#like on a shitload of levels

[fishmech]

yeah it was fucked up how horse drawn wagons dominated city designs for millennia, including most american cities.

Basically, I've created a new type of device. And I want to go everywhere with it. So if you don't build every city to exclusively prioritize the usage of this device over everything else, you're taking away my freedom. Basically. You have to build every city around the assumption that everyone will have one of these devices, and you have to build everything so that if you don't have one of these devices it's impossible to get to, and you have to demolish the infrastructure for everything else to make it easier for me to take my device around. And if you don't, that's because you're tyrannical and impinging on my freedom. Basically. By the way my device is fucking ginormous and runs on make the weather bad juice. Just so you know.

[bitegore]

Odd to me that the whole "x trans group has it worse, actually" people seem to both be really optimistic about how cissexual cisgender society views trans people of every stripe, just about different groups. Like they don't see any of us as one of them. There's still regular degular transphobia and its fucking everpresent for literally every trans person there is. There's no passing so successful that you opt out of society beong transphobic on literally any side.

[lesedacondyvidi]

So re: the species dysphoria post I rb'd earlier....

I don't really relate to it, particularly. I did come into knowing who I actually was pretty late, later even than patricia did. But I did have those moments where I looked back and thought "oh thats me being egg. That was me being trans and not knowing it" and I have had no small amount of those moments like, I suppose, you'd expect of a trans woman whos starting closer to 30 than 20.

what i *do* have is many many incidents of seeing people turn into animals in kids movies/books and feeling something unknowable stir inside me, something that felt inappropriate, something i couldn't tell anyone about.

Like this never happened to me. Didn't happen to me for anything that I can remember, not even the horny stuff that many cis ppl relate to I'm sure, but. I have a quite hazy recollection of that time in my life and it's not getting any clearer as I approach 3 decades. So, maybe thats a wash. But what I do have is seeing profiles with "ΘΔ" on it somewhere and relating to a lot of what they post. Nothing quite so intense as a phantom limb, or feeling Like An Animal like some therians do. But just like... really really wishing that I didn't have to be.... this? Any of this? When patty wrote about what being a furry is and said that a huge component of it was sensory I was like yes. You. You get me. Because it is!!! I've always wanted to be big and soft and its taken me until now to fully embrace that, but its a huge part of my identity. Its a bigness and a softness that is not possible in the human condition. And. I don't know if craving that impossible thing makes me meaningfully distinct from anyone else. Don't we all do this to some extent?

I know that I do see people w/ furry vtuber models and I fantasize about doing that but like. fully mocapd so I could like "break character" but still like. Be me.

What the fuck does that mean? That I want this created sense of myself to overtake my real self so fucking badly.

What the hell does it mean that I've gotten the chance to even FAINTLY embody this me that I made via this silly fucking custom player model I had made for minecraft, and I never want to go back. I've played with it so much that it feels wrong now, to simply be two blocks tall.

What the fuck is that? What does that fucking mean? And what the fuck am I supposed to DO about it.

[the-punforgiven]

Man, Metal: Hellsinger's still fun as fuck

Running a bit worse on my pc now though, not sure if that's because of some update that came with the dlc or because my pc's getting old though lmao

[squapejuice]

literal actual shower thoughts but Regulators are horrifying

Things we know: Trauma doesn't just go away due to lack of memories of it (consider all the abuse victims that don't remember what they went through but still live with the trauma), like, that shit literally rewires your brain in a way I don't think a little device would be able to undo Some traumas scar the soul on such a fundamental level that not even the aetherial sea can wipe them away. So imagine you're a kid growing up in Solution 9 with an abusive parent. That parent dies. Your memories of the parent are wiped. Now you have a shitload of PTSD and no possible way of remembering what happened or why you're suddenly hypervigilant.

It's almost like societally enforced gaslighting. How the hell are you going to work through that? You're not allowed those moments where you're like "holy fuck that explains a lot" because all your memories have been removed so you're just stuck with the constant pain and no functional way to untangle why. Especially because Solution 9 seems more like the kind of society where "Happiness is mandatory" but instead of therapists it's being locked away until you start acting better.

A good sign of a well written cyberpunk dystopia is that the horror hits you in a "wait" sort of way.

[m4rs-ex3]

anyone who says tdp "ruined rayllum" can meet me in the denny's parking lot. i will truly never believe that the writers broke up rayllum (physically i mean) just as a plot contrivance. this is not me defending my favorite show and my favorite ship; i genuinely believe this was the right move. even when i was young and dumb and first heard about an arc 2 i was like "pff rayllum isn't gonna break up," and yet in the back of my mind i was just wondering how are they gonna pull this off? like i loved them and i know they loved each other and they were sweet little babies blah blah blah but you cannot sit here and tell me that the two 15 year olds who went through a whole shitload of trauma and grief together and who were already killing themselves for each other out of hopeless devotion within 2 weeks weren't bound to crash and burn. people seem to forget that rayla didn't simply decide to leave just because; she was being tormented by her unresolved issues and could not stand to be in that place anymore, no matter how much she loved callum. of course she left because a) that's all she's ever known and b) because they couldn't last (how they were, anyway). rayla and callum had grown to rely on one another so much that they needed time to grow up on their own, and now, well...

there is no better way to test love than to put it through the ringer and see if it survives, and rayllum not only love each other just as much if not more, truly understand each other on a whole new level despite having been apart for so long, and now are back together and stronger than they've ever been. it was entirely logical and frankly inevitable for this to happen, it was a natural progression for the story, and it has made them better.

[found--family]

i don't blog about sam often but when i do it's about the missed opportunities.

crack thought: imagine sam drinking any demon who wouldn't give up dean's location and when they reunite demon!dean's like dude you've been drinking my kind? that's fucking rude.

but yes to demons taunting sam about his bloodfreak past: eat me. no, wait.. drink me? bc they know it would make sam powerful but also fuck him up and having one of the winchesters fucked up would be a win for the badguys no matter what's going on. and crowley might mention sam drinking a prince of hell could be the thing they need to take down some threat.

and whether he does or doesn't drink demonblood again sam does start practicing witchcraft under rowena's tutelage and she's awed and delighted to see sam's "demonblood" telekenisis return to him like a latent ability (and premontion dreams?) and ofc loreboy is a natural at spells and enchantments and we see him use more magic on hunts with dean being iffy about it at first and making jokes bc he's worried sam might go too far that rowena might lure him to the dark side or sam's past bloodfreak status might naturally steer him down the wrong path. but eventually it becomes a normal thing and dean realises it's par for the course for their lives. and ofc it opens the door for chaotic besties sam+cas to create some fun and/or dangerous messes which is wonderful.

soulless!sam would've totally drank some demons. 

sidenote: hbo!sam would totally continue drinking demonblood - he would drink a demon that goaded him just to shut them up and also get a powerboost, what of it? - embracing his bloodfreak status while also practicing witchcraft. 

in the first episode of season 10, sam’s got a demon tied up and bloody and he’s trying to get her to tell where crowley is. she says ‘eat me’ and my first thought is ‘yeah he’d like to wouldn’t he’

[katyawriteswhump]

sleigh bells ring, I'm not listening! (steddie holiday drabble/bingo/whumpcember)

For @steddieholidaydrabbles day 5 prompt, Winter Sports; my first @steddiebingo fill, ‘Dustin Henderson,’ and @whumpcember day 21 prompt, ‘bruises.’ (It was originally day 5 prompt, concussion, but I ended up sparing the boys that for once!)

WC: 977; Rating T; CW: None; Tags: established steddie, mild whump hurt/comfort, fluff.  Maths terms provided by my partner. I have no idea what they mean and have doubtless misused them.

Summary: Steve loves all sports. Apart from winter sports. So, when he’s literally dragged from bed to go sledding with Dustin and Eddie, he’s surprised when it turns out rather magical…

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Remind me why I agreed to this?” Steve trailed a sled along the snowy track. He glared hotly at Dustin, then pleadingly at Eddie, who trudged on his other side. “It’s too cold for anything other than fucking… sleep.”

Eddie smirked. He didn’t look as miserable as Steve, which was annoying. Dustin, meanwhile, was having none of it:

“Dudes! This is your once-in-a-lifetime embarkation on a voyage of mathematical curiosity. Today, we’re exploring chaos theory! Mandelbrot bifurcations! Feigenbaum constants! You’re never gonna paddle those icy waters alone.”

“You wanna stick a pin in that balloon-head?” Steve asked Eddie, “or should I?” 

Eddie laughed then sneezed dramatically. Steve stopped dead. “You know what? I love sports. Apart from winter sports. Skiing. Luge. Skating. All that shit. Hate it.”

“You worship at the altar of ice-hockey,” pointed out Eddie. 

“Whose side are you on?” Steve nearly yelled: I’m not being dragged into this by a pair of sport-hating geeks! Instead, he mumbled, pathetically, “Wanna go home.”

By now, they’d reached Hawkins’ top sledding slope. A smattering of kids zoomed down the super-compacted ice. Eddie regarded the scene with a misty smile, which shocked Steve out of his grouchiness.

“I’m in, Henderson.” Eddie’s smile evolved into a full-on-adorable, dimpled grin. “I got great memories of this spot—me, mom, and a big-ass tea-tray. Who needs a goddamn sled?”

“We do.” Dustin whipped out a stopwatch. “We’ve a shitload of interesting variables at play here. Let’s go.”

‘Science’ commenced. Dustin sledded first, then Steve, who gritted his teeth and endured. Eddie went last, screaming his way down the slope… 

“…like a little girl,” said Dustin to Steve, super-earnest. “A little girl who’s in need of hugs, Steve.”

“Bullshit on so many levels.” Steve pointed to a nearby grade-school sledder. “She isn’t screaming. And my boyfriend’s scream is totally metal.”

“Okay. Just, y’know…” Dustin mumbled behind his hand, as Eddie approached with the sled. “He needs more hugs.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. Huh?

After several more runs, Dustin leafed through his notebook. “Interesting data. Now, both of you—on the sled.”

Steve planted frozen fists on his hips: “No way. Not big enough.”

“It’s fine,” said Eddie. “Totally bigger than mom’s tea-tray.”

Steve silently surrendered yet again. Eddie treasured memories of his mom, who passed when he was young. This clearly meant a lot to him, as well as Dustin, so Steve took pole position to steer—as much as anyone could with a dumb rope. Eddie perched behind, wrapping his arms around Steve, notching his chin on Steve’s shoulder. It was super-cosy, and… yeah, super-nice. They didn’t usually get this close in public, plus they’d avoided showing affection in front of their friends lately because—

“Ready?” yelled Dustin.

