#but i have such a burning hatred for a thousand years that i picked that one

[hauntedwitch04]

Proud of you

Dean Winchester x daughter!Reader

Words: about 1.3k words

Warning: I hate John Winchester and I'm not gonna be sorry about it. Just some sad memories of Dean, but mostly fluff

REQUEST: no requested

Author’s note: Hi! I'M NOT DEAD! I know, shocking!

It was a period full of exams, including the driver's license exam and four college exams, and I could not write anything. And just when I thought I could start writing again, classes started again, so… here I am! I'm actually in the university library and should be studying, but my panic attack said NO, so here you go! this is a short scene I imagined after doing my first drive with my dad a month or so ago, and I liked it too much not to write it down, I hope you enjoy it.

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Ever since you were little you have dreamed of this moment, yet now that you are here and experiencing it, you can't help but want to run away and run for cover in the calm, quiet safety of your bedroom.

You clutch the steering wheel of the car in your hands, which as much as your father loves her is considered your sister, to look straight ahead.

You feel your father's eyes scrutinizing you, sitting beside you, as he considers whether to tell you something or not. You see out of the corner of your eye Castiel's hand resting on your father's shoulder to restrain him from saying anything, knowing, and feeling the anxiety gripping your stomach at this moment.

You take a deep breath and decide to finally start Baby. You hear the engine roar, and your sweaty hands slide on the steering wheel as you lightly touch the pedals with your feet as your father explained to you just before, and a thousand other times before in motel and diner parking lots when you were bored while Uncle Sam found you a place to eat or sleep.

The car begins to move, and you feel a sense of courage and pride in seeing that you are succeeding for the first time in making the car go.

You slowly manage to move a few meters before misplacing your feet while shifting gears and bringing the car to a stop without warning.

Discouraged you abandon your head against the steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn as your father laughs lightly and rests a hand on your shoulder.

Castiel watches Dean get lost in his own thoughts as he watches you explain with a low stare that you are sorry and that you don't understand how it can take you so long to understand and learn how to drive, knowing full well that your father's mind is actually somewhere else right now.

Dean watching his daughter drive for the first time in the same car in which he had learned, could not help but think of when he had been in that position.

Dean had just turned 15, but on his umpteenth fake ID and driver's license it was marked that he was at least two years older, knowing that no one would dispute the fact, since he had been showing 17 for a year and a half now. He felt sweaty hands against his thighs through his jeans as he felt his father's gaze burn him alive.

"Will you move?" John said with obvious hatred in his voice. He had decided it was time for Dean to learn to drive, so that at night he could sleep and leave his son driving the car, as if he were at least twice as old as he was.

In part Dean knew that John wanted to do this so that he could be more independent of his sons and could also take solo trips without worrying about picking up, or having someone pick them up as had happened several times, Dean and Sam after leaving them alone for a week in a motel in a town they did not know. And the oldest of the Winchester brothers couldn't help but be glad to finally get away from the monster who had become their father.

Dean swallowed laboriously and then started the car. He had almost forgotten about Sam's presence in the car until he encouraged him in a feeble voice, only to receive a cruel look from John.

Slowly he made the car move inside the parking lot. It was now late at night and not a soul would disturb his first drive, or so he thought.

He was starting to pick up speed, imitating the people he drove in the many movies he saw while waiting for his father to return from yet another hunt, when suddenly a car comes speeding towards them.

Panicked Dean suddenly accelerated to escape from the high-speed encounter with that madman, only to brake abruptly shortly after seeing that he was inches from the wall.

Dean quickly turned to see how Sam was doing after all the commotion, but he saw that the fear on his brother's face had given way to a smile, not a complete one since he had recently dropped a tooth and had yet to grow a new one.

"Wow Dean, you were great! It was like being in one of those movies-" His brother was interrupted by John's voice, which like thunder crashed down on those poor creatures who had had the misfortune of being his children.

"Don't bullshit Sam, your brother was an idiot. Do you realize you could have ruined the car!" He said shouting and motioning for his son to get out of the car as he did the same.

"But-but that car was coming at us! I couldn't do anything else! It's only my first time driving!" He tried to excuse Dean as he tried to reason with his father, but nothing could change the man's mind, especially when it came to his favorite sport: mistreating the one person over whom he had full power and control, his own son: Dean.

"And if it were up to me it would be the last damn fool too, how can I count on you if all you do is make mistakes? Disappear from my sight before I decide to leave you in this parking lot, better yet, take the car and go back to the motel, I'll stop at the bar nearby."

Dean could not help but squint his eyes, already thinking about his drunken father arriving from the bar on the crack of dawn, and the beating he would receive from the man because of alcohol, although Dean knew it was not entirely the fault of the liquid that seemed to have become John's fuel since his wife had died.

Dean, in the end, had learned to drive thanks to a teacher who was more patient and kinder than his father: Bobby, who with all the calm and love his father had never shown toward him had managed to teach the oldest of the Winchester brothers to drive in one of the many cars he had in his "backyard." And it was then Dean himself, together with Bobby, who had taught Sam how to ride in the car.

This time, however, it was different: it was not his brother he was teaching to ride in a car, but his daughter, that is, blood of his blood, the result of yet another night of passion with a woman he met at a bar, for whom he could never thank enough whatever deity ruled up there. And be damned, more than he already was, he would never let his little girl suffer what he had suffered.

"Hey, it's okay. Nobody's perfect the first time, and this car is definitely not the best you can have for a first drive, but you did great. I had done much worse my first time, and I'm not kidding, I almost hit a wall." Dean says as he watches his daughter straighten her back and look into his eyes, her own eyes, as he smiles at her, gently, and then pulls her into a hug.

"Really?" The girl asks, as she pulls her father in turn into a tight embrace.

"I swear on Miracle." He replied, as the dog in the back seat barks in response, having heard someone calling him, and the girl can't help but giggle.

They remain embraced for a few minutes, until Dean finally finds the courage to say those words that are so simple and at the same time so important, and so necessary, that he had never heard her father say to her, but that would never deprive his daughter from hearing them from him every day as long as she had breath to breathe. Five words, but they had the power of a thousand.

"I am proud of you."

TAGLIST (updated 19 Nov 2023)

@cheyennep3107 @mortica-raven13 @theviewfromtheotherside @supernatural-lvr @imnotcryingurcrying @cursednevermore @itzdarling @deansbbyx @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @afcnds @sya-skies @evansstan-akya

[saphronethaleph]

Rushing the boomer

“How long?” Palpatine asked.

