#maybe i need a different art scraps tag.

[eraserheadadult]

here have this

[madfantasy]

To fan art and fiction enjoyers:

Please excuse my rage slipping if it happened over having to address this literal mediocrity of a subject in comparison to endless things that actually matters in real life. Because this would be at the scrapping bottom of it, but since the occasion presented itself, here we are:

Do you know there are some, let's say, manners, being in fandoms, and/or in using social media in general? NOOO? 8U

Well, Lets start somewhere!

Like it or not, YOU NEED TO ACTUALLY READ STUFF PEOPLE WRITE. Before you follow, before you comment, before you interact, because if you come across something you don't like, or you started to assume things— that's a you problem and not the fault of the poster.

If you DO NOT enjoy a character, a pair of ship, or a certain head cannon, filter the tag it's used for, Google has free tutorials on how. Most social media have these settings and most decent posters tag their posts correctly. If you keep seeing that pair, you can block the people who create it. You are free to do so ofc but WHY WOULD U come on main and air that out? Personally I find it so bizarre and it could show the type of person you are to other people — a toxic company over fictional substance — and I'd say that is not a flex, more like showing your dirty nappy in public. Those characters you love are not real and so not effected by your high ground stance, but actual humans that share you that love notice and get that impression, and it's a weird one. You SHOULD, of course, set your boundaries, and usually where that is be in your profile, on your bio or a pinned post.

Loving bizarre, villainous, creepy concepts DOES NOT EQUAL morality, nor loving good sunshine and flowers does. It's what a person does in real life what counts, not what they consume in entertainment. In fact, it is not a sign of a good person those who be shaming humans who like different fictional concepts. Or when someone keeps using ai generators knowing full well it's based on constant data theft of all sort of human creators across generations and can not exist without the continuance of this theft. Or those supporting creators that they know did irl crimes. Or those who are Policing what's can and cannot go into fiction as if the fickleness of preference have never let alot of things survive its judgement. And I can go on with the miniature examples. You are forgiven if you did not know before, some people learn through experience, but not anymore when you continue this behaviour. And maybe if you can't differentiate between reality and fiction, and what's more important than what, maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't be consuming fiction.

DO NOT POST WHAT YOU DID NOT CREATE. Do you like it when people keep posting your selfies that you only ment to share for funsies and what not? Isn't worse if you did not post that selfie in the first place or never wanted it to be used like that? It's the SAME FOR ART. This is the artists work just as much as your face is yours. Social media at the baseline is about who ever the poster is, their posts are theirs. So you posting an artist's drawing, with no permission, no credit to them, no nothing, is not allowed and people can report that. Don't be an ignorant thick fig and play the victim when schooled like this precious dear\s .Reposters disconnect so many content from their creators and this is how alot of beautiful things in life die, by simply not knowing they are loved, shoved into the over consumption machine..

And lastly, You don't have anything nice to say to OP? Don't say anything! It's not your misguided duty to educate people on how embarrassingly self centered you are, it's okay to be a basic #&★— I promise. It okay to feel out of place in a niche that doesn't concern you. It's okay to realise other people have different perspectives of the fiction work you enjoy. You can sit down.

And I'd like to add, Mani is a safe space for au and ships even if I don't like em, cuz they are only FICTION and will remain FICTION no matter how much I loved them or hated them.

Good day, dears🍀

[renecdote]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you @like-the-rest-of-la @mellaithwen and @littlespoonevan for the tag 💛

Is it cheating if I share some sentences from a WIP I scrapped last week? I decided to do something else for the prompt instead, but I still like these sentences so maybe I'll reuse them somewhere idk.

Buck can’t remember the last time he wasn’t in a hurry to get somewhere. Getting out of his parents’ house, getting to the next place that might become home, getting back to work after injuries, getting to the engine when the alarm goes off. Always going, going, going.

“Sounds exhausting,” Ali said once, when he tried to explain to her what it felt like jumping from one call to the next to the next.

“No,” Buck was quick to deny at the time. “It’s—you don’t really think about it, you can’t think about it, the adrenaline kicks in and you just get up and go.”

“Right,” Ali said slowly, like she thought he didn’t really get it. “But what about after? Adrenaline doesn’t last forever, you know, you’ve gotta crash sometime.”

Sometimes Buck looks back and thinks he knew then: he knew they weren’t going to last, he just didn’t want to admit it. His leg getting crushed was just the push that Ali needed to admit they were too different to work, a particularly heavy straw on an already broken camel’s back. He wonders what she’d think now, knowing he almost died again. That he did die, this time, and it scared the hell out of him.

Tagging: @nymika-arts @fcntasmas @hopeintheashes @herodiaz @tawaifeddiediaz and anyone else who wants to share

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Blood red drops of art

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Warning !!! : This One-Shot it’s a dark one, so if you can’t handle it or can’t read it, you shouldn’t read it. I warned you when you read it, it’s not my problem (my understanding of too much dark brutal topics can and is probably a completely different understanding than you dear readers have, maybe not, but it’s still not one of my darkest stories) The warning was given to you, minors don't interact

Fandom : The dark pictures , The devil in me

Tags : blood , knive , injuries , kissing , no healthy relationship ( in real life ) , obsession

Charlie Lonnit x Du'met

Info : @emeraldkyber and @somewhereinthepines the first one hat the idea and the second one allowed me to make this One-Shot. I hope you both like it and it's a little bit how you imagine it ; )

masterlist

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

How did it come to this that his life had turned so. Was it his childhood, his young adult years, or his adulthood. Was it his preference for the perfect art, for the fame, the money or something else entirely?

When had an innocent hobby become a company and broken before something completely new had formed from the shards of his life. When had it come so far that he played his relationship to get what he needed. When did it come when he saw blood for the first time?

Charlie knew it very well it was at night the moon was then still the seemingly only witness to the act of his still then unknown heart. His way led him through a few nondescript dark streets of the city of Chigaco and the winter with its merciless snow did not make it easier.

The white solid mass crunched and slid easily under his brown leather boots as he pulled the bag with his camera closer to his body. Both for protection and because of the nightly cold.

He was about to turn into an alley when he heard something. It was not snow, or sieren also no animal which howled it was something else. Something that awakened his interest but also his fear in him. It was painful, puny pleading sounds of a human being. He looked ahead into the alley and his blue eyes saw what opened something like eyes in him. It was true art.

A younger man lay helplessly on his back, his arms stretched upward in supplication, as transparent tears flowed from his eyes, seemingly like tiny crystals in the moonlight.

His clothes were torn and it was clear that he had gotten into a fight. The blue intrigued but slightly frightened eyes continued to look. The moon illuminated the victim in a light in which it could not have been more appropriate.

The tears that rolled like crystals from the cheeks, the bitter pleading in the eyes, the pleading looked up. Who carried the hope to stop and desperately hoped that their tormentor would give in.

The tattered and torn clothes that exposed the skin, which in turn was from the jewelry, the last brush stroke of art that made the picture in front of him a masterpiece that opened the eyes of an artist. He saw it now everything about the picture what it evoked in him was perfect.

But then he flinched when he saw a shadow coming out of the shadow of the alley. A man with a white mask covering his face. Blood dripped from it and from his hands as if he had cried bloody tears and caught them with his hands. His glasses reflected the image when he saw the silver knife of the attacker separated by blood. How the black handle disappeared in the leather gloves that closed tightly around the handle.

How the leather clung to his hands and fit them perfectly. His clothes were covered with blood splatters and he even thought he could see a few scraps of clothing in his pocket. A souvenir it went through his head as he continued to watch the stranger. The man with the mask and the hat stood in front of the work of art and looked at him almost as if he was actually listening and waiting.

Charlie's eyes showed fear not for life but for his work of art. He saw the masked man raise the knife and sink it into the body of the pleading man. ,,Don't !" he shouted and stepped into the alley, his hand already on his pocket, clutching the camera. What am I doing here? came the silent question in his head.

The masked man seemed to be confused and he looked at his victim one last time before turning to Charlie with the bloody knife. ,,Pl-Please help - help m-me!" came the pleading voice of the unknown victim who was dragging himself to him on the snow-white floor.

His wounds dyed the snow deep red and hatred surfaced in the blue-eyed man. ,,You broke it!" he suddenly shouted at the man lying on the ground, his blue eyes showing incredible disgust and hatred. He seemed to completely ignore the masked man and walked further towards the injured man.

Shyness was in his facial features as he looked down on the bleeding man. ,,You have destroyed my work of art," he said so coldly that the injured man flinched. ,,W-What?" came a confused and weak voice from the blood-red lips of the lower man. Charlie felt a hand digging into his hair and pulling him around.

His eyes looked directly into the dark slits for the eyes of the attacker. He felt the unknown pressing the cold metal against his neck as the sharpness threatened to cut his skin every second and bleed him out like a pig. ,,An artist" came over Charlie's lips when he saw the same fascinated and yet uncertain look behind the camera.

He is trying and studying, it lit up in his mind and his blue eyes seemed to glow with brokenness. The knife and the man's grip became harder and more painful, but it hardly bothered the younger man. Everything in him was interested in the masked man.

His heartbeat was racing and his own blood rushing in his ears made him almost deaf, so absorbed was he by the unknown. ,,Kill him" came the two words over his lips to the unknown and the hat wearer tilted his head. ,,Bring the work of art to completion" came almost like a whisper from his lips before he lifted the camera slightly. ,,You create and I'll finish it" came the suggestion and a grin a grin that showed his anticipation was visible.

Wordlessly, the hat wearer let go of him in a mix of carelessness and yet caution before his hands were on the collar of the unknown man's shirt before lifting him up and thundering him against the wall. A whimpering sound came from the victim and it seemed to satisfy the hat wearer, at least it looked that way to Charlie as he saw the grip on the knife tighten.

Charlie took the camera in his hand and he was shaking almost as excited as he was looking through the lens at the work of art as it was. He saw exactly how the knife, after the last loud cry and plea, dug itself into the throat of the victim.

The blade disappeared into the soft flesh he could see the realization of the victim. How the hands went from the hand cycles to the neck and helplessly tried to get the blood back into his body. Not to end up dead in an alley without a name. The fear that radiated from the eyes, the tears that flowed and the silent gurgles and desperate attempts to speak that were replaced by gurgles and gasps as the blood flowed over his lips.