Steve’s nerves jangled. Eddie yelled: “Hell, yeah! Steddin’ with the Devil!”

“3, 2, 1, GO!”

Heel-power propelled them off. Wind whooshed through Steve’s hair, while Eddie unleashed his most deafeningly ‘metal’ scream yet. It was a bumpy ride, but mega-fun. Steve found himself grinning madly, though fearing for his hearing, and then:

“Shiiiiit!” He spotted the rock way too late. On impact, the world flipped, and he was thrown from the sled, landing heavily on his side. He suppressed a whimper, because something else mattered way more:

“Eddie?”

His heart lurched to his throat, pounding madly even after he spotted Eddie lying in the snow. Steve scrambled up, limped gingerly over: “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie finished his snow-angel and sat up, shaking his hair like a wet dog: “Mom said it ain’t sledding till you crash.”

 “All good, gentlemen?” panted Dustin, skidding to join them.

“Apparently.” Steve dumped his bruised butt down next to Eddie.

“Great,” said Dustin. “Why aren’t you hugging?”

 “Uuuuuuh, should we be?”

“Yes!” shouted Dustin, and it all blurted out. Apparently, ‘science’ had a secondary agenda.  “You used to be all lovey-dovey smoochy! Lately, you’ve hardly touched. I figured if I got you squished on a sled, adrenaline rushing, old magic might rekindle?”

Steve merely gawked at Dustin, whose recent weirdness began to make sense. Eddie, meanwhile, threw his arms around Steve’s neck and spoke between bursts of crazy laughter: 

“The issue here, Dustin Henderson, is lack of Party communication. We stopped touching, because Max said we made her wanna hurl. Mike complained it was creepy! We’re still in love! I mean, when you thumped on our door today, we were totally fu… cuddling.” 

“Oh,” said Dustin, visibly brightening. Eddie resumed cackling into Steve’s shoulder. Steve took his cue to fling both arms around Eddie and burrow close for warmth.

Once back home, they got dry and toasty, gently kissing each other’s more visible bruises. Eventually Eddie, stretched out on the bed, noticed Steve’s slight limp. “You got another bruise to show me, Baby?”

Steve tugged down his pants, revealing a mottled rainbow-spectrum of colors spreading up his thigh and ass-cheek to his hip. He coyly arched a brow. “Honest to God, today was a blast and totally worth it… but, yeah, that spot requires serious kissing better.”

“Looks too sore even for kisses.” Eddie flung open his arms. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t you dare be. It was my shitty steering.”

“C’mere. Right now.”

Steve obeyed, rolling back into the enthusiastic lovemaking that science and goddamn Henderson had interrupted. He bitched about his bruise, but only slightly—especially as Eddie lavished extra care on nearby areas, with lips and tongue, to distract him.

“Sledding again tomorrow?” suggested Eddie, much later, while they snuggled inside watching fresh snow falling.

“You are joking, right?”

“Don’t worry, Stevie. Your ass is safe… though maybe not from me.”

Eddie’s answer segued into a sweet, lingering kiss, which Steve returned enthusiastically. He’d learned important shit today about his two favorite people. Eddie loved sledding. And Dustin loved his friends loving each other. Steve still blindsided himself, breaking the kiss to whisper:

“Maybe more sledding next week?”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I’m having too much fun with this someone stop me—

Important to note that I have wanted a speech-capable bird as a pet for pretty much my entire fcking life and have yet to have had the opportunity. Parrot, crow, raven, I care not, just. Chatty bird please.

I did get to meet a parrot one time when I took my niece trick-or-treating and I was dressed as a pirate who tf woulda guessed right not like I have a ton of clothes in my closet that I can use to throw together an impromptu pirate costume at a moment’s notice or anything hahahahaaaaanyway, and one of the people handing out candy was this older gentleman dressed as a pirate WITH AN ACTUAL FUCKING PARROT AND I GOT TO HOLD IT ISTG I ALMOST CRIED

My niece and I got extra candy out of the deal, too. Best Halloween ever.

ANYWAY. Writing a character in animal form is always a shitload of fun, and I am living for this nonsense.

And how mad this sassy mfer is going to be when he figures out what's going on SCREEEE

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch.5 of who even fcking knows,probably at least seven at this point

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time.After finally arriving at Kuraigana Island after months of training, you discover that the Red Hair Pirates are also docked there while their Log Pose syncs and they repair their ship after a small battle...and, on the verge of fighting with Mihawk after spending the past half an hour or more taunting him, Shanks is the first to notice you perched in a nearby window in your devil fruit form.

Previous chapter, First chapter

Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count:3,618

Taglist:@i-am-vita

♫♬Acid Jazz Singer- The Fratellis♬♫

And it’s one time, keep it slow, wind them up and here we go

Get it right today and you may still be here tomorrow

Your entire world slowed around you as you considered the situation you had just embedded yourself into. Not one, but three powerful pirates, two of whom were staring straight at you.

One of whom looked as though he had just won his weight in gold at the mere sight of you.

Your act, you had to remember your act, your persona, a simple pet of one of many ill-fated pirate crews on the Grand Line. Fear was surely still a reasonable enough reaction to the sight before you, then.

So, without another thought, you ruffled your feathers out into a defensive stance, throwing your head back and flapping your wings rapidly, shouting, “Danger! Danger! Danger—”

“Oh—no, no, no, no, no danger, it’s—stop that, I’m busy—”

Shanks shoved Mihawk’s sword away and slowly sheathed his own sabre, holding his hands up as he slowly inched toward the window you were perched in, as if to show that he posed you no thread.

“It’s fine, we’re all friends here,” said Shanks went on softly, hands still raised, inching ever closer to the window of the castle you remained perched in. You took a cautious step back in spite of yourself, your eyes darting around, quickly assessing the situation at hand.

Mihawk was all but gawking at Shanks in a mix of utter disbelief and quickly growing rage—Shanks had, after all, spent the past half hour antagonizing him into a fight, only to withdraw the moment he was distracted.

Beckman’s gaze remained far more level, his brow furrowed as he watched your reaction to Shanks’s approach.

So you quickly ducked backward into the darkened room of the castle behind you, hiding behind the corner.

“N—no, no, don’t hide, it’s alright—we were just having a little a fun, isn’t that right, Hawkie?”

“I swear to God, Red-Hair—” you heard the other pirate respond through gritted teeth, clinging to the wall just inside the window with your talons, your heart racing.

“See?” Shanks went on, ignoring his murderous tone. “Just a little fun, that’s all, you’re safe—”

You stared in growing trepidation as he reached his hand slowly through the window, and the moment it was an inch away from you, you bit down hard on one of his fingers.

“Ow—” He pulled his hand back in an instant, and you could practically hear him pouting when he spoke again. “...it bit me.”

“What the hell did you think it was going to do, join your damned crew?” said Mihawk, giving a derisive scoff.

“Yes,” said Shanks, defensively.

“No,” said Beckman firmly.

“But—!”

“I spend enough time cleaning up your messes, I’m not cleaning up bird shit all over the ship on top of it.”

“I’d clean up after it.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, come on—Hawk-Eye, you’re part bird, help me get it—”

“I’m not part bird, you complete moron,” snapped Hawk-Eye. “Get the damned thing yourself.”

Shanks was quiet for a long moment as you fought to gain control of your breathing, to calm your racing heart...and then—

“Fine, if you wanna clean up bird shit all over your castle—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

You heard quickly approaching footsteps following the irritated grumble, and part of you considered ducking further back into the castle...but you knew you couldn’t. You shouldn’t. This was your opportunity.

A moment later you let out a strangled squawk as his hand closed around your neck and he jerked you away from the wall you were clinging to. He held you out at arm’s length, still scowling. Shanks slumped back against the castle wall, still pouting. “How come it didn’t bite you?” he complained.

“Because I was smart enough not to give the damned creature a chance to,” he shot back, tossing a brief glare at Shanks before turning his yellow eyes back on you.

You steeled your nerves before tilting your head to the side and blinking a few times, and forced out in the most chipper tone you could muster, “Hiya!”

Shank’s jaw dropped in borderline outrage, but Mihawk only lifted an eyebrow. Beckman gave an amused scoff as he ashed his cigarette. “Looks like you made a friend, Hawk-Eye.”

“That’s not fair,” said Shanks, pushing away from the castle wall and approaching. “I was being nice and—”

As he drew closer, you ruffled your feathers out again, shouting, “Danger! Danger!”

“I’m not the dangerous one, he is!” Shanks shouted back, gesturing at Mihawk.

“Yelling probably isn’t going to help, Cap,” Beckman pointed out, crossing his arms and smirking at the spectacle. Mihawk was still holding you at arm’s length as you continued shouting, his yellow eyes shifting between you and Shanks. He shifted his arm, holding you further away from the redhead, and you quieted down. Then, just as slowly, with the slightest spark of interest in his expression, he shifted you closer to Shanks again.

You immediately resumed shouting.

“I don’t think it likes you very much, Red Hair,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk at the dejected look that fell over Shanks’s face. Mihawk held you further away from him again, his grip loosened around your neck now, and you expelled a sigh, your feathers smoothing back down. You still remained tense, well aware that he could easily snap your neck in a moment’s notice if you made a single wrong move...but his amusement at Shanks’s disappointment was likely a good sign. If all you had to do was continue to insult him, then you were sure you could manage.

“Stupid bird,” Shanks complained, kicking at a piece of rubble and slumping back against the pile of stone next to Beckman, crossing his arms.

“I’m fairly certain there’s only one birdbrain in the immediate vicinity, Red Hair,” said Mihawk.

“Birdbrain!” you repeated, and his eyes shot back over to you as Beckman gave a snort of laughter. You tilted your head again. “Hiya!”

“...Hello,” he said dryly—and finally released you from his grasp without any notice, causing you to drop to the ground before you could so much as flutter your wings. You quickly hopped back up to your feet, ruffling your wings out a bit to shake the dirt off of them, and flew back over to the windowsill you had been perched in, turning your head around to preen your feathers while the three pirates watched you in bemusement.

“Strange creature,” Mihawk commented after a moment, turning and striding back over to the broken wall and taking a seat again.

“I don’t think they usually talk in wild,” said Beckman. “Probably came from a ship.”

