#And the corpses double as food for them

[shidraoftheworldpillar]

imagine a Makuta that's like super kawaii and loves small cute rahi, and thats all he makes. The other members probably don't like him cause they think his creations are weak/pathetic, except for a small group which all meet up every once in a while and have an ongoing bet over who'll make the cutest rahi.

[secretlovezz]

Kiss Me

Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: while you and Daryl are out on a run feelings are disruptively revealed

Warnings: killing of walkers (duh), Daryl is implied to be older than reader, kissing (of course), just fluff, let me know if I've missed anything

Word count: 1299 (Think that's the most I've ever written on here lol)

Not Proofread

"Watch it."

Daryl's arm swings up lazily with his pointer finger aiming in a direction to the left of you where a walker slowly makes its way closer, stumbling and tripping over the dead plant life and its decaying limbs. You meet it halfway and its milky eyes meet yours, for a split second you let yourself wonder what kind of life this creature- no this woman- lived before the world went to shit, you take notice of the wedding ring on the ring finger of her left hand before her groans and growling got louder; your knife sinks its way into the shambling and rotting skull of the corpse and the body drops to the ground.

Up ahead a few feet Daryl watches you, your movements, your eyes and lips, your hands, he watches it all and he notices that look the one of sadness and empathy.

Before he and his group came to Alexandria you had yet to truly experience the outside world; the unrealistic safety of walls had kept you naive and unprepared for the dangers of the dead.

Though you are no longer naive to the world you still have your moments, moments where Daryl would remind you albeit a little harshly that there was nothing you could do to help these things- these "people".

When you catch up with him you smile in an attempt to convince him that you weren't thinking about what he knew you were. His brow raises at you and your eyes roll dramatically in return. You hit his arm playfully and smile again, somehow this one is brighter than the one before, "Let's keep going Dar' this food isn't gonna find itself ya' know." The corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smirk when you look away from him to continue walking he can't look away even as he makes his way back to you and you seem to have no idea the effect you have on him.

《----------♡

The two of you come across what seems like a small town with few houses and stores, a town that's probably already been raided for its supplies but Alexandra's desperation for food and medicine prompts you and Daryl to double-check- just in case.

Your eyes wander around admiring the once nice country houses as you walk down one of the streets-you forget the name of it already- and once again let your mind float away to life before. Would you have lived in a house like this if you got the chance, to live a married life with children running around if it was possible? Would the man you'd have married be a man like Daryl?

Your cheeks heat just at the thought of a domestic life with him. Is he the type of man to kiss your forehead when the two of you wake up together in bed as the sun shines through the bedroom window? You wonder if he would be the type to kiss and tickle the kids to make them laugh. Would he want a life like that or would he laugh at the idea?

You don't realize it but your legs have stopped moving, you stare at one of the houses wishing and reminiscing on what could have been but can no longer be.

Daryl watched you again but this time in confusion, this is the first time he hasn't known what you were thinking.

"What is it? Seen somethin'?" He asked walking back over to where you were to peer into the windows of the house.

Your head whips over to him eyes widening and cheeks heating even hotter in embarrassment.

Your fingers hastily move to fidget with the straps of your backpack, "I- uh- we should... let's just keep going." You keep your head down in shame at your thoughts though they weren't lewd as you make your way past him. He wants so badly to grab your arm- to have his skin gently against yours in concern as you speedily go by but he restrains himself fingers twitching against his crossbow and he clears his throat to continue after you.

《----------♡

After thoroughly searching through a hand full of buildings that included, gas stations, houses, supermarkets, and pharmacies neither of your bags were full having over found a few bottles of not too important medicines and a couple of tools.

When the two of you found a house, and cleared it of threats, to hunker down in for the night after a day of disappointments you settled in the living room upset and tired- understandably so. Worrying about the ignominy you'd feel returning home with practically nothing you let out a sigh from deep within your chest and moved your hands so the the palm of them would dig roughly into the sockets of your eyes.

Daryl let out a similar deep sigh as he settled closely next to you. His head falls back and his eyes drift to you letting a gaze so intense that you could feel it fall onto you.

You look back at him and try to let a grin form on your face but its tight lipped and almost fatigued.

The older man lets his eyes travel your face for what feels like the millionth time basking in your unreal beauty and like always their destination is your lips, though cracked they looked soft. He realizes he's ogling too late but still tries to fixates his stare back to your eyes before you notice.

You'd noticed though.

You debate asking him about it no longer worried about the lack of supplies you guys hadn't found but about whether or not you had imagined Daryl Dixon staring at your lips with a yearning you'd only seen in movies before the dead rose.

"Do you-um-" Talking about something as simple as feeling was more complex than they made it seem in movies though and you'd already stuttered over yourself an embarrassing amount of times today.

You leaned your face a little closer to his and his breath hitched. "Do you... like me? Like- do you want to kiss...me?" This was humiliating, you felt like a teenager, like you were fifteen and talking to your crush. Well, you were talking to your crush but you weren't fifteen anymore.

Daryl softly nodded letting out a gruff hum of agreement and you almost melted at the sound.

He leaned in a little closer just close enough so the tip of his nose could just barely brush against yours, "Do ya' want me to kiss ya'?"

"Please." You whispered.

His lips quirk upwards for a split second, "Please what?"

Your lips brush against his desperately, "Kiss me."

Daryl surges forward to capture your lips with his, you let out a sound on impact. The kiss is needy and filled with a want you both had been holding in for what feels like forever. Daryl's hands find your hips and grips them tightly using the strength he's built over the years to move you into his lap. You straddle him and shift you hands to rake through his hair before clasping them to the side of his head.

When you finally part for air you let your forehead rest against his, both of you panting heavily while staring into each others eyes. The smile on your face is wide and you giggle at the flushness on his cheeks- you did that to him.

The man you sit on top of doesn't know why your laughing, "Wha'?"

Relocating your head to press into the crook of his neck your smile widens and the fingers on one of your hands tangle and play with his hair, "Nothin' just... happy."

Daryl's smile is one that your sure you'll remember in every life time.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Prison changes a man

tags: mean!Satoru x fem!Reader, spitting, hair pulling, nsfw, toxic behavior, guys he’s a walking red flag in this, angst, hurt/no comfort.

An: This was just suppose to be smutty filth of Satoru being an asshole, but it actually got sad and meaningful towards the end. Oops…

I love soft!Satoru as much as the next person, but we need to talk about cold!Satoru. I’m talking about the Satoru who came back after being trapped in the prison realm. The one who came back a little different than how he left.

The one who spent the agonizing time in the lonely confides of the prison realm doing nothing but push ups and sit ups all day. The one who practices the output of cursed energy until his eyes couldn’t stay open anymore.

The one who went days without food, water, sleep, and socialization. The one who was alone with his thoughts for far too long. The one who saw his best friend’s dead corpse talking right before he was captured. The one who knew people were going to die in Shibuya, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He wasn’t going to let people die again. No, this was his burden to bear as the strongest. He had to make sure everyone got stronger before December 24th. Everyone needed to be at their best, or they needed to give up being a sorcerer completely (Kusakabe tried, but Gojo forbade him from resigning). It was either get with it, or get out of the fucking way.

He was only hungry for one thing: strength and power. His body had learned how to go without food and water for an extended amount of time. Nothing physical held him back besides himself.

No one got away with slacking off. Satoru was even treating his coworkers like a drill sergeant. He was constantly out on the field with them either doing cursed energy training or stamina training.

Today, you were his victim of choice. You had been running laps around the field for god knows how long now. Satoru was unrelenting as he kept a steady pace behind you. He didn’t even looked phased, even though you had been running without break for too fucking long.

Your legs were completely numb, and your thighs felt that weird burning itchy sensation from the constant movement. Your chest heaved as you tried to get whatever oxygen you could into your lungs, but your chest was so tight. Everything hurt, and the world was spinning before your eyes.

“For fucks sake, yn. Sukuna would’ve already tore you to shreds by now. Hell, even Uraume would’ve caught up to you.” Satoru hurled insults when he noticed his peers or students start to falter.

Your feet come to a halt, and you double over from the pain in your chest. Your body tries to gasp for air, but you’re just fucking choking on it like a fish out of water.

“Sa.. toru.. water-“ You tried to gasp out, lusting for the water bottle that he held in his hand.

“Oh? Are you thirsty?” Satoru asks as he eyes you down. His footsteps are slow and methodical as he approaches your pitiful form. His large hand grabs underneath your chin, and he tugs your face upward to look up at him.

His fingers squeeze the sides of your cheeks tightly, forcing your mouth open for him, and he gathers the saliva in his mouth before spitting directly into your mouth. “Drink up, slut. Maybe you’ll run faster with some of my DNA in you.”

Satoru hadn’t felt hungry for anything other than power in a long time, but when he heard that small breathy whimper escape you when you so graciously accepted his spit in your mouth, he felt a hunger for something else entirely.

He almost overpowered it until he looked at your eyes: so fucking needy and helpless. A twitch in his boxers immediately solidified his decision.

“C’mon. You’re doing a different form of training.” His voice was low as he wrapped his hand up in your hair and proceeded to walk you down to what use to be his office.

He was so fucking mean when he trained your cute cunt on taking his cock. His tip bullied its way past the ring of muscle relentlessly pounding into you like there was no tomorrow… because there might not be a tomorrow for him.

“Don’t tell me you’re fuckin’ cryin’ already, slut. ‘m not even all the way in yet.” He taunts as his hips pull all the way back until just his tip was in, giving you a false sense of security before he pummeled every inch right back inside of you down to the hilt. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Your body was at its complete limit, but Satoru wasn’t done yet. He was going to fuck you until he couldn’t anymore, until your walls remembered the shape of his cock, until the hurt of being sealed was masked by pure unadulterated pleasure. He was going to fuck you until things felt okay again.

“Don’t you start passing out on me, sweets.” He threatens before pinching your clit with his pointer finger and thumb, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your body. “Eyes on me.”

The way you clenched around him — so fucking wet and tight had him spiraling. How could you be getting off to this? Maybe you were as sick as he was. How were you already on your 3rd orgasm? Now, he has to play catch up with you too.

Satoru made good on his promise. When his balls were completely empty, and he was shooting blanks… when he couldn’t hardly think anymore but his hips kept trying to move from muscle memory, when you were covered in spit, sweat, drool, and cum… he finally felt okay again.

“You think I’ll win tomorrow..?” His voice was just an insecure whisper. A moment of fleeting weakness from the strongest of today provoked by skin to skin contact with you. Your hearts beating as one.

“I think that me and everyone else at the school will love you regardless. Win or lose.” You murmur lowly, somehow still conscious after everything.

“You really mean that?”

“Yes, I really do.” Your hand leisurely strokes his hair — still so soft despite everything that’s happened to him.

“I want to win… I want to come home and know what it feels like to be loved so unconditionally. I want to save everyone just one last time… I have so much I want to make up for…”

“Come home tomorrow, Satoru. Come home, and I’ll show you unconditional love…”

[lunarw0rks]

Angst Drabble where task 141 thinks reader was KIA but they just being held captive and was probably tortured until reader escaped?

☾𓂃��🍰❜┊ we buried you

warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical violence, torture mention, blood/injury, medical procedures, hurt/comfort, gn!reader ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

you already looked dead and felt it even more. bloodied, beaten, and deprived of proper food and water for weeks. but you had your chance to escape; one chance, a slim one.

your captors' facility had been raided — before they could restrict you to a chair again. the man who was in charge had been dropped through one of the windows, and the commotion in the prison's corridors was too chaotic for anyone to hear the faint gunshot.

the ringing, and feeling of water trapped in your ears — it was a blessing given all the overstimulating chaos. no one was looking for you, not while they were defending their compound.

you lifted your head from your blank stare in your lap once you heard the heavy thump of his body. you crawled to the warden's corpse, fingering the speak button on his radio, but your vision was too doubled to focus. on top of it, you weren't sure you could speak. you gave up on that the second day into imprisonment. no words resulted in punishment, but so did the use of them. it was a double-edged sword of anguish.

it was now or never; any longer and you would catch an infection or bleed out from your injuries.

to find his gun, you would have to roll the weight of a grown man onto his stomach. maybe last week, before you sustained a broken rib you would've. but now? you could do nothing except stagger through the empty corridors with his keycard, deadened eyes doing little to observe a threat.

the luminance of the afternoon sun nearly knocked you down, an achy forearm raised to block the sheer brightness of the star. your best course of action was to keep moving towards the sounds of friendlies; now was not the time to be the hero you were trained to be.

it was a desert area, only adding to the dryness in your throat and eyes. the distant voices of soldiers, British ones grew louder as you advanced down the valley, eventually seeing a tank in view. what sounded like an officer or general, his shouts were interrupted by the downright grisly sight you were. a military undershirt matching his and your undergarments — crimson stains in the fabric, your skin, the cuts and gashes, bruises big and tiny, sunken and hopeless features.

❝don't move an inch!❞ he bellows despite you already stopped in your tracks, bare feet blistering against the torrid sand. it was only fair in a land full of terrorism — assuming anyone could be an enemy. his men raised their rifles as the officer approached steadily, the force of his squad as backup.

the keycard smears with your bloody fingertips fell to the sand before you turned your arm to him, flashing your only chance at getting back to your men; an insignia for the 141 across that traveled down your forearm.

his gaze softened as he gripped the tender flesh of your arm, inspecting the ink tattered by injury. he gives it a harsh rub with a wetted finger — but the tattoo is very real.

your legs buckled beneath you once you knew you were safe as if your broken body could only stay upright for minutes under the sizzling sun. you crumpled against the sand, eyes droopy and about to clench shut.

the last of the commotion you heard was the officer speaking frantically into his comms — and most notable, a familiar name. captain price.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

❝bleeding christ...❞ price muttered as you wheeled past him limp on a gurney. you were supposed to be KIA, buried and dead for months now. your comms had been lost, and everyone else in that transport didn't make it. but you were here, and barely breathing.

how you managed to stand, let alone remain lucid enough to identify yourself to British forces, he couldn't comprehend it. however, your captain wasn't surprised — you were tough as nails.

the medics worked tirelessly; wrapping you in cooling blankets, inserting a central line, IVs pumping fluid, and a feeding tube to slow feed you until your gut could handle nutrients again.

for hours; they induced your slumber, some much-needed shuteye as the lines and medications did their work on you. though you hadn't been moving much, your attempts at speaking and panicked looks around the medbay were inhibiting your ability to rest. but right now, your shallow breaths were like a living miracle.

you survived and made your escape out of sheer willpower — no one would forget this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

soap was the first to sit with you, reading from a sports magazine. his logic? if you're up and bickering with him again, that means you're alright. your eyes would flutter open for seconds at a time, a small frown pointed at your chatty visitor, then they would shut again for hours. anything was better than nothing.

gaz and ghost only visited through the window into the medbay, a few minutes of observing your bruised body before they forced themselves to move along. or the captain did. the world couldn't stop for you, as much as he wanted them all to be there for you when you were lucid.

it was captain price that was. he gave the other three a light assignment, something that would keep the trio occupied for a few hours.

after what seemed like two days of medicated slumber, your eyes finally opened fully. you stared down at the stitches all over you, the soft cast around your wrist. most of all, the achy feeling is still ever-persistent despite the sedatives.

❝captain?❞ you croaked in a weak and emotional tone. you weren't in that prison, you were in the 'comfort' of a medbay. perhaps it was the drugs or the hell you had been through, but you were near tears.

his hand outstretched, a palm resting on one of the few uninjured bits of flesh on your arms. ❝you did it, kid. you... made it.❞ price's tone was soothing and low, like that of a parent consoling their maimed child.

what you had been through, he didn't need to know. he didn't ever want to picture it. what mattered most was that you were here and that you had proved yourself in the most heartbreaking sense.

he finds his pocket, pulling out his cell. ❝i have make a call to laswell. i can ask the others to visit if you'd like?❞ price asks softly, eyes remaining on you as he dials the number.

whether you wanted to see the rest of them right now or not, that was your decision. you earned it.

[katyahina]

The 'haired' helmets are strange..

It IS odd how we get to wear the characters' hairstyles, as it is just really unlikely they're scalps! I suppose the explanation is the same as why we are able to completely change upon looking into a mirror at Roundtable's Hold; as long as the Tarnished is guided by Greater Will, they'll have its aid and be transformed into whatever they see fit to keep carrying on! So I think the implication here is that we do, physically, grow the hair of the demigods (or champions) upon trying to tap on their power! I think if GW abandons a Tarnished, or if they abandon it, they lose this 'ability', which our playable character never does, so..

I am not sure whether it is Maliketh's own long mane or also a decoration! I'd like to think the former, in which case, same logic as with hair of Malenia, Godfrey and Radahn applies! Vargram's "hair" definitely is a decoration, and specifically for the purpose of imitating shadowbeasts:

Ensha's armour goes even further and not only gives us a hairdo, but makes us a skeleton:

We even get his power of slight regeneration, similar to Erdtree's normal powers:

All implications considered, I really doubt that this is just how armour looks, especially considering no change in size. We are not 'wearing' the skull, we ARE the skull now fhhsfd And this time the NPC data inside simply exists because Ensha does use NPC code and mechanics. So, we turn into a corpse! Again, should not matter much since as long as we're carried by GW we don't need to eat or sleep or... anything, really. (I'll also die on the hill of the theory that Ensha was one of the deceased Marika's offspring whose Mausoleum crashed and what was left from him crawled out but that's another story fdhfhds)

Here are other instances of hair simply decorating a helm:

Niall is that one guy we fight in Castle Sol, so similarity in this case ALSO checks out! Also cute idea: what if decoration for the helmets of Godrick's Knights IS his own hair? ;-;

That could also be speculated about Redmane Knights, but I feel like it'd be more appropriate for Godrick's. Radahn would be stingy about his amazing lion mane whereas Godrick can not only take body parts but also give them XDDDD yeah yeah terrible whatever

The black hair on Night Cavalry's helmet can be removed, also confirming that in this case it is a decoration. This hair does have interesting flowing animation though! Maybe it IS the hair of Night Cavalry themselves, still having their shadowy energy, but cut and attached again to their own helmets (kind of like Ciaran from DS1 decorated her helmet with her own braid!)

