#IF I COULD MAKE A PHYSICAL SHRINE I WOULD

[leonenjoyer69]

Getting closer and closer everyday to making a post of all the Elias art my awesome friends and followers keep making and tagging all of them so y'all know how amazing they are. PLEASEEE IF YALL DON'T POST EM I WILL‼️ I NEED TO GO FERAL ONLINE, PRIVATELY ISN'T ENOUGH‼️‼️

[bluecookies02]

Viktor x Reader

tags: nsfw, suggestive but on a spiritual lvl 🤌 hurt/comfort. robo viktor and intimacy basically.

[established relationship]

Viktor's new body doesn't feel physical pleasure. Doesn't feel friction or warmth to any extensive degree.

But you'll often find yourself placed on his lap, with him guiding your hips to grind against his own. His arms guiding yours around his shoulder, neck, back...wherever your heart desires to leave a ghost of an imprint. He traces your skin with fingertips that don't really feel any pressure whatsoever, but his soul yearns to touch you like he used to.

And he does. It makes him desperate at first...lost and heartbroken. He has to learn to calculate better, in fear of not giving you a good enough illusion that he is still as human as he was, still an attentive lover that he used to be.

The kind that would spend hours making you feel good, loved and precious. He used to push himself to exhaustion just because he needed to show you his affections thoroughly.

He still would. He still does. Every little speck of him that is left within this new vessel, he selflessly gives to you. The shudders that he lets out when you whine and moan are raw and real, the adoration in his eyes when he does something right and you gasp...it's for you only.

He can feel your emotions and hear your thoughts when the connection between you is at its peak. Once you place your forehead against his and you fall apart under his skilled hands, he can experience the ecstasy similar to the one he used to when he was mortal.

It's yours. It's borrowed. But it gets him high. The fraction of your pleasure that he can feel through your bond makes him addicted, insatiable. It can be considered selfish when he thinks about it more in depth, however it isn't.

Because he would do it all just for you...even if he couldn't feel a single thing, he knows he would always feel utter love and devotion towards everything that makes you. Your plump lips, your eager hands, your honey coated words, your mind and intelligence, your familiarity.

He'd rip himself apart and turn to nothing if it made you happy.

So he's quick to learn. He learns how to press his cold lips against yours just right...all over again. Relearns how to touch you in ways he used to know by heart. The instincts that seemed to die with his body, he has to fabricate.

There's beauty in those calculations. It comforts him. Because those seemingly "robotic" efforts are naked proof that his love for you will never falter, no matter the form he takes on.

He knows that you see his struggles, notice the smaller errors he makes in rhythm, in the gentleness or the roughness of his movements. But as always, you understand him and his body, the state of it, the "faults" as he used to call them, which you always said you'd love, no matter what they were.

This stayed constant in your relationship from before and now. Your stubbornness to love him through everything , even this, and he'd be a fool to not repay you.

So he makes love to you, under the glossy, shiny stars and then under the morning sunrise, on the wet grass or the cloudy floor of his hidden universe. You'll feel him molding his body for you and pouring his soul into you until you're crying, panting and shaking underneath him.

He'll swallow the screams from your lips as you crumble for him, and he'll engrave them so deep within himself so that nothing could rip them away.

Noone can ever love me like the fictional men in my head and I'll have to accept that eventually . Anyways I hope you enjoyed this blurb, if you did, stay tuned bc this blog is slowly turning into a Viktor shrine.

requests are set to open while this season's high fuels me, so feel free to drop by🩵

[adispit]

Hiyaaa can I ask for Ayato from Genshin with a kitsune reader who steals pieces of his clothing as a secret crush on him but one day Ayato catches them and punishes them.

A Punishment ?

Ayato x kitsune! bttm male reader

Content warnings: spanking, anal tongue fucking (receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, creampie , slight predator prey dynamic (if you squint), slight dubcon because reader wasn’t really into the spanking at the start

Note: This fic has been marinating in my inbox for 2 weeks so I hope you enjoy! Also I haven’t played Genshin in a year so this might be a tad bit ooc 😭. Enjoy!

You had always been someone in the background, shadowed and sheltered under the protection of your sister, Guuji Yaemiko. Few to none knew of your actual existence as centuries passed, except for the Raiden Shogun and the clans themselves. Her influence stretched far, wrapping around you like a protective veil.

The Shrine was your haven, but also your cage. Every decision, every move you made, was watched, controlled. It was always for your safety, she would say. The sister who would tease and always play you like a fiddle to her silly whims became firm and unmovable when it came to exploring beyond the Inazuman city. You had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, never given the freedom to truly explore it. Yet, that defiant streak within you had only grown stronger. You didn’t want protection. You wanted to live.

However, what your sister could not shield you from was unforeseen. A little crush you had harboured for the Yashiro Commissioner himself, Kamisato Ayato. A man who carried himself with grace and power — a man who like your sister, commanded respect wherever he went. The very man that made the Kamisato name arise from its ashes and make it the prestigious clan today. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nothing better than those maidens who chased after him relentlessly for marriage offers. It stung to think of yourself in that way, to admit that you were drawn to him with the same intensity that they were.

It wasn’t just his power or his elegance. It was the way he moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the sharpness in his gaze that made you feel seen even when you wished to remain hidden. You were drawn to him with a fascination that bordered on obsession, an allure that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Due of your crush, you found yourself resorting to a silly yet strangely satisfying ritual—stealing Ayato’s clothes. It was an odd way to cope with the intense feelings you harbored for him, but it was the only outlet you could manage. Each stolen item, whether a glove, a ribbon, or a sash, became a cherished possession, a physical connection to him that you could hold onto.

Each piece of clothing was a wishful reminder of him—a way to keep a part of him close, even if you could never have him completely. You would fold his garments carefully, press them to your face, and imagine the moments he had worn them, his scent of sandalwood and rain with the lingering warmth, It was your own secret fantasy. It was harmless really. A secret way of indulging in the hopeless crush you’d harbored for the head of the Kamisato clan.

However, tonight, the air felt different—charged with something you couldn’t quite place. Strangely, there weren’t any guards present that were on patrol. The estate was quiet. A little too quiet.

Still, you pressed on.

The thought of what you were about to do made your fox ears twitch in excitement. Ayato’s chambers were silent as you nudged the door open, the dim light of a single candle casting long shadows over the room.

You crept inside, eyes scanning for something to take. His haori lay draped neatly over a chair, and without hesitation, you reached for it. The silk fabric slipped through your fingers, smooth and cool to the touch. Your breath caught in your throat as you brought it close, imagining, just for a moment, what it would feel like to be wrapped in it—surrounded by him. The thought made your cheeks warm, but you pushed it away, carefully folding the haori over your arm.

It was a ridiculous thought, you knew that.

You allowed yourself a small smile. Another successful heist, another piece of him to add to your collection. You moved toward the door, your escape clear and easy.

But as you turned, something stopped you.

A faint rustle. Barely a sound, but enough to make your ears twitch with alert. You froze, eyes darting toward the corner of the room. Nothing.

You waited, heart racing in your chest, every instinct telling you to bolt but curiosity kept you rooted in place. Slowly, you scanned the room again, your gaze lingering on the bed. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a figure sitting in the shadows.

Ayato.

He was leaning casually against the headboard of his bed, his body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. His lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours with a calm intensity. Those eyes were striking—like shards of amethyst, reflecting the light in a way that made them almost glow. They watched you with a calm amusement, though the glint in them suggested he was far more aware of the situation than you were.

Your heart raced as you took in his appearance. His long, pale blue hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose strands that framed his angular face. The moonlight accentuated his porcelain skin, making him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream. Yet there was nothing soft about the way he held himself—he stood with a quiet strength, the grace of a nobleman who knew his power.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the haori tightly. Ayato’s tall, lean frame was still relaxed, but every movement he made was deliberate. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as he spoke, drawing attention to his hands—hands that could command armies or, in this case, one mischievous kitsune.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

Ayato’s lips curled into a faint smirk, revealing a glimpse of his sharp wit. “Didn’t mean to what?” He interrupted, stepping forward, the soft rustle of his clothing barely audible. “You seem to have a habit of taking things that don’t belong to you,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too calm.

“Lord Ayato,” You squeaked softly, ears flattening as you clutched the fabric in your hands. He approached, slowly, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name. “What were you planning to do with this, hm?” He gestured toward the ribbon in your hand, his voice soft but laced with authority. “Stealing from me, Yae Miko’s brother no less… What would she say?”

You bristled at the mention of your sister, but there was no escape now. “I just wanted—”

“To see if I’d notice?” Ayato finished for you, his amusement deepening as he tilted his head slightly. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Up close, you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the quiet authority he carried in every word.

His hand reached out, brushing lightly against the fabric of the haori. “I noticed,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers grazed yours, cool to the touch yet searing with the unspoken threat of control.

Ayato’s smile was small but devastatingly confident. “But there’s a price to pay for stealing from the Yashiro Commissioner.”

Your heart raced as he stepped even closer, the close proximity making your tail swish back and forth with nervousness and anticipation. “And I think you know what that means.”

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for just a moment, but the look in his eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unyielding—was enough to make you comply. Your legs gave way almost instinctively as you dropped to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of adrenaline coursing through you drowned out everything except the sound of your own breathing, loud and uneven in your ears.

He took another step, his movements so fluid that his bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, as though he was one with the shadows. You could feel the heat radiating from him even before he stood directly in front of you, the faint scent of sandalwood and rain lingering in the air—intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his lips—a smirk that sent a thrill of both fear and excitement rushing through your body. The expression was playful, yet there was something undeniably dangerous in it, like he was silently toying with you, fully aware of the power he held over you. Up close, you could see the cool, detached amusement in his eyes—like a predator toying with prey, knowing full well you were already caught in his web.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. You hesitated again, but the silent disapproving look in his eyes was enough to make you move. You stood up slowly, your hands trembling as you began to undress. Reluctantly, your robes slipped off, leaving you stark naked and cold, shivering in the cold night air. Truth to be told, you were a virgin, never having the chance to even have a sexual outlet besides from fingering yourself and masturbating on rare occasions when your sister wasn’t at the shrine. Even with your crush on Ayato, you were rather reluctant and admittedly, a tad bit fearful.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, but the fire in his piercing eyes made your skin tingle with anticipation. That calm, calculating gaze burned with something primal even though his face remained impassive. When you were done, he simply gestured for you to turn around. You hesitated briefly, but his silent command left no room for question.

Your heart pounded as you moved, his authoritative presence looming behind you. “Hands on the bed,” he demanded, his voice brushing dangerously close to your ear. The soft, commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, making you feel small beneath him.

You obeyed, placing your palms flat against the cool surface of the futon. The fabric felt grounding under your trembling fingers. You could hear him moving, the quiet rustle of his robes as he adjusted himself, his body heat brushing ever closer. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension, until—

Without warning, the first blow landed hard across your ass. The sharp, stinging pain rippled through you like a wave. You gasped, your body jerking forward from the sudden impact, your tail instinctively going taut. The burning sensation lingered, intensifying with every passing second, until all you could do was grip the sheets, struggling to steady yourself against the onslaught.

“Ayato, I don’t think I want to — Ah!”

He wasn’t done.

The second blow came even harder, the sharp impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. This time, you couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped your lips, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic taste of blood faint on your tongue as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “And call me Sir. Stay still,” he added, the warning in his tone unmistakable, “Or this will be even worse.”

You could feel the power in his command, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.

“Two, Sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, doing your best to remain still despite the lingering sting.

The next few blows came in quick succession, each one more painful than the last. Your ass was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that was building inside you. You could feel yourself getting hard, your body betraying you as it responded to the punishment. The next few blows came in quick succession, each one landing harder than the last. Your skin burned, a searing pain spreading across your ass with every strike, and it felt like your entire body was on fire.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and no matter how hard you fought them back, they kept coming, blurring your vision. You mutely counted the blows between occasional cries of pain and ragged gasps for air. The room spun around you, the sensation too much, too fast.

Each smack to the ass only intensified your horror at your arousal and your arousal. You could feel your dick twitching and getting stiffer as the pain resonated throughout your body. Precum was beginning to pool beneath your cock as the electric sting that the pain brought felt even more pleasurable than the last.

“T-ten,” you whispered shakily, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep from collapsing under the pressure. Finally, he paused, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the tension in your body slowly unwinding as the sting of the blows lingered. Your skin was still ablaze with the aftermath.

You could feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his fingers brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier actions. The touch was almost tender, a strange gentleness that sent a confusing wave of emotions through you.

Suddenly, with a swift motion, you found yourself turned around, now facing him. Despite the harsh punishment you had endured, you felt your heart race and then falter as the close proximity of Ayato became overwhelming. Your traitorous tail, betraying your true feelings, swished involuntarily with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

However that did not distract him from the hard on you sported, much to your embarrassment. His slender hand crept down your body and dwarfed your cock. He rhythmically rubbed your length, making you shudder and feel the sparks and the familiar hum of pleasure beginning to ignite.

“Yes,” you gasped as Ayato purposefully tightened his grip around your sensitive tip, never stopping his pace, “Oh—fuck—” as that mischievous hand closed around you, there was a playful air about Ayato as he let out a soft melodic laugh while mumbling something under his breath and then shifting his grip.

The next slide up was a tight, demanding fist. You threw your head back.

“Does that feel good, (Name)?” There was an amused lilt in his voice that made you flush head to toe.

The rush of blood and desire to a point low in your stomach was overwhelming. The movement was growing slicker, better , so tempting to lean fully into. You had never been this turned on.

“I don’t know, ” you cried through a strangled whine, you felt Ayato’s laughter directly through your skin, and somehow that made him suddenly very close.

There was something so exciting and arousing about it the way the man you had dreamt about, the very Yashiro Commissioner, himself was helping pleasure you. The very thought had you moaning, once, and falling slack like a puppet with cut strings. 

You were gently pushed back onto your back against the soft surface of the futon with both your legs are hoisted up, hanging against Ayato’s shoulders. Your body folded in half as you saw his head buried in your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin as your tail hairs brushed against his chin.

“Ayato?!” You struggled for the commissioner to release his grasp on your legs, but to no avail, as he tightened his grip to hold you still. You flushed red in embarrassment, the thought of Ayato seeing everything too much to bear. 

And then you felt something warm and slimy breach past the ring of muscles, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Holy fuck. Was Ayato actually doing what you thought he was? 

You shuddered as waves of pleasure traveled up to your core. Gritting your teeth to try and contain the shameful moans from escaping you, afraid to realise that this was all a dream, afraid that Ayato would be turned off by you.

“Hnnn…Ayato….” You groaned, eyes clenching shut and face wrinkled as you bit back on a pathetic whine. All of a sudden, you jolted.

Ayato’s tongue had prodded at something deep inside you that made you melt into a puddle of arousal and shame. You unconsciously gripped his head tight with your thighs, messing up his perfect tidied hair. He had found your prostrate. And then he stopped, a gossamer thread of saliva connecting his lips to your hole as he retreated.

