Super Buu, is his behavior during his Human Extinction Attack.

God, what a horrifying image. This is the darkest fucking moment in Dragon Ball history. This is somehow worse than blowing up the planet. It's so horrific. Buu is really living up to his function as a god-killing horror whose very existence is a slight against the heavens.

Super Buu uses God's Temple in Heaven as a vantage point from which to fire billions of homing shots down into the Earth precisely targeted to kill every last human being remaining in the world. In a matter of minutes, he purges all human life from this world.

All human life except Tenshinhan and Chiaotzu, who were able to evade the shots aimed at them. Look, if you're going to shoot billions of ki blasts at once, there's a limit to how powerful they can be.

And Mr. Satan, who Buu skipped. Even with his innocence restrained and chained inside of him, Buu still can't escape his feelings for the one man in all the world he can call a friend. Even in this moment as he purges life from this world, Buu simply couldn't bring himself to do it. Not this one.

Even at his darkest, Buu's love for his friend will remain so long as any scrap of influence from Daikaioshin, so long as the thing that makes him sapient to begin with, still lives inside of him. A problem that only Pure Buu would ever manage to solve.

"The surge of emotion that shot through me when I saved your life taught me a valuable lesson: Where Caroline lives in my brain. Goodbye, Caroline." ~Majin Buu apparently

Such a weird resolution to their developing friendship, but Majin Buu is a magical creature unbound from any physics whatsoever so it works.

And then, for good measure, Satan legit saved the Earth from Majin Buu for real by convincing the totality of the resurrected Earthlings to contribute as much genki as they could muster to Goku's Genki-Dama, because there are genuine advantages to being a publicity hound.

Mr. Satan's greatest martial art is PR. He may be a glory-stealing publicity shill sitting pretty off the achievements of others, but goddamn is he good at getting his face out there and being a household name.

People underestimate the value of PR. He might just be a figurehead, but he's a damn good figurehead.

And he got to keep his new bestie too.

This is so unexpectedly sweet. Satan's relationship with Buu was the highlight of this arc. It gave a lot of depth and personality to both characters, turning Satan from a funny joke at the Cell Games to a powerhouse MVP of a protagonist.

It's just. Y'know. Shame about his daughter who basically drops off the face of the plot never to be cared about again. Videl's basically a cameo now, existing mainly to be the mechanism by which Gohan has a daughter.

So. Y'know. That sucks. But I've already talked about Videl and how screwed she was by the narrative.

Looking at post-Z materials, however, you can feel how much of an "Endgame, we don't have to go anywhere with this" sort of thing Satan and Buu's friendship is. GT basically wrote Mr. Buu out of the plot by having him fuse with Uub, while DBS goes out of its way to not let him participate in anything. The one arc he's featured in replaces him with Daikaioshin directly.

I don't think anyone really knows what to do with Mr. Buu now that he's one of the gang. Instead of writing plots and thinking about, "What can Buu do to contribute to this?" the vibe is always "Oh fuck me, what are we going to do about Buu?"

But even when the writers are struggling to find something for him to do, his ironclad friendship with Satan never wavers.

[lovelybeesthings]

Thorn in my way

Coriolanus snow x fem reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warning: Kinda smut doesn't go that great I tried 😭

Summary: C. Snow soon finds out he has completion with someone one equally cruel and to reach to the top no matter the cost leading him to drive ti the top or second.

As Coriolanus Snow soon heard of how the academy would be giving out a scholarship to the mentor of the winner of the Hunger Games which had made him both nervous and cocky thinking of this as his chance as he had been an amazing student a good one at that and no one could compare to his level and devotion to winning or so he thought..

Coriolanus was soon assigned to a girl from distract 12 was one of the worst distracts and she wasn't in the best shape that she could perform which was good to make people like her but it was hard to work with he soon tried to think of ideas to help her odds for his win he was sure that with his smart brain, he'd sure to accomplish this task at hand. During his time with Lucy Grey, he quickly develops feelings for his tribute with this set in mind it just moves him even more restored in using cheating techniques. “Well if it isn't my competition~” he heard a voice from the back of him he tried to recognize it but failed to and was confused with their words who were in the same league as him.

He turns his head to see a beautiful girl in the academy uniform her hair was long he hair was surely beautiful and the color was like (what ur hair color resembles) her beauty was amazing he doesn't know it but his heart beast a bit faster than usual more then it does for Lucy but all Coriolanus can think about is who is this girl? Why hasn't he seen her before if she says she's his competition and her beauty would surely attract him “Y/n Impala, I'm the mentor of your little songbird teammate Reaper, well I'd like to say that you shouldn't fall in love with that girl I mean if you're trying to achieve the same goal I become the head game maker with the scholarship or are you just stupid Coriolanus” Y/n bold words give a complete shock to Coriolanus he is amazed and feels the need to win more than ever this girl has remained him of what he needs to accomplish but still he doesn't respond instead his piercing blue eyes look at her girl shorter then him recognizing her as a threat.

The girl blinks as she notices the handkerchief in his pocket and smiles as she leaps in for a hug surprising the boy with blond moppy color hair that is in long curls and his handsome complexion as she carefully takes his handkerchief with lucy greys tears after I while she lets goes and hums holding the handkerchief under her jacket.

Dr. Volumnias lab

As Coriolanus sneaks in time he smirks as his plan is coming together all he has to do is give the snake Lucy's handkerchief years right in his- sudden chills run down his back as he can't find it where could he possibly put it? He soon realizes y/n had taken it when she hugged him out of nowhere he feels anger and wants to show her not to mess with him as he will give her the consequences of her actions, he walks the halls of the Academy with an angry face as he looks for the girl he turns his head seeing the girl in the garden of the Academy her arm was bleeding straight clean cuts he looks closely to the root of the problem seeing her dig in a rose bush.

“What are you doing?” his stern deep voice says causing y/n to face him “Nothing” she replies he can tell she's lying and just asks her angrily “Where's the handkerchief? Don't deny it I know you have it” She looks back at him smiling as her arm bleeds* “Why would I give it to you? I mean give me a fair trade and I'll hand it to you not like you can force me to do it I could tell the board you're using shady tactics to cheat” he clenches his fist This girl was truly a thorn in his goal she wasn't lying about he being his match his perfect rival.

He sees long bunny ears come out of the Bush as she holds a bunny that surprisingly didn't get hurt from the thorn Bush y/n bloody arms holds the rabbit smiling and starts to walk away leaving him shocked and a bit amazed at this girl.

Knock at the door

Around 2 am y/n gets a sudden knock at her dorm door as she opens it in her long nightgown her hair is in bubble braids with ribbon in them “Which idiot woke me up in my sleep” As she takes her candle up she sees blond locks and smirks “Goldilocks” Coriolanus's face appears in front of her candlelight “I know to offer you in return for the handkerchief” *she's a bit curious to know what it is “And that is Goldilocks?” she says looking a Him with siren eyes as he pushes into her dorm putting the candle down and kissing her lips she responds with a kiss and hops on him wrapping her legs around his waist and he holds her tightly kissing her* “Mmh” *he breaks out of this kiss smirking and soon pushes her to her bed.