Another case of hair not being actual hair but part of the mask; the way hair is placed, it'd had to grow from like, eyebrows level and face itself or something fdhfdsdfh Maybe this style with braids and grey hair was intended to refer at Godfrey's? Alternatively, what IF their faces are actually furry/animalistic despite otherwise human build, so the hair doubles as fur? We don't see them behind the mask, after all? A food for a thought lol

^ More of 100% 'mask' types of these

The water dancer in blue gave the sword to Malenia's teacher, the blind guy that once sealed the God of Rot himself, and these warriors in blue appear to be following the same philosophy of "ever running water preventing stagnation, so, rot itself" as him! Although this head piece imitates just a follower and not the man himself (as far as we are aware....), perhaps the sentiment is strong enough to give us the hairdo too x) Again, funny enough, it seems to resemble the Lady of the Lake fairy herself!

I suspected the case of 'sharing hair' with Cleanrot Knights too, but upon closer look I can tell it is supposed to be some fabric/rags, rather than hair or hairlike accessory! Probably more efficient to imitate the look with rags rather than something hairlike tbh, considering the lenght of the thing! So I think the design is more meant to represent Malenia's own unhappy fate, with short tuft being the "hair" and the longer tails being the "wings" :

_______________

In conclusion, it is kind of easy to deduce which hair become our actual hair for the time being because of golden grace 'reshaping' us and which hair is just decor! But it is really interesting stuff to think about all the way!

[pastel-greene]

The Daughter | king!sukuna x curse user!reader

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Summary: The mother of curses happens upon a blind child and decides to impart a portion of her power to them as an experiment of sorts. The power morphs the child in their image until they are part curse and part human. So what happens when they get employed by the King of Curses? Will humanity bloom as newfound emotions flow between the two? Or will they usher in an era of never ending terror?

Notes: not all of this will be canon, it will be loosely based off of the jjk universe :) taglist is open, comment on any chapter to be tagged in future ones

Genre: female reader, fluff, angst, ‘loads’ of smut, violence, sukuna true form but like not with the weird face lmao just double set of eyes and arms, dark reader

Warnings: profanity, explicit smut (two dick sukuna, sadistic sex, biting, oral m & f receiving, pet names, more to be added), violence, depictions of gore, dark minds cause yk, mentions of rape, toxic relationships, chaotic neutral reader, trauma, possessiveness from reader and sukuna, torture, vampire themes (reader’s blood is infused with the Mother of curses so if a curse user is to drink it it basically gives them a temporary stat boost bc what can i say vampire sukuna seems hot), and more to be added as story progresses

Word count: 1.4k

This work contains mature content, so absolutely no minors I will block you if I find out :)

The battlefield roars around her as she lets out a feral laugh. The scent of blood bathes her skin as enemies around her burst at their seams as if allergic to their own viscera. Her power curls around her in dark tendrils, shadowy mist traveling from her feet and from it monstrosities spawn. From her being they are born, from her existence cursed energy sprawls damning the world. Humans and socerers alike flood to exterminate her like the blight she is, but their hatred and fear only makes her stronger. Their infected emotions only allow her entry into their minds, allow her new hosts for her children. With each minute, more and more of them succumb to the sickness and from their corpses new curses rise and fight. She is the unending threat, the undying plague, the Mother of Curses.

This was her life for an uncountable number of millenia for her existence started with the creation of light, for light could not exist with darkness. A life full of death, misery, and sadistic pleasure. That was until, she fell in love with a human. Not in a romantic sense, but in a maternal sense. It happened after a particularly interesting battle with a man donning white hair and crystal blue eyes. His technique and mastery over cursed energy was a sight she never expected. It left her more wounded than she had ever been. Of course, she wouldn’t die from it, but it still hurt like hell. So she found herself stumbling across the snowy expanse and upon a run down hut. It was warm and smelled of a hearty soup begging to calm her ailments. She approached the hut with little trepidation and swung the door open ready to evict whoever was inside, but she didn’t see anyone. She stepped further in and looked around but the place was empty. A trap perhaps? She thought. But where is the trapper? Is the food meant to lure victims in only to poison them? She again stepped further into the abode, further towards the food, but she sensed a presence. It seemed to lurch from nowhere straight towards her. She turned quicker than the being could register and grabbed them by the collar of their shirt and held them up.

“Let me go you you thieving piece of shit before I strangle you with your own damn innards, add you to the fucking stew, and drink it through your hollowed out eye sockets!”

….before you what? The mother of curses had never heard such a threat to her. Never heard something as unhinged and quite frankly gross as that, especially from what seemed to be a child. Yes, a child it was, one with white hair and eyes to match.

”What are you fucking deaf? Unhand me and get the fuck out!”

The Mother of Curses started laughing as she moved her hand to grab the child by the jaw, her shadows unarming the girl of the knife she thrashed throughout the air. Defiance sat on the child's face as she spat right on the Mother. Ohhh you are so fucking close to dying. You think being made into stew is bad? Just you fucking wait. I will show you the true reaches of pain. Up came the Mother’s free hand to wipe the spit off of her face before using the girl’s hair to dry it off. Then went her finger into the girl’s skull. A strangled scream ripped from her and she writhed in plea of escape.

Within her mind was vile. Her memories were dark scapes filled with throat wrenching smells and unknown touches. Her fear of being touched without being able to see stained each and every rotten corner of her mind. But as the Mother dug deeper, she could make out silhouettes, each with a different feeling. The child had learned to feel people’s energy and had used that to navigate.

That must be how she sensed me coming. And knowing she can sense other’s energies means that she can probably sense her own. Which would explain why I didn’t sense her at first because she has most likely learned to mute her presence altogether. Cheeky little assassin, yeah?

In her memories the Mother feels and smells a very familiar substance—blood. She pulls herself towards the memory drenched in it. A memory of the girl’s first kill. It starts with screams and sobs overpowered by hungry laughs and hands. It wasn’t the first time the girl had been in this predicament, but this time is what changed her. Something in her snapped and all of the beauty made by the Mother herself started pouring into the girl. Strength she hadn’t known before surged through her body and before she knew it her hands were slicing through people like butter. Now it was her hungry laugh drowning out their screams and sobs. Some pleaded which only earned them an audience with her teeth as a wicked smile pulled back her lips to introduce them. Into flesh they sank, blood pouring down her face and throat and dousing the room as she ripped back. A feral beast finally liberated from its cage.

The Mother had originally intended to pump her with cursed energy until she popped, but another idea came into her head. She decided to add onto the cursed energy the girl already possessed but not to kill her. To enhance her. To make her a spawn of the Mother of curses in human form. Her proven survival instinct and bloodlust were promising aspects for a spawn and her cooking smelled decent enough that she could at least cook for her if nothing else. The girl’s writhing calmed down as she felt the power flowing into her. Everything felt as if it was exploding inside her as her very makeup was being altered. Her bones grew denser, her blood grew richer, her muscles grew stronger, her hair grew darker until only a section of the light remained, and within her eyes bloomed irises of blood.

The Mother withdrew her finger and released the girl to collapse on the floor as she headed towards a pile of blankets in the corner. Her state haggard after parting with energy after being in such a state already. The girl sat there on her knees looking at her hands.

”You are going to overcook the soup. Hurry and serve it already,” she said whilst stretching out her legs under the small covers.

The girl looked back towards her, finally seeing the mask that hid the bone chilling aura she felt. She stared for a long minute before getting up and pouring the woman a bowl of her soup. She continued to stare at many things as she ate, things she had never seen before. It was beautiful. She would have cried if her intruder was not still present.

From that day on, the Mother stayed in that little run down abode with the girl. Teaching her how to use her new body, showing her the secrets to her ever growing powers. It was something the Mother never saw herself doing, but an experiment that had her shaking with anticipation. She had started to consider what it would be like to withdraw to her domain and leave her spawn behind to rule. She wanted to see the chaos that would ensue without her, wanted to see what curses would be born from a human with her powers. Someone with a different mind, someone hardwired differently. She knew her curses would always be stronger, but would hers be more adaptable? The Mother knew nature would create stronger sorcerers like that white haired prick, so she knew curses would need to evolve as well. They needed to possess intelligence as well as strength, needed to be able to amass followings behind them.

For this to happen, the Mother kicked the girl out of her own house 10 years after their meeting and out into the world on her 18th birthday. Most children would have screamed and cried, but she was excited. She knew from the past how to get by and figured if she could do it blind and basically powerless, that it would be exponentially easier now. She bowed to her Mother as they laid their hands on her.

“Show me you are worthy of my blessings. Make the heaven’s weep at your monstrosities and the realm beg for your pardon. Make me proud or take this dagger and bury it in your heart,” the Mother said with her usual smile as she unveiled her final present to the girl. The girl looked at the gift in awe as she took it into her hands.

“Don’t worry Mother, I will make you prouder than you can ever imagine.”

Notes: ahh hehe my writing is so rusty but I am really excited to write this idea. Updates should be (relatively?) frequent and I am determined to finish it lol. The following chapters will be told in first-person with (Y/N) tags. Canon in this story is that the reader has mostly black hair with only a small white section left and their irises are blood red. Going forward though I will use (h/c) and (e/c) so that it can suite whatever you want for your reading purposes. I hope you all have a wonderful day, see you in the next one muahhh~

[still-fatemeh]

...Passion Is the Gale.

Still baring the pain...

16! stormbringer chuuya x reader

(I decided to keep takako as reader's name because I've already posted the first one with that name but it doesn't necessarily nod back to the real takako ueno)

(The fanarts credit goes to the creator)

Her gaze was fixed on her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, the toothbrush hanging idly on her bottom lip, eyes searching for something but there wasn't anything in that reflection, there was just a corpse staring back at her. Her hands clutched the hem of her shirt in a desperate attempt at calming down her nerves and stop the thudding of her heart in her ears.

All five of The Young Blood at once and without any hardship, probably he didn't even struggle...

THAT was something else entirely, in it's own league. He was no normal human, that was for sure but only a monster can take out all five of them at the same time. Her head hurt, she felt sick to her stomach.

Chuuya didn’t wanna talk to her. He didn't even look at her texts.

That wasn't the problem

She understood. The texts were more out of formality than anything else. He probably didn't even spare his phone a glance, his head a mess. Chuuya wasn't the best at dealing with his emotions, he didn't know how to grieve for them.

Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it's overwhelming. All you can do is learn to swim and he's an avid swimmer. Well, not by his own record but thanks to albatross who felt the need to drag the poor boy out in the middle of the night to god knows where in the port.

Takako spat out the toothpaste in her mouth, looking at the blood mixed with it as it went down the drain. She couldn't remember the last time her gums bled while brushing her teeth, maybe when she was eight and brushed her teeth with one of those singing toothbrushes. She felt like she was looking at the rotting corpse of that little girl and those memories were those of another person. A girl who knowingly threw herself in the pit of demons instead of dying with dignity. Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a person's soul in their body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it. She had to survive, she didn't even know why but she had to. She could almost hear the sound of his jaw breaking, as the man pressed his shoe into her brother's skull. She didn't scream, just trembled as she watched the man in black shoot him three times. BANG BANG BANG. That's how her brother became a corpse, a ghost of the past.

Fear is a part of life. It's a warning mechanism. That's all. It tells you when there's danger around. Its job is to help you survive. Not cripple you into being unable to do it. She wasn't afraid of death, she never was. She'd grown up accustomed to it. Felt its ominous shadow looming over her at all times.

Kouyou's girls called them port mafia's singles. Heh, oh God. Then it became port mafia's singles AND chuuya. She remembered albatross' lively cackling and chuuya's muttered curses as they walked together. Chuuya hated too much noise and albatross loved parties. A match made in hell. The blond was the most cheerful guy she knew in this shithole, a sweetheart and she could almost imagine chuuya's betrayed look if she ever said that to his face.

Before her mouth could curve up into an absent smile, the damn toothbrush hit the bathroom tiles with a loud thud.

She clicked her tongue, bending down to pick it up. She had to double check 'cause the thing was so goddamn bloody, there was no way in hell that all that blood came of her mouth.

She dropped it in the sink with an annoyed huff, she could just throw it out later.

Takako rinsed her mouth, watching as blood dripped into the sink. What the hell...

She stomped out of the bathroom, her room drenched in darkness. The only source of illumination was her bedside lamp that didn't even have enough light to attract flies.

She wanted to turn on the TV, pick her phone, pick up a Goddamn book to get her mind off of the fact that she had deliberately left chuuya alone. She knew he didn't want her beside him now, that would be so bitchy of her to not give him the needed privacy.

She wanted to rip off that poster of lippman in her room, the one from his most famous romance movie. The man was gorgeous. Lippmann was an extremely powerful skill user with an ability that reacted to and countered an attacker's thirst for blood. Therefore, it would be impossible to kill him without leaving behind any evidence. If his killer's name got out, every major news organization the world over would be chomping at the bit to expose the person's history, motive, and who was backing them. Whatever organization ordered the hit would lose any privacy it once had, and that would spell its end. Murdering Lippmann was a death trap- a bomb that would go off the moment he died hence why nobody had the guts to lay a hand on him.

But there he was. Another corpse ready to to be swallowed by the dark pit of this city's underground.

And piano man? The executive-to-be?

Even Ice man the assasin?

Even Doc?

The five of them together were a force to reckoned with but...

All of their skills apparently paled in comparison to Europe's king of assassins.

Why the hell would the killer of two of the English queen's personal guards be in yokohama in pursuit of chuuya?

Just what was this boy?

She had heard of the explosion, the reports say that it was hell on earth. The casualties were minimum, not that many deaths. But one side of a nearby eight story building had just vanished, completely and utterly gone. Melted streetlights, parked cars, asphalt...

Black flames, the same ones who burnt a hole so big in this city that it can never recover. Suribachi city, where she was raised. The same flames that were associated with the appearance of the previous boss last year, that led to the death of her superior, Randō. He was a sub-executive at that time and apparently a traitor, which was impossible. The man who was always cold, a traitor?

He was killed by that wraith, dazai and chuuya. Apparently, he was the one who brought back the previous boss, but the details on this case were a lot less clear.

And now...

Those black flames were back, and in the middle of it, was chuuya.

Oh God, just who was this boy?

He never told her anything, waiting so she could figure it out herself or maybe just keeping her in the dark. It wasn't how she liked it at all, it was a burden that both of them were supposed to bare, not just his alone. That was the whole point of a relationship, to share the burdens on their shoulders so the weight would lessen. She knew one day he'd tell her everything, just like she told him about her unsavoury past, but apparently not that soon.

She sighed, reaching for the drawer on the nightstand next to her bed to take out a pack of cigarettes.

But that was when she heard it. Someone was knocking on the door to her apartment, the sound was subtle. It couldn't have been chuuya since he probably wouldn't want to see her now. He'd never knock like that. He always knocked on her flat's door expectantly, as If he would take it off hinges if she didn't open it at the moment's notice. It couldn't have been gin-chan or amane or any other one of her friends, they would have definitely called before appearing on her front door in the middle of the night.

The knocking was calculated and very polite. She had no idea how knocking could sound polite, but it did.

"Who is it?"

She shouted harshly but was met with no answer.

Whoever that was knocking at her door was very persistent.

An enemy? No, why would they come for her of all people in this high-end apartment complex.

She got off her bed out of curiosity, putting a dress shirt over her shoulders and reaching for her sliver pistol to shove it in the wristband of her sleep shorts. She cursed anyone who made these doors and was dumb enough not to put peepholes.

She walked to the door silently, gently opening it and peeking to see who was it that was knocking.

And the moment her eyes fell upon him, she lost it.

A blanche, pallid expression came over her face, losing the little hint colour that it already had. Her palms felt clammy as she tried to slam the door shut but he put his shoe in front of it, preventing the door from closing, her heart pounded in her ears as the bile rose in her throat.

"Hello, you must be takako ueno, right?" He said sweetly.

The king of assassins was tall. A blonde european man with a pork pie hat similar to that of she'd seen with chuuya. He wore a suit the colour of midnight sea.

Her mouth was dry, her throat felt swollen. This was the guy who took out all five of the flags at once.

Damn it, say something! At least deny it! Yell at him that you don't know who the fuck takako is!!!

She could only look up at him in abject horror as the man smiled. A mischievous smirk that made her stomach churn with fear, judging from his playful way of analysing her face, he appeared to be enjoying what he saw.

"Oh, cat's got your tongue, sweetheart?"

He said mischievously, shoving a bouquet of flowers in her face.

What the hell?

She absent-mindedly caught the flowers, whispering: "You're Paul Verlaine, right?"

He nodded his head, amused.

"Certainly, would you happen to be accepting any guests?"

She couldn't process what was going on but played along. For this man, killing her was a piece of cake, probably. Her thoughts were going a million miles a minute, weighing each and every possible option and possibility. There were not many delightful ones though. He was here to kill her, there could be no other business.

But fucking WHY?

"Yeah... I'm takako. Why are you here?" She mumbled like a deer in headlights, her fingers loosely holding onto the flowers as she swallowed thickly.

"I'm just here for a little talk, takako."

He said elegantly, waiting for the light upstairs to finally turn on but the problem was the lights in her mind were already going out, flickering on and off hundreds of times a second.

She finally snapped out of that fear-induced trance as she asked him with narrowed eyes: "What exactly do you wanna talk to me about?"

Takako Ueno, the girl in question was short in stature and was eyeing him with a venomous gaze. The madmoiselle had slick black that each lock curled near the ends. Big bluish green eyes that were like turquoise stones, glassy and doey. He could easily see the appeal that made chuuya choose her, for a girl her age, she was really beautiful.

"Oh, I think we can talk inside. It won't be so polite of you to keep your guest waiting outside." Verlaine said smoothly and the girl's jaw tightened, gritting her teeth in frustration.

"Gatecrashers don't get to come inside. Just what the hell could you want from me? Why are you after chuuya?"

She observed the flowers in her hands, presumably checking for poison and then cast him another dirty look.

"Oh little lady, let's cut the chase. I'm just here to meet the girl that has stolen my little brother's heart."

"Little... brother?" She questioned with a grimace.

"Unfortunately for you, creep; chuuya doesn't have a brother or a family of his own, if he did, he would have told me."

"It seems like he's lied to you."

"Or you're simply bullshitting." She spat out with certainty and that made verlaine's lips curve up into a faint smirk.

"What makes you so sure of his honesty?"

"It's obvious, really. I would believe his words over yours any time of day."

verlaine's smirk broadened.

"Interesting..." He mused.

Takako chose her next words carefully.

"Why did you kill the Young Blood? Are you here to... kill me as well?"

Takako swallowed her fear along with her disdain so she could look him in the eyes for a moment.

Empty brown eyes, ones that despite the spark of mischief in them, were clouded over with unimaginable grief. The eyes that had absolutely no humanity in them, she was definitely looking a monster in the eye.

"Yes indeed. You're quite sharp, aren't you?"

That was it, her death sentence. As much as he tried to sugar-coat it with his tone, she could feel her body going numb and shivers running down her spine.

She moved aside to let him in, still holding the bouquet of red roses with an uneasy grip, her hands trembling.

She felt like a lamb in the slaughterhouse while standing in the hallway of her own apartment. A lamb with a knife pressed against its throat. She knew the more she struggled, the more painful her death was going to be.

And The King of Assassins happily invited himself inside, striding forward as he observed her place with curiosity.

Fumi hurriedly slammed himself into the cage's walls, alarmed. Verlaine observed the canary with his head tilted to the side. A bird? Interesting...

His eyes trailed to the polaroids and photos on a shelf, on display. There were photos of the girl among a group of girls, presumably her friends. There were even a few ones with the bird. And photos of her and chuuya. A lot of them.

A photo tucked in the back of her and an older man standing together, they shared similar features and he had her hands on her shoulders, she was smiling ear to ear.

She looked so happy in all of the pictures, a concept foreign to the likes of him.

But... Chuuya was also smiling in a lot of them. They were newer, like the photos with her friends.

In one of the them, he was smiling widely while a holding a champagne glass, clearly intoxicated to an extent. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was giving the camera a precious smile. His attire had gotten messy, clearly due to his inebriated state and he simply seemed... happy

In another one, he was, for unknown reasons, trying to tie Dazai to a chandelier by his ankles with a rope and dazai was hanging upside-down without protest.

In another one, he was pressing a chaste kiss to takako's cheek while holding her waist. Another one of him pushing her in a lake. Them eating together at a restaurant...

There were a lot of them. A lot of memories. They happened to chuuya, and he seemed happy that they did. He seemed like he belonged with them. But, his happiness wasn't going to last long.

Verlaine knew that chuuya must have felt othered and alienated by these people. Chuuya was different from them, that was how he was supposed to feel. He understood more than anyone realized how chuuya must have felt when someone told him "They loved him". And he understood how he trusted her who gave affection. Really, he did. But his trust in the girl will only cause him to suffer because she will eventually betray him.

But verlaine failed to justify the smiles.

"Can I have this one?"

He pointed to the photo of chuuya's smile and she immediately shook her head in a manner that indicated a negative answer.

Why the hell did he want chuuya's photo?

Takako inhaled sharply, she even considered running out the door or shooting him with the pistol that she had with herself. None of these options were going to work. He was the same person who had managed to kill a decoy of the Queen of England... They would do nothing other than shortening her life even more.

Her wide eyes traced his steps as he sat down on one of her chairs around the tiny dining table, crossing his legs elegantly as he gestured for her to also sit down.

A sarcastic snort escaped her throat.

"Do you want tea or somethin' too, I guess?" She said mockingly, trying to conceal the nausea that was the result of her stress, she gulped again to get rid of the need to puke out her guts right now.

"That'd be lovely, takako. Finally someone who knows how to treat a guest around here..."

He sighed softly. And after four more minutes of her just standing there in the middle of the hall, her expression caught between terrified and confused, his smile faded.

"Ahhhh, I take back what I said."

"Would you like some chinsoku, it tastes wonderful with tea!" Her mouth opened unconsciously. She sounded hysteric more than anything, the corner of her lips twitching uncomfortably.

Verlaine merely raised a brow.

"I'm not here to waste time."

He said sharply.

"I came here to see you, but it was so easy and you're incredibly defenceless, so I want to talk to you before I finish my business."

Takako let out another sigh at his not-so-subtle jab. She didn't want him to lose his civil demeanor, that'd just make things more difficult and make her death proceed faster and more painfully. It was true, she was practically at his mercy. Dragging it out was her best chance of survival. Against an ability user that powerful, an invasion based attack was her only chance of buying some time. And coming up with a good surprise attack was something that required patience.

She suddenly slammed the tray of chinsuko on the kitchen counter with an unnatural smile and transferred them to a plastic plate (Not planning on giving him more weaponry choices) and placed them in front of him. Walking back to the kitchen to get some herbal tea.

Verlaine's expression was unimpressed, partially indifferent as he put some of the sweets to his mouth.

Takako put the plastic cups in front of him with that same helpless smile as she sat down. It was uncanny and uncomfortable as it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Verlaine disliked herbal tea, black tea or coffee were better options.

Another sharp breath and the girl became more relaxed, as if she felt she had nothing to lose anymore.

"I did some research on you, takako..."

"As a matter of courtesy as an assassin?"

She asked with a pointed smile, absent-mindedly guessing his thoughts.

He merely smirked.

"Oh, you get it, huh?"

"Yeah, I do." She said inattentively.

"If you're killing someone, you might as well know who you're killing, right?" She said, her eyes downcast. Now she knew how the victims of a assassination must have felt before she finished her mission.

Verlaine looked bored out of his mind, she internally cursed herself for choosing the wrong subject. What do inhumane assassins even wanna talk about? Maybe it was just the fact that she didn't amuse him.

"So you and chuuya... get along, am I correct?" His words made her snap out of it, shattering her train of thoughts.

So that was what he wanted to talk about... of course...

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just nodded her head as a way to confirm it for him.

"We do, most of the time." She whispered softly.

"So how long have you known him?"

He asked, eyes fixated on the table.

"For around a year." Another absent mutter from her.

"Interesting... Mind telling me more about him?" He said firmly, obviously expecting something of an answer but takako only raised a brow at his question.

"Why should I tell you anything about him?" She sounded offended and disgusted at the same time.

"I don't think you're in a position to refuse answering my questions, little lady. I'm just curious about my little brother. You probably know him best, what's he like as a person?" He cooed with a faint smile and a hint of interest as he picked another one of the japanese sweets.

"Chuuya's... someone who doesn't leave you be when you're struggling." She realised how hypocritical it was for her to expect him to be there for her when she left him on his own to process his grief.

"He..."

What this guy even wanted to know?

"He was there for me when I needed him. He doesn't know how to talk someone through something which is understandable..." She said that with a little smile.

"But he listens to the best of his ability."

There wasn't much of an expression on verlaine's face as it was utterly and unimaginably empty.

Takako's smile morphed into a faint smirk.

"What else do you wanna know? I can tell you EVERYTHING." She was grinning as if she's just discovered a new game she could play.

"Let's see... His favourite colour is red, though he sometimes says it's black. Chuuya's favourite food is saba sashimi, likes it fresh and with low sodium soy sauce, he likes steak too. He eats any meal well, isn't picky at all if it's paired with a good wine. He's trying to start collecting wine, learn wine tasting and how different environments results in different tastes... He said one day he'll get his hands on a 1964 Romanée-conti which is very expensive..."

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Meetings

Daryl Dixon x reader | SMUT🔞

Prequel to The Bridge Home, where daryl meets a werewolf surrounded by walkers and quickly becomes friends.

Daryl was out on one of his many hunting trips, preferring the woods over the fake normal life people were living within the Alexandria walls.

Hunting kept his head quiet, the rustling leaves and sounds of nature calmed his mind and helped him focus on his prey.

Not that he had much prey to track out here with the increase of walkers. Lots of game ending between the jaws of the undead before Daryl's bolts made their way home, only managing to snag a rabbit and two squirrels he had strung up over his shoulder.

He was tracking multiple sets of dragging footmarks that all went the same direction where the groans could be heard.

Trying to get a clear view was difficult, but it was possible to see the walkers were all going after something. It had to be a great deal of food if they all gathered.

He stalked the undead, taking them out with his crossbow one by one until he got close enough to handle the last few with his knife.

He shot and stabbed through the row of undead, dead set on getting to the food before them but losing his footing at the sight of the prey they were after.

He jerked himself to the side just as a walker dropped to gnaw at him and stabbed it through the head, managing to barely get upright to take the last two walkers out and drop back to the ground with a tired huff.

He knew what he sat down next to, he had no chance of outrunning those creatures especially on his ankle.

Next to him you moved. Large paws pressed against the ground to raise your frame and move to the human who just got rid of a group of undead with ease, if you didn't count the twisted leg.

With every inch you got closer you felt his heartbeat go crazier. If he was scared his outside didn't show it.

Daryl sat with his head rested against a tree, looking up at the sky and catching his breath, trying to focus on anything but the pain in his leg or the impending doom that was stepping closer.

You sniffed around the human, having spotted the game he had on him the second his figure appeared and decided he would have to be kind enough to share.

He now had his eyes shut, breathing heavy through his nose as if he was waiting for something bad. You stuck your snout against his side to nudge his arm away and felt him twitch and gasp. He stayed tense while you plucked a squirrel off the rope he wore and moved to eat it.

Daryl tensed at the touch of his side, holding his breath and waiting for--

The crunching sound of bones breaking, that was clear as day aside him now. He opened one eye to take a peek and saw the creature chow down one of his squirrels, tail happily wagging.

With the food gone you got back up and moved to sniff at the human's leg. You watched him get hurt to help you and you just stole his food, being helpful was almost a must now.

You poked your snout against his leg, needing to undo his leg wrappings before you could get to his ankle and lap at the skin, hoping it'd help the healing. The little bit of food was already working its magic and it felt like less of a burden to hold up your own body.

"M'gon end up being dog food.." He sighed to no one in particular as he glanced over your form. "Jus' don't waste anythin'. Don' wanna become a walkin' corpse."

You gave him a look, slowly blinking as you stared right into his eyes.

So you were friendly.

Daryl's ankle turned out hurting more than expected and had a hard time moving around, even to retrieve his bolts.

You in the meantime had set off but stayed close, he could see you watch him as you did whatever it was you were doing.

When you came back with a large stick almost doubled over in laughter. "Aint playin' fetch witya." He held on to a tree as you came up to him, happily trotting with the stick between your teeth.

You stopped in front of him and took the stick from your mouth, raising to your full height and looking down at the human before you. “Here. Helps.”

You held out the stick to him, blinking while he stared at your furred chest that was now level with his eyes.

“Ya talk. Tha’s new.” Your voice shook him back to earth and he accepted the stick to use as a cane. “Thanks.”

“I go with you. Just a bit.” It was nice to find a human who wasn’t so scared of you they tried to kill you, so you decided to keep this one as friend.

You walked with him for as long as your surroundings allowed you, not getting too close to the communities and the roads that connected them all.

Daryl had to take time off to let his leg heal, spending his days restless inside the walls and carving many dozens of new bolts to keep himself busy.

He was back outside the walls the second the doc gave him the okay. But not without taking his now officially walking stick you gave him. He carved any protruding bits off and made a handle of wrapped leather. It functioned like a real cane now.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to find each other again that day, even with you staying away from the loud, rumbling bike he rode.

“Stick. Good.” You were excited to see he still had the stick you brought him and made it look pretty. Such a human thing to do, adding pretties to useful items. It was something you unlearned over the last years living everywhere.

“Ya got a name?” Daryl’s voice was barely above a whisper as you sat down in the tall grass scanning your surroundings. “Dun’ wanna keep callin’ ya Dog in mah head.”

You let out a huffed laugh before sharing your name, surprising yourself you even remembered it. Daryl told you his as well, along with random tales of his travels he shared as you tracked different animals.

The day ended with a deer for each of you and a deal to try fishing in two days, agreeing on a spot near the river where you’d meet.

You went to the river the evening before you were supposed to meet, restless and unable to sleep. Even the late night dip in the river didn’t rid you of the hot flares that kept you restless.

You couldn't believe your body was betraying you like this, you really had to go into heat just before meeting with your new friend..

'Relax, behave.' You tried your best to hide your discomforts, you weren't going to ruin the mood or hide away and have him search for you.

If you could survive in the woods with the dead trying to eat you for so long, you could survive one morning of fishing with a human.

Daryl arrived shortly after your peptalk, giving you a quick wave hello that made your ears perk up in excitement. Quick strides had him next to your form that laid curled up on the forest floor.

"Mornin' lady." Daryl came to sit beside you, watching your body language and quickly making out you weren't comfortable. He debated rubbing your head in comfort, but with the way you flinched at the raise of his hand he quickly withdrew.

"Ya know we dun hafta fish, righ'? If yer feelin' sick ya can stay on land." He started busying himself with removing his shoes and socks, rolling up his pant legs in preparation to go into the water. He had left his winged vest with his boots as he took his fishing spear and started towards thr water. You watched him as it took him only a short moment to catch his first fish, moving out of the water to kneel in front of you and handing over the fish.

"Ya should eat if yer feelin' bad." He placed the fish at your snout but you turned your head to the side. "No sick."

You moved to take the fish and place it in the box Daryl brought before making your way into the water. It helped cool your body, but the way you kept missing the fish had you frustrated.

Daryl stopped to watch you for a bit. How you shook out yoir fur and stood on all fours in the shallow end. Your back was turned to him and your tail was up in focus as you stared into the water.

It was by total accident he had a clear view of your lips, so puffy they were visible between the fur below your tail.

Daryl turned away in a second, heat rising to his cheeks, unsure how to feel about seeing that, even if he didn't seek it out.

You sensed a sudden change in Daryl and turned your attention back to him. "Alright?"

Daryl still couldn't look you in the eyes as he told you he was fine. "Ya know it's fine ta ask me to leave, righ'? Can't be fun for ya havin' a guy 'round now." It all made sense, why you kept your tail down in discomfort and dove right into the water after putting the fish away.

With a frustrated whine you slumped down at the edge of the water, half submerged with your head just outside of the water's edge. "Sorry.."

"Ya got nothin' ta be sorry for." Daryl had come back out to sit down where he left his shoes. "S'all natual. Jus' don'wanna make ya uncomfortable." He watched your tail sway in the water as he let himself air dry, watching as you got up and now stood much taller than him again.

The way he looked up at you through his lashes, through those few strands of long hair that always hung in his face made you want to jump him even more than your body already made you want it. "Help me?"

The way Daryl's eyes widened at the insinuation, stuttering through his next words. "I uh.. I ain't done.."

"Is okay." You moved to step over him and lower yourself to your knees above him. "Just wanna feel." Your tail wagged softly, brushing against Daryl's legs. With a soft touch you felt down his body, through his jeans already feeling his body was up for the task, his head just needed to follow along.

"Want to, please?" You hated that being in this form for so long caused these things to happen, you needed the help.

Daryl gave himself a moment to go over his options, but quickly deciding he didn't want to leave you like this and agreed to help. You made it clear you didn't mind his lack of recent experience.

With a careful nod he agreed to your request. "Yeah, I'll help ya."

Getting the answer you hoped for you let out an excited whine, wagging your tail like crazy but quickly taking your hands to your mouth in apology. The last thing you should do right now was sound like an animal. Your ears drooped with the mistake, not looking Daryl in the eyes until his hand settled on your leg and he smiled up at you.

"Can't promise I'll be any good." He squeezed your thigh to comfort you, but mostly to keep his hands busy. He felt like he wasn't even gonna manage to undo his pants with how shaky he was feeling.

Not only had he not done anything even remotely intimate since the world ended, he was about to do it with a creature that could easily tear him to shreds.

"Can I?" Your attention went to the button and zipper on Daryl's pants, plucking and prying to opening it and pulling at the fabric to get all his layers off.

"Ah. Help, please." You didn't want to scratch him or tear any fabric, so you needed Daryl's hands to assist in taking off his pants.

"Yeah, okay. Up." With a pat to the thigh you raised up on your knees again, watching as Daryl took one leg fully out of his pants and left everything dangling on the other.

The second his ass his the floor again you sat back down on him, pleading for him to do something. Your hand came down to his cock but pulled back, deciding it was better if he did it himself because of your claws.

"Yer fine, go ahead." Daryl's hand moved on top of yours, guiding you towards his length and letting you wrap your clawed fingers around it. At Daryl's sharp intske of breath you wanted to pull away, but he made sure you kept your hand on him by rubbing at your hip and brushing his thumb over your hand so you could position yourself on him as he helped you hold him upright.