It covered the hands of the killer's clothes and dyed the snow a beautiful dark blood red. Before the knife was taken out before he rammed it mercilessly and yet with a plan in the torso and watchg as the life gave way. ,, A masterpiece," Charlie whispered as he took it all in and finally found the meaning in its aesthetics that he had always needed and sought. The blood of the work of art directly on the canvas.

That was the moment when their relationship of give and take and blood and masterwork began. A pleased look was in the bright blue eyes as the smoke from his cigarette passed over his lips. It had been years since this incident and over the years the two artists and partners had to realize that with every work of art and every film the desire for more grew.

And with the help of a few acquaintances so Charlie knew all were not completely clean, he had planned but especially his Du'met to offer a completely new teretorium. A murder house.

Something he had dreamed of since his childhood and his beginnings with his work. It was a way to redesign everything new traps, rooms but also new opportunities for the artwork to unfold as well as to unfold itself and absorb everything at a certain angle.

Throwing his cigarette carelessly to the ground and stepping out with his shoe he felt his partner behind him. ,,I hope you like it my heart" he purred and his blue eyes showed nothing but the madness of an artist as he gripped his camera tighter. He got no answer, instead he felt the rough hand that had already killed so many people on his shoulder as it slowly and coldly went over his neck to his cheek. A short gentle caress followed by an intimate but short kiss.

++++++++++++++++++++++

A small sign of affection but this was rarely of concern. If they came closer physically they both knew it would take more preparation not only in sacrifices but also in tools, more than one would bleed they both knew only too well.

No, Charlie gave an indulgent sigh before letting Du'met go ahead and approaching the replica of H.H. Holmes' famous hotel. ,,Hurry up, it seems that the new paintings are here!" he called out to him as he looked behind him and had a good view of the island. His blue eyes fixed on a car coming straight to the opening of the new exclusive place. ,,Masterpieces nothing but masterpieces will come out of it my heart" he exclaimed and knew that his partner had heard him.

Anticipation rose in him as he made his way towards the house before entering the special rooms for himself and his friend. Everything on screens with infinite cameras. ,,Let the game begin" he exclaimed and saw Du'met looking at him one last time behind the mask before disappearing into one of the doors. Both knew that art so beautiful had to be seen by the world.

[rawrroarart]

Hi everyone, semi-important update regarding this blog and why I don't post as often. I say semi because if you're just a casual looker of my blog, you can disregard this because nothing in my blog will change and I'll still be here.

But for the rest of you interested in reading more, I do have a lil potential treat at the end of this post, but it's a little long-winded to get to that point since I'm going to vent a little about my art. Though whether you read my ramble or not, you are free to claim the treat at the end (it's only a potential treat because it's based on if you even like it LOL). I'll be posting in the LWA tag, as I pretty much am a LWA blog, but I do apologize for clogging the place with something a bit unrelated, and this should be the last time I do it

Anyway if you're still reading let's get to it:

So obviously I've been dead in my blog and I hardly, if ever, post art. Now I guess it's normal to see something like this for blogs, as life gets in the way for most people and things just start to faze out. Circle of life or whatever. But truth to be told, I am still very much interested in drawing often, and as of late my life isn't even currently "in the way" that would prevent me from doing so. So why aren't I posting more frequently or even drawing at all if even on my own?

Drawing isn't fun.

That's really misleading, but let me clarify: I have too high of an expectation for myself, and with so many people watching, I get overwhelmed and even nauseous really about not churning out my absolute best All the Time. My situation obviously isn't unique or special or anything, and is of absolute no fault to you or anyone else following me. And I know, of course, no one is telling me to always churn out 100%, but it's the fear inside me to not disappoint even one of you, and I try to be a perfectionist and people-please all at once. Trying to draw like this isn't fun.

Aside from that, I also have huge issues regarding "spamming" people with my posts. This is a honestly stupid issue because no one is forced to follow me, and I know people are here because they want to be here, but I just can't help but feel bad when I post too frequently, especially combined with content that's subpar. Even this post alone I feel guilty about, since no one really "signed up" for a whole rant about inadequacy, but I figured it would be good for me especially for what treat I mentioned earlier.

These two issues together make up part of the whole sha-bang of my standstill. I get stressed if my content isn't up to standard and I get stressed if I post too often. So I just do nothing. And the more I do nothing the more stressed I get about having to be even better than the last time I've drawn, because it's obviously been so long that I must have improved on my own! (I haven't)

Anyway what does that bring us to? What is my attempt of a solution? Something obviously needs to happen to fix this, and I just want to have fun creating content again. So here's the "treat" that I mentioned earlier: I have a new art blog or should I say a doodle/scrap blog, and you are free to join me on my new journey.

How is this different from my current art blog, you ask? Well for one thing, it's going to be mainly for doodles, blurbs, anything I want really. The real kicker is that I also won't be tagging my posts (maybe occasionally if it's funny enough), so they shouldn't reach a bigger audience and spam the designated tags they would be in (like LWA). I can also more appropriately convince myself that, if you followed me, you especially are consenting to a bunch of posts (if I even post that much ha), and I'll also hold a soft spot for you LOL

You also don't have to follow me, as I'm sure a lot of my doodles will make their way to my art blog here, but in the form of one singular post labeled "doodle dump" or something. So no ones really "missing out" on anything. Following the new blog just gives you first access to whatevers going on with me

Note: I will still be posting art I put a lot of effort into on this blog!!

Of course this is all experimental, and it could all just go to shit, but I want to try to do something to get out of my slump. And before you ask "why can't you just draw without posting," it's because I thrive on validation also which is also why I get put in a standstill LOL. So yes please follow me if you'd like, I would be happy.

On another note, I'm also planning to purchase an ipad to actually have a better way of drawing, as my current digital art set up is really janky, laggy, and off-putting that it makes me not want to try either. But apple's art app looks so nice and seems perfect for me. I've set up my kofi to accept donations with a milestone if you wanted to lend a helping hand. It should be linked in my bio!

Anyway yea thanks for reading this far and supporting me. I'll do my best to keep producing content and improve my skills.

Tl;dr If you're here for the "treat," I have a new doodle blog but you consent to no thoughts head empty if you follow it. I'm also looking to buy an ipad sometime.

[noforkingclue]

By Any Means Chapter 6 (Malcolm Bright x reader)

Prodigal Son tag list: @queenoffandom08, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“So how did you manage this?” you asked as you made your way around the bed, “I thought that Gil would want to have me in his sight at all times.”

“He trusts me and I trust you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you didn’t commit this crime.”

“Only this one.”

You gave Malcolm an amused looked although you could tell he wasn’t finding this as funny as you were. You sighed and looked around the room, making a point of not looking at the bed. The sheets were still stained with blood and that thought made you queasy.

“You alright?” Malcolm asked

“Fine. Just not every day I see a crime scene.”

“You did see it before.”

“Yes but that was at night. Couldn’t see a lot of details then.”

“And what do you see now.”

“The same thing as last time.”

“Ah.”

Malcolm sounded vaguely disappointed.  You moved closer to the picture frame and said,

“I like your mother.”

“My mother.”

“Yes,” you were just about to touch the frame, “Can I touch this?”

“Yeah, we’ve already dusted it for prints. What about my mother do you like?”

“She cares about you,” you trailed a finger along the frame, “A lot. She’s very protective of you and she wants you to be happy.”

“Doesn’t every mother want that for her children?”

“Yes but with you it’s different. Now this is interesting.”

“My mother or the frame.”

You looked over your shoulder and jumped when you realised just how close Malcolm was to you. Malcolm grabbed your wrist to steady you and you felt your cheeks get hot under his grip. You coughed awkwardly and looked down at your wrist. Malcolm quickly realised what you were implying and let go of your wrist. Part of you missed the contact but you forced yourself to say,

“They did hate the art and they do intend to destroy it.”

“So I was right.” Malcolm said with a smirk

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know that already.”

“I knew,” he said, “Maybe I just wanted to get you here.”

“And why might that be?”

“Because I wanted to see your reaction to the crime scene.”

“You-“ you gave him a betrayed look, “I thought you said that you believed me when I said that I had nothing to do with this!”

“I just needed to be completely sure,” Malcolm insisted, “Not with the murder but with the theft. So tell me,” his voice lowered, “How do you know that they want to destroy the painting.”

“The scratches in the wall,” you said slowly, still hurt by Malcolm’s accusations, “If someone was just wanting to steal the painting they’d do it carefully, note the scraps of canvas at the sides. The fact that the knife made these scratches, some of them deep, shows rage. A deep hatred.”

“A hatred for what?”

“You tell me.”

“Either the victim or the artwork.”

“Which we no nothing much about either.”

“A name that is more than likely fake.”

“And a mystery painting.”

You looked at you watch and sighed.

“As much fun as this is I have a lecture I need to get to.”

“A lecture.”

“I’m not about to give up my studies just because you managed to get me off the hook,” you said, “I know I’m innocent and I’m going to prove it but I still need to turn up to class.”

“I know.” Malcolm sounded disappointed

“I’ll ask around,” you said, “See if any of my friends know anything.”

“I thought you did that already.”

“And I have a feeling that he was hiding something.”

You opened the bedroom door and came face to face with Gil. You raised an eyebrow as you pushed passed him.

“Like I said, I’ll ask around. Sure this time I’ll get somewhere.”

You paused just before you left the flat and said,

“Oh and Malcolm, tell your mum I said hi.”

Once you left JT looked at Malcolm and said,

“Didn’t know she knows your mother.”

[deltas-writing-corner]

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Warnings: Implications of noncon | abusive behavior | unhealthy obsession | death | slight gore | Please ask to tag additional content warnings that I have failed to disclose

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand. 

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are. 

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day. 

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation. 

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human. 

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation. 

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable. 

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?” 

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place… 

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night. 

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness- 

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then. 

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet. 

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely. 

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts. 

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down. 

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated. 

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior. 

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated. 

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

[remedialpotions]

Off The Train

Thanks to @mertronus for tagging me in the HPRomione Discord Popcorn game thingy! The prompt she gave me was: "I can finally see you."

I'm tagging @acnelli with the prompt: "You can't just keep pretending things are fine!"

***

”I can’t wait until you get off that train,” says Ron, his voice low and lazy with fatigue, “and I can finally see you.”

Hermione shifts in her bed so she’s lying on her side, mirror held out before her. This way, she can pretend - if she squints a bit, and ignores the crimson hangings of her four-poster bed - that he’s lying next to her, and not hundreds of miles away in London.