“Do not strain yourself, lord,” one of the cultists said. “Your attempt to possess the Snoke body will have weakened you-”

“I am well aware of my limitations,” Palpatine snapped, then turned to the Final Order engineer. “How long, commander?”

“That depends, my lord,” the engineer replied, his voice firm. “For the whole fleet… fourteen years. A single ship could be completed in eight. One ship coming online at a time in sequence, the first ship will be finished in nine years and the whole fleet in sixteen.”

Palpatine frowned.

“The whole fleet, then,” he said. “The might of the Final Order will blaze a path across the galaxy, and all will obey the Sith or perish.”

“It is as you command, my lord,” the engineer said, saluting.

Palpatine waved him away, then gestured, and a hologram of the Star Destroyers currently under construction formed in the air above him.

They were vast ships, for line vessels, and the Sith Eternal were building one thousand and eighty of them.

One thousand and eighty!

Never again would rebels exploit a single point of failure and destroy his most powerful and only superweapon… a fate he had experienced twice, now, and each one burned like a canker in his heart, the fury suffusing him and lending him strength.

At his insistence, Palpatine’s spies in the wider galaxy, outside Exegol, had found for him the names of every single person who had been directly involved in the attack on both Death Stars.

Han Solo, Chewbacca, Leia Organa Solo, Evaan Verlaine… all of those names were of people he hated. And Palpatine would see them destroyed, one way or another.

But there were four names for which the Dark Lord of the Sith reserved his greatest hatred. The true, simmering passion that Palpatine held for those who had truly thwarted his plans.

Landonis Balthazar Calrissian. Nien Nunb. Wedge Antilles… and, more than anyone else, Luke Skywalker.

If there was anyone who Palpatine wanted to destroy, it was Luke Skywalker… not merely to see him dead, but to humiliate him. To tear him down. To reduce all his triumphs to smouldering ruins.

Break the New Republic. Destroy the New Jedi Order. Turn his own family against him. Shatter his will.

That was what Palpatine would do, to Luke Skywalker.

And then – and only then – would the galaxy burn, worlds submitting to the rule of the Sith or being destroyed.

Thinking such pleasant thoughts, it took a moment for Palpatine to notice the flashing red alert on the side of the holodisplay.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Explain it!”

“We’ve picked up ships, incoming,” an officer said, looking up from his displays on the other side of the room. “Lots of them – Rebel ship classes!”

Palpatine’s hand waved, and the holodisplay reconfigured to show the Red Honeycomb Zone and the tactical displays.

Sure enough, ships were coming through. Two Mon Cal star cruisers, first, then frigates and cruiser class vessels, disgorging a cloud of snubfighters from their hangar bays.

Sith Eternal TIE Fighters were already taking off, but Palpatine could see the difference between the two forces – the Sith Eternal was a secret military and had never actually fought in battle, and it had been aiming for a projected readiness date over a decade in the future.

The New Republic fighter corps was no such easy target. Even without their shields, their skill and training were clearly superior, and the first pass saw a dozen Sith fighters go down in blazing, burning wrecks. A dogfight was already beginning, but it was a dogfight that could only go one way.

But how had this happened? Exegol was secret! With the hyperspace anomalies protecting it, the only way to visit the planet would be to not only know where it was but be shown…

...unless, that was, someone had a Sith wayfinder.

Suddenly gripped by a cold rush of fear that prompted a surge of utter hatred, Palpatine reached out with his mind towards the New Republic strike force as it became haloed in laserfire and explosions.

He could sense a Sith Wayfinder. HIS Sith Wayfinder! The one that had been in his throne room during the Battle of Endor.

Pushing harder, Palpatine located the dancing spark of the wayfinder, alongside a sickeningly familiar presence – a presence ducking and dodging and rolling, as it locked onto and destroyed one TIE Fighter after another.

“Skywalker!” Palpatine shouted, then coughed. “SKYWALKER!”

“Watch out, there’s another fighter flight taking off from the hangar system to port,” Nien Nunb said, pointing.

“Got it, keying them in,” Lando agreed, his gaze flicking between the displays of the Raddus flag bridge. “Hey, Wedge, you want to take those fighters and the battleline will kill the hangar for you?”

“Copy that, General,” Wedge agreed. “Red leader to Red Alpha flight, follow me in!”

Six X-wings rolled to follow Wedge in, and Lando checked over the displays again.

“Well, I’m no expert but I think we caught them with their pants down, Admiral,” he said, glancing back at Leia. “No more than one in fifty of the capital ship turbolasers are working, and most of them seem to still be under construction.”

He whistled. “It’s a damn good thing we caught them when we did, though, I’m reading over six hundred ships in states of construction and there’s hundreds more building slips.”

The Raddus jolted as a volley of turbolasers hit, then the radio crackled.

“Gold leader here,” Verlaine called in. “Princess, I’ve got eyes on where that fire’s coming from, looks like a turbolaser testing facility with some working cannon. My boys and girls will fix that little problem.”

Nien made the adjustment before Lando got to it, and a double volley of proton torpedoes blasted the facility to pieces.

“It’s certainly a damn good thing we found them before they finished,” Leia agreed. “How did you do it?”

“Well, our lead ran out on Kijimi,” Lando said. “Then I realized nobody had actually checked the wreckage of the Second Death Star, and unlike the first the second’s armour wasn’t in place to contain the explosion. I thought it was likely some of it had come down intact, so Luke and I went over to find it and that’s how we got here.”

“I’m picking something up-” Nien reported, then they all looked out the window at once as a flare of lightning crackled up from a hole in the ground. It gripped a New Republic corvette, lightning crawling over the surface and ripping chunks out of it, and when the bolts stopped the engines had been disabled and most of the CR90 crashed seconds later.

“Skywalker here, I’m on it,” Luke said, his X-Wing shooting past and shooting down one of the last enemy TIEs. The Jedi Master’s snubfighter kept going, rolling into a complex manoeuvre and spitting laserbolts down the chasm, then the lightning came back up again – and Luke’s ship absorbed it, glowing bright white as the energy was corralled and neutralized.

“I don’t know about you, but that looks like the main event as far as I’m concerned,” Lando noted.