Daryl watched himself in your hand, feeling so small. Your hands could easily wrap around his neck entirely, and somehow the idea of having such a large beast be so gentle with him only spurred him on to keep going.

With one smooth downward motion you sank down on him, stretching you just enough to have your tongue loll out of yoir mouth and pant with a smile.

Daryl let out a deep groan at the tightness, hands gripping at your hips with his fingers tangling in the longer fur at the back. "Ffuck.. s'good.." You were rolling your hips on his, panting and nodding in agreement. "Good. Yes." You went to bend down and nuzzle Daryl's neck. "Helps."

The scruff on his chin felt so good against the top of yoir snout, it was like your entire body was oversensitive and every little touch sent a jolt straight to your core.

You shoved your head hard against Daryl's shoulder, making him lose balance and lay down flat on the ground. You quickly had your claws digging into his shoulders as you kept riding him to relieve the ache, almost howling out as you hit your first peak of the day. You slumped down to your elbows as you kept up your pace, watching Daryl underneath you grab at which ever bodypart he could grab at to keep himself grounded. His grunts matched the roll of your hips, muffling the second his eyes and then lips caught your perk teats.

The way he was licking and sucking at you, thrusting up his hips along with your rythm had you mewling, barely able to keep yourself upright.

You were whining and howling, unable to form any words with how good it felt to have Daryl fucking into you from below. One of his hands pulling at the fur at the back of your neck and the other set at the side of your ribs while your hands were holding on for dear life, claws tearing through the fabric of his shirt and cutting through the skin of his shoulders.

"Gonna cum.." Daryl's muffled voice barely reached your ears as you were so close yourself you had to focus on not tearing Daryl's flesh off the bone. With your chin pressed against the ground to muffle your howl you came once more, walls clamping down on Daryl's cock, earning a loud moan against the fur of your chest and a rough thrust of his hips before he stilled and finished deep inside of you.

Daryl's body slumped against the ground, arms unwrapping from your frame as his chest rose and fell steadily, catching his breath.

Ever so carefully you lifted yourself off him, softly wincing as you disconnected your claws from Daryl's now bleeding skin and falling down beside him.

"Helped. Love." You carefully scooted closer, laying your leg over his hip so he'd be at least covered up and nuzzled his neck, leaving gentle licks along his skin.

Daryl smiled up at the sky as a hand came up to your jawline to scratch at the fur. "M'glad tha' helped." His head turned to the side to be able to look at you properly, checking once more for any discomfort but he found none of that. All he saw was a content smile and adoring eyes that were seemingly doing the same to him as well.

With a quick glance at Daryl's lips you moved your head just a little bit to be able to press the front of your snout agains the corner of his lips and sneak in thr smallest of licks before shying away again.

Daryl's hand still rested on your jaw, gently moving it back towards him as he turned to meet you and pressed his lips softly against yours.

A soft, loving purr left you before licking a broad stripe over his lips and getting up to take a dip in the river, desperate to clean yourself up.

Daryl followed slowly, wiping the forest dirt off him before getting dressed.

"Yer gon' be good ta fish?" Daryl stood at the edge of the water, watching the gentle ripples coming from where you moved around and didn't see you step in to shake out your fur and got a good shower.

You heard him yell in surprise and stopped dead in your tracks, looking up at him wiping the water off him and moving his hair out of his face as he gave you a look that had you almost cry of laughter.

"Sorry!" You held your hands up to your face to hide the laugh that you couldn't hold in, and to your luck you spotted an amused smile appear on Daryl's face too.

"Yer lucky I like ya, furbrain."

The two of you spent a good while fishing and hanging out till sundown, having ended the meeting with fire roasted fish for the both of you.

"Hmmm good." You sat with your side against Daryl's, chewing on your roasted fish. The taste was so good, it made you miss cooked food.

After Daryl got everything packed after the day you said your goodbyes, agreeing to meet again in two days for more hunting and hanging out.

Little did Daryl know you'd be taking off his clothes again, hidden away behind thick greenery with your snout down his pants. The thrill of your fangs right at his cock worked in strange ways, it heigtened the intensity of every little touch. To his surprise it made him want more.

Even after your heat cycle passed the two of you kept up the fun hidden away deep in the woods inbetween hunting, fishing and killing walkers.

Daryl met you further out on his bike, camping gear packed on the back of the bike as he drove over dirt paths with you rushing through the trees, easily keeping up with his bike.

The ride wasn't a long one, and the area they ended up in was a quiet one. The few stray walkers were quickly discarded and everything was perfect after that.

The night sky was clear, the fire crackling warmed the two of you just right, and having Daryl cuddled up in your arms, feeding you small bits of roasted meat was more than anything you could ever wish for in this ruined world.

Once the sun had fully set and the sky had turned almost black, Daryl had laid down on the sleeping bag he brough and pulled you down along with him.

One arm rested under his head as the other one raised up and pointed at a passing cloud. "Kinda looks like a fish."

"Fish? Heart." You pointed along with him, following the shape with your fingers to show him you were right.

"If ya say so, is a heart." His hand came back to rest on his stomach as he watched the stars, silently thanking them for bringing you into his life. While yes, he had to hide you and keep you a secret, he was happier. It was easier to focus and he was seeing more good in living again.

Your eyes were set on Daryl, admiring the human who could almost out-hunt you on a daily basis and had that perfect balance of rough on the outside and golden on the inside.

"Hey-" "ya know-" you both spoke at the same time.

"You go." "Nah, you first." Daryl insisted you go first, moving onto his side so he could give you all the attention.

"You want to, be my mate?" The question was a simple one. And it beat Daryl to the one thing he had planned for the night.

He nodded hia head, unable to keep the smile from forming as he went to bury his face on your neck and move to give you a kiss. "Yeah. I'd love to."

With an excited squeal you pulled him in fkr an even tighter hug and licked his lips, giving him all the kisses you thought of giving him when you were alone.

Not much stargazing was done that night. Just laying in comfortable silence, wrapped up in each others' arms.

Daryl had gotten his sleeping bag zipped up and laid down in it to keep the cool night air off him, but didn't stay like that for long as the zipped got undone and a pair of arms pulled him back. You had wrapped your arms around his frame and held him close to your chest, purring softly. "Happy like this."

Daryl tiredly smiled at your words, moving his hand to squeeze yours. "I'm happy like this too. I love ya."

[melkyt]

Lawlu Headcanons

Law has a bad relationship with food. It always made him sicker as a kid, and there was only specific food he could eat. Now he can't stand them. He tends not to eat off his own plate but will nibble from Luffy's.

Luffy at first didn't like that. Law ate his food, and he grew up in a big household where if you dont watch or guard your food, it gets taken, and you don't eat. Yet he also noticed that if Law doesn't do that, he just doesn't eat for days. So Luffy sets aside some food on his plate just for his boyfriend. It's a compromise he can live with.

Law likes big romantic gestures. His favorite displays of love are direct statements as he often doubts that he deserves to be loved. It's a nice reminder and makes him happy, and blushes a ton. Now he won't tell anybody this and in public will act all grumpy at such announcements but inside he is very much melting. And Luffy knows it, so he always doubles down xd

Luffy likes physical touch and gifts. He always initiates any exchange but also secretly wants someone to do a thing first for him. It's selfish, and usualy, he dont mind being selfish but not with his friends and crew. He often looks out for them first if its something he considers important to them.

Law likes to give random trinkets, a cool rock or shell that made him think of Luffy. Law is an artist, a sculptor at heart so he always seas things in nature or gift shops. He also does it because he loves to see Luffy smile and try to figure out new cool thing he got.

There is a whole room on the sunny where they keep everything people gave them over the journey. Nami, Sanji, and Usopp used it the most, but now there is a whole shelf that's full of stuff that Law gave Luffy.

Luffy has nightmares. He never let anyone know except maybe Jimbei, who was there, and he understands.

Law when he travels with the strawhats, he tends to crash either in the crows nest, that is his comfort place as it is open to the sky or next to Luffy who just makes him feel safe.

Law has woken once or twice to Luffy's nightmare and seen an uncharacteristic side to the pirate. It's rare that Luffy shows fear, but in these moments, he is vulnerable and afraid of losing more people. Law holds Luffy and just lets him talk about the little things, the small doubts that he may have or had during tough battles. He always pushes through them no matter what and moves on, but after a nightmare from the war, they tend to surface.

Law has nightmares as well, more often than Luffy, from the night on swallow island to when his town burned, to the days and days he had to spend hiding in a pile of corpses. There is no end to things that plague his mind. Things he doesn't like to talk about. He goes nonverbal right after. Luffy talks enough for the both of them, which is what Law needs, a distraction from the past. Luffy tells either Usopps wild stories, or about random islands, or even what cool bug he saw that day. Whatever crosses his mind in the moment until Law falls asleep again.

Law doesn't want biological children. Even if he could cure them, its not perfect. They could still end up with chronic pain and a billion other issues just like him.

Luffy is most likely to just pick up kids, accidental baby acquisition runs in the family, lol. He never thought about having kids of his own, but if he did, he would name at least one after Ace.

The idea of adoption had not crossed Law's mind and when it does a whole slew of other doubts surface, over how good a father he could be when he can barely take care of himself, physiclly atleast and with Luffy? Who is just as reckless? It's not a better prospect than biokids.

When the day comes and Luffy ends up taking in a kid, they both turn out to be better fathers then either expected. Luffy doesn't want his kid to feel abandoned like he did as a kid, and Law doesn't want the kid to doubt that it is loved. They and their crews spoil the child and always remind that it is wanted and deserves to live however it wants. They are very much doting parents xd. Reckless, but they teach the kid how to fight. Luffy teaches them Haki, and Law teaches them medicine and sword fighting. Their child will grow up to be stronger than both of them.

[amplexadversary]

Vex being able to shoot without penalty from two football fields away XD

Meanwhile her husband needs a whole ass sniper rifle with a scope to beat that. I'm pretty sure based on Fenthras's art that Vex shoots barebow too.

She still carries the Percy Special explosive arrows ^u^

Percy's little murder toy structured as a caricature of one of the people that were on The List god he's so petty I love it.

Man got out of a tragedy and even got to keep his grudge, that's how great his friends and his wife are.

If VM actually pull off the "un-doom a fucker and get one of the party members hitched" move but for Keyleth this time I will fucking cheer.

Also Liam calling Vex "The Rogue" is bittersweet and I love it.

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

Fuck it is delightful seeing someone take out a massive goddamn mini

My group doesn't get that since we play online (cross country TTRPGs)

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

Grog: "If you don't want this, stay inside." to two enemy soldiers cowering in a tent.

Fuck I love Grog. Rage-based superpowers and a love of gore, but he's plenty in control of himself, and he explicitly chooses mercy. He's very much a play-to-type barb but the layers he has make him an exceptional character, that's what I love about him.

The cheerful "Okay!" when the soldiers nod in agreement XD

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

I am loving the bird trivia.

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

The mold he ate this episode was food coloring, but the mold he's drinking isn't. The bottle cap will not protect you, Sam Riegel. The part you put your lips on is still rattling around touching whatever's in there.

If he dies of self-inflicted mold I make no promises to be tasteful in discussing it.

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

Scanlan is probably the funniest member of VM to get his hands on the Beacon.

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

Oh shit, Divine Intervention succeeds automatically at lv20.

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

Grog going *you have to let them feel they're [doing good]* about the enemies doing scratch damage to him makes me wonder how much he's done that for the quarter-elves.

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

Sam taking back the command that was meant to friendly-fire Trinket because Laura would kill him. Yeah. Yeah I bet he does.

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

Liam did not use the entirety of that Mass Heal's HP pool you cannot tell me he's not allowed to just double the number of HP he's pumping into the critically injured party members.

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

The corpse sockpuppet XD fuck I love Grog.

And he and Pike cheering when she gets the worm to throw her up and Grog catches her out of the air. They're delightful.

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

KEYLETH GET IN THERE. Go hug him!

... Fuck.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 18: Snake Den

Content warning: description of corpses, mass death, implications of rape, misogyny

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

I Am Stretched On Your Grave - Johnny Hollow Kassidat El Hakka - SEXWITCH

* * * * *

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

* * * * *

“My Lady, please, don’t do this.”

Ren hovers anxiously beside you in the stables, her voice tightening as she watches you prepare to leave the shrine.

The mare gifted to you by the King of Curses—whom you've named Ayana after your mother—stands ready, her tack fitted. Your small travelling trunk, containing only a few essentials, rests near her flank, secured to the saddle with several straps. Inside, there’s just enough food for the journey and a thin cotton blanket from your wardrobe.

“I’ll only be gone for a few days,” you say, attempting to soothe your attendant’s fraying nerves while fastening the bridle to Ayana’s slender head.

The mare’s ears swivel at your touch. Her skittishness is apparent. You know forming a stronger bond with her will be crucial in the coming days, lest she act unpredictably while riding.

Stepping to the side, you bring her a bucket of water. She drinks, and you tangle a gloved hand in the silver-grey tendrils of her mane. Unlike the silk gloves you usually wear, today, you’ve opted for leather ones to steady your grip for the ride ahead. The material feels rough against your skin, but it’s necessary.

“Please, my Lady. Master Sukuna will be furious if anything happens to you,” Ren urges again.

Isn’t he always furious?

You glance over your shoulder at her, patting Ayana’s dappled coat once more before setting the bucket down.

Ren had caught you just as you left your chambers to change into something more suitable. She’s been trying to persuade you to stay, but your mind is already set. Your sister is the priority—she always has been. You only plan to ride to the Kasai clan compound to lay eyes on her. Then you’ll turn around and return before Sukuna even notices you’ve been gone.

You shake your head, and your hair, tied back at the nape, sways lightly with the movement.

“I need to see my sister, Ren,” you say firmly.

With your back turned to her, your hands move to the saddle’s leather straps, double-checking that everything is secure and ready to mount.

“But my Lady, the road can be dangerous.”

Yes, as a woman, you know this all too well—especially leaving without an escort.

Still, you're not overly concerned about the journey itself. Ren doesn’t know, but if anyone comes too close, you can easily press your fingertips to their skin and watch them rot into nothing but viscous flesh. Although you'd prefer to use your ability from a distance, you're not entirely sure if it's even possible to have long-range control.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You pull the last strap tight. “Just keep yourself occupied. I’ll be back before you realize.” 

Peeking over your shoulder, you find your attendant has already gone.

You huff at her persistence, but a small sense of relief curls around you. It’s comforting to know that someone like Ren cares enough to worry.

Which, in turn, is nice to feel every once in a while.

After making the final preparations, you mount the mare and guide her out of the stables into the afternoon light. As you cross the shrine’s grounds, a figure steps down from the stone entrance—dressed in white with a dark haori. Uraume.

Well, shit.

They cross towards you, slow their pace, and stop before you.

“My Lady,” they say, tucking their hands comfortably into their sleeves.

You nod.

“Uraume.”

They incline their head slightly, studying you from where you sit atop the horse. Though you are about the same height, the elevated position gives you the advantage.

“Ren tells me you’re heading home.” They study your mare, the saddle, your trunk. “I wasn’t aware that Master Sukuna had permitted this.”

You swallow. There’s an accusation in their words.

“He didn’t... But he’s not here.” You tighten your grip on the reins. “If I leave now, he’ll never know.”

Uraume cocks their chin, considering you.

“That’s if you leave.”

A breeze tousles their pristine white hair, lifting the red streak that stains it from back to side.

You inhale sharply.

“Please,” you murmur, “just this once. I’ve asked for so little since I arrived here.”

Silence.

They take one, small step.

Something stirs in their expression.

“Are you asking me to be disloyal?” They take another step forward. The air begins to chill, stabbing at your skin. “To betray Master Sukuna’s trust?”

“No... but you know better than anyone that I’ve had no word from my family.” Your teeth begin to chatter. “I’ll come back here. I promise.”

At the word "promise," a whisper of chill rolls up from your feet to your skull, prickling your skin.

​​A distant, unnatural cold cracks the ground as frost begins to form in the mud. The ice snakes upward, invading the fabric of your hakama, winding beneath your kimono, and seeping into your bones. Your mare shifts uneasily, hooves striking the ground, her breath coming out in visible puffs as the temperature plummets.

Uraume stands serene. Still, their deep pink eyes fixed on you, seeing far more than you'd like.

This is their doing.

While the King of Curses is heat and chaos, Uraume is his opposite—cold and calm.

Your throat works to swallow, knowing their strength far exceeds your own—a power you can’t challenge and win.

“Please, Uraume,” you croak, breath turning to mist, swirling in the frigid air like spectres. Ayana whinnies, and you place a hand on her trembling neck to gentle her. “I just need to see my sister.”

The squall surges, and your eyelashes stick together.

“Please…”

The cold snaps and vanishes, retreating swiftly. Uraume pulls their hands from their sleeves.

“Then I shall accompany you, my Lady.”

“What?” Your voice rises in surprise.

They move toward the mare, and Ayana chuffs with anxiety, tossing her head and stamping her feet. Uraume quickly steps back, clearly cautious.

“Easy, girl,” you soothe, then glance at the pale-haired subordinate. “I will return, I promise. You don’t need to come with me.”

Yet, a troubling thought forms in your mind.

If something has happened to your sister—fuck, what if something has—what will become of you? Would your father force you back to the shrine or break this union with Sukuna? Would he even allow it? Or if Uraume comes along and something terrible has happened, will they drag you back here against your will?

There are too many ifs and too many questions.

“I made a vow to Master Sukuna to ensure you’re taken care of,” Uraume states, circling you. “If you’re determined to leave, I will accompany you.” They step closer but remain wary of Ayana. “I cannot allow you to go alone.”

Is that why Uraume has been so attentive? A damn vow? You run a hand through your hair, another realization hitting you. There have been too many of those lately, and you despise it.

“Fine,” you concede, extending a gloved hand toward them. They eye it before reaching out to take it and, with a swift motion, swing their leg over the mare, settling in behind you. There’s a moment of hesitation before they wrap their lithe arms around your waist, a chill falls over your back. You grit your teeth at the contact.

“It will take a three-day ride to travel north.” You peer over your shoulder at them, and they nod.

“I’m aware, my Lady.”

“You’ve been before?” you ask, curling the reins around your hands into a tight fist.

They pause for a moment, their eyes steady.

"Only once."

You fling them a faint smile. But their pink eyes shift away, signalling the end of the conversation.

Turning your attention forward, you give Ayana a gentle nudge. She begins to move, first at a walk, then a trot, before breaking into a full gallop along the dirt-packed road. The faster she moves, the more the trees blur past you.

Faster.

You must get home and back quickly—quick enough to outride Sukuna before he knows you’ve even left.

“My Lady,” Uraume speaks up, their voice almost swallowed by the wind. “Once we leave the shrine’s road, it’s wise to stay off the main paths. If anyone discovers who you are… they won’t hesitate to use that against you.”

Your fingers curl tighter into a fist around the reins.

Right.

The King of Curses’ wife.

It’s not lost on you, not for a second. Everyone in Japan likely wants Ryomen Sukuna destroyed—his name, his legacy, his very existence wiped from the world. Death. Death to the one who has many names and two faces. His presence is a blight on this earth, and as his wife, this stigma will likely extend to you now, whether you like it or not.

If only they knew that you, just like them, need him dead.

Besides, he is a blight on this earth...

Isn’t he?

With that, your mind wanders to too many things.

Has anyone ever truly wanted or cared for him outside of duty, obligation, or fear? Was he always this way, or did the world push him into this pit of cruelty?

Questions that you wish to leave unanswered crawl into your head. They bother you. The enigma that is Sukuna bothers you.

Why has he protected you if he’s nothing more than what others deem him to be? A monster

A sudden dip in the road pulls you from these spinning questions. You suck in a breath as the wind picks up, stinging your face.

With a glance, you look over your shoulder at Uraume.

“All right,” you say, “I understand.”

* * * * *

Later on, hours into your ride, you and Uraume have yet to speak a word. They might as well have been a rock with how lifeless they are behind you. The only time they finally seem to stir is when you direct the mare out of a wooded valley and up a narrow ridge.

In the distance, thick plumes of smoke choke the sky as dark tendrils coil against a fiery sunset. You slow to a trot as you reach the edge of a village, one closest to the shrine. It’s not until a breeze drifts in that—

God, the stink.

The stench of burnt flesh curls into your nose, coating the roof of your mouth with a foul tang. Your tongue swells as if blanketed in blood-soaked fabric.

Guiding the mare a bit further is when you see the first corpse—charred, leathery skin steaming in the setting sun. You press a gloved hand to your nose and mouth, stifling a gag. But a glance up reveals an even fouler sight. More bodies, hills of them. Men, women, and children lie in a mound, with flies and other insects crawling into the warm remains. Some bodies have been bludgeoned to death, soft skulls caved in, and pink insides spilling out. Above, crows circle, eager to peel flesh from bone.

The sight is so gruesome you’ve forgotten to breathe.

As you direct Ayana forward, you notice corpses dotting the village like blemishes covering the ground. A cluster of women have been dragged away to the edges, where they lay brutalized. Their garments torn open. Paths of blood drip between their bare thighs, signs of a struggle, signs that their bodies had been violated.

“What the hell is this?” you murmur, hands shaking as you scan the madness.

Ayana lets out a low, nervous chuff.

“My Lady, we must go.” Uraume's voice pulls your gaze away.

You blink.

“This is the outskirts of the shrine,” you utter, ignoring their urgency. “Sukuna controls this area… doesn’t he?”

Uraume nods sharply.

“He does.”

Bile slicks the inside of your throat.

“Did he… do this?”

Smoke thickens the air. It stings your eyes until they water.

“No, my Lady.” They speak firmly, and hardness cuts over their face. “He’s elsewhere.” Where? Northeast? Further? Uraume adjusts their grip around your waist. “We need to move on. Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

This village is one of many that he subjugated. What would he have done if they pleaded for his aid? Help them?

You can’t help but feel doubtful.

And otherwise, then, who? Who’s attacking his domain?

Your mare whines again, suddenly prancing sideways, her hooves stumbling over rocks and scorched earth.

“Easy, easy,” you whisper to her.

She stops but lifts her head, ears pricking. She senses something out there.

A heaviness clots the air—a pressure stirs. You glance at the bodies strewn across the ground.

“Uraume… where is Lord Sukuna?”

A faint high-pitched howl rises, echoing nearby. The hair on your body pulls up. Uraume swivels their head.

“He’s further north,” they murmur, eyes scanning the surroundings.

“Is more of his territory being—”

“Rider!” A disembodied voice shouts.

Your eyes dart in search of danger—a second howl shrieks.

From your left, an arrow screams through the air, narrowly missing Ayana. She rears, almost throwing you and Uraume.

“We must leave!” Uraume urges as a chill sinks into your back. “I cannot protect you if there are many.”

Another arrow streaks by, closer this time. Your mare tosses her head, the reins slipping from your grasp as you struggle to hold on.

“Shit!” You yank them, wheeling Ayana around as a third arrow buries itself in the spot you stood moments ago.

Squeezing your thighs, you steer her into a tight turn, urging her into a gallop. In an instant, she erupts from the village, dodging debris and bodies.

Behind you, voices shout and the thrumming of more arrows striking earth sound, but it quickly drowns out by the pounding of hooves and the blood rushing in your ears.

“Over there!” Uraume narrows a pale finger toward a forest that rises from the ridge ahead.

Without looking back, you direct Ayana toward it, not slowing until the swarm of dense trees swallows you.

That evening, you and Uraume share a simple meal—rice balls and dried fish—while sitting in the saddle. When the moon rises and fat clouds obscure its light, you set up camp by a river, away from the main roads. After what happened earlier in the day, Uraume stands guard as you sleep on the cold ground, wrapped in your thin cotton blanket.

The nightmare of your mother’s death comes for you through the night, waking you several times, drenching you in sweat, making you gasp for breath. Perhaps the thought of returning home stirs the memory. Perhaps it is something else. Sukuna, too, makes his strange appearance in the dream—watchful, waiting, just out of sight.

The next day, the routine remains the same: you ride, eat, and rest. Uraume sleeps in the saddle, always vigilant at night. The following days are no different. Though you encounter no more trouble, the aftermath of the massacre you came across lingers in your mind.

On the third day, the landscape changes. The ground rises, and the air becomes colder. 

North.

You’re close now.

A little further, and the air sharpens.

The massive estate comes into view, the Kasai clan compound sprawling ahead. Its towering outer walls are unnecessarily ornate, carved with serpentine creatures coiled in masses of scales and teeth. Giant yew trees line the limestone barrier, dotting the expanse like ancient sentries. Beyond that, the estate opens up, leading you into a barren courtyard. It feels as though the land itself rejects any attempt to soften it. Unlike the lush gardens of the shrine, there’s no greenery or vibrant blooms—only neatly trimmed shrubs and stony paths leading to the heart of the compound.

Dismounting, you and Uraume lead Ayana to the stables. You water her and leave her in an empty stall. There’s not a soul in sight. Not one. But after living here for twenty-five years, you know better than to trust that. You know what lies inside. 

Climbing the steps toward the grand oak doors, the air in your lungs begins to empty. Standing before them, you pause to glance at the white-haired monk.

“Uraume… thank you for escorting me here, and—” You pause, curling your fingers until the leather of your gloves creaks in a satisfying way. “For how you’ve treated me this past month. Truly.”

You dip your head.

“I do what is asked of me,” they say coolly.

You nod, reaching for the intricately gilded bronze handles.

“I know you’ll be anxious to return to the shrine. So I won’t be long.”

“I’m coming inside, my Lady,” they state firmly.

You stare at one another, your hand poised for entry.

There is no other way around this.

“All right...”

With that, you push open the doors.

The difference between Sukuna's shrine and the Kasai clan compound is the sound.

The shrine is wrapped in stillness, with its shrine maidens shuffling through corridors, robes whispering, doors rustling. Now and then, the lack of sound is shattered by the King of Curses—the screams of slaughter and death.

But here, there's constant noise and movement—people everywhere, men everywhere, attendants everywhere, concubines everywhere, crowds everywhere. Booming voices, raucous conversations loud and jarring, weapons always sheathed but never out of reach. A cesspool, a breeding ground for powerful families and allies to play.

Stepping into the grand hall, every eye swivels toward you—the room reeks—sweat, alcohol, musk.

Disdain.

The problem with the task your father has demanded of you is that only two people know of it: your father and Onishi. Your sister doesn’t, though she is aware of your gift, and once, so was your mother. Those are the only people. The rest of your clan remain blissfully unaware. And for most of your life, you've been kept relatively isolated, your existence largely tucked away. It's fortunate, really—if the King of Curses knew what you were capable of, you'd lose any advantage you have over him.

As you take a small step inside, it’s only a partial surprise when frenzied whispers ripple through the room. The men make little effort to lower their voices as you catch, "The demon's whore is here." Even though you’re the reason they no longer have to fight that demon, to them, that’s all you are now.

His whore.

Inhaling deeply, you force your feet to move toward a private chamber at the back of the compound. It’s mid-day, and your father is predictable. He’s usually there at this time—either mulling over territory, drinking himself into a debauched stupor before harassing the female attendants, or strategizing with Oinishi.

Either way, that’s where you need to go first. If he learns that you arrived and went looking for Yuna immediately, there might be hell to pay.

As you walk, bodies shift, leaving an empty path.

Keeping your chin up, you notice how the space is filled with strangers, people you’ve not seen before. Robes with unfamiliar crests embroidered into the fabric—symbols not your own. Their attire is richly adorned but styled in ways that set them apart—other clans.

Your father has been quite busy because it appears new alliances have been formed in the last month.

You keep walking.

Heads tilt as you pass, gawking toward you as if you’re nothing more than an animal on display.

“...oni bitch…”

You hear the first of many barbs. They keep coming. Raised eyebrows, twitching mouths, muttered insults, followed by boisterous laughter.

Your heart lurches and falls into your stomach. This place feels little like home anymore. Where is home if not here?

Your skin flushes with heat as a clan member steps forward from a pack of idling men and spits, the glob of saliva splattering just shy of your kimono’s hem.

“Welcome home, cunt,” he sneers, mouth rolling back in a smile.

You want to scream at them, to tell them the truth: your union is nothing more than a ruse, that you’re doing this for a damn good reason.

Without making eye contact, you circle him. With another step, you press down the corridor. The private chamber comes into view.

Nearly there.

You keep walking, almost at the doors, when a man jostles you from behind, grabbing your elbow. You whip around, and Uraume steps in closer.

“Keep your distance,” they hiss.

You yank your arm free, and the man lets go, snickering as he walks away.

You inhale deeply.

“Are you all right, my Lady?” Uraume asks.

“Yes,” you breathe, exhaling and turning, you—

Come face to face with a man whose dark grey eyes and sharp cheekbones stand out beneath a trim of raven-black hair. His lean, muscular frame suggests he's a warrior, and one calloused hand rests on the hilt of an eccentric-looking katana sheathed at his side.

Anyone might find him handsome—once, perhaps, you might have too—but now, he does nothing for you.

Odd. Frustrating.

Straining your neck, you notice he’s tall, towering, but not as tall as Sukuna. 

No one is.

“My Lady.” He bows, though his gaze lingers a moment too long on your face, appraising you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the second Kasai girl. And just as equally enjoyable to look at.”

Your skin crawls at his compliment, but you manage a smile.

Be obedient, be charming.

“And you are?”

“An acquaintance of your father’s.” He waves the question away.

You nod.

“But you’ve met my sister?” you ask, maintaining a courteous tone.

Lip curling, he steps closer.

“I have. Charming little thing. I can see the resemblance between you two.” He gestures up and down the length of your body. “Your sister has quite a gentle touch and a way with words, too.” He plucks a loose lock of hair from your shoulder, rubbing it absently between his fingers. Your stomach tangles at the unfamiliar gesture from a stranger—not someone else you try not to think about, especially now that you’re realizing only four hands are the ones you might ever long to touch you. Stupid. “The family heirloom turned out surprisingly delicate.”

You have no idea what he’s rambling about, but you nod politely.

“Yes, my sister is lovely.”

His gaze flicks past you, over your shoulder, then back.

“Where’s your husband? Shouldn’t the infamous Sukuna Ryomen be here to protect his newly betrothed wife?”

“He’s…” You’re unsure where the monster is. Further north? “...occupied.”

The stranger clicks his tongue, and a frown draws across a defined mouth.

“That’s a shame.” His hand tightens at the hilt of his weapon, his fingers stroking the small tuft of animal-like hair, wrapped tightly around where the steel emerges. “I would have thoroughly enjoyed meeting him.”

You sense Uraume shifting behind you.

“I’m sorry, perhaps another time.” You step to one side, gesturing to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my fath—”

With brutal speed, he seizes your forearm and yanks you toward him. Your head snaps back, body flinching at the sudden, unwanted contact.

“It must be very lonesome without the demon present,” he hisses. “You’re vulnerable, my Lady. I’d be more than happy to offer you protection… among—” His eyes drift downward, lingering on your chest, then lower to where your obi cinches your waist. “—other things.” His broad shoulders sag as if disappointed in what he sees, but a full grin curls at his mouth nonetheless.

Uraume steps in beside you, crowding close.

“You should watch your tongue when addressing Lord Sukuna’s property,” they snap.

His property.

His possession.

His wife.

Your teeth grind at that.

The dark-haired man blasts a humourless laugh, leaning back to gauge Uraume. He looks unimpressed.

"And you must be the King of Curses' most devoted dog.” He cocks his head. "Or should I say bitch? I’m not quite sure what to make of you.” He chuckles at his own crude words.

Your eyes narrow. Your hands prickling beneath your gloves.

“My Lord, or whoever you are,” you say, sweetness dripping from your voice, “as much as I appreciate your offer of protection, what I need right now is for you to kindly fuck off,” you snarl, trying to shake his tightening grip.

His nostrils flare, and his sharp nose wrinkles as if you've just spoken gibberish.

“Oh! Feisty!” He shouts, leaning into your face. “I appreciate eager women. But you should save it for when it really fucking matters.” Somehow, his features darken, brow dropping, eyes slitting until they twitch uncontrollably. “I wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out before the fun begi—”

“Zen'in!” a voice calls from behind. Onishi. “Enough playing. Leave her alone.”

Your eyes dart over your shoulder, surprised to see your father’s chief advisor stepping in. This brute of a man feels cut from the same cloth as him.

The dark-haired man, Zen’in, finally releases your arm, taking a step back, though the look in his eye suggests he’s far from finished with his games.

“My Lady, it was wonderful meeting you.” He glances at Uraume, jaw clenching. “I look forward to seeing you again. And perhaps, meeting your Master someday.”

Zen'in strides toward your father's advisor, and the two step aside together.

Asshole.

Onishi glances at you, beady eyes sharp, as if silently questioning what you're doing here. He doesn’t dare mention your task in front of Uraume, so instead, he claps Zen’in on the shoulder and walks away.

You watch them go.

Finally, able to breathe again, you exhale.

The fact that Onishi gave you that look, not something else, suggests that…

Whirling around, you grip the doors to the private chamber and throw them open.

Yuna’s lashes flutter as she looks up from the map she’s hovering over with your father.

Your heart leaps in your chest.

She’s safe. 

She’s alive. 

She’s safe. 

“Yuna,” you breathe her name with a desperate gasp, as though you’ve finally come up for air after being submerged for too long.

Her head jerks up, eyes rounding before a radiant smile spreads across her face.

“Sister?”

That smile. You’d gladly defy Sukuna a hundred times just to see it.

Only fourteen months separate you and her, with you being the younger. Your father had hoped for a boy the second time, but instead, he got you. Despite that, it only strengthened the bond between you and your sister. You remember rolling in the grass together as children, sneaking into your mother's chambers to try on her kimonos.

But it didn’t take long for everything to start falling apart.

And the fact that you were the one who took your mother away makes you feel like you’ve stolen something important from her. It’s something you’ll always try to mend, to piece back together and make up for what you took.

Yuna circles the table, kimono fluttering around her ankles. You cross the room in a heartbeat. Arms outstretched, you meet her halfway, your gloved hands reaching for her. Her arms come around your shoulders. You crash into each other.

The embrace is warm, grounding.

Safe.

“What are you doing here?” she sighs, leaning back slightly as she gently smooths your hair. “And where’s my brother-in-law?” Her gaze flashes over your shoulder, her teasing smile widening. “I’ve been eager to see him again.”

When you break apart, a laugh swells from your chest—wet and strangled, barely held together. It’s almost a sob.

“He’s... not here.” You lower your voice so only she can hear. The soft smile that stretches across your face is bittersweet, fighting against the sting of tears. “Honestly? I have no idea where the hell he is.”

She cocks an eyebrow.

You laugh a little harder this time, and a tear slips down your cheek from the relief you feel. Your leather gloves creak as you hastily wipe them away.

“You came here alone?” Yuna watches you, her smile gentle, mirroring your own.

You shake your head.

“Uraume escorted me,” you say.

Yuna shifts, peering at the white-haired monk.

“Hello.”

You don’t look back, but you hear Uraume utter a soft “Lady Yuna.”

Over your sister’s shoulder, your father glares at you. You pull your sister in close again. With only so much time to spare, you have questions to ask.

“Yuna,” you murmur, “why haven’t I heard from you since I left? It’s been a month. Have you not received any of my letters?”

Her brows pinch together in surprise.

“I have,” she replies, confused. “And I’ve sent many in return. Father, too.”

Your stomach tightens. So they’ve been writing to you all along. Why haven’t any of their letters arrived? 

Tentatively, you glance over your shoulder at Uraume, standing stoically at the doorway, hands tucked into their haori. Their face betrays nothing, but you know they’ve been truthful about the lack of communication. That leaves only one possible explanation: someone back at the shrine is sabotaging your correspondence.

You turn back to Yuna, smiling.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just happy to see you.”

Yuna’s lip twitches, and her hands slide up to your wrists, fingertips gliding over the tops of your gloves to your skin. She might be one, if not the only person whose touch you tolerate.

“Are you here for long?” She holds on for a moment longer. “We’ll find some time to talk together—alone,” she whispers, her eyes cutting to the side as if indicating your father.

You don’t exactly have time to spare. You’ve laid eyes on her; she’s safe, and now you need to return to the shrine. But your mouth moves.

“Yes, we’ll do that.”

Her face lights up.

“Good. Then you can tell me all about how Lord Sukuna has been treating you.” Her tone turns playful, and you snort.

“Yes. I suppose.”

Absolutely not.

“Daughter.” Your father’s voice breaks the moment, dragging you from this pocket of security. He finally moves from where he’s been lurking in the background. “I’ve missed you.” Liar. “Yuna, darling.” His tone turns smoother than it has any right to be. “Why don’t you take your sister’s escort here and keep them occupied? I’d like to speak with her privately.”

Yuna’s fingers uncurl from you. Releasing her hold, she steps back and nods obediently.

“Of course, Father.”

She steps toward Uraume, but they refuse to budge.

“I’d prefer to wait in the stables, Lord Kasai,” they say, bowing their head.

Your father waves them off, unconcerned.

“Fine. Yuna, leave. Take them with you.”

Yuna glances at you again before leading the white-haired monk toward the door. Uraume hesitates briefly, giving you a long, steady look.

You give a slight nod of reassurance. Only then do they follow Yuna out, leaving you alone with your father and the door sliding shut.

Quietly, your bastard of a father circles you like a hawk, scrutinizing everything—your clothing, hair, face, gloves, the way you can’t seem to make eye contact with him.

While he busies himself with nitpicking your very existence, your eyes dance over to the table where he had been standing earlier, examining a map of parchment.

Stones of various sizes and colours are scattered across it. At first glance, you don’t fully understand what they signify, but your eyes are drawn to the lighter stones—they rest on familiar territories. Northern strongholds. Your father’s land. That much is clear.

Then, your gaze moves to the southern side of the map, where red stones—jasper—cluster, pressing against the borders. Sukuna. There are so many of them, more than you imagined. Some are placed, winding up within the north, then moving deeper. He’s been busy these last seven years.

But what strikes you are the black stones, fewer in number. They rest in strange, isolated areas, mingling amongst both the Kasai clan and the King of Curses’ domain. You notice one lying exactly where that massacre you and Uraume rode through three days ago.

Troubling.

Why the hell was it signified here?

“So—” Your eyes cut back to your father, who has circled you and comes to stand before you. “After a month, here you are. In one piece, I see.”

He sounds displeased by this.

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“And the filthy cannibal still seems to be alive.”

It aches deep in the cavity of your chest.

“Yes.”

“Hmph,” he sniffs, “useless as usual.”

You jerk up your chin.

“I’ve made four attempts to kill him, Father,” you say, forcing your voice to be flat and emotionless. “Like I said before. He’s tricky to pin down and get close to.” You lie. “That hasn’t changed.”

The numerous times you’ve hesitated to end Sukuna feels crushing now.

Your father steps closer.

“Is he now?”

There’s no need to answer.

His eyes narrow.

Your hair had come loose during the ride, but his fingers move to gather the last stray strands, pushing them over your left shoulder. You tense, sensing that he's noticed something you’ve missed while scrutinizing you.

With your hair pushed back, neck exposed, he hums.

And then you realize. 

The scar. The scar that wasn’t there a month ago. The scar Sukuna bit into your neck the first time he touched you, when he had you writhing beneath him, your hands on him, his hands on you. And now, it stands as confirmation that you got close to him—but failed to take his life.

Sweat gathers at the base of your spine and slithers down.

“It seems.” Your father tilts his head, birdlike. “That you’ve gotten closer to him than you claim.”

Your throat tightens.

“I—”

“Has he fucked you? Charmed you, daughter?”

“W-what? No.”

The unbearable need to cower into yourself grows.

Your father’s mouth widens viciously, and his hand lingers near your neck for a moment longer before pulling away. 

“Do your sister a favour.” He walks across the room. “Kill him before it’s too late.”

Silence.

Your heart, no longer steady in your chest, beats louder.

You step forward and stop.

“I need more time.”

Your face numbs as you say the words.

He stops and turns.

“What did you just say to me?”

You clear your throat.

“I said I need more time,” you repeat firmly. “Two months won’t be enough. Lord Sukuna is constantly leaving. There’s unrest in his territories.”

Your father moves to the map, peering down at the scattered stones.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he mutters, picking up a jasper stone and rolling it between his fingers. “I’ll tell you what.” His tone lightens as he steps toward you. “I’ll give you an extra month.”

What?

You eye him as though this is some kind of trap. It has to be.

You stare at him.

He stares at you, waiting for a response.

You nod, grateful.

“Thank you, Father, I apprec—”

“On one condition.” He steps closer again. “Bring him here for the harvest festival in two weeks.”

You still.

“What?” Convincing Sukuna to set foot on the Kasai compound seems impossible. He’ll outright refuse. “There’s no way he’ll agree to that.”

Your father smiles, gaze sweeping over you.

“Oh, something tells me you can convince him.”

Your mouth twitches at the insinuation.

“Why bring him here?” you ask. “What are you planning?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs and takes hold of your wrist before pulling it towards him.

“I’m not sure it’s safe to divulge that, my daughter.” He places the stone in your hand. “Not when your tongue might wag... or worse.” Your stomach churns. “Unless, of course, you have a reason not to bring him. But… your sister is looking lovelier by the day. And I know there are men here eager to make her a better acquaintance.”

“I’ll do it,” you say quickly. “I’ll find a way to bring him here.”

He smiles, eyes drifting off as he grips your wrists.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.” He squeezes harder until it hurts. “Of both her daughters.”

Fucking bastard.

You fight the urge to scream at him.

He pulls his hands away, leaving the red stone in your palm. It's small, but it feels as though its weight could sink you, burdened by what and who it represents.

“Now run along. Make the most of your time with your sister before you leave.”

You bow, then turn on your heel and leave the room.

Plans are in motion—whatever your father is plotting, bringing Sukuna here is part of it.

Walking down the corridor, you squeeze the small stone into your hand. The smooth red surface reminds you of his eyes.

His eyes.

You turn it over in your hand once.

A long passage leads toward your immediate family’s quarters. You take it.

The stone turns in your palm a second time.

“You must stay…” The stone turns again. “You have to do this…”

Your old mantra dies as you whisper it to yourself. You’re starting to wonder why your body, but more importantly, the space where your heart might sit, feels so incredibly heavy.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 19

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Unrivaled Beauty.

O’ Beautiful Queen, your loveliness is eternal and unchallenged.

Steal center stage, and the hearts of those who gaze upon you.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

War is as much of an art as it is a brazen display of brutality.

For Vil, every performance he gives is war. His weapons: skill, grace, beauty. All of it meant to charm the audience. No substitutions, it no stunt doubles.

Today is no different.

He kneels in the snow atop a corpse. Not a real dead man, but a dummy with an eerie amount of detail. It had been prepared by experts in the prop department, made to resemble his character's sworn enemy in the film.

Crimson blooms upon white robes marked with ancient runes. The collar and neckline are daring, plunging to reveal a generous amount of the bare skin of the chest to the elements. The hair, a tangled mess of glossy raven waves, sticking from the moisture to cold skin. The skin, pale blue with frost, the eyes cloudy orbs.

The mouth, stained red with the blood of countless innocents, no longer moves.

In this scene, the she-devil Snow White is dead, and he, heir to the Witch Queen, has slain her.

Without hesitation, he plunges his bare hand into the dummy’s chest, fishing out a model heart. It is covered in a mixture of corn syrup, food coloring, cocoa powder, and starch to simulate bodily fluids. The thickened liquid dribbles down his own pale hands, staining them.

Lifting his trophy into the air, a joyous, defiant sparkle in his eyes. A throaty cry erupts from him.

“With this, the Eternal Snow will be no more, and peace shall return to my realm!!”

Vil’s explosive laughter fills the mountain. The snow shakes, the land itself shudders in his presence.

He has won.

Finally, finally, finally.

A gruff man’s voice reaches him.

“CUT!!”

In an instant, the scene falls apart and reality sets in.

Cameramen tend to their equipment, prop managers and stylists exchange whispers. Special effects mages tamp down their snow spells. The illusion is stripped away, revealing a balmy day set against a backdrop of mountains.

Staff in scurry in, offering Vil towelettes and lotion to clean and moisturize his hands. He accepts them, then waves the staff off, one ferrying the fake heart.

“Bravo, Vil-kun, bravo!!” the director gushes. “I knew it was the right call to cast you as the hero for this film. There wasn’t a flaw in your acting, m’boy!!”

“Thank you, sir.” Vil bows to the older man, keeping his reply short and simple. “It is an honor to be a part of your masterfully written story."

It is the tale of a beautiful demon locked away in a glass coffin, freed from slumber and set upon the world to shroud it in never-ending winter… The tale of a selfless noble and her huntsmen that stands in opposition to her and her seven sniveling imp minions. A tale of two fates intertwining—the noble whose bloodline sealed the demon away, and the demon who vowed revenge on descendent of the Witch Queen.

Vil's eyes cannot stop themselves from sliding over to his co-star, who waits in the wings. His lifelong rival, Neige LeBlanche.

He is dressed similarly to the dummy that had been swapped in for his corpse. Red ruins his pristine white gown, and his hair is wild—but off-camera, Neige lacks the madness of the villain he plays. Neige smiles sweetly at the staff, giggles like an innocent schoolboy.

Vil fails to look away before Neige meets his eyes. He waves shyly, and, out of courtesy, Vil returns it.

“You've all been working very hard to bring my vision to life," the director happily booms. "Let's take a 30-minute break. Hydrate, grab some food, whatever. Actors, hair and makeup retouches before stepping back on set!"

There is a collective murmur of approval, feet shuffling for the refreshments table. A staff member offers Vil a spot in the donut line, but he politely declines.

"No thank you, I've prepared granola and a light fruit yogurt ahead of time. If you'll excuse me."

He peels away and heads for his trailer. Once Vil is shut away—a well-trained peacock stepping into his gilded cage—he produces his phone and reviews his jam-packed schedule: the film shoot, an interview with a popular variety show, modeling for a magazine cover, practicing for a stage play…

He, cast in the spotlight of hero in every single one.

You are the fairest of them all, Mira would robotically recite. All the social media websites and news outlets were talking nonstop about him, and he knows it.

It's the Age of Vil, his manager would joke. Isn't this great? You're demonstrating your range. This will definitely net you bigger and bigger opportunities in the future!

They’re finally recognizing you for your cuteness and goodness, his father would tell him. That’s my son! I knew everyone would come around eventually.

On any other day, he might have scoffed or dismissed their comments. Today, he simply smirks, silently pocketing his phone.

Vil passes a large vanity on his way to the mini-fridge. A glimpse of his reflection reveals the elaborate jewel-toned ensemble he is fitted for, the makeup that highlights the highest points of his face. Shining, commanding attention—just as any protagonist would.

He stands straighter, holds his chest higher. Proudly flaunting his feathers, his numerous accomplishments.

I've worked myself to the bone to reach this point. I've earned every little bit of this.

Retrieving his snacks, Vil makes to join the crew on their break. Even if Neige will be present as well, he grimaces.

A shadow invades his periphery.

Vil pauses at the doorway and looks back.

There, sitting on his vanity, was a bushel of roses the color of midnight. A black envelope embellished with gold accents is tucked among the petals.

His brows knit together. How odd--he is certain he hadn't seen that a second ago, nor had he heard anyone entering to drop it off while he was briefly at the fridge. How could he have missed such an obvious gift?

"Perhaps it's from the director or producer," he muses, plucking the envelope free and opening it.

Inside, there is, as suspected, a letter.

Same black paper, same gold embellishments.

To Schoenheit,

Please accept this humble offering from myself. It was a joy to watch you perform to your heart's content.

I was very moved by the experience. It is not often that I get to observe Man in all of its peaks and crests in such a short span of time.

I will continue to watch over you and support your dreams from the sidelines.

Sincerely,

M. D.

Initials in the place of a name? Vil turns the paper over, expecting more on the other side. It's unlike his fans to leave out their full identity. (Half of the time, they include a list of their social media handles and beg for a follow back.)

But alas, the back is blank and yields no answers.

He frowns, facing the words scrawled on the front of the square again. The cogs in his head turn, arriving at a single logical conclusion.

I only know of one possible M.D., but... Is he truly the type to send notes of this nature?

Vil toys with the idea in his head, just as he toys with the letter between his fingers. Ego rises and colors his lenses.

"Fufufu, it seems that even great mages such as he are not immune to my beauty and talent." Vil chuckles, exiting the trailer. His adoring fans await.

He's right about everything, and he doesn't realize how wrong he wants to be.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Becoming the Storm: First Wave

Author's note: I got distracted from Ashes and broken lamps by this idea, but I have to follow the dopamine. Also yes I did this instead of sleep and no I couldn't think of anything better than this dorky title.Word count:4008

Tags: Isekai, dark humor, death mentioned, stalked by a fruit, voice of all things, grifting Kaido, getting a natural high, spiritual experience, no use of (y/n) y'all get named a card game like the tobbi roppo, double agent, corpse scene

It had been exactly thirty seconds since Truck-kun had so kindly knocked your ass into another world. It had not taken you long to realize you had been isekai’d in the middle of Kaido’s strategy table in the middle of a meeting between Kaido and his lead performers. The four large men were looking at your sprawled figure, too in awe to speak. You let your head fall back onto the hard surface below and sighed, “Alright, kill me just get it over with.”

It took a few moments for one of them to speak.

“Not yet, I have a few questions first,” Kaido mumbled, still coming to terms with the fact that he just watched a human fall out of a floating orb of blue light.

This was the last thing you needed today and were eager to either go to bed or the forever box. You groaned, “I don’t know how I got here, last thing I remember was getting hit by a truck walking my ass home from a run to the liquor store.” Lifting the bag of vodka, which miraculously was not in a million pointy pieces.

Kaido grumbled, “Hmm now there's only more questions.”

His response made anger swell and writhe in your chest. “Damn it Kaido are you gonna kill me or what?” You curse. When the horned man shook his head, you scrambled to your feet and grumbled, “Fine I’ll do it myself,” as you made your way over to a nearby window.

Kaido nodded at King, wordlessly telling him to apprehend you, and the next thing you knew you were hanging upside down from King’s fist. You briefly squirmed indignantly before going limp and yielding to Kaido’s wishes, “Alright if you’re gonna interrogate me then I’m gonna need a cup and some ice because I will not be doing this sober. And some snacks, I’m starving.”

After Kaido moved the conversation to one of the banquet halls, he had food and drinks served before he started his questioning. Unfortunately, each answer led to only more questions; what was a truck, why he had never heard of such a thing, where were you from? You had to explain the universe of ten dimensions of string theory to them at one point.

King, who you had thought had not listened to a word you said, asked, “If you are from an alternate universe, then how did you know our names without having to be told?”

This is when you realized the possible consequences if they found out about the manga. One wrong word could get Luffy, or any of the important characters killed, or screw up the story. You needed to know exactly where in the timeline you were at now. But you couldn’t remember the ages of the men present, you only knew Yamato’s age. Now cognizant of how carefully you must tread, you start to question them, “Before I answer that, how old is Yamato?”

“That brat is… Sixteen?” Kaido mumbled, only to be corrected by King, “Seventeen.” The men watched you stare at the floor deep in thought.

That meant Luffy was around seven at present, and he had no control over his devil fruit if he had consumed it yet. But it meant he was safely hidden away and protected at the moment. You turned your gaze to Kaido eyeing him cautiously, if you were smart you could spin this in your favor. Kaido was a powerful man with copious resources, and he wanted to become the pirate king. Now that you were here in this world and had nothing to lose, it meant you didn’t have to wait every week for chapter updates to learn the truth of the poneglyphs or will of D. So Kaido would be a most convent benefactor to help you reach your goal, it’s not like he’s an innocent person you’d be taking advantage of. Plus if you got enough power you could help the people of Wano, and be an asset to Lady Hiyori and Denjiro later on.

“There’s a comic about this world in my own.” You admit, needing to be careful because there was no way these seasoned pirates would not sniff out any lies a scalawag like yourself would tell. It was best to tell the truth, but be cryptic about it and not tell the whole truth.

Kaido roared, “Worororo! So your people tell stories about us?” Slapping his knee, clearly assuming he was the main character. Queen and Jack who seemed to be tickled and plagued by a similar inference, joined in their Captain’s laughter. King, who was less than pleased with that possibility, you also got a distinct impression that he was suspicious of you. Finding it wisest not to dwell on King, you stared at Kaido, waiting for him to regain his composure, gleefully looking forward to bursting their bubble. When they finally calmed down, you replied, “You’re in it, but you’re not the main character.” This moment was paramount in getting Kaido to help you.

King sneered, “If not someone as accomplished and fearsome as Kaido-san is not the main character, then who is?”

Time to cast the bait too tantalizing for any of them to resist. You took a sip from your glass, and matter-of-factly uttered, “It’s about Joy Boy’s journey to change the world.”

Your words brought heavy and sober silence over the room, that nearly broke your composure. All four men were in varying flavors of disbelief, but the only person’s feelings who mattered were Kaido’s. He started at you blankly, ignoring the cacophony of slander and rambling from his subordinates. Kaido held up a hand to silence them and asked, “Why should I believe you?”

You took a deep breath before starting to rattle off almost everything you knew about him. “You’re from the Vodka Kingdom, you became a soldier by the time you were ten. The King tried to draft you into the Marines, but you escaped and proceeded to get captured by them whenever you were hungry. Until one day Whitebeard, then Edward Newgate told you Rocks wanted to chat, and you joined his crew. Where you met and befriended Linlin, who tricked you into eating your devil fruit after Garp and Roger defeated the crew at God Valley. Then you started to build your crew, starting with King who you met a Punk Hazard.” Needing to pause to regain your breath, before continuing, “Also, your favorite food is alcohol and your birthday is May 1st. ”

Also, your favorite food is alcohol and your birthday is May first.

“Worororo!! You even know my birthday and favorite food! How about his?” Kaido replied, pointing at King.

“December first and flying fish sashimi. Queen’s is July thirteenth and Oshiruko. Jack’s birthday is September twenty-eighth and his favorite food is elephant meat steak while his least favorite is grilled cactus. Do you need more or are we good?”

King was the quickest to react, lunging at you to snatch you up, but was stopped by Kaido smacking him over the head with his club. While the Lunarian groaned, Kaido huffed, “You’re going to tell me everything about Joyboy.”

“If I did that then you would wreck the story, and if you want to fight him at his full power then I’m going to need you to just trust me.”

Kaido’s eyes narrowed, and you fought to keep your composure as your stomach rolled and writhed like a business of ferrets had replaced your guts and spine. “If you can’t tell me anything then what use are you to me?”

“Well one, I know about the poneglyphs including the locations of at least ten out of the thirty poneglyphs. They’re the ones that Joyboy finds along on his journey because they’re what leads him to Wano. So we can only take prints, and once we have them I can learn about linguistics and work on deciphering them.” You explain, intentionally leaving out the Red Poneglyph on Zou and the secret ones in Wano.

“...does that nine include the ones Linlin has?”

“And the one you have or will have, and the location of one of them is up in the air right now. And then one of them might not exist.” You admit, “But I know a bunch of other stuff ….. While I can’t tell you, I can however act on it on your behalf you would just need to give me some level of authority.”

Kaido pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. And after a painful minute of waiting he announced, “You will join my crew as our Poneglyph researcher and advisor. I understand that we will need to comply with you even if we don’t understand, I guess I’ll have you working under King since he’s the one I can trust not to let his pride or stubbornness. But know this, if you are lying to me I will have King make you regret being born.” His voice was steady and stern, but it filled you with relief. “You start work tomorrow, in the meantime.”

“I already regret my birth, but thank you, sir,” You joked, remembering to give a small bow before finishing, “I look forward to starting my new job.”

“Also from now on you’re called Klondike. Now someone will take you to one of the guest rooms.”

After being given a room morning couldn’t come fast enough for you, not only were you finally going to get to see a poneglyph in person, but because sleep was eluding you. For the last two hours misty whispers seeped through the door, indistinct voices uttering nothing you could decipher. You had passed the noise off as some sort of background noise, but once you had settled down to bed the voices grew louder. This combined with the sheer massive scale of your new environment and the inky darkness that filled the void space in the room made you jumpy. It felt like hundreds of ghastly pale fingers of specters unknown were scribbling toward you on the other side of the wood that nonetheless beckoned you to follow them. You had never fully grasped how haunting Onigashima was until now, the only thing you felt you could do was to hide under the plush duvet on your futon.

The next thing you knew someone was shaking you awake, and the room was bright as shit. You squinted against the blinding light and looked over to see a strange woman glaring down at you with disdain.

“It’s almost ten in the morning, do you intend to keep Kaido waiting forever stupid?” She sneered, “Hurry and get dressed, the governor-general is waiting for you in the western hall.”

You stretched your whole body, and groaned, “ I don’t have any other clothes, fuck I’m going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.”

The strange woman kicked you in the ribs and snarled at you to get up, and proceeded to grumble about her other responsibilities as she led you to the breakfast hall. Where Kaido was chatting with Maria over the empty plates that once held copious amounts of food. The Ogre whipped his head in your direction when your arrival was announced, and he boomed, “There you are, Klondike, you slept through breakfast.”

He seemed to be in a good mood, or at least better than you had left him last night. You smiled at him, bowed, and replied, “I did not mean to make you wait, have never had to wake up on my own before. I shall endeavor to do better in the future.”

Nodding in approval he held a hand out to Black Maria and introduced her, “This is Black Maria, she is one of the Toppi Roppo. She will be the one responsible for your needs.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Black Maria.” You mumbled and bowed, before standing straight up and using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight pouring in through the open doors.

She put on a sweet smile that did nothing to hide the murderous look in her eyes as she cooed, “The pleasure is yours entirely. You look dreadful poor thing.”

It was amusing to you that she seemed to hate you even though she just met you, leaving you wondering who had said what. While your money was on King you nodded respectfully to Maria and mumbled, “I had a rough night, I was kept up by some people talking down the hall, and it seems like I overindulged last night, my head is pounding and this light hurts my eyes. But I look forward to working with you.”

Kaido not caring for formalities, interrupted, “That’s odd you were the only one in that wing last night and the rooms are soundproof…. Are those the same clothes from yesterday?”

You awkwardly tugged at the hem of your shirt to see just how wrinkled it had gotten and chuckled, “Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t able to bring anything with me when I came, besides the vodka and my bag.”

He looked over at Maria, making her smile morph into dread, “I thought I asked you to make sure they have new clothing to wear.”

Maria gave a pointed look at the woman who woke you and said, “ I was wondering the same thing, why are they wearing day-old clothes, Yumi?”

The woman cooly stated that she had eyeballed your measurements, and passed it along to another made who was searching for spares for you to wear. Maria seemed annoyed at the woman before turning to Kaido and sighed, “I trust Yumi’s skills, her maid however has a penchant for getting lost. I’ll have the Marys go look for her. In the meantime why don’t we let the poor dear eat, and then have them change before going to see King?”

Kaido nodded, “ Sadly there’s not much left, you have to move faster around here if you want food. Help yourself to anything you can find.”

You laughed, “It seems so, but I rarely eat breakfast. I’m a bit of a night owl, so I’m not usually awake at this time,” looking around at the hall which looked like a whirlwind of piranhas had blown through. There was food on the floor, walls, and ceiling but none was left on any of the porcelain serving platters. Except for one bowl that seemed untouched, it was piled high with an assortment of fresh fruit. The bright red apple on top looked particularly good and had your mouth watering. You sat in front of the bowl, gave thanks for the food, and snatched the apple up.

Much to your displeasure, the apple started to morph the moment you touched it; turning lumpy, and swells of stormy grey and bright yellow swirled to the skin of the fruit. Your breakfast had turned into a devil fruit in the open view of everyone in the room. From the looks on their faces, this was something people in this world would consider a miracle. However, for you it was disappointing and annoying, you had wanted that apple. Kaido called for someone to bring the devil fruit encyclopedia to him at once, and knowing he’d want it, and asking for it would be a fruitless effort, you threw him the fruit. He turned it over in his hands, studying it as you searched for an acceptable substitute that would disappoint you the least. You were having trouble about whether or not you wanted the Kiwi or the peach, as you were pulled away by maids who were to change your clothes for you.

When you returned thirty minutes later, bathed, groomed, and in a fresh kimono, Kaido was surrounded by the lead performers and tobi roppo. They poured over a few books and compared your former apple to the pictures in said books. Spotting the bowl of fruit had been knocked over and the kiwi was squished flat, you went and picked up the peach. You glanced over at the fruit in Kaido’s hand, still mad it was no longer an apple. With a sigh, you were about to take a bite of the inferior peach, but a cacophony of gasps from the pirates in the corner of the room, made you halt your actions. When you opened your eyes they were all gawking at you in awe, tired of this nonsense you grumbled, “What now?”

Kaido mutely held up the fruit in his hand, which had returned to being a regular apple. Hoping it wasn’t so, you looked at your ‘meal’ to see your peach had mutated in a similar manner that your apple had. You threw it to Sasaki and picked up another only for the same swirls and colors to take the form of the fruit in your hand. After repeating this process with every fruit in the bowl you chucked the last one full force across the room and shrieked in frustration.

“Someone’s cranky,” King murmured.

“You can have the damn thing as long as you bring me something to eat that isn’t fruit.” You growled.

Thirty minutes later you had a belly full of food and the pirates had gone through all of their books and announced that they had no idea what fruit was determined to have you as its user. You lounged back on a pillow and watched as they discussed who was to eat the fruit. One thing they were all in agreement about was you were sure s shit not going to be the one to eat it. Not that you had any objections, the fact that you had no idea what it would do to you once you ate it was enough to dissuade you from eating it. Being someone that had always grown bored easily you requested to be escorted to Kaido’s Poneglyph. Kaido and King decided that the devil fruit at hand was more important so you were left with Yumi’s maid to take you. And true to Maria’s word, she had gotten both of you lost in five minutes.

The girl, Ai, was young, barely fourteen, and clearly out of her depth so you found it hard to be mad at her. She had been apologizing profusely ever since she realized she had gotten you two lost. There was a fear in her eyes that led you to believe she had faced severe punishment for such small mistakes in the past. It took you a few minutes to coax her into calming down.

“ I’m sorry, it’s just this place is so big and I’ve only been here for a month.” She explained.

You patted her on the back, and replied, “It’ll be okay, I can hear some people talking in that direction, why don’t we follow them and ask for directions?”

“I don’t hear anything, are…. Are you okay?” Ai asked, cocking her eyebrow at you and nervously rung the fabric of her kimono in her hands.

You shrugged, “what do we have to lose? We’re already lost.” The girl deflated and nodded, electing to follow you around winding halls and down eerie stairs until you reached for the handle of a door in the skull dome’s second basement. Ai grabbed your hand and blurted, “I don’t think we’re allowed in that room!... There’s this big cube thing in there, I don’t know what it is, but they kill people for going there without permission.”

You took her hand and assured her, “ It’s called a poneglyph, and studying it is why I’m here. So I’m going in, but if you stay out here, we’re more likely to be found since most people are not allowed in this room. Plus if I’m not allowed in here, then I’ll be the one to get punished.” She nodded and waited outside the door while you tried to contain your excitement before you opened the door.

The Poneglyph was magnificent, and much larger than you had imagined. The smooth stone appeared almost outplace above the ocean's surface. Even in the dim torchlight, it looked like a chunk of the ocean depths t had spawned in the wrong spot. Its presence was so calm, still, and weighty. Your reverence was interrupted by Ai gently pushing you into the room and closing the door behind you. Now alone with the Poneglyph, the whispers coaxed you closer, and before you knew it you were now only an arm’s length away. It was almost as if you were not in control of your body as your fingers pulled your arm toward it. The moment your skin made contact with it, the whispers cleared words. “The truth about the chasm of the past lies enshrined in the skull's golden right eye, where it waits and watches the ocean as it flies to strike out at the sky”

Your first thought went directly to the Poneglyph in the belfry of Shandora, then to the fact that this meant you had the Voice of all things like Roger and Momonosuke. Euphoric delirium and delightful disbelief fizzled inside of you. The rush of it left you breathless. But it all came crashing down when the door behind you flew open. Kaido marched in carrying a charred corpse in his hand. His inner circle followed somberly in behind him, each one of them looking grim. Kaido chucked the body at your feet, where it crumbled on impact. “He died almost immediately after he ate the fruit. A gust of wind came out of nowhere and knocked him into the riptide. I want to see if you can make another.” As King placed a bag of apples at your feet and you, still reeling from your experience with hearing the poneglyph stared at him not absorbing a damn thing going on.

Kaido waited a minute, sensing some about you was off, but not seeing anything visibly wrong with you. He pulled his head back, cocking an eyebrow at you as he asked, “Are you okay? What happened?”

Your back hit the poneglyph, you slid down to the floor, and panted, “Yeah, just gimme a minute I’m a little lightheaded from all the excitement. Uh, I can try, but I promise nothing.” The apple you reached for turned into the mysterious devil fruit pursuing you. “ Just leave the bag of fruit here, maybe if you tell me when someone eats it I can finally enjoy an apple.”

A sadistic glint ignited in King’s eye and he leaned over to Kaido to comment, “We know so little about devil fruits, it could be possible any fruit they’ve eaten could become a devil fruit in their stomach after a user dies. I’ll bet it’ll happen sooner or later because we have a moderately high … turnover rate.” Kaido furrowed his brow and forbid you from consuming any fruit before turning to leave.

“Wait, sir! Instead of coming all the way down here next time, why don’t you send your fastest crew member to fetch the apples for you?” You called out, knowing full well that it was King. Who practically swelled with anger at your suggestion, even his feathers puff up and the muscles in his wings clench. It would have been cute if he weren’t capable of ripping off your head. Queen snickering at him brought King damn close to popping a button off his jacket. So you added, “Also this is an excellent opportunity to gather data and test hypotheses about devil fruits, I hope one of you has at least been writing stuff down.”

Queen swore and ran off to his lab yelling his request for Kaido to wait until he’s brought some equipment up to pick a new test subject. After watching Queen waddle run down the hall Kaido rumbled, “Yeah I’m not waiting for him.”

You nodded and replied, “Wise choice, he’s like genuinely the worst.” Engendering laughing snort to erupt from King, who pretended like it had not happened when you grinned up at him.

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[isamajor]

Whumptober 2024 : day 11 to 15

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE (loneliness)

Nebarra staggered through the scorching sands of Hammerfell, the sun beating down on his armor he has wrapped in cloth in the hope of protecting himself from the heat. He was alone, hiding from the Thalmor’s gaze, a deserter in the desert. The air shimmered with heat.

In the distance, he saw her. Twice. There were two Camias, standing amidst the sand. Nebarra's heart leaped, but as he stumbled closer, everything vanished. Nothing but a mirage.

Nebarra’s chest tightened, his throat dry. Camia was gone. Dead. And all that remained was the ache of her absence and the heat of the desert. (105)

•

No. 12: STARVATION (underground caverns / cannibalism)

The group had ventured into deep, labyrinthine caverns, their torches casting a dim light on the endless stone. Days of wandering had depleted their food supplies. Despair and hunger set in as they eyed the glowing mushrooms on the walls, admittedly an alchemy ingredient, but dangerous in large quantities.

Auri glanced at the corpses of the Falmer they had just defeated. "Falmer are still meat, though it tastes like slimy chicken.", she suggested. Her kind had no problem with eating flesh.

But the others backed away. Cannibalism, even that of the Falmer, was too taboo for them, unlike the Bosmer. (100)

•

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY (multiple whumpees)

The Dragonborn’s companions lay scattered around the ancient tomb, each nursing wounds from the battle. Lucien had a deep gash along his arm, hastily bandaged. Auri's legs were swollen and bruised. Inigo wheezed, ribs cracked evident in his labored breaths. Taliesin had his hands burned with Magicka, Gore was holding his head in pain, Kaidan’s face was bloodied from a draugr’s strike.

The Dragonborn knelt, voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry you’re all hurt... again. I dragged you into this."

Kaidan grunted. "Only death could part me from you. Don’t apologize. We’ll fight until the end, together." (105)

•

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD (blackmail)

Taliesin had run, heart pounding. It was all true in that letter : the details, the secrets... When he fled into the night, he didn’t expect to be caught. But they found him. They beat him until he could no longer fight back, leaving him bloodied and barely breathing on the moor. They stripped him, replacing his robes with a hunter’s outfit, masking the crime.

At dawn, his companions, worried about his sudden disappearance, went looking for him. They finally found it on the moor. Xelzaz knelt by his side, pressing trembling fingers to Taliesin’s neck. "He’s alive," he whispered in relief. (105)

•

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA (painful hug / I did good, right?)

Taliesin stood trembling before his father, the man’s cold eyes filled with disappointment. “Too soft.”, his father spat. “You’ll never be a Thalmor like this.” Young Taliesin swallowed the knot in his throat, forcing his emotions down. He understood, even then, he needed to become what they expected. He has to put a mask. He stiffened his back, raised his chin, and mimicked what he’d seen in other officers.

“Did I do well, Father?” he asked once, voice hollow.

For the first time, his father smiled and pulled him into a tight embrace. Pride glinted in his eyes. But Taliesin felt only a bitter emptiness. (104)

[byaahrs]

Locked up with Rafe Cameron

Warning! If you still haven’t watched season 3 of Outer Banks, and you’re planning to soon, I advise you not to read this fanfiction, as it could contain major spoilers of that season.

Word count : ~3000 SFW From Aahrs, Love ! 🌴🌺🌴

Contextualization : Rafe Cameron had been keeping you locked in his house for days. Basically, he was using you — a friend of Sarah’s — to gather valuable information about the Pogues and their upcoming plan. Ever since they had met in South America and discovered El Dorado, Rafe was furious; the only person he ever cared about - and above all, the only one he admired - had just passed away. Indeed, his father, by trying to save his daughter Sarah, died, Rayan’s bullet passing through his heart. And even though he was trying to hide it as best he could, Rafe found himself shaken. Traumatized to say the least. As payback, he had taken you, the first Pogue whom he got his hands on. While waiting for your friends to come and save you from him, you had to obey him. But most importantly, you had to be wise. After all, in the past, Sarah had told you about her brother's wild and cruel nature; Rafe was mentally unstable. One wrong move, and he could easily end your life. If you wanted to live, you had to play it safe. 

Behind your kidnapping, Rafe had one goal in mind : kill each of the Pogues to avenge Ward Cameron and save his honor. At the beginning of your captivity, he did not even want to speak to you. In his eyes, you were literally disgusting. If he dared talk to you, it was only to throw insults and threats, when he had drunk way too much. However, as the days passed, certainly very alone in the world, he became more inclined to conversation. While you thought you could get out of this unfortunate situation by creating a bond - a sincere friendship - with him, one night, you heard him talk to Topper in the living room opposite to your bedroom. In order to hear their words correctly, you put your ear against the wall. And when you finally got to perceive them correctly, you let out a gasp. Rafe had just sworn to kill you if you did not reveal the location of the Pogues quickly.

Although you knew he was insane, you were no less shocked. Just when you thought you and he were beginning to get along, he was betraying you. But it was your fault, and yours only. Why would you believe the guy who abducted you in the first place ? Between you and Rafe, maybe you were the most insane. 

That evening, panicked, you couldn't sleep. You thought about the discussion of Topper and Rafe all night. One single solution presented itself to you; if you cared about your life, you’d have to kill him before he had a chance to come after you.

Locked up

Out of breath, it felt impossible to calm the pulse of your pounding heart. What had you done ? You raised your head slowly, to estimate the situation. You peeked at Rafe, who was already staring at you in a hostile manner. Standing, he was not moving an inch. From afar, he did not even seem to be breathing. He was like a corpse in the middle of the room; pale. Livid.

“Damn”, you muttered quietly to yourself. You knew. You knew you had just signed your death warrant. It was only a matter of seconds before Rafe caught up the distance that separated the two of you, and chocked you with his massive thick hands. At the thought of his grip tightening your neck, you swallowed. Rafe was impulsive. He only reacted out of emotion, even more when he was angry. Yes, it was very likely that he ended up strangling you.

Picturing that was not very clever of you. Even though you were already trying to calm down, this thought doubled your anxiety. Your heart was henceforth beating so hard against your chest that you were physically suffering. At this point, it was so loud you wouldn't even be surprised if Rafe, at the other end of the room, could hear it. It was like dying of fear. You were feeling nauseous. Fortunately, the lack of food in your stomach kept you from vomiting. Indeed, you had nothing to throw up but acid. 

Although the last few seconds had passed like hours, Rafe startled you when, in a sudden and beastly gesture, he hit the vase of flowers to his right. He picked it up, and then crushed it on the floor against the hard and cold tiles. The sound of it breaking was bitter. But compared to the tone of his voice, it was nothing. 

“Is that how you want me to react?” Rafe yelled violently.

His words were vibrant with scorn and anger. You could have heard him from outside. He took a step forward.

“Because that is the impression you’re giving me” he continued.

What were you supposed to say in return ? No, instead, how were you supposed to react to that ? At first, indifference seemed to be the best option. That was until Rafe screamed once again. 

“Don’t you dare stay silent! Answer me!”

The vehemence in his tone forced you to face reality: at this very moment, you were so vulnerable. You were nothing more than a hungry young woman, in a room she didn’t know. In a house she didn’t know. If you tried to escape, Rafe, near the frame, would easily stop you. He would grab your wrist before breaking it in a second. The worst part of it was that he wouldn't feel remorse afterwards. 

If you tried jumping over a window, you would also miserably fail. Despite the fall - if your legs were intact, which already seemed impossible -, you would not know where to go to escape from the neighborhood. How would you find the Pogues without your phone? You didn’t even know the way to John B’s house. Or Kiara’s. Rafe would always be one step ahead of you. Even though his father had passed away, he still had Ward’s last name, he was a Cameron. And with it came the benefits. The contacts. One call would be enough to find you and exterminate you for good. Yes, you had no doubt about it; you were trapped with him for good.

To you, it felt atrocious to admit it, but in any case, you would get killed. Wherever you may go, whatever you decided to do, it was over for you. Especially since you had nothing left to protect yourself. If you’d been a little smarter, you might have survived his fists. But no, you had to break your only useful weapon, which now, had become totally useless. What was a knife without its blade ? A minute ago, when Rafe had entered your room in the middle of the night, you literally panicked. Hearing the door crack, the steps approaching the bed… More and more… It had been awful for you. Since you caught his discussion with Topper, you had been making a knife in your spare time, behind Rafe’s back. It had not been no small task. However, with the help of several elements in the room, you had succeeded.

So when you heard Rafe lean towards you, that night, you turned around to jump on him. Unfortunately, you couldn’t even make a move that he broke your weapon in half. As if he had planned each of your actions.

Seriously though, what was going through your head at that moment ? Did you really think you could have gotten rid of Rafe Cameron, the boy who had chased the Pogues to the other side of the world ? It was stupid. You were so stupid, to go after him. For thinking you actually had a chance to beat him. Anf from now on, you would have to face the consequences. Even after your death, you would regret that night. 

“No.” You wanted your answer to be simple, only because you did not know what to respond. “Because you deserve it.”

Rafe’s eyes slowly widened. In fact, he was as astonished as you were. Where did you get the strength to come up with such a response ? The nerves you had !

The moment you opened your mouth, you regretted it. In one simple step, Rafe swallowed the few inches that separated you from him. Good job ! Thanks to your answer, the little sense of security your had — if any remained at all — just disappeared for good. 

Rafe was making you shiver, and in the wrong meaning of the word. He was unbelievably big… Much taller than you, he made you feel dominated. It was like you were a thing he was toying with, and it scared you to death. Fear had paralyzed you, prevented you from raising your chin again and challenging him. You could not physically face him by looking at him in the eyes.

However, on the contrary, Rafe did not stop devouring you with his eyes. As if he was looking one last time at his prey before eating it, you could feel his gaze burning your skin. His heart throbbed intensely too. The attack you had planned on him must have startled him. Right ? He was sulking; taking in deep breaths, so deep that you could clearly hear them. Was it intentional ?

“You saw what I did to that vase a second ago, right ?” Rafe asked. 

And again, you couldn’t react.

Hoping he could force you to reply, Rafe imprisoned your jaw with his venous hand. If he lifted it a little high, he could have blocked your mouth without any difficulty.

“...I must have heard you wrong. What did you just say?”

“Yes, I have seen what you’ve done, Rafe.” Your voice was getting increasingly weak.

“Well I could do a thousand times worse. To you.”

That was it. It was the end. Rafe was going to tighten his grip until he blew your face out.

You chuckled nervously. “Really?”

Rafe gave a simple laugh. A hearty, loud laugh. A bitter one too. As if you suddenly regained your assurance, you scanned the room from left to right. You were looking for a shelter, an object that would allow you to face Rafe without putting yourself in danger.

Not knowing how, Rafe guessed your intentions the second your gaze left his. Cursing, he grabbed your arm aggressively. It was so painful that a guttural sound escaped your throat.

“Now, tell me where the fucking money is!” Rafe barked, furious. “I’m running out of time. And out of patience.”

Just like a dog, he showed the fangs.

“Let go of me!” you shouted.

If Rafe thought you would help him by betraying the Pogues, he thought wrong. Even if it meant being severely hurt, you would remain faithful to your friends.

“You know you’re risking your life here, don't you? If you don’t want to end up like Peterkin, speak up!”

“I have no idea where they might be now. They haven’t tried contacting me again.”

You were lying and Rafe knew it.

“Bullshit!” he muttered stormily.

He gave you a skeptical look. It was amazing how cold and sharp his blue eyes could be sometimes. You wondered: was there a time when they were nothing but caring? Warm, perhaps? God, what were you thinking! While you fantasized about him, the guy was choking you! Rafe only knew nonchalance and vehemence. Comparing him to a nice guy was like comparing a cat to a dragon.

Rafe then knelt to the ground and picked up the small blade. As he was scrutinizing it, he laughed. “Is that what you tried to fuck me up with?”

You let your gaze fall on him. You were too embarrassed to respond.

���Impossible,” Rafe whispered, truly taken aback. “Don’t you see there’s a high difference in size and power between the two of us? Even if I hadn’t countered your attack, I wouldn’t have been badly hurt. What were you expecting, seriously?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. I just wanted to hurt you enough for me to get away.”

Skeptical, Rafe frowned. 

“Are you hysterical?”

“See that blood stain on your cheek? The only one hysterical here is you.”

Teeth clenched, Rafe gawked at you, which sent shivers down your spine.

“If you want to shoot me, go ahead," you shouted. "Do it, Rafe! Quickly! I don’t understand why you want to steal this money so much, since you are rich, but whatever! Why is it so interesting, in your view? For little money, you’ve gone this far. Killing people, causing disasters… You even destroyed a historical gem, the Cross of Santo Domingo! And now, you’re going to finish off the girl you took captive. Great. What an achiever.”

“Even if you tried, you would never understand.” Rafe grunted in reply. “Don’t speak to me that way. The Pogues killed my father. The real monsters, here, are by your side. Not mine.”

After he reluctantly mentioned the death of Ward, which was his trauma, Rafe’s forehand began to drip with sweat. “I had to prove to him that I was a son he could be proud of.” he explained, more sincere than ever. “All I did was in order to please him. Satisfy him. I had to become an improved version of him. But all he ever saw was Sarah. All he ever found himself concerned about was Sarah’s fate, not mine! Still, I tried. And these Pogues… they… they killed him. Sarah, his beloved daughter, had its part in the crime. She betrayed me. She betrayed my father, and for that I will not forgive her!”

The grip of his hand around your arm became firmer. At this point, his nails were so deep in they were scratching your skin. Rafe seemed more tense than annoyed. When he spoke again, his voice sounded so weak, so fragile, that you had to focus on it to hear it.

“That's why… you have to tell me where the Pogues are. For me, for my father.”

Despite the emotion of the moment, you stayed lucid. Not wasting time before Rafe snapped, in a sudden gesture, you managed to push him back. He stumbled and fell to the ground. You tried to run in the corridor, but because of Rafe’s hand finding your tibia, you were forced to stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he roared. “Stop!”

When he said that last word, you picked up the blade. Yes, the one you found useless a minute ago. Yet, it was your only weapon, a way for you to defend yourself against the psychopath who had been wanting to kill you for days.

“What is it like to be in the position of victim?” you asked while you toyed with it.

Riled up, Rafe struck the air with his fist. A blow hit you, you endured it. The adrenaline that flowed in your veins helped you greatly. As you knelt and were about to stab Rafe in the trachea, you interrupted. 

What the hell were you doing?

As if you had been burned, you broke free of Rafe’s grip. You could have killed him. One second too late, and you would have cut short the life of another human being. No matter how rotten he was, Rafe did not deserve that. You could have become a monster, and that thought terrified you.

“Why…” 

A feverish voice had come to you. You turned back. Unlike before, Rafe was not looking at you proudly, but wept. 

“Why did you try to attack me?”

Your eyes widened in shock. The pinch you felt in your heart was scarier than everything you experienced until then. 

“Don’t play dumb,” you said. “I knew about your plan. I caught you talking with Topper.”

“So you heard nothing! He persuaded me not to kill you. Clearly, I shouldn’t have listened to that asshole. Anyway, he never gave good advice.”

“So it took a friend's words for you not to kill an innocent woman? You pretended to get close to me and stab me in the back. That’s supposed to be the victim’s technique. Didn't know you were such a coward."

You wanted to be sure of yourself. Unfortunately, the trembling voice that came out of your mouth proved otherwise.

“No!” he defended himself. “I was saying something offhand. I wasn’t seriously going to kill you. Are you stupid? In order to reach out to the Pogues, I have to keep you alive and well.”

Then Rafe looked at you.

“When I came into this room, I just wanted to tell you…”

“What is it ?”

“I want you to stay. There, with me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

As you waited for him to carry on, time stood still.

“We’re having a good time together, aren’t we?” he asked.

Without being able to talk, the words were cluttering in your mouth. Rafe was a professional at leaving you stunned. What was he on about ? Complicity ? You just thought he was going to kill you!

To fill the heavy blank, Rafe continued. “I… I’m lost. I don’t know where Rose went. After she stole all the money, she flew off to some fucking country, and she didn’t even try to contact me. As if I wasn’t worth her time... And as for Topper, he’s not a real friend whom I can count on. He would rather save Sarah than me. I have no one, and I feel so alone... At least, even if you are a Pogue, having you here is my only company. It gives me someone to talk to, someone to take care of, and I want that to stay that way. With you by my side, I feel useful.”

“We could have been friends,” you replied. “Whether you kept me away from my friends or not. You didn’t need to go to such an extent! Who would want to befriend you after this?”

“I don't like Pogues. Even if you consider yourself one, you’re more like me, a Kook, because of your rich parents. You have to admit it… You just can’t leave.”

“That is not how you maintain a healthy and stable friendship, you know ? Also, you are aware that I am friends with Sarah. You’re criticizing Topper, but in a certain way, I’m the same as him.”

“Sure. But you weren’t there when they killed Ward. You joined later. Besides, until then, you were the nicest to me.”

Again, you were lost at sea. How could Rafe go from one emotion to another so rapidly ? Before you could escape the house, he pulled you to him and you fell on his lap. His eyes, hungry, went from your eyes to your mouth. You knew what he was going after. You could have pulled away, but no. Instead, you stayed there.

Rafe leant towards you, sealing his lips to yours. Just like him, it had a bitter taste. It was like kissing grapefruit, wet and sour. As the sound of guilt came ringing to your ears, you became more stiff.

Before he locked you up, how many times did you fantasize about Sarah’s brother? More than once, that was for sure. And for that reason only, you gave in.

Damn, he was such a hottie.

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[teecupangel]

ok so i had a better idea about desmond turning into creatures.

he gets raised up from a pup into Ebony Odogaron. Might be good for stealth since he'd blend into the dark. And the zap zap stuff might be useful. Parkour? no problem with the sets of double claws.

Or he's a Violet Mizutsune. This one is probably even better for stealth considering it slides around in its own soap water and can hunt other creatures and set its soap water on fire. (the trailer for it is bomb af) It's a very mobile creature so it probably could parkour because its body movement.

It's got white on it too >:3

Speaking of Monhun, here’s an idea of the Assassins becoming hunters in MonHun World, here’s an idea of which MonHun monster Desmond could be reincarnated to and an idea of Desmond being reborn as a Zinogre.

What I remember most about Odogaron is that it has an enraged state which makes him faster and harder to hit so the usual tactic is to keep running and dodging until it exhausts itself, then it’ll be an easier battle.

Odogaron is purely a melee monster and Desmond probably try to use his tail as a weapon more often than a normal Odogaron. He’ll probably as small as a corgi first but soon starts growing and keeps growing while being raised by Altaïr.

People just assumed he’s an exotic animal from crusader lands until the Third Crusades begin and the Assassins notice that crusaders don’t recognize him and some even fear him.

By that point, he’s grown large enough that he wear horse armor and people would think he’s a horse.

He can jump really high though and his claws can dig to walls, making it easy for him to climb high structure.

So what you usually happens is that he lets Altaïr disembark before they reach the location and Desmond would stealth his way inside the city using the walls and rooftops while Altaïr enter it the usual way. (Or, sometimes, he stays with Desmond and Desmond climbs up)

Desmond starts to reach the normal adult Odogaron size after Altaïr took the mentorship and the Apple from Al Mualim so there are rumors that Desmond becomes as big as he is because of the Apple but it can’t be proven.

He’s, of course, Sef and Darim’s babysitter because Altaïr believes he’s smarter than humans (Desmond thinks Altaïr is blinded by their years of being together, less master and pet and more companions/family).

Of course, Abbas’ coup fail because they tried to kill Desmond first but, at that point, Altaïr had made an armor for him that’s basically made of the same material as the Armor of Altaïr.

Desmond stays with the Ibn-La'Ahad family until he feels the urge to leave and he gets to Firenze in time to ‘stop’ the execution.

And by stop, yes, that does mean the people of Firenze still talked about the day a mighty hellhound maul and eat (he didn’t eat anyone) the guards and Uberto Alberti.

… all to save the cursed Auditore family.

(As a reference to Odogaron’s penchant for eating Legiana corpse, maybe Desmond’s favorite food is a leaf that looks a lot like Legiana’s wings?)

Ah, Mizutsune. The monster I bullied in Rise until I realized that Rakna-Kadaki’s set is more of my style. XD

Okay, but in all seriousness, Desmond as a Mizutsune would be a fun idea, especially as this is a kind of Leviathan that can move fast both on land and on water. That soap it secretes? It makes it easier for it to move even on difficult terrain, making a Mizutsune Desmond one of the fastest and most elegant destructive force that the Templars ever witness. This soap hinders other people too, making it harder for them to move.

Also, it could shoot out pressurized water from its mouth so Desmond would have a devastating long range attack.

By the way, there’s a white and red Mizutsune that would look good for Desmond: The Soulseer Mizutsune:

Up to you if you want to keep the scars on the eyes to make Desmond blind, make it part of the plot later on or decide that he wouldn’t get the scars.