“What do you mean, ‘finally’?” Hermione, too, keeps her voice quiet. It won’t do, in her final days as Head Girl, to be waking her dormmates. “You’re looking at me right now.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. I can see you, but I can’t touch you, or...” The corner of Ron’s mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. “Or do anything else for that matter.”

“Right. Well,” she says, trying to infuse positivity into her voice, despite the weeks since the Easter holidays dragging into what felt like months and years, despite missing him so much that it’s like a heavy fog surrounding her. “It’s only a couple more days, right?”

“Can’t it be now?” Ron looks like he’s reclined in bed too now, his fiery hair stark against the deep navy of his sheets. “Just get to Hogsmeade, then you can Apparate-“

“You know full well that I cannot,” she replies briskly, even though it’s tempting, really tempting. “It’s-“

“-behavior unbecoming of a Head Girl,” Ron finishes her sentence. “I know. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too.”

“I love you,” he adds after a moment’s silence, before his eyes widen with inspiration. “Oh, I’ve got it. What if I Apparate to Hogsmeade, and then walk to the castle - I bet Hagrid would let me through the gates-“

“It’s only two days, Ron.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“And I love you too.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

•••

Pigwidgeon is the last owl to fly into the Great Hall, his little wings beating wildly to keep him aloft. With a scrap of parchment clutched in his tiny talons, he struggles over to the Gryffindor table before somersaulting down into Hermione’s lap.

Hermione’s heart sinks, and not just at the sight of the exhausted little bird currently burrowing into the crook of her elbow. Their two-way mirrors mean they don’t usually have to resort to writing letters. Not unless...

Hermione, the parchment reads when she unfolds it. Got called on an emergency mission. I’m not allowed to tell you where or why or even how long but I’m hoping it won’t take too long. I’m still going to be there at King’s Cross, because I’m dying to see you and I can’t wait until all this is over and we can just be together. Anyway, I love you and try not to worry too much. I promise to do my best not to die.

Ron

“Oh, good,” comes Ginny’s voice from beside her, and Hermione turns to see her peering intently at the parchment. “He’s promised not to die, that’s a relief-“

“He’ll be there,” interrupts Hermione, tucking the note in the pocket of her robes before Ginny can further infringe upon her privacy. “If he thinks it’ll only take a day, then I believe him.”

Ginny blinks. “I never said he wouldn’t be.” Plucking Pigwidgeon from Hermione’s lap, she offers him water from her goblet. “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It’s probably just a quick day trip,” Hermione rationalizes, eyes focused hard on Pigwidgeon as he drinks so she doesn’t have to see the sympathy she knows is etched on Ginny’s face, “and he just wanted me to know in case - well-”

“In case he dies?”

Ginny’s attempt at a joke falls flat.

“Well, just in case, you know, something were to - to happen,” Hermione stammers, “and anyway, it’s just good for me to know - I like to know what he’s up to - not in a controlling way or anything, just-”

“Of course,” Ginny interjects bracingly. “I’m sure he just wanted you to know, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be there.”

Hermione picks up her mug of tea and holds it close to her face so the steam washes over her. She knows what they’re both thinking but are unwilling to say: that in the year Ron and Harry have been Aurors, neither has had a mission run shorter than a week.

•••

And so Hermione sits with Ginny and Luna on the train, watching the Scottish Highlands slowly transform into the low, tidy hills of the English countryside outside her window and hoping against hope that Ron will be there on Platform 9 and ¾. But she hasn’t heard from him since that first letter, and his mirror has gone dark. This doesn’t worry her - not for his safety, anyway - but it does make it difficult to share in Ginny’s gleeful anticipation as the train pulls into King’s Cross.

She busies herself with tending to Crookshanks, who is furious about his prolonged confinement in his basket, as Harry and Ginny embrace on the platform. It’s not that she’s upset, not really. Ron is doing what he needs to do, and she would never want him shirking his responsibilities just so he can kiss her on a train platform for the first time since April. She just wishes things could be different.

After Harry and Ginny depart for Grimmauld Place, she flags down a taxi and rides alone to her parents’ home. The family car is parked in front, which is unusual for a weekday, but when she goes inside, she finds her parents have been eagerly awaiting her arrival and can hardly let her set down her trunk before whisking her away to an upscale restaurant in South Kensington.

“So, tell us about school,” says Mum with an eager smile once they’re seated at their candlelit table. “How were your exams? I want to hear everything.”

“I will later,” Hermione replies, raising her brows and tipping her head pointedly in the direction of the waiter currently pouring red wine into their glasses.

“Oh, right, right, of course. Well, anyway, dear,” she begins as the waiter sets down menus and strides away, “your father and I have a little surprise for you.”

It’s foolish, she knows, but her mind leaps instantly to Ron. Maybe all of this business with his mission has been a ruse, and he’s here in London after all, and she’ll be able to come up with an excuse to spend the night at Grimmauld Place…

Until she notices that her parents are still talking, and there’s no tall, lanky, red-haired wizard to be seen in this high-end French restaurant, but there are three Eurostar boarding passes laid out across the tablecloth.

“Sorry,” says Hermione, shaking her head to clear away the daydream, “what’s going on?”

“We’re going to Paris!” announces Mum with delight. “We thought it would be so lovely to spend time together since you’ve been away for so long, and you’re about to start your new job - and I know you’ve always wanted to go there. We’ve got ten whole days, and everything’s booked, so all you’ve got to do is pack.”

“That - that’s - that’s brilliant,” Hermione musters, forcing her lips into some semblance of a smile. Her parents beam so brightly back that it’s almost difficult to look at them. “Erm, so when are we leaving?”

She crosses her fingers under the table, praying they’ll say August, or her birthday in September, or Christmas, anything but-

“This weekend!”

Of course.

•••

Paris is beautiful. It exceeds every single one of Hermione’s expectations. She and her parents consume copious amounts of bread, cheese and wine, they visit museums and cafes and old bookstores, they ascend to the top of the Eiffel Tower and take in the view. She thinks of Ron constantly as she walks the cobbled streets, as she crosses the Pont des Artes and sees the countless locks affixed to its railing. Before she left, she sent Harry an owl to tell him that she was leaving, so Ron would know where she was if he returned home before she did. As they can’t communicate when she’s staying in a Muggle hotel, she truly has no idea where he is, but she tells herself that he’s still on his mission. It feels better that way, imagining that even if she stayed in London, there would still be obstacles keeping them apart.

On their last day, she nearly empties out a patisserie buying eclairs and macarons for Ron, and then they board the Eurostar back to England. Nervous anticipation grips her stomach as the train barrels through the tunnel (idly, she wonders if Ron’s dad is aware of this train that travels underwater, and makes a mental note to tell him), because she has no idea what awaits her back in London. What if Ron’s still away? Or worse - what if something’s happened to him, and she’s been off enjoying a holiday while he’s been suffering?

The train can’t move quickly enough. Hermione can focus on nothing - not the paperback romance novel her mother has loaned her to read, not the Muggle newspaper that her father is engrossed in, not even the argument of the couple seated across the aisle from them. It’s only a two-hour trip, so why does it feel like it’s taking days?

She checks her mirror, but it’s still dark.

“You go ahead, sweetheart,” says Dad when the train finally rolls to a stop in St. Pancras station. “We’ll get the cases.”

Hermione looks up at the luggage rack over their heads, then at her parents. “Are you sure? I’ll bring mine-”

“We can manage. Go on ahead, get some fresh air.”

She doesn’t bother reminding them that train station air is hardly fresh, and instead heads down the aisle with just her purse and the box of pastries in tow. Truly, she’s not sure why her parents have sent her off the train without them; with the station as busy as it is, they’ll surely lose track of each other.

But then she sees him. Standing a head above the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his bright blue eyes scan the throngs of travelers. At first, she doesn’t believe her eyes. Surely, she’s just become so desperate to see him that she’s actually begun hallucinating.

But as she draws closer, he doesn’t ripple into nothingness, he doesn’t fade away. He’s really, truly there, his red hair curling behind his ears, one knee jiggling with pent-up energy the way it always does when he’s particularly impatient. As he turns his head, still surveying the crowd, their eyes lock and the rest of the station recedes into the background. Finally, they’re within sight of each other after months of hushed mirror conversations and stolen moments borrowing Professor McGonagall’s Floo. Hermione picks up speed, nearly skipping across the concrete in her haste, and flings herself into his waiting arms.

She fits against him perfectly. The fabric of his faded t-shirt is soft against her cheek as she breathes him in, and for the first time in recent memory, words fail her completely.

The box of pastries thuds to the ground.

“Hi,” he mutters, lips brushing her skin and sending chills up her spine.

“How - how did you-”

“Harry told me where you’d gone.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, and then, at long last, their lips connect. “It’s not that hard to look up train schedules.”

As reluctant as she is to pull away from him, she leans back just enough to look up at him. Behind the freckles scattered across his face, his cheeks have gone pink. “You’re amazing,” she tells him, rising on tiptoe for another kiss, unconcerned with the passersby and the blast of nearby train whistles.

Ron lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug when they break apart. “Had to meet you on a train platform somehow.”

[artxyra]

Prom Proposal

So @enchantingdefendoreagle requested, “I have a request I am hoping for a Daminette fanfic. Where since Prom is canceled that the Waynes have offered to host Gotham Academy Prom because Gotham Academy is under reconstruction or something. Damian has seen Marinette for a while having a crush on her but never saying anything. “ 

Note: I wanted to try pinning Damian and a lot of things happened... so I hope you enjoy.  

Normally, Damian would never make such a big deal over a school event cancellation. He would shrug it off as if it was beneath him. Well, that was the case until the Joker decided to turn Gotham Academy’s gym into a playground until Batman and Robin removed him from the premise. However, there was an absolute reason as to why this event had affected him so much. For a while now, Damian was actually looking forward to the annual prom dance. He was actually going to participate in said event, but the one person he was trying to ask to be date—they haven’t really spoken to one another outside of class assignments.

“Father I demand that we host prom.” Damian urges barging into his father’s office the second the school email about prom’s cancellation went to the students. What Damian didn’t account for was Grayson being inside the office as well.

“Hold, Little D. Why would you of all people even want to B to host prom? You didn’t go last year so why the sudden change.” Dick wonders at his little brother. So yeah, Damian didn’t go his junior year but once again this year is different.

With Damian being silent for a moment was all it took for Dick to realize something, “Is it for a girl…a boy maybe?”

“Tt. I have my reasons.” Damian counters crossing his arms and turning his attention away from his brother to his father, who appears to be done with everything going on.

“Damian, do you really think that having the manor full of teens is a good idea?” Bruce asks concern about his son’s mental health, but he too was wondering why the sudden change in attitude for one of many iconic moments in a teenager’s life.

“There is no reason father,” Damian says lying through his teeth. There was a reason, but he doesn’t want his family to find out about said reason.

Dick nor Bruce seemed convinced, but a simple quick look to one another, they knew getting an answer out of eighteen-year-old would be a battle they didn’t want to have.

“I’ll consider it.” Bruce states practically agreeing to his son plans to have prom at the Manor just like any other Wayne Gala he has hosted before. The only difference would be teens instead of adults.

It only took Bruce Wayne three days to send an email to the academy, offering to host prom night at Wayne Manor. The headmistress took that offer immediately know that there will be backlash for not accepting such a proposal. Two days after that, the school sends out emails informing the students that prom will be hosted in two months having it right on schedule. Those who order prom tickets will receive further information closer to the date.

After getting his father on board with the thought, Damian was internally excited, now just to put his plan into action. That plan over two months failed at least five different times.  

The first attempt, in the classroom right after class was finished. He knows that she’ll usually stay in the class until everyone is out. Well, that didn’t happen. She was the first person out, running like her depended on it.

The second attempt was at the courtyard, a couple of days after the first attempt. Damian knew (well he asked Jon) that she had a tendency to sketch under the largest tree during the evening. He also knew that they shared the same independent study times due to having worked on projects together. Just as he was about to ask her, another student walked up to her. The bluenette, from afar, seemed to be interested in the conversation. Damian ended up walking away hoping to try again later.

The third attempt was almost a success. He was actually talking to her, but the words would not come out the way he had hoped. This just added to his stoic personality that she was used to. Then right before he finally mustered up the confidence, a girl with pigtails interrupted them implying that she only wanted to talk to Damian. Apparently, pigtail girl wanted to ask Damian to prom and he of course denied the proposal.

“You need, help?” Jon asks on the day before Damian could attempt his fourth go.

“Tt. I rather suffer.”

Jon raises an eyebrow, “Uh-huh. She’s in the art room.” Jon walks away with a smirk on his face. Damian could only glare at his retreating friend.  

Sure enough, Jon was right, she was in the art room. However, it was clear that she was in the zone. A zone that is nearly impossible to get her out of.

“DC, can we talk?” She doesn’t acknowledge him. He tries again a couple more times. Damian should have known better. They barely speak when in class, so why the hell would they speak out of class.

“How it go?” Jon asks as he smiles knowing exactly how the encounter went.

“Kent, you could have told me she was in the zone.” Damian lightly punches Jon in the shoulder. “Do you have any idea what she’s working on?”

Jon chuckles and instead of answering he goes inside the art room. Damian couldn’t help but wonder about what they are doing.

The fifth attempt was really his own attempt. In fact, it was the girl he has been trying to ask out that ended all of his sufferings.

Damian was been avoiding practically everyone in the challenge to ask this one person to prom. Every potential idea was either scrap or too out of character for him—not that he was out of character trying to ask her in the first; he’s blaming it on this unknown emotion that has been haunting him since he had gotten to know DC. What makes matter worse is that prom was only a couple of weeks away.

“You’re going to love this.” Jon states dragging the Wayne heir across the school grounds. Damian put up a fight but Jon inhuman strength kind of won the battle. So, he was trapped in his best friend’s grip being to who knows where.  

The next thing Damian knew was being stopped in his tracks and seeing black with little rays of light coming through Jon’s hand.

“Kent, I swear—”

“Yeah, yeah, just stay with me for a second.”

“A second.” Damian deadpans crossing his arms over his chest.

Damian may have not seen it but Jon was rolling his eyes and whispering some words to someone.

“Okay, in three…two…one!” Jon’s hand immediately uncovers his face. Damian was seconds away from turning to attack his friend, but something red, green, and yellow catches his eyes.

There standing in front of him, is the girl he’s been trying to ask out wearing a female version of the current Robin’s outfit holding a sign that says, “A Robin with a sword would be troubling, but a Robin without a sword wouldn’t be complete. Will you go to PROM WITH ME?” To the side of her is a try of Batfam theme cupcakes.

“Dupain-Cheng, you never cease to surprise me,” Damian states feeling a little stupid that he was worrying for nothing. “Yes, I’ll be your date to prom.”

“I know and do you have any idea how hard it was to pretend that I wasn’t interested.” Marinette awkwardly chuckles

“What?”  Now he was confused. Hold on…pretending? Damian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You knew?” He accused Jon who simply shrugs and takes a cupcake like it was nothing.

“Seeing you two pinning over one another was the highlights of my day. Mari was always in a panic when she tried to talk to you but there was always someone in the way, and you panicking like it was the end of the world. So yeah, I needed my own fun with all of this.” Jon answers before taking a bite out of the cupcake.

Marinette and Damian eye one another before smirking.

Legend has it that Jon’s screams of terror echoes throughout the school.

Fast forward to prom night, the Wayne family finally understood why Damian wanted to have prom at the Wayne Manor. The moment they saw the girl he was escorting—Damian had taken the car earlier that evening without a word to his family—they were all shook. Dick was squealing saying that the little bird finally found someone. Tim wasn’t sure what was going on aside from the flashing lights. Jason knew that girl and went into overprotective brother mode (that was not for Damian). Bruce wanted to cry but he had to keep up an image. Alfred had taken photos of the couple—those did not see the light of day until the wedding.      

All in all, the family was pleased to see Damian being happy with the girl as they dance the night away.  

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[sunflowerstalks]

Maybe If Remus Had a Plan in the First Place This Fic Would Have Had a Name, Too

Remus is Remus, Roman is tired, and there’s a cat, too. Expected chaos ensues.

This is my gift for Pigeon, @the-pigeon, for @sanderssidesgiftxchange! I hope you enjoy your gift, and i hope your holidays were and continue to go well! Also, happy new year!! :D

word count: 2125

rating: teen and up (for slight language/innuendo)

content warnings: slight innuendo/language typical of remus, hair pulling as a stim, descriptions of bad things happening to animals (as an intrusive thought, it is dealt with accordingly), slight anxiety attack/sensory overload moment

relationships: platonic sides (all of em) with brotherly roman&remus focus, implied/background romantic roman/virgil and romantic patton/remus but it’s pretty subtle

characters: roman, remus, virgil, patton, logan, janus, c!thomas (meaning both character!thomas and cat!thomas asfhjakfh)

additional tags: high school au, punk au, heist fic, like slight conflict and then mostly fluff and comfort. also, side note, cain and abel are the twins’ cats sdhjgdskfh

“Remus.”

“Roman.”

A beat.

“Any chance you could explain… any of this?” Roman gestures wildly to the pile of metal scraps, receipts, the feral cat, and assorted other trinkets strewn across the sidewalk in front of Remus, before crossing his arms and impatiently awaiting an answer without his usual air of, well, put-together-ness.

“Well, I’d actually gotten around to finally cleaning my wallet, when—”

“The cat, Remus! Whose cat is this? Why do you have it? Why is it surrounded by trash?” Roman’s voice increased in both volume and shrillness as he went on, hands reaching unconsciously to tug at his hair.

“Hey, don’t do that shit,” Remus tugged at the cuffed jean at Roman’s ankle for emphasis, “Anyways, like I was saying, I was cleaning my wallet when I remembered that I was like, eighty assignments behind in anatomy, so I figured I could do some cool art or somethin’ with a cat! For… extra credit or something.” Remus faltered for a moment, “In all honesty, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He had thought getting the cat would be the hard part, so now he was stuck in the swing of success without a direction to turn. Roman, however, was still stuck on the small details (in Remus’ humble opinion).

Roman took a deep breath, muttering something that sounded a lot like a prayer for forgiveness, before looking down at his brother yet again.

“Remus.”

“Yes, brother dearest?”

“Whose cat is this?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Roman looked moments away from manslaughter, yet managed to nod anyways. Remus’ face broke into a shit-eating grin;

“I have no fucking clue.”

---

“Let me get this straight—”

A chorus of ‘good luck with that’s and similar sentiments echoed Logan’s statement, much to his chagrin.

“Okay. Redo.”

“You can’t just say ‘redo’ IRL, Lo,” Virgil chuckled, not even bothering to look up from his phone—he had already checked out from the drama, but stayed for the simple pleasure of experiencing the familiar banter—and in fear of being called to the dean’s office for cutting class. Mostly the latter.

“And I would argue that you cannot say ‘IRL’ in a verbal conversation, yet here we are,” Logan paused for emphasis, adjusted his necklaces for the umpteenth time, and smoothed his hands over the table again before continuing, “Regardless. The situation that you—and I mean you two,” he gestured to the twins, “there is hardly a ‘we’ fault-wise here—have gotten into, is one of... feline larceny, without a known victim? Is that correct?” Remus nodded sheepishly—or as sheepish as his wolfish features could get, all teeth and eyes—while Roman just stewed in rage. Remus’ backpack laid halfway zipped on the lab table, and every once in a while a pink nose and whiskers would find its way into the light before being shoved back by a flurry of hands, aware of what yet another detention would mean for the twins. They couldn’t all just skip, though—they learned that the hard way from the last time one of Roman and Remus’ harebrained schemes had made its way from “a slight nuisance” to “an unignorable thorn in everyone’s side that also somehow ends with arson.” So, they had some past experience in handling the, well, experience that the twins brought along with their company—but they normally had at least a lead to work with.

“How,” Janus started, massaging his temples despite only just then contributing to the wreck of a conversation that their art class had devolved into, “do you steal a cat, and not know who from?” Remus just shrugged.

“It wasn’t intentional. I needed a cat, a guy had a cat, I didn’t ask questions. Was I supposed to?” Remus asked, eyebrows drawn together—normally, he’d be a sarcastic shit that would drive the group insane on (some level of) purpose, but now he just seemed genuinely afraid—of the consequences of his own actions, but, still—progress. Logan opened his mouth to offer his advice, but was silenced by the jarring ring of the bell. He sighed. This was going to be a long day of way more stress than he was qualified for—the twins were going to owe him another stick and poke if he had any say in the matter.

---

Remus must have been a wonderful, wonderful man in his past life. He had to have been. Because, somehow, by some good grace, he managed to make it through another two classes on his own, and to lunch in one piece, with a living cat by his side—well, in his backpack, but the merit stands. Logan could honestly say he was impressed—not that he would tell him that, though. Nevertheless, the six friends reconvened at lunch—still without a direction to turn.

“I could just put him back where I found him,” Remus started, attempting to break the icy silence at the table with a jackhammer as always.

“Do you even know where that is?” Roman scoffed, incredulous.

“Well, no, but I could get close.”

“This isn’t helping,” Logan interjected, “How about you bring it to a shelter? One nearby where you found it?” The table nodded in general agreement, but Remus only frowned.

“But that isn’t where I got it from. What if it has an owner? What if the closest shelter isn’t a no-kill shelter, and we go to all the trouble of saving the cat only for the fucks at the shelter to hurt it?” Remus’ pace picked up with his heart rate—despite only having this cat for maybe six hours, if anything happened to it, Remus had a pretty good idea of what he’d end up doing.

“We can check for that, can’t we, Lo?” Patton chimed in, placing a calming, steady hand on Remus’ shoulder, which sunk, relieved, at the touch.

“Possibly. But, regardless, it isn’t Remus’ cat. Our priority is to get it back to its original owner, if it has one,” Logan pointed out, “If that isn’t possible, then we need to reevaluate our plan, come up with another, and settle for a different goal.”

“Have we at any point today even actually had a plan?” Virgil snickered, ever the pessimist—it wasn’t like he was really helping as he was, once again, staring at his phone.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve done much besides stare at your phone today, edgelord,” Remus snarked, though it came out as more of a mumble—his face was pressed into the table, and his eyes were on the cat in the bag.

“You’re gonna have to get better nicknames, Dukey, we’re all edgelords here,” Janus deadpanned, smudging an unhealthy amount of eyeshadow around his eyes while Virgil and Remus argued over their respective contributions.

“Okay, can you, my brother,” Roman pointed to Remus, whose teeth clacked with how fast he shut up, ”and you, my boyfriend,” he pointed to Virgil, who could only look the smallest bit abashed,  “calm all the way down? Stop arguing, holy shit—” Roman took another breath, relishing the silence that had fallen over the table before pushing on, “—how about we all go, together, and fix this shit? I mean, what could go wrong?”

---

The answer was a lot. A fucking lot could go wrong when six seventeen-year-olds tried to coordinate anything, let alone an amateur heist.

Remus managed to get through the rest of the school day without much incident, but the rest of them were not so lucky, managing to receive a grand total of three detentions and six failed tests from lunch to the end of seventh period between the five of them. The teens recounted the horror stories of sixth period; Patton gesturing wildly from the driver's seat, Remus sat quietly (for maybe the second time in his life) in the passenger seat, and the remaining accomplices squished together in the back seat (which would fit three people at most for any group that wasn’t them). Also in the back seat was the cat, who had been dubbed “Thomas” for the time being—he was sat in Janus’ lap, curled up around an abandoned ball of yarn that had been left under one of the seats. The car ride across town would have been incredibly tense and unbearably long without the feline, and for that, Remus was grateful—even if he still had a sinking feeling of guilt swirling in his stomach.

---

           After a surprisingly uneventful car ride (except for the stop at a drive through for a morale boost (Patton’s words) of coffees and drinks which ended, after a rather nasty pothole, with a massive stain on the roof of the car), the party settled into the waiting room at the—no-kill, Remus triple checked—animal shelter. There weren’t enough chairs, so the group made more of a pile around Thomas, some of them standing, and the others sitting both on chairs and the floor. Juxtaposed with the sterile white of the walls, they stood out like the emo cousins that they basically were. Remus bounced his leg, up, down, up, down, over and over. He kept knocking his knee against Janus’, which jostled Thomas every time he did.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, trying to focus on holding still.  But it itched in the back of his brain, guilt and stress and fault and all the wonderful, terrible feelings churning, over and over. The clock behind the desk was too loud, and Remus couldn’t do anything about it because they wouldn’t even have to be here if not for him. So he kept his mouth shut and tried not to cry—for all of two minutes, because that was when Janus decided that he had had enough, and shoved a ball of fur into his arms. For a moment, Remus was terrified he was going to fuck it up, hurting Thomas or himself or causing some other inevitable disaster, but Thomas just pushed his warm face into Remus’ palm, and suddenly, somehow the only thing Remus could feel was loved. He choked out a wet laugh, unable to contain the bubbling build-up of emotions that had been brewing since he first saw Thomas that morning. His friends all looked at him, concerned at first, but all they could do was coo at Remus being the softest they had ever seen him. He sniffed, and gave them all a watery smile.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Sincerity? In my brother? It’s more likely than you think!” Roman teased, poking his brother in the arm. Remus stuck his tongue out at him, and the teens devolved into familiarity, playful taunts and sincere joy, waiting to be called back for Thomas’ check up.

---

While the veterinarian had been momentarily taken aback at the request for all six visitors to be in the room during the appointment, she also hadn’t seen a reason to say no at the time. Thus, once again, like the clowns they were, they piled into the room and crowded around the table, Thomas at the heart of it all—confoundingly calm given the situation, at least to the onlookers.

The veterinarian introduced herself to each of them, and began examining the cat for any injuries, microchips, or anything out of place.

“He seems to be healthy, no broken bones or infections…” The doctor said, reaching for a handheld device, “If he’s microchipped, and I’m able to reach the owner, you boys will be off the hook, okay?” Remus cringed, but nodded—he needed to remember that Thomas wasn’t his before he got hurt. She ran the scanner over Thomas’ back, and hummed.

“I’m… actually not finding anything. You said he was lost?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Remus confessed, “I found him on the street, so he could be a stray.”

“It seems he was a very lucky one, for sure. Most cats his age are incredibly susceptible to outside bacteria—finding you guys likely saved his life.” Remus’ eyes widened, and his hand reached for Thomas almost instinctively.

“You said that he doesn’t have an owner?”

“Not that I can determine, no. Did he have a collar, any sort of identification?”

Remus shook his head.

“Well, there are two options in the meantime; we can hold on to him, and put him up for adoption through our services, or you could adopt him. He needs to be immunized and neutered, first, but where he ends up is up to you guys.” Remus thought to himself for a moment.

“Hey, Roman. How mad do you think Mom would be if we brought Cain and Abel home a new friend?”

---

The answer? Not mad enough to outweigh her happiness at Remus’ smile with Thomas in his arms. And even though he didn’t end up getting the extra credit in anatomy, Remus’ circle of best friends grew by one, so he thinks he did alright in the end.

[obligatorycoffee]

Ack I've joined the essay train. More under the cut~

---------

As it stands now, I fit into two categories under the alterhuman umbrella: otherkind and otherhearted. The details get a little wishy-washy with labels around my otherkin identity...draconic, dragonkin, dragonkind, theriomythic, what-have-you, but the general gist is I'm a dragon, and that's that. I'm also domestic cat-hearted, cheetah-hearted, and Andalite-hearted. I enjoy these creatures, but I'm not them.

But, how do I know?

First of all, I suppose it's not possible to ever really know for sure. Our experiences are subjective and open to interpretation, and even those who've contemplated their identities for years can see them change or need reevaluation in the light of new information. Even so, at this point I can say with fair certainty that I'm a dragon, and not a cat, or a cheetah, or an Andalite.

I've loved cats for as long as I can remember, and begged my parents relentlessly for a kitten even before I was in kindergarten. I gained an intense obsession with cheetahs around that time too, and used to run around the house pretending to be one. I drew house cats and cheetahs incessantly on scraps of computer paper, alongside my innumerable dragon sketches. My mom, being allergic to cats, nixed the idea of getting me a cat at first, but a stray tuxedo kitten showed up at her work, and in the absence of an allergic reaction, she caved and brought the kitten home for a trial run as a pet. The cat ended up staying with us for 18 years. Oh how I loved that cat. I'd sit on the floor next to her and eat dry cereal from a bowl while she ate her kibble, I'd follow her around, nap with her, brush her, and dress her up to my heart's desire. I'd meow and hiss, I'd sharpen my fingernails to be more cat-like, and I convinced my parents to buy me tickets to the Cats musical, where I dressed up as my tuxedo cat for the show. I know cat body language exceptionally well, and can usually figure out pretty quickly what a cat wants or how it's feeling, and I've picked up lifelong feline mannerisms from being around cats since my childhood.

But, I'm not a cat.

Cats feel like family, and I'm thrilled to meet new cats, hang out with my cats, or look at cute art of cats. I will probably own cats for as long as I live. But they're little creatures I surround myself with that move and act in a way I've never felt a pull toward at an identity level.

I grew up reading K.A. Applegate's Animorphs series, and instantly fell in love with her blue centaur aliens, the Andalites. They were weird and funny, and had kickass scythe tails to boot. I'd run around on the playground with my friends at recess, and we'd pretend we were Andalites or other characters from the books. As I grew up, I never quite forgot about Andalites, and came to the abrupt realization recently that I'm probably Andalite-hearted. I was falling asleep one night and the realization that I really vibed with Andalites struck me out of nowhere. They feel familiar and interesting, and somehow important to me. I enjoy the fact that they exist, and I get a kick out of their species design, and they're just darn cool. The last time I read an Animorphs book was in middle school, but I've been thinking about Andalites ever since.

But I'm not an Andalite.

Nothing about their species fits with my experiences as nonhuman, and while I get a warm sense of familiarity when I think about them or interact with media involving them, that sense of familiarity doesn't extend to descriptions of their customs or planet. They'd make a darn cool linktype though, now that I think about it.

A handful of years ago, I spent hundreds of hours researching and writing about an odd seabird called a streaked shearwater. It's a member of the tube-nosed seabirds (of which albatrosses are also members), and likes to nest in burrows on hills above the ocean. It's an excellent flyer, and it can travel immense distances with speed and incredible grace. A couple months into my studies, I had a vision of myself as a shearwater, with white wings spread out to the night sky. I don't typically imagine myself as other animals, so when I had this vision, the intensity startled me, and I began to question if this was a theriotype. I'd spent a month or so doing fieldwork in a shearwater colony, and during my time there, I always felt a longing to leap out from the cliffs and fly over the ocean, and greatly enjoyed crawling around in the dirt and leaves to check on the birds incubating eggs in their burrows. Maybe there was more to that enjoyment than I thought.