[ribreadthedisaster]

20 Years From Now

20 years from now, the sun will be beating down on a 90 degree day on the 5th of November.

20 years from now, the fresh air I breathe will be a privilege, one afforded only when the wind is strong.

20 years from now, the scientists will still be silenced, and talked over by uneducated politicians.

20 years from now, the degree I have earned will still be costing me thousands I can never repay.

20 years from now, the house I live in will not be my own, because the expense of living is too high to afford savings.

20 years from now, the identity I am will be folded away and hidden in a closet, for the sake of another’s peace and my own safety.

20 years from now, the climate clock will have run out, yet we will still burn fossil fuels and continue to make fossils of biodiversity.

20 years from now, the country’s bright future will have been squandered by those whose beliefs were rooted in regression.

20 years from now, the child I didn’t want, but was forced to carry will come home from school, having learned the Our Father instead of cell biology.

She will tell me she has a history project. I will laugh, for what’s the point of knowing history if you don’t learn from it?

If you let it repeat?

20 years from now, she will ask where I was November 5th, 2024.

20 years from now she will ask how I felt when I found out he won.

20 years from now, she will ask if I was happy.

If I was relieved.

If I was proud.

I will sit her down and tell her that, 20 years ago, I stayed up all night watching the states bleed red. I will tell her that I held on to hope for as long as I could, waiting for the colors to shift. I will tell her that as the votes slowly trickled in, I realized how much hatred surrounded me.

So much was expected of me that night, but I couldn’t do it. Just once, I wanted to feel selfish.

Because if the people who hated me could be selfish with their ballots, why couldn’t I be selfish with my grief?

I wanted to mourn. I wanted to scream and cry, and I did. For myself. For my future. For future generations that would be set so far back, because we chose to give a felon another term rather than a woman her first.

I will tell her how close we were. I will tell her that I had hope that night. I will tell her about the penny I picked up that morning. About the ladybug that landed on my arm. About the women and friends I surrounded myself with. About the future we envisioned.

And I will tell her I’m sorry.

[eyra]

winning arguments without crying

Three years ago I liked you and now I think you’re hideous That’s really all it is. Crumbling stone above your sink in a houseshare bathroom that feels like an aeroplane toilet. A corona of snakes that couldn’t be saved by a beautiful tragedy. You have to train them, you see To bite beautifully and in a tragic sort of way A literary way You can’t just wash your red hair and let it dry like that. I would know. Mine are revered and I think people are afraid of them but in a beautiful sort of way.

That’s another story that I’m trying to write and I wish I could block you from the pages like I’ll block you on Instagram.

I think you’re hideous A gradual  and then very sudden descent into a cramping hatred like the way you think hot weather is just fantastic and I think the sun is fucking obnoxious Like you A loudly epic microcosm  A study in how to learn to hate a stranger measured by unprecedented times and a handful of afternoons eating  blue cheese and crackers on London grass waiting for the time to pass If nobody likes you and everybody likes me then does that make me awful too? or does it just mean I’m right

You glittered like a mirror for a morning our sisterly reflections in mourning A summer snapshot from the lens I’m still in charge of Now you’re a black hole or something worse probably an empty shell pretending to be a whole person. Boring boring boring Everything about you is boring I’m bored with how boring I find you This poem is boring. It’s boring to talk about you but I can’t stop none of us can stop we’re all awful. You were a mirror and isn’t that funny considering how much you fucking love looking at yourself now Is this fucking play about us? as long as it’s all focused on you Tell us to knock the f-stop back as far as we can until it’s just The You Show again but you’ll say you hate the lens I’m standing behind. Apparently it’s all so condescending of me but I think you just don’t understand what that word means and what you actually mean is I’m older than you and know how to win arguments? What you actually mean is I can fight without shaking and my face doesn’t turn red when I’m angry? and I’ve always thought that a very lucky trait to have I think I probably got that from my dad although he doesn’t really get angry. I think you should write a poem about what you got from your dad But you’ll never do that even if  it’s the easy pick to the door you say someone else bolted you behind screaming. I unpicked mine when I was twenty and I’ll always shoot if someone slags off my closet And you think you’re the gunmaster here

But that’s a totally separate conversation and I can’t be bothered having it with you so can we just move on because you’re too narrow to get that.

The most caring person in the world until empathy starts unearthing your enemies As if you don’t already have a thousand. And none of it feels important anymore so I’m embarrassed that I even care but it’s not a caring sort of caring. If you’re compelled by right and wrong I’m compelled by love and hate I think that’s my coin and one day soon I’ll stop spending it on you But for now I’m solvent Even if I’m letting you steal from me and your steel city state is richer than my ancient woodland but your vaults are beneath iron girders of fantastic and thanks so much and so it becomes a girlish and quietly-biting sort of coin that burns lips and makes everything taste like copper mine is just a mist and then you accuse me of being non-confrontational when actually I’ve always quite liked confrontation.

It’s something I’m good at

and yet you keep trying and honestly I find that mortifying But you’re a child so I don’t even care. Maybe I should swaddle you but you said you're wise beyond your years so I guess let’s go with that? And if everyone hates you and nobody hates me then maybe you should go back to your mirror and look there instead of at your front-facing camera because that’s mortifying too  and you should’ve gone to university because you would’ve met other mirrors there And at least I know I’m a bitch

I met my mirrors ages ago.

But you run from reflection and choose your front-facing camera instead because it does that thing where it flips the image and you get to pretend that you’re the opposite thing to the thing you actually are and you get to tell yourself that you’re so tiny and the world is the Big Bad pecking at your nest. But you’re the awful thing And everything is backwards And everything is mirrored to you And if I saw myself in you then send me the invoice and finish your email with  thanks so much  for teaching me how to be something else because honestly if I became what you already are I think I’d just die  I can see you rolling your eyes on the playground because someone else was enjoying the swings but in a stupid way and the tarmac was hotter in Germany but that doesn’t make you more interesting. God I wish I could tell you that.

I told you once that sometimes I pretend I’m on Graham Norton when I’m in the car I thought everyone did that but apparently they don’t But that’s fine I think and you didn’t need to laugh about it with your fiancée But she's left you too and I found that funny So let’s call it even.