After a while, he takes off her nightgown and unhooking her bra he takes a moment huffing looking at her fully round breasts and her nipples (n/c) he stares at her breast and looks up at her for her consent, his eyes pleading with lust and her cheeks rosy and nods with her willingness he begins to cup her breast in his hand as and brings one to his mouth sucking on it as he plays with the other one with his hand leading her pleading “ahh~” she bites her lips holding in her moan.

After I while he takes off his shirt and pants leaving him in his trousers he kisses her lips then her jaw then her chest her stomach and stops at her clothed clit taking off her pink panties as he sees her clit he smiles at her eyes peaking at him blushing like crazy he starts to lick her clit with thick licks driving her crazy moaning to his tongue after a while she soon cums in his mouth and he smiles and began to fit his fingers in her clit making her meow like a cat in her moans.

“More-e..ahH~!” y/n says in a moan as he finger fucks her making her drunk on just his fingers “Is my rose petal losing it with just my hands~?” he teases as she nods after I big later his budget is clearly showing in his trousers and slides them down showing his 7inch cock he alines his cock right to my cliff and slowly rims in “fuck-k y/n~” (time skip I'm tired and I suck at writing smut)

As Coriolanus lays down and y/n rests her silky soft hair on his chest falling asleep he stares at her for a few moments together as she thinks about his feelings about Lucy Grey he believes he loved that girl but whenever he competes with y/n his heart beats like crazy…his face expression changes into a devilish one y/n is someone who is a capitol elite like him her by his side he could rule the caption and kissed her head soon his eyes fall on their own.

As Coriolanus's eyes slowly open from the sun shining down on his face he notices that y/n isn’t on them anymore and looks for them in the room spotting them putting on a new pair of panties and bra as she puts on her academic uniform and applies her makeup “Oh hey good morning” *she says sweetly and hands him his uniform ironed and filed nicely with the handkerchief, surprising him a bit at her act like a wife to her husband “Thanks” she fixes her hair and smiles “you can go if you’d like you don’t have to stay you know” *he smiles she hears in her voice how’d she like him to stay and starts to put on his uniform he tries to fix his long nippy blond hair but the y/n brushes it out for him leaving him blushing and smiling at the size difference him having to kneel a bit* “there you go now your so handsome” she says making him smile “we should get going the games are going to start soon”.

(jump skip to when he comes back to the Capitol after murdering 3 people including Lucy 😭)

As Coriolanus breath the capitol's air again he smirked to himself devilishly he soon entered the halls once again knowing where he stood and how he'd make a name for himself but one thing he forgot was his little rose petal y/n passed by him not noticing him as she looks even more beautiful than their last meeting she walks with bandages on her arm and a bunny in her arms “you need to stop I can keep putting my arms in Rose busses to keep getting you out of them”

He smirks at her and quickly grabs her by her waist surprising her she's about to fight whoever is touching her but realizes it's Coriolanus “OMG!” she hugs him tightly as tears slip out of her tears “I thought you were distracted 12th with that girl Lucy Grey” she says as he wipes her tears “I remembered what I wanted in my life and that includes a life with you” she closes her eyes as he holds her close smirking he was foolish to think he wanted a life with Lucy grey when he can build his empire and he's already found his wife.

The end 😭

[linkspooky]

MEGUMI WILL LIVE

Sukuna reverting to his Heian era form sent the fandom into a panic because everyone assumed that Sukuna fully reverting back meant Megumi is now permanently dead. It doesn't. I understand how the fans would be worried because of how unceremoniously Gojo was just offed, but remember even Gojo got a long fight beforehand only the finishing blow was offscreened. He's still in Megumi's body though, all he did was change the shape of Megumi's body to look like his heian era self. It's the same way that Choso transfigured his host body when he was inserted inside of it, or other members of the culling games like Hajime did. The original owner of the body is still alive, because if the owner dies then Sukuna would still die along with him.

However, not only is Megumi not dead currently he's not going to die and the rest of this post will be explaining why.

Angel explains in chapter 199, that the reincarnated players are cursed objects swallowed by bodies who then use the bodies as vessels, reshaping them and then suppressing the body's original owner. It's the same for Megumi, Megumi at the finger and became a vessel for Sukuna, but instead of transforming all the way Sukuna stopped the transformation halfway through - until now. However, even in that case Megumi's soul is still there just suppressed.

Angel: My objective is to wipe out all players who've recinarnated. Most of them do it by suppressing the vessel's original owner... whether internally or subconsciously. And that's against God's laws... so it's wrong. Megumi: God? Angel: That's just a name I give to my beliefs. Pay it no mind. Angel: So I decided to live in symbiosis with Hana. Megumi: Can your technique revert possessed players to their original state? Angel: It's not impossible, but it's extremely likely they will die... because the cursed object and body fuse. SO it's difficult to strip away one. Yuji: That's why Sukuna dies if I die.

Sukuna hasn't completely killed Megumi, he's just suppressed the host consciousness, that was essentially the entire purpose of both the bath, and then killing Tsumiki immediately afterwards to bury Megumi so deep he won't fight back.

However, as I said that's just the technical explanation. I'm going to make a thematic argument about why if only one character of the four main characters survives until the end of the manga like Gege predicted, it will be Megumi. Before I begin though this is just a theory, I'm not saying Yuji or Nobara deserves to die so if you're a fan of them please be chill. Megumi will live and here's why...

Megumi's character arc is about birth rather than death. Megumi is a child, the end goal of his character death is not for him to die and be at peace with his death like Gojo and in my prediction Yuji, but rather for him to grow from childhood into adulthood. Everything in his character revolves around this concept, even his name.

Megumi, named blessing by his father. A child who is blessed in many ways, born with a technique that would have given Toji acceptance in the Zen'in if he had it, born a prodigy that got the attention of Gojo Satoru, and not blessed in other ways, no father, no mother, no adult in his life to guide him and forced to become a sorcerer or starve from an early age. However, more than that the name represents Toji's desire for Megumi to have a better life than he did.

Toji: Take care of Megumi, okay? That place is ueslss for someone like me, but for him...for someone with potential...it'll be a little better. Toji: I don't care... I don't care anymore. Toji: Hey, what's your name? Megumi: Fushiguro. Toji: Not Zen'in, huh? Toji: Good for you.

I have said before that Jujutsu Kaisen is a tragedy, but tragedies aren't really hopeless stories where everyone dies and nothing good ever happens. Even while Gojo's death is tragic, his dying dream is bittersweet as he reflects on the fact he made great friends in life and protected a lot of people. Which is why I don't think Megumi's name is supposed to be ironic, he was named blessing because he's supposed to be where the chain of abuse that started with the Zen'in -> Toji and carried on -> Megumi finally ends by breaking that cycle.