You couldn’t help but notice the shy mole that hid beneath his spit shiny lips — he was absolutely ethereal even with his messy and tousled hair. An unnatural pink flush decorated his fair and porcelain face and you realised that he was aroused.

By you.

The thick tension hung in the air as he silently gazed at you, the hunger in his amethyst eyes almost engulfing you on the spot like he was a man gone wild.

Shadows danced on his face as he meticulously removed his robes, still carrying himself with the same grace and dignity as if the air wasn’t imbued with the electric undercurrent of arousal and the fact that he had just tongue fucked you. He stood above you, full mast and you felt your breath get stolen away from you.

Ayato had a picture perfect physique, lean, almost like a statue carved out and had come to life. Your eyes immediately dove down to his abdomen, to be greeted with his cock, hard, already pressing against your rim, twitching invitingly. Both hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself.

“We will not stop now, (Name). Your pleas and cries will be unheard. This is a punishment.” He stared at you with an unyielding gaze, one that you were ready to challenge. “This is the lesson you must learn, the price of your rebellion,” he concluded. “One I accept.” You let out a hoarse giggle. His eyes darkened almost simultaneously as what seemed like another amused smile tugged at his lips before he let his actions speak for himself.

He did not give any mercy. Ruthlessly driving into your hips with a force like he wanted to merge into you, you felt his girth stretch and force your walls to mould into its shape. “Huh...?” Your mind went blank with pleasure, and for a while you couldn’t comprehend what happened. Your insides clenched down hard on his cock as slaps of skin punctuated the silent night air.

“Ah! Ggh- Aah! W-wait! Ungh —!” You slurred inaudibly as you felt your body rock to his merciless pace, your cock dribbling endless pre-cum uncontrollably. He promised your pleas and cries would be unheard and he served his promise, not even a single word could leave your raw throat. Only guttural whines and moans would escape your bitten lips as you fell into the throes of pleasure.

Alas, decisions were made and you could not regret what you said. Here you were, getting your deserved punishment in the form of a ruthless fucking.

Everything was too hot, too sticky and hummed with the sound of distant sobs, you groggily thought. Oh. Those were from you. Your skin was sticky with the sheen of sweat and cum and the futon beneath you was drenched. You felt unusually full, like something sloshing in your tummy. Your hole felt sore. And he wasn’t done. But you would never admit defeat….was the last thought that echoed in your muddled mind as you gave into the embrace of sleep.

“(Name)? Learnt your lesson now? Oh. The silly thief has admitted defeat.” He pushed back his sweat soaked hair as he glanced upon your slumbering form. Letting out a grunt, he pulled out of your red, swollen hole as semen immediately began dripping out your gaping rim. Humming an exasperated sigh, a fond expression appeared on his face as his lavender eyes crinkled into crescents as he gently ruffled your hair.

The little kitsune had fallen into his trap.

Sometime ago, Ayato had noticed his belongings going missing. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t deserve the title of Yashiro Commissioner. The thief clearly had no ill intent, but it became particularly vexing when he realized that the pair of gloves Ayaka had gifted him had mysteriously disappeared as well.

Then one day, by sheer coincidence, he noticed the little kitsune who had caught his eye more than once, wearing a familiar ribbon in their hair— his ribbon. And on their hands, the very gloves he had been missing. Amusement flickered in his usually composed gaze as everything clicked into place.

It seemed someone had developed quite the habit. But Ayato wasn’t the type to let such things go unaddressed. Oh no, if this little fox thought they could slip away unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. Someone was in need of a lesson, and he would be more than happy to provide it.

So he plotted.

note: ajskskskk, I’m finally done 🙏 my first ask so I hope this was done well!

Reblogs are appreciated 🧑‍🍳

[thetimetraveler24]

Sometimes I think about how people rank Jason as their least favorite because he’s “such a bland character with no personality”, but was he even allowed to have one in the first place?

He’s two years old when Lupa guides him to Camp Jupiter. He’s brought up to be the perfect soldier, the perfect Roman, the perfect hero. He doesn’t know life outside the legion. He’s the son of Jupiter, he has to be great. If he’s not, he’s a failure and a disgrace. If he is then he’s still not the best because there so many other heroes who did it better than him so he has to keep trying harder and harder even though no matter what he’s never going to be good enough because the moment he slips up he’s no longer the perfect hero.

The few times he actually tries to do something he wants, he’s only cut down. Changing the 12th legion to the 1st legion? No, you can’t do that. It’s tradition. You’re wrong. That’s stupid. Joining the 5th cohort? Why would you join those losers? You’re only hurting yourself. You could be great if you join the 1st cohort instead like a good Roman boy.

So why would he try to do anything that cultivates his identity? Why would he try to do anything that brings him joy if everyone around him is just going to suck it right out?

He has no best friends at Camp Jupiter. He has acquaintances. He has people he’s friendly with. Say what you want but Reyna was a coworker. Dakota was cool, Gwen was nice. But none of them make Jason want to stay at Camp Jupiter instead of Camp Half-Blood. He thinks of Reyna but only in terms of he doesn’t want to saddle her with the responsibility of picking a new praetor. He thinks about duty. When he is picking between the camps he’s weighing his options between doing his duty as he’s done his whole life or picking himself for the very first time ever and he picks himself.

And it’s honestly so fucking depressing that the first time Jason picks himself and is actually supported in his decision happens when he is sixteen years old. And most of the people supporting him have only known him for a month.

But then he saddles himself with duty and responsibilities because that’s all he’s ever known and Percy is dying and Jason is a good Roman and a good hero and his job is to sacrifice his life for everyone else because of course it is. So he takes on Pontifex Maximus to build shrines and temples to minor gods and goddesses (not that they shouldn’t be honored but… once again he’s sacrificing his identity for the good of everyone around him).

And then, just as he’s finally discovering an identity for himself—he likes physics, he’s learning about the mortal world and living in it, he’s becoming more than just Jupiters son and Juno’s perfect hero—he’s killed.

Jason never got to be Jason. He only got to be Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, Praetor of the 12th Legion, slayer of Krios, one of the Seven, Juno’s Champion, Pontifex Maximus. He always belonged to someone else and never himself.

All this to say, Jason is my favorite of the Seven and although he’s not the eldest nor a daughter, as an eldest daughter I relate so hard and feel very seen in him.

[asiantransformations]

A Fitting Power-Up

Wei Xun had always been a man of discipline. A Chinese Malaysian fitness influencer, he had built his life around maintaining the perfect physique. Hours spent in the gym, sticking to strict diets, and an intense daily routine had earned him the admiration of millions of followers online. His body—bulging biceps, perfectly sculpted abs, and legs that could press twice his body weight—was a testament to his dedication. But despite all his hard work, he yearned for something more: the stamina, strength, and power that would make him truly unbeatable, something beyond the limits of human potential.

One day, while visiting an ancient temple in the outskirts of Malaysia, Wei Xun encountered a monk renowned for his mystical abilities. The monk, an old man with wise eyes and a quiet, almost otherworldly presence, could sense Wei Xun’s desire for physical perfection.

“Your body is strong, but your spirit still searches for more,” the monk said, his voice like a whisper carried by the wind.

Wei Xun, intrigued by the monk’s insight, nodded. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, but I want to push beyond my limits—to have the strength, power, and stamina no one else has. I want to be invincible.”

The monk studied him for a long moment, then gestured for him to follow. They walked deeper into the temple grounds, where the monk stopped in front of a shrine. From behind the shrine, the monk retrieved an ancient scroll and a pair of simple black sneakers, worn but well-kept.

“These shoes,” the monk said, “can give you what you seek. They will amplify your strength, increase your stamina, and grant you unrivaled power every time you wear them. But the blessing comes with a price.”

Wei Xun’s eyes widened as the monk continued.

“These shoes will channel the energy of the universe into your muscles, your body, and your spirit. You will be more powerful, more virile, more tireless than ever before. However, should another person wear them, the blessing will transfer to them entirely for as long as they wear them. You will lose everything: your power, your strength, your stamina, and even your body itself.”

The weight of the monk’s words settled heavily on Wei Xun’s shoulders. He stared at the shoes, tempted by the power they promised. But the risk was clear—if anyone else wore these shoes, he would lose it all. Still, the lure of the strength they offered was too great to resist.

Wei Xun agreed.

The monk nodded solemnly and began a ritual. He chanted softly under his breath, and as he did, the air around them seemed to shift. Wei Xun watched as the monk dipped his fingers into a small bowl of water, tracing ancient symbols over the shoes. The atmosphere grew heavy with energy, as if the very essence of the temple was being drawn into the sneakers.

Once the blessing was complete, the monk handed the shoes to Wei Xun. “Wear them with caution. The power is yours as long as you guard them wisely.”

From that day on, Wei Xun’s workouts became extraordinary. Every time he wore the blessed sneakers, he felt his muscles surge with unstoppable power. His strength seemed endless—he could lift heavier weights than ever before, and his stamina during workouts became almost superhuman. He could run for miles, train for hours, and still have energy left to spare. His body, already impressive, became even more chiseled and powerful, his muscles bulging with newfound vigor. His virility seemed boundless, and the energy that radiated from him was magnetic, drawing even more admiration from his growing fanbase.

But Wei Xun didn’t take any chances. He knew the danger that came with the shoes. He kept them hidden, locking them in a secure, custom-made safe in his home. The only time he took them out was when he needed an extra boost—whether it was for a critical workout, a fitness competition, or an event where his strength and stamina needed to be unmatched. No one knew of their existence, and he made sure it stayed that way.

Every time he put on the sneakers, he felt the surge of energy flow through him, an unstoppable force that made him feel invincible. But the memory of the monk’s warning always lingered in the back of his mind. He knew that as long as he kept the shoes safe, the power would remain his. But should anyone else ever wear them, everything he had worked for would be gone.

And so, Wei Xun continued to rise in the fitness world, his body a symbol of perfection and strength, his stamina unmatched by anyone. But hidden beneath the surface of his success was the secret of the sneakers—the power they held and the risk that came with them.

Every time he locked them away after a workout, he felt a sense of relief. They were his secret weapon, but they were also his greatest vulnerability. And he knew that as long as he kept them under lock and key, no one would ever take his power away.

[sukunas-wife]

Sealed 6

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / I did it 🥺🤍

As much as I’d like to wait til tomorrow and say “happy valentines💌” I haven’t been feeding anyone so here’s a little chapter 🤍 Happy Early Valentines

It was a warp of black and red you were all too familiar with, Sukuna kicked his leg up crossing it over before pulling you down into his lap. He had a smug smile when he leaned his head against his hand staring down at Yuji. Yuji was standing at the base of skulls looking up in disbelief, WHY WAS THAT EVIL MAN TOUCHING YOU SO CASUALLY?! He HAD TO BE HOLDING YOU HOSTAGE!!

“LET HER GO!” You watched Sukuna’s face become more malicious when Yuji started trying to climb up the base. You tried to stand up only for Sukuna to lightly press his nails into your side holding you against him, you looked at him and he faltered with a look of confusion. “Sukun-MOM-WHAT?!” Sukuna’s look of confusion changed to disbelief, “YOU HAVE A SON WOMAN?!” You had half a nerve to smack him in the back of the head, “WE.” He shook his head “woah woah woah- Lady- this brat is fifteen, I’ve been sealed away for centuries don’t you think for a damn minute you're going to make me believe fifteen years ago I- '' Yuji stared eyes wide when he made it up. He had just watched you punch the king of curses over the head to the point he was left in shock. “LISTEN. TO. ME. RY. OMEN. SU. KU. NA.” “DOMAIN EXPAN-Domain Expansion!” You were quick to cancel out his malevolent shrine with your own domain. “That’s not my son.” “THAT THAT IS A HE AND HE-“ You were cut off by Yuji running from behind you trying to land a punch on Sukuna. Sukuna didn't move or hesitate. He knew your domain all too well, if anything this was going to hurt Yuji more than him. Yuji was proud he was going to land a hit until it felt like he hit a wall was thrown back, “Yuji please, you can't do that here…” you gave a sympathetic but sweet smile while he held his hand that was in pain, “This is my domain, forms of physical violence and cursed technique aren’t allowed. Any attacks made are inflicted back onto the caster.” He looked even more confused, all you could do was place a hand on his head, “Just talk okay?” He nodded, still eying Sukuna from behind you and over your shoulder.

You turned back to Sukuna, he was looking away bored eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest and tucked into his sleeves, his body was turned away so his side was facing you. “…Sukuna…” he turned his head away dramatically. “Ryomen.” He turned his back to you. You sighed, feeling Yuji rest his chin on your shoulder, “What’s with this guy?” “Ryo, cmon.” He turned his head, opening one eye to look at you. He reminded you of that stubborn tiger cub he brought home one day that climbed to sit on the highest shelf in your room. It gave you that same look when you called it. Sukuna wasn’t too far off you could see the imaginary tail and ears flicking around. “What is it, woman.” It wasn’t a question, you stayed quiet, maybe you should explain to Yuji first, but imagining telling Yuji that’s his dad without explaining to Sukuna first? There was no doubt he’d let them both die.

”Sukuna I need to explain something very important to you so I need you to really listen to me.” “What could you have to explain to him?” Yuji was asking incredulously. “Yuji, you need to listen closely please. After I explain to him I need to explain to you also.” There was a sinking feeling in Yuji’s stomach when he saw how serious you were about this situation. He nodded with a straight face, he would be quiet just to listen.

Sukuna was still looking at you from over his shoulder, “I’m listening.”

”That day you were sealed away, I made a binding vow with our son- YOUR SON?! Yuji please.” You looked at him and he pouted quieting down, Sukuna did not look amused, “I made a binding vow with our son and the vow was never actively broken. That day you saw how they separated HIM,” you tried to motion with your eyes and face without making it obvious, “from us and used that technique to separate him in time, and while you were sealed away I managed to be freed from the realm and track everything down to the right moment with the help of Morinozuka. The only thing that surprised me is that you were able to manifest in the only person in this world I would’ve begged you not too.”

Sukuna’s face was void of emotion watching you, “Prove it to me.” You reached back, putting your hand on Yuji’s upper back pulling him forward with you. You took his arm, pushing up his sleeve, showing the birthmark he had gotten used to seeing, before pushing up your own sleeve showing the exact same mark, “Is this proof enough or do you want a blood test also?” “I want a bloo-I WAS BEING SARCASTIC” You snapped at him and he gave you a look, you turned to Yuji who you assumed would’ve been more dramatic, was just staring at Sukuna, his mouth was open slightly lost in thought, you watched his eyes move quickly side to side as if searching for something, here or in his memory you weren’t sure.

“…I.. I thought this was a birthmark and you just liked wearing long sleeve shirts…” his voice was a whisper when he looked at you, his eyes held a sadness, “I can't believe this it doesn’t make sense, that’s not my dad and your not my mom this doesn’t make any sense. This.. this mark isn’t anything it's just it's just a..” he trailed off and you heard his laboured breathing eyes tearing up, around his eyes, nose and cheeks started to tint ready when you watched tears slowly start to well. You reached out trying to comfort him, he shook his head no trying to step back , “no” his voice was a cracked whisper, your heart ached “my.. my mom had.. had black hair I …” he swallowed, shaking his head no aggressively, his hands were shaky fists by his side. His body shook when he clenched his jaw, tears streaming down his face. You stepped closer and he didnt move, Sukuna watched you, his eyes moving between you and Yuji, the way you reached out to take the brats fist. It had a bead of blood from how tightly he was clenching his fists. The way you held it yours, your other hand slowly opening his fist. The crescent marks in his palm bleeding, your fingertips growling when you trailed your hand over the small wounds. “Yuji..” your soft voice, he hadn’t heard it in centuries, but he saw it.