I dive headfirst into the oil when it comes to you because it feels so hotly delicious  To nestle in the anonymous ranks of whatever armies you think you did nothing to provoke You’ve got spears for crutches but your armour is accountancy note paper With lecture notes too boring to comprehend I don’t think you’re actually interested in investment risk and taxation or fraud analytics Is anyone? It’s just something else to put on your brown sash and on your HER profile. Tell them about how you’re on every battlefield and I’m just softly at home writing a stupid poem about you And if you’re reading this now because you keep tabs on everyone and everything and if you were waiting for me Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you. Because I already don’t remember how old you are but I think you get a notification when I post an Instagram story of myself as a child.

I have a pitchy black well of everything that you don’t have and I throw myself into it and you screw your face up lime-sour when actually I think you’d love to build one for yourself  but you can’t stop looking at your Instagram followers for long enough to work out  How to cast bricks or divine water or whatever else you need to build a well

You don’t even have the land for it yet.

I’d rather write a stupid poem than be your blank piece of paper I’d rather write myself as a villain than play your antagonist  Write me out of your boring story I’m begging you. It’s been a year and you’re still looking up how to spell my name  Between notes about investment management and derivatives And I don’t even know what that means Thank God. God it’s so boring But I’m laughing at the idea of one day forgetting your name.

I can be rotten but I think the thing that saves you from Hell is the welcoming of the rot and if I can be this but also sleep with my friends and love my American cereal and the little squares of sun my mirrorballs cast to my blue walls Then what does it matter I don’t think it matters. But you can’t be told about any of that Because you’re too busy romancing your front-facing camera and  one-hundred-and-thirty-three people in fluorescent ceiling panels who won’t ever clap at a volume that fills you So I’ll leave you waiting for your lean applause And I’ll just be lighter.

I watched a video today of my niece on a ride-on lawnmower Grinning with my dad in the field behind our house and that was me twenty-two years ago. God I love that I can love.

[the-kr8tor]

Oooo Hobie fluff is enticing but…I can't spare any hints!>:) 5 days!

Daily Hobie HC! EPIC THE MUSICAL HOBIE AS ODYSSEUS TIME

Hobie's calloused, tough hands withstood the burn of the rope of the sails, narrowly avoiding the whirlpools of what he assumed would be the last enemy until he could see you and his two daughters once more.

His hope was short-lived as the tides began to darken and rise, signifying only one thing. Poseidon.

Hobie's nails dug into the rope once more, stabilizing his raft as the god rose up from the churning waves, desperate to drown him and take away his life. But he didn't spend 10 years fighting for every breath, for nothing.

He gritted his teeth, listening to Poseidon's threatening demand for him to either drown himself, or drown you and his children. The more time it took for Hobie to drown himself, the higher the tides rose, looming over the place he called home.

The place where his only hope was. His hope, being you.

Hobie cut off the god's anger with a calm voice, proposing forgiveness among both parties. Poseidon had dealt with his son's loss of blindness, and Hobie had dealt with the loss of his entire crew of 600 men. Surely they could both empathize, forgive and live on peacefully, right? All Hobie wanted to do was to hold you close to him, to see how much his daughters have grown and be the father they didn't have in their earlier years. He wanted to kiss you again, to feel the warmth of your skin against his. Surely, Poseidon could find somewhere in his heart to forgive. Hobie's expectations were shattered as he saw Poseidon's eyes harden in hatred towards him. Suddenly, the churning waves turned into storming tsunamis, with Poseidon growing far larger as water gathered around him and his mighty trident, giving him a larger and far more powerful form against Hobie. The trident of water slammed down onto Hobie's raft, pushing him down to the depths of the seas to drown him, once and for all. As Hobie felt his conscious slip with the more water thrashing into his lungs, his eyes widened slightly at the feeling of being pushed against the trident. Suddenly, a voice. Thousands of voices. The voices of his dead crew, his best friend, his dead mother. They kept him from hitting the darkest depths, giving him a second chance. And that was all he needed. On the prong of the trident next to him, the wind bag. Hobie reached out for it, opening it and typing the rope used to shut it around his body, a makeshift jetpack. He managed to follow the guide of the water-trident, shooting himself out of water, his grey eyes burned with fury of a thousand wildfires. Managing to use the strong winds of the wind bag, he walked up the arm of Poseidon's larger, water form, managing to strike down harshly on the god's body to disarm him of his water-form. The two fell onto a rock, Poseidon's trident clattering in front of him. The god smirked towards an enraged Hobie, watching the mortal's lanky body heave. He taunted Hobie, pointing out how it was his fault for the storm with a jeer. Hobie's slow turn to glare at Poseidon would've caused anyone to have shivers down their spine. He slowly walked forwards, picking up the trident as he demanded for the god to call off the storm. Hobie rose the trident up, angling the prongs down towards Poseidon's chest. He used all his force to drive the weapon into the god's body, red ichor coating the gold trident. He tugged the weapon out of Poseidon's chest harshly, driving it in once more. And again. And again. And again. With each ruthless stab, Poseidon screamed in pain, which fell on deaf ears, until he agreed to call off the storm. Hobie coldly dropped the thickly coated trident, turning his back on the severely injured god. He froze in his steps as he heard Poseidon's question of how he could ever sleep at night, knowing he had done this. Without missing a beat, he responded with... Next to you. -🐦‍⬛

Nuuuuu my plan failed!! Is it art perhaps? 👀

Daily Hobie HC ‼️‼️‼️

Oh @yumeaoka-chan would love this!

It's giving bdas vibes!!!!

Ahhhh billie and mona mention!

Yooo percy jackson calm your dad!

Wait are they on the island while this was happening?! No wonder why Hobie's fighting for his life! His girls were just a stone throw away!

10 years?! I was hoping it wasn't that long just like the myth but damnnn that must've been sad for both hobie, r and the kids 😭

Bruhhh the gods were so petty. There were losses on both sides! Leave the poor mortal be! 😭

Damnnnn that's so badass!!!

LET'S GOOOOO!!!! SO COOL

The last line owndjwkxnwkd 🥹🥴

[the-one-who-lambs]

Oh! And also Nr. 14 and 15 for Lambert, Narinder, Thenana and Ratau :D

(#14) Do you have any quotes tied to the character, either from the story itself or from another source that fit them?

Gonna pick some bits from my own fic that I feel are "distilled essence of (Character)." No rambles for the most part because if I include them I'll end up spoiling something or be answering this for three hours.