Yet, when I imagined myself as a shearwater, flying over cliffs out to the ocean, I was not the bird itself; I was present in its body, but numb and unaware of what the bird's body was doing. I wasn't present mentally in its movements or senses. It was almost as if I were tagging along with the animal itself or hitching a ride, so to speak. Upon further exploration of what I imagined feeling like a shearwater should feel like, from a physical standpoint, I found it unnatural and almost horrifying to imagine my feet moulded into the adorably flappy webbed feet of a seabird, or to have a bristle of feathers sticking out as a tail. The bill felt like a deformed mask, the wings wrong, and the squat duck-like body felt ungainly. The thought of soaring on the night wind was enticing, but beyond that, it was uncomfortable and felt like nothing more than a cameo.

But what happens when the cameo shifts do feel right?

On and off for a few years, I'd have envisage shifts or phantom shifts of tufted cat ears overlaying where my human ears are. They were long and tan, and not really of any feline species I'm aware of, but close enough to a lynx that'd I'd probably describe them as such. I could imagine them flattening or perking up, depending on the situation and my mood. They'd come and go, and weren't really triggered by anything as far as I could tell. Their frequency followed a similar pattern to my draconic shifts...some weeks frequent, with some long periods of complete absence. They've since vanished, and I haven't noticed them around for a good couple years now. I can't say I miss them, but honestly, they were kind of fun, and they never felt particularly wrong, unlike my jaunt in a shearwater's body. However, I never felt an attachment to them identity-wise, and despite sticking around for a good few years, I never felt anything more associated with the shifts beyond some cat ears pasted on my human head (worth noting, my draconic shifts and cat ear shifts never overlapped! No cat-eared dragons here). I don't know where they came from and I don't know where they went. I'm not a lynx, and they were simply a cameo.

Perhaps I'm wrong about all these things, and I'm a draconic, feline, Andalite polykin, but exploring how differently I experience my draconity versus feline, cheetah, and Andalite-heartedness, I'm extremely inclined to believe these are a collection of different identities and cameo shifts. My identity isn't pulled toward shearwaters or lynx like it is toward my variety of western dragon or toward the idea of surrounding myself with cats, cheetahs, and Andalites. They all have distinct feelings, as hard as they are to put into words.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront.

The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.

“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist.

“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back.

“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”

“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.”

“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.”

“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs.

“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”

“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee.

“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain.

“No!” Jon exclaims.

At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.”

“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin.

“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.”

“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.”

Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs. As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin.

“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry.

“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild.

“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.”

“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.

“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction.

"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.

"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."

Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point.

"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done."

"Let's do it."

***

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment.

"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."

Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."

"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him.

Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it.

“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up.

“Me?” Martin asks.

“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.”

Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder.

The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops.

He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out.

"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable.

"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip.

He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease.

Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie.

The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady.

She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success.

"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side.

"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by.

Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."

He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him.

"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind.

“You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”

"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist.

Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design.

Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers.

Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."

Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London."

"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical.

"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually."

Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.'

“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign.

"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?"

***

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit.

When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically.

Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep.

"You ready?"

Jon gulps. "Yes."

Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.")

Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place.

He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time.

As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy.

He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air.

***

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back.

"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?"

"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier.

"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."

They laugh easily, the hot excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship.

[ankhisms]

the always wonderful shelley @shanheling tagged me to do this thank u so much!! i think that everyone i wanted to tag has already been tagged to do this but if you feel like doing this feel free to consider urself tagged by me!! im putting this under a readmore bc its long and i ramble a lot

the piece i was tagged to explain my process on is this oc piece! unfortunately i have a habit of deleting my original clip studio file once ive finished my art and saved it as a new png file, so i dont have the file to show the sketch and different stages of this piece. but I still can go through my general process and talk about how i did that piece!

1. planning

honestly i think about the art that i want to do a lot, and in this last year or so ive thought about the art i want to do more than ive been able to actually create and finish that art that i want to do. for my planning i tend to do a lot of different thumbnail sketches for the art im thinking of

these are some examples of thumbnails, a lot of times ill do thumbnails just on pencil and paper and with some of these theyre done quickly with my fingers on my phone note function on a day where i was feeling too bad to get up and draw on paper but still wanted to get the thumbnail ideas down. two of these are for the same songxiao piece that i still havent finished and i have more thumbnails digitally on clip studio for the same piece, i do a lot more thumbnails when a piece isnt working the way i want it to and theres times where ill completely scratch a thumbnail or a sketch and start over in order to do more thumbnails because i dont feel happy with some aspect of it.

two of these are small gouche painting thumbnails for two pieces i did maybe a month or so ago, i did the thumbnails and then tried to expand on them digitally and im wanting to do more thumbnail paintings like this in the future because it was fun

for the piece of my oc trio it was based off a series of ask prompts i got for a few different outfit prompt memes i had reblogged, so i based their outfits on the ones in the meme. when im drawing figures i tend to try and get the movement down in the poses when im sketching, i do several rough sketches of the pose before beginning to start setting down lines (if im doing lineart at all because sometimes i dont like doing lineart and do a more lineless painting kind of style). i really try to get my art to convey some kind of emotion, in the oc piece i wanted it to feel fun and like youre seeing three best friends while theyre out on the town having a fun night

2. creating

this is the only real example i have of a piece in the middle of being filled in and created, this piece is one that im really not very happy with & have had lying around for a while and ill probably scrap it and try to come at it from a different perspective at some point. but anyway it still shows what i do, i lay down a kind of neutral gray color underneath my final sketch/lineart if im doing lineart in that piece and then i start picking out the colors that i want for the piece and kind of setting out a pallette for myself. i dont do this color pallette thing 100% of the time but i do it really often, especially if im working on a commission or a larger piece where i know theres going to be a lot of colors or if its a piece where im not sure exactly what color scheme i want so laying out the colors together helps me kind of decide what kind of scheme i want. i am sooooo picky about my colors in my art i am genuinely obsessed with colors in art and there are times where i really have to stop myself from working on something forever just constantly adding more colors or putting little tiny changes and gradients in the colors.

after ive got the colors i want down i tend to try and block out parts of the piece with the base color for that section, and then i start to paint with the colors that i want to go on top of that base color from there.

once im satisfied with the colors/shading/rendering and everything ill go back and look over things and will fix things that look off or sometimes completely redo segments if they dont look right to me. when i was younger and mainly doing digital art using my phone and my fingers i would use a lot of filters and overlays on top of my art once i was done, and honestly im glad to not be doing that anymore because i dont think it made my art look any better. i do color adjustments and sometimes will put on a color overlay or a layer to emphasize the shadows and the light in the piece, but i try to keep those layers to a minimum and like i said before i have a tendency to obsess over the colors and ill spend a good amount of time in the color adjustment tool of clip studio and then ill just decide "actually it looks fine as it is" so yeah!

3. posting

i feel like i dont have a lot to say here gbfm i mean i honestly have a lot of thoughts about the relationship between artists and social media and how social media changes our views on art including our own art and how we can feel like we constantly need to be posting new art and just become content machines churning out new stuff. but ill save that rant for another time. i used to be really concerned about how many notes my art would get when i was younger, and i dont at all blame anyone who still is very concerned about that bc it sucks when u work hard on something youve created and then you dont get a lot of recognition for it, but honestly within the last two years or so i feel like ive begun to have a lot healthier relationship with posting my art. i really just post my art on my art blog, reblog it to my main blog, and then thats that yknow! i do really appreciate any and all support people give me, it means the world to me, but for me having the mentality where i dont need to post all the art i make and i dont need to be posting every day or every week or every month even has been a lot healthier for me because then im not constantly asking myself why didnt this get notes is my art awful??? and yeah i just kind of post it and my brain goes okay were done with that art we gotta make more

ive honestly been struggling a lot with art thru the pandemic and if youre reading this and have been struggling with creating in any way recently or even before the pandemic, please know theres no shame in having trouble creating and it doesnt make you bad at whatever it is u create!

thank you for reading this, feel free to consider urself tagged by me again if u want to do this!! love u all

[yanderecandystore]

Can we get more of the teachers with their lab escapee S/O????

Well, sure! I think it's a really different headcanon, it reminds me of asmrs where the Listener can hear their thoughts. I wish I could implement more of this, but not necessarily that the darling is actually hearing the yanderes thoughts, but that the reader (you) can see what they're thinking.

TW/Tags: continuation to a previous hc about mind reading darling who is a monster with more human traits than monster ones (so there is spoilers in this post, go read the first one if this storyline interests you) // homesickness of a home you have never been in // how about we have two "endings" in this one? I'm feeling dangerous >:3 // also a lot of meta language and fourth wall breaking that just came to me?? Like- out of nowhere.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Raining [Yandere! Teacher OCS x Mind Reading!Reader - Headcanon]:

Because of course it's raining. Especially now that you're here, in a random cold and wet alley, trying to block the noises from the thoughts that come from the citizens.

It's been four days since you were here, eating scraps you found along the way. You didn't manage to do much as their voices and thoughts were overbearing. The fact that you may be considering going back to their homes, going back into their death trap was starting to sound so much more appealing than staying here all alone, suffering and starving.

You don't want to go back, you know they could probably hurt you. And you don't want to deal with the Bright Vision Corp anymore, you have heard rumours of humans being quite unfair in these types of facilities, you're afraid you may have a gruesome punishment awaiting for your return.

All that you wanted to do was to find your family, your kind, your home! Your true home. You feel like a piece of you is missing yet you don't know why, why would you be missing something you never had?

Why would you miss the affection and comfort that you have never had? That you have never experienced?

Why do you feel so alone when you have been all by yourself all your life? There are so many questions and no answers, and it seems like your whole life is just based on this.

Questions, confusions, no answers, no resolutions.

Your head hurts from the lack of food and proper water that you have consumed these days. Maybe you should go to sleep in hopes of restoring some energy.

I'll let you choose your path now, but it's not exactly the end from here, it's just a point where the story creates two different routes. If you're wondering why, it's because I don't know what to do with this plot line lol. So I tried creating something that may or may not be cool (I just hope it's fine with you).

→ A: You finally find a clue:

Now, in this convenient dark place, the idea that you in your worst moment is going to find a beacon of hope in a pile of garbage is just as absurd and cliche as it sounds. Yet, would you really be surprised I mean, I'm personally a cliche story teller (I have to admit that), and also-

How else would you expect to find clues about other possible monsters like yourself, if not in a place like this? Where no unwanted eyes are going to find it, where only those that need to see it, will see it!

I think you're a smart person dearest, being an experiment inside a secretive facility does help you learn some form of "street smarts". Or in this case, secret passwords/codes?? My point is that you have learned at least some forms of secret codes and how to read secret messages.

Maybe you're imagining stuff, maybe you shouldn't be reading stuff that is written on abandoned alley's walls and interpreting them as some sort of hint to find your kind, even more absurdly, to find your family.

But hey, it's a desperate time- Whatever clue of a place you need to go it's already enough for you.

Who knows? Maybe luck is at your side this time around.

→ B: You go back to them:

While looking around the place you can see many types of written phrases across the walls, which you ignore thinking it was some sort of art. You heard people like to do it just for fun, so why even bother looking at them?

You just feel really, really cold and hungry. You don't have time to look at nonsense.

You wonder if the sounds are becoming more silent because of the lack of humans walking around, or because your mind is starting to go blank once again. It's both comforting and frightening, is this the end? Are you going to die?

You fall unconscious once again, but this time worrying if you'll ever wake up again.

While you're curling yourself into a ball to protect yourself from the rain, unaware of your surroundings, a familiar figure comes in.

Worried that you may be sick and lost, they take you away. Yet of course, you didn't really know what was happening, as you were too tired to move yourself and make an effort to see who it was, or to even stop them.

And like that, you're back into their arms.

🍎 Madeline Allen part:

You would probably wake up with the smell of food, it smells so tasty. You guess your unconscious self wanted to alert you of the sweet scent of a glamorous heavy meal. You don't think you ever got the chance to experience such a thing, just smelling cooked food was already way better than the scraps you ate in the alley or the food given to you by the Bright Vision Corp. Of course, everything that is good ends abruptly.

You tried to stand up as soon as you realized where you were, but of course, you couldn't, because that would be too easy. You were trapped into the couch, by…. Blankets? It isn't too tight so it doesn't hurt you, but the knots are really strong.

You look everywhere to try and find the one person that has done this to you, only to find yourself alone in the living room. You can hear something, someone in the kitchen. I guess she still hadn't finished cooking, she didn't know when you would wake up, so she tried to be patient and not wake you up herself.

You try to break free but to no avail, Madeline comes in surprised that you're finally awake. But something seems very, very different about this encounter.

"- Oh dearest, are you okay? I hope I didn't tie you up too tightly." Her expression shows you that she is waiting for a response. But you can't hear her second voice, you can't hear what she is thinking so you keep your mouth shut.

Which was really disheartening to her, she hopes you aren't mad, maybe you're cold or hungry right?

"- I'm making dinner for us. And after that you can take a bath and we can sleep to calm down and- In the morning we can talk about all of this. How does that sound?" She says, coming forward. You frantically shake like an animal trying to escape, trying to scare her until she lets you go.

"- And if you would prefer, you can sleep wherever you want! My bedroom is upstairs, and you can sleep on the couch if you want, it is a folding bed." She is trying her best to make this situation comforting to you. It would be a shame if you ran away again.

"- I don't care where I sleep, I don't want to stay here with you!" You scream as loudly as you can. I mean, hey, maybe someone is going to help you?

She is still coming towards you, her face is emotionless and you can't help but feel extremely unsafe around someone you can't read their thoughts. I mean, you still can read it, but you can't tell what she is thinking about and that is absolutely terrifying to you.

This is probably the first time you actually felt nervous around her. Her penetrating gaze mixed with affection and maybe, anger??

"- Oh dear, that's a shame-" she leans down towards you and pinches your cheek with her right hand while the left is making a "no, no" notion "- Cause I don't think you have a choice this time."

🍎 Matthew Robinson part:

You would probably wake up with the smell of food, it smells so tasty. You guess your unconscious self wanted to alert you of the sweet scent of a glamorous heavy meal. You don't think you ever got the chance to experience such a thing, just smelling cooked food was already way better than the scraps you ate in the alley or the food given to you by the Bright Vision Corp. Of course, everything that is good ends abruptly.

You tried to stand up as soon as you realized where you were, but of course, you couldn't, because that would be too easy. You were trapped into the couch, by…. Blankets? It isn't too tight so it doesn't hurt you, but the knots are really strong.

You try to look around, although the whole ambience is pretty dark as almost all the lights are out and it's night time outside. You thought you were lucky to be all alone, until you saw the figure sitting next to a dim lamp, reading a book.

He was tired, you could see that in his expression. He was tapping his foot impatiently as he awaited you to wake up. He thought that food may have turned cold if you didn't wake up earlier, yet his mind prevented him from waking you up.

You can't see well, but you noticed that he wasn't wearing glasses while reading the book. He was only trying to distract his mind but he was obviously disturbed by the circumstances of these past few days.

"- Hello." He says. Tired as usual. You of course, don't answer.

"- I have made us dinner-" He continues "- And after it, I can prepare a bath for you, I think you would appreciate it after staying out in the rain." He says in his monotonous voice, as his second inner voice seems awfully quiet. You can't hear his thoughts for some odd reason.

This is probably the first time you ever felt so frightened by not being able to hear thoughts.

You tried to hold your anger, but you couldn't help but spill out venom as you turn your head towards him- "- As if I would eat anything coming from you."

You would soon start to regret those words as you see him sigh and get up from his seat. Not showing anything through his thoughts or expressions, although his tone does seem to be one of affection and- disappointment, by your current sassy attitude towards him.

"- You haven't eaten proper food in this couple of days, and when I found you, you were freezing from the cold rain-" Leaning down towards your trapped form, sounding absolutely done with this whole situation.

"- I don't think you are in position to deny my help."

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[sinnabonka]

Hey Hun! Lots of love to you. For starters I wanted to say that there should be no cell in your body blaming yself in any way. You and your blog were hope for so many people. You were the "you are not crazy" of the final weeks, and I'm forever grateful to you. Instead of dying of anxiety I managed to have a blast in this time of waiting, thanks to you. I passed my master thesis, because you gave me strength to see past the fear. I laughed in those weeks more than in last 5 years, and all of it because of the hope you gave me.

The rest of the msg is going to be pretty emotional rant about the awfulness of it all, and I know my opinion doesn't matter to anyone but I wanted someone important to me to hear my thoughts, if that's ok. It's also ok if you don't want to read it ofc. It's like my breakup letter to the show.

I hear many people cheering for the finale and i find it really hard to deal with. I always considered myself an open person who fights for healthy love as the only redeeming quality of the universe. I could see people's point of view, even if it didn't sit well with mine, and I would always try to hear them out respectfully until they weren't being respectful themselves. That said, I'm fully unable to understand cheering for this type of spiteful content and hearing those cheers makes me feel like the entire world is listening to "this is how you treat your fans, this is how to abuse your power over naive sheep, this is how to keep dumb, hopeful minorities in check" and taking notes.

It also upsets me that the people who gave this show all of themselves and tried to understand it to the core are given no resolution, are spitted on and buried under the rug for doing their best to appreciate the art and the story it was telling. Yet people, who just hang around and watch the show doing the dishes, with no consideration to it's story or characters, got as nonsensical ending as their whole idea of character development in SPN.

I know people say that it was good enough, because it leaves space for guessing and own interpretation, but I feel it's really undermining the extend to which the finale was awful and hurtful to the fans. There is no end that realistically could stop fanfic writers from finding way around it in the world of Supernatural, so saying it was thoughtful of them Is like excusing abusive partner because "they could hit me harder, but they didn't. That means they care"

Lose ends, characters being written in a way that is totally not true to them and their development (personally my biggest allegation), dismissing years of story development, proving that it was all 'queerbaiting' in big part in the end (hell, even the whole "Cas is in heaven so do with it what you will" is a shameful way of appalling to LGBTQ community after using them so hard.

In the pie scene, the roles should be swapped, it's Dean who should say that Cas is on his mind and Sam explaining him that it's only right to keep on living doing good in their name. That's what Dean told Sam at the beginning of the season, when Sam lost Rowena, so it would be at least a bit poetic. This would at least give us some truth from Dean for once, but he died how he lived, in shadow of his fear to be true towards his feelings and needs. And as he died, he bound his little brother to the hunting till the end of his days, by guilting him into it on his deathbed. Guess Dean took after his father.

Have you realised what that emotional "love speech" from Dean to Sam resulted in? It was writers taking back Cas' confession after they didn't need our viewership anymore.

They basically gave us love confession to get us to follow the finale and when they didn't need us anymore, not only they didn't commit to the confession, but they undermined it by having Dean's speech to Sam go the way it did with obviously higher emotional charge, successfully taking back the value of Cas' confession and making it about a bait for "Tumblr idiots"

Finale killed my feelings towards Destiel, not because it wasn't confirmed canon, but because from what I see in the episode, they canonically confirmed that

- for Dean, Cas was only means to an end, which is such an awful way of ending Cas' character arc. They gave him everything he was scared of and nothing close to consolation price and they dare to tell us he had a happy ending, "because they said so". Well, I didn't see him being happy, and knowing what i textually know i can empathise enough to say that he faced a miserable finish. Even Chuck got an end that was better than Cas' fate.

- Dean, given power to do anything he could dream of, chooses to not even greet Cas, after Cas gave his whole life to Dean, told him he loved him and died for him. I know some people consider the little smirk of Dean confirmation of his feelings, but let's be real for just a second. If someone you deeply loved for years confessed to you, told you they thought you don't love them back, you would be freaking running to see them and tell them how much you love them. That smirk to me reads as "I'm relieved to know you're not going to spend eternity in mega hell that i left you in" and we really need to stop giving credit to writers for scraps like this when it's the last episode ever and we know this isn't going anywhere.

Not to mention that by having Jack bring Cas back behind the scenes it just highlights the fact that Dean didn't ask him to do that in episode 19.

As result, I'm unable to look at any Destiel scene and not think "in here Cas already loved him and in here Dean already abuses the power he had over Cas, because of his one-sided love"

And yet, the episode and endgames for everyone (maybe not Sam, but he was seriously pinning for Dean his entire life. Wincest much?) managed to be so bad, that not even bringing Cas back or following up on Destiel would make a difference in my eyes. I know you believe that Destiel would save it, but for me as much as it would be a redeeming quality, it wouldn't be enough to save this awfulness that writer doomed characters with.