It was clear and vivid, the memory played out, his son was 3 running around in the snow. You were standing out there tucked into his side, he had two arms around you, the other two were free, one was holding the coat his son had thrown off saying he was hot from running around, the other was free. He squeezed you into his side feeling you shiver in the gust of cold air, your cold hands on his bare chest meant nothing. He turned to look at you, you looked so tired resting your head against his chest. That was until you both snapped to look at Yuji when you heard his sudden cry. The spot of crimson on the snow, his reddened face, the way you both rushed to him, you knelt checking him all over before he used one small chubby fist to wipe his eyes holding out the other to you. His open shaky hand, you held it in yours, “aw my little prince got hurt.” Your fingertips just over the wound, you used your reverse cursed technique to fix him up before he hugged you still sniffling. You picked him up kissing his head and rubbing his back, he saw Sukuna and made grabby hands, “wan daddy.” Sukuna took him without hesitating holding him to one side, his little head fell against his dad’s shoulder while he sniffled hot tears still falling down his cheeks, “don’t cry Yuji we’re going to show that damn shrub who’s really the strongest here.” Yuji nodded his head watching his dad hold up his hand, before the shrub he tried to break a stick off of combust into flames burning to nothing and melting the snow. Yuji smiled nodding his head, you sighed, shaking your head with a small smile when you watched how Sukuna whispered to Yuji about how there would be nothing in this world that could hurt him once he grew up to be big and strong like his dad. Yuji laughed, agreeing with him…”

Sukuna swallowed once he came back in from his memory, his throat felt tight and there was a burning in his chest. You looked just the same, only now that brat was older, weak and nowhere near being strong. He felt his eye twitch, “Hey brat.” You both turned to look at Sukuna, “Let’s make a deal.”

——————

“Y/n…” you blinked, shaking your head, trying to regain complete consciousness, your hand was still on Yuji only now Gojo Satoru was shaking you, “Is something wrong?” You looked at Yuji’s face, you pulled your hand away from his body. “No- I mean yes, don’t you see he's dead.” It was a lie, you knew any second now Yuji would be waking up. There was no way in hell the two had really come to such a strange agreement. The mark on Yuji’s arm was gone, even if he denied it, a part of him really did accept that both you and Sukuna were his parents. You’d have to send more to your home to bring some things to really ground that belief. You turned to Gojo, he was staring down at you. You felt a cold chill run up your spine, you walked past him, he watched you, in his mind you were in shock and denial. Your actions were too calm, a complete 180 from how you first entered the room. He watched how you made it to the wall where he was sitting, letting your head fall against the wall, your shoulders fell, in your mind you were processing everything that felt like hours in Sukuna’s existence, when in reality it had only been minutes. Being in his soul would never fail to make your head hurt figuratively, slowly you knocked your head against the wall one good time.

You heard Yuji, “woah! Full frontal.” You snapped your head around to see him sitting there. You watched him handshake with Gojo smiling, he let go and he saw you, bright eyed and big smile “mom.”

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[iatemyboyfriend3]

wc: 1.1k

simon "ghost" riley x reader

warnings: 18+. angst angst angst, death (yours), description of depression in simon riley fashion. i was very sad at 3am

The mission ended, but for Simon Riley, time had stopped the moment your heart did. The others had to pull him away, prying your lifeless body from his grip as he sat there in the blood-soaked dirt. He didn’t resist; he didn’t say a word. The weight of your death hung over him like a suffocating shroud, pressing down on his chest until he could barely breathe. The Ghost that had once been unbreakable was shattered, and Simon Riley was all that remained—a man haunted by the failure that would never stop gnawing at his soul.

Back at the base, Simon moved like a ghost himself—silent, distant, his every action mechanical. He avoided everyone, even Soap, who had been his closest confidant. The jokes, the camaraderie—they were gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that echoed with the memory of your final moments. The few who dared to approach him found themselves met with cold silence or a dismissive nod. He didn’t want their pity; he didn’t deserve their comfort.

Your dog tags never left his possession. He couldn’t bring himself to put them down, to let them go. They were a constant reminder of his failure, the metal biting into his skin every time he clenched them in his fist, a physical pain that was nothing compared to the agony tearing through his mind. At night, he would lay awake in the dark, turning them over and over in his hands, the engraved name hidden beneath the pads of his fingers, as if refusing to acknowledge it would somehow keep you alive.

Sleep became a rare visitor, and when it came, it brought no peace. Nightmares plagued him, vivid and relentless. In them, he was back in that compound, watching you bleed out over and over again, helpless to do anything but scream your name. He would wake up drenched in sweat, his heart racing, your voice echoing in his ears—“It’s not your fault, si.” But no matter how many times he heard those words, they offered no solace. He knew the truth: it was his fault. He should have protected you, should have been faster, should have done something to save you. But he didn’t, and now you were gone.

The anger that simmered beneath his skin never had a chance to surface. Simon was too numb, too broken to feel anything but the crushing weight of his guilt. He pushed himself harder in training, in missions, throwing himself into the fray with reckless abandon. He took on the most dangerous assignments, the ones no one else wanted, as if he were daring death to take him too. But death was cruel, and it never came for him, leaving him to wallow in the purgatory of his own making.

Simon’s quarters became a shrine to the life you had shared—a life that was now nothing but memories. Your belongings were still there, untouched, as if you might walk through the door at any moment. He couldn’t bring himself to pack them away, couldn’t bear the thought of erasing the last traces of your existence. He would sit there for hours, staring at your things, the silence pressing in on him until he thought he might go mad. The scent of you lingered in the air, a painful reminder of what he had lost, what he had failed to protect.

Every mission after your death was a reminder of your absence. The space beside him felt unbearably empty, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have been the one lying in the ground, not you. Every bullet he fired, every enemy he took down, brought no satisfaction, only a hollow ache that echoed in the void you had left behind.

Soap tried to reach out, tried to pull him back from the edge, but Simon pushed him away. He didn’t deserve their benevolence, their loyalty. He was a failure, a man who couldn’t even protect the one person who mattered most to him. The others began to give him a wide berth, sensing the darkness that clung to him like a second skin. He became a ghost in every sense of the word—there but not really present, a hollow shell of the man he once was.

Weeks turned into months, and the pain didn’t lessen. If anything, it grew worse, festering inside him, poisoning everything it touched. The world around him became a blur, meaningless without you in it. The missions were the only thing that kept him going, the only thing that made him feel even remotely alive. But each one was just another opportunity for failure, another chance for the guilt to deepen, for the shadows to grow darker.

On the rare occasions when Simon allowed himself a moment of weakness, when he was alone in the dead of night, he would whisper your name, hoping for some sign that you were still with him. But the only answer was silence, and it was in that silence that he felt the full weight of his loss. He would sit there, your dog tags clutched in his hand, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. He had cried for you once, in those first terrible hours after your death, but he had sworn it would be the last time. Simon Riley didn’t deserve the release of tears. He deserved the pain, the guilt, the unending torment.

And so he endured, carrying the weight of your death with him everywhere he went. To the outside world, he was still Ghost, the unflinching soldier, the man who always got the job done. But inside, he was Simon Riley, a man who had lost everything, a man who would never forgive himself for the day he let you die.

In the years that followed, Simon would visit your grave whenever he could, always alone, always in the dead of night, a black hoodie and surgical mask hiding the permanent scowl on his face. He would stand there in silence, the wind biting at his skin, the cold seeping into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill that had settled in his heart. He would place your dog tags on the headstone, just for a moment, before tucking them back into his pocket where they belonged. Then he would turn and walk away, leaving behind the only place where he felt any semblance of peace.

But the peace never lasted. The nightmares always returned, the guilt always resurfaced, and Simon Riley was left to carry the burden of your death for the rest of his life. Because no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many enemies he took down, he could never win the war against his own heart.

And so Ghost lived on, a man shaped by loss, defined by the pain he carried with him, a man who would never be whole again. But it was Simon Riley who truly suffered, haunted by the memory of you, the one person he could never protect.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Departure.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Spoilers For Sumeru's Story Quest, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Themes of Forced Codependence, and Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms.

You arrived at the door of his shrine with no less than a dozen guards in tow – an even mix of Fatui soldiers and Akademiya matra. The most brazen among them attempted to follow you inside, but you dismissed them with a quick shake of your head, a pointed look to the more senior members of the mismatched legion. This was a well-trodden routine, by now, although one you never dared to come with the same entourage more than once. Your husband’s recent distance had not softened his jealous edge, and although you weren’t fond of those most complicit in the newest stage of your captivity, no mortal crime could be worthy of the wrath of such a violent god.

Your footsteps echoed – clipped and solitary – against the bare walls of the stone chamber. The architects of his divinity have already been sent away for the night, leaving you alone with the half-finished mess of wires and metal that was your husband’s fixation. The Shouki no Kami, you could remember the Doctor calling it during his first visits to your estate. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous machine that would only serve the ego of a ridiculous man. Bile rose into the back of your throat at the sight alone, but you swallowed your anger. He’d never been able to react to your rage with anything but his own.

You paused at the monstrosity’s feet, and his voice came to you – reverberating in the back of your mind like the final tones of a chapel bell. “Beloved,” he whispered in the back of your mind, sending a pang of pure agony through your skull. “You aren’t supposed to—”

“I will not hold a conversation with a mumbling voice.” You cut him off swiftly, teeth grit and eyes narrowed. “Either I will speak to my husband's face or I will not speak to him at all.”

A moment passed without a response. Then, stiltedly, one of his monstrosity’s hands tore free from its scaffolding, lowering itself to the ground beside you. With some reluctance, you stepped into his palm and allowed him to raise you to the frontmost panel of his abomination. You refused to call it a face, because to call it a face would be to admit it was his face, which would be to admit that this strange machine was in any way an extension of him. The metallic panel raised and disappeared into some unseen cavity, revealing the hollow, unit chamber behind it. Revealing your husband.

Or, rather, revealing the mess he’d made of himself.

He had never been the pinnacle of beauty, but his pale skin now seemed bleached and colorless, his lithe form limp and crumpled. Glass tubes filled with a pulsing, violet substance had been drilled into the nape of his neck, the base of his spine, the curves of his shoulder bones, and the smile he paid you as he came into view was labored, a fight against some artificial exhaustion. Before you could think better of it, you stepped out of his palm and into his chamber, falling to your knees beside him and wrapping your arms around his neck. “You are,” You pressed your lips into his temple. “the biggest idiot,” Then again, into his cheek, the curve of his jaw. “I have ever met.”

He let out an airy chuckle, melting into your chest. “It used to take a vat of water and thirty minutes of electrocution to make you kiss me like that.”

You ignored the phantom rope that coiled around your lungs at the reminder of the first decades of your relationship. You tried to think of it as little as you could, but his vision had always been more rose-colored than your own. “Can’t I show my husband affection?” You raked your fingers through his hair, resting your lips against his forehead. “It’s not as if I’ll be able to kiss the metal coffin you’re locking yourself inside.”

Another laugh, this one more labored than the last. “You could, if you wanted to. Just wait until it’s finished. It’ll be more glorious than you could possibly imagine – a vessel befitting of the most powerful archon this wretched world has ever bowed to.” He attempted to straighten, only to collapse under his own weight. “It’ll be an improvement to this form, at least.”

“I quite like your current form. It’s only a shame it has to house such a rotten personality.” You looked outward, to his empty shrine. At the time of your last visit to Inazuma (meaning, at the time of your last successful escape from your husband), his creator had still been locked inside a similar cage, or so another yokai had told you over bottles of sake and a game of cards. That visit had been one of your shortest. He knew you too well, by then, and it’d only taken him a few weeks to realize you’d run where you always would - home. “I suppose I’ll be left in the care of your doctor, when you’re finished.”

His response was immediate, purely reactive; a sudden snarl paired with a flash of bared teeth. “Dottore should be thankful to so much as breathe your air. You’ll be the paramour of a god.”

“I’ll be left alone while you turn yourself into a monster.” Your voice was hollow, distant. Even now, months into his transformation, it was difficult to describe the flavor of your devastation. He’d taken you from the place where you belonged and kept you as a trophy. He’d denied you any companionship aside from himself and cut away parts of your world until it revolved solely around him. He tucked dried flowers into the letters he wrote you near-obsessively whenever he couldn’t be at your side. He carved open your skin then demanded you keep your own mutilation out of his sight. He used to read you myths and fairy tales for hours every night, when human language was still foreign to your tongue. He was the closest thing to a friend you’d ever had.

And he was leaving you.

You wondered, briefly, if this was how he felt whenever you tried to get away from him, but discarded the thought quickly. It was your heart that ached the most in the wake of his betrayal, and your husband never did have one of those.

“I can’t remember the last time I was on my own,” you admitted, a pained smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I won’t ask you to stop. It’s just, when you’re done, I—” The air snagged in your throat. You inhaled sharply, then rested your head on his shoulder. “I’d like your permission to return to Inazuma, my lord.”

Silenced lapse, thick and heavy, between you. He was the closest thing you had to a friend, which meant he knew just how where to plant his knife and, more significantly, just how to twist the blade.

“No.” Stern, stiff, unyielding. Rather than softening over the centuries you’d spent together, he only seemed to grow more callous. “There’s nothing for you, there. You’ll stay here, with me, and I will rule this rotting land with you at my side.”

You opened your mouth, prepared to protest, to argue the way you hadn’t since the first years of your imprisonment, but closed it just as quickly. You buried your face in the crook of your neck, and your husband let you, eager to soak in the touch you so often denied him. Fire, despair, anger bit and thrashed inside of you, but it was all you could do to hold him, to keep him near.

It was all you could do to think of what you would become, after he was taken away from you.

[melodyglow-blog]

Why i think Dabi / Touya is still alive after chapter 430

#spoilers ahead

Ok first of all,this shit was so ass, i dont even wanna think about how the final chapter looks like it was set in a dark AU ending where nothing changes and rei looks older than ever, still pushing enjis wheelchair for the past 8 years🤮, shoto being a workaholic (and soon being num ONE). Shouldnt he be more focused on his friendships??

Plus, no mention of his siblings that his arc has been working on reconnecting him with. 🤮 So like...Enji won? Shoto will be number one after all wtff..

But id rather think about the fact that touya could still be alive after the timeskip. Here are a few reasons why..

No gravestone shown, no image of a shrine or a burial, hell..no mention of his death AT ALL unlike with toga or shigaraki, erasers friend and midnight...hell, deku even hallucinates shiggy. If touya was truly dead i feel like we wouldve seen a panel of his shrine or ANY indication if his death.