Lambert:

It wasn’t enough to make up for their transgression earlier, but they set the bag of camellias leaning against the outside wall of his hut, their pitiful bouquet of ruby regret.

The Lamb had multiple confessions that could fill the space that lingered between them, tauntingly vacant despite the anonymity of the curtain. They wished he would let go of the hatred he had for them. They had wondered if the hostility should be mutual, if submitting to their own image of absolution and extending grace to Narinder was tantamount to failure. They had started to consider, with a dread that seeped down their spine, whether the rift between them was as much their fault as it was his.

And though Lambert, too, knew that their own god-damned love made this moment beautiful, the joy buried in their heart didn’t feel any less real.

Narinder:

Narinder hadn’t believed in hopes like that for more than a thousand years. He quieted the small part of him that still wanted to. (He would have to be content with the perilous whispers, gnawing at the empty pit of his stomach, until they silenced themselves.)

Narinder wasn’t sure what the correct answer to that question would have been, but the one he had given didn’t seem to be it. He wordlessly stepped out to give Lambert another moment of privacy. <- this cat is AUTISTIC

It had taken so long for Narinder to reacquaint himself with having a heartbeat that he had forgotten how sensitive it was. Any intense sensation, whether it was rage or bliss or despair, felt the same in his chest: an incessant pound-pound-pounding on a door locked by bone. Such emotions, at times, overlapped so much that the lines distinguishing between them faded. // No matter what they were called, though, they all shared one catalyst. // He dared not look. Not yet. But when the promise of dawn tinted the horizon, the sun would always follow. <- Mostly the last sentence, but it needs the context to make sense

After all the hurt they had caused each other, being at [Lambert's] side felt inexplicably gentle. That truth in itself was treachery.

Thenana:

"I'm cheering you on, silly!"

"Change is difficult to accept, but it happens anyway, yup.”

Her entire ramble about the history of crochet.

Thenana was a confident mortal. She celebrated her life in its simplicity, was content with the unremarkable, showed no hesitation to welcome the former god to mortality: all traits that simultaneously frustrated and intrigued Narinder.

Ratau:

Though he usually wasn’t one for physical touch, Ratau moved to run his hand over the wool on the back of Lambert’s head. “Lambert… you’ll be okay.”

“Lamb, you need to cool down before you burn yourself up.” Ratau reached out to squeeze their arm. “You’ve seen incomparable violence and you’ve never let that harden your heart or lead you to despair. I never worried that you would devolve into unchecked cruelty because, despite inheriting a villain’s burden, you’re consistently able to keep your head on your shoulders.”

I NEED TO STOP BEFORE I LOOK TOO HARD

(#15) Have you ever made a moodboard for them?

I haven't made a moodboard for any of them! Maybe I should, though. It sounds like it would be fun!

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Oh you’re tempting the medical gods with that post.

Prompt: Lilith and sunlight

Okay! Here we are. This one took a very different path than I thought it would at the start, but I was able to make the original title work anyway. This is set in mine and @horse-in-a-star-spangled-rodeo Immortal Roommates AU, where Lilith is a vampire, Ava is immortal, and they've been living together for thousands of years. I hope you like it!

If you want to know where my head was at, generally, you can check out this song. Obviously this is where the title came from.

/////

Death and the Setting Sun

She's hungry.  There is blood in her mouth, pouring down her throat in great gulps, but it has no effect.  If anything, it just makes the gnawing in her gut worse, compelling her to drink more.

She tears her fangs out of the legionnaire's throat, catching threads of his jugular between them as she does, and tosses his drained corpse aside without care for where it lands.  She’s so hungry.  Her stomach is a void, a yawning chasm that cannot be filled.  

That doesn't mean she won't try.  Her lips peel back from her teeth in an inhuman snarl, and her eyes, bright as a raging fire, scan the field for her next victim, the next Roman fool that dares to stumble into her path.

There are plenty to choose from, an entire camp's worth, in fact.  Some run from her.  Some cower in their tents.  Some even try to fight.  One tries to swing his Gladius at her, only for her to catch his wrist without looking and pull his arm clean from its socket.  She breaks him apart piece by piece, and his screaming face splits into a hundred screaming faces.  His body becomes a hundred bodies, all blending into each other, an endless feast to feed her hate.  She rips, and rends, and drinks.  She drinks and drinks and drinks and still, it isn't enough.

She is Hunger.  She is Hatred.  She is the night itself, running free with the setting of the sun.  She is Death.  She is—

She is awake, lying on her back in bed.  The room around her is quiet and shadowed, the curtains pulled shut across the window.  Despite the darkness, she knows instinctively that it is afternoon, only a few hours before sunset.

This is unusual, as her internal clock is typically very strict about avoiding the daylight hours, but when she tries shutting her eyes again, sleep will not return.  Her mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the memory of echoing screams and pink mist to quiet again.

Eventually, Lilith rubs her eyes roughly and sits up, groaning in frustration as she does.  She climbs out of bed and marches her dragging feet to the kitchen to make a pick-me-up.

The smell of coffee wafting from the pot is soothing.  Even as she fixes her cup with cream and an ounce of pig's blood, it helps her stomach to settle.  She keeps the mug clasped between both hands as she takes a seat at their battered kitchen table, and she sips from it with care and control, in sharp contrast to the mindless devouring of her dream.

There's nothing for it, she knows.  Centuries have passed since that night in Gaul (all of those nights in Gaul), but the memories still sneak up on her when she least expects them.  She's long accepted that they will never leave her, but she does wish, childishly, that they would give some warning to their approach.  Then she could plan around them.  They had the power to derail her entire day sometimes, and it was becoming increasingly inconvenient to take a day off in modern society.

She sighs tiredly.  The kitchen curtains are still open, casting warm sunlight onto the table.  She finds herself watching the light as it creeps across the faded wood.

In her idle moments, she sometimes wonders if sunlight is so dangerous to vampires not because it burns them, but because they miss it so much that burning seems worth it.  It holds a terrible power over them, in more ways than one, and Lilith knows she is no exception.

In those days, the sun was the only thing that could bring her back when she lost herself to delirium.  The threat of it triggered her survival instincts, stirring her thinking mind out of the haze of slaughter so she could find shelter.  It also illuminated the carnage she left in her wake.  And while she never felt an ounce of remorse for killing Romans, being forced to confront her monstrosity had never failed to drive her back and send her fleeing in shame.  At least until the sun set again.