Megumi is a child, episode 5 of Juju Stroll "had Megumi describe Panda's smell as "ohisama" (お日様) which is a super childish way of saying "sunshine". It kind of literally translates to Mr. Sun, and it's such a cutesy way of talking that the girls get flustered. It's also mentioned in one of the audio dramas where they go out to eat beefsteak that Megumi only wants to eat the sauce and Yuuji reacts by basically saying "Are you a kid??" He also dislikes red peppers."

These childish affectations are there to show us Megumi is not what he appears. That's also basically the twist with his personality too, because he has an incredibly serious personality, and is considered a jujutsu prodigy most people mistake him for being mature for his age when he's really just repressing his emotions all the time.

Fushiguro had intended to just pay and leave but with his serious personality, his idea of leaving was dismissed by Itadori’s reasoning. However, his eyes that were as deep as the night that peeped out from the bottom of a deep ditch became even more lifeless. Fushiguro tried once more to switch off his self-awareness. Numbness was the safety feature of life. If he did not think of a way to protect his spirit, it would not be strange if a curse was born.

Megumi is putting on airs of being an adult, but I'd argue he's the most childish of the main three, because at least Nobara and Yuji both had parental figures and normal childhoods until high school. Megumi was handpicked to be a sorcerer at age six and received no adult guidance outside of that, just training to be a sorcerer. Megumi is a child forced into sorcery at a young age in order to pay his bills and survive, in the manga where the central goal of one of the main characters is that children should be able to live out their youths. If Megumi dies before he's even able to grow up, that goal will be unaccomplished.

Ijichi: Then Itdori will have to go into hiding for good. Gojo: Nah, I'll have him ready in time for the goodwill event. Shoko: Why? Goo: Easy. I refuse to keep this kid from living the best years of his life. Not just him, but everyone.

Of course that argument works for Yuji and Nobara as well. They're also children who I am predicting will die tragically early, wouldn't that go against the themes of the manga too? My argument is this, we've already seen kids die young, Mai Zen'in, Kokichi Muta, Junpei Yoshino, because Jujutsu Kaisen is a tragedy. However, there will be a few characters who survive into adulthood and live to see a better world where losses like the above characters don't happen anymore. Those characters however, are characters where their character arcs revolve around them living.

Yuji's character arc is a contemplation of death and searching for a proper death (I'll talk more on the differences later) Nobara's is more tricky without talking about the quality of the writing, but let's say Nobara's death shows that even a "main character" isn't exempt for death. Which is appropriate as Nobara thinks of herself as the main character of a story. Megumi's character arc however is specifically about a cycle of abuse that started with his father, and continued to him. Unlike Nobara and Yuji who were outsiders who made the choice one way or another (traveling to Tokyo, or swallowing the finger) to enter into the world of sorcery, Megumi was born into this situation and his choice was become a sorcerer when he was a teenager or starve. Gojo had the chance to break the cycle of abuse with Megumi and he didn't, because he saw another potential strong sorcerer.

Toji: But then the unexpected happened 11 years ago, when Toji Zen'in appeared. he was physically gifted through heavenly restriction and on top of that he was an anomaly who had escaped from cursed energy. As a human being who had escaped fate through the power of restriction... he destroyed our destinies.

Jujutsu Kaisen is a story about cycles, and not only is the narrative goal set by Gojo to 'reset this crappy Jujutsu World" so that the cycle of abuse adults heap on children will be broken by the end of the story, but Toji himself is referred to as the breaker of chains and Megumi is Toji's son. Megumi, who he named blessing. The inciting incident of the story happened, because the Zen'in abused Toji to the point he became a remorseless murderer and killed Riko in front of Geto's eyes, starting the domino effect that led to today's plot. Megumi is at the center of that, he is in a way the central victim of the story in a way Yuji is not because even Yuji got the choice to eat the finger or not. Eating the finger, and being executed to destroy Sukuna are burdens Yuji willingly took on whereas Megumi was possessed forcibly by Sukuna creating the current situation. Yuji also wanted to be a sorcerer and wanted to get stronger as one when sitting in his room and waiting to have the fingers delivered to him was a possible option, whereas for Megumi the choice was to be a sorcerer or starve.

Jujutsu Society will not have changed from Toji's generation, or even Gojo's generation if Megumi the child does not survive to adulthood like his father.

Megumi is someone with very little agency or sense of control over his own life, just like a child too he is at every turn practically helpless to the forces of the adults in his life. Of course he's a character who makes choices, but he's still making those choices in the framework of a world of adults who have authority over him. Megumi doesn't get to retire at being a sorcerer or he'll starve, so the choice he makes is "I'll selectively choose who I save as a sorcerer" which is a comrpomise he makes.

He doesn't have a choice but to be a sorcerer, so he chooses to be a sorcerer for selfish reasons. He's also someone with little care for the institution of sorcery. Even his choice to be a sorcerer with the Zen'in, or to be a sorcerer with Gojo is made on the axis of "What will give Tsumiki a better life?" The same with his choice to save Yuji from execution, he doesn't care what is right or wrong by sorcerer society standards, just that he personally wishes to see Yuji saved. Afterwards when Yuji expresses remorse for Sukuna's mass murder in Shibuya, Megumi is pretty unbothered by the moral ramifications of it.

"We aren't heroes fighting for justice. No one can ever truly judge us, so we must continually prove the worth of our existence. and we don't have the luxury of thinking of ourselves. We've just got to save people. I believe that was the original principle behind your actions. So start by saving me!"

Those words aren't just foreshadowing for what Yuji's final task in the manga is (Hint hint, Yuji now needs to save Megumi from Sukuna's possession otherwise Sukuna will continue to rampage in his body).

It's also illustrative of Megumi's character, he's not someone who makes moral judgements at all, not really. He has no concept of moraity, justice, because those are adult ideas and he is a child trying to survive in the world of adults with what limited power he has. Megumi does make choices as I said he chooses to forgive Yuji for mass slaughter in Shibuya, during the Culling games he chooses to make saving Tsumiki a priority above everything else even innocent people inside the games (something only Yuta is shown actually doing) which is consistent with the choices Megumi has always made. Megumi has no choice to be a sorcerer, so he chooses to use his power selfishly to protect one or two loved ones (and his comrades sometimes) instead of using them for altruistic reasons like Yuji or utilitarian reasons like Gojo.

Megumi doesn't have morals, because he's not in a stage of development where he can actually think and develop morals. This is a thing in psychology, Jean Piaget was the first psychologist to study ways in which children processed the world different from adults. He identified stages of moral development believeing it correlated with stages of cognitive deveolpment (congition = understanding) which Kohlberg then defined into roughly six stages of development.