Society and tech have improved so much that quirkless deku can be a hero, so theres no way that touya, with a partial healing ice quirk isnt kept alive.

He was last shown to be 'slowly marching towards death' like BITCH thats literally what being alive is, we are all slowly marching towards death😭

This man is allergic to dying and i do believe that hori left his outcome ambiguous for a reason, if hori wanted to show touya dead he 100% would.

Shoto smiling..like bro would be smiling like that after his oldest brother passed away, like i said, intentionally hori is avoiding any mention of Touya, even natuso is not shown or mentioned, just that shoto has become a workaholic and on his way to being number one...

Plus the panel text is from Deku's pov. So its not todoroki's internal monolouge thats revealed, only his expression and hopefully thats an indicator that his siblings are ok.

Hori has 100% lost the plot lmao, the ending is so convoluted and out of character that theres simply no in universe reason why Touya would be straight up dead. Making shoto mention his father instead of his brothers or sister or MOTHER was certainly a choice🤮🤮🤮.

Old rei pushing enjis wheelchair is sickening and i dont wanna believe that shes still his maid if she has had to mourn touya a second time, its gross and literally a dark au cause wtf.

Since none of shotos siblings were mentioned, this empty space of detail lets us assume that shoto isnt stressing about them. If touya was dead we would see him visiting his shrine, in japanese culture, visiting gravestones and praying to shrines of the dead is symbollic.

I firmly believe that hori either got seriously sick (he said his ears were leaking fluid) or got pressured by his team (he said he cried when his management made him scrap an extra comic page he drew of dabi and sceptic on the past) , i believe that at this point, he didnt have a lot of creative control over his work and wasnt allowed to dedicate more panels to the LOV. HE HAD to prioritise enji and the characters at the top of the poll. When touya came 4th on the final poll, it was too late, his story became enji's story even though hori confessed that he had initially written enji to be killed off in the high end nomu fight.

The story is such a retconned mess, theres no way he wasnt planning shiggy and touya to be SAVED physically, literally touyas last panel is of him crying alone lmaoo.

IN BOTH of Horikoshi's previous serialized series the villains lived and got to reform and atone at the end..

But yeah, my end verdict is that hori intentionally didnt mention touya for the fans to theorise about him living💀

BONUS ~ i saw a post mentioning this, There is also a throwaway panel of the Doctor "curing the uncurable" - which could refer to Touya

[starsjulia]

angel chapter four // the strongest

a/n : sorry this one is a bit boring and short, the next ones are better i swear

warnings : the same as previous

masterlist

The days seemed to blur together as Angel’s treatments continued. Each week brought a new challenge—an unexpected side effect, a frightening scan result, or a moment when Angel’s energy would dip so low that Leah could hardly recognize the vibrant little girl her daughter once was. But then, there were the good days—days when Angel’s laughter echoed down the hospital corridors, her smile shining as brightly as ever. Those moments, however brief, reminded Leah that there was always hope.

Leah’s life had become a careful balancing act, constantly moving between hospital rooms, training sessions, and the occasional Arsenal match. Football had always been her escape, a place where everything made sense, but now, it was also a source of guilt. Every time she left Angel’s bedside, even if only for an hour, a part of her worried about missing something important. She felt torn between two worlds—one filled with goals and victories, and the other with IV drips and whispered prayers.

Her Arsenal teammates noticed the strain, and they did everything they could to lighten the load. When Leah was at training, they made sure someone was always at the hospital with Angel. Katie would FaceTime Leah whenever Angel was feeling up to chatting, allowing mother and daughter to share a moment even when they couldn’t physically be together.

“Look, Mummy!” Angel exclaimed one day over the phone, her little face filling the screen as she held up a drawing of herself with Leah on the football pitch. “We’re winning the Champions League!”

Leah’s heart swelled at the sight of her daughter’s determination. “We will, baby. One day, we will,” she promised, her voice steady, even though she could feel the tightness in her chest. It was hard to imagine that future when every day felt like a battle, but Leah held onto that dream for both of them.

Back at the hospital, Angel’s room had become a miniature Arsenal shrine. Scarves, signed jerseys, and handmade “Get Well Soon” cards from fans lined the walls. Leah had even brought in one of Angel’s favorite things from home: a small, slightly worn football. Though Angel was too weak to play, she kept it close, her fingers tracing over the faded Arsenal crest on its surface whenever she felt scared.

Leah would spend hours by her daughter’s side, telling stories of her own childhood and how she fell in love with football. “I used to kick a ball around in the garden all day,” Leah said one night, as she and Angel lay together in the narrow hospital bed, wrapped up in a warm blanket. “I think that’s where I got my first bruises and scrapes.”

“Were you ever scared, Mummy?” Angel asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Leah thought about that for a moment. She could remember moments when she was scared—missing a penalty, or the time she was sidelined with a serious injury. But nothing compared to the fear of potentially losing her daughter. “I was,” she said honestly. “But I always found a way to be brave. Do you know how I did it?”

Angel shook her head, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“I thought of the people I loved,” Leah said, gently stroking her daughter’s head. “And how much I wanted to make them proud.”

Angel listened quietly, then squeezed Leah’s hand. “I’m not scared when you’re here,” she murmured, and Leah felt a lump form in her throat.

“Then I’ll always be here,” Leah promised.

Some days, though, Leah needed to recharge. On those occasions, Angel’s grandparents would take over. Leah would drive to a nearby park, sit on an empty bench, and let the wind whip through her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to regain the strength that had been sapped by sleepless nights and constant worry. It was in those quiet moments that she would often find herself thinking back to the person she was before this—someone whose biggest worry was an upcoming match. How distant that life seemed now.

Returning to the hospital on one such day, Leah was greeted by the sight of Angel sitting up in bed, surrounded by a few of her teammates. Lia was there, reading a book out loud while Beth and Viv sat on the other side. They all turned as Leah walked in, and Lia gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ve got everything under control here,” she said.

Leah felt an immense wave of gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all,” she admitted, her voice shaky as she took a seat next to Angel, who immediately nestled into her side.

Jen glanced over at Leah. “We’re family,” she replied simply. “We’re in this together.”

Still, as the days stretched on, there were moments of helplessness that no amount of support could alleviate. Leah vividly remembered the night Angel had spiked a sudden fever. The panic that surged through her as doctors rushed into the room, the way her daughter’s small body seemed even more fragile beneath the tangle of wires and tubes—it was a kind of fear Leah had never known before. She felt utterly powerless, holding Angel’s hand and whispering soothing words, even as her own heart raced uncontrollably.

“It’s okay, love. You’re okay,” Leah kept saying, more to herself than to Angel.

The fever eventually subsided, and Angel’s condition stabilized, but it left Leah with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. She’d thought she understood what it meant to be strong, but this was a different kind of strength. It was the kind that came from watching someone you love suffer and having no choice but to keep fighting alongside them. It was the kind that took everything you had and demanded even more.

The next day, Angel seemed to sense her mother’s weariness. She reached for Leah’s hand and whispered, “Mummy, are you okay?”

Leah was taken aback by her daughter’s question. Angel was the one who was sick, the one who needed comforting. Yet here she was, trying to comfort her mother. Leah forced a smile and kissed Angel’s forehead. “I’m okay, sweetie. As long as you’re fighting, I’m fighting too.”

Angel’s small smile was a balm for Leah’s frayed nerves. “We’re fighters, aren’t we?” Angel said, squeezing Leah’s hand.

“The strongest there are,” Leah replied, pulling her daughter closer.

The moments of peace were few and far between, but they were precious. Leah would lie beside Angel at night, whispering about all the things they would do when Angel was better. “We’ll go to every Arsenal game,” Leah would say. “You’ll get to be the mascot and lead the team out onto the pitch. And after that, we’ll go anywhere you want. Paris, Disney World, America, anywhere baby”

Angel’s eyes would widen with wonder. “Even Paris?” she’d ask, her voice filled with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

“Even Paris,” Leah would assure her. “And when we get there, we’ll eat the biggest ice cream sundaes we can find.”

In those quiet hours, as they lay side by side, it was easy to pretend that their world hadn’t been turned upside down. In those moments, Leah felt the strength of their bond more acutely than ever. It was a strength born out of love, forged through struggle, and it kept them going, even on the hardest days.

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 25 Commentary

“難受嗎？難受就對了[...]卓大人，你習慣就好。” Is it difficult to bear? Good [...] Zhuo Daren, you'd better get used to it. —Zhao Yuanzhou, Ep. 1

Oh my god what the fuck ep 25. Ohhh my god. I don't think I ever stopped going "holy shit oh fuck" for the entire forty minutes. My head is in my hands. Why is FoF experimenting with onscreen physical/emotional/mental whump at a frequency and intensity previously unknown to man? To my favorite character? 我前輩子得罪了誰？？(Who did I wrong in my previous life??)

Quote from ep 1 because I had just re-watched it earlier in the day and those words came back to me not with any particular use towards interpretation but just as a characterization of—all of this. It is indeed difficult to bear.

Spoilers incoming.

Also spoiler for how I feel about this episode in case the sound of me wailing in lament in the distance makes it unclear: It was probably one of the most effective episodes for me thus far, personally. It struck many, many chords and did not stop for breath at all.

Honestly I'm kind of at a loss for words because I really, truly, did not expect shit would get so much worse for ZYC so incredibly rapidly. The speed with which the situation deteriorated broke the fucking sound barrier (I'm exaggerating, I'm being dramatic, but jfc I wasn't prepared). I apologize in advance if any of my reactions become a little bit repetitive, there are only so many ways I can express continuous distress and shock and despair.

My stomach dropped during the watchman attack scene. I can't believe how effective it was for me, this moment coming at the heels of ep 24, how that episode was a whole meditation on the goodness of ZYC's heart, his gentle and sensitive nature, the reasons why everyone loves him, the way things are bad but they will not break us and we may lose heart individually but we will persevere together.

And then in one single moment, all of that is threatened and very nearly destroyed. I felt every one of ZYC's dry heaves.

This drama is not one I necessarily go to for subtlety of intention, so the fact that I really had no inkling how at-risk ZYC's irreproachability would be in the coming episode despite being very invested in his arc made it all the more shocking and well-done, personally. They set him up as high as they could so they could tear him down as thoroughly as possible in an instant, and I did not notice the set-up at all.

I also have to say, I really appreciate PSJ. How quickly she cut to the chase about what he'd seemingly done, how she'd said the things that aren't just hard to hear but also hard to say. Because that's exactly what ZYC will care the most about. It seems to me her righteousness helped keep his own intact. In such a moment of complete and utter vulnerability and devastation, her moral clarity is as terrible as it is necessary and true to ZYC's belief system, just when it is most susceptible to collapse. And I say this not to mean that I think he is culpable for the supposed attack, given how much discussion the show goes into about culpability or lack thereof when not in one's right mind, but just that I find PSJ's moral compass to most closely align with ZYC's beliefs as he has been carrying them out throughout the show, and she keeps him from contradiction in a moment when it may be on everyone else's mind to spare him from the double-edged blade of his own righteousness. (Also, I may be reading too far into WX's statement later on that PSJ protected ZYC with her decision, but it could be interpreted that WX agrees or understands that as well on some level.)

And the fucking fact that all this takes place in front of a shrine for the Righteous God of Virtue and Blessing. As I said, I'm speechless.

(Speechless, she says, as she continues to ramble.)

Ouughhhhhh the reversals. ZYZ draping the cloak on ZYC this time. Fuck. The dungeon. Oh god. The way ZYZ loses more and more of his facade of calm, even just from his somewhat tense but understated distress in ep 24 to this unblinking, almost unseeing stare at ZYC in shackles.

Also, I'm glad for the moment PSJ and WX have to themselves once ZYZ proves ZYC's innocence. The way we get to see them navigating a situation so dire together despite its potential to push them utterly apart. PSJ's near-silent delivery of "friend" fucking kills me. It's loaded with so much emotion that neither the voice nor the term can truly handle that weight. That's art to me.

And then oh god, the Tianxiang Pavilion scene. I don't even know what to say. How everything spirals completely out of control. How we literally watch ZYC's worst nightmares play out. WX's first shout, the way I don't feel like I've heard that particular shade of emotion in her voice up until now, even with everything they've been through. Honestly, each of their expressions as the mob began to jeer and before they were separated was so effective. Ying Lei's indignation, PSJ's alarm, ZYZ's agitation, WX's fury. And the palpable panic as the crowd surged around them and pulled them apart.

I've watched this whole scene three times now. Every actor is giving their all here, and it's so impressive because this isn't at all the usual context of their angst and heartbreak. This isn't a decisive battle over life and death. The range of tragedy stretches so far in this kind of fantastical drama and yet they are able to create such tension and emotion that the shock of that first egg thrown has all the impact of a fatal wound. And it's worse in some ways because it means so little to an outsider and everything to this family.

That rage and helplessness in WX as she wipes ZYC's face and asks who threw it, when she says if the crowd goes any further, they'll fight back—her delivery is so raw. When I heard her lines, I felt the fantasy genre completely slip away for a moment and it became absolutely personal. Like, this point is getting a little away from mere commentary so please forgive the brief aside but those are words I can hear in my own family's voices.

Then, watching the very last vestiges of ZYZ's composure fully crumble away in real-time. God, I wish I could say something more substantive about ZYZ's entire reaction because it's so so good but I'm feeling levels of angst I truly don't know how to convey, which is really saying something given how much of an essay I usually write despite claiming I'm speechless.

Just. The way this is the most desperate and near-breaking we have ever seen them, in a completely different manner than the grief that has come before.

Alright, and then, the juxtaposition of the mob and the cheering crowd around ZYC?—yeah, that's when I started sobbing. As I've said before, the effectiveness, the efficiency, of TJR's acting. The way we can read every emotion off of young ZYC's face: his awkward pride, his self-consciousness, his bashful happiness. Even though this is a memory only recently and fleetingly alluded to in the previous episode and this is a ZYC we have never actually met, we know him and all his mannerisms and expressions so well. He is so alive with his character and so familiar, and then we cut back and, god, how unrecognizable everything is now. That absolutely broke me.

Finally, ZYC and Li Lun's conversation. Again, so so good and again, not sure I can offer much substance in my commentary to do it enough justice. I've been writing this commentary for over three hours now, so if my coherence is petering out, I do apologize.

This is so much of what I wanted and didn't even know I wanted from them, simply because they've been kept apart by the plot for so long. To see some of this come to pass is so satisfying. For Li Lun to claw so desperately at ZYC and try to bring him down, what that means about how he views ZYC's role in ZYZ's life right now. That this is twofold, to ruin ZYC and to be understood, and how he can never get the latter if he is still holding onto the former, wanting to pull others into the abyss rather than seeking a way to perhaps be pulled out of it. Li Lun is so precise in his brutality towards ZYC, digging his fingers directly into the worst of ZYC's fears, and yet ZYC is so insanely clear-eyed and incorruptible and incisive with his words in a way Li Lun has never experienced or had to combat (ZYC, articulate king fr). And for all of Li Lun's bluster as he continually makes to take the physical and conversational upper hand, how quickly that becomes a pitiful immaturity when ZYC truly fights back (in defense of ZYZ). Yan An plays this part so well, when he's looking up at ZYC.