She isn’t sure how long she sits there, watching without seeing.  She slowly works on her drink, waiting for the caffeine to kick in, while her mind continues to wander.  The orange-yellow glow continues to slide up the length of the table.  Eventually, she stops noticing it, oblivious to how it creeps ever closer to her exposed fingers…

“Whoa, close call there!”  Ava’s voice rings through the room like a bell.  There comes the quick shrush of curtains closing, taking the advancing afternoon sun with it.  Lilith registers all of this at a sluggish pace, barely reacting when she feels Ava lean in close to peck her on the cheek.  “What’s up, babe?  You’re not usually up this early.”

Lilith blinks slowly, her thoughts still caught up in the past, but she turns her head to answer her lover’s question.  “Woke up,” she murmurs.  “Didn’t feel like staying in bed.”

“Okay,” Ava responds easily, running a gentle hand over Lilith’s hair.  “You must still be pretty tired though.  I know we don’t have to worry about you getting crispy anymore, but you still almost got a nasty sunburn there, εραστής.”

Lilith merely shrugs, forgoing a verbal response.  Ava’s presence alone is enough to dispel the worst of her dark mood, but she still doesn’t feel particularly chatty.

Ava notices this immediately of course, her brow furrowing in concern.  She walks slowly behind Lilith and leans down to wrap her arms around her neck.  Her lips bury themselves in raven-black hair, coaxing Lilith to relax into her embrace.

“Êtes-vous d'accord?”  Switching between languages has always been effortless for Ava.  Lilith is no slouch, of course, but in her distracted state it takes her longer than normal to acknowledge the change from English to French.

“Bien. Juste penser à des choses,” she eventually answers, prompting Ava to hold her tighter.

“Avez-vous besoin d'une distraction?”

This is what they do for each other.  They have enough years and enough sorrows between them to drown the world, and Lilith firmly believes that the reason they’ve stayed together for so long is because they’ve learned each other’s preferred methods of dealing with things.  For Lilith, that usually means drugs, hunting, or sex, and for Ava, it means getting involved in zany, half-baked schemes just for the sake of creating chaos.  It's a mutual understanding of each other’s needs that's kept their relationship strong for thousands of years.

Lilith isn’t sure what she wants this time, however, because the lingering shadow of her nightmare is still resting heavily on her mind.

“Just…” She stops, takes another second to collect herself, and then starts again.  “What was that silly television program you were telling me about?”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

Lilith nods, already feeling her lips start to twitch into a grin.  “Yes, that one.  I want to watch it, and see how ridiculous it is.”

She can feel Ava smile against her temple.  “It’s a date, babe.  A new episode comes on at 7.  We can make dinner and eat while we watch?”

“I’d like that.”

Ava kisses her hair again.  “Great!  I’ll warn you though, Sarah Michelle Gellar is in it and she's super hot, so inaccuracies aside, you won’t think it’s ‘ridiculous’ for very long.”

[allocate-aloe]

Can you guys believe it's only been a week.

A GOT-DANGIT WEEK. IT FEELS LIKE CENTURIES.

Listen, I know so many of us are scared, disassociating, and angry. I'm currently doing all three at the same time! Just know that you matter, your existence matters, the world is a better place with you in it. I feel that a lot of us realized how much women, especially women of color, are actually seen in the United States and it's atrocious. I'm not surprised, but I'm disgusted anyways.

One thing that my writing gives me is catharsis. I get to write about toxic masculinity and how stupid it makes both men and women. My male characters are not just shallow, cardboard cut-outs for sexual fantasy, they contain real ideals and themes that continue to infect our society. The idea of a hyper-violent man that would destroy the world to protect someone he loves is a fantasy that many women have, that we ARE worth burning the world down for. Unfortunately, that's not reality.

The reality is that many men use women, especially white women, as tools to continue their sense of control over those they deem as 'lesser than'. (My white supremacist grandfather from Arkansas said it was about 'keeping everyone in line', including women.) And many women play into this because they think they aren't being targeted, that they will also be saved if they show how useful they are to these types of men. They don't realize their necks are still on the block, even when they lay down their heads willingly. They don't realize that this hatred extends to themselves, as well. That's why the 'pick me' mentality doesn't work.

I wish I could say that we all will be okay, but I feel that we all know better than that. What I can say is that we have each other, we have our found families, we have our communities, and we no longer have to tolerate catering to people who see us as sub-human. They will feel these consequences, even if they lack the mental capacity to self-reflect and understand their own actions caused all of it. Let them. We're used to this fight. Women and the LGBTQ+ community have been fighting for thousands of years to establish and retain human rights. While coddled, wealthy white men scream about egg prices and how they have a right to a woman's body.

It's okay to feel scared, angry, disgusted, and hopeless. But don't let it defeat you. I will be channeling these feelings and destructive themes into my artwork, as I know many creatives will also do. Art is a foundation of resistance, it is integral to our culture. It motivates, comforts, and inspires the people that it's meant for.

I will be taking a short break to recover my center, so there will not be an update this week. I feel that it's important we tend to our souls first. Reach out to others experiencing this too. Make your favorite meals. Find connection through your own hobbies and artwork to express these feelings in a healthy way. And most importantly, do not despair. You do not have to fight the current to keep your head above water. Sometimes you just have to lay back and float.

So, let's float through this together, my friends. <3

TLDR; elections are terrifying with real-world consequences. It's okay to take a break if you need to. There won't be an update to the fic this week as I also try to process what is going on. Take care of yourselves, take care of each other. <3

[iam-siriuslysher-lokid]

What is moving on like?

It's when you realize that you don't think about them anymore every single minute of your day. Your day goes by as it was before they came into your life. You started focusing on yourself again. You may call it "distractions" but they really fucking work, such as trying to find a new show to binge, pick up a book you never got to finish, watch a film that has been on your watchlist for far too long, surfing around the net on what new shoes or dress to buy or rather thinking of saving up for the vacation you want to go to on the year's end.

Yes, you will definitely miss them. You will miss how they took over your mind for days before. How both of you can't stop thinking about each other. How every single thing they say to you is like a core memory. How you cherish every smile, laugh, tears that you two shared. And how you saw that both of you are broken pieces. Trying to strive in a world you both don't know how to navigate to.