Stage 1. Obedience and Punishment. Child is good to avoid being punishment. Stage 2. Individualism and Exchange: At this stage, children recognize that there is no just one right view handed down by the authorities, different individuals have different viewpoints. Stage 3. Good Interpersonal Relationships The child / individual is good to be see as being a good person by others. THerefore, answers relate to the approval of others. Stage 4. Law and Order Morality. The child becomes aware of wider rules of society, so judgments concern obeying rules to uphold the law and avoid guilt. Stage 5. Social Contract and Individual Rights. The child becomes aware that laws exist for good, there are times they work against interest of individuals. Stage 6. Universal Principles. Pepople at this stage have developed their own set of moral guidelines they apply to everyone.

Megumi is trapped at Stage 3, his only concern is how his actions will affect his interprersonal relationships with others. Everything he does is in regards to maintaing those interpersonal relationships, and he casually just disregards outside morality all the time. Even Kurusu who bonded with Angel and entered the culling games because of one kind deed Megumi did for her in the past shares this same reasoning, she does good deeds because she wants to be approved of by the person she likes.

Hana: Fate is all. I believed we would someday meet again. So little by little, in hopes of being worthy to stand by your side... I help people.

Megumi's morality is-selfcentered yes, but he hasn't developed into a mature enough person to be able to think of the points of view of other people. Even when Megumi does attempt to assert some control in the world an adult appears and steals control from him, literally in fact when we learn that his attempts to save Tsumiki were pointless to begin with, because Tsumiki is possessed by Yorozu. Shortly after this revelation Megumi permanently loses control, because his bodily autonomy and basic ability to make choices is stolen from him by an adult. Megumi's life is defined by how little control he has in it, he says it in what is his first inner monologue.

Megumi: The only thing that is fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone. She was the kindest person, there was no reason to think otherwise, she was someone who deserved to be happy, but Tsumiki was cursed. My father who didn't even know my gender gave me the name Megumi. He's still alive somewhere. Karma doesn't happen on its own. Criminals are disciplined under the law. Jujutsu sorcerers are only a cog in this retribution. If only more good people could receive fairness. I'll save people whether or not it's fair!

That entire monologue but especially the first sentence is true to Megumi and his life so far, the only thing fair about life is how unfair it is to everyone. Everything is chaos, especially the world of adults, something Megumi has not been sheltered from at all. Megumi's name was blessing, but his father who was responsible for taking care of him just ran off somewhere else and left him to the wolves.

You could even draw some kind of sick parallel to the king of curses himself, who refers to himself as an unwanted child. I don't know if we're going to get a sob story for Sukuna, but if the greatest curse in history was created because he was thrown to the wolves as a child, then that says a lot about sorcerer society. Megumi is just more aware of the dog-eat-dog nature of Jujutsu Society then the rest of the characters, it's why he's constantly trying to tell Yuji that sorcerers arent' heroes. It reminds me of two quotes from Buffy the Vamprie Slayer from Faith, another homeless teen exposed to the world's violence at a really young age with no adults to sheperd her.

Joyce Summers: You don't know the first thing about Buffy... or m Faith:  Don't I? I know what it's like. You think you matter. You think you're a part of something, and you get dumped. It's like the whole world is moving, but you're stuck. Like those animals in the tar pits. It's like you just keep sinking a little deeper every day, and nobody even sees! [...] Buffy: I gave you every chance. I tried so hard to help you, and you spat on me. My life was just something for you to play with. Angel - Riley- anything that you could take from me you took. I've lost battles before - but nobody else has ever made me a victim. Faith: And you can't stand that. You're all about control. You have no idea what it's like on the other side! Where nothing's in control, nothing makes sense! There is just pain and hate and nothing you do means anything. You can't even..."

Megumi's life is defined by this learned helplessness, he's not someone who at seventeen believed he had the complete freedom to do whatever he wanted like Gojo, he's trapped in the tar pits sinking a little deeper every day. There's a reason his Jujutsu Technique is shadows, which turn into muddy water when he uses his domain expansion, and why Sukuna bathed in black water to sink Megumi down to the bottom of his consciousness so he'd stop fighting back.

Megumi's someone with power, but with no real agency in how he uses it, as someone who avoids making choices, and asserting himself over ad over again. Unlike Sukuna and Gojo characters with overwhelming senses of self who seem to have complete freedom to choose, Megumi entirely lacks a sense of self, and therefore doesn't make his own choices.

Gojo: You sacrificed yourself so that Nobara could advance. Well, good for you. But people like Yuji and I... are always swinging for the fences. I'm not saying a sacrifice bunt is bad. Baseball si a team sport in which each member is expected to play their role. However, being a Jujtusu Sorcerer is an individual sport. Megumi: But isn't coordinating with other sorcerers important? Gojo: Yes, but no matter how many allies you have around you... you'll always die alone. Right now, you can only judge and match those around you instead of picturing a stronger future you. Maybe it's because of that ace in the sleeve you think in a worst case scenario if you were to at least sacrifice yourself all would end well. Keep that up and you can forget about becoming as strong as me, you won't even match up to Nanami. To die and then win, and dying victoriously are two completely different things, Megumi. Give it your all. It's okay to be selfish!

Megumi's narrative challenge goes beyond learning that it's okay to be selfish sometimes though, he's tasked with learning to cultivate a sense of self where he has none previously. You se Megumi is the most Jungian of Jung characters in the Jung manga, his power is literally the treasures he keeps hidden in his shadow. He's someone who continually fails to live up to his potential. He has no looked in his shadow at all whatsoever and therefore he's completly stunted in his development. His goal is to develop the ten shadows figuratively, but literally it's too cultivate a sense of self and reach adulthood as a fully grown individual and not the helpless child he is currently. He even is the first ten shadows user to develop a domain expansion, a domain expansion is a sorcerer using their innate domain (personal inner world) onto the outer world.

Megumi's endpoint is individuation (the process through which a person achieves a sense of individuality separate from the idenities of others and begins to consciously exist as a human in the world.)

As Jung Stated:

The aim of individuation is nothing less than to divest the self of the false wrappings of the persona, on the one hand and the suggestive power of primordial images on the other.

Jung's two theories on selfhood was divided between persona (what we are for other people) and the shadow (what we suppress about ourselves subconscious images we are controlled by). Here we have Megumi, someone who puts on the persona of being a mature, serious individual to survive in the world of adults, and also has the ten shadows which are representative of the suppressed undercurrents of violence but also his self-sabotage that Gojo identifies, suppressed emotions he is unconsciously controlled by. Both of these identities are Megumi and neither of them are.

Megumi's not a fully realized individual because he doesn't have a balanced sense of self at all, or even any sense of self because his two sides are all out of whack. In Jungian terminology the shadow is made up of primordial images shared by all of society, and what is more primordial then being literally possessed by a curse that's a character based off of a folk legend of ryomen sukuna in the real world.