You turned your head quickly at the word ship, squawking out, “Wind in your sails! Wind in your sails! Hard to port, boys!”

“Aaaagh!” Shanks groaned again, flopping his head back dramatically. “It’s not fair, I want it—”

“Birdbrain!”

“Oh, shut up,” he snapped, and it wasn’t entirely clear whether it was in response to your comment or Mihawk’s small chuckle of amusement.

“Well.” Beckman straightened out, stubbing out his cigarette on the crumbled stone behind him and flicking the butt away. “I think it’s pretty clear the locals don’t want us here, Captain.” Shanks tossed a glare at his first mate, but straightened out himself, arms still crossed over his chest, lips still pursed in a pout.

“Fine…” he sighed, his arms falling limp at his sides. He rolled his eyes over to Mihawk, quickly regaining his composure and giving his so-called ‘friend’ a debonair grin. “I look forward to our next little visit, Hawk-Eye.”

“That makes one of us,” Mihawk commented in his typical dry tone, laying his sword out across his lap again without so much as glancing up.

You watched from the corner of your vision as Shanks and Beckman disappeared into the shadow of the surrounding dense forest, relaxing only the slightest bit at their departure. You had managed to fool all three of them so far, and evidently made a good first impression on your target. That was good. That was progress. You turned your gaze back toward Mihawk slowly, swallowing, debating on your next move.

And froze when he lifted his head suddenly, looking directly at you as if he had sensed your gaze.

He then rolled his eyes and went back to detailing his sword.

“You’re free to leave any time,” he said.

You quickly perked up, letting out another excitable, “Hiya!” He let out a small growl of annoyance in response, grumbling something under his breath about that idiot Red-Hair, to which you responded, “Birdbrain.”

He let out another amused chuckle, before freezing and looking back up at you with a frown. “Stop that. Just—shoo.”

It seemed his annoyance stemmed more from his own reaction to you rather than toward your presence itself, from the fact that he was already interested in you and your presence seemed to threaten his solitary existence.

This could be a good thing, you decided. If nothing else, he was intrigued, and you knew you could work with that.

Once he had turned his attention back to his sword, you hopped down from the edge of the window and to the dusty ground below, keeping your eyes trained on the pirate as you inched slowly closer, sidestepping against the edge of the castle wall.

Freezing in place when his eyes shot toward you again.

Inching a little further, a little closer when he lowered his gaze again.

Freezing yet again when he looked up. He frowned at you for a long moment, standing still as a statue, your gray plumage blending you right into the stone castle wall behind you. Several tense seconds passed before he heaved a sigh, leaning back the slightest bit. “You’re a persistent little pest, aren’t you?” he said, lifting an eyebrow...and then slowly, almost reluctantly, he raised his arm, holding it out toward you.

Progress.

You fluttered your wings, flying the short distance over and landing on his forearm near his wrist, wrapping your talons around carefully to keep your balance. He lifted an eyebrow at you as you perked up and let out another enthusiastic, “Hiya!”

“Yes, hello,” he said, almost dismissively.

“Hiya!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he grumbled, shaking his head and running his free hand back through his hair. “What are you even doing here? Lost your old crew?” He gave a small scoff as you tilted your head. “What were they? Pirates? Marines?”

As if prompted, you immediately ruffled your feathers out around your neck, flapping your wings in agitation—”Danger! Danger! Dan—”

He jerked back the slightest bit at your reaction, and you snapped your beak shut at the sudden motion. He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, his expression more curious than annoyed. After a moment he spoke, almost carefully. “Pirates.”

He was testing you. You ruffled your wings a bit, and turned your head around, preening your feathers without showing the slightest sign of interest.

“...Marines—”

“Danger! Danger! Hard to port! Fire at will! Fire—”

“Alright, alright, enough,” he snapped, shaking his arm, wincing a little as you tightened your talons a bit. He heaved a sigh when you settled down. “I suppose it’s safe to assume you’re not particularly fond of...er, the bureaucracy.” He lifted an eyebrow as you loosened your talons, and inched sideways across his arm, your movements slow and cautious. “What are you doing?” You inched a bit further, keeping your eyes trained for any sign of him striking out—and you saw none.

A little closer, until you were nearly on his shoulder, deciding to push your luck to gauge his reaction.

You leaned your head back, and let out a dramatic, “Mmm-mwah! Pretty bird.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression deadpanning, blinking at you slowly.

“You’re worse than Red-Hair,” he said finally.

“Birdbrain!”

“Indeed he is,” he agreed—and then shook his head, shifting his shoulder toward you as if to shift you further away. “Why the hell am I talking to a bird—shoo already—”

You gave a startled squawk, shifting quickly back down the length of his arm, settling closer to his elbow and tilting your head to the side. His mouth fell into a frown, and he shook his arm a bit, in more an experimental manner than an aggressive one, testing your reaction again.

“Shoo,” he said once more, far less firmly.

You lifted one of your wings, ducking your head back behind it...and slowly lifting it to peak out at him, noting the small spark of interest in his gaze despite his best attempt to continue appearing annoyed.

“Pretty bird!” you exclaimed once more, a bit more quietly this time, before ducking your head back down behind your wing again.

He remained silent for some time, and you remained still, waiting for any sign of reaction from him. Finally he heaved out a long sigh, his posture relaxing again. You lifted your head to peak out over the top of your wing again as he looked at you with an irritated sort of resignation. “Yes, fine,” he said dryly. “Pretty bird.”

“Pretty bird!” You folded your wing back behind you, bobbing your head up and down a couple times, your own tension easing as he let out a quiet chuckle and shook his head. “Pretty, pretty girl,” you added, punctuating the statement with a low whistle.

“Oh, so you’re a lady, are you?” he said with a wry smirk. “I suppose I should apologize for my rudeness.” Despite his clear sarcasm, he gave another small chuckle, tentatively lifted his free hand toward you, and lightly brushed his index finger across the gray feathers at the side of your head. “You know, you’d likely have been far better off following that idiot Red Hair back to his ship.”

“Birdbrain!” you commented, tilting your head toward his hand as he gave a small snort of amusement.

“Yes, the birdbrain,” he agreed with another light chuckle, his wry smirk shifting toward a small, genuine smile. He went on stroking your feathers idly for a moment, shaking his head. “And what, precisely, am I supposed to do with you?”

If nothing else, it was comforting to know that his violent nature didn’t extend beyond humans. He was warming up to your presence far more quickly than you had anticipated he might, but your own knowledge was limited solely to the intelligence the Marines had gathered from his reign of terror and bloodshed across the vast expanse of the Grand Line. His interactions with Shanks suggested he certainly preferred a solitary existence, and that his initial dismissive attitude toward your presence may have been more for show than anything, for the very sake of keeping up his reputation.

Nothing about his present demeanor suggested any of that. The fondness in his eyes as he surveyed your own reactions was almost comforting in itself, almost familiar—you had seen the same look in you mother’s eyes when she cared for the birds at the aviary, felt the same fondness for the creatures when you helped look after them.

It took some effort for you to remind yourself that you were dealing with an incredibly dangerous pirate, dangerous enough that the World Government considered him a threat.

“Pretty bird!” you said again, cooing the words out, watching as he let out a huff of amusement.

“What a vain creature you are,” he commented, smoothing back the feathers at the top of your head. “Though I doubt you can survive on compliments alone. And if Beckman’s correct, you’re likely not suited to living in the wild...the humandrills don’t particularly take kindly to any new creature in their territory…” You only tilted your head in response as his words turned toward introspective mutterings, his mouth turning down into a thoughtful frown.

At length he let out a sigh, rolling his eyes and lying his head back for a moment. You tensed as he stood up, lifting his sword with one hand and resting it back across his shoulder, clearly making an effort to hold his opposite arm steady in front of him as you remained perched there, still frowning at you with an air of resignation.

“I suppose I have some reading to do if you aren’t going anywhere,” he said.

You could hardly believe your luck as he shook his arm out slightly, directing you to shift over to his shoulder. You followed the wordless instruction quickly, your talons grasping lightly at the fabric of his shirt to keep your balance as he stooped down to pick up his plumed hat. Rather than the obstacle that Garp and Bogard had assumed they would be, the brief presence of the Red Hair Pirates on the island had practically ensured your initial success at winning over the otherwise reclusive target of your mission.

If you managed to come out of this mission alive, you were going to be certain to rub that in both of their faces.

Minutes later you were perching in one of the high windows of the castle, watching as Mihawk drew his fingers across the rows upon rows of dusty books in the orange glow of the candlelight in the library, his head tilted and his sharp yellow eyes scanning across the titles etched into the spines of the innumerable tomes.

“Nothing about birds so far,” he said, mostly a quiet utterance to himself, but he still glanced toward your silhouette in the window as he spoke. “I do hope you don’t end up being more trouble than you’re worth, bird.”

You ruffled your feathers a bit, tucking your head down and nearly closing your eyes. He gave a small scoff at the sight of you relaxing, rolling his eyes before resuming his meticulous perusal of the books in the library.

“You’d best hope I find something if you don’t want to starve to death,” he commented. “I have no intention of going out of my way to accommodate you.”

“Pretty girl,” you responded, along with a brief series of kissing noises and a low whistle, and you would have been smirking yourself if you could have when he let out a quiet, amused chuckle in response to your commentary.

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware you’re a pretty girl,” he responded airily from behind a row of books.

Some time passed before he finally gave up, propping his sword against one of the many shelves and falling back into an armchair near the empty fireplace at the center of the room. You hesitated at your perch on the window for some time, watching him run a hand back through his dark hair in clear, stretching his arm out across an arm of the chair and strumming his fingers, his lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

You finally decided to join him there, flapping your wings a few times to gain enough momentum to glide over and perch at the edge of one of the arms, tilting your head when he glanced over at you, waiting to see whether he would shoo you off or welcome your presence. He frowned at you for a long moment, before finally rolling his eyes and holding out his hand.

“Troublesome creature.” His tone was still light, almost affectionate, his mouth curving into a small smile as you crept from the edge of the chair to perch on his arm. “I suppose I do need to make port for supplies soon. It wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to learn a bit more about you, would it, pretty bird?”

“Pretty bird,” you responded, inching closer, settling yourself just above his elbow.

He brushed his knuckles against your feathers at the side of your head, giving a small chuckle as your eyelids drooped in response to his touch, before tucking his hand behind his neck and shifting back into the chair, his eyes slipping shut.

“Yes, pretty bird,” he repeated in a resigned sigh, his tone quiet and almost gentle.

Your eyes slowly drifted back open, watching him as he relaxed, your mind racing in spite of your own exhaustion. You hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Your target was supposed to be a terrifying, murderous sociopath with no regard or concern for any life apart from his own, an enigma that the Marines regarded as an unfeeling monster. Instead you found yourself staring up at a perfectly normal, albeit somewhat reclusive man, his mouth still curved into a small, fond smile in response to your presence. His smile lingered even as his breathing grew slower and deeper as he drifted off to sleep, just as your gaze lingered on his features.

He had been far kinder to you than the vast majority of your supposed comrades even had.

He could have easily snapped your neck the moment he first touched you...but he hadn’t.

Once more you shifted up his arm, perching yourself on his shoulder, and just to test his reaction, you nuzzled against his neck.

He lifted a hand in his sleep to absently swat at the disturbance, his expression twitching toward irritation for a moment—and then softening as his hand settled lightly into your feathers, his fingertips brushing across your wings before his arm fell across his lap, still fast asleep.

Little as you liked it, you were quickly becoming as interested in finding out more about him as he seemed to be interested in learning about you.

You liked it even less that you already felt comfortable enough to let your own eyes drift shut, the sound of his own slow breathing lulling you toward sleep.

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

[moonstruckme]

If you don't mind, a request from me about a reader who's growing up with an almond mom and an environment where instant food or drink is a sin

So the day she moves in with steedi and they like have a cabinet full of instant food, can fruit and like fast food every week? Amd reader being free can't hold herself and end up has stomachache for being greedy or something like that. Please

Thanks for requesting!

cw: vague mention of household with restrictive eating, nausea, stomach pain

Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 396 words

“M’gonna be sick,” you mumble, curling around your stomach. 

“Told you so,” Steve quips, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. On the table in front of you, an array of empty junk food containers lies scattered about like a graveyard of indulgences past. 

Eddie grips your hip to haul you towards him, cooing when you groan. “Damn, you really demolished some dessert tonight, huh? Way to go, superstar.” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, but lean into him anyways. He pinches your side, and you bite back a yelp. “I’ll throw up on you, Munson, I’m serious.” 

“You’re meaner like this than you were when you weren’t having any good food,” he decides, impervious to your glare.

“You’re mean. My stomach hurts, and you’re bullying me.” 

Steve takes pity on you, reaching around Eddie to pull your feet into his lap, where he rubs them consolingly. 

Eddie snorts. “I’m not trying to mom you, but I think I know why you have a stomachache.”

“I’ll do it. You need to eat a vegetable” Steve says, still massaging your feet whilst he disparages you. “Your stomach’s probably trying to tell you it’s pissed off because you haven’t had anything with nutritional value in, like, days. You’re gonna feel like shit until you eat something real.” 

“Mm. You do a great mom impression,” you tell him flatly. 

Your boyfriend levels you with a look just as deadpan. “If I don’t see you eat an actual meal tomorrow, you’re gonna be in shitloads of trouble. How’s that?” 

“Spot-on,” you mutter. Then sigh. “I get it, I’ll eat better. I just wanted to try it out, you know? I never got to do this stuff before.” 

Eddie laughs. “That’s obvious. It’s like having a ten-year-old in our kitchen.” 

“A ten-year-old who can reach the top shelf,” Steve adds. “That’s worse than Dustin.” 

You make a miserable noise that you hope sounds pitiful. “If I promise to lay off the junk tomorrow, will one of you please rub my stomach? It really hurts.” 

Eddie eyes you cautiously. “Are you still going to throw up on me?” 

“No,” you say, hiding your uncertainty by batting your eyelashes up at him. “That part’s passed.” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite buy it, but he needles his arms under yours anyways, hands splaying over your bloated abdomen. “Fine. Tell me what to do, baby.” 

[semisomnosres]

I'll try to throw in a little bit of lore

A mysterious disease that only the Norisu clan could resist at the cost of their lives. Unfortunately, it was not possible to completely eradicate it and it terrorizes the city to this day, and only a ninja, thanks to the mask, can fight monsters without being absorbed by this filth. The disease is called the “Sorcerer’s Curse”; in ancient Japan it was believed that all illnesses and misfortunes were the fault of demons/yokai/punishment of the gods and other evil spirits. It all started with the fact that one of the first infected was mistaken for an evil sorcerer who cast a curse on everyone, which was completely wrong, but rumors spread like wildfire, and somehow, imperceptibly, this name stuck. (The First already has a shitload of things to do, he is one of those people who, if he could, would not blink so that he could work more, but coming up with an adequate name and then accustoming people to it is clearly not what he wants to spend his time on.)

Mutated beasts appeared just as unexpectedly along with the infection. Ugly, evil, hungry creatures, wreaking chaos and eating everyone they find. They usually live and hunt in their own territory, but at the same time they have the audacity to sneak into the city to hunt. The curse had a strong impact on the environment, poisoning the land for years and changing it over so many years so that some places resemble nightmares. (For example: Trees that look like a trypophobic hell, boiling swamps where even the steam burns to the point of pain, living pieces of meat growing straight from the ground and other delights that an adequate person would not want to see in person)

It’s relatively safe within the city, except for moments of monster attacks (which a ninja can handle) and shitty weather: hail of icy needles, acid rain season, etc. This is already common and people have adapted to such conditions over so many years. But there are also truly dangerous places where only a ninja or a complete idiot would go. (the level with the swamp from Dark Souls says hello)

From time to time, Randy has to go there voluntarily (forcibly), because only there can he get ingredients for some drugs (like those cones for creating smoke bombs) Infected people - It is quite easy to distinguish from animals - by preserved human features, personal belongings, hair, and the ability to speak humanly (but usually it turns out something incoherent, or the infected person repeats the same word) Over time, their consciousness and body will change more and more: they will begin to forget about themselves, become more aggressive and experience constantly incessant pain from body deformation and insatiable hunger (The speed of development of the virus depends on the person, some can retain their sanity and control over their actions to the last, while others They immediately break down and begin to attack those around them)

Although there are difficult situations, it will be possible to reverse the transformation, but there is an exception. - if they eat a person, or simply taste blood, then they are immediately classified as beasts and belong to extermination. (there is another point of infection, which I will talk about a little later). As in the canon, they are also called Abominations, but for a slightly different reason. In origa, their breath simply stinks, here the unpleasant odor appears due to the decomposition of cells by parasites. They smell like rotten meat in swamp soil and metal.

Logically, I decided to make changes in the approach to battles. (combat medics) They also use weapons/magic, etc., but in the original the ninja has a choice of how hard and how deep he will push the nunchucks into someone’s insides, there are more choices of poisons and types of heals.

Another idea is that it depends on the character of the ninja whether the treatment will be painless or even the feeling of an injection will be the same as being hit with a knife

And I will mention a person who has an important role in the city - McFist. As a true smart-ass capitalist, he managed to make money from the epidemic. (And more precisely, selling all sorts of devices for home protection, umbrellas against acid rain, alarms, etc. And his second profitable industry is the funeral home) Not to say that he is a straight-up villain here, he rather has the vibe of an annoying neighbor. It infuriates him that a ninja, in the heat of fulfilling his duties, can (accidentally) ruin some of his stores, and the ninja is annoyed that it’s up to him to clean up the consequences of some of his awesome ideas (for example, he will build a plant right near the borders of the city, where in the end the pipeline became for monsters highway directly to the city sewer system.)

[biteofcherry]

Helloooooo I have a question about got Steve, how would he handle/react to omega going through a bout of burnout at work?

Grain of Truth

Alpha Steve Rogers x omega female reader

warnings: none; it's pure comfort and fluff, and Steve being bossy;

As you type away the summary of your last patient's visit, your fingers smack into the keyboard with more force and less grace than usually. But it was either murdering the keyboard, or snapping in annoyance at your patient.

And you wouldn't do that.

You are professional. To the point of knowing that it's not really the patient's fault that irritation bubbles inside of you.

It's the burden of the past six months of working dutifully, dealing with a shitload of new bureaucracy politics, struggling with limitations set by the healthcare department.

The weeks of work that feels like swimming against the current.

But you're going to push through. You have to. Your patients are counting on you (and on your ability to stop yourself from strangling them).

Saving your report, you take a deep breath and silently pray there are still some danish pastries in the lounge room. Darcy brought them this morning, but since you had sessions back to back you weren't sure if the flock of clinic employees haven't devoured them all already.

If there's none left, it's possible you will snap and go on a murder spree. Or break down in tears.

Before you make it to the door, however, they open and a familiar, huge silhouette fills the frame.

"Steve?" You look at him, surprised.

"Omega." There's the usual softness to his tone, but the way his gaze scans your form is leveling up the disapproval.

"You look tired." He frowns, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

"Way to compliment your mate." You glare at him.

Perhaps it would convey your annoyance, if the moment wasn't ruined by your stomach growling loudly. Which in turn makes Steve's frown deepen and his disapproving glower harden.

"Please, tell me you didn't skip lunch." He asks, but you know the please is just a decorative chime, because your Alpha is dropping into his dominating, commanding state.

You are tempted to say you didn't skip lunch, which would be a lie and both of you know it.

"I was about to eat," you say instead. "There are some pastries in-"

"That's it. I'm taking you home." Steve announces.

"What? No! I have reports to finish and materials to prepare for tomorrow, and-"

"And you've been overworking yourself for the past weeks. You come back home half dead, you're moody, less focused, you skip meals. You cursed and almost cried when you picked up a phone call from Maria a few days ago, because you were scared she wanted you to take an additional shift."

You're about to counter his points, because even if those bits are somewhat true, it doesn't mean he can just barge in and decide you're going home.

But there's another sentence that falls from his lips, another change he notices. When he says it, he sounds really worried and angry - not at you, but at your state. At the state your work has put you in.

"You haven't watered your plants in almost two weeks."

To someone outside, it would sound ridiculous and like the least important change. But Steve knows you so well. He knows your patterns and recognizes which changes are the most alarming ones.

It's true. Your plants still bring you joy, you love having them and looking at them, but you haven't been able to make yourself move your ass and water them.

Sometimes it happened, that you skipped a day or two from your usual watering routine. Missing over a week was a drastic change. But you just couldn't make yourself do anything. You just wanted to drop into bed, sleep dead, because you had to get up in the morning and return to work.

That damn, fucking work.

"I can't just-" you let out a sigh and try to reason with him.

Even if you're feeling like crying, because your Alpha has noticed your strain and is ready to battle whatever is draining you, you can't just pack up and leave.

"But I can." Steve nearly growls. Not in that fun, hot way.

He steps closer, grabs your handbag from the shelf and hooks it over his shoulder. Then, before you even decipher his intention, he swiftly picks you up.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck.

"Steve!" You squeak. "Don't be ridiculous! Put me down and let me work."

"No." His tone is unyielding.

"Steve!"

"Maria prides herself on being the most efficient clinic manager, she can put her skills to use and deal with you taking a vacation." Your Alpha says as he basically kicks the door open and carries you out, without an ounce of shame, or hesitation.

"You will take leave, Omega." Steve growls and this time there's that pure Alpha timbre to it that sends a shiver down your spine. If you weren't so exhausted, you'd probably be instantly aroused.

"If I have to tie you up to the bed to have you take a break and relax, I will."

"You can't solve everything by being so damn bossy," you grumble, but don't put any fight against his hold.

"Watch me." Steve challenges, being his typical smug Alpha asshole.

He yanks you up a bit and tilts his hold so that your head rests on his shoulder, closer to the crook of his neck where his scent is so prominent and soothing.

You nuzzle into that spot on instinct, taking a deep whiff and feeling your muscles relax as you're cocooned in your Alpha's protectiveness.

[codename-adler]

it’s just that- we’re leaving neil’s pov behind. we’re getting our whole world reframed. and by none other than jean mf moreau. there is no one, and i mean no one, that could top neil “stupid raging bastard meow-meow with an attitude problem and shitloads of mafia trauma” josten’s narration than jean “classy raging bastard meow-meow with an attitude masterclass and shitloads of mafia trauma” moreau. i’m loving this ‘passing of the torch’ moment if only bc i know jean would be coldly infuriated and utterly ashamed to be neil’s heir.

i mean, the possibilities!!! what’s his internal monologue going to be like? what’s his awareness level? what does he remember? how does he remember it? what has he forgotten? what doesn’t he know? what does he know? what will he tell us? which characters’ whole persona will be reframed by jean’s pov?

we’re allowed access to jean’s mind. a mind that has not been spared by life, Riko, Tetsuji. a mind that has nearly been broken. a mind nearly lost. a mind with eyes we’ve never seen through before. do you get how precious that is?

we’re getting the chance to come back, and not only come back, but with a fresh perspective at that. a perspective we’ve imagined countless times since aftg came out. a perspective we’ve cherished with the utmost care. and we’re getting it. jean’s eyes. oh, jean’s eyes.

thank you neil for your story. it’s sad and painful to leave behind your voice, which we know all too well, as clear and familiar as the back of our hands. it’s scary too; we’re losing all our bearings. our instincts. you’ve given us everything. to think there is a whole world out there in which you are just another life, it’s fascinating and terrifying.

i cannot wait to read what miss sakavic has in store for us and jean. i cannot wait to read jean. i simply cannot. this is more than a gift.

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.34

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story is set in the Jujutsu Kaisen universe/slight AU where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel, separate from Itadori Yuji's body, and is accomplices with the Jogo, Geto/Kenjaku, Mahito gang.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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

CHAPTER 34– Inferno

You fiddled with the whistle in the pocket of your uniform, the cold metal gliding over the anxious sweat of your palms. Your feet hit the floor with restless taps, matching the frenzied pace of your mind as one worried thought spiraled into another. Gojo’s voice barely filtered through, which was quite a feat considering the animated way he delivered his lecture. The usual symphony of Yuji’s warm laughter and Nobara’s sharp quips had faded to white noise.

Only Megumi seemed to share in your mental absence, his dark eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window while his foot maintained a slower but equally restless rhythm. Yet you doubted his worries were as nauseating as yours, as bitter with the poison of forthcoming betrayal.

You glanced at the clock. Less than two hours until…

Your insides coiled with the same uneasy dread that had sent you running yesterday.

After that kiss, you’d raced home, breathless and frantic, your shirt sticking to your back, hands clutching at your hair in panic. Why, oh why, did you have to go and do that?

Flustered beyond coherent thought, you’d resorted to humanity’s most primitive—and perhaps most childish—defense against an inevitably mortifying rendezvous: pretending to be asleep.

On the couch, you leveled your breath to slow and even waves, closed your eyes, and held your face perfectly still in artificial peace. You maintained this vigil through the eternal hour it took for Sukuna to return.

When the lock finally clicked, you tracked his footsteps through the apartment with quiet focus, ears perked to catch each shuffle of his sandals across the oak floor.

Halfway to his room, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A heavy sigh drifted down to where you laid, and for an agonizing minute, you wondered if he could see the thumping of your heart.

You wondered what look he was regarding you with. Was it disgust, detachment, anger… endearment?

The soft squeak of his bedroom door finally broke the tension, and with him back in the apartment, the familiar pressure of his cursed energy settled into the air. Oddly enough, you found it calmed your frayed nerves rather than set them on edge.

Like a cozy weighted blanket, it soothed you to sleep…

This morning, you’d woken to an empty apartment—no trace of his energy. Sukuna had already left, taking that strange comfort with him and leaving you with a shitload of worries and a whistle in your pocket.

You tilted back on the rear legs of your chair, nearly losing balance but not even flinching because, well, if you fell, it would have been well-deserved.

Sure, you’d managed to negotiate some measure of safety for your friends, but whatever Patchface and Volcano-head were coming to steal would become just another piece in their grand design against Jujutsu society. What you were about to do was still inherently evil, would still inevitably lead to chaos, violence, even death down the line.

You tried to comfort yourself with the thought that even without your complicated feelings for Sukuna, the binding vow would have forced your hand anyway.

So why did that do nothing to ease the writhing guilt in your gut?

A sudden weight on your shoulders snapped you out of your spiral of self-loathing. Nobara’s perfume, vanilla and jasmine—wafted up your nose as she leaned close.

“Class ended five minutes ago, slowpoke. What are you spacing out for? Don’t tell me there’s a guy on your mind—” She punctuated her question with a playful flick to your ear before gently tucking a strand of hair behind it.

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

You shifted to put your notebook away, but as you ducked to reach for your backpack, something snagged your collar. “Hold up—just fixing a fold…” You glanced over your shoulder to find Nobara’s perfectly manicured nails pulling at the fabric until…

Her eyes widened to saucers as she caught a glimpse of your nape.

Well, shit. What was it with people peeping down your neck these days?

“Nooo way! It really is a boy…” She squealed so loudly that all eyes in the room snapped to you. You frantically gestured for her to lower her voice, and thank god, she quickly piped down.

Fine, she’d caught you—but that didn’t mean your cover was blown, right? Any random guy could have left those marks. She had no reason to suspect you were sharing a bed with the King of Curses.

“Relax, your little secret’s safe with me,” she whispered, yanking you up from your chair with surprising strength. “But whoever he is, he’s clearly a beast. And you didn’t even tell me? I’m wounded.” A dramatic pout found her face and she clutched at her chest in offense.

For the briefest moment, her eyes softened as they drifted off. “So that’s why you’ve been acting so weird lately. Huh, figures…”

She said it so quietly, you felt the words were meant only for her—yet you were glad you caught them. There was something awfully relieving about knowing she could stop worrying about you, even if her assumption was worlds away from the truth…

You turned your head when Yuji jogged over, a lunchbox tucked under his arm, with Megumi trailing behind, hands buried deep in his pockets.

The four of you found a sun-warmed bench outside, settling in for lunch as a gentle breeze carried the scent of sweet blossoms across the courtyard. Your mind found a peculiar sort of peace as you bit into your sandwich—not true peace, but something close to it.

Maybe it was the way the sunlight dappled through the courtyard’s leaves, casting gentle shadows that danced across your skin. Or maybe it was the way Nobara’s laughter rang pure and clear again, unburdened by the weight of unspoken concerns, certain that there were no more secrets between you.

If only she knew.

Your gaze wandered to the training grounds, where hard-packed sand stretched out around the rust-colored gravel track. Beyond it, rows of trees formed a forest, casting shadows over patches of moss that mosaiced the ground. High grass and dense bushes offered perfect coverage—the kind one might need to summon a curse away from prying eyes.

Three o’clock. That’s when you’d have to do it.

The only challenge left was finding an excuse to create a moment alone in that forest during the training session.

You’d just have to improvise.

You took another bite of your sandwich and with your next blink, a wall of white suddenly blocked your vision. Confused, you blinked again, but still there—

A wall of white… fur?

Your eyes drifted upward, and—

“Hrkk—” The bite of sandwich caught in your throat as you found yourself staring into the dark eyes of a—

“No way… you’re Panda? The second year’s Panda?” The words tumbled out before you could catch them, manners forgotten in the face of absolute absurdity. But how could anyone blame you?

You’d heard whispers about ‘Panda’ here and there. He’d been mentioned during your training with the second years when he’d been absent, away on a mission. But you’d just assumed it was some kind of nickname, maybe for someone particularly big and cuddly, not an actual walking—

“Huh? What are you gawking at? Of course I’m Panda.” He scratched behind his black-furred ear with his massive paw, a playful smile puffing up his cheeks. “Seen any other panda-shaped students around the school grounds? You’re not the brightest, are you, new kid…”

A walking—and talking panda.

Okay, calm down—you’d seen stranger things these past couple of months.

In the background, your evident shock sent Nobara into a fit of hysterics. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Oh god—your face—” she wheezed between laughs, until a sharp flick to the side of her head cut her laughter short.

“Ow!” Nobara yelped, rubbing the reddening spot as Maki materialized behind her, adjusting her glasses with a smirk. “Are you sure you should be laughing? As I recall, you screamed like a spooked chipmunk and hid behind Gojo-sensei when you first met Panda.”

A furious blush spread across Nobara’s cheeks. “I did not! That’s—”

Meanwhile, Inumaki had stepped out from behind Panda’s shadow, his collar pulled up over his nose and his purple eyes darting back and forth, silently witnessing the scene from a safe distance.

When your eyes met, he offered a gentle, “Kelp,” lifting his hand in a tentative wave.

You returned his greeting with a small wave of your own and a soft smile, grateful for his simple ‘hello’ in this circus of a meeting.

After a few more minutes of Nobara’s defensive yelps, Maki’s cutting retorts—she was a master at verbal sparring if you’d ever seen one—and Panda’s occasional rumbling laughter that shook the entire bench, Yuji finally seemed to process something from his perch atop the backrest.

His legs dangled loosely as he tilted his head. “Why are you guys here anyway? To watch our training session?”

Maki pushed her glasses up onto her head, the lenses catching the sunlight as she let out a sigh of irritated resignation—like she’d already known this would happen but was certainly still annoyed by it.

“Huh? Of course he didn’t tell you. That deadbeat idiot.” She clicked her tongue. “We’re not here to watch; we’re leading the training session.”

Your ears perked up, stomach dropping at this unexpected change of plans.

As if you weren’t stressed enough already.

“Wait, um,” you interjected, words coming out a bit too cold as you tried to keep the nerves from creeping into your voice. “Why isn’t Gojo leading? I thought—”

Maki cut in, a sharp edge to her smile that made you shrink back slightly. “What’s wrong? Think we second-years can’t handle teaching a few basics? Trust me, I’ve got plenty to show a rookie like you.”

That’s not exactly what you meant but—still desperate for an answer, you glanced at Panda, who caught your silent plea for clarification.

“Most of the teachers were called away on an emergency mission,” he explained, stretching his paws high in the air. “That’s why we’re filling in.”

The teachers got… called away?

Oh no. No, no, no.

The blood drained from your face as the implications of this new reality hit you.

With the first-grade curse you had to release, and if Mahito and Jogo decided to act up, to overstep their bounds… God, you weren’t even sure if Sukuna had kept his word. Maybe they’d orchestrated this whole ‘emergency mission’ themselves—leaving all of you defenseless, at their mercy.

You felt sick.

Yuji gently tugged at your sleeve, his bright eyes dimming with concern. “Hey, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost… you sure that sandwich isn’t expired?” He eyed the half-eaten lunch in your trembling hands, but you couldn’t reply. Your eyes fixed on the faint outline of the whistle pressing against your thigh, knowing if you met anyone’s gaze right now, the truth would come spilling out like water from a broken dam.

It rose so high up your throat. You could only stare and swallow, swallow, swallow again until it stayed down—

You straightened your features and looked up, only to find everyone staring at you.

“I’m fine, sorry, maybe it is expired… I—”

You fell silent again.

Luckily Megumi noticed your unease and came to your rescue. He pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s almost two,” he said, all eyes snapping to him instead.

“We should head to the training grounds.”

You thanked him with a tiny bow of your head for his quiet ability to read the room. He might not show it with his stoic exterior, but he was easily one of the most perceptive when it came to others’ feelings.

The tension dissolved as quickly as it had built, everyone falling into animated discussions about sparring pairs while you hung back, trying to steady your breaths.

Everyone except Yuji, who lingered beside you with that gentle smile of his, eyes curved into crescents as he gestured at your sandwich.

“Want me to throw that for you?”

You forced a kind smile in return and nodded.

It wasn’t like you could manage a bite with your nerves clamping your throat shut anyway.

At the training grounds, everyone quickly settled into pairs. And it didn’t take long to realize who they’d decided to pair with you.

Maki tossed the wooden bo staff your way, sending you stumbling into an awkward sidestep as you barely caught it. The confident smirk she wore left no doubt: she’d taken your earlier remark as a slight against her teaching skills, and she was absolutely going to make you pay for it—bad sandwich or not.

You tightened your grip on the weapon until your knuckles went white against the worn wood, but it hardly mattered—because Maki had already blurred into motion. One moment she was standing there, the next—there was a sharp thwack of wood on wood and your weapon went sailing across the training grounds.

“Too slow,” she commented from behind you as you jogged to retrieve your staff.

God she reminded you of that mercenary who nearly took you out—Toji, was it? The same lethal speed, the same complete void of cursed energy that rendered your technique useless. The same taunting smirk playing at her lips as she twirled her staff in lazy circles—a mirror image of him—both so damn confident in their ability to make you eat dirt.

And well, she did.

Again and again, she disarmed you—either the stick or your ass hitting the ground. 

And each time you retrieved your weapon, your eyes were drawn to the big clock mounted on the wall across the field, its hands creeping closer to three despite your prayers to please let time slow. 

You hadn’t even figured out a proper excuse to sneak off to those woods yet. 

“Getting tired already?” Maki’s voice cut through your distraction and you sighed, turning to face her, bracing for another graceless defeat. But as you prepared for your stick to go sailing across the field for the umpteenth time… it hit you that—that might be exactly what you needed. 

You loosened your grip just enough to ensure it would fling—far. Your eyes fixed on a spot near the treeline as you turned your back to it and took a few calculated steps backward, disguising your intent as defensive positioning. 

You pretended to raise your guard and—this time, when Maki charged, you angled the stick ever so slightly, letting her momentum do the work. 

The impact made the wooden weapon spin through the air in a perfect arc, disappearing far into the woods before landing in the undergrowth with a soft rustle. 

“I’ll get it,” you called out, already jogging toward the forest’s edge, forcing a casual stride even though it felt more like a run for the gallows. 

There was no backing out. Bound by the vow, your only option was to put your trust in Sukuna’s word: 

Hell, even your little group of friends could exorcise it if they used their brains… 

“You better be right, asshole,” you whispered under your breath as you pushed past the first row of bushes, each step carrying you deeper into the shadows.

The sounds of training grew muffled, replaced by the nervous chirping—no, screeching—of birds. It was as if they knew, somehow they knew, their calls a desperate plea against the wrongness about to unfold. 

You stopped when the last remaining sounds of sparring finally faded away, leaving you alone with the knowledge of what you were about to do—what you had to do. 

You knew you had to, but the metal felt like heavy lead as you guided the opening of the whistle toward your mouth. Your hand trembled—whether from fear or guilt, you couldn’t tell anymore. 

You clenched your eyes shut, no use in delaying this, and drew in one last breath of innocence before your mouth found the whistle and you blew— 

Birds shot from the trees in a startled exodus, their wings flapping frantically, fanning the dead leaves from the branches. 

Then… silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that comes before a storm. 

Before everything goes to hell. 

You tucked the whistle back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your body moving on its own as the sudden realization struck: you were alone in the woods, and that curse could appear at any moment. 

Quickly you pushed your way back through the leaves and bushes, passing by your bo staff as your imagination conjured phantoms out of the shadows in the corner of your eye, until finally—mercifully—you burst through the last line of bushes, greeted by the warm glow of sunlight. 

“Took you long enough,” Maki hissed, still waiting at the forest’s edge. You dropped your gaze, tracing idle circles in the earth with the staff—you couldn’t look her in the eyes, but since silence would be even more damning— 

“Sorry,” you mumbled—sorry for what was about to happen, sorry for the chaos you were about to unleash. 

“Guess your throw really sent it flying… You’re strong, Maki.” 

You weren’t even sure why you felt the need to mention that, maybe to patch over your earlier comment which she’d mistook, maybe to reassure yourself that this group—your friends—could handle whatever was coming. Your eyes drifted up for a small hesitant peek across the training grounds, taking in the symphonic violence. 

Yuji and Nobara moving like wind and thunder, Megumi’s shikigami locked in a waltz that challenged Panda’s brute force. 

Inumaki stood at the sideline, a quiet sentinel… 

Would it be okay?

The thought had barely formed when the ground began to tremble—not a gentle quiver, but a deep, primordial shudder that tilted the earth. Your careful circle dissolved as loose soil redistributed. 

The sounds of combat came to an abrupt halt as everyone paused, glancing around to make sense of the situation and steadying themselves against the shuddering earth. 

Nobara staggered, gripping Yuji’s arm for balance. “Huh?! An earthquake?” Her yelp of surprise carried over the field and to your side, where Maki stood unnervingly still. 

Her gaze was sharp as a blade. And even though she couldn’t sense cursed energy, her instincts honed by years of combat knew exactly what this was… “No,” she muttered, knuckles whitening around her staff. “It’s not.” Her worried whisper morphed into a command as she swung her staff forward. “Everyone, brace yourselves. It’s a curse.” 

Your throat tightened. She’s right. You knew because—you did this.

Right then, the ground erupted. Jagged fissures spiderwebbed outward, spewing scalding steam that blurred the air into a hellish haze. The heat grazed your arm—searing hot and blistering. 

You choked back a cry of pain. 

What the hell kind of curse was this? It couldn’t be… Jogo, could it? 

“Everyone, watch out!” Megumi’s shout cut through the chaos. His Divine Dogs burst from the shadows, leaping forward to shield Panda and Inumaki beside him. But as they neared the fissures, they recoiled with pained yelps, their fur smoldering where the steam touched. 

“Fuck, it’s hot!” Nobara snapped, frantically fanning her scorched skin. Yuji darted left and right, his sleeves already singed, fists twitching with the instinct to fight whatever was hurting his friends. 

He was desperate to strike something—anything. And as if answering his unspoken call for vengeance, a guttural roar boomed from the depths. 

Then, the scraping of claws tearing free from the ground as the curse emerged from underneath the earth, its body a pulsing mass of oozing abscesses. Each crater-like pore exhaling hot vapor, distorting the air with waves of suffocating heat. 

You should have felt repulsed, yet the relief that it wasn’t any of Sukuna’s accomplices… That small comfort was enough to make your breath come easier. 

Just your breath though—your body was frozen in place. 

Maki, in contrast, wasted no time. She surged forward, staff raised and ready to strike. Yet she stopped just short, staggering back—glasses fogged, skin flushed red. 

“The heat… it’s too much. It’ll burn you to a crisp if you get too close,” she hissed. 

Nobara barked a laugh, “Like hell that’s gonna stop me!” She flicked a nail skyward, hitting it with her hammer in a perfect trajectory—until the projectile hit that wall of scorching air. The steel caught the light as it softened, twisted, then dripped into a molten puddle. 

Megumi gritted his teeth as his hands flew into a sign, shadows forming around him. 

“Nue!” 

The owl-like shikigami erupted from the darkness, its wings crackling with cursed electricity as it climbed higher and higher, gathering power for a devastating dive— 

But right as it pounced, jets of steam shot up like geysers, ruthlessly targeting the bird. Nue’s screech of pain hurt your ears as its feathers crumbled to ash. Megumi’s face contorted, sweat streaming down his temples as he dismissed his wounded familiar before it could suffer further damage. 

You watched Yuji dart forward next, that familiar determined glint in his eyes—but even his raw strength meant nothing against the oppressive heat. He backpedaled with a hiss, forearms red and angry. 

“Enough!” Maki’s voice was stern demanding everyone’s attention. “We need to regroup. Panda, find help—anyone. The rest of you, to me. Now!” 

Panda nodded firmly. “On it! Try not to get barbecued while I’m gone!” He called over his shoulder, already breaking into a sprint that seemed way too fast for something his size. 

As Panda disappeared into the distance, your group huddled together, narrowly avoiding the spider web of cracks that was spread across the earth. 

The curse, despite its high grade, had a dense, lumpy form and trudged forward with agonizing slowness, dragging itself like a snail across the surface—gross, but at least it gave you some time to strategize. 

Nobara stumbled into the circle first, brandishing her remaining nails. “These things are useless—they’re turning to soup before they even get close! That blob is damn strong…” 

Yuji skidded in beside her, hand nursing his burned arm. “No luck on my side either… and for a curse to be poppin’ up outta nowhere like that, it feels off…” 

Ouch. 

Megumi joined last, his Divine Dogs pressing close to his legs with low, worried whines. “We’ll figure out why it’s here later. First, we need a plan. The steam acts as both an offense and defense—so… so direct hits are impossible.” His gaze shifted to where Inumaki stood silently observing, until something sparked in those dark eyes. “Unless…” 

Maki followed his line of sight and caught his drift. 

“Inumaki’s our only ranged option. A freeze command could temporarily halt the steam output. If that gives us even a small window…” She jabbed her staff—its tip now charred black—toward the curse. 

“But it’s grade one. He’ll burn out fast,” Yuji interjected, his eyes drooping with concern.

Inumaki raised two fingers, then a third, before pointing deliberately at his throat. 

“Two, maybe three commands before his throat gives out,” Megumi translated. “Not enough.” 

The curse’s laughter bubbled up from behind. Through the heat haze, its crater-like pores flexed like dozens of mocking mouths—taunting you.

You had caused this, hadn’t you? Which meant you had to fix this—no matter what.

“I… I can extend his limit.” 

Every head snapped toward you. 

“My technique.” You flexed your fingers, still tender from earlier. “I don’t just siphon energy on contact. I can transfer it too. If I can drain some of the curse’s power in that window, then channel it back into Inumaki…” 

Megumi raised an eyebrow, rubbing his chin as he contemplated the plan. “You’ve done this before? Transferred between people?” 

“Once.” 

A lie.

In truth, you’d only ever practiced with your dagger—a lifeless object imbued with cursed energy. But the principle couldn’t be that much different, could it? 

Inumaki studied you with those perceptive violet eyes before tapping his throat and giving a single, decisive nod. 

“Salmon.” 

Maki’s staff struck the ground with finality. “We’ll need perfect timing. Inumaki’s freeze command will give us maybe ten seconds. We hit hard, then get out fast.” She turned to Yuji, who had perked up with renewed focus. “You’re our bait. Draw it into position so we can strike from its blind spots.” 

A grin split his face as he threw up a thumbs-up. “Leave it to me!” 

“First wave,” Megumi laid out, voice steady despite the tension. “Inumaki freezes it. Maki, I’ll pull you a proper weapon from my shadows—we take the left flank. Nobara, right side. Your nails should hold once the steam stops. Yuji—” 

“Keep it real mad at me. Got it!” 

“And you.” Maki’s eyes locked onto yours like lasers. “You have ten seconds to drain everything you can from behind. Inumaki will need every drop.” 

You nodded, jaw set with determination. If this was how you could minimize the damage you’d unleashed… then you’d give it everything you had. 

Megumi reached into the air where he pulled out a gleaming special grade cursed katana from his shadow inventory, passing it to Maki before pulling out a black-steeled Shadow sword for himself. His determined eyes reflected in its dark surface and when he looked back up, you all locked eyes for a heartbeat—no speech needed. 

That was the starting sign. 

Yuji darted forward, zigzagging between the steam vents like a pinball, smoke curling off his uniform as it caught a drift of heat here and there. “Hey ugly, over here!” he taunted.

“Bet you can’t catch me!” The curse’s gurgling roar confirmed its irritation, its bulbous form dragging itself to face him.

The rest of you used that precious moment to creep in as close as possible—to where the heat became almost unbearable. 

Then one bark from Divine Dog Black signaled Inumaki, and— 

“Freeze.” 

Inumaki’s command caused a second of absolute silence—the curse’s bubbling pores frozen mid-exhale, the last remnants of steam rising up. 

When that second passed, you all exploded into action. 

Bridging the remaining distance with a sprint, you outstretched your hands all the way to the tips of your fingers as you sought contact with its putrid skin. 

Your fingers sunk into the flesh—the smell so foul it made you gag—but you quickly pushed those senses aside, putting every ounce of your focus into absorbing as much cursed energy as possible. 

To hell with cursed energy overload—you’d handled worse. 

The taste of a first-grade’s power was much like Sukuna’s—strong, hot and viscous. But you gritted your teeth and drew it in anyway, ignoring the way your head began to swim. 

From the left flank Maki struck first. Her sharp katana carved a clean gash in the curse’s side, followed by Megumi, his Shadow sword cutting deep as both dogs mauled at its legs. Nobara’s nails were functional at last, exploding with chunks of cursed flesh from the right flank. The impact of each hit reverberating through the monster like heavy shockwaves. 

Finally, Yuji threw a punch at its stomach—a Black Flash in fact. 

It lit up the battlefield, and you swore you could hear that familiar ring of reality warping in your ears. 

The first twitches of its grotesque body were a warning signal to retreat, and you were all well outside the range of its steam when the curse broke free with an ear-splitting shriek. 

You sprinted the final feet to Inumaki, who was trying to suppress the muffled coughs into his collar, and without hesitation pressed your palms to his chest. Focusing like you had with the dagger, you carefully channeled the stolen energy into him and— 

Thank god, it worked. 

His eyes widened at the surge of foreign power, and the coughing quickly ceased. 

“Again!” Megumi called out when he noticed the transfer was successful. 

Once more Yuji vaulted at the curse to catch its attention, while the rest of you snuck close. 

“Freeze.” 

The second wave proved even more devastating than the first. Yuji’s fist landing another Black Flash, Nobara’s nails penetrating even deeper, Maki and Megumi’s assault leaving ragged trenches in the curse’s skin. You drained more and more energy, your skin feeling like it might split from containing it all. 

But you endured. 

Second transfer. Third wave. The curse’s defenses were weakening, but so was your group. Sweat streaked every forehead, breaths came in ragged gasps, and the sluggish retreat left nearly everyone with superficial burns smoking off their limbs. 

This time, you barely managed to transfer the energy to Inumaki. Your legs trembled violently, threatening to give out as you pressed your palms to his chest—half to transfer the energy, half to steady yourself. 

“F-freeze,” he rasped. 

The fourth attack was desperate. The strikes less precise—no more Black Flashes—just average punches—and the curse breaking free from the command faster as if it were adapting despite your desperate tries to drain it. 

It was obviously weakened from the streak of attacks but so was your group. 

So were you. 

You stumbled back in a daze, unsure if the air was blurry from exhaustion or heat. Through the haze, you spotted Inumaki’s uniform and drifted that way on autopilot. As you neared you noticed the thick crimson droplets that spattered from his mouth between violent coughs. 

You were barely out of range of the curse and the heat burnt your uniform into your back, but right as you stumbled Yuji caught you mid-collapse, slinging you over his shoulder as he rushed to Inumaki’s side to regroup. 

The boy was in a very bad state. Worse than you were. Coughing up—no at this point vomiting blood as he collapsed to the ground. 

“Inumaki!” Multiple voices cried out in alarm as the others rushed over. Yuji set you down beside him, your vision swimming. 

“Shit. What do we do now?!” Nobara hissed. 

You could taste the desperation in the air. 

But then—footsteps. Heavy, running footsteps. Not the curse; it didn’t have feet. And the rest were here, so who? Your thoughts struggled to piece it together until— 

“There they are!” Panda’s voice boomed across the field. Behind him, Shoko’s white coat fluttered as she sprinted forward, her face set in a calm yet urgent expression. 

“He can’t fight anymore,” she assessed in seconds, already kneeling beside Inumaki. 

Panda scratched his head awkwardly, clearly hating to pile bad news onto an already dire situation. “All the combat teachers were called away, so it’s up to us to finish this.” 

“What’s the situation?” Shoko inquired. 

Maki straightened, despite her obvious fatigue. “The curse is weakened, but without Inumaki’s command—” 

“We’ll burn,” Megumi finished.

You looked at your friends—at Yuji's red arms, Nobara's blistered skin, Maki's scorched uniform, Megumi's exhausted shikigami with their fur burnt short.

Yet, despite it all, they stood unwavering at the side of their friend— 

You yearned to be like them... to be someone good, not a filthy traitor—a monster's slave. 

“We can take it,” you said quietly, then louder as you pushed yourself up: “We can push through. It’s weak enough now that... that the burns won’t be permanent. Right, Shoko-sensei?” 

“You’re out of your damn mind—you can barely stand,” Nobara snapped, glaring at you like you’d lost your marbles. 

To your surprise though, Shoko seemed to actually consider your suggestion. She nodded, not looking up from her patient. 

“With immediate RCT, yes.” 

An all-telling pause. 

“But it’ll hurt like hell.” 

Yuji, always desperate to keep the mood light in situations like these, gave Megumi a playful punch to his shoulder. “Hey, maybe we might be able to get a nice tan on that pale face of yours.” 

“You’re all insane,” Panda rumbled, but he was already settling into a fighting stance, obviously planning to join your descent into the fiery pits of hell. 

“I don’t see any other options. Let’s do it,” Maki added, gripping firm hold of her katana. 

“Fine. But if my hair gets ruined, you’re paying for extensions, missy!” Nobara snapped as she helped pull you up. 

You let out a small giggle at her words, the rush of adrenaline at what was to come kicking in and helping to steady your shaky legs. 

“Deal.” 

Everyone steeled themselves for the final charge, each silently battling their own nerves—fully aware that what awaited them would be far from pleasant. 

Yuji cracked his scorched knuckles, Nobara’s thumb traced the blistered skin of her palm, her other hand compulsively smoothing singed strands of hair behind her ear. Megumi’s brows knotted together. 

Panda and Maki took one last moment, kneeling by Inumaki. 

You clenched your teeth, biting down hard until the copper taste of blood flooded your tongue. Then, with a synchronized push, Maki and Panda rose, stepping into place beside you. 

“Let’s finish this.” Maki’s words were the signal—the final charge was set in motion. 

A charge of pure determination. A mad rush through walls of steam. 

It was like running straight through flames.

With every step, your skin blistered and split open further, nerves howling in agony as the searing heat tore through them. Every breath seared your lungs until breathing was simply not an option anymore. 

Through tears of pain, you saw everyone pushing forward—Maki’s glasses cracking from the heat, Nobara guarding her precious face with hands that barely had skin left, Yuji’s uniform smoking, Megumi’s face contorted in agony as his shikigami howled and followed loyally, the white patches of Panda’s fur turning as black as the rest of him. 

What followed wasn’t a battle—it was a slaughter. 

A total outburst of rage, adrenaline, and pain that translated into a devastating combined attack from all sides. 

Maki’s blade carving a molten arc through the steam like a meteor trail. Panda’s claws burning red as he wrestled the monstrosity into Maki’s next strike.

Nobara’s hammer swinging in a frenzy as her remaining nails hummed through the air—one hitting the curse’s weeping eye. Her grin turned feral as she detonated it with a raw-throated “Die!” 

Yuji’s punches split open the curse’s belly. The stench of ozone clinging to his smoldering fists as he punched again, and again, knuckles grinding to bone. 

Megumi’s shadow blade snarled, silent and feral like his Divine Dogs, ripping through flesh as effortlessly as their teeth.  

And you—you dug your disintegrating fingers into its disintegrating core and drank every drop you could get to. All until there was nothing more left to drain. 

The steam died first—a final hiss as the battlefield fell still. Then the curse itself folded inward, dissolving into a pool of black tar. 

Then nothing but silence and the soft thump of bodies hitting the ground as everyone collapsed. 

Through the haze of pain, you heard Shoko sigh... “Where’s that guy when you need him? I swear to god, Gojo, you should take better care of your students.” 

Her footsteps were already approaching, hands glowing with cursed energy as she knelt down somewhere beside you. 

You lay there, staring at the sky, every inch of your body screaming—but somehow, you were smiling. Because this pain? This was the pain of protecting your friends, not betraying them. 

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

You must have passed out at some point because when consciousness returned, you found yourself on a bed in one of the school’s infirmary rooms. Through the window to your left, Jujutsu High’s grounds stretched into darkness—dawn long gone, leaving the courtyard bathed in pale moonlight. 

The burns on your arms were wrapped in clean bandages. And though Shoko’s reverse cursed technique had dulled the worst of the pain, a sharp ache still throbbed beneath the dressings. Your entire body felt leaden, drained of energy to the point where even the thought of swinging your legs over the bed seemed impossible. So you let yourself sink deeper into the mattress, preserving what little strength remained for healing. 

Your mind drifted to Sukuna. He was probably pissed that you hadn’t returned, but frankly, you didn’t care. You were pissed too—pissed that he’d forced you into this position, pissed about that convenient 'emergency mission' that had drawn away all the teachers. 

What absolute bullshit. 

He and his merry band of psychopaths had to be behind it. 

You attempted to roll onto your side, seeking a more comfortable position, but the burns made every movement a harsh negotiation with pain. 

And when you finally managed to settle, the door suddenly swung open. 

Shoko entered in a cloud of antiseptic and unfiltered Camels, her lab coat sleeves crusted brown-red. Dark circles hung heavy under her eyes as she dropped into the chair beside your bed, gently lifting your arm to examine the bandages. 

“They’ll heal,” she muttered around an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. ���Gonna take some more time though. Had to save energy for—” She caught herself with a sharp click of her tongue. 

“For what?” The question scraped painfully past your smoke-damaged throat, and the red crust on her sleeves suddenly seemed all the more vivid. “Is everyone okay? Gojo-sensei?” Worry clawed at your chest. 

“The guards at the cursed warehouse.” Her voice was flat, clinical. “The curse that attacked you was a diversion. Someone broke in and killed them all. Multiple special grade cursed objects were taken.” 

Killed. The word refused to process properly, your brain short-circuiting as the reality sank in. You had more than burns on your hands now—this was blood. 

Shoko sighed, rubbing her temples. “I tried, but... the corpses were completely mangled. Either grotesquely deformed or burned to ash. Nothing I could do.”

Deformed—Mahito’s signature. Burned—Jogo’s flames.

Mahito might have gone rogue, defied orders for the fun of it, but Jogo? You’d seen how loyal he was to Sukuna, thoroughly aware of the consequences of betrayal.

Which meant...

Sukuna had lied. Double-crossed you just to make you blow that whistle.

Nausea surged up your throat. You barely managed to point at the bucket beside the bed before Shoko thrust it into your hands, your stomach violently rejecting everything it contained.

“Major toll on your body,” she commented, rising from her chair. “Rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Between heaves, you managed to gasp out: “The others?”

A small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t worry about them. You’re a special lot, your group.” With that, she left, abandoning you to the mingled stench of vomit and betrayal.

Your betrayal. His betrayal.

It was funny how upset you were over his lies when you’d been weaving nothing but lies for weeks now.

But somehow, his one lie felt like it had tainted everything—every glance, every touch, every bruising kiss now felt poisoned by that betrayal. Each memory replayed in your mind with a sickening twist that made your stomach churn all over again.

And why did that betrayal cut deeper than knowing people had died? That their blood was partly on your hands? Your moral compass felt so warped you couldn’t find its true north anymore. But you knew exactly who had pulled it off course, degree by devastating degree.

A sudden drop in temperature made your still-heightened senses snap to attention.

A rustle outside, then a gentle tap against the glass, like a bird testing its beak against the window. But birds didn’t move with such deliberate purpose, didn’t make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The window frame creaked—the sound of claws scraping against wood as something worked at the latch from outside.

The faintest trace of his energy ghosted across your senses, detectable only because you’d grown intimately attuned to its particular flavor of malevolence...

Your muscles seized, torn between fight and flight—anger pulling you towards the former. But exhaustion had stripped you of both options.

As the window inched upward, you could only watch as a hand curled around the frame, tattooed wrist standing out against the pale wood. Then came the flash of pink hair, and finally—the last remnants of moonlight were blocked, cloaking the room in darkness except for those eyes.

Twin points of hellfire burning with such intensity that the shadows themselves seemed to recoil in fear. His broad shoulders filled the entire space as he sat ducked beneath the top frame.

The devil himself—here at Jujutsu High.

Once again come to claim you.

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

No Sukuna in this chapter, guys—sorry! 😫🙏 Had to push the plot forward a bit.

But don't worry, the next few chapters will be all about Sukuna and MC!! Hope you still enjoyed this one, and thanks so much for all your support again 🫶💕

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[beesmygod]

perhaps foolishly throwing my hat in the ring here about cohost developers making 90k/yr (as someone who used cohost for like five minutes but does work in software. although I'm not even close to making SWE-level money lol): depending on your stack, experience, location, other benefits, etc., that's genuinely in the bottom twentieth percentile for engineer salaries at your average startup, if not lower. especially for a "founding engineer who does literally everything"-type role. idk how much experience these people have or what their stack is, but just to guess, at your average seni-marture startup they could easily double that salary, and at a big FAANG company or whatever stupid acronym we're using now they could probably quadruple that, plus or minus whatever part of your comp package is stock instead of actual salary.

there are a couple interesting/relevant reasons I bring this up: (1) at really really early-stage startups, where you only have four guys and a couple hundred grand in the bank, having bottom-twentieth-percentile salaries is normal *because they make up for it by giving you a shitload stock options that will theoretically be worth a lot in the future*, if things ever take off, although of course they rarely do. in cohost's case, it doesn't seem like stocks and shit were part of their long-term plans (which, fair enough, not trying to say they should've been), so in theory the cohost devs were making a lottt less than your average early-stage startup devs, even though overall comp at an early-stage startup is mostly monopoly money.

(2) the other thing is that if the pay is uncompetitive, which it obviously was, then attracting worthwhile talent is really hard. again, idk these devs, they could all genuinely be very good at their jobs. and cohost was clearly a passion project for them. but it makes me wonder if *some* (not all) of their problems stemmed from technical or even positioning/market issues that having more people or more experienced people would've solved, and they just weren't able to hire them. especially since they were doing design work and moderation and other shit in addition to plain old engineering!

I guess my angle here is that unless you see how the sausage is made, it's really really easy to underestimate just how much money (and human labor!) it takes to build anything, and that most projects only manage to pull it off for as long as they do thanks to a near-bottomless supply of venture capital funding. even not-for-profit community projects (which I was considering whether something like cohost could survive as, but even then I'm unsure) rely on corporate sponsorship and free labor from people who are getting paid a lot of money at their day job. so like many of you I am not at all shocked that they're folding—easy to say in hindsight but I definitely say this coming, although maybe not so quickly lol.

but like, even most VC-funded startups fail despite having way better odds and a shitload more money. legit kudos to them for trying anyway, because the only way we get cool shit is if someone's willing to take a risk and maybe fail. that said as a *user* there's still no way I'd hitch my wagon to a fledgling startup unless I was totally okay with that wagon falling into a gulch within 24 months, because that's usually what happens

interesting insight. thanks boss. much to learn about this world that, as an outsider, seems uniquely annoying and stupid to try to navigate

[3liza]

i stole or accidentally inherited the Christian Dior Cheek & Lip Glow like 15 years ago and it was this ^^^ hot hot hot hot orange-blue-pink that looked insane on my yellow-green skin, like the absolutely most natural and sexy and perfect no-makeup effect, and it dried to a silk finish that wasnt greasy or sticky and could be layered, and didn't make my lips peel off in strips (im allergic to something in most lip products, i dont know what it is) and theyfbucking discontinued it, and there are a shitload of bad dupes now because everyone wants this product back and the bottle is iconic and theyre all shitty "lip oil" type product with no fucking pigment load and it Pisses Me Off.

anyway the closest actual dupe ive found is the wetn n wild lip glass stain ("kiss my glass" i think is the product name, which is stupid) and its preeedddyyy good but obviously the level of quality is much different. and now i cant find this precise shade of hot orange pink with a seemingly contradictory blue undertone that somehow works with my green-grey skin in any format, and keep buying hot pink blushes hoping to find The One and keep striking out. i need to organize my makeup and get rid of all the old non-powder product