However, with love comes pain. It's true what they said, and I thought they were wrong. "You have to love just as much as you want to be hurt". It's the sacrifice. That's the foundation of it all. That's what make everything sturdy and firm. And that is also the time you will see how one-sided everything was. You begged, you cried, you screamed for help, for the pain. But all they do was stood there and watched you. Yes, they will say such pretty, vibrant words to you. But all you will hear is silence. As those words really meant nothing. Again, as what they said - "Actions speak louder than words."

As the darkness took over, you will be baffled on what to do. You will begin hating yourself. You will start questioning what went wrong. On what wrong thing you said. Or did. You will want to burn in the fire of your hatred towards yourself. You will want to scream as you rip off the skin of flesh that is you. You will forget how majestic, beautiful, and splendid you are. You will want to isolate yourself from everything but the truth is, no matter how much pain we go through - the world will keep going. Just like as he did. Do.

It will be very difficult to get up on your own feet again. It will hurt dozens of times, even a thousand more. But we have to brave ourselves and face our battles. No one will fight for you except you. Let the light touch your face once again. Crave every sensations on your body. Let yourself see how beautiful, valued and important - exactly as you are.

[sonsofkhaos]

⸻ WELCOME TO 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 .ᐟ

where the beaches are hot , but the writing is hotter. 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! this blog will handle mature themes , amongst them post - apocalyptic situations , violence , sexual themes , abuse , neglect , religious trauma and so on. everything will be tagged and put under read more accordingly , but if you read my writing , you might see some shocking things ! please proceed with caution !

under the read more , you are going to find some of my rules , at least while i work on them properly !

𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌��𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

ONE. i  think  it’s  a  general  fear   ,   and  it  almost  seems  silly  to  be  putting  this  down  on  paper   ,   but  as  someone  who  this  has  happened  several  times  before   ,   PLEASE  DON’T  STEAL  FROM  MY  PAGE !   everything  you  find  on  this  page  posted  by  me  has  been  specially  thought  through  and  dedicated  to   ,   and  it  makes  me  incredibly  sad  seeing  it  pop  up   ,    uncredited   ,   somewhere  else.   i  find  that  characters  have  been  what’s  most  stolen  from  me   ( both  in  twitter  and  tumblr )   and  let  me  tell  you   :   it  doesn’t  feel  nice.   if  you  want  to  use  any  of  my  resources   ,   or  even  pick  up  one  of  my  npc’s   ,   please  message  me  first

TWO.  i  don’t  feel  comfortable  in  roleplaying  with  anyone  under  the  age  of  twenty.   i  get  it !   as  someone  who’s  been  roleplaying  since  they  were  grossly  underage   ( first  generation  tumblr  person  here )   ,   it’s  a  hobby  with  no  age.   but !   as  someone  who’s  reaching  the  big  3 0  in  a  few  years   ,   i  definitely  shouldn’t  be  engaging  in  scenarios  with  people  almost  10  years  or  younger  than  me.   which  brings  me  to  my  next  topic !

THREE. please  unfollow  if  you  can’t  handle  the  feed.   no  hard  feelings  whatsoever   ,   we  always  need  to  put  ourselves  first.   i  too  will  unfollow  if  something  on  your  feed  doesn’t  tick  right  with  me   ,   and  i  think  it’s  our  right  as  people  and  tumblr  users  to  decorate  our  feed  the  way  we  want  to

in  the  same  vein   ,   i  will  never  welcome  transphobia   ,   homophobia   ,   body  type  hatred   ,   bigotry   ,   ableism   ,   or  any  type  of  hate  in  my  account  or  feed.   one  thing  is  a  character  having  one  of  these  flaws   ,   and  going  through  a  learning  process   ,   but  outright  out  of  character  hatred  over  a  muse  /  other  creator  /  anyone ?   insta - unfollow   ,   if  not  block.

FOUR. feel  free  to  always  send  me  impromptu  starters  or  asks   ,   i  love  being  thrown  into  the  wolves   ( metaphorically ).   i  ask   ,   however   ,   you  always  tell  me  which  muse  you  want  to  answer   ( whether  in  the  ask   ,   or  the  tags  of  the  post   ,   or  through  ims ).   i  want  to  avoid  throwing  in  a  muse  that  wasn’t  the  one  you  had  in  mind   ,   and  having  to  re - write  the  whole  thing

FIVE. big  ROMANTIC   ,   i  am.   unless  specified   ( by  a  main  verse  connection  or  being  aromantic / asexual / both )   ,   all  my  characters  feel  intensely   ,   and  are  open  for  romantic  and  sexual  connections.   HOWEVER !   i  am  also  BIG  on  chemistry   ,   and  slow  burns   ,   so  i  won’t  throw  into  the  ring  romantic  connections  right  off  the  bat.   i  am  open   ,   however   ,   to  test  the  waters  and  see  where  it  goes. IN  ADDITION   ,   please  know  my  characters’  romantic  feelings  aren’t  my  romantic  feelings.   i  might  feel  excited   ,   i  might  send  you  ten  thousand  musings  about  our  characters   ,   i  might  like  writing  them   ,   but  that’s  it.   please  don’t  make  it  weird.

[bloodiisms]

A feeling of being surrounded by hellfire practically succumbed her. The sudden heat, paired with the urge to flee, but being far too excited to actually get burned, ended up with Raziel just tensing up. Her teeth pressed together, a tight jaw, tense muscles and a careful gaze -- the angel looked as if she'd stepped into the lion's den and there was no escaping whatsoever. Zehra, whenever they met, completely captivated her. The way she moved and talked, a demon through and through, capable of causing others to sin. That's exactly how she treated their situation: Zehra's powers, perfectly capable of making even a dutiful angel sin. Alas, the angel knew this to be untrue. Especially after all these years and their constant companionship. Hatred had united them, but really, Raziel had sinned and for that she'd have to suffer through this... attraction. Like a moth to the flame. Always fighting for what's right.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Her eyes dart wildly from Zehra's right eye to her left, and back again, as if to frantically find out if she was joking or not. "The mayor's probably listening to your every word and accepts it as gospel. Why else would you lower yourself to such lengths?" Ah, there she'd done it. Speaking highly of a demon. Not any demon. Zehra. Maybe, just maybe, Raziel finally understood her own sins and why she'd tempted humanity into this downfall. Mirroring a demon, wanting to charm her, please her? Deeds spoke so much louder than words ever could. This way, at least, she wouldn't have to think about what is or could be and just sink into this comfortable lie of having tried her best to help humanity.