Integration of the shadow is necessary for the process of individuation, Jung even names a confrontation with the shadow as a prerequisite for moral growth.

“The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge.”

Once again connecting back to Kohlberg's terms of moral development loosely, children see morals in terms of just outside consequences being applied to them. A child thinks "I can't steal this cookie because the adult who is the enforcer of morals told me it's wrong and will punish me." The final step of moral development is to create your own morals which apply to the world around you. Jung calls the shadow a moral problem because you have to become conscious that you yourself are capable of being wrong in order to properly render judgement on yourself. You can't judge yourself, or reflect on yourself, if you don't look at yourself properly, or ignore half of what you are because you don't want to see the bad in you.

The encoutner with theshadow and the confrontation with the beast is the first step of individuation, and what is Ryomen Sukuna if not one big shadow representing all the evils and selfishness of mankind. A cruel reflection of both Megumi, but also Gojo and Toji. Megumi, Sukuna says, this is how Gojo and Toji lived. They lived fighting from others and simply taking what they wanted, and no one could take from them.

It's extra ironic that Megumi is a blessing, and Sukuna refers to himself as an unwanted child.

Translation by @kaibutsushidousha

Sukuna is clearly a result of climbing to the top of the food chain after being thrown to the wolves, something which Megumi could become if he learned to wield his power that way and something arguably Gojo tried to push him towards (at least in the sense that Gojo wants to craft Megumi into a successor, into another Gojo). Megumi isn't nearly on Sukuna's level, but Megumi could become Sukuna, someone who only ever wields their power for themselves and only cares about being the strongest. That kind of person would never experience loss and discomfort the way Megumi did when he helplessly watched Tsumiki die. Sukuna is funcitoning as a beast for Megumi to compare himself to, even making Megumi himself feel guilty by getting Tsumiki's blood on his hands via killing her with his technique.

Kenjaku: What's the point of soaking in it? Ura Ume: To be near evil, and to submerge Megumi Fushiguro's soul.

Megumi has to confront Sukuna to learn that he is not like Sukuna. The other option is remaining helpless inside of Sukuna and just letting Sukuna completely have control. Regaining control of his body, and also discovering himself are essentially the same thing in this situation. Jung says that people who are unaware of their shadow, will be controlled by it, or at lest they won't realize that they're the ones messing up when things go wrong and will always attribute it to outside situations like fate instead of realizing they do have control and choices to make.

“The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not made conscious, it happens outside as fate. That is to say, when the individual remains undivided and does not become conscious of his inner opposite, the world must perforce act out the conflict and be torn into opposing halves.” (Carl Jung)

To briefly reference another manga.

For Megumi regaining control over his body and assserting himself would also mean accepting that he's the one making choices here, he's the one to blame when things go wrong, and he's responsible. I argued over and over again that Megumi is effectively helpless yes, but that's because he's symbolically a child in order to grow into an adult he would have to learn to take responsibility for his actions like an adult would.

Such a process would also involve having to admit to some degree culpability and fault to his own actions. To become a person living in the world and therefore capable of making mistakes, rather than a dead dinosaur sinking in the tar pits.

“If you imagine someone who is brave enough to withdraw all his projections, then you get an individual who is conscious of a pretty thick shadow. Such a man has saddled himself with new problems and conflicts. He has become a serious problem to himself, as he is now unable to say that they do this or that, they are wrong, and they must be fought against… Such a man knows that whatever is wrong in the world is in himself, and if he only learns to deal with his own shadow he has done something real for the world. He has succeeded in shouldering at least an infinitesimal part of the gigantic, unsolved social problems of our day.” — Carl Jung, Psychology and Religion (1938)

Megumi is obviously not even remotely close to there, not only is he blinded by shadows, but he's been referred to as a fool before this.

Let fate toy with you, before you die like a fool a prophecy which has been hanging over Megumi's head since the Reggie fight. You could take this as foreshadowing for Megumi's death, but honestly that's only if you're interpreting it in the most literal way possible.

Number one, what is fate in Jujutsu Kaisen?

Characters talk about it, but there's no canonical concept of fate. When Megumi asks Angel what God is, Angel says that you can just refer to God as a set of beliefs they have. In a Jungian reading, Fate is just what we attribute to things we think are out of our control but really aren't. It's not fate toying with Megumi, it's outside factors, and Megumi's own perceived lack of agency in his decision making.

Number two, what is death in Jujutsu Kaisen?

Remember this is the most Jung of the Jung manga, and when I hear die like a fool I think Tarot.

The Fool's Journey is a metaphor for the journey through life. Each major arcana card stands for a stage on that journey - an experience that a person must incorporate to realize his wholeness. 

In Tarot a set of 22 major arcana are used as stages in a metaphorical journey where an individual starts out as a newborn, a nobody, and becomes a fully realized individual through a series of stages and trials that prompt self reflection. Megumi would be in this manga the archetypical fool on the fool's journey, because as I said of the four main characters he's the one with the least sense of self and the most helpless. Megumi does not make choices, Megumi is pulled along by the nose.

We begin with the Fool (0), a card of beginnings. The Fool stands for each of us as we begin our journey of life. He is a fool because only a simple soul has the innocent faith to undertake such a journey with all its hazards and pain. At the start of his trip, the Fool is a newborn - fresh, open and spontaneous. The figure on Card 0 has his arms flung wide, and his head held high. He is ready to embrace whatever comes his way, but he is also oblivious to the cliff edge he is about to cross. The Fool is unaware of the hardships he will face as he ventures out to learn the lessons of the world. The Fool stands somewhat outside the rest of the major arcana. Zero is an unusual number. It rests in the exact middle of the number system - poised between the positive and negative. At birth, the Fool is set in the middle of his own individual universe. He is strangely empty (as is zero), but imbued with a desire to go forth and learn. This undertaking would seem to be folly, but is it?

The fool is in the center of his own individual universe, and is also strangely empty, a zero. A person who I'd argue like Megumi has no identity, and has to journey out into the world in order to find one. Once again, I'm arguing Yuji had a normal life for seventeenish years even if he's Kenjaku's science fair project, Nobara was raised in a small village, Megumi is the only person who was born within the small secular world of sorcerers and never experienced anything else (who is also one of the main four characters) and unlike Gojo is helpless and not the strongest dude in existence.

Death is a stage of the fool's journey, it's not the end or even a literal death but a transformation. The fool's journey argues that a symbolic death has to happen of the old self in orderto make room for a new one. Which is true for a lot of things of life, in order to grow into an adult you have to stop being a child. Entering the next stage of life requires leaving behind the last one.

DEATH: The Fool now begins to eliminate old habits and tired approaches. He cuts out nonessentials because he appreciates the basics of life. He goes through endings as he puts the outgrown aspects of his life behind him. He process may seem like dying because it is the death (13) of his familiar self to allow for the growth of a new one. At times this inexorable change seems to be crushing the Fool, but eventually he rises up to discover that death is not a permanent state. It is simply a transition to a new, more fulfilling way of life.