And seriously, talk about ZYC delivering just the most on point monologues to struggling characters ever (ZYZ, Bai Jiu, now Li Lun), and doing all that after the day he's had?? To be honest, I don't know what direction this conversation will push Li Lun. I can see it go either way because yeah ZYC just basically rubbed in his face how alone and pitiable he is and how he'll never get what he wants out of ZYC, but at the same time I've never seen Li Lun so close to understanding why he has ended up alone, nor look so desperate enough to not be that he might end up making a different choice for himself. And just as Li Lun is that mirror showing ZYC the darkness of the abyss, ZYC must be reflecting to Li Lun how bright the dawn could be. (Oh the inextricable nature of character foils.) Even though ZYC has denied Li Lun the understanding he wants, he has seen through Li Lun so thoroughly that that is an understanding in itself.

And then oh my god. The reverting to Bai Jiu's voice and body. One of the most top-tier narrative choices ever. Li Lun, deconstructed by ZYC completely, is really so unbearably young in his heartache.

Okay, I think that's all I have to offer. I'm so wrung out, and I apologize if the quality of the commentary declined in the second half, but I hope some of this was enjoyable to read!

[budd-ie]

The way it has JUST dawned on me exactly why Mu Qing is so smug all the time about Xie Lian. The truth is that any time someone does something good for others, it ALWAYS comes back to bite them. Nobody is grateful, nobody is thankful, and most of the time you get physically hurt even trying. Mu Qing’s conclusion about this is “there is literally no point in being a nice person because it will only get you hurt.” He sees this pattern and he knows he’s right, and he especially sees it with Xie Lian. Think about how fucking smug Fu Yao is in the sinners pit when he finds out about “General Hua” and Xie Lian’s “death.” This is just another instance of Xie Lian’s efforts for good only ever going to waste and him getting beat to death and back for thinking he can still save the common people. What’s his problem? Won’t this idiot ever learn his lesson? When he sees the dilapidated shrine and sad excuse for a living arrangement Mu Qing looks joyous. What joy could he possibly find in another man’s suffering? It’s because it proves that trying to play good guy gets you nowhere. Mu Qing left all those years ago to focus on himself and it got him to a top martial god spot in heaven. He’s clearly right about this! This proves it!

It’s so obvious he’s right. If you want to get anywhere in life, you have to stop worrying about being “good” or “kind” because it will never bring you good returns. That’s true….so why can’t Xie Lian understand that? If every single time he gets kicked down for trying to do something nice, why bother getting up and trying again? What is he trying to accomplish?

The difference is that Xie Lian is kind not for the returns but because it is innate to him. It’s not that he never thought about himself in the past, it’s just that he’s never had a second thought about people deserving kindness in the world. Getting shot down never breaks his spirit like it breaks Mu Qing’s. Mu Qing can’t fucking stand that. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is so genuinely selfless, that he was wrong about his perception of him all those years ago. He can’t stand that Xie Lian is still trying to help him even though he knows he won’t appreciate it. If he really was only doing it for merit and to feel good about himself then everything would be fine! But now he has to grapple with the fact that he’s looking at a really, genuinely, good person and he’s just another person who shot him down. He realizes he’s looking at someone who’s stronger than him, physically and emotionally, better than him morally, despite all his talk about how they’re not that different when really they’re leagues away.

(Some book 8 spoilers below)

It messed with the flow of the paragraph so I didn’t mention it earlier, but in that second paragraph, Mu Qing’s mindset sounds a lot like Jun Wu. Jun Wu is trying to prove to Xie Lian that his path of kindness and selflessness is stupid and that when people knock him down he can choose the other (lesser) path. I always say That Mu Qing is like a foil to Xie Lian (I think this is that explanation) but if Jun Wu and Xie Lian are connected in this way then it’s almost reasonable to bring Mu Qing along too. And it makes sense that he doesn’t shine as bright in this point of view between the three of them, just like he always has. There’s something here but it was a wake up in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and a revelation kind of thing so it’s not really fleshed out at all. We’ll deal with it later.

[luvkirby4ever]

Absolutely massive lore drops from Shadow Generations

Gerald Robotnik had 2 sons (which we have a picture of!!) whom he loved very much. One of them had Gerald's love of archaeology, the other his love of robotics.

The archaeology son is the one who initially discovered Emerl.

Gerald had found Angel Island and the altar of the Master Emerald but left things alone because he wanted to be respectful to the land.

^This explains why the Eclipse Cannon's core has a structure shaped like the shrine in SA2.

SPEAKING OF SA2... you know those cameos of Big the Cat in (the Dreamcast version of) SA2? Yeah, those are canon. Apparently he loses Froggy a lot which causes him to go on a ton of adventures. He even tells Shadow that he saw him running past a few times on the ARK.

Gerald was absolutely adamant about his research being used to help people, not develop weapons. He seems to have been constantly clashing heads with GUN who would not fund his research (which was to try and cure Maria) unless he was making weapons.

^Because of this, any weapons he developed (or in Emerl's case, studied) had some sort of counterbalance that Gerald would add in order to make the weapon suck less (see following couple of points).

He hoped that the technology that he developed to make Artificial Chaos (AI that can be added to any body of water to shape it as needed) would be used to help save flood victims by scooping them up out of the debris.

While studying Emerl he established a link and noted that since Emerl wouldn't listen to anybody else that at least he wouldn't be used for evil. He also attempted to change Emerl's AI to become "free-willed and emotions-based."

He didn't want to develop the Eclipse Cannon so it was purposely made to be too destructive to be useful. He figured he'd also use it to deal with Black Doom.

Project Shadow was named as such because Gerald thought the goverment were idiots for trying to make him pursue something as impossible as immortality. He saw it "as intangible as a shadow" and described the project as impossible as "chasing a shadow."

But when Maria saw Shadow she said "shadows let you know which way the light is" and Gerald remarked that she turned his bitter naming convention into something hopeful and pure.

Speaking of Project Shadow... we have a picture of Maria holding the little baby Biolizard!

Gerald developed the Chaos Drives (those things that come out of GUN robots that you feed your Chao in SA2) to try and apply Chaos Emerald energy to living tissue without damaging it. He used them on the Biolizard.

Gerald reluctantly provided GUN Chaos Drives so that he could continue researching a cure for Maria.

Maria loved the Biolizard.

The Biolizard grew large because of the experiments... which its body couldn't support. Thus the life-support apparatus on its back, though it seemed to be in great physical pain. It was hidden away in the area you fight it in SA2.

^These failures are why Gerald struck up a deal with Black Doom. Without Doom's DNA Shadow would have gone the same way as the Biolizard.

Maria has a little sister!!!

Maria was born on Earth and sent to the ARK because the low-gravity environment makes her condition more manageable. Gerald's journal makes it sound like Maria's sister was born after she got up there but in-game Maria mentions how she misses her sister so maybe not?

@nagichi-boop (I hope it's okay to tag you) has a nice post talking about the excellent "invisible disability" representation. Both Gerald's journal and Maria discuss aspects of her disability, including Gerald's anger the over ARK researchers who talk about Maria behind her back.

Maria helped develop Shadow's air shoes and inhibitor rings, her insight valuable as these are framed as disability aids.

If Shadow takes off the inhibitor rings, he'd probably explode.

Maria and Shadow were taught by a lady teacher aboard the ARK. Shadow never turned in his homework.

The only thing Maria ever saw Shadow consume was coffee.

Maria met Big in the white space and instantly loved him. Big asked Maria and Gerald if they wanted to go fishing.

Omega is not powered by Animals, Chaos Drives, or any Emerald-based mechanism. He mentions something about absorbing environmental energy or something? The takeaway is that he's probably not destined to end up like most robots in the series (dead) because he doesn't have a power source that's going to screw him over.

E-123 "I don't have emotions" Omega was worried about Rogue and values Shadow and Rogue's friendship. Just don't call it friendship.

Maria being up on the ARK for so long was causing strain and division between Gerald and his sons. Gerald was desperate to cure Maria and get his family back.

Big has met Elise.

Commander Tower was the only other kid aboard the ARK.

Gerald gave Shadow some pre-set memories so that his awakening would go smoothly. Maria and him became friends instantly.

According to Maria, Shadow is more confident now than when she knew him.

Gerald called Shadow son. I'm not crying you are.

Both in the journal and in-game Gerald mentions how he is sorry for the trouble and weight that he has placed on Shadow (because of needing to strike a deal with Black Doom).

Emerl was handed over to GUN to try and buy more time for Maria's research. GUN reestablished a link by showing him an increasingly dangerous amount of weapons until Emerl started to freak out and destroy stuff. One of his rampages caused an automatic SOS ping to be sent out...

...It was that ping that summoned the soldiers who killed Maria.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

How can a world have no major religions but a vast number of small ones. Like no religion accounts for more than 1% of the entire population except maybe atheist for maybe 5% of the population? But what does that say about the distribution of culture/countries?

Tex: Major religions are often major because they are state-backed - i.e., they have lots of money at their disposal, so they become economically and thus culturally relevant. Religion answers, approximately, two major questions: 1) Are we alone in X or Y manner? and 2) I’m scared of X thing that I have difficulty understanding, what is Y solution?

For a place like Earth, the planet that we know the most about, there are no planet-wide confirmations about the physical existence of any deity in particular (as in, shows up in a grocery and says hello to you in an entirely unambiguous manner that all onlookers can agree upon). This means that religions on Earth are predicated on the idea that belief - and, thus, willpower - makes the deity real. Or at least “proves” it. Your mileage may vary.

Because of this, the real-world religions that you can observe and study will have many, many commonalities to the two general questions I stated above. The first question usually contains subjects such as sentience, and the emotional frills of that. The second question usually contains subjects such as death and the process of dying.

In order to have many distinct religions, you would need a lot of unanswered questions for various societies to answer, a severe lack of contact and communication between groups of societies, and most importantly a lack of (or lack of need of) money. The more travel there is, the more people of different backgrounds will talk to each other, and the more ideas will be confronted, shared, and discussed. Trade would correspondingly be low, because of the lack of travel.

Utuabzu: There’s a couple things to consider here. Firstly, how are we defining religion? This isn’t a trick question, it’s a genuine issue. The Abrahamic concept of religion doesn’t really carry over well to other spiritual traditions. Most other belief systems are more local and action-focused (orthoprax, concerned with what one does, rather than what one believes), and often lack any mandatory set of beliefs, or standardised mythology. Religions like Chinese Folk Religion, Shintō, Hinduism*, etc. can have wildly varying pantheons and myths depending on where you are and who you ask. So depending on your definition every tiny village could have its own religion, because it has its own version of the cultural mythos and its own pantheon including some distinctive local gods and dropping some more common cultural ones.

Universal (applicable to everyone regardless of origin or location), proselytising (actively attempting to convert people) religions are rare. There’s only actually a few of them. Most notably, Christianity and Islam. They are both also orthodox religions (concerned with believing the correct things), which means they have a standard mythology and theology (or several competing standards that have historically attempted to resolve their differences via murder). A third, very notable difference they have with most belief systems is that they are exclusive, you can’t (or at least you’re not supposed to) combine them with other belief systems. Most non-Abrahamic belief systems are more or less fine with syncretism (combining belief systems), most clearly seen with the way Buddhism** is practiced concurrently with folk religions across Asia.

So, in answer to the actual question, your best bet here is to just not have an equivalent to Christianity or Islam. I suggest reading up on non-Abrahamic and pre-Christian/Muslim religions and religious practices, as that should give you an idea of what such a world might look like. I’d expect it to be colourful and diverse, with cities filled with temples and shrines to an ever-expanding array of deities and hosting various festivals much of the year. Many people would likely layer a philosophy like Daoism or Stoicism over their day-to-day religious practice, and it would be common and expected for people to show respect to or make  offerings to local deities when traveling. Religion would be a thing you do, not what you believe.

*Hinduism is less a religion and more a family of closely related religions and spiritual traditions that all originate on the Indian subcontinent. Which is why the Indian government considers Jains and Buddhists to be Hindu.

**Buddhism can be described as a religion or as a philosophy, depending on who you ask, what the context is, and whether Mercury is in Gatorade. Western definitions don’t really apply cleanly to non-Western contexts.

[mononijikayu]

hongyeon — ryomen sukuna.

With a deranged laughter that echoed across the battlefield, Ryomen Sukuna embraced the monstrous essence within him, allowing it to surge forth with unrestrained fury. The Malevolent Shrine, a twisted monument to darkness, responded to his call, unleashing its full wrath upon the enemy ranks.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Miscarriage, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Miscarriage, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: hongyeon by ahn ye eun

note: this is the point where we see sukuna become more monster-like. and it would continue more and more in the upcoming chapters. sukuna loves, but he is cursed by it too. hiromi will be fine soon enough too. the next chapter will be a few years since this. the war would still be happening and the gojo are now involved!!! i'll see you till then!!! i love you!!! <3

IT WAS A RATHER EERIE NIGHT. As the rain poured down, quenching the flames that had engulfed Ryomen Manor and bringing an eerie calm to the battlefield, it was finally quiet.  Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen Hiromi found themselves amidst the ruins, their hearts heavy with the weight of their losses. 

The once-proud manor was now a smoldering wreck, its proud double heron banner reduced to ash and embers. The bodies of the dead were littered from left to right, crows giving themselves leave to the flesh and bones of those still edible. The attack had ceased, the Fujiwara forces seemingly satisfied with their destruction, but the threat still loomed over them like a dark cloud.

In the midst of this desolation, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the quiet grace of a seasoned warrior. Mikoto Masaomi, a loyal guard and ally, approached with an air of urgency. His dark eyes, sharp and observant, took in the scene before him with a mix of sorrow and determination. Without a word, he extended a hand to Sukuna, who was kneeling beside Hiromi, his own emotions a tumultuous storm.

You lay on the ground, exhausted and in pain, your body trembling from the loss of cursed energy and the overwhelming grief of losing their family. Sukuna's heart ached as he looked at you, her usually vibrant eyes now dull and distant. 

He gently cleaned you up, washing away the blood and grime, enough to make you clean once again, pure as the moon — as you once were. But his wife could hardly care. Nothing mattered right now. Your  breathing was shallow, your spirit broken, but Sukuna refused to let you go. He refused to let his wife be defeated.

"We need to leave, Sukuna–sama.” Masaomi said, his voice firm but laced with empathy. "The Fujiwara will return soon enough. We cannot stay here. We must find a place to regroup and plan our next move."

Sukuna nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Take my wife to safety until then." he ordered Masaomi. "Protect my wife with your life."

Masaomi placed a reassuring hand on Sukuna's shoulder. "I will. But you must come with us. We need you."

Sukuna's eyes hardened. "I can't stay here. Not with the Fujiwara still out there. But I promise, I will find you. I will come back."

With that, Sukuna gently lifted Hiromi into Masaomi's arms, trusting him to keep you safe. Mikoto Masaomi nodded solemnly, and with you secure, he began to lead them away from the ruins of Ryomen Manor. He parted from them when he led them to safety, where no more Fujiwara had lingered. 

As they moved through the rain-soaked night and as he watched them leave, Sukuna's mind was already formulating plans for revenge, his determination fueled by the sight of his shattered home and the loss of his loved ones.

For the rest of the night, Ryomen Sukuna hunted down the remaining Fujiwara soldiers with a relentless, vengeful fury. These invaders, who had defiled his home and slaughtered his kin, now found themselves the prey of a wrathful spirit. The rain did little to cool the burning rage that coursed through Sukuna’s veins.

He moved through the shadows like a specter, his movements swift and silent. The Fujiwara soldiers, some still looting the bodies of the fallen, were caught off guard by the sudden, ferocious attacks. Sukuna’s strikes were lethal, each blow delivered with precision and brutal efficiency. He took no prisoners, showing no mercy to those who had shown none to his family.

Painfully, brutally, over and over — he killed them. He made them suffer, prolonging their agony as much as possible. He relished in their terror, in the widening of their eyes as they realized death was upon them. Their screams echoed through the desolate grounds, mingling with the relentless patter of rain. Blood spilled over the dying flowers by the pond, mingling with the rainwater to form crimson pools.

Sukuna didn’t think straight. He didn’t need to. His mind was a storm of grief and anger, each killing a cathartic release of the agony that threatened to consume him. His hands, now slick with blood, moved with a mind of their own, guided by an instinct as ancient and primal as the earth itself.

He found one Fujiwara sorcerer looting a chest of treasures that had long been in his family. The sight of this desecration ignited a fresh wave of fury within him. With a snarl, he lunged at the man, his fists pummeling flesh and bone until the soldier was nothing but a lifeless, bloodied heap.

Another one of these fools tried to flee, his fear evident in his frantic movements. Sukuna caught him easily, dragging him back to the manor grounds. He took his time with this one, making sure every moment was filled with excruciating pain. The man’s screams were almost drowned out by the roar of the rain, but Sukuna could still hear them, and they fueled his vengeance.

The night wore on, and still, Sukuna did not tire. Each kill brought a brief moment of satisfaction, but it was never enough to quell the storm within him. He moved like a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. The Fujiwara soldiers fell before him, one after another, their blood staining the ground that had once been the foundation of his home.

By the time dawn began to break, the rain had started to ease, but Sukuna’s rage had not. The manor grounds were littered with the bodies of the dead, the air heavy with the scent of blood and rain-soaked earth. Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion and unspent rage.

He looked around at the destruction he had wrought, the broken bodies of his enemies scattered like fallen leaves. For a moment, he felt a grim sense of satisfaction, knowing that he had avenged his family, that he had made the Fujiwara pay for their cruelty.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, a hollow emptiness settled over him. The sight of the manor’s ruins, the memory of your  broken form, the knowledge of all he had lost — it all came crashing down on him. He fell to his knees, the weight of his grief and anger too much to bear.

In the stillness of the dawn, Sukuna vowed to himself that this was only the beginning. He would become stronger, more ruthless. He would not stop until the Fujiwara were utterly destroyed. But for now, he allowed himself a moment to mourn, to remember the life that had been taken from him, and to let the rain wash away the blood of his enemies.

It did not take long for him to arrive in the Mikoto compound. Masaomi had been the one waiting for him, along with the many guardsmen that had gathered among the volunteers from the villages. He welcomed Sukuna in his home. He did not mind the blood in Sukuna’s clothes. He knew what happened, but there was nothing to talk about. Not after what happened. 

The Mikoto were minor vassals of the Ryomen. They were wealthy enough to own property, but modest in standing to have a manor. It wasn’t what one would expect, but it was a  secure house nestled away from prying eyes. It was far enough from Ryomen Manor that the Fujiwara wouldn't think to look there, at least not immediately. It was more than enough at this moment. 

The house was modest but sturdy, built with the same meticulous care that Masaomi applied to all aspects of his life. As they crossed the threshold, the warmth of the interior was a stark contrast to the cold, wet chaos they had left behind. Masaomi’s home was a haven, filled with the soft glow of lanterns and the comforting scents of herbs and incense.

As they entered the inner sanctum of the compound. Ryomen Sukuna felt a momentary sense of relief, knowing that Hiromi was out of immediate danger. You were here somewhere, hidden from plain sight. Masaomi led him to where his wife was, who was finally dressed in cleaner attire. Masaomi watched as Sukuna knelt beside his wife, minding the gap as to not dirty you with the sullen blood upon his body.

"I doubt we can stay around Hida for this long." Sukuna said, his voice low and urgent. "The Fujiwara will eventually search every corner of this region. We need to move quickly."

Masaomi nodded in agreement, his expression grim but resolute. "I'll make arrangements. We have allies who can help us and are waiting for their response. Until then, we can gather our strength and plan our next move, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s gaze was sharp as he considered their dwindling options. “Have you informed the Gojo-clan?” he asked. Despite his personal disdain for the Gojo, he couldn’t deny their longstanding alliance with the Ryomen. Gojo Suzaku’s fondness for you and your late brother made it almost certain that they would take this betrayal personally.

“We have, Sukuna—sama,” Masaomi replied cordially. “But we wait for their reply. There is no doubt that they will side with us upon this betrayal.”

Sukuna's reddish eyes darkened with determination. "We will take back what is ours. And we will make them pay for what they've done."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken resolve. The flickering candlelight in the small room cast long shadows on the walls, mirroring the darkness that had settled over their lives. Masaomi’s shoulders were tense with the weight of responsibility, and Sukuna could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Masaomi,” Sukuna whispers. breaking the silence. “I don’t know if I trust you with my life. But your loyalty is noted. Your loyalty to my wife, beyond measure.  Ensure my wife’s safety above all else.”

Masaomi met Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering loyalty. “I will protect my lady with my life, Sukuna-sama. You have my word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a rare moment of gratitude for the steadfast sorcerer. “Good. Now, let’s ensure we are prepared for whatever comes next. But we ought to rest for now.”

Masaomi bowed slightly before taking his leave to begin the necessary preparations. Sukuna watched him go, his mind already racing with strategies and plans for their inevitable confrontation with the Fujiwara. Too much was in his mind. 

The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him, to be a protector. To be your right hand man, now that his…his own father…. He swallowed the bile down his throat. Everything now, it was tempered by a burning resolve. The Fujiwara clan had taken much from him and his wife—their home, their family, their sense of peace. But they had also ignited a fire within him, a relentless drive to reclaim what was his and to exact vengeance on those who had wronged him.

“It took you long enough to return.” Your low voice echoed through the dim room, piercing the heavy silence. “Come closer.”

Sukuna hesitated, looking down at his bloodstained clothes and hands. “I am full of blood,” he said, his voice strained with the weight of the night’s violence.

“It does not matter.” You replied, tone firm yet gentle. “Come to me.”

Obeying your request as he always has, Sukuna moved closer and sat beside you on the futon. The sight of you, pale and fragile, tore at his heart. He took your hand in his cleaner hand, feeling the coldness of your skin seep into his own warmth. 

“I’m sorry, night flower,” he whispered, his voice trembling with guilt and sorrow. “If I could have done much more…..our fathers wouldn’t have….”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your gaze to meet his. Despite your weakened state, there was a fierce determination in your eyes. “You did everything you could,” you whispered weakly, but with conviction. “But we can’t give up. We have to keep fighting.”

Sukuna nodded, your words igniting a spark of resolve within him. “I will become stronger, my night flower.” he vowed, his voice steadying with newfound determination. “We will not endure this again, you must trust me. They will all regret it, what they have done to us.”

You do not speak, but your eyes pooling with emotions he could not understand spoke enough. He leaned slowly down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, feeling the softness of his kiss upon your skin.

“Rest now, night flower.” he whispered, his voice filled with both love and resolve. “I will protect you. I promise.”

As you closed your eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, there was quiet. Ryomen Sukuna sat by your side, keeping watch. His mind was a whirlwind of plans and strategies, fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. One way or another, there was going to be an end. He was going to see to it.

The image of the destroyed Ryomen Manor and the memory of the bloodshed they had endured were etched into his mind. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and darkness, but he was determined to walk it, for you, and for the honor of the Ryomen clan.

With you resting beside him, Sukuna allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. He had always prided himself on his strength, but tonight had shown him the depths of his own limitations. But he knew that there was not a time for weakness.  It was death waiting on the other side.

He couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not ever again. He had to rise above his humanity and embrace the monster within, for only then could he protect what remained of his family and reclaim what had been taken from them. 

As the night wore on, Sukuna remained vigilant, his mind working tirelessly to devise a plan. The Fujiwara would pay for their treachery, and he would ensure that no more innocent lives were lost to their cruelty. He would become the nightmare that haunted their dreams, the force they could not escape. And in the end, he would restore peace and honor to the Ryomen name, no matter the cost.

In the quiet of Mikoto’s home, the weight of their situation settled upon them. The rain continued to fall outside, a mournful melody that seemed to echo their sorrow. But within these walls, there was a flicker of hope—a promise that they would endure.

THE WEEKS PASSED WITHOUT CHANGE. You continued to lay on the futon, your slender form wrapped in the folds of a once-vibrant kimono, now stained with tears and the remnants of the night's chaos. Your body trembled with exhaustion and grief, the weight of recent events pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Every fiber of you being ached with the residual effects of your cursed energy, a relentless torment that seemed to sears through your very soul.

The overwhelming strain of channeling your cursed energy had taken its toll, leaving every inch of your limbs heavy and by effect, your movements sluggish. Each breath was a struggle, the air feeling thick and suffocating in your lungs. Pain lanced through your body like a cruel reminder of their vulnerability, each throb a poignant echo of the devastation that had befallen them.

But it was not just the physical pain that tormented you. The emotional toll of witnessing their home's destruction and the loss of so many loved ones weighed heavily on your heart. Your mind was a whirlwind of memories and regrets, each thought a jagged shard of anguish that pierced your fragile resolve. Tears streamed down your pale cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime that clung to your skin, as you clutched at your chest, seeking solace in the futile hope of easing your inner turmoil.

In the dim light of the room, your grief-stricken form seemed to fade into the shadows, a ghostly silhouette of despair against the backdrop of their shattered lives. The futon beneath you felt cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth she had once known within the walls of Ryomen Manor. But even in the depths of her despair, there remained a flicker of determination, a stubborn refusal to succumb to the despair that threatened to consume you.

With each sob that wracked your body and each tear that fell, you clung to the fragile thread of hope that still lingered within your heart. You knew that their journey was far from over, that there were battles yet to be fought and sacrifices yet to be made. And though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty and peril, you drew strength from the love and resilience that bound you to Sukuna, knowing that together, they would weather the storm and emerge stronger than before.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his heart aching for his wife. Gently, he began to clean your body bit by bit, skin by skin, his touch tender and careful. He wiped away the tears from your cheeks and brushed the stray strands of hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze meeting him with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude.

Sukuna's voice, tender and reassuring, cut through the cacophony of your inner turmoil like a beacon of light in the darkness. With a gentle touch, he guided you through the tattered echoes of your current kimono, the fabric worn and frayed since your arrival previously. You had refused any form of water, having triggered you in grief from the nights before. 

But it was Sukuna helping you. You trusted him. You trusted him with everything. In its place, he draped a clean garment around you, the softness of the material a comforting embrace against your weary skin.

As Sukuna tucked the edges of the kimono around you, his movements were careful and deliberate, each touch a silent promise of his unwavering devotion. The warmth of the fabric enveloped you like a protective cocoon, offering a brief respite from the harsh reality of their circumstances.

Once you were settled, Sukuna draped a warm blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he smoothed out the wrinkles with a gentle caress. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent vow to shield you from the storm that raged outside their fragile sanctuary.

"Rest now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll be here, watching over you. We'll face this together, night flower. You're not alone."

His words were a soothing melody in the chaos, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, they still had each other. With a final reassurance, Sukuna stepped back, his gaze lingering on you with every inch of devotion. Every echo of affection that he could muster in him. You were all he has in the world to live for, after all. 

Your eyelids fluttered closed, with your breaths gradually slowing into a rhythmic pattern as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep. Sukuna lingered by your  side for a moment longer, his gaze soft with concern as he ensured you were in comfort. 

Satisfied that you were resting peacefully, he rose from his kneeling position and turned to find Masaomi standing vigilantly near the window, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond for any potential threats.

Approaching Mikoto Masaomi, Sukuna's expression was grave, weighted by the events that had transpired. He was curious about what had happened. From beginning to end, it was Masaomi who was there. Sukuna wonders if it was wrong of him to wish it was Masaomi who had died instead. Because you would tell him that. You wished no death upon anyone. 

But he knew he couldn't help it. Your father and uncle were more valuable to you than Masaomi was. And to Sukuna, he couldn’t help but agree too.  He grew up with your uncle as his own adoptive father. Though it was not the most common of relationships, it was Ryomen Hiramu who had taught him how to be a man. And to see a stranger alive, more than his own father — it didn’t sit well with him.

"What happened, Masaomi? How did it come to this?" he inquired, his voice heavy with both sorrow and determination. “How are you alive?”

Mikoto Masaomi turned to face him, his features drawn with fatigue over the matter. Sukuna thinks he could see guilt too. But he does not consider it enough. Enough to make up for the failures of living instead of the lord and his brother.

"Many perished in the attack," he began, his voice tinged with sadness. "The Fujiwara showed no mercy. But some of us managed to escape. Isamu-sama... he sacrificed himself to buy us time to flee."

Sukuna's jaw clenched at the mention of Isamu's sacrifice, his heart heavy with the weight of loss. That must have been the sprayed bodies he had found near the inner chambers. Bloody bodies were so mangled that Sukuna had not recognized them. They had perhaps drowned in their own blood and fluids. But that would have taken Isamu–sama’s body too. 

"Isamu–sama should have left." he murmured softly, a pang of sorrow coursing through him as he remembered Isamu's selflessness in the face of danger. But now, with Isamu gone, the burden fell upon Hiromi. “Along with my father.”

“We cannot do much about it now, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword shook his head at him, his face distraught. “Hoping for a different course of action cannot bring them back.”

He gruntled. “I suppose it would not.”

Silence passes between the two of them.

Sukuna didn’t know what else to say.

Because what must be said now, with nothing?

"Hiromi-sama is our clan leader now," Masaomi declared, his voice unwavering despite the sorrow that lingered in his eyes. "Her survival is paramount to the survival of our entire clan."

Sukuna nodded in acknowledgment, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon him. He understood the responsibility that now rested on Hiromi's shoulders, but he also knew that she was in no condition to bear such weight alone.

"We need to ensure her safety," Sukuna stated firmly, his gaze flickering with determination. "But she cannot bear this burden alone. We must stand together, Masaomi. We will protect her, no matter the cost."

Masaomi nodded. “We can stay here for a while. It’s safe enough.”

“But not safe enough to linger for long.”

“On that we agree, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword nodded at his master’s consort. “We need to retake Hida, but we can’t do it alone.”

Sukuna shook his head, his expression resolute. “Then we wait for the response. But as soon as we find that there is trouble, we leave. The Fujiwara will start interrogating everyone in the area. If they find out we’re here, they’ll kill everyone to get to us.”

Masaomi sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation. “You’re right. We need to keep moving, keep them off our trail. But we’ll need a plan, and we’ll need more allies.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sukuna said firmly. “We have to. For Hiromi, for Isamu, for my father.  And for everyone we’ve lost.”

Masaomi placed a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder, offering a silent gesture of solidarity. “We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll rebuild, and we’ll make them pay for what they’ve done.”

As the rain continued to fall outside, Sukuna and Masaomi stood together, watching the water pool together. They were not one to be close, that had been certain. But now they are united by their shared loss and their determination to fight back. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but they will do whatever it took. No matter the cost; the Ryomen name will live.

THEY BARELY SPOKE THESE DAYS. The days that followed their escape were marked by an increasing sense of isolation between Sukuna and you. You were too consumed by your grief, withdrawing further into yourself as the weight of their losses pressed down on your soul. You spent hours alone, your once bright eyes hollow and distant, barely speaking and seldom eating. The vibrant night flower Ryomen Sukuna had known seemed to wither before his eyes.

Sukuna, on the other hand, buried himself in his plans for revenge against the Fujiwara. The fire of vengeance burned within him, driving him to train relentlessly and strategize their assault. He pored over maps, studied enemy movements, and honed his jujutsu techniques until his body screamed for rest. Yet, he refused to stop, fearing that any moment of inactivity would allow the despair to consume him.

As Sukuna delved deeper into his preparations for revenge, the lines between night and day blurred into a ceaseless cycle of training and planning. His days began at the break of dawn, the first rays of sunlight finding him already immersed in rigorous training regimens, his muscles straining with each exertion. He pushed himself beyond his limits, his determination burning bright even as fatigue threatened to engulf him.

Amidst the solitude of his training grounds, Sukuna found solace in the rhythm of combat, the familiar movements of his jujutsu techniques serving as a refuge from the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. With each strike and parry, he channeled his grief and anger into the relentless pursuit of mastery, his resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.

Yet, even as Sukuna devoted himself wholeheartedly to his quest for vengeance, a nagging sense of emptiness gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He longed for you. Longed to have the short joy that you both shared as man and wife return. But he found himself unable to bridge the growing chasm that separated the two of you. 

His heart ached with the knowledge that you bore your own burdens in silence, your grief a heavy burden that you carried alone. And he lets you. Rather than lose you to the words that would break you, that would break him.

Despite his best efforts to bury himself in his preparations, Ryomen Sukuna could not escape the pervasive sense of isolation that hung over him like a dark cloud. The weight of their losses pressed down on his shoulders like a leaden mantle, threatening to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace. 

The tension between husband and wife finally reached a boiling point one evening. He realized that there cannot be anything if he could not break through you. He could no longer take it anymore. To see you a shattered doll, waiting for the time to pass. He wanted his wife. He wanted you. In that afternoon, Sukuna returned to their room, finding you sitting by the window. 

You were letting time pass once again, ever so empty. Hollowed with grief. You kept staring out into the darkened gardens. You could easily see withering flowers, bitter without the luscious water that rains upon it. Sukuna hurts when he sees you like this. He feels like dying inside when he sees you without your soul.

“You’ve hardly spoken to me, all these many weeks.” Sukuna said, frustration and worry lacing his words. “I’m trying to make things right, night flower. I’m doing this for us. But I cannot do it without you. I need you. I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me in.”

You did not speak in response.

He bit at his lower lip harshly.

He wanted you to look at him.

He wanted you to say something.

Anything, whatever it may be.

He just needed you, here – with him.

You turned your gaze towards him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “For us? It feels like you’re only thinking of revenge. Can we not mourn? Can we not….We’ve lost everything, Sukuna. Our home, our family… our future.”

Sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the same pain? But sitting here and mourning won’t change anything. We need to act. Or we’ll die. We’ll die like our fathers. Don’t you understand?”

You stood up, your voice trembling with emotion. “Acting won’t bring them back! Revenge won’t heal what’s been broken. You’re so consumed by your anger that you’ve forgotten about us, about me. About us!”

Sukuna's frustration boiled over, his anger simmering beneath the surface like a raging inferno. "Forgotten about you?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I've sacrificed everything for us, for our future! And I’m continuing to do so. Can’t you see that?”

You recoiled at the intensity of his words, your own anger rising to meet him. "Sacrificed? Is that what you call it?" you retorted, your voice trembling with fury. "You've sacrificed our happiness, our love, all for the sake of your precious revenge! Sukuna, I’m tired of revenge. I’m tired of losing someone. If I…if this continues, I’ll lose you too and I cannot…”

Sukuna's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his fists tightening even further. "I'm doing what needs to be done!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of their makeshift shelter. "I won't sit idly by while those bastards get away with what they've done. To let them continue what they had done. I won't rest until they pay for their sins!"

Your lip curled in disgust, your own anger fueling your words. "And what about me? What about…." you demanded, your voice rising to match his. But you abruptly stop as you feel your lips tremble. "Does nothing else mean anything to you? Or are they just collateral damage in your quest for vengeance?"

Sukuna's chest heaved with the force of his rage, his mind clouded with fury and despair. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect us, wife." he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Even if it means becoming the cruelest of them all. Us or them. That is the choice. That is the way.”

With those words hanging in the air like a curse, Ryomen Sukuna stormed out of the room, leaving you alone in the darkness, your heart heavy with sorrow and regret. Tears poured from your eyes as you lowered your head, feeling a sob reverberate from your throat.

The training yard was cloaked in a somber atmosphere, the air heavy with the weight of Sukuna's relentless determination. MIkoto Masaomi observed from a distance as Sukuna unleashed the full force of his abilities, his movements fluid and precise as he practiced the devastating techniques that would become his arsenal in the coming battle.

"Sukuna—sama, you need to rest." Masaomi called out, his voice tinged with concern. He steps forward, his lips curled into a flat line. "This path you're on... it's tearing you apart, and it's not what Hiromi—sama needs right now."

Sukuna’s anger flared, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Rest? How can I rest when everything has been taken from us? When my wife is drowning in grief and our enemies are still out there? Nothing will change if I rest. My wife will still mourn, and it won’t bring back what we’ve lost. More so, we  could die. I will not let that happen.”

“Sukuna—sama, please—”

Sukuna paused mid-strike, his muscles tensing as he turned to face Masaomi, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Rest is a luxury we can't afford, Mikoto." he replied, his voice edged with determination. "The Fujiwara took everything from us. Our home, our family... I won't rest until they pay for their crimes. I either die trying or live doing it all.”

Masaomi shook his head, his expression grave. "I understand your anger, Sukuna. But you mustn't lose sight of what's truly important. Hiromi–sama needs you now more than ever. My lady needs you more than ever, not a vengeful sorcerer consumed by hatred. There will be time for that. But you must—”

Sukuna's jaw tightened at Masaomi's words, the conflict within him evident in the furrow of his brow. 

"I didn’t abandon her. I won't abandon her." he insisted, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. "But I can't stand by while those responsible for our suffering roam free. I have to do this, or we’ll never be free from fear. We’ll only suffer.”

“My lord! My lord Sukuna!” A servant rushes through the corner and into the practice yard. Sukuna’s face contorts as the servant dips into a hurried bow. “You must come, hurry!”

“W-what’s going on?” Sukuna stutters as he looks at the servant’s face as it turns into a pitiful mess, tears falling over. “Speak.”

“My lady…..there was so much blood.” She finally stutters towards him as she sobs freely now. His face furrows into confusion and worry. Before finally it hits him. “My lady was with child and she….”

The courtyard fell silent, the weight of the servant's words hanging heavy in the air like a shroud of sorrow. Sukuna's heart clenched with a mixture of fear and anguish as he absorbed the devastating news. Before he could even process the full extent of the tragedy, his wife’s anguished cry pierced the stillness, sending a chill down his spine.

In an instant, Sukuna was by your side, his hands trembling as he knelt beside her. The sight of you writhing in pain, your cries echoing through the courtyard, tore at his very soul. It was as if his world had been reduced to a blur of agony and despair, his own grief mirrored in the depths of your tear-filled eyes.

Without a word, Sukuna gathered you into his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the pain that threatened to consume them both. You could barely move as you withered into his arms. He whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos, though he knew that no words could ever mend the shattered pieces of their shattered dreams.

In the dimly lit room, amidst the echoes of his wife’s anguished cries, Sukuna's own voice trembled with sorrow and regret. Over and over again, you muttered with anguish apologies to the dead. You cry about your father, you cry about your uncle, and now you cry about your child. The child who deserved better, who deserved the world. 

He could feel the weight of his words heavy on his tongue, each syllable a painful reminder of his own failures and shortcomings. They tasted bitter in his tongue, painful in his chest. You were with child. It made sense. Why you had been so frightful. Why you had been feeling such grief, knowing you had just lost your father and outlived him. And soon to bear his child — only to lose them and outlive them too.

"My love….my night flower, I'm so sorry," Sukuna whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air like a lament, filled with the raw anguish of a heart torn apart by grief. With trembling hands, he reached out to you, pulling you close as if to shield you from the world itself. “I am so sorry.”

As you clung to him, your tears staining the fabric of his clothes, Sukuna felt a swell of helplessness wash over him, the weight of their loss pressing down on his shoulders like a suffocating weight. In that moment, all he could do was hold you close, his arms a sanctuary amidst the storm of their shattered dreams.

HE COULD NOT BRING HIMSELF TO ENTER YOUR CHAMBERS FOR DAYS. For days, Sukuna found himself unable to muster the courage to enter your chambers. It was too much guilt that ate at him, having caused you so much distress. Having belittled your grief and distaste for revenge. He could not face you. Not after that. Not after he had hurt you, when he wanted to protect you, care for you.

The weight of your shared grief hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over his every thought and action. Yet Sukuna felt like he had no right to mourn. He had no right to mourn when he had a part in this. As the days passed and the pain of your loss refused to diminish, Sukuna knew that he could no longer avoid facing the reality of their situation. 

You cannot do what he needs you to do. And he will not force you to do it. Not when you were not in the state to do it. Not when you were already in so much pain. If there are gods above that were real, he knows that this was their punishment upon him. That he had not been enough. That he has caused you must suffer. It was on him now, to get that revenge. To take that revenge. He had to let you go. 

With a heavy heart and a resolve born of necessity, Sukuna finally steeled himself to enter the dimly lit room where you lay on the futon. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft sound of your shallow breaths. As he approached your bedside, Sukuna's footsteps seemed to echo in the stillness, each one a testament to the weight of his burden.

Kneeling beside you, Sukuna felt a surge of emotion well up within him, threatening to overwhelm his fragile composure. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently took you in on his own. The chill of your skin sent a shiver down his spine.

"Night flower," he began, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. I’ve been weak. I’ve failed you. And now I have hurt you, after I had promised not to.”

Your eyes fluttered open, as though they were flowers in spring. You looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion. Sukuna's grip tightened slightly, his desperation to convey his remorse palpable.

"I thought I could protect you, that I could make things right. But I’ve only driven us further into despair. I can’t be the man you need right now. To become strong enough to avenge our family, I have to abandon the man I am and become something else. A monster. And I cannot let you be tied to loving a man who cannot be there.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you squeezed his hand weakly. "Sukuna... no...please. I can’t….I cannot… Not without you.”

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to your hand. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. And our child... I hope they can forgive me too. For being such a weak husband and a weak father to boot.”

Sukuna's voice trembled with emotion as he poured out his heart to you, his words heavy with the weight of his remorse. His confession hung in the air, a poignant admission of his perceived failures and the depth of his anguish. With each syllable, you could feel everything. Tears flowed from your eyes.

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your sorrow-filled gaze. The raw emotion in your eyes mirrored his own inner turmoil. He didn’t want to go. And you do not want to let him go. But the longer he stays, the longer he’d cause you more pain. Despite the gravity of his words, despite his resolve to cut that red string of fate between you, Ryomen Sukuna felt his heart hurt as your hand tightened around his own. As though begging him to never let go.

“Don’t leave me.” You cried to him, weakly. “Please….”

“I have to go.” He whispers back, just as lowly. He lets his hand caress the other side of your face, feeling the tears pouring slowly. “Or else I will only hurt you. I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

As Sukuna's cheek rested against your hand, a profound sense of peace enveloped him, casting aside the tumult of his inner turmoil. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, he found solace in this last moment between you two. He lets his lips echo a soft sigh, as he burns this memory deep in him.

Your touch, the warmth, the way you looked at him with all that hurt, all that love in one — it will always be a soothing balm to his wounded soul, a reminder of the enduring strength you both drew from each other amidst the chaos that surrounded you both. And he will endure. He vows to do so. 

Yet, despite the comfort he found in your presence, Sukuna knew that he could not linger in this moment of tranquility. This cannot last too long. He must steel himself for what lay ahead, for the path he had chosen demanded sacrifice and resolve. 

With a heavy heart, he looks at you. He lets his hand free from your  cheek and take your hand from his cheek. He lets his lips press a kiss upon the palm. You choked into a grievous cry as he shakes his lips a little while longer. When he stops, he smiles at you. He bids you one last look, one last longing. 

As he rose to his feet, a pang of sorrow pierced his stoic facade, threatening to shatter the mask of composure he wore. Sukuna was not one to shed tears, you knew that all too well. Yet the thought of leaving Hiromi and their departed child they had lost stirred a wellspring of emotion within him. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he took a steadying breath, steeling himself for the task that lay ahead.

Ryomen  Sukuna silently bid his beloved farewell, his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. Turning away, he left the room without another word, his resolve hardened with each resolute step he took. Outside, Masaomi awaited him, his expression a mirror of Sukuna's own inner turmoil. 

He knew what happened, being that  silent witness to the burdens they both carried. But he does not say anything. He did not need to. Everything that has been said between husband and wife has been left into the world long dead.

"You’ll need to flee very soon." Sukuna said, his tone steely. "Take Hiromi–sama and go onwards to safety. Protect our lady with your life, if necessary."

As Sukuna spoke, his words carried a weighty urgency, his tone laced with an unwavering resolve that brooked no argument. He knew that time was of the essence, that they could not afford to linger in the wake of tragedy. And more so, he would not be there to see to it that there is success. Sukuna needs to make sure that they will look after you. 

Even when he wasn’t there. Someone else has to. They have to. With every passing moment bringing them closer to danger, Sukuna knew that at whatever cost, he’d rather all had died but you. You have to live. He has to know you will live.

Masaomi, ever the steadfast guardian, met Sukuna's gaze with a solemn nod, his own demeanor reflecting the gravity of their situation. He understood the gravity of Sukuna's words and the importance of their mission. With a sense of duty ingrained deep within him, Masaomi bowed at his lord ever so elegantly.

"I will, my lord." Masaomi affirmed, his voice steady despite the weight of their circumstances. "I'll start organizing the evacuation of Mikoto immediately. Hiromi–sama safety is my utmost priority, Sukuna-sama. The Ryomen will live. You have my word."

“Go off then. Before they come.”

Sukuna watched as  the sworn sword nodded at him. He watched as Masaomi walked away, barking orders to the remaining guards and servants and soon, reverberated elsewhere in his own estate. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was leaving you in a time of such vulnerability. But there was no other choice. You both have to part. 

As the preparations for their escape continued, Sukuna stood alone, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He felt the man he once was slipping away, replaced by a relentless force driven by fury and sorrow. The world had taken everything from him, and he would stop at nothing to reclaim it.

And in the midst of it all, he prayed that one day, you and your lost child would find it in their hearts to forgive him for the monster he was about to become. For the villain he will now play. For the blood that must be shed. Revenge must be had. At all costs.

HE HAD EXPECTED THEM. It was that late night, under the shroud of darkness, that the Fujiwara launched their assault on the Mikoto household. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was broken only by the distant sounds of approaching footsteps. It was Ryomen Sukuna who stood alone in the courtyard, his figure a solitary sentinel against the coming storm.

The battlefield was a chaotic frenzy of clashing cursed energy and cursed weapons. One could hear the cries of battle from miles away.  One could feel that air thickened with the stench of blood and sweat. In the face of the Fujiwara coming towards him with their relentless advance, Ryomen Sukuna stood as a solitary figure of defiance, his resolve unyielding despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him.

As the enemy surged forward with deadly intent, their movements swift and coordinated, Sukuna braced himself for the onslaught one after another. He could feel himself bathe in blood at each turn. One after another, there was his fist that took one life in a flash. With a fierce determination burning in his darkened eyes, he met their charge head-on, his every movement calculated and precise.

With each strike he delivered, Sukuna's strength and skill were made evident to all. It was why he was so famous, why he had been the pride of the Ryomen. His blows were like thunder, each one landing with bone-crushing force and leaving devastation in its wake. Yet, for every foe he felled, it seemed that two more took their place, their numbers swelling with each passing moment.

Undeterred by the overwhelming odds, Sukuna fought on with a grim determination, he did not care what it would cost him. With his every movement a testament to his unwavering resolve, there was nothing he had to lose. Perhaps it was what was terrifying. That a man who has nothing to lose raged against the onslaught of the many who have few to lose. Sukuna refused to back down, his spirit unbroken even as fatigue threatened to drag him down.

As Sukuna fought, his thoughts were a tumult of resolve and desperation. ”I have to be strong.” he muttered to himself between breaths. ”A monster cannot fail.”

Ryomen Sukuna knew that he had to survive here. to cultivate all his hatred, his anguish, his grief; just so he can return to you. There was no other choice. He needs to be the monster that he'd always been, he needs to be the cruel beast. He needs to be strong. He needs to protect you. So you would never suffer again.

He could feel the edges of his sanity fraying, the need to protect Hiromi and avenge their family pushing him beyond human limits. In the midst of the chaos, an idea began to form, a desperate gamble. He didn’t yet have full control of his domain just yet, but if he didn’t try now, he might never have another chance to know where he was. He needed to push, push hard until he—

With a guttural roar, Sukuna pushed his cursed energy to its limits, summoning every ounce of his power. The air around him began to warp and twist, dark energy crackling like lightning. He envisioned the Malevolent Shrine, a twisted, mangled reflection of his own inner turmoil and rage.

“Domain expansion!” Ryomen Sukuna cried, as his hands meddled together. His eyes were redder than the scarlet blood that mellowed his body. More dangerous. More animalistic. More maddened than ever before. “Malevolent Shrine!”

It did not take long for the battlefield transformed into a nightmare realm, the air thick with an otherworldly chill that seeped into the bones of all who dared to tread upon it. In the heart of this twisted landscape stood a small, disfigured Buddhist shrine, its very presence an affront to all that was sacred.

The shrine was a grotesque mockery of its former self, its once serene façade twisted and corrupted by malevolent forces. Horns protruded from its roof like the gnarled horns of a demon, casting sinister shadows that danced across the blood-soaked ground below. Human skulls adorned its edges, their empty eye sockets staring out with an eerie, haunting gaze.

The entrances to the shrine were gaping mouths, their jagged teeth bared in a silent snarl of malevolence. Each mouth seemed to beckon, promising untold horrors to those foolish enough to venture within. And at the corners of the shrine stood four short, twisted trees, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands, grasping at the very fabric of reality itself.

As they faced down the advancing enemy forces, Ryomen Sukuna could feel how electric he felt. He could feel their fear. The way the shiver of fear ran down each and every pitiful fool’s spine. This was no ordinary battlefield; this was a realm of nightmares, where the very essence of evil itself seemed to pulse and thrum with a malevolent energy. And in the heart of it all stood the shrine, a silent sentinel of darkness, casting its shadow over all who dared to challenge its authority.

Ryomen Sukuna stood at the heart of the malevolent domain, his very presence radiating a dark and ominous energy that sent shivers down the spines of all who beheld him. The Fujiwara forces, once filled with bravado, now hesitated, their resolve crumbling in the face of such overwhelming power.

His body moved with a brutal grace, every attack a testament to his determination. The shrine's dark power amplified his abilities, making him an unstoppable force. Yet even as he fought, a part of him knew this was only the beginning. He would need to refine his control, to shape his domain with precision. But for now, raw power was enough.

With a deranged laughter that echoed across the battlefield, Ryomen Sukuna embraced the monstrous essence within him, allowing it to surge forth with unrestrained fury. The Malevolent Shrine, a twisted monument to darkness, responded to his call, unleashing its full wrath upon the enemy ranks.

The grotesque mouths that served as entrances to the shrine spat forth torrents of dark energy, swallowing up soldiers and tearing them apart with merciless each and every cut that pierced through them. Nothing would be left of them soon enough. Those who dared to approach found themselves consumed by a vortex of despair, their very souls torn asunder by the malevolent forces at play.

Meanwhile, the gnarled trees that stood sentinel at the corners of the shrine lashed out with their twisted branches, striking down foes with unnatural speed and precision. Each blow was delivered with the force of a sledgehammer, crushing bone and rending flesh with terrifying ease.

As the battlefield erupted into chaos, Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his laughter mingling with the screams of the dying. In that moment, he was not merely a man; he was a force of nature, he was death in itself; a harbinger of destruction whose wrath knew no bounds. And as the Fujiwara fell before him, he reveled in the dark power that coursed through his veins, knowing that he had become something more than human. 

He had become a monster.

facts about this chapter

i had to reread the story again because i was off the grid from it so long, i had to follow my plot again but here we are; this took the second longest to write, maybe a whole day, but the prep time was longer than that.

i ended up changing something with regards to the way sukuna leaves hiromi. originally, i thought i was going to make him be kidnapped by the fujiwara and thrown off in desolate isolation and that's how he becomes a cursed user. but i decided against it.

sukuna doesnt have a complete domain yet like megumi but sukuna over time will be developing it. he lives longer than hiromi, so he has time.

when i was wondering how i could save hiromi and sukuna, it made sense that it owuld be masaomi. i thought about putting suzaku in it already, but it would be too early to bring him up considering he has more of a role to play later on.

sukuna meets yozuru later on, but she's from the fujiwara. so the fujiwara isn't really fully eradicated UNTIL sukuna decides to take them out later on. that's why the war with them will keep going on for a while.

in heian culture, ghosting or leaving your spouse was considered the divorce. sukuna leaving hiromi was a form of divorce. even though few knew, it was still sukuna filing for divorce.

it takes too muhc on hiromi to use her powers. but considering how she was emotionally and mentally unstable and depressed, it made her even worse. through this time, the voices were mocking her as well. hiromi was having a really hard time.

sukuna found the room where isamu died in. but he didn't really know which one he was as isamu used his water cursed technique to kill everyone including him. so there was no body left. sukuna tried to find hiramu, but he couldn't find him.

masaomi lost his father that night as well. his father was in ryomen manor too and died alongside his vassal lords. he's also lord mikoto now, clan leader, as of that happening.

sukuna's domain, though small so far, did destroy mikoto compound. it killed only fujiwara sorcerers as they were all that was there in that moment.

sukuna and hiromi's child was not on my previous draft, but i thought it was something that was profound to wake sukuna up to the fact that there was something more important to hiromi than revenge and that was him and their child.

hiromi is now the clan leader of the ryomen. this makes her the first female clan leader of the ryomen. all of her retainers are scattered all across hida in hiding or in other neighboring allies like the gojos. masaomi intends to bring her to one of these allies to help regroup. that's where we'll meet them next chapter.

the song hongyeon was such a perfect song. as its hinted at, they'll be in each other's lives until the end. i consider them tied by fate. and that's something that is just profound.

the quote in the gif is being said by gojo when he talks about how the mikoto taught him about sukuna's life. being a descendant of hiromi, he knows stuff like this.

[six-eyed-samurai]

As per the results for my vote, here it is! But I never said it wasn't going to be angst~~~

Please leave a comment! It'll gimme motivation to score well in my exams swear UwU

I saw you and I just knew, one day you'd be my man. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for his suave talent on the screen, for the thefts of more than hundreds of drama fans’ hearts everywhere, for his signature shark grin and trademark tattoos.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for his lead role in the fantasy series Malevolent Shrine, directed by his half brother Kamo Choso, together with the uprising star Gojo Satoru.

Ryomen Sukuna was once known for the tragedy that ruined his life forever and kidnapped him within its dark, depressive grasp to never let him go and completely vanish from the public eye.

I'd kill for you, over and over, I will and could and can. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna’s name was once known to cause crazed stampedes at any store, restaurant or mall he blessed with his presence, but now when he walked hunched and slumped into his stained sweatshirt barely anybody batted an eye at the man who was more dead than alive now.

Ryomen Sukuna's figure was formerly spotted immediately everywhere he went, especially with YOU, his dearest darling angel at his side, a magnet attracting eager, frenzied paparazzi and die hard fans. He couldn't have been more proud to show you in all your glory off to the crowd, to lay claim on you and just prove his undying love for you in front of everyone…once upon a time.

Ryomen Sukuna's expression of easy, lazy smirking from his acting days officially disappeared to be replaced by a face with an emptiness that rivaled the void and had completely forgotten any other emotion long before everyone saw the photo at his final interview on a subject he had no wish to talk about: you and your death.

I know she's hurting us, but don't worry, I've got a plan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna whose answer to the Jujutsu Tech Weekly’s question of what he regretted most was turning down directors Jogo and Hanami’s offer to collaborate in a movie together, but really? He regretted ever convincing you to stop hiding your secret marriage and step into the limelight with him.

Ryomen Sukuna who can boast about his natural acting talent, charisma and success with all the proof in the world to back it up, but he would never say he was one for observance, not after he missed all the signs of an obsessive, insane stalker tailing after him and his precious, pretty wife.

Ryomen Sukuna who wonders what would've happened if he had just BOTHERED to reply and open the thousands of fan letters he used to get - would he have seen the letters his so-called number one fan had sent him, seen the signs of a despairing delusional madness that drove her to start hunting them both down from the shadows? Would he have paid more attention to the way doors seemed to always be unlocked when the both of you headed home, the missing personal items, the defaced pictures online of his wife?

As they all like to say, into the fire from out of the pan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna's temper his frequent viewers, family and friends were more than familiar with that made itself known when he publicly threatened whoever was breaking and entering into your shared home with something more physical than lawsuits; but how was he to know she'd take it the wrong way and somehow convince herself that his wife was putting him up to it, to make his one and only out to be the villain of this imaginary love scenario between her and him, to declare herself his “saviour”?

Ryomen Sukuna's decision to move to a new, more private and secure manor by the coast was supposed to protect you from the strange unknown figure lurking outside the house and everywhere you went. Supposed to. Somehow they found out his new home address anyway, and the only one who knew it was Choso, who swore up and down he told nobody and nobody could have possibly known.

Ryomen Sukuna's management (namely, his irritated manager Kenjaku) who finally succumbed to his harsh insults and furious demands and investigated who's been following them around lately: the truth shocked everyone to the core (could it possibly EVEN be the truth?!) when Fushiguro Tsumiki was arrested.

She might bear your son but you and I will start a clan. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna ignored all the warning signs, the final letter with the ominous words of “I'll be the one to teach you love” and the Fushiguro’s protests of her innocence in favour of announcing the big news to the press and celebrating the new beginning in his and yours romance story, this time with a new addition to the family.

Ryomen Sukuna rarely slept before, preferring to stay up late memorising lines and terrorising the crew, but now was just operating on caffeine and quick naps in his worry during your pregnancy. Did he cry when baby Yuuji was born? Yes, and in his delight - although he pretended otherwise - he never noticed that one guest at every one of his conventions with an agitated expression and a hysterical, hateful grudge against you.

Ryomen Sukuna thought the business with his crazy fan stopped when he had his loyal Uraume taking care of his family on the rare occasions you didn't insist on coming to watch him work and hired a secretary to go through and filter all his letters, or maybe he was just preoccupied with watching Yuuji grow up and showering you with all the love his rough, rugged self could give…because he certainly didn't notice the new “security cameras” being set up at his house.

What a fatal mistake.

We'll be alone eventually, a couple and no longer a ban. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who staggered back and nearly killed the messenger when he heard the news, who raged internally against whatever cruel god had decided to deal him this fate: you and Yuuji had somehow disappeared when driving back from the park and even though police searched high and low you both were nowhere to be found.

Ryomen Sukuna whose world shattered when the two most important people in the world to him were declared dead. Despite Choso’s frantic persuausion and attempted comforts he vowed to never return to the world of stardom, not after his celebrity status got you both killed. He disappeared into the sea of ordinary lives, all signs of vibrancy and life gone right down to his iconic pink hair; he dyed that black, black as his heart and as black as the sky the day his darling went away, the day the letter arrived.

Ryomen Sukuna who imagined the police might make your deaths more real and not so nightmarish when they found your body, but never this way - what sort of sick bitch would send him a parcel containing the severed fingers of you ans Yuuji with a heart signed “Always your girl, Yorozu.”

I'm yours, you're mine, your wife's gone, just say she ran. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who now wanders the world, alive but alone, so ready to once love what he had had. A fate crueler than him has revealed itself, for they never did catch whoever had done the deed. The last time anyone had ever seen Sukuna at all was at the trial where Tsumiki was released.

Ryomen Sukuna who's played his fair share in horror movie of twisted endings and gruesome grief, but nobody ever told him real life was inspiration for the dark content. Everybody's long forgotten him as he slid into the role of background cameos but he never forgot how even with his fame and money he could never save you and Yuuji, much less avenge you both.

Ryomen Sukuna's half assed attempts at suicide never seemed to work out and he's nothing more than an angry shell of his former glory now. He even tore down both your photos in a fit of rage once; the man in the mirror wasn't him, surely?

They hunted in my basement but never searched my van. XOXO, your biggest fan.

Ryomen Sukuna who is now known for his infamous brutal homicide of one Fujiwara Yorozu with his bare, bloody hands who approached him at a shady bar and whispered she had done away with the devil, won't he ascend to Heaven with her now?

“FXXK YOU, I'D RATHER FALL TO HELL WITH HER THAN BE DRAGGED TO ‘HEAVEN’ BY THE LIKES OF YOU!”