"In touching you, I might heal you. Maybe then I'll understand why.." but Raziel waited, hoped to be released from this torment. "I cannot harm you within the town walls." The fire within her eyes rekindled, especially after Zehra pushed her away. With her eyes now furrowed together, the angel remained fairly calm. Oh, how much she hated her. The antithesis to her own, the constant partner she'd never hoped for but couldn't live without now. Another fight, another back and forth, another chase, she'd seen this play out a thousand times and would never get tired of her. The ugly, ugly truth of something Raziel knew in her heart to be true. The fire burning within, dark and steady, hoping for release after a long duel against her, the faintest glance of her from afar in the deserts of Egypt, chasing her all the way to Rome just to lose her again, having to pick up pieces of what she'd left behind near paradise just to make sure nobody else would find her. Sweet fool.

"I'm trying to, all the time. You don't have to be me, you just have to believe." There's a certain desperation in her voice which grew more and more until her voice sounded more steady, less shaky. "This is the first time in forever, that I won't, can't hurt you. If only I could.. if only I could force you to listen and accept God, accept me, into your heart." Raziel shook her head. If only I could tell you what I've done. "Zehra, there's no part of you that's damaged or not right. You're just too unbelievably stubborn to accept kindness into your heart and now an entire town has to suffer because of it?" Me? "Take my hand, come on. I'll make it worth your while."

the demon can feel the electricity in the air, humming like a live wire between them. raziel's presence is always like this ⸺ intense, powerful, otherworldly and there's something undeniably captivating about it. annoying and captivating. zehra can't decide which she dislikes more. but the truth is that despite her frustration, she enjoys this. the proximity. the tension. the fine line between hostility and something else, something complicated. she tilts her head slightly, noticing the way her counterpart's posture shifts to mirror her own. it makes her wonder if the movement was intentional or if they've started to unconsciously mirror each other's mannerisms. the thought stirs something uncomfortable in zehra's gut that she likens to indigestion. thankfully, the accusation brings her back from her rumination. femme lets out a soft, breathy laugh at the idea. “ oh, but i don't do strings, angel. besides, puppetry requires putting your hand in uncomfortable places and i'm not interested in that kind of intimate involvement… with the mayor, ” eyebrows raise suggestively, pearly whites sinking into lesser brim to stifle a chuckle. she knows raziel well enough to recognize the frustration simmering just beneath that angelic veneer. zehra inhales deeply, like she's savoring the other's fury. whether the angel's words are meant as an invitation or a threat doesn't really matter, she'll interpret them the way that irks her nemesis most. “ uh huh, if you're going to threaten me with foreplay, you'd better follow through. ” it wouldn't be the first time things escalate from verbal sparring to a physical confrontation ⸺ nor the last, even though zehra is painfully aware she could never truly have the upper hand in a fight. well, a fair one.

the smoldering light in raziel's gaze is a fire she's seen before; glowing, ready to drag her into the light. but zehra's too comfortable in the dark. she doesn't flinch when the angel leans in. too close, too personal. enough to make her doubt spoken suggestion to end whatever this is. the slightly flushed cheeks is all the confirmation she needs. “ why ? ” she asks with an exaggerated pout, “ the chase is the fun part ! ” unblinking, she watches lithe angelic fingers twitch near her cheek. a gesture so disgustingly tender it almost makes her gag. there's a tut, a click of her tongue, “ a little too touchy-feely, don't you think ? ” the usual playful glint undergirds her tone, mouth twisting into a lopsided smirk. “ if you get any closer, i might just think you're trying to seduce me, ” her gaze flicks down to raziel's lips before brown hues meet green again. the forbidden line they both refuse to cross. it's been centuries and the angel's earnestness still has the power to get under her skin, despite how many times zehra's seen the same charade play out. it's the delivery that ends up testing the demon's limits. raziel's voice soft, almost… sincere ? it makes the brunette's smile falter and her own fingers twitch. slowly, she reaches up, grazing the angel's hand with the tips of her fingers before guiding it down by the wrist and pulling away. there'll be no dwelling on the warmth that lingers beneath her fingertips where her skin touched raziel's. “ i thought you'd understand it by now. i'm not broken, i'm not lost. i'm just—- ” her tone drips with sarcasm, but there's something else there, a quiet sincerity, “ —-not you. ” it's as much vulnerability as she's willing to show, any more truth-telling will have to be tortured out of her. once she regains her composure, she schools her features into a bored expression. “ your dull mission sounds like a broken record, raziel. if you're so intent on divine retribution, then by all means, do your worst, ” leaning in, her lips hover dangerously close to the angel's ear, voice dropping to a sultry murmur, “ but you'll have to catch me first, darling. ” she steps back, a giggle tumbling past cupid bow's lips as the moment slips away like sand through their fingers, “ if you can. ”

[gizkasparadise]

What are your favorite love stories from dramas? Chinese or Korean. The OTPs that slayed you?

yay! i love love!! SPOILERS below!

--

li zi wei / huang yu xuan, someday or one day. taiwanese drama.

boy meets girl. boy dies. girl time travels about 20 years into the past and meets boy's doppelganger, except he's older than he should be in 1998. turns out boy is ALSO a time traveler, and he waited years to be reunited with the girl in her original timeline after meeting her in 1998 😭. boy still dies. girl goes to correct the timeline again. in order for the boy and the girl's friends to survive, they have to erase the timeline where they meet, and all their memories together, and they choose to do so. it's implied the boy will still meet the girl someday, one day 😭😭😭. a follow up movie (with the same cast!) is going to be released soon, but the original drama is perfect on its own and their story hits all the best bittersweet notes.

also their theme song kills me/watch for a highlight reel:

--

dongfang qingcang and xiao lanhua, love between fairy and devil. chinese drama

this story is like someone took all my favorite fanfics from when i was 14 and injected it straight into my veins!! xiao lanhua is an unimportant orchid fairy who accidentally frees the leader of the moon tribe (the fairies' #1 enemy), certified big bad and girlboss dongfang qingcang, who has sealed away his emotions for a power boost. over time, the two of them grow closer and understand one another better and if you're someone who likes "i'll burn the world down for 1 person" with notes of devil/jesus or hades/persephone this is 100% absolutely your ship.

like, the way we all went absolutely feral during this scