#and i would like that kaito....give him to me... and i think i could fix the meiko. i could fix her. i can fix her.

[bmpmp3]

i was like. thinking about the software situation with the cryptonloids and i got curious if there was any progress on the non-miku NT banks yet so i went to listen to those vocals they use in that mobile game (if i remember correctly they use beta versions unreleased to the public?) and like. you know. despite how contentious miku nt herself is i think some of the betas for the others sound pretty good, len sounds fantastic and rin sounds about on par with her older banks (although i do miss a bit of her sharpness) and like. i may be killed with hammers for this but i was listening to the heat abnormal cover and i think i like the kaito nt beta sound more than his v3 like he sounds fantastic here. i dont dislike his v3 or anything but the nt bits ive heard has like some of the depth and richness i so sorely miss from his v1 while having the old-yamaha-keyboard-keyboard-key-spring sound that i do enjoy of his v3.... i do wish it had more of the v1 strength tho

[asher-agere]

Eheh,, is it okay to request some regressor An?

(I may have plot idea where she's in carese Cafe after a bad day and didn't wanted to bother vbs and Meiko went ahead and took care of her maybe..)

(bpd an (split episode = feeling bad) and Meiko reminding an of nagi too.. Maybe..)

I MIGHT BE GETTING TOO SPECIFIC SO YOU CAN REMOVE ANYTHING YOU WANT!! SORRY!!

I can absolutely give this a shot! Warning though! I do not have Borderline Personality Disorder! What I write will be based solely on research I’ve done, as usual if I write anything inaccurate or offensive please let me know and I’ll fix the problem as quickly as possible!

BPD Little An + Caregiver Meiko!

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི An having a bad day leads to her being very fussy. Every little thing upsets her and no matter how small it is she has a meltdown. Something small started it probably. Maybe her dad suddenly had to go do something instead of helping her like he said he would. Suddenly An feels 6 years old again and she hates her father and no matter how far away she runs it doesn’t feel like she’s ever far with away

⭑.ᐟ She thinks about talking to her friends! She really really does. She knows that they’re there for her and that they want to help but… Would they even be able to help? She’d be reaching out to them just to end up wasting their time when they inevitably fail to help her. That was a bad idea. No one wanted that, just a dumb waste of time. She wants… She wants Aunt Nagi. Aunt Nagi was good. Not bad like she was

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི An eventually ends up going to the Sekai! It’s away from everyone so she’s not being a bother. But of course the Virtual Singers are there… An almost immediately gets overwhelmed. She makes it to the doorway and just sort of freezes. Rin and Len are yelling at Kaito, Miku is trying to calm everyone down but not very successfully, Meiko is behind the counter cleaning things up. Luka is nowhere to be seen, of course one of the actual calmest ones is missing…

⭑.ᐟ An is very pouty and grumpy. Miku tries greeting her, and she ignores it. Kaito goes to ask how she’s doing and that only makes Rin and Len yell at him even louder. Poor An can only cover her ears, going over to the bar and sitting down. Looks are exchanged between Kaito and Meiko and Kaito shuffles the kids out, leaving just An and Meiko at the bar

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི An continues ignoring Meiko, just trying to bury her face into her arms and disappear. Meiko determines her best approach and makes some angel milk. An seemed off, which could mean she’s regressed, best to ask though. So she gently asks An what cup she’d like. She immediately, without being prompted to, apologizes for bothering An and explains that she thought some warm milk might help

⭑.ᐟ When An looked up she was preparing to scream and throw a fit, there were already tears in her eyes. But… Meiko was being so soft. So gentle. For a second she swore that it was Aunt Nagi, crouching down next to her and asking her what she wanted to do. The screams die in her throat. Instead she quietly requests a sippy cup, and Meiko is happy to comply. She transfers the milk to a child appropriate cup before handing it over to An

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི That was the moment, Meiko asking An what cup she wanted, that made An’s feelings click into place. Meiko was good. Meiko was calm and gentle and perfect. She wanted Meiko. Meiko just smiles at her and starts getting information “How old are you feeling?” “Would you like a snack?” “What toys do you want to play with?” “How about I turn on some music for you?” Meiko asks all these wonderful questions in her gentle voice and An feels compelled to answer her

⭑.ᐟ When Meiko asked the questions An was fine with everything! But when Meiko went to go get things… Everything was suddenly not fine. An hasn’t realized Meiko would need to focus on other stuff. That wasn’t fair. She wanted Meiko’s attention. Why did everyone always have more important stuff? Was it so selfish to want someone’s full attention for a little bit? She tried drawing Meiko’s attention back to her but Meiko only responded with a simple “One second darling”

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི This was not what An wanted to hear. Her perspective changed. Meiko was bad. Meiko was the worst person on the planet in fact. Meiko knew she was mentally a baby right now, and she’d still ignored her? What kind of horrible person did that? So An just got down from her seat and… Slipped away. She didn’t want to be around such a mean person

⭑.ᐟ An hides for awhile in a little storage closet. But eventually Meiko finds her. She opens the door just enough to slide in the sippy cup and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. An doesn’t say a word, but she does accept the snacks. They sit there in silence for awhile until Meiko gently starts singing a lullaby. A lullaby that An’s mentioned before is from her childhood. Specifically from her favorite person from her childhood. Aunt Nagi. Their voices are vastly different, but they sing it the same way…

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Slowly, ever so slowly, An warms up to Meiko again. She finishes her snacks still in the closet, then slowly crawls out, laying her head in Meiko’s lap. Meiko just smiles and combs through her hair. Once An is calmer Meiko can scoop her back up! She makes sure to carry the little one everywhere, constantly showering her in praise and catering to An’s every desire. Some babies need to cry it out. An is the kind of baby that needs to be dotted on though

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

This reads more like a story than headcanons? Idk what I was doing here really if I’m honest- This was mainly just be trying to get a grasp on how someone with bpd would act, I feel like I still didn’t do great (╥_╥)

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

*Please read below before continuing*

A few clarifications: I should have named the Zen’in we met back in Chapter 19—the one potentially seeking Yuna’s hand. From now on, we’ll be calling him Zen’in Kaito. And yes, he’s essentially Toji, but I chose not to name him that because (personally) picturing Toji in this setting would pull me out of the time period. Previous chapters have been updated with this change. That being said, my burnout-ridden brain made a mistake in the last chapter (and will likely make many more). The very last sentence shouldn’t have referred to the “blade” coming up behind Sukuna—it was meant to be the man, oops. Keep that in mind, and I apologize for the mix-up. Anyway, this chapter completely broke my brain, and I have many feelings about it. (And thank you, Muse and Arniee, for coming to the rescue and anyone who said they would beta-read this chapter <3)

Word count: 11.7K

Content warning: Violence, death, descriptions of corpses (including children), war-like scenarios, blood, stressful situations.

Chapter 35 | Chapter 37

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake.”

Exhaling a slow, steadying breath, you shove your letters under the saddle, pressing them firmly into place before swinging yourself up onto Ayana.  

She paws at the soft ground, her head bobbing—eager, almost like she senses what’s coming. And what you’re about to do is either entirely reckless or stubbornly brave. You hope for the latter as you take the reins and steer her toward the main road.  

Before you, the landscape stretches wild in every direction—hills giving way to wide, open plains, with mountains beyond rising like rows of teeth.

You could choose left, ride for the capital, and leave it all behind—bury the truth in convenience, pretend you never saw what lies ahead, turn a blind eye and be with your sister. But under your skin, it prickles, watching as low hanging clouds churn in the distance, hinting at things far worse.  

And you see it.

That slow, continuous thread of dark smoke siphoning into the sky.

That’s your destination.  

East—toward the carnage already unfolding, toward whatever village is unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the force bearing down on Sukuna’s domain. All because of your actions, what you asked of him, and what you did. And you know what lies ahead. Bodies burned beyond recognition, women brutalized, children with their heads bashed in.

Sukuna won’t protect those under his rule.  

But you might.  

Brave or foolish—you suppose you’ll find out soon enough.

Shifting in the saddle, you grip the muted indigo lining inside your obi and tear the strip of fabric loose. Twisting it, you knot it around your neck and let it hang there.

Taking the reins in one gloved hand, you pat your mare’s neck with the other. She chuffs and stamps a hoof.

“It’s time to go,” you murmur, lifting your chin, eyes fixed on the smudge of orange crouching against the dull horizon. Then you drive Ayana forward.

* * * * *

Riding along the outskirts, beneath the swelling black cloud above, you know the village lies just beyond the hill ahead.

At this distance, it’s quiet. You’re not sure what to think. You’ve come across no one, yet you can feel them—feel the energy shuddering through the air, pressing into you like the throb of an open wound. Others like you—many of them. But one presence rises above all.

Pushing your mare forward, you guide her up the gentle rise. It doesn’t take long to reach the crest, where the world breaks open, and everything comes into view.

You’d like to think devastation and ruin had become a part of your life over time. That being in a union with death itself had exposed you to such things. But looking at what lies before you now, you see how little that truly was in the grand scheme of it all.

The raid must have struck before dawn, tearing the village from its sleep. Body after body, shape upon shape, all resembling people, lie at its edges. Smaller forms that are children. Frail ones that are elderly. It didn’t matter if they ran. They were cut down.

And those still alive flee from the fire that led you here. It burns in scattered pockets, forcing the survivors in every direction—but the assailants don’t let them get far.

You take it all in, the calamity, the loss.

But above all else, there is the sound.

The blaze hisses and crackles, but that’s not what you hear. What you hear are the screams, the wailing, the shouting—all running together like the rush of a storm swallowing everything whole, growing louder, more numerous. Panicked.

Horrible guilt finds its way into your stomach, where it fists and settles.

You take a deep breath.

All the horrors you’ve experienced mean nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

Beneath you, Ayana fidgets, ears pricked. She must sense it too—this violence. But you can't stay here. You need to get down there. Have to.

Reins in hand, you straighten in the saddle and reach for your leather gloves. Some half-buried-alive instinct knocks inside your chest, a warning telling you that this will be brutal. One tug, and the first glove slips free. The second one follows just as quickly, and you push them inside your obi.

No turning back now.

Blood surges, pounding through your veins as you nudge your mare and descend the hill toward the fire.

At first, the ground is easy to traverse—flat and grassy, scorched only where tiny embers have drifted. But as you draw closer, the soil turns uneven, scarred. You guide Ayana through the wreckage of abandoned lives—broken oxcarts, scattered belongings, straw sandals, clothing, things left behind.

Across your path, a gust of wind sweeps through, carrying with it a thick plume of smoke. Cinders float down, soft as snow, tangling in your hair, clinging to your lips, streaking your cheeks. Your eyes burn. You pull the fabric from around your neck, tightening it over your nose, warding off the fetid air and burned flesh.

It stings.

You squint against it.

Just ahead, the first line of bodies rise up from the earth, grey with soot. They lie where they fell, lie with eyes wide, mouths open to circling crows and falling ash. And pressed among them, a child curls in on themselves, arrows sprouting from their tiny frame, small hands outstretched toward the figure beside them, as if reaching for comfort in their final moments.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped there until a blink clears a bit of smoke from your vision.

Numb. You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And yet—disgust, blind rage, hatred—each emotion wedges itself deep in your throat. Sick. Stomach-in-your-throat sick.

You swallow them.

You have to.

There will be time for those later.

In the distance, through the haze, the living flees in every direction. They run, stumble, fall—only to be dragged down by the snare of chaos. You move toward it, urging Ayana into a faster gallop, her hooves tearing into the earth in time with the hammering of your pulse.  

Closer, and the inferno blazes hotter.  

Closer, and more traces of what lies ahead come into view.  

Closer, and down your spine, a searing of energy.  

Sukuna’s presence tightens around you—he’s fighting in this writhing mass of life. But you steer away from where you think he might be, angling toward the north end of the village instead.  

Get in, get out. Usher as many to safety as you can.  

Simple.  

Hopefully.  

But maybe you’ll die here.  

Your hands tighten around the reins.  

But let’s try not to, okay?  

Gaining speed, you tuck in close to Ayana’s neck, her silver mane lashing against your cheek. She’s tense beneath you, muscles coiled, stride steady. Your heartbeat roars inside your ears.  

Closer.  

The screams swell.  

Closer. 

The splintering of wood groans under heat. 

Closer.  

You barrel into another layer of thick smoke, tunnel through and burst out the other side.

The village snaps into view.  

So do the assaulters. Their clothing, their insignias, barely visible through the haze but you see it. 

Heian-kyō and��  

Zen’in.

Bastards.

“Rider!” A voice cuts through the melee.  

Your head jerks to the sound just as a dozen eyes snap toward you.  

For a beat, there’s confusion. Feet scuffle. A clang. The glint of weapons.  

You yank Ayana left, then right, weight shifting, hooves striking, weaving tight arcs around fallen beams and bodies. You drive her toward a narrow break in the wreckage—a clear path to relative safety.

But a man steps out from behind the ribs of a collapsed home, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

He releases.

Whoosh.

You throw yourself low into the saddle, making yourself small as it streaks past your head.

Your breath snags. You twist—just in time to see it quivering in the dirt behind you.

Fuck. Too close.

“Kill her!” A command from somewhere in the fray.

Squeezing your thighs, you yank hard on the reins, wheeling Ayana around the archer. But stance widening, he moves with you, grin sharp, nocking a second time.

Your pulse pounds. His fingers tighten on the string—

He draws.

Aims.

Shit.

At this distance—

Under your fingertips, an ache flickers to life. You know what needs to be done.

“Come on, girl! Stretch your legs!”

Ayana’s breath heaves in the smoky air, but she pushes harder, galloping straight into his path—a smear of snowmelt against dust.

The archer squints into the cloudy morass, arrow set, wavering between you and the swarms of shifting bodies.

Seconds. That’s all you had. Seconds to reach him and end this.

You push harder.

The distance closes.

Tightens.

Collapses.

You make it, fingers shooting out, brushing the grip of his bow hand, right where it steadies the riser.

The arrow flies—

Misses.

Because by then, the decay has already started, crawling up from the point of contact, and his hand falters. Knees slamming into the dirt, he drops, and a satisfying shriek bursts from his chest.