The next stage after death is the temperance, which has you know... an Angel, which there's totally not one of those in Jujutsu Kaisen. While I wouldn't say that JJK is a manga that strictly follows the fool's journey like say Tokyo Ghoul does where you can map out stages of the story to different major arcana, "let fate toy with you before you die like a fool" I think isn't a stretch to connect to the idea of death and what it means to the fool's journey.

Megumi arguably also has to let things die in order to progress as a person. Tsumiki is more or less dead by the beginning of the story. We never see her on her own terms just Megumi's memories and you can't be alive in a memory, there was never any chance of resucing her because we knew she was possessed by Yorozu we were just led into believing she might have been one of the people who awakened a curse technique instead. Megumi in a way as cruel as this sounds needed to let Tsumiki die, because there was nothing he could have done to help her, and he hasn't allowed himself to grieve or mourn her or move past her in any way. His entire identity is built around protecting his princess, but his princess isn't in another castle, she's dead. He needs to find a new identity, a new reason of living, and that can't be Tsumiki or even Yuji because Yuji is just a repeat of Tsumiki even in the sense that both of them are doomed by the narrative.

Megumi needs to let his sister die and mourn her, and that also requires being alive to mourn her when this is all over.

Sukuna: The destruction of Tsumiki Fushiguro will allow me to completely bury Megumi Fushiguro.

Sukuna argues that the death of Tsumiki will be the death of Megumi, but in reality that's just the death of who Megumi used to be. The person who defined himself entirely as being Tsumiki's protector and existing for the sake of her happiness is gone along with Tsumiki, but there's still a chance he could start from scratch. This is what Sukuna compeltely fails to take into account, but then again Sukuna doesn't even understand why people who are weaker than him bother struggling to live in the first place.

Sukuna: Well, allow me to ask. Why are you so weak? You're weak, yet you cling to life. Cotinuing on your path means destruction, yet you wish to be happy as long as possible. You should spend your lives stifling your misery/ Yuji: You should be the one trying to stifle this misery! Suuna: Come coloser. (Hm? Why is he so tough? No, that's not right! It's my cursed energy output that's low!) Damn you, Megumi Fushiguro.

Immediately after seeing this speech about how weak people should stop resisting him because it's futile, watching Yuji continue to resist him sparks inspiration for Megumi to fgiht back from within. All of this showing evidence that Megumi is not doomed, he himself can still move on to form a new identity after this "death" he's experienced of his old ones. In fact it's probably going to be what beats Sukuna, because this is Sukuna's blindspot he doesn't think weak people are capable of resisting him in any way.

Strong and weak are separate categories in his mind, he doesn't think people can grow. But you know, Megumi's whole narrative challenge is to grow up.

Why Megumi, why not Yuji?

Megumi and Yuji are close character foils and a lot of things I said for Megumi could be said for Yuji as well, but I am pretty firm in saying Megumi's going to live instead of either Yuji living, or them both living. As I said this is because of what I think the difference in Yuji and Megumi's arcs are, Megumi is the child that's supposed to grow up that's his backstory, that's what he is symbolically, the child neglected and failed by every adult who came into his life (Toji, Gojo) and by sorcerer society as a whole.

Megumi's goal is individuation, to grow into a fully developed individual, an adult. It would be too tragic even for this manga to have Megumi be neglected and abandoned all his life and then to die like a fool.

Well, wouldn't it be tragic for Yuji, too?

Yes, but Yuji's narrative has been setting us up for that tragedy since the first chapter.

Tragedies aren't just stories where sad things happen, it's a pretty rigidly defined narrative structure. A tragedy just like any story is about set up and pay off. You set up certain ideas early on in the narrative, you prepare your audience for an ending and you deliver on that ending, any last minute flips, twists, unless those are properly set up too are going to be seen as narratively unsatisfying.

Tragedies don't happen because rocks fall and everyone dies. Tragedies in the modern sense happen because of the choices of the characters made over the course of the story, in other words you reap what you sew.

Unlike Megumi's narrative arc which has been setting us up for him to grow up, Yuji's has been setting up the opposite since day one.

Grandpa Itadori: Yuji, you're a strong kid, so help people. It doesn't ahve to be all the time just whenever you can. You may feel lost. Don't expect gratitude. Just help them. When it's your time to go, make sure you're surrounded by others. Don't end up like me.

Yuji's narrative challenge, a literal dying curse given to him by his grandfather is for him to help people in his life so he'll die being surrounded by friends instead of dying alone. Everything Yuji does after that, and swallowing the finger in the first chapter, is contemplating the kind of death he thinks is a "Good/Natural Death" and the kind of ugly and unsatisfying deaths that curses bring on their victims.

Yuji's reason initially for agreeing to be executed is that if he eats all 20 sukuna fingers, then he'll prevent a lot of the unnatural deaths in the world that would have been caused by curses being drawn to those fingers. He draws a line against the abrupt, gruesome, early deaths caused by curses and their victims and the kind of death his grandfather had where he at least had a natural death at the end of a long life.

Death... Well, I can somehow feel death from the school. I'm afraid of dying. I wonder if grndpa was scared of death. No, probably not. I cried because I was sad, not scared. The death I face now, and Grandpa's death... how are they different? You're a strong id, so help epople. He was short-tempered and stubborn. No one went to see him besides me. Don't end up like me, huh? I guess so, but... I think you died peacefully, grandpa. (Faces a curse spirit) This is not a natural death.

No matter who they are, Yuji wants to spare them from an unnatural death, because he on top of that doesn't think he has the right to make judgement calls on who lives and who dies. Yuji is constantly contemplating his own death and what it means from the narrative.

In the Cursed Womb arc, Yuji feels like he can faith his death only for him to become so terrified in the face of fighting a special grade cursed spirit that he loses the ability to keep Sukuna under his control and can't switch back with him after letting him go. Yuji realizes his resolve isnt' as strong as he thinks it is when actually facing death for the first time, but also how to channel those negative emotions into something because he pulls off his first divergent fist in the heat of the motion.

When encountering Junpei and Mahito, not only does Yuji elucidate Junpei on why he doesn't want to make judgement calls on who lives and who dies because even if he inevitably has to be a murderer one day he feels like if he does life will lose its values, he also is confronted with Mahito the antithesis of Yuji's beliefs. Mahito's way of killing is to mutilate humans so horribly they are begging for death, the unnatural death possible. He creates victims who Yuji cannot save and cannot bring a natural death, only be mercy killed, and he creates another one of Junpei right in front of Yuji just as he was on the brink of saving Junpei from his unnatural early death and sparing him instead of hunting him down and killing him as a curse user as he is supposed to.