And all the Wincest scenes in the finale... I low key expected them to make out and it made me feel physically sick. Also, cutting Misha out because of coronavirus is a cheap excuse. We all know better than to believe that, so let's not fall for the self pity play from the abuser.

If you managed to stay with me till this point, thank you so much for hearing me out. I hope i didn't anger you with my monologue. I will always think of the lamp when i think of you. The reality is that you were the lamp for so many of us in this darkness.

Love you so much, wish all the best to you, take care of yourself and stay safe!

Oh my god, if I didn’t cry with the final, I definitely am crying now. And now I have to explain my partner why I’m staring at my laptop and sobbing ugly. What have you done? 

First of all, I hear you pain, my friend! I share it! I didn’t spend a second after the final without the feeling of my heart being shuttered into million pieces, being stitched back just to break again, and so on and so on. 

I had my first panic attack in two years yesterday, when I kept thinking about the message the show sent to the fandom via Dean’s fate. I have a few posts in my draft on the matter, but I am not sure I will ever share them, because it is one strong depresso, and I don’t think people following me should see how fucked up it really is (if they didn’t get it by themselves, of course). 

I want to remind you, my gentle soul, that the story belongs to us. We know Dean, we know Cas, we know Sam and others. We know that the final is not who they are! I know it’s hard to ignore the text, the canon, because it’s kinda godsent, but the truth is essential. And the final is not the truth.

The truth: 

Cas loves Dean, he sacrificed himself for him, he saved his life on multiple occasions, he told all those beautiful things and he meant every word.

Dean loves Cas, he was on his lowest every time he lost him, Cas was his “big win”, his best friend, his brother, his white light that lead him out of his anger, hatred and despair. He took a dog and called it Miracle, he was looking for a job to retire from hunting, he didn’t kill Chuck - all of that, because the sacrifice Cas made was not in vain! The message was clear. 

I choose to ignore the “Carry on”, the only attention it is going to get is me creating 20 more mails just to put a one star review there and to drop some more salty or bitter comments with it. Maybe I will read through some reviews, too, add them to my collection. 

Maybe I will one day write here an article from scriptwriting perspective how fucked up in was, because that’s what I can do about it, without throwing up. 

If you can’t ignore it, I understand it. It is painful, it is disrespectful, I hate it as much as you do, probably. 

If there’s anything I can do for you to feel better, just drop me a message, we can talk about it. I am on the lowest, too, but maybe we can help each other.

You say I was your lamp. Let me lead you our of the darkness one more time <3 

CW can suck my metaphorical dick (I’m tagging every angry post with it), but Supernatural is not just the show on CW, it’s a big family. 

And you can’t give up on it! You can’t give up on Dean and Cas, you can’t give up on Destiel! It’s so much bigger then the show itself.

Rediscover the show for yourself, remind yourself that Dean and Cas are real, it was never one sided, it was always something amazing. 

What is real? We are.

Don’t you ever change.

I rather have you, cursed or not.

It’s love, hun, and love always wins. 

[yoitscro]

First thought: Homestuck^2 should've just been called Beyond Canon, and more people should call it that. 

The 2 was put on for chuckles; HS trending the day it was announced with it being a sequel spoke enough about how such a thing shant be underestimated, and why Homestuck is ABSOLUTELY more than just our small twitter crowd (and the scrap of us still on tumblr). I say that because remembering the Beyond Canon part slightly reassures me about the fact that this is a fanwork that will do some weird shit, and things I don't agree with, but isn't something that I have to subscribe to enjoying all the way with how I engage with Homestuck.

Homestuck 2 is not the canon continuation. Homestuck 2: Beyond Canon, is an OFFICIAL continuation.

Not having it on such an important stool and as the only content we all are only allowed to digest should come from both people who obsessively dislike it, and people who defensively support it. If a character says they kick babies then I can say, hey that's weird, maybe not great writing, but I can pretend they don't in my content, and i dont have to send threats or call people cishet white men for it! and, it's an absolutely great thing that we were all encouraged to create our own ideas without anyone who's influenced us to do so squinting their eyes when we actually go through with it. Glad I don't have to put this story up to the expectations of being a sequel to a 11 year, worldwide IP that's shooketh the internet landscape since it's merely optional, Death of the Author persists, and ideas aren't just dominated and revolved around the perspective of a 1% in this entire fanbase.

That said.

As an OFFICIAL continuation versus a canon one, HS2 is ok. It certainly has that fanfiction vibe, and a story it wants to tell. I can't really tell what that story is since we have like, 10 sub plots rn though. There's not a real a clear indicator on where the focus of main conflict is that connects all these stories together.

I thought that the prose in replacement of Vriska's battle was jarring, but not teeerribly surprising for the format HS2 is going for. It's more so using drawings to compliment text versus Homestuck's usual of panels being side by side with visual importance, or even itself being the one compliment. It sorta feels weird tho that it brought old fans back in with art just for them to get sneered at when they get a bit upset that there won't be main staples of art known to progress the story forward. 

Also people who mock people for “having to read homestuck” knowing there’s language barriers and struggling focus from those who’ve been use to something that was never so dense, are ridiculous.

Personally this could be solved by knowing how old flashes worked, having way more artists on the team, maybe even an art director if not already, and noting that we're not asking for the next Cascade. Rome wasn't built in a day, but Rose Ride sure was, and Homestuck’s animation is absolutely not the same as a 12-24 framed 12 minute cartoon. That, or just snuff the illustrative art as a whole since it's very clear on where the focus is.

I’m sure you’re not here trying to see my opinions on how the outer workings are though, versus plot.

Uuuuh, let's see. Yiffy's still a name I don't care to use until I eventually get tired of any of my art that do not show up in tags. This is fine and not as offensive as people are saying it is. Minors who want to cosplay this character don't have to call themselves this character. Not wanting to be one letter away from accidentally entering a very NSFW space of twitter is fine. Also the lot of people call Tavros, Tavvy.

I hope Kanaya's anger at being cucked is actually seen versus being implied through fan guesses and another character having to say she was.

Roxy needs to be more of an involved character. Where are they during all this?

Jane should have a mention of her relations to HIC being a main/bad influence on her current parallels to Alternian dictatorship.

The PRE-RETCON GROUP should have a fun one-shot update for fans who like them, since they oughta be around if they fell through the ghost hole. Most of them. The sprites that aren't Jasprosesprite should also show up too, since they're around.

Aaaaaand I think we should be extra careful going into the future when it comes to the alien rebellion. It's weird that a lot of the writers are white and toy around with concepts that can be a not so great parallel to racism. Currently not great timing rn! If the characters are going to remain aracial, but with them still doing not much to reference other non-white earth cultures or getting new hair cuts that have different textures (looking at you, Rose), we shant make the species with actual biological benefits a racism commentary. the xeno joke at least had a play on words. If any writer has happened upon this then a, please don't get mad at me again haha, and b, consider having more black writers or directional assistance on your squad. You know who they are.

In the future. I casually want the ghost from the Dream Bubbles to be shown since it's a big elephant in the room to not have a single one of them in the bg despite a load of them appearing from the ghost whole. Don't gotta give them speaking lines, especially the dancestors. I personally don't know if I want that right now.

I also hope in the future that we don't get HS content that is only going to revolve around HS2, if it's optional enough to engage with without being the only option. That's why PQ could ended a bit better for me, and why I hope it's not the main thing that's keeping Hiveswap on the backburner. I don't think it's farfetched to consider that multiple HS content could come from more than just one team; to relieve work load, but to also strengthen the idea that Homestuck can be a various amount of perspectives when it comes to the ideas fans have. The most dedicated fans leading the direction of the story is not just a handful of them. If anything, at least acknowledge the massive ass fan projects going on once in awhile to showcase the different avenues.

"Hey Cro, you sure have bitched about this alot. Do you have anything good to say? Why don't you stop reading if you hate it so much!"

Not every comment needs to be golden, love. Again, some of these decisions I eck at, but ultimately they're just words on a computer that I'm not holding anyone at gun point to do, and I'm curious to see how the story handles itself going forward, since again, it's just a fanwork. Sometimes I wish to not only see where the plot goes, but to see a writer's craft in action.

Good Things:

The Art. Again, please have more artists. It'd help so much, especially since the main one is also double timing for VE. That said, HS2 sticks out to me because of the way the color composition is used. Aside from hair and other tiny things, I haven't seen black used a lot, which makes colors pop. It's really nice to look at. I hope we get more sharper styles of character in the future, since it builds on nostalgia and makes the trolls feel much less like they're from Repiton, but I can deal with it for the most part. I also like that one panel where the omega kids and vriska are talking in the dark room, and based on where they're standing, the text aligns. Tasty as hell.

Meat and Candy still do hold neat logic in the direction the stories go. Candy, while it could be more tasteless in some areas, is chaotic and too much of a good thing. Meat is having something a little more straightforward, though I'm not sure quite yet where it's going. I always found Candy to be the part of the epilogue that actually entertained me the most, from how much of a surreal Robot Chicken skit at 3am it felt. Sometimes the jokes slapped real nice and made me wonder, going in, how is this monkeys paw gonna play out and, hopefully, make people laugh or smirk like they got a good roast at themself?

The slightly episodic feel of each update is what I wanted from the Epilogues, so it's interesting to see that play out when it comes to switching different perspectives.

The bonus updates get points for featuring characters that a lot of us have been wanting to see for ages.

Hopefully this isn't unpopular, but I think the tension of Yiffy's introduction was nicely composed and written (ignoring some of the things I wish for Jane). It leaves you with enough want to see what'll happen next time. You could also say that despite her growling and making a lot of noise, it's not actually bad writing: I see it as the audience being forced to see her in the same perspective that Jane see's her; a dog. Upon no context we're seeing the same thing while knowing things are obviously off, and once we see this character in a new environment where their personality shines, it'll have a bigger impact her own character being humanized. So I like that.

Okay, I think that's all I got. I improv wrote most of this; hopefully I won't be taken out of context since I don’t think that HS2′s writing should ultimately be a judgement of the writers as people, nor treated as if they should hold the same unhealthy work environment that Andrew forced himself to do when writing the og comic. And I'm still like, donating to the patreon and everything, lol.

[runs away]

edit: i was going to put the cw as another positive thing for the comic...but...yeaaaah.