Speeding away, you glance back just as the swelling overtakes him, his body tearing itself apart from within. It starts with the bones. Bursting through the skin, they erupt in a messy spray of blood and innards that uncoil like soggy plants to the ground. 

There’s a scream. Then silence.

For a heartbeat, everything stills. Your eyes search the area as the atmosphere shifts. Some of the surrounding men hesitate, a few peeling away, backing off instead of advancing.

Good.

You take it as your cue to move.

Skin humming with power, you tear down the empty, narrow path at full speed, forging your way to the north end with Ayana thundering beneath you. Anyone in your way—anyone attacking, butchering, skewering civilians—you touch. And it’s quick. An unsuspecting graze, a skim of a finger at the back of a neck as you streak past, so light and gentle you almost wish it wasn’t.

Still, they all die.

As they should.

Hooves drumming faster against the earth, teeth rattling, your body moving with your mare’s powerful gait, you break through the far end of the village. The smoke thins, and near its edges, a cluster of frightened people picks their way through the wreckage, stumbling, confused and disoriented.

“I can help you!” you call, slowing beside them. But they shrink back, wary.

Understandable.

You pull the cloth loose from around your face, letting it hang at your neck as you wipe soot and sweat from your forehead and cheeks.

“Keep heading for the treeline,” you urge, lifting a hand to motion toward the forest. “I’ll hold anyone off.”

At least there, they’ll have cover to escape—instead of running into the open fields or back only to be slaughtered like animals. And if anyone follows them into the forest… then you’ll take it down with you. A last-ditch effort. Decay the area. Be the final pillar standing between them and their pursuers. But that’s if you can control it a second time the way the King of Curses dragged it from you.

“Back there.” An elderly woman steps forward, her face folded in distress, swathes of clothing soaked in blood, though it’s unclear if it’s hers or someone else’s. “Our men are still fighting.” She trails a trembling finger toward the village at your back, her voice tight with urgency. “Help them instead.”

Swallowing, you glance toward the treeline, then back to where she points toward the madness.

You hesitate.

The woman takes another step as if to urge you, her expression pleading despite the exhaustion weighing down her frame.

They’ll make it. They have to.

You exhale sharply, then pull the cloth back over your nose.

“Keep going!” you press, squeezing your thighs into Ayana. “I’ll help the others.” 

Get in. Get out.

Simple.

Nodding once to the staggering group, you urge your mare on, who streams forward, and you’re gone.

Fires still burn down the center of the village, their glow licking at the shifting ground. Bodies move in a tide, crashing and breaking over one another. Mounds of figures. Hills and dips of them. Still, you carve into the onslaught, right into the heart of the struggle, where ruined homes smoulder and the assault continues to bleed.

Under the fabric pressed across your face, the stench seeps in. You gag. Filth, blood, sweat, the shit and urine of frightened people all mingling together with the flames that sting your senses.

But you take it in.

The villagers wield whatever they could cobble together—crude spears, small blades—desperately trying to hold their ground. But it's a fight they're bound to lose.

Scanning the battlefield, you’ve never been in something like this before, never faced this kind of violence, and you’re unsure where to go first. There’s movement everywhere. Too many screams of grief and agony, overlapping with bodies dropping, open bones flashing, limbs mutilated, blood pouring to the earth.

It’s hell—a gaping pit of it. And you’re standing at the precipice.

That recklessness and stubborn bravery you felt earlier evaporate. And all you can do is watch.

Until you hear it.

A louder, broken cry rises, cutting above the crush. A girl’s scream. Visceral and raw, and dripping with terror.

Head snapping toward it, you shove your insecurities down your throat and move.

Veering left, you push Ayana forward. She’s already moving as fast as she can, but she’s starting to lag, her sides heaving, coat slick with sweat and grit. You won’t get there in time, not like this.

Leaning over your mare’s neck, you scan the shifting mass, peering above heads and weapons—then you see her. The girl. She’s young. A man in armour leathers nearly triple her size, drags her close to a half-fallen hut.

You need to get there.  

Now.  

“Oi!”  

Throwing yourself off Ayana, your feet slam into the dirt. Yanking off your covering, you give her a sharp smack to the hind. She whinnies, lurching forward, tearing away toward cover.

You run.

Shoving through the thickest of fighting, into grunting men, slipping between gaps, squeezing past sweaty bodies, you force your way through whatever space you can find.

“Leave her alone!”

The warrior doesn’t stop. His grip tightens. He yanks her close, dragging at her arm, jerking her off balance. Between glimpses of his broad, moving figure, you see her face.

Days later, you’ll still remember this moment, exactly how it felt when you saw her tear-streaked cheeks, her wide, bright, terrified eyes.

Sickness lumps in your belly. You know what’s about to happen and the thought alone drives you faster, legs burning, steps hammering into the earth.

I can make it.

You run for her.

“Stop it!” Your voice rises as you tear free from one cluster, just as two men crash across your path. You dart around them, weaving through the chaos—dodging people, dodging weapons, dodging a spasm of energy that erupts from nowhere.

Still, the man doesn’t stop, he continues. You can hear her sobs now, can see him crash a fist across her face, bloodying it.

“Don’t touch her!” you scream, barely paces away—when his right arm suddenly shoots sideways.  

He lets her go. And she falls.  

The girl crumples. Boneless. 

You freeze, heart stumbling. Take another step.

Too late.  

It’s only when you get close enough that you see the kaiken in his hand. The fine arc he carved through her delicate throat.

Your gaze drops.

There, in the dirt, her body arches violently, mouth agape, opening and closing around air that won’t come—because that slit spills too much red across her skin, choking each attempt.  

Your mouth trembles. And helpless, all you can do is watch.

Watch until finally, she goes still.

I’m sorry. 

So damn still.

I’m so sorry.

The man, his back still facing you, grunts in satisfaction. But you don’t hear him. You don’t acknowledge him. You just stare at the girl—perhaps only just reaching her twelfth year. Probably never seen anything beyond this village. Never to see anything more than this. Be anything more than this.

Fodder.

Something to be used and discarded, buried with the rest of this place.

And didn’t you know how that felt.

A cold, hard rage falls over you, a cleaving storm and sea of emotions.

You raise your eyes to him, and you use it.

Use the same anger that burned through you last night. Use the emotions that twisted inside when you saw the child, arrows jutting from their small body. Use the knowledge, the hate, the bitter understanding that the capital would unleash such cruelty on its own people just to destroy a monster they so desperately want to punish. Use every ounce of self-loathing you’ve let rot within, every lost dream, every life cut short, every sightless stare. Even the memory of that tiny life you took too soon, before it ever had the chance to open its eyes to the world to begin with.

Your hands lift.

That discolouration shudders down your forearms, spreading like fine cracks through fragile, broken glass. Energy throbs within—you try to wrangle it, breathe through it, control it. But even the small pieces of advice Sukuna gave you, to focus on breath, drains the moment the man turns, lifting the small scales of his leathers to inspect them briefly before wiping the blood-slicked dagger across his uwa-obi. Then, he looks at you with greedy eyes and smiles.

Smiles.

He even spits out a laugh as if the thought of you fighting him is some tremendous joke. As if you are nothing more than a farce.

But being underestimated has its advantages. And if you die, you’ll die dragging him down with you.

“Stupid thing,” he huffs around his teeth, nudging his head toward the girl, and your eyes shoot down to her lifeless body. “You want to end up like that, do you?” 

At his words, your throat closes—your failure staring right back at you.

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a seed grows, and a wicked flower takes root.

A pause.

You lift your head.

An animal, when cornered, will not hesitate to attack.

You don’t feel your body as your mind is lost to outrage, and you lunge. Screaming.

In seconds, you're on him, fingers darting for his weapon hand, the only part of him not covered.

“Ugly little scab,” he hisses, barreling forward, an enormous, living wall of muscle and cloth. “I’ll put you in your fucking place!”

His elbow slams into your jaw.

The ground tips beneath you.

Your ears ring, head snapping sideways, the impact setting off a pulse that throbs like a second heartbeat.

Groaning, you stumble back, the taste of iron pooling in your mouth. Blinking against the pain, you lift your head, expressionless. He makes no move for his weapon. Instead, his fingers curl inward as if enjoying the thought of breaking you apart with his bare hands.

You won’t give him the satisfaction.

When you move again, you’re faster—unhindered by armour. Light on your feet, you reach him, your grip hooking around his wrist before sliding lower, tracing over his exposed fingers.

An intimate touch. Like holding hands.

His eyes snap downward, sneering at the gesture—then, confusion flickers across his face. Before he can react, he collapses into the dirt where he belongs.

You step back, watching him crumple, writhing pathetically in on himself.

Bending, you peel open his hand before his body deteriorates and the weapon is lost to his flesh.

“Thank you,” you say flatly, savouring his heaving breaths and wide eyes, watching as putrefaction spreads, splitting his skin like dry, cracked earth.

“I admire when big men like you make mistakes.”

Reaching into his spasming palm, you pluck the dagger free.

“And besides—” You straighten, giving him a humourless smile just as the pressure in his stomach swells, bloating like a pustule.

“Guess even a stupid thing like me can handle a small blade.”

Stepping away, you ignore the putrid implosion, revelling in his demise for a single heartbeat and turn, ready to launch yourself at the next assailant when—

Your entire world flips sideways.

The battlefield tilts. Sounds dim.

You topple weightless to the ground, the impact crashing into your chest.

You gasp, unable to breathe.

Looking up, you reorient yourself only to realize someone has tackled you from behind, the blood-slick terrain lying parallel to your eyes.

Rolling over, you peer up just as the assailant's foot slams into your ribs.

Agony screams its way through your torso. Breath punches past your lungs. You cough violently, clutching the retrieved blade tightly in your palm.

He attacks again, this time with a wakizashi raised.

Shit.

Move!

You fling yourself across slick, slipping through filth, heat, and corpses.

Clang!

Barely dodging the downward swing and low whine of the weapon, you scramble back, a rush of air hissing past your ear.

“Don’t kill her!”

What?

Your head snaps to the voice issuing the command. The order throws you off guard, but through the crowds you can’t find the source.

Head whipping back, and before the attacker advances, you dive forward on your stomach, stabbing blindly. The blade sinks into his shin, scraping bone. He shrieks. You push quickly to your knees, then feet, balancing on your toes to lay your fingertips on his exposed neck.

It’s enough.

On contact, you’re moving to the next opponent rapidly closing the distance and ducking under the blunt end of a polearm swinging for your chest.

He misses. You peel away.

But it doesn’t matter who comes at you after. Whether you’re bashed across the face, your movements turn slow and sluggish, whether you’re overpowered by someone larger than you, if you’re kneed in the stomach, screamed at, spat on, cut, stabbed, bludgeoned.

That’s fine.

You keep fighting.

Sinking low, you dodge the rebounding weapon. It slices past, wind brushing your cheek as you drop, diving for an ankle.

Touch—

Then you’re up again, and exhausted, you keep going.

Dodge.

Your hands grasp for any bit of skin.

Stab.

Stabbing to incapacitate.

Then touch—they die.

Over and over, again and again.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Across the center of the village, clambering over bodies and shallow pits of fire you move. It’s not elegant nor is it graceful, but the mindless rhythm is carving its way into you.

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

At this point, you don’t even know your own name, let alone what you’re doing. All you’re dimly aware of is the next fucking bastard hurtling at you then—

Dodge. Stab. Touch. Die.

Often not in that order. Sometimes, you’re beaten to the upper hand, and some part of your body pays the price.

Still.

Bruised, broken, reshaped. Madness takes over.

Now, you’re screaming, eyes glazed, barely registering your surroundings—the dwindling attackers, the villagers fighting beside you. But then, you’re panting, and it doesn’t take long to notice a group of men breaking away, surrounding you in a tight barricade.

Six. Seven. Ten. Fifteen of them.

Tension winds into your belly in thick, pulsing waves.

A snake pit.

Breaths heaving, you cock your head, surveying the circle closing in. They know, and you know that you’re cornered. So, there’s only one way out of this.

Gaze flicking downward, you search across the ground until you spot a little patch of green. Your eyes snap back up, meeting the faces encircling you. The men are quiet, and silence deepens—then shatters all at once.

“Take her!”

The shout is nearly swallowed by the flames eating the morning air. But you hear it. Again, not kill her. Not end her. Take her.  

As in, capture?

When they advance, they move as one, surging forward, eyes alight with a wild intensity to bring you down. 

But you don’t move. You wait. And you count. 

Three.  

Let them come.

Two.  

Let them get closer. 

One.  

Only when they’re just out of reach do you toss the blade aside and drop, graceless, to the ground—one knee slamming hard. Someone shouts a warning, but your palms are already hitting the grass, fingers pressing into sharp, tiny blades, massaging in deep.

You breathe, hoping this will work a second time.

Please let this work a second time.

Then release.  

The rot spreads.  

Snaking out in choppy directions, it clambers away from you, the stain spreading and reaching onto feet and up legs, eating its way through to touch skin.  

The first few fall, the decay crawling over them, hungry, expanding in messy tendrils. Flesh blackens, stiffens, and flakes apart in fatty layers. Some collapse instantly, their legs rotting to brittle husks. Others stagger, bodies twisting as the sickness chews through them piece by raw piece.

But it’s inconsistent.

Sluggish in places. Fast in others.

It leaps between targets, missing some entirely, leaving patches of untouched ground even as others dissolve into the dirt. Your breath turns shallow. Last night, it felt controlled, this time, it writhes as something undisciplined.

Then it slows, and it stops.

And one of them slips through.

Shit.

A man on the outer edge barely escapes the rot, his leg dangling—half-consumed, eaten up to the thigh—yet he’s still moving. His face tightens with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he staggers toward you, dragging the ruined limb behind.

His blade swings up.

You lurch back, scrambling to stand, but somehow he’s faster. He swings—not to cut, but to strike.

Take her.

The flat of his katana whips against your collarbone, the shock rattling through to the marrow and roots of your teeth.

Pain erupts as he steps in, aiming to wrestle you down as his hand snatches at your wrist, grip tight and bruising. He wrenches you toward him. Too tired, you reel, sucking in a breath, but before he can force you to the ground, a polearm ruptures through his abdomen, making him choke on a wet scream.

You freeze, peering up just as one of the surviving villagers steps into view, gripping the weapon. With a sharp thrust of his leg, he kicks the body free, letting it slump to the ground.

Right.

You push to your feet, legs wobbly, body awash in sweat. 

You’d forgotten about the others—too caught in what seemed like crazed bloodlust, teetering on the pinnacle of something you’d never quite felt before.

Swallowing, you scan them. A handful remain, panting, recovering, their garments stiff with gore, the ground at your feet crowded with Heian-kyō and Zen’in corpses.

“Thank you,” you rasp to the spearman. He steps back with a gentle nod, the staff of his weapon resting on the ground.

“There’s more.” You gesture over your shoulder before turning. “Others. They’re all converging at—” Ragged breaths seize your lungs. “At the edge of the forest. I’ll take you there.”

You hesitate just long enough to ensure they follow, then step away.

But you barely take another step before the low thunk of wet flesh hits your ears, followed by a gurgling cry.

You turn.

“No, no, no.” You catch the man who had just protected you by the edges of his garment. He was only walking paces behind; now an arrow sits lodged in his throat, the trembling shaft and tip sticking out the back of his neck.

With his strength falling away, he staggers closer, mouth opening and closing as blood streams across his chin. Your brow furrows, he goes limp, head lolling onto your shoulder.

As your knees bend, dipping with his weight, you try to ease him off gently, but there’s a loud cry. Somebody shouts.

A sound follows. Whistling, from above.

You look up.

The sky shudders, as if a thousand, tiny wings are beating at once.

Feathers. Bamboo shafts.

Arrows.

A wall of them.

They arc overhead, blotting out the smoke—falling faster than air should be able to carry them. And they’re all aimed at the remaining survivors.

At that moment, you can’t breathe.

Or move.

For long, foolish seconds, you can only stare.

Panic in every corner of your being.

And that’s when everyone around you starts to run.

Someone crashes into you, sending you and the dying man sprawling forward. The ground rushes up, and you slam into it, the body following.

Left and right. Feet suddenly pound, running while the earth trembles and clatters with the hail of arrows. Panicked villagers surge to outrun the onslaught, and that’s when the first body topples onto you.

It starts small.

And it only gets worse.

Muscles burning, you fight to your stomach and try to drag yourself free, but more weight collapses on top. A glance over your shoulder reveals someone struck down, lying across your back. Dead weight.

Then, another one joins.

And another.

And another.

That’s when you realize—

They’re being picked off, one by one, and falling into a growing pile that is slowly burying you.

Urgency crashes over you.

Get up, get up, get up!

You struggle forward, but the crush of them, the panic of those still running, only fuels the desperate need to get away.

And you can’t blame them. They’re so close to surviving this.

Were.

A groan tears from your chest, the weight, the sheer mass of limbs and torsos pressing in. It thickens and suffocates until you are no longer just yourself but a mound of dead flesh, an organism swallowing the earth.

You curl in, shielding your face.

Crack, as more weight slams into the heap. The light begins to dim, like the sun is setting.

Cold understanding climbs through you.

This is it. Buried alive.

You consider screaming for help. But who would hear you under here? Anyone?

Inside your head, a voice laughs. Laughs at the woman who caused this. Allowed this. Helped put these people in the line of fire, turning this place into what it is. And now, she’s trapped beneath it.

Funny.

Crack!

Eyes squeezed shut, you listen as the sound of arrows striking flesh pulls down more bodies. Cries surround you. Then go silent. Somewhere at the top of the pile, someone is begging. For what, you’re not sure, only that it’s a faint, trembling please.

Fingers raw and digging into the dirt, you claw toward the last, faint sliver of light threading through the tangled mess of cloth and cooling skin.

But another corpse drops, sealing it shut.

You still.

Gone is the flicker of fire on the other side. Gone are your stilted movements. Your escape.

It’s all gone.

So dark. 

* * * * *

Silk and light and warmth. Open air and softly pressing bodies. Shifting robes and summer on the wind.

Comfort.

You stand in the middle of the market, your mother holding your smaller hand in one and Yuna’s in the other.

Around you, the world is a riot of different senses—stalls lined with bolts of dyed fabric, hues bright in the hot sun; baskets of fat persimmons and plums piled high beside earthenware jars of thick pickled roots. Your tongue coats itself with saliva at the thought of their stickiness.

From somewhere deeper within the market, an instrument twangs, the rich sound met by the brighter clatter of a drum. Above it all, a singer’s voice floats, laughter peeling away from a gathered crowd watching a performer twirl a fan between skillful fingers.

Your eyes sit wide open, taking it all in, and eagerly you move through it.

“Whose turn is it to decide what we bring home?” your mother asks, squeezing your hand gently in hers.

At five years old, you’ve come to treasure these monthly outings—a simple ritual where you or Yuna get to pick a small delight to bring back to the Kasai compound. This time, it’s your turn. And your sights are set on sticky rice cakes wrapped in fragrant leaves or thin wafers dipped in sweet syrup.

“Me,” you announce proudly, flashing her a beaming smile. “It’s my turn.”

Above, your mother’s lip curves, and she winks, making your cheeks puff up before laughter breaks free.

“To the vendor with the sweets, then!” she declares, swinging you forward—then repeating the motion with Yuna, who lands with a giggle.

Back and forth you go, propelled by her hands, making a spectacle when really the three of you should be practicing the artistry of decorum.

But your father isn’t here.

So what use are manners and politeness when it’s just the three of you? No commands to follow today. No strict rules. No yelling.

Weaving your way through the narrow stalls, their vibrant colours blur past until your mother gently guides you both toward a section where the air is soaked with the scent of sweetness. Too short to see above the crowd and over the cloth-draped stall in front, you glance at your mother instead.

“Are we here?” you whisper, voice quiet as you look up. “I’m pretty sure I smell it.”

“Me too,” Yuna nods in agreement.

Your mother slips her hands from yours, crouching low, her elegant kimono rippling at her sides as she meets your gaze.

You always believed she was some kind of goddess. That feeling never went away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” she says, tapping a finger lightly to the top of your nose. You scrunch it up immediately, earning another small smile. “We’ve arrived.”

“We’ve arrived!” you and your sister chime together.

Grinning, your mother rises to her full height.

“I’ll be a moment.” She nods toward the vendor. “Why don’t the two of you look around and see if there’s anything new.”

Turning, she considers the selection above, head tilting thoughtfully as she studies the offerings. 

Yuna shifts beside you, and you feel her lean in.

“So,” she says, eyes bright. “Are you going to eat yours right away like last time?”

You look at her, thinking—but deep down, you already know the answer.

“It’s too good not to have right away. All that tasty, yummy stuff.” You end your declaration with a confident nod.

Yuna smiles.

Eyes wandering past her, they land on a basket filled with trinkets. Among them rests a small glass bead—like a seed, the kind kept hidden away in a pouch.

“You know what that says about you, right?” she comments, and your eyes pull back as she steps closer.

“That I enjoy eating sweets?”

“No.” She shakes her head, eyes falling to where your gaze was. “That you’re impulsive.”

Impulsive.

The word feels too big, something far beyond just sweets.

“What does that mean?” you ask quietly.

Yuna huffs, but it’s not out of exasperation.

“You always eat it right away. Like you’re afraid it’ll disappear.”

You blink at her.

“Is that bad?”

She tilts her head, staring at you like she’s discovering something new.

“Not always.” There’s a pause, a consideration. “But sometimes, it means you don’t stop to think. You just… take.”

Your gaze dances back to the bead.

“And that’s… bad?”

From the corner of your eye, her smile widens.

“Not if you take the right thing.”

She sidles closer, the tips of her toes peeking out from beneath her kimono to brush against the stall.

“I dare you to take it,” she whispers, raising a finger to point at the delicate gem you’ve been eyeing. Light catches in it—soft, smooth surface refracting into a thousand shifting colours.

You frown down at Yuna’s hand.

“I’m not so sure,” you mutter.

Her smile rises, and her cheeks swell.

“It’s not stealing if no one notices,” she offers with a shrug.  

Your gaze flickers caught between—bead, finger, face.

“But what if I get caught?” 

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand moves, reaching out, fingers circling lightly around yours, warm and steady. She leans in, eyes shining.

“Don’t worry.” Her voice is soft but certain, like she’s declaring a truth you should already know. “I won’t let anything happen to you.

And then, right here, inside your head, you believe her.

Gods, do you.

Yuna has never been afraid of anything. Not the dark, not the stories of cursed spirits waiting in the woods, not even the screaming voice of your father when he was displeased. You’ve always admired that about her—the way she moves through the world like she already owns it.

And right now, she’s sure of this.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a traitorous itch you’ve felt lately. 

Tossing a quick glance at your mother, you see she’s still speaking with the vendor.

“Okay…”

Yuna exhales beside you, releasing her gentle grip.

Your eyes dart back to the bead glimmering under the market sun. It’s delicate, harmless.

I can do this.

Tapping a step forward, compelled, and the noise of the market dulls. Quiets. Only the soft vibrations of the bodies around you remain.

Tingles prickle into your face as your hand lifts.

Above the stall, a shadow moves.

You freeze and hesitate.

“It’s simple,” Yuna urges in a whisper.

The vendor shifts, reaching for something just behind the counter.

Pulse hammering at your ears, you push forward, eyes locked on the little, glinting gem.

She won’t let anything happen to me.

You smile.

Up, and your hand opens, fingers curving, brushing against the cool surface.

“There you go,” Yuna breathes. “Simple.”

You lift it free.

And it’s yours.

* * * * *

Sudden weight is dragged off you.

Light spills through.

You can breathe—suck in a breath. Deep, ragged, gasping. Smoke clogs your throat, burning on the way down. Dirty lungfuls, but still—air. Fucking air.

Squinting against the sudden glare through the gap in the pile of bodies, you look up. From where you lie, curled inward, a face looks down at you. A face with a smirk attached to it. A man’s face. Black hair. Dark grey eyes.

No.

“Look what I’ve found.”

Kaito Zen’in’s smile widens before his hands plunge into the tangle of corpses and wrench you free.

Body aching, you’re dragged out by the forearms, your feet stumbling over the villagers you tried—and failed—to save. Your gaze lingers on their faces until you’re steered away, pulled forward through the village, where the ground stretches ahead, muddy and exposed. No grass, nothing alive.

Kaito doesn’t release you until a ring of men closes in, encasing you. There are too many—more coming, more than before. A mix of Heian-kyō and Zen’in, all watching you like you’re missing something.

And something does feel wrong.

To your left, at the edge of the crowd, a horse’s loud whine hits your ears. Ayana. Through the bodies, you can see her light coat, the way she jerks and pulls against the reins, wild-eyed and skittish, fighting against a man’s grip.

Your lip twitches.

Resisting the urge to push through the group to get to her, you force your attention back to Kaito.

“What is this?” Meeting his stare, you roll your shoulders, trying to force life back into them after being crushed. “Need this many men to kill one woman and a village of innocents?”

That smirk of his stretches into an indulgent grin.

“No,” he says with a careless shrug. “We have no intention of killing you.”

So you say.

Eyes sweeping to the katana at his side, you notice his fingers hovering near the handle and the strange hum of energy rolling off it, something you hadn’t picked up on in your previous encounters.

“Then why are you here?” Your focus turns back to him. “If not for that?”

Zen’in doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a few steps forward, stares, then circles once before stopping in front of you. Tall. Muscular. Strong. Flawless. He’s built like a man you’d dearly love to punch in the face.

“You made quite the mess today,” he says, lifting a brow, ignoring your question as he gestures past the wall of onlookers—toward what can only be the rot and decay, the bodies you mutilated to get here. “Can’t say the men were thrilled about it. Like a little storm all on your own, one of pestilence and disease .”

He spits the last words out like they’re poison, and you fight back the dry laugh climbing up your throat.

“It was impressive,” he adds, idly tracing a fingertip along the weapon’s tsuba, caressing it like a lover. “A little sloppy, but still—impressive. Though—” He pauses, tilting his head. “I’d expect nothing less from the woman who stands at Ryomen Sukuna’s side.”

Teeth finding their way to the inside of your cheek, you bite down. It’s barely been hours since you separated, and already you feel pathetic. Just hearing his name presses a fresh wave of emotions through you. Raw ones. Painful ones. Yearning ones… Ones you wouldn’t mind letting go of. 

“I don’t stand at anyone’s side,” you mutter.

“Oh?” Zen’in lifts his head, giving you a haughty look. “What’s it been—two months? And already, there are marital issues? Did he not satisfy you enough? Or—” his gaze drags over you, slow and lecherous, “—was it the other way around?”

Scattered laughter breaks from the line of men, blasting past their throats.

Your lip curls. His grin grows.

“Are you speaking from experience?” you muse flatly.

“No,” he quips, “I have a son.”

As if that alone proves his worth. As if that alone proves anything.

“I wasn’t looking for you, you know,” Kaito continues, exhaling sharply as he smooths the front panels of his dark blue kimono, like this entire interaction has suddenly become an inconvenience. 

“Thought you’d be south, tucked away at his shrine. Yet here you stand—at the heart of all this.” He gestures lazily, hands spreading wide, presenting the carnage around you.

Behind, the fire crackles, its heat pressing in close. Sweat beads at your nape, sliding down to soak into your already-drenched garments, while a gritty breeze slouches through, stirring the smoke and pushing it into your lungs.

“Seems you have a way of finding trouble,” Zen’in smirks, but his eyes have changed, hardening above the curve of his mouth.

“And yet, it was you who came looking for me.”

At least, you assume they’re looking for you—or, at the very least, they want you for something. You’ve torn through both Heian-kyō and Zen’in forces, yet neither side has made any real effort to take you down.

“Ah, well.” Zen’in pauses. “Orders, you understand.”

And there it is. Orders.

“Whose orders?” You try to smile, try to defuse the growing unease making space in your gut. “I refuse to believe anyone would want me for anything.”

Stepping closer, his expression shifts, draining of all feeling.

You tense.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“The new head of the Kasai clan,” he says.

Few things could unsettle you after today's horrors, yet that—that gives you pause.

Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself.

Your father’s written words stumble through your head.

Eyes flicking discreetly over the crowd, your foot shifts back.

“You're lying.” You step away from Zen'in. “My clan is gone.”

“You think so, do you?” he drawls, before he turns, murmuring something to the nearby men, words you can’t hear, ones not meant for you.

He’s wrong. He’s lying. He has to be lying.

“No.” He prowls back. “The Kasai clan’s new leader was very particular about this request.”

Trust no one.

You don’t want to ask.

Trust yourself.

You shouldn’t ask.

Remember.

But your mouth forms the word anyway.

Remember your mother.

“Who?”

He merely smiles—a twitching, almost sad, belittling one.

“Your sister,” he says. “And now, you are wanted for crimes against the Kasai clan.”

World gone quiet. The bodies around you spinning. The only thing you hear in that sentence is sister.

Your sister.

My sister.

Yuna. The one constant in your life.

“That’s not possible.”

Not probable.

“Hm, I think it is.” 

“Then… this is a mistake.” You need to move. Pace. Your foot creeps back again.

Kaito’s grey eyes dart away, landing on the men who stand all too eager and poised. Every muscle in your body tightens at that look.

“You lazy bastards can move now.”

He glances back at you. Another smirk, a delighted one. His fingers wander to his katana, grip there he nudges his chin.

Your heart kicks faster.

“Take her,” he says flatly, then steps away.

Your heart drops. The horde moves.

All of them.

Loud and quick and arriving within seconds, they come with their hands.

Hands on you. Hands everywhere. Hands all over you.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you snarl just as someone jostles, then barrels into you from behind, sending you sprawling forward.

You thrash, but down here—on your knees, where the crowd towers over you—they’re too tall to see past, just like that day at the market. And for the briefest moment, you wonder what ever happened to that little glass bead? That harmless dare? But the thought crawls away as the swarm presses in, shoving you lower.

Your chest hits the mud. Your hands slam into the ground, fingernails scraping against cracked dirt as your lungs heave with the force. Someone wrenches your arms back until your shoulders strain, fire searing in their sockets.

“This is a mistake!” you rasp, cheek pressed against the cold. “My sister wouldn’t want this!”

She wouldn’t want this.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She—

The ground shifts as someone plants their feet on either side of you, they straddle your back, all their weight pressing down.

Ayana screams. You can’t see her, but you can hear her.

“Please!” You don’t mean to fucking beg, but it’s all you can think to say as more pressure crowds in, pinning you.

“Daughter of Lord Kasai.” A man from the capital steps forward. "You stand accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup."

“What?” Your brow creases, crumpling down, eyes stinging with a sense of betrayal.

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening.

You go to open your mouth to protest, but a piece of fabric, sweat-stained and salt-bitten, is pushed into your teeth. It’s tied there, the grip adjusted, and then there’s a pull. Your spine comes up into a painful arch. You try to scream, but the cloth strangles the cry. You try to crawl away, to twist, to fight—but your body shudders under the heavy weight.

And then something hums through the air. Sings like molten metal.

You still. Nostrils flaring, breaths hot and shallow around the gag. 

The men part, shifting back—as if whatever is coming, they don’t want to touch.

“Thus,” the man continues, “you shall be condemned as such.”

Lifting your head, you catch his gaze sliding right—to another figure stepping forward, hands gripping a long, narrow piece of metal that warps the air around it, heat curling in its wake.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

Your lungs won’t open. You can’t breathe. Terror, icy-toothed and razor sharp, it bleeds into every sense as the branding iron swims into view—its tip swollen and breathing fire.

A tear slides down your nose.

“Don’t do this!” Around the cloth comes the muffled demand. At the corners of your eyes, they sting.

“Open her palm.”

The suggestion comes from somewhere, and your right arm is wrenched back, fingers pried open, forced apart.

And you feel it. The heat of the blistering metal drawing closer and closer.

Panic ignites through the dark place you sink into. Toes digging into the dirt, you thrash. Push. Fight.

Useless.

She wouldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

She can’t.

Unseen prodding fingers. Energy moving around your neck. You barely notice the heavy disturbance in pressure brushing against you, until every hair along your spine lifts. And it’s gentle. Soothing. Behind the gag, your breath catches, eyes snapping to the left.

But you’re not ready for gentleness.

Some shameful part of you wants to look away, wanting to flinch at being handled like this, at being put in such a vulnerable position. So similar to last night. And yet, not.

Because a sick, twisted part of you knows—

He wouldn’t do this to you.

But that shame moves away, drowned out by the veritable fury pouring off the King of Curses in mouthfuls.

Before you, everything narrows. Somehow, the crowd has moved—legs have shifted, bodies have parted. He approaches like a fallen deity of death. Dark kimono slung low at his hips, blood drooling off him, that great trishula clinging to his back like a fifth limb. The iron still hovers, blistering hot at your back, and you fight against it, but your eyes stay locked on Sukuna, his on yours. His, nowhere else.

But behind him, a streak of something.

A smear of midnight blue tears through the smoke.

Your eyes strain.

Zen’in Kaito.

Unmistakable, even from here.

And he’s fast. Unnaturally so. Despite his katana being drawn and every line of his body swollen with motion, he doesn’t slow—not even when aiming straight for Sukuna’s head.

“Sukuna!” Your scream buries itself in the gag.

Zen’in’s weapon comes up.

The four-armed demon stops. Studies you. Moves.

Upper left hand shooting behind his back, fingers gripping the spear, he rips it free from his obi and turns. Fast.

Metal clashes. The impact thunders.

A burst of air throws back your hair as the shockwave washes over everything, extinguishing fires, tossing debris, rumbling the earth.

The two men break apart.

They surge together.

There’s a second violent sting when their weapons collide, recoil, then grind in a bone-rattling scrape.

Snarling, Sukuna’s massive body lurches. Zen’in is forced back, startled, off-balance, his feet skidding across the ground. His head swivels toward the men.

“Get her the fuck out of here!” he barks, levelling his katana to attack.

Useless on the ground, you can only look up. Around you, chaos erupts. Feet slam into the ground, orders fly. The seam that split the crowd earlier is stitched back up, blocking your view of Sukuna, but you can hear him fighting.

Tangled in combat with Kaito, the King of Curses snaps his head over his shoulder, his lower right hand swinging toward you.

Flick, and a rush sweeps over your head.

There’s a slash.

Hot liquid bursts across your spine, thick splatters spilling as the weight pinning you down disappears.

You move. Lifting yourself, you push to your knees, eyes locking on the freshly severed head and body beside you.

Another ripple distorts the air. You can’t see past the dirt and movement, but you hear Ayana rear back—then bolt.

Turning, you eye the man holding the branding iron straightening before you.

Gripping the gag in your mouth, you rip it free, drop it to the ground and spit.

You glare at him.

“I suppose you’re first,” you mutter.

You don’t give him time to prepare. You lunge for him.

But he’s not standing still, either.

Eyes following his movements, you avoid the burning metal as it’s swung toward you. Heat hissing, it hurtles downward.

The edge of your kimono sizzles as the iron catches it.

Shit.

Jerking back, you reset your stance, stepping away, and he comes with you.

The metal arcs.

This time the air around it hums loudly with the force.

Feinting, your feet take you left and right before rushing in. His arm lifts to block, but your fingers find his wrist.

It’s over.

With a single touch, you sever yourself from him.

The iron slips from his grasp and he collapses, knees buckling, folding inward.

Heart in your ears, you watch the way he crumples, scratching at his garment as if he could peel away his skin and scrape out the decay eating him alive. But this… this isn’t nearly as satisfying as watching the death of the brute who killed that young girl.

That had felt like something else entirely. Hunger. Hungry.

Hungry—to see him rot, to watch him wither and die. Hungry in your brain to witness more and—

“Are you injured?” A deep voice grinds out from behind.

Sukuna.

Tipping your head back, you catch his profile—his broad back to you, two left eyes peeking over his shoulder. You hadn’t noticed when he got so close.

“No. Just some bruising,” you mumble, peering past those red slits, noting that Zen’in is gone—but the others remain. “Surprisingly.”

You turn back to the man at your feet, now only a smearing pulp laced with bits of fabric. The branding iron meant for you lies nestled within the rotten entrails, its heat bubbling and sizzling the nearby flesh.

Behind you, the King of Curses massive frame expands, shoulders rolling as he takes a breath.

“Good,” he rumbles.

There’s a pause.

Slowly, though still encircled by twenty or thirty men, your heart begins to steady. And there’s only one reason for that.

You calm.

Inhale.

You can breathe again.

“Lord Sukuna.” Exhale. “Thank y—”

A sharp yank on your shoulder and Sukuna forces you to turn.

“Why the fuck are you here?” he growls, prowling close to hover over you. “I told you to leave. Not travel east.”

Lifting your chin, your eye twitches. You lack both the strength and the will to argue. Yet…

“You say that as if I ever listened to you,” you hiss, rising onto your toes.

“Tch.” His noise of disgust has you cocking your head. “Stubborn, vexing woman. I should have tied you to that damn beast of yours.” Then his lower eyes slide, falling to your lips. Staring. His upper pair follows. “Or put that mouth to better use, anything to shut it up.”

Your eyes trail away, scanning the men, seeking a distraction. Because the longer you look at him, the more distant important things become, like lies, betrayal, hurt or the fact that he sought to fucking kill you not too long ago.

Fortunately, the movement around you pulls your heads apart.

“Well,” you mumble as you both stand back to back. “You didn’t.”

Pressed against Sukuna’s wall of a body, warmth bleeds through your kimono. Slowly, you both move in sync, stepping in a slow circle, sizing up the assailants closing in.

“They intend to take me,” you observe, meeting the gaze of every gawking eye.

They wait.

You keep moving.

“I know,” Sukuna growls angrily.

You lift your hands. The discolouration at your fingertips shudders only slightly, barely hanging on to your energy. It feels exhausted.

“What about Zen’in?” Your arms drop. “Did you kill him?”

A pause at your back.

“He’s slinking around somewhere,” Sukuna mutters. “There’s stronger ones waiting nearby. These are just mindless pests here to bleed and waste my time.”

Mindless? Your eyes flicker to them as they close in, and your feet pull apart, stance widening.

“I know you. You could end this in a breath. So why are you holding back?”

Sukuna says nothing, but a prickle at your neck tells you he’s looking at you. You tip your head.

“Taking something immediately?” He flashes a grin and then turns away. “Tell me, where’s the enjoyment in that?”

Head moving back, you’re drained—so much so that you barely register the first attacker rushing in before he’s even on you, dragging up his weapon, purposeful in the way he holds it. Sneering, you lunge for the exposed skin of his neck, arm outstretched, fingers splayed—half praying, half hoping you’ll make it out of here or at least live long enough to witness the death of every last one of these fucking bastards.

Pulling yourself into striking distance, you’re almost—

Flick!

A tattooed wrist swings past your face.

Blood sprays, misting the air a ruddy pink. The man’s body cleaves into two wet pieces and collapses, lifeless. Dark red eats into the dirt. The first body of what you know will be many.

Sauntering next to you, Sukuna rolls his four shoulders loose, a cocky grin on his face.

“Do try to keep up,” he purrs, stabbing the trishula into the ground before diving in—grabbing bodies, dragging them toward him. Four arms make quick work of slaughter, snapping bones while slicing through flesh with a single swipe.

You exhale. Force yourself to move before hesitation becomes a mistake.

Then, suddenly—you’re in it, flinging yourself into the fray.

Sweeping over, under, and through the assailants—sidestepping, pivoting—circling Sukuna’s warpath, keeping your distance, unsure when or if you’ll be caught in his unseen slashes.

You hope not. He seems lost in the throes of war, moving fluidly, almost like a dance. But with his sheer bulk and extra limbs, it’s less a dance and more the embodiment of a storm gathering. Violent. Yet steady. Always steady.

Step—his arms tense, pinning wide open and reaching for his prey, muscles straining, shoulders bunching. Release.

Step.

Release. 

Distracted by the force that seems to draw everything toward him, you almost miss the sharp end of a spear thrust. But you dodge—in, then out—sinking to one knee. Though, more distracting is the exhaustion of your energy.

Sukuna slips past the wielder’s guard, flicks his wrist, and their weapon hand punches cleanly from their arm, leaving an opening.

You take it, and they collapse.

Gliding back mid-motion, your kimono shuddering around you, and passing another man you take him down.

Sukuna turns toward you, arching his slitted brow.

“What?”

You blink at him.

“Nothing,” he drawls lazily, smirking as he steps past another attacker. His fingers twitch—their body follows, separating the folds of their skin. He looks back at you. “Didn’t take you for the killing type. Interesting to finally see you move.”

Another rushes into your path, and you spin away, hand grazing their exposed wrist. A breath later, they’re on the ground, trying to scratch away the decay festering inside them.

Sukuna hums, watching.  

“Then again.” He steps over a fresh corpse, “maybe I was wrong.”  

A notch pulls at your brow, but there’s no time to argue. More bodies press in. You reach, touch, and they fall.

When you glance back, Sukuna’s still looking.  

“Stop staring at me,” you snap, shaking debris from your hand.  

His grin widens. And you know he’s enjoying this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Another flick—another body halves before hitting the dirt.  

Teeth gritting, you pivot, stepping into deeper carnage.  

Bodies crash around you, one after another, but your lungs burn. Your limbs drag. Overexertion has its limits, and it’s pulling you in fast.

Keep going...

Keep—

You stumble, take a step. But a beat later, you end up on your hands and knees, panting, holding your hands in front of you. The tips of your fingers now appear bare, that bruising colour gone.

Damn it. Sometimes, you hated not knowing how to wield this.

Tabi sandals squelch into the damp, blood-soaked earth as they enter your vision.

“Hmph.”

Sukuna’s disapproving stare burns into you, but you don’t look up, keep your eyes downcast, refusing to meet it. He lingers for a moment before sinking to his haunches.

“Here,” he grumbles, pushing a hand to your abdomen. “Breathe from here. Move the energy—” his fingers glide up your torso, over your neck, to your throat, then brush along your chin before pulling away, “—through your body.”

For so long, you’ve despised what lies dormant, so the thought of willingly bringing it out makes you hesitate.

“Observe it.” His voice turns calm as you inhale, feeling the air slip through your nose and exhaling to follow its path outward. Your awareness settles. You center yourself on the faint, skittering energy shivering at your core.

Resonance hums at your fingertips, a heady vibration crawling over your skin. When the vein-like tendrils return, snaking outward, you don’t shy away.

You touch it—grasp and pull.

It belongs to you anyway.

Swallowing, you dip your chin as your eyes trace his face. Sukuna’s mouth twitches. Centering a lower hand on your back, his others guide you up and under his arms. You move seamlessly—behind him, beside him—finishing off the attackers on the other side.

And just for a moment, a tiny fraction of a second, the two of you move in perfect balance.

Sukuna strikes, stuns, and severs while you weave between opponents, gliding through the path he carves, brushing fingertips against flesh.

And so quickly, so disconcertingly easy, you catch yourself enjoying this.

And you know he’s giving you these kills—that he can end it all in seconds. But he seems to be revelling in it, too. Watching from a distance as you slip in and out, winding through the carnage like a snake. Slower, likely than what he was probably used to, but still. You catch the corner of his mouth refusing to fall, and feel his gaze, like it was last night all over again.

But after so much time in this place, you come back to yourself, nearly forgetting the revelations.

Once everything quiets and standing amongst the packed bodies at your feet—all the gurgling flesh and sinew—you lift your gaze to the forest’s edge. Under the rough autumn canopy, a retinue of warriors linger, sitting in wait. Zen’in Kaito is among them, his fingers captured around the hilt of his katana.

This is your chance to slip away.

Not far, yet safely distanced, Ayana’s snowmelt coat gleams, untouched. Huffing in relief, you glance toward the King of Curses. His eyes find yours from where he stands across the battlefield, and for the second time, you turn away from him and leave.

There’s only one place you need to go—where your sister is. Because right now, you want answers. Was she in Heian-kyō? Or elsewhere? An uneasy feeling flutters in your stomach. Fear stealing its place in the spaces of uncertainty and unanswered questions.

The most glaring—why? Why do this?

Yuna never once expressed interest in leading your clan. Never. Her intentions were always to be free of it.

Freedom. Choices.

A mirroring of your own.

Passing through the burning remains of a hut, you’ve only just stepped beyond its flickering shadow when a surge of heat rushes up behind you.

Heavy feet. Agile body.  

You pivot, but there’s no time.

Hands push into you, driving you back until you stumble, your shoulders sinking into rough wood and your exhausted body pinned.  

The breath folds in your lungs. Red eyes catch yours.

Instinct bounds up your spine, your right hand shooting up—only for Sukuna to catch your wrist with his upper left hand, fingers clamping tight. His lower arms brace against your hips, holding you flush under the weight of him. At the line of your throat, his upper right hand hovers, two fingers nudging gently into your pulse.

A standoff. Sort of. You’re too drained to even think about fighting—least of all him.

Lifting your chin, you arch an eyebrow.

“This feels familiar,” you say softly, fingers flicking, just close enough to hover above his skin. “I thought we’d be done with this.”

Saying nothing, a muscle pulses in his jaw. For a long moment, neither of you move. The firelight shifts against his disfigured mask, catching on the grooves and ruts filled with soot and blood. His fingers remain at your throat, but there’s no killing intent behind them.

Because he won’t.

You know he can’t.

Because—

Exhaling sharply through his nose, his two fingers pull back, before his upper right arm falls away. Your hand relaxes in his grasp a heartbeat later.

“Going somewhere?” He holds your wrist, releasing his upper left hand but keeping the lower pair banded around your hips.

Your eyes trail downward, following the planes of his naked torso to the hold, the way his arms brace you against the burning structure at your back.

He’s covered in blood—and who knows what else—but as you stare, a rush of selfish needs stack one on top of the other. A need to unburden yourself after everything witnessed here today. The death under your hands; the death by your hands; the death by others. There’s a small, insignificant part of you that wants to step closer, slot yourself between the cage of his four arms, and rest your forehead there for comfort. Because somehow, he has become both your solace and your greatest anguish.

Stupid.

Grieving your failures is something you can do alone. And alone is how you feel right now.

You pull your eyes away from Sukuna. Then—he lets you go, stepping back so the cold takes the empty space of his body. Folding his upper pair of arms across his chest, he waits.

“I want answers,” you state, moving around him and walking toward Ayana, who has since trotted closer.

Mud, dirt, and char slide past your vision as you leave Ryomen Sukuna for the third time, his stare boring into your back. You swallow against it.

“If you’re running to your sister, you’re wholly unprepared for what’s coming.”

Your feet stop on their own. Down at the blood and dirt streaked hem of your hakama, you blink. For a moment, it’s as if the ground isn’t there at all.

“You know something.” You turn sharply, brow furrowing as you stalk back to him. “If you do, say it. Tell me. Because from my understanding my sister, the newly appointed head of the Kasai clan, has implicated me.”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. He only stares, contemplative.

Frustrated with his lack of response, you clench your teeth and turn away.

“Head back south.”

The words slam into your back. You whirl around.

“What?”

“Ride to the shrine.” His voice is eerily calm, as if this is a perfectly reasonable request after everything that happened in the dark, late hours of dawn.

You step toward him, mouth parting, a barb resting on the tip of your tongue ready to be hurled at him.

“I’ll prepare you for what’s coming. And in time, I’ll offer you the truth. If you're willing to hear it.”

Your mouth presses shut.

Truth? What truth? It’s so far gone from your sight—and his—you’re skeptical of anything he says.

The scoff that punches past your lips makes his mouth curve into a sneer.

“You’ve kept secrets from me this whole time, torn apart the north, shattered everything in your path just to claim what you want.” Among other atrocities. “I’m exhausted, Sukuna. Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you have any idea what just happened back there?” You stab a finger toward the village. “All I want is to sleep—for hours, days, months, years. To shut my eyes and think of nothing. Not you. Not anything. Nothing else. Ever.”

For whatever reason, his mouth parts from a sneer to a grin.

Hell.

Again, you turn. And again, you walk.

“You’re not safe.”

“And you think I’m any safer when I’m with you?”

Somehow, you’re back in his reach, snarling up at him. And you’re not even sure what kind of safety you mean—safety from danger or from that hollow space inside your chest.

“I won’t say it again.” Sukuna forces the words out as if it pains him. “You either take my offer, or you don—”  

“You fight me. Then fuck me,” you hiss, taking a step closer, your voice turning venomous. “Then—” He lifts his chin and looks down at you. “—you tell me to leave before sunrise. And I do.”  

His nostrils flare as you take another step so the fabric of his kimono, slung low at his hips, brushes against yours.  

“You save me, then fight with me. And now, all of a sudden, you want me to come back?”  

Heat gathers along your spine with the anger.  

“Do you even hear how pathetic you sound right no—”  

“You asked to be released from our union,” he snarls, grabbing the front panel of your kimono and bending until his face is level with yours.  

“I gave you what you wanted. So, don’t start whining about feeling rejected or confused when I’m not talking about human emotions.”

A sharp breath pushes through your nose as his four intimidating eyes sweep your face.

“What’s pulling us together now goes far beyond that.” He releases you abruptly, letting you stumble back on your heels.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spit, gathering yourself.

“If being an asshole keeps you from making another stupid mistake, then so be it.”

Silence settles between you.

You both stand there, quiet, but the fire crackles loudly.

Slowly, your anger drains into a simmer, and you huff, dragging a hand across your face, smearing soot and the sharp scent of copper.

“If this were to happen,” you mutter, disbelieving you’re even considering this. “I wouldn’t be returning as your wife.”

He blinks once.

“You never were,” he says, tilting his head. “It was only ever a title.”

There's a pause.

“Lies. Fabrications. Deceit. Names for things that never existed,” he adds lowly. “You were my property. That’s all it ever was.”

The unexpected amount of sharp emotions that moves through you forces your gaze away.

“I see...”

Property.

Sukuna steps closer, pushing two fingers under your chin and lifting it.

“But now…” he begins, jaw solid. “You can return… and leave and live as something else entirely. ”

Looking at him, you try to discern what he gains from this.

Anything? Everything? Nothing at all?

Quietly, you inhale.

“Prepare me?”

The King of Curses’ four eyes wander to your hands.

Ah. You flex them, curving them inward.

Do you need to be made stronger?

The thought seems foolish, a little arrogant. Because deep down, you’ve already decided—Yuna will listen to me. She’s your sister. If she did this, if she really did this, there has to be a reason. And when you find her, all of this will unravel. It will make sense.

Won’t it?

But another voice begs, What if you’re wrong?

Another one reminds you, You just had a branding iron held against you.

And the last screams, Today, you should have been stronger. You should have saved that girl.

You exhale sharply, shoving the guilt deep, burying it with the rest.

“It won’t take long.” Sukuna taps an impatient finger at the curve of your jaw. 

A decision waits, a choice. One you can only hope won’t curse you forever. 

“How long?”

“That depends on you, little snake,” he smirks, brushing his fingers away from your chin.

Grow stronger. Find Yuna. Uncover the truth.

Because surely, this is all just a misunderstanding.

Staring up at him, this beast before you, you give only a single nod.

“Good,” he hums, letting his gaze linger, as if marking a point of your decision. “I’ll remain here. Go.”

“Fine.” You pull away, striding toward Ayana and swinging into the saddle. Settled, you take the reins and ride alongside him.

“But just so you’re aware, this decision, my decision, erases nothing about what you’ve done to me.”

Above the King of Curses’ broad nose, a crease forms.

“That will never change.”

Nudging your mare, you turn her in a slow arc, pointing in a single direction.

Moving along the line of the first burning houses, you catch Sukuna from the edge of your vision. He follows at a distance, tracking you, keeping watch. Anyone who peels away advancing in your vicinity is instantly cut down.

Your chest gives a pull.

“Hopefully, this isn’t a mistake,” you murmur, picking up speed into a weightless gallop.

With your eyes on the King of Curses, you watch as he reaches for the spear at his back, his upper hands retrieving the formidable weapon before turning to face the broken village. Dragging yourself from his massive figure, you shift in the saddle, every part of your body aching as you begin the ride back the way you came.

Back south. Back to the shrine. And you tell yourself, it isn’t back to him.

🔗 Chapter 37

[weiward-gomi-blog]

TKDB EPISODE 13 SPOILER

(my thoughts + extra edit)

GURLLLL WE EATING!!

okay so this is my fav EP so far, and lol I thought the staff would go on hiatus after this but there's will be EP 14 next month.

I miss the trio!!! And is it me or Luca is starting to get tired of Kaito shit lol. I have not much to say about this EP cuz everything went so smoothly I'm in daze. I'm skipping talking about the anomaly, the mirror one intrigued me more.

Tohma is the best <3 at first he intimidate me but wow he's so reliable I'm getting heart eyes.

MC look so pretty with the dress and her reflection in the mirror 👀 hmm This version of Kyklos is pretty tame huh? She just look pretty covered in vine and flowers. Mina is here again too! Her sprite is so skinny? And the clothes is different than the first Kyklos we met. It's supposed to be white one piece isn't it? Why this one brown lol.

And ofc can't have Jin without him divorcing Tohma (for the nth time) FUCK YOU LEO I FUCKING HATE UR ASS (shoutout to Leo fans lol) His ass is so embarrassing 😭😭😭 he try so hard to blackmail ppl and Tohma just like 😐 kay.

More drama means more info ig 🙄 I'm surprised Tohma tell MC about the spy thing, it's progress that the ghouls trust you. And I see ppl on twt making fanart of this episode and all of them is so pretty and heart wrenching (the one fa w/ jiro and zenji 🥹)

And the ending ch, they finally teaming up about catching the spy like it's been a year already hello?? I hope next they reconcile and team up with mortkranken and sinostra. I seriously think Haku or Ed is the spy, like hear me out y'all.

Why Haku? Cuz he always watching ur ass he's conveniently there when ur about to break a rule (remember the train in EP 1?) AND HIS LINE ABOUT "Have I ever lied to you before?" BIG SUS MAN, this is either foreshadowing or a red herring. And why do I think it's Ed? He DGAF he subtle but he wants Anomalies to rule asap already lol. He's chilling cuz he knows he could just swipe all of them out but it's not fun that way is it?

Oh and more Mio mention in this EP, apparently his role is mechanic? Fixing up stuff in Darkwick Kaito mentioned his last name but I forgot which ch, I'll edit it in later. (It was Suzuhara Mio)

Extra: the commenters in my server is a great theorist. They theorize that there lots of marital symbol (Cathedral as MC place, Sage's ring as wedding ring, and lastly Kyklos as the flower bouquet.) Called it a demonic wedding, the idea that MC turning into an anomaly as a symbol of giving out the bouquet to the next girl to marry. And there's a ton of marriage proposal card as well. So like, MC marrying the ghoul as a symbolic way? (How many times did I say symbol...)

[argusthecat]

The storyline of Duskmourn is interesting to me, because it feels like it's struggling to contain multiple different plots, some of which the author didn't want to write. I don't want to really speculate wildly about corporate interference or forced changes or anything, but I do think I have an interesting way to take what to me feels like a story missing a spark, and fix at least a little of it.

Make Jace the main character.

Go with me on this odd journey.

In Duskmourn, a group of plucky adventurers that supposedly fit the tropes of horror movie characters are assembled and go into the house dimension to save Nashi. Nashi is there with a bunch of expendables chasing his mom's memory scroll thing, which has been stolen. Jace is also in the house, chasing Loot, who has been stolen. There's some side stories that are really really good.

A lot of this story doesn't work for me, but weirdly, I think it's because the story is trying to remind the audience of Magic in general that Jace exists and matters, while not actually leaning into his existence. And one simple change could put him (and Vraska please) front and center. Just take away the macguffin of Tamiyo's memory scroll, and make Loot the only macguffin that matters. Functionally they serve the same narrative purpose, so not much of the rest of the story actually needs to change.

You can even keep most of the characters the same! Jace can go looking for help retrieving his fuzzy son, and find that Tamiyo is dead, but meet Nashi in the process. Nashi volunteers to come with him, maybe planning to take revenge on Jace for the whole phyrexian thing, maybe just because he feels like he's lost without his mom around and remembers that old conversation with Ajani and wants to do something to help. This pulls in the wandering emperor, and also Kaito, her second best puppy dog who goes woof woof whenever she needs anything.

The whole thing would recontextualize the participation of Niv, and it would also open up a fucking hilarious conversation with Ral who has been stalking Jace this whole time and Jace just walks in and goes "yo, I need help with some doors, I know there's some bad blood but my fuzzy son is at risk, and soon everyone else will be too if we don't get moving". But that also means that bringing in Zimone and Tyvar and Niko can be more about finding people willing to trust Jace - or at least not care about his past - which adds another layer to them.

Pros to this solution : a main character. Having a protagonist isn't bad. Having a protagonist and pretending you don't is stupid, and that's what they're doing with Jace anyway. This fixes that. Also, Nashi doesn't get a bunch of people who love and support him killed before we even learn their names. Also Nashi doesn't appear to cold-bloodedly not give a shit about people who care about him so much they'd dive into a haunted house. Instead, Nashi gets agency, and can still have his own arc with the emperor where he learns to move past his mom's death and grow as a person on his own. Also, this sets up to more people that Loot is actually kinda important, and it lets them have Valgavoth be a big bad in a way that's different from all the other big bads in a fun way.

Cons. Some people don't like Jace. That's fine, these people can be given an outlet through Ral punching Jace. I think everyone kinda wants that a little bit.

[everythingblackblack]

I like the idea of Aoko having blue magic (sapphires and lapis lazuli, a summer sky, blue flowers, a pretty lake, bluebird of happiness).

Maybe Hakuba having yellow (he fits a gold aesthetic/is quite a sunshine character) or white magic (his name and he fits the symbolism around white well).

I'm not sure if I want Kaito to have black magic (break stereotypes with him being kind, shadowy powers, gentle like the night) or white magic (white sinner, guardian angel aesthetic, blank like a poker face or an artist's canvas). Maybe he's special because he has to opposite magics simulataneously.

First of all, I want to say that I love your idea very much.

Look, I had also thought of something similar, but not exactly in the color of one's magic.

But rather, in the idea that it would be great if Akako had a coven of witches, but since she doesn't get along with other witches, she decides to invite her friends (the ekoda gang). I like the idea of Akako subjecting them to a strange ritual to awaken their magical abilities.

In 1412 (only there, not in other media) it is mentioned that there are 4 magics. Blue, red, white and black magic.

We could base on that or not for the color of their magic, but I also love the idea of Hakuba having his golden magic aura, okay, let's leave it as a golden magic user because I imagine it and it looks cool.

Very dignified and awesome.

Imagine with me Hakuba using the powers of the sun or something like that.

Akako helping him get magic artifacts like theirs but from other cultures would be cool too.

Maybe saguru would have a knight outfit because in Europe they had middle age in the past?

I really agree with Aoko with blue magic! But funnily enough I can't help but imagine her as a fairy, but very much in the style of a fairy godmother who takes care of princesses.

In Kaito's case, I really like the idea of him using dark magic, but you really bought me with the idea of him being “a protective angel”.

THEN I PROPOSE YOU SOMETHING.

Kaito's magic is based on illusions, maybe he wants to look angelic and even puts on angel wings to give that effect.

The color of his magic we leave it as purple, because it means mystery, but Akako could teach him to deceive others and in the end it really seems that he doesn't have a fixed color because he is able to change the color.

As an extra I propose Kazuha and keiko as green witches, and Hattori as Akako's apprentice because I think it's funny.

[apollowhoo]

Greetingsssssssssssss!! I was wondering if I could some headcanons for (Dangan) Kazuichi, Leon and Kaito with a little brother reader? I kinda just wanted reader to be going through one of *those* days, and the boys are just trying to make then feel better. (It'd nice if you could include cuddling and use he/him Pronouns ^^)

(Like…I didn’t understand if you wanted them together or separate. So i just wrote them all separately, i really hope i got it right, if i didn’t PLEASE tell me)

Male!Little Brother!Reader x Kazuichi Soda, Leon Kuwata, Kaito Momota (SEPARATE)

Kazuichi Soda

Ngl i feel like he wouldn’t notice your gloomy mood immediately but when Kazuichi does notices it, he would IMMEDIATELY go into action.

He's determined to cheer you up and tries doing anything he can to distract you from your troubles.

Kazuichi is a great listener, so firstly if you feel like talking about what's bothering you, he’d listen to you for hours and he would give you a word of advise.

Then he’d offer you to to fix or build something together. It’s his passion and he thinks that you would enjoy it or better, it would help take your mind off things. If you get bored or get tired of making repairs, he’d suggest a cozy movie night!! He would set up a blanket fort and cuddles with you while watching terribly made movies that are somehow funny. His purpose is to make you laugh though:)

Leon Kuwata

Leon will notices your mood immediately and just takes you outside to play some sports. He’d encourages you to let loose and have fun. Leon wouldn’t care if you're not good at sports; he just wants you to cheer up a little.

Afterward, Leon would take you for ice cream. Both of you would walk around the park and then Leon would finally would ask you what was bothering you.

Back at home, you’d be exhausted from being outside all day! Leon does understand this and allows you to rest.

Kaito Momota

Kaito's first instinct is to give you a big, warm hug. He wraps his arms around you, assuring you that everything will be alright.

To lighten your mood, he would suggests a game night! He can’t think of any other way to make a child feel better. You two play video games together, and Kaito makes silly little jokes creating a lighthearted atmosphere.

Kaito would also tells his own failure stories in attempt to make you laugh. Which doesn’t really work out so he just apologizes.😭

As the day comes to an end, Kaito would offer to stargaze with you!! He brings blankets outside and shows you the constellations, sharing their stories and encouraging you to dream big. You lie down with Kaito, feeling comforted by the peacefulness of the night sky.

That’s all sooooo byeeeee:>>

[meimi-haneoka]

This is completely, completely random, but I think what drives me utterly insane with feels in Clear Card Arc is how in the end the love Kaito got for Akiho proved to be stronger than his own self-loathing, stronger than his depression and stronger than the complete disregard for his life.

I won't use the heavy word that starts with "s", but the depiction of Kaito's state of mind might remind of that, and I would've never imagined CLAMP would depict that in CCS.

👇

Back at the Fake Moon, he was so lost and had hit rock bottom so hard that he was ready to let himself rot in that cage for eternity, without even the mercy of death but at the same time not being able to live either.

Forever condemned to be reminded every single waking moment of all his mistakes and what he lost in exchange for fixing them.

All of this, in a shape that deprived him completely of his human dignity.

They found him sleeping, because only sleep could alleviate some of that torment.

And even when Sakura with her immense empathy miraculously recognized Akiho's most important person in him, and freed him, he refused to come out of that frigging prison he imposed on himself.

Not even Sakura spelling out in front of him "Akiho had a special person and that was you" could convince him to move his ass out of there.

It's only when he saw her, heard her say those things with her very own voice, and then saw her putting herself in danger for his sake, that he finally moved.

His love for her, his will to protect her was stronger than his will to let himself rot away.

Stronger than the monster that was eating his sanity away from the inside.

I can't help but get moved to tears thinking about this depiction of how the love for your most important person can save you from depression.

It might not be for yourself at first, but you gotta start from somewhere. Something must give you the "fuel" to keep fighting those demons inside and overthrow them.

A love as strong as that one can do it, it can be that "fuel".

Then everything else can come afterwards. Like a newfound self-worth to learn to live again.

Kaito was so convinced he didn't deserve to live a life out there, he was so sure that it was over for him, forgotten by everything and everyone...but when he heard from Akiho how important he was to her, that changed everything, and he managed to find the strength in himself to go back to her.

It wasn't certainly easy for him, even as a dragon you can see how much he's suffering while he's literally dragging himself out of despair's chokehold, to go back to her. But he did it. For her.

Love defeating death, basically.

And all of this was possible thanks to Sakura's immense empathy and compassion. How she made possible for those two to reunite and let Akiho's love pull Kaito towards life.

Cause Sakura certainly made him go back to his original appearance, and then saved him in other ways, but without Kaito's consent and effort, that last, painful "okay" said with the eyes of the dragon, things would've been very different.

And Kaito came back only because he felt the pull of Akiho's love and the one of his love for her.

Sometimes I wonder if people really realize how huge that is, and what heavy, extremely heavy thematics were addressed in Clear Card, with the subtlety and sensitivity that the topic and target audience required. I wonder if there are people who related to Kaito's behavior in the story, and felt comforted by seeing what happened in the climax.

[thebladeblaster]

Finally more information on my Zexal isekai idea

Last time:

Changes:

-Infernoble knights are too good so Aichi is using normal ole Noble Knights 😅

More details!

First off decks for all six of the poor isekaiers that have to deal with the Six Demon Numbers

Aichi-Noble Knights

Kai-Dragon Ruler

Kamui-Super Quantum

Misaki-Bujin

Chris-Fire Fist (It was that or Zoodiac and there’s no way in hell he’s getting Zoodiac)

Ren-Ignoble Knights

I might add a few cards to their decks of new stuff is released or I think of new stuff between now and writing it .

The Six Demon Numbers (SDN)

Note: When I say “the Barians” I mean Vector😅. Vector is putting them through this.

Vector + Void team up = bad time for everyone

Overall, I was very vague with this originally because I hadn’t thought up much about them besides them essentially compelling the hosts to help the Barians. I’ve decided to make it a bit more unique by making it similar to Dirriding AKA the coolest concept in G. Essentially when the SDNs are in control it’s more like a full on possession rather than just influencing them. On top of that similarly to Diffriding if they lose 3 times then the number goes. However, they can be snapped out of it by one loss. Aichi and Kai are still the ones at the start who aren’t possessed.

I was thinking that if they do lose the SDN that they would end up back on their Earth. Essentially like how if they lose on Cray they’re sent back. Because it is that. If they lose there they can’t get back to Cray. However, since it’s connected to the SDNs it’s tied to the individual’s losses rather than the team.

However, even when not possessed things aren’t exactly peachy 😅. Their told that if they do get the numbers for the Barians that they will be sent back to Cray and they actually mean it. This becomes very complicated due to forming bonds with the Zexal gang.

They are of course also on a time crunch because Cray is wearing away more and more and they have to get back before it infects Earth. Also, little does anyone though that the Void is getting more than they think out of their little arrangement. It’s influence is able to enter the Zexal universe after its first contact while back on Earth the distortion in the timeline caused by the isekai is causing Jammers to appear in both worlds.

The SDNs are partly influenced by both the Void and Barian power which is how they have their special properties. The game plan is to force both their enemies to destroy each other.

Other Plot Stuff

The story will check out what’s going on in the Vanguard world from time to time. The isekaiers friends are looking for them and the finals to the Asia Circuit is delayed. Ultra Rare is trying to find Takuto to try to fix the situation.

Takuto is being kept deep in Barian World and they will give him back if the isekaiers do what they want. Then Takuto would take them back. Of course the isekaiers don’t know that they have Takuto or even where he is 😅.

Team Dreadnought is wandering around watching things. Considering they know that the Void is going to destroy their world Leon reasons that they could just stay in the Zexal world. Jillian and Sharlene aren’t very happy but there isn’t much they can do😅.

Aichi finds himself talking to #5 a bit. The numbers kinda make Psyqualia flare up. As you guess #5 is indeed the worst and basically just trying to gaslight Aichi into believing that the Zexal cast is their enemy. I mean Kaito doesn’t help😅…Yeah, when Aichi first wakes up it’s near Kaito who is doing what he does to people with numbers.

You can’t blame Aichi for thinking Kaito’s bad guy when he sees this. This causes a chain reaction of other Zexal cast members battling him thinking that he’s the enemy 😅. Poor blorbo.

On the bright side he gets some bonding time with Kai because he’s the first person he finds and Kai quickly realizes that Aichi cannot care for himself so is forced to look after Aichi😅. All he really needed to see is that Aichi can’t cook at all and is just eating whatever is cheapest, can’t balance a budget, or do other stuff and is like “okay he needs intervention”.

[infolane]

ARC V MONTH DAY 11: Legacy For the Future

@arcvmonth

Nothing much today, just a bit of dialogue between Zarc and Ray about the ones being brought from a different universe into a new world...

Words on the screen, from your friend.

funfareomens: So, what are they called?

Your companions, that’s what he’s talking about. Unlike him, you don’t have the convenience of names being already attached to them, like his cards.

unnaturalmoirai: It’s easier if I show them, hm? I’m sure you’ll understand why they are the best equipped to inherit this world.

The two of you talk about that often. What would you do to fix this world? He shares with you the painful shards in your chest that made you aware that there is no fixing this mess... But if it all could restart, come back from ashes...

It would be nice, right?

Of course, it would be pointless if you just gave the world back to humans. To selfish, cowardly, bloodthirsty humans. No, if everything were to restart, it would have to be trusted to things not corrupted by humanity, things from another universe, a bridge between the hopes of this place and the newly reborn universe.

First comes the statuette of an angel.

unnaturalmoirai: Her name is Asuka. Sociable and all around good, she’ll be a voice of right even when the world naturally gets bent out of shape.

funfareomens: She does look pretty capable! 

unnaturalmoirai: She’s got to be. I’m sure everyone will love her, when the time comes.

Next up, the radio, with the coordinates stuck to the back in tape. You’ve checked those- middle of the ocean. You never did figure out why they were there, but by choosing him, you decided to give this a meaning.

unnaturalmoirai: Edo. He’s special and hard-working. Out of everyone, he is the most magical, too.

funfareomens: Do you think your dad will understand this?

unnaturalmoirai: No.

unnaturalmoirai: But as long as he keeps chasing my shadow, he’ll learn. I believe in him! And I believe in my friends, too. It’s all going to fit together and people will smile for it.

It isn’t that you think utopia is possible. Stars in the sky are unreachable, too, but their light makes all paths more worth taking, even in the dark.

A wind up bike is next. Plastic,a children’s toy.

unnaturalmoirai: Jack Atlas. He’s a bit kooky, but that whimsy will be loved too. I want him to bring people together...

funfareomens: People these days only join each other for brutal spectacles. That’s a big task you are putting on him...

unnaturalmoirai: No bigger than the ones you are giving your dragons.

unnaturalmoirai: He’ll be king. He’ll bring people together. And he won’t be alone, especially because of Crow.

A bundle of black feathers, tied together with red thread.

unnaturalmoirai: If Jack is to see the world from above, then Crow will look rom below.

funfareomens: Isn’t if weird for the feathers to not be flying?

unnaturalmoirai: >:I

unnaturalmoirai: I know what I’m doing, and he agreed to the job!

unnaturalmoirai: I’m sure that when they are reborn, even if they don’t remember a single thing, they’ll find a way.

A picture book is presented, tied to a pen with a heart shaped eraser.

unnaturalmoirai: These are Kaito and Haruto. They’ll be together, even after everything is gone. That sort of warmth and love- I trust they’ll bring it to the new world.

funfareomens: Sometimes that scares me.

funfareomens: What if they get corrupted too? Hurt, lonely, broken...?

unnaturalmoirai: Then all we have to do is kill that world again and begin anew again. And that is something I want to always be able to do with you... break it, fix it, break it, fix it...

unnaturalmoirai: Someday, all the pieces will come together. I’ll meet our friends and have a good time. Neither of us will need to be in pain. There won’t be blood, there won’t be cruel spectacles where you are dancing in a cage...

unnaturalmoirai: But look, these two will be, respectively, our “stop” and our “tiebreaker”.

Two teddy bears join the table. One cream, with purple patches. One white, with blue ones.

unnaturalmoirai: Reira and my nameless little darling.

unnaturalmoirai: We should both listen to him, if we ever can’t decide on whether the world can be forgiven or not. 

funfareomens: I can’t wait to meet everyone in the new world.

unnaturalmoirai: ...Me too.

[bye-bye-firefly]

Hi!! Do you have any DR post-game headcanons?? Or backstory headcanons? Or food preferences headcanons? Headcanons in general???

omg okay. so like. my whole thing is that i really really hope that it was a simulation that they werent just ai or that this was all real like i really desperately want to believe that when shuichi maki and himiko got out they woke up and found out they were just. in a simulation. and they merge the two realities they were living into one and we get everyone like. Together. and theyre ALLOWED to be happy although traumatised. and this goes for all the games like i dont want to believe that the canon that is presented is meant to be taken super literally. v3 makes me want to believe that they were ALL simulations it was all just for tv and why would they kill actual kids for tv and not have real ass people be like "thats so fucked up Why Are You Doing This" because thats the one part of it all that my suspension of disbelief will not allow me to go and that seems like something everyone else can agree on. theres no way parents would just let their kids go on a show where they could get MURDERED BRUTALLY. and then have that death TELEVISED. and thats like my main one and its really a popular fandom one but i just. I need this. To feel okay

other headcanons...my favourite one is that when shuichi is deep in thought, he makes a concentrated face and puts his fist under his chin. i love having kokichi and kaito be brothers. i like thinking theyre found family and that sure they hated each other for a while but they found comfort in each other and that should continue on in every universe. they should be allowed to be brothers. i also like to think that shuichi and kokichi are two people that just completely run on no sleep like so often that its worrying. this is consistent no matter what reality they are living in. kaito has a hero complex and i think that one is just canon but i havent engaged in the material recently enough to say...i have only been referring back to my notes on characterisation from the last time i did a character analysis...i should really fix that i need a refresher i cannot just Live Like This who am i if i dont have a proper handle on who these fucking people are

i have thoughts on sakura. she doesnt have that gravelly voice that they give her in the game she like fully has a deep voice but its still feminine and gorgeous and sure it has some growl but it just feels like. they tried to make her sound like a Man. you know? and im not a big fan idk thats just my thoughts on that. chihiro is a girl in stem and she was actually trans and thats my headcanon that i think was controversial like 3 years ago. it might still be controversial idk idc

i know this is not something you asked about but i keep thinking about it because of kokichi and kaito but its just. aughghguthhghj;orwisjkh NO ONE UNDERSTANDS HOW TORTURED I AM ABOUT THEM so much of that fucking game is dramatic foils SO MUCH and always ALWAYS people love the dramatic foils BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY DO like OF COURSE people would love oumota now im not particularly a fan of shipping them but idc if other people do but for my purposes im talking about them as like found family as like brothers because thats how I see them just . i keep thinking about the die young animatic even though that is BLATANT shipping it just reminds me how bad it hurts kokichi hated the killing game as much as everyone else (besides tsumugi of course) and no one believed it and kaito had to work with him in his final moments and kokichi was under so much stress and was panicking so bad over everything because who could just be COMPLETELY TOTALLY NORMAL about DYING that he just let it slip that yeah he HATED this shit he wants to END this his plan the whole time was to END THIS and the only person he trusted was shuichi and he was going to die and he was so young and he had to die either way he had to die and kaito had to help him die and im sure kaito never saw himself in that position he never thought he would be the one killing but he WAS because he HAD TO because he HAD TO SAVE MAKI he HAD TO KEEP HIS FRIEND SAFE but kokichi was also sort of in a way his friend that night and kaito was the only friend kokichi had that night and even after all of this people STILL were like outside of it looking in like I will never know Kokichi. AND ISN'T THAT JUST TRAGIC? no one even fucking knew him because he couldn't be honest out of pure fear and terror and a need to protect himself and that was ALL he was thinking about was am i safe and am i by doing this attempting to stop the killing game. he always knew it was going to go that way. and that is so tragic. and kaito had to be the one to carry it out and it didnt even fucking work it didnt even end the killing game. but at least kaito went to space. at least kaito went to space, somehow. and monokuma didnt even get to kill him. i just wonder if kaito in some way did find a way to like kokichi. i wonder if knowing that kokichi was always and forever hating the killing game no matter what he said gave him comfort and helped him forgive him. surely they had time to have a moment like. i dont know if i can forgive you but i would like to try. surely. i like to believe it. kokichi was understood for like the briefest of moments and kaito saw him as he was and then he was dead. i hope that brought him comfort. and this is mostly why i want to believe that its a simulation broadcast as drama television. like surely kokichi wasnt understood for a few hours and then killed for a plan that failed. kokichi gets to live a life outside the killing game and got to see kaito and later shuichi and everyone else and everyone got to see the show while they were waiting for everyone else to come out of the game and maybe they understood each other a little more and maybe they felt bad for each other after thinking about it for a few weeks like. maybe we didnt deserve to be put through that. maybe being put in that kind of situation brings the worst out of people and we just saw the worst of each other because we had to find some ways to survive. i HOPE. SOOOO fucking badly. for MY SAKE....

[bekaito]

the only real ideas that kaito was ever able to throw out there for suggestions usually only had to do with choreography, never once really having to do such things as 'concepts' before now. it was before actually realizing he even wanted to be an idol that he would just focus on dancing, with the occasional rapping, but now that he was being told previously that he had to focus on vocals as well? well.... that was a whole new skill for him to learn and try to keep up with on top of everything else.

maybe, if things worked out for him in the end, kaito would be able to manage either perfecting all of the above or at least he'd hopefully get lucky enough to one day debut with just his rap and dancing skills. that was all just wishful thinking in the end.

giving a small laugh and shaking his head, kaito takes a moment to imagine actually injuring himself before finally speaking again. "i'm only kidding. if i did end up hurting myself, well i'm pretty sure that the judges would be kicking me out of the competition first before anyone else." he states, giving a small sigh as he does so. "so don't worry, i won't be doing anything dangerous, especially if it could possibly jeopardize my chances of making it to the end. i think i may try doing something like dancing 'cool' or even just bring some flowers and recite some sort of poem. probably not the coolest idea, but i've seen it happen in some dramas before."

"what are you planning on doing?" he asks this out of curiosity, tilting his head slightly towards the side a bit. kaito doesn't even back away or move the moment that the other helps fix his glasses, smiling at what the other says. "actually, we could add braces? maybe those that are watching the show would think it's cute at least?" he's half-joking back with jaeyoung, though it does sort of make him want to do this now. "think we can find some fake braces somewhere in time thought?"

jay raises an eyebrow, listening to everything kaito is saying. this is another thing he learned when it comes to teamwork: he has to listen, not just inject his own thoughts and go on an intangible ramble that only makes sense to himself. he thinks he's been doing a great job so far, but again, who knows if that translates well to the viewers at home.

sharing ideas can be fun though, so it's not entirely a loss to someone like jay. turns out brainstorming and coming up with concepts with other people can be pretty productive. jay's kind of stuck on what cool thing he should be doing himself, so that's another reason why he's seeking kaito out.

"i think someone else is bringing a guitar?" jay says, surprised at himself that he remembers. maybe he's becoming a better person after all, a functioning member of society. but at kaito's next ideas, jay can't help but laugh a bit. "aren't we supposed to be doing something cool though? pretty sure tripping and falling on your butt isn't a cool thing." but they are supposed to be nerds—then again, nerds aren't incompetent. "also, isn't that... dangerous? you could twist something." he wonders whether kaito is just setting himself up to fail on purpose, but who knows? cute failure might fit the teen crush vibes after all.

having no sense of personal space as usual, jay fixes the glasses on kaito's face, still laughing. "it suits you. not all nerds wear glasses though. should we add braces to the costume?" it's just a joke, not a real suggestion.

[neon-dynasty]

Compleated Planeswalker Theories

Welp, here we go. I'm sure you've seen this image from earlier:

We were told that five of these Planeswalkers would not make it through the events of All Will Be One without being compleated. So for the next month we get to think long and hard about which ones it'll be. For now, however, here's who I think we'll be losing to Phyrexia and who will survive to fight the good fight.

EDIT: I should mention that a big part of why I theorize who will be compleated and who won't be is primarily due to the assumption that each side will have a mono-colored cycle of Planeswalkers. I'm also looking at the What If artwork and making huge guesses about which color they'd fall into based on the design. My pairs are: White - Kaya (ceramic and flesh) and the Wanderer (Elesh Norn styled helmet) Blue - Jace (lots of neon and tubes, robotic features) and Kaito (neon accents) Black - Nissa (spines and rotted plates and noxious fungus) and Vraska (sharp segmented Sheoldred-like body, skeleton motifs in the background) Red - Koth (blazing furnace chest and also revealed card) and Nahiri (looks like she's in full control, least deformed) Green - Lukka (large body set in the Tangle / Hunter's Maze) and Tyvar (emphasis on muscles, "natural" features like hair and tentacles)

Koth of the Hammer

They already showed us his card! That said, his "What If" art is pretty neat.

SAFE (from compleation - nobody is safe from Phyrexia)

Jace Beleren

Everyone's noticed it by now, but in his What If art, Jace has Luxior sticking out of his exposed heart. That's a very specific detail that all the other characters are lacking, and hints at some major story implications. Jace has been one of the poster boys for the game since his introduction, so it definitely fits the trope of a veteran leaving at the end of a massive crossover story arc.

That said, it gives me hope that the heroes will find a way to undo the damage of compleation, should they want that at the end of the storyline and beyond.

COMPLEAT

Vraska

I think Jace's compleation is going to be a motivating factor for Vraska, and possibly even what causes her to join the fight.

At least that's what I set out to say. After considering each character's design and color alignment, a couple of predictions got shuffled around. At least her What If art is incredibly awesome, and very fitting for her.

COMPLEAT

Lukka

Aside from the fact that his What If artwork is super fitting (and awesome), Lukka hasn't been a good character the handful of times we've seen him, and this could be a way for Wizards to sweep him under the rug. I think they'd even be willing to snip the whole "voice in his head plot" thread to get rid of him.

Again, that's what I would have said, but look at this art. We don't see any beasts in this piece. That said, it's him or Tyvar for the green rep, and I think Lukka is more likely to be safe in the end. If I'm right about the colors, we'd be seeing at least one Planeswalker in a new color in this set, and I don't think they'd introduce a new color identity to a Planeswalker after all the previous emphasis on how compleated versions of the characters have twisted versions of their personalities.

SAFE

The Wanderer and Kaito Shizuki

They just introduced these two, and there's a lot more story left to tell for both of them. Tamiyo was already compleated. Jace and Vraska are a much more emotionally resonant couple in the story. And yes, there's a personal desire to see the Wanderer and Kaito have a chance at a happy ending, despite how amazing their What If artwork is (especially Kaito's monstrous spider form).

As a side note, Kaito's spark doesn't reside within him, and the Wanderer's is unstable. It's possible that Jin-Gitaxias would be able to fix both of those things, but unlikely, I think.

SAFE

Tyvar Kell

Dude is such a lovable himbo, but ultimately I can see Tyvar sacrificing himself to save someone else OR taking on a fight he doesn't know he can't win just to punch something. Either way, we just met him and have relatively little investment in his story.

Between him and Lukka as the green representative, I think Tybar is more likely to be compleated. I love the twisted Saitama vibes on his incredibly unsettling What If art.

COMPLEAT

Nissa Revane

Simply put, Nissa has too many loose plot threads dangling. Emrakul, Zendikar, Chandra, Liliana. I think Jace has a much better chance of being the veteran who bites it, and I doubt they'd off two original members of the Gatewatch in the same story.

That, and the face on her What If art looks a little too much like her regular face. I love the vibes though. It really screams (or perhaps whispers) "I am this forest."

SAFE

Kaya Cassir

Kaya is an active character with a lot of story left in her, but it would make a lot of sense if she were compleated as an extension of that. She's already been a noble, an assassin, and guild leader, an assassin, a hero, an assassin, and most recently, a cog vital component in Teferi's time machine.

At the moment, she's super OP as a Planeswalker, able to transport other living creatures across the planes AND through time, apparently. Her What If art shows a very Norn-inspired look, which suits her pretty well.

COMPLEAT

Nahiri

The fact that Nahiri's What If artwork looks so much like her original form made me think she was going to be one of the ones who were safe at first. However, she looks like she's actively enjoying her new state. And, unlike Tyvar, completely in control. That makes me think that she might strike a deal with Urabrask, undergoing Phyrexianization willingly.

Plus, I mean, sword arms.

COMPLEAT

And there you have it. That's my theory on who's going to be compleated, and who's going to continue the resistance against the Phyrexian tide. I tried to look for details in the artwork that may hint at specific story points (like Jace with Luxior), as well as keeping in mind the fact that we'll be seeing two color-balanced cycles.

As always, please share your own thoughts and theories. I look forward to seeing what we all come up with!

[mar-the-magician]

H Is For Hawk

Despite how busy I’ve been recently, I still wanted to do something for Hakukai week, so I picked my favorite prompt (birds) and wrote a fic for it! Apologies that it’s not more 😅 I love these two adorkable idiots so much and will definitely be writing more with them! 

“We should race sometime.” Kaito watched as Watson glided smoothly back over the field onto Saguru’s leather-gloved hand. Saguru fed her a small treat and gave Kaito an amused glance out of the corner of his eye. 

“She’s pretty fast, you know? I bet she could keep up with me!” Kaito laughed cheekily, bending forward and reaching out to stroke Watson’s feathers carefully. Saguru smiled at him, shaking his head.

“Considering that she was literally designed for flying, and everything about her is conducive to speed…” 

“Exactly! She might just be able to barely match my pace on a good day!” He laughed. Saguru sighed, trying to hide his smile.

“Have you ever captured birds mid-flight?” Kaito stopped laughing after a moment, looking pensive.

“I’ve actually caught some of the less well-trained doves when they got out and flew away— obviously they’d never do that now, but they took some time to get acclimated to my house when I first got them…” 

“You caught them from your glider?” Saguru raised his eyebrows. Kaito shrugged.

“There was no other way to catch them covertly, and not everyone puts two and two together to make four the same way you do, so no-one else knew I had them at the time.” He parroted one of their classmate’s voices perfectly, even taking on his posture as he said

“Just because Kuroba-kun used doves for a couple tricks doesn’t mean he owns some— maybe he just rented them!” Saguru stroked Watson and looked off into the distance, thoughtful.

“But— that’s not how training birds… works… you have to build up trust and make sure they know they’re safe with you, give them positive reinforcement and show that you respect their boundaries… and all that before you even consider teaching them tricks…”

“You know that because you have trained a bird in the past.” Kaito mused absentmindedly. Suddenly he did a double take, whipping his head around to look at Saguru.

“Did you—“

Saguru met his gaze, confused. 

“Did I what?” 

“How you just described training a bird sounded a lot like how you’ve talked about the early stages of our relationship.” Kaito’s stare remained fixed on the speechless Saguru. 

“Was Watson— practice for you??” He whipped around to face the hawk who was still perched comfortably on Saguru’s glove.

“Are you the reason why we’re in a relationship??” Saguru got his words back at that, laughing a little at first before growing more serious to say

“We might have taken longer to get to this point if I’d never had experience with someone who took time and effort to build the foundation for a healthy relationship, but I always would have wanted to be with you. I always would have done anything within my power to get past that front you put up, and consequently fallen in love with you.” Kaito blushed and scoffed at this, putting a hand in front of his mouth.

“I— that’s— thank you… Hakubaka.” There was no bite in the insult, in fact it almost felt like a term of endearment. Saguru smiled at him fondly.

“Come on— let’s go inside, it’s chilly out here, and I think Watson’s had enough exercise for the day— plus, I think Baaya should have hot cocoa ready for us by now!” Kaito coughed, trying to shake his blush, and handed Saguru Watson’s hood. 

“Th-that sounds good. Thank you, Sa-chan.” He murmured. Saguru gently placed the hood over Watson’s head, lacing it up, and reached to link arms with his boyfriend.

“It’s not a problem. I wanted to do it.” He gently shoved Kaito with his hip as they began walking.

“Just make sure to return the favor— I need to spend some time with your doves!” Kaito’s face lit up, and his step grew bouncier.

“Of course!”

“Now, hot chocolate.”

Thank you for reading! This was quite fun to write 😁 the title is the same as that of a nonfiction book I read once, about a woman’s story with becoming closer with a hawk (that’s a very oversimplified version of it, it gets pretty dark in some places) and some parts of it reminded me of Kaito and Saguru’s relationship, and thus, this fic was born! And for everyone wondering about my WIPs— they’re coming, I promise!!! I’m going to try to get another LR chapter up by the Friday after tomorrow!!! Goodness it’s been a while on that—

Anyhow, enough of my rambles! Thank you for reading and I wish you all a very happy Hakukai Week 2022!!

[lisatelramor]

Ok, I managed to write SOMETHING for HakuKai Week. Woo! I have a little more for other days, but gosh I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get anything considering how writing has been this year. Anyway, enjoy? They didn’t want to come out super shippy annoyingly enough, but it’s something -_-;;

Fitting a Role

Saguru, without a doubt, was not meant for the stage.

Kaito studied him critically as Saguru adjusted the sad-looking Holmes costume their classmates had cobbled together. Even the wannabe cosplay Saguru came to Japan in would have looked better. Plus, he was holding himself too stiffly. To think, here Saguru was getting to live his fanboy dream of being Holmes for a day and he wasn’t even having fun with it.

“Okay, stop,” Kaito said. “This is a travesty.”

Saguru glowered at him. “The costume,” he said stiffly, his shoulders forced too tight by poorly made sleeves, “doesn’t fit right.”

“That’s only part of the problem,” Kaito said. “You should be able to embody Holmes even wearing a paper bag. Why are you moving like the stage is full of land mines?”

“Acting is….different,” Saguru said. A lame excuse for a man that had the public eye on the regular. “There’s lines and an audience,” Saguru mumbled, unable to meet Kaito’s eyes.

“So? You deduct in front of people all the time.” Saguru treated solving a case like a stage in its own right with him performing a monologue. It really shouldn’t be this complicated.

Saguru shook his head, a pinched furrow in his brow. “But that isn’t acting.”

“It’s a role!” Kaito said rolling his eyes. “You’re a ‘detective’ so you act like one. Just be ‘Saguru the detective’ for a bit and add in some Holmes flair.”

“But—”

Kaito raised a hand. “Look. How would you enter this room if it was a case?” He watched expectantly as Saguru gave him a blank stare. An eyebrow lifted impatiently.

Hesitantly, Saguru walked to the edge of the stage.  If this was a crime scene… He stepped forward, eyes sweeping the area like he would when searching for clues, back straight and ready for anything.

“Okay, good,” Kaito said. “Now how would Holmes enter the same room?”

“…Oh,” Saguru said like something was finally connecting.

“Exactly.” Took long enough. “The audience doesn’t exist. You’re here, you’re Holmes, and you have a case to solve and people to see through. Now give me that cape and hat thingy.” He made grabby hands in Saguru’s direction. “This is embarrassing.”

Saguru shrugged off his costume pieces, careful not to rip any seams. “You sew?” he asked as Kaito pulled out needle and thread, seemingly from nowhere.

“Yeah,” Kaito said, grabbing the cape first. “A bit. Enough to fix the fit of things. I can’t believe they gave the girls costuming just because they assumed they could sew.”

“Statistically speaking, they are more likely to know.”

“Okay but realistically speaking, most people these days do one tiny project in elementary school—if they’re lucky enough for that—and never pick up a needle again.”

“And yet,” Saguru said, sitting down across from Kaito with a searching look, “you know how to do a fair bit more than that.”

“It’s useful.” Kaito snipped a thread, mentally going through Saguru’s numbers for shoulder width and neck, readjusting plans. Hakuba’s eyes narrowed at him. Kaito could all but feel him skirting around accusing him of being Kid in his mind. “I’m a magician,” Kaito said, because it was true and he had legitimate reasons for learning to sew. “Sometimes you need to make pockets in things that don’t have pockets. And sometimes off-the-rack clothes fit like shit and you just want them to sit right.”

He was good at sewing fast, and even better at sewing fast for temporary things. It didn’t have to be perfect; it was a crappy stage play. It just had to fit better and stay in one piece for the whole play.

“Try that on,” Kaito said after a few silent minutes of work.

Saguru obliged, settling the silly-looking cape on his shoulders again. Not perfect, Kaito reflected, seeing all the tiny flaws in his work and the original stitching, but it was much better than before and Saguru could actually move his arms now without threatening to rip it.

“Great. Now the hat.” The hat was too big, so all Kaito had to do was take in the seams a bit and readjust the brim, which, ok, was basically taking the thing apart and remaking it all over again. Details.

“Why do you care if I have a fitting costume or can act?” Saguru asked bluntly.

Kaito glanced up from dismantling the hat, brows high. “One, you’re representing the class. Two, I’m acting too and I don’t want to hold it together if you choke.”

“I still can’t believe they cast you as Watson,” Saguru said, sounding tired. Kaito didn’t check his expression, the hat taking priority, but he could all but picture Saguru pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can act,” Kaito said just as blunt. “They’re counting on me to carry the show if you trip up.”

“…Such a convenient array of skills you have,” Saguru said leadingly. “Acting, sleight of hand, making clothing fit, makeup…”

“What makes you think I know makeup?” Kaito asked.

“I overheard you giving tips about blending to Nakamori.”

Kaito sighed. “Stage makeup can be important, and if you’re going to learn stage makeup, might as well learn how to do regular makeup too. And stop implying I’m Kid. No matter how much you insinuate, I’m not going to confess.”

“Not confessing isn’t the same as not being Kid,” Saguru pointed out.

Kaito gave him a flat look before tossing the half-sewn hat in his face. “You know what? You can finish that yourself.”

Saguru blinked at him. “It’s genuinely annoying you to be accused.”

“It’s always annoyed me,” Kaito said sourly.

“You are generally tolerantly-annoyed. Or at least willing to argue.” He turned the hat pieces around in his lap. “I thought…”

“You thought what, Hakuba?”

“We had an… understanding? Dynamic?”

“I don’t mind some banter, but it gets tiring to be accused all the time. You make having a conversation into a minefield.”

“…Apologies,” Saguru said stiffly.

Kaito let him feel uncomfortable for a moment before holding out his hand with a heavy sigh. “I’ll finish the hat. Then you’re running through a scene with me until you can be Holmes to my Watson convincingly.”

Saguru handed the hat back slowly. Kaito pretended to not notice how he continued to stare a hole in Kaito’s head as Kaito bent back over his sewing. “Kuroba.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.” Saguru sounded so stiff, Kaito could think he never thanked anyone before.

Kaito waved the thanks away. “I already said it’s not for you personally or anything.”

“All the same. You did not have to help, and you are helping.”

“Just act properly on stage and we’ll call it even,” Kaito said.

Hakuba actually smiled at him. A proper smile, not the smug ones he got when he thought he knew more than Kaito or that he had Kaito cornered with some stretch of logic. It was a lot nicer than the usual smiles. “I’ll do my best.”

Kaito finished up the hat as fast as possible. They would act. Saguru would get better at it. And they could go back to their usual circling each other like wary cats some other time. Kaito tried not to let the thought of returning to normal disappoint him.

“Your hat, Holmes,” Kaito said, affecting his Watson persona.

Saguru took it with more gravity than the action deserved. “Thank you, Watson.” As he put on the hat, Kaito could finally see a bit of Holmes in him.

[manofmanymons]

Anyways I love how stubborn and obnoxious part 9 Kaito is because it literally wouldn't make any sense for him not be

Sure he wanted to be more comfortable with relying on others and wanted to trust Miu to keep herself safe

And he was slowly gettin there a little at a time

But then Takuma (seemingly) fucking died and Miyuki kept trying to kill everyone no matter how hard they tried to reach out to her

And maybe he was (relatively) fine at first

He'd be a little clingy with Miu after losing Takuma but wouldn't completely stop trusting her/their friends

But then the attacks start, and maybe even then he's not that bad off. Maybe he was even glad to see her alive and hopeful that they could reach her.

Now days have gone by. Things keep getting worse with no end in sight. The one person he trusted the most is gone and the monster trying to kill them all is their own friend.

Taking his eyes off Miu isn't an option now that they're being attacked in their own "home." This whole trusting in friends thing didn't work out. Especially not in the non-truthful routes.

So like,,,of course he's gone back to his old ways. Trying to be better didn't get him anywhere, so why not go back to what was working before? Plus it was established in part 6 that he gets angry and withdrawn when he's scared. It's not a GOOD response, obviously, but it's one that makes sense. I'm not saying he SHOULD take his fear (and maybe also grief?) out on everyone else, I'm just saying that it'd be kinda out of character if he didn't.

He's being frustrating and cruel and you know what I'm happy about it. Again not because it's a good thing but because it's a realistic thing. You don't get over years of capital "I" Issues in under a week. He wouldn't feel as human to me if he brushed off ALL of that like "well I have learned to trust my friends and my sister and therefore believe that we will get through this together :)"

Though I do think him being AS bad in the truthful route as in the others is a little dumb bc that would make Takuma the first "death" they've had to deal with and there are two more people there helping and giving support so while obvi he'd still regress in his feelings towards Miu I don't think he should've been AS argumentative or withdrawn from the others. Key word being AS bc like I even still think he'd be a little bitchy but it seriously makes no sense that he wouldn't handle the situation ANY differently after only 1 death vs 3. Like in nontruthful routes he watched Ryo and Shuuji both go batshit crazy AND witnessed fuckinnnn Wendigomon like there is no way you're telling me his trust issues are just as bad in the route where that DIDN'T happen as in the one where it did.

Althought we didn't see the ten days Takuma was gone so I like to think he at least hung in there for a couple more days before completely regressing in the truthful route wjejskdnnd

I dunno I just like that he isn't somehow magically fixed by the power of friendship yknow he's allowed to be a kid who never learned a healthy way to process fear and stress but he's allowed to work through it and start getting better again

You will never make me stop thinking about my son

I went on a long version of this rant in the homies' gc but one thing I like about Tamers and Survive is that they're both really good examples of how progress isn't linear

The characters are trying to grow and be better—and they're succeeding!—but they still backslide into their bad habits again. And that's okay! Their friends don't just suddenly give up on them. They don't give up on themselves.

Maybe every two steps forward is another step back. Maybe they'll take five steps forward, eat shit, and fall seven steps back. But they keep at it, and their friends are with them all the way, and it's so very endearing to me.