In The Origin of Obeidence / Death Painting Arc not only does Yuji realize the two people he's killed are living beings who cried for their family members (also his brothers what a twist), but also he is told face to face by Sukuna that his action of eating the first cursed finger which he thought would make less curses appear in the world, actually caused the curse fingers to resonate and draw stronger curses to them. The action that he thought would save more people in the long term, has in fact, killed some people in the short term because of this resonance.

In the Shibuya arc, basically everything is thrown in Yuji's face, what was foreshadowed in the previous arc that eating the fingers with Sukuna might not save a bunch of people in the long term turns out to be true. Now no matter how many people he could save by offering himself to be executed after eating all 20 fingers, Yuji still has caused the massacre of thousands in Shibuya because of eating the finger.

In the aftermath Yuji is mindlessly killing curses as a cog, until at least Megumi shows up and begs for Yuji to "start by saving me..."

Yuji's arc is a self-reflection and contemplation on death, and his goal is to die on his own terms, but also to die surrounded by people unlike his grandpa who would die alone.

Now, Yuji is currently the only character who has any interest at all in saving Megumi as a first priority (everyone else constantly just talks about the need to put Sukuna down first).

Saving Megumi at the cost of his life, fulfills Yuji's two narrative goals, helping people, and also dying surrounded by others. He also would be rejecting the cog mindset, because Jujutsu Society would say kill Megumi for the greater good above all else, it's what everyone else in this situation is prioritizing first. It's also fulfilling Megumi's request to Yuji "start by saving me..."

Yuji's death is tragic yes, but it would end in a way that's satisfying to his narrative arc. Yuji gets to determine the way he wants to die, and he dies out of choice, not as an unthinking cog, and not alone. Gojo's death is tragic, but it's also satisfying to his narrative, he wanted to live to be the strongest and using his strength selfishly even accomplishing some selfless goals and protecting others for selfish reasons and he got to go out on his own terms.

Yuji is the cage that Kenjaku built to contain Sukuna, and Yuji can probably devise some way to take Sukuna back from Megumi so he can choose once again to die on his own terms, this time at least for the sake of saving a friend who he can die beside.

Megumi's death would be tragic, and also unsatisfying to his narrative, because he wouldn't get the chance to grow up. He's not dying according to his own choice here either, if he's killed alongside Sukuna then he's being mercy killed, or sacrificed for the greater good (the greater good). Megumi didn't choose to get possessed, and if he's killed here by Yuji, or Yuta, or Maki or whoever he's not choosing to die either, or even getting to die fighting like Gojo did.

Jujutsu Kaisen is a tragedy, but it's also one where we have been telegraphed by the narrator that the society will have changed by the end of the narrative. The central goal of the narrative is to allow these ids to grow up in a better world, and become fully realized adults and in order to do that a few of the kids actually have to survive to adulthood. I argue that Megumi will be the one to survive, because he's the most childish, and with the most growing to do. It will still be tragic in a way, Megumi who only lives for others, having to learn to live for himself is about as bittersweet as you can get. However, if Megumi's narrative goal is to learn to live without Tsumiki, without Yuji, then the only way for him to do that is well... to live. Even if it's lonely, or hard, Megumi needs to live on past the end of the manga.

[purity-town]

No update today because I’m still working on scripting + kicking off the next chapter. Lots of fun NPC interactions in this next one, so I’m excited, but I'm still playing around with different cover designs. But in the meantime, ask responses under the cut!

(Disclaimer: My art style is pretty cutesy/cartoony and I don't show characters ages very accurately. Below is still their intended ages at the end of the day.)

Of the main group of mortal characters we’ve seen so far:

Chris is around 26-27 -- while he still lived with his family and worked at their shop up until just before the start of the comic, it wasn’t a case of “having no ambitions and never growing up.” He had a lot of family obligations keeping him there, and put in a hefty bit of effort to make sure they would be fine without him after he finally left to pursue his own things.

The Arms Dealer and Nurse are both in their mid-30s or so; they’re close to the same age, Malik just started going gray earlier. Both have lived in the region for a good while and are pretty comfortably cemented in the community/established in their respective jobs.

The Zoologist is in her early-mid 20s; she’s had time to get some solid experience with animals and start putting together her Bestiary but is still a bit younger than many of the other folks. There’s also a good bit of an age gap between her and the Golfer, who’s her older brother.

Not entirely sure about the Clothier, haha. He’s called the Old Man for a reason.

(Not mortal, but Andrew claims to be in his late 20s. Looks wise, he seems a bit younger. The Dryad similarly appears as a young adult woman.)

(I haven't thought much on other NPCs ages outside of general "kid, adult, older adult," hence why I only have ideas for a few characters.)

Everyone’s ages are pretty rough outlines as I’m not 100% committed to specifics. I also didn’t include the immortal characters' actual ages in that list as they have a much weaker sense of time passing and are much slower to grow/change as people; their exact age is fairly meaningless at the end of the day compared to the mortal folks (think like the band The Mechanisms if anyone's familiar with them).

That being said, for timeline purposes, Andrew is roughly 460 and Alalia 540. Alalia was one of the youngest Dryads at the time of the war, while Andrew wasn’t born until several decades after the war -- while it seems like a large gap, Terraria was in a bad shape after the war and 40 years passes in the blink of the eye on a planetary timescale.

Thanks!! I'm slowly branching out to using new tools/techniques, so I'm glad it came across well.

This is something of a two-sided problem: why I didn't want Chris to have the Shield of Cthulhu and why I did want him to have the Worm Scarf.

Reasons against the shield:

Difficult to include in his outfit/design in a visually coherent way

Difficult to hide even by my standards of "he can pull out and put away his gem hook whenever he wants lol," so I have to commit to drawing it

Difficult to draw -- complicated design and looks different at different angles

Difficult to show it being used -- I have to show him dashing "through" enemies, and getting close to monsters, which just introduces various challenges

Reasons for the scarf:

Easy to work into his design visually -- can be worn more as an "accessory" than a scarf, or can be hidden under his cloak collar

Immediate reward from the Eater of Worlds -- outside of using shadow scales to create a Nightmare Pickaxe Chris doesn't benefit much directly from the EoW fight, though he'll pick up the void bag/vault post-dungeon. He hasn't gotten much in the way of stronger weapons/armor/accessories to-date, so he'll be picking up a lot of upgrades before Skeletron, and this was an easy one to work in so that he didn't get them all at once.

Building up the concept of "Chris can manipulate magic // Chris can create tangible drops from vague energy" and showing growth as Chris gets more used to his abilities

I'll admit that I went back and forth a lot over whether or not he should get the worm scarf, but I eventually figured it was worth it to include. I really only bother showing drops that matter -- hence why I also didn't include things like healing potions or unholy arrows from the Eye of Cthulhu. I won't be 100% consistent with him getting expert drops; like, I don't intend to include the Bone Glove from Skeletron (the Book of Skulls is more important story-wise).

Though I do have to consider how I'll make Chris eating the demon heart make sense in context without coming too out of left field...

[mah-o-daryaa]

For a show that's progressive, one-of-a-kind, ground-breaking for its time, and relies on "Show, don't Tell" a lot throughout the series, it bugs me how ATLA (or, more specifically, Bryke) preferred to tell the audience that Aang is a master airbender without showing us why. I mean, Toph, Zuko, Azula, and Katara are all shown practicing and improving their mastery in bending (although Katara has become rather overpowered), so why can't Aang have the same treatment?

Yes, Aang may be a child prodigy, and he did get airbending tattoos from inventing the air scooter, but I personally think that inventing an airbending technique (which demonstrates impressive ability and skill) is a way to gain the arrows prematurely, but isn't a requirement. Nothing in the show ever suggests just how far he's mastered his native element, let alone the other three. In the beginning of Sozin's Comet, Part 1: The Phoenix King (3:18), Aang says he thinks he still needs to practice his firebending more (which in hindsight makes sense, as he's just started relearning it from the dragons five episodes ago), and Toph notes that his earthbending could use more work too. Right off the bat, Aang is two elements away from complete mastery of all four, but later on he's seen practicing waterbending with Katara, implying he hasn't mastered it either.

We don't even see Aang practicing his airbending by himself post-iceberg, preferring to show off to random girls (like in Kyoshi Island). He just learns the elements, but doesn't really learn the philosophies behind each element. In this regard, he makes Kuruk and Roku look venerated in contrast. (To be fair to Aang, he had a specific deadline to master the four elements before Sozin's Comet that no other Avatar besides Wan had to deal with, but couldn't he try to make an effort to learn from the other nations?) Additionally, compared to Tenzin and Zaheer, Aang doesn't stand a chance against either of them (even though Tenzin is his son, but since Tenzin wasn't the Avatar, he could focus on upholding the Air Nomad culture and legacy). Even Jinora could go toe-to-toe with him at similar ages. He isn't really that impressive in any of the elements, to be honest; we've seen what a master of any specific element can do in both ATLA and LOK, as well as in the novels.

The main thing people often get wrong is that mastery isn't a final goal; it's a specific mindset. As in Pai Sho, what separates true masters from everyone else is that true masters always look for improvement in their strategy or skills. That's why Aang isn't a real master of the four elements: He always takes the easy way out, never trying to better himself or improve what he can already do.

I think this quote from Zaheer perfectly sums up what I've been saying: When you base your expectations on what you see, you blind yourself to the possibilities of a new reality. Even though it stems from his anarchist beliefs, it is genuinely one of the more insightful pieces of wisdom in the franchise because it promotes progress, a constant theme in life. Toph was able to invent metalbending because she wanted to "see" a reality where she could be recognized for her own talent in spite of her blindness; Zuko could learn firebending from the dragons because he could see a reality where he would regain his honor and fight alongside the Avatar, and so on. By contrast, Aang only takes things from surface-level, not putting any effort into understanding the true meaning of being the Avatar.

Speaking of Pai Sho, guess which Avatar constantly improved his/her abilities? Kuruk. Unlike Aang, Kuruk readily asked his companions, Jianzhu, Hei-Ran, and Kelsang, to continue teaching him, ever after he mastered the four elements that he was required to do, saying they would all benefit from the experience (the "true master" quote I mentioned above was actually said by him). Not only that, it was even inverted; sometimes they taught Kuruk, other times he taught them (which technically makes him the first known Avatar to teach bending to others). He was right, as during their lifetimes, they were the most powerful benders of their respective elements in the world!

Kuruk also had an intuitive connection to each of the four bending philosophies, which to this day remains unrivaled by any other Avatar, and was also one of the first people to suggest the idea that the four elements are connected (homeboy's literally a younger Water Tribe Avatar version of proto-Iroh, I'm honestly not going to be surprised if Iroh actually learned his belief from Kuruk during the former's visits to the Spirit World over tea and Pai Sho matches). If you ask me, Mone, learning the cultures and philosophies of the four nations is way more important than mastering the four elements, because the Avatar isn't just the bridge between the four nations; he/she is also the symbol of a unified world, and the franchise is saying that only one Avatar even bothered to do that? In my opinion, if we go by this rule, that easily cements Kuruk as the greatest Avatar in history!

Aang, on the other hand, never does this. Instead, he puts the Air Nomads on a high pedestal (which in turn causes him to place Katara on a high pedestal), and doesn't respect or learn from other nations' philosophies. He openly disrespects SWT culture and actively makes sure Tenzin doesn't have any exposure to the culture that Tenzin still belongs too, and worse, he pushes his own culture on other people's throats (remember the time he forced a homeless couple to "give up on hope because it's a big waste of time"? Or the time he forced Katara to not murder Yon Rha?) and values his own nation and values above the rest of the world (like the time he refused to kill Firelord Ozai because "all life is sacred", even though he has actually killed before, but if he doesn't kill Ozai, the latter's going to burn the entire Earth Kingdom to the ground!). That doesn't sound like something the Avatar is allowed to do, but Aang gets away with it anyway because ... hero?

There's actually another Avatar who focused on his/her own nation above the rest of the world. Avatar Szeto, Yangchen's predecessor, became a government official in his homeland, the Fire Nation. Under his tenure, the Fire Nation transformed from a fragmented, disaster-stricken state to the centralized, technologically-advanced nation we know of today. Unfortunately, this led him to neglect the other nations and, shortly after his death, the four nations were caught in a political event known as the Platinum Affair, which Yangchen had to deal with, eventually kick-starting the cycle of the current Avatar fixing their past lives' mistakes, while leaving problems for their future selves to fix. This problem might have even led to the growing ambition of Firelords Zoryu and Sozin as dictators, with the latter starting the Hundred Years War.

Aang not only valued his own nation's values above the others, he also forced said values on his non-Air Nomad companions; signed anti-miscegenation laws and tried to forcefully deport Fire Nationals from the colonies to return the land to the Earth Kingdom, even though they had already blended in with Earth Kingdom citizens, didn't wan to be separated from their families, and Zuko perceived the citizens of mixed heritage as his own subjects; refused to let his family practice SWT culture, even though his children could benefit from being members of both cultures, not just one or the other, and set an example for mixed-race families around the world; refused to teach Kya and Bumi Air Nomad culture because he thought they weren't airbenders and therefore "not real Air Nomads", even though they were just as Air Nomad as Tenzin was, if not more; and forced Tenzin to uphold the legacy of an entire nation on his shoulders. The fact that this was all written by complete accident is the cherry on top, representing just how badly Bryke screwed up.

... On a completely unrelated note, The Other Side of Paradise by Glass Animals (which is also one of my favorite songs) is definitely a Kuruk song. The last third of the song in particular sums up his tragic journey as the Avatar so well, and I always think of him while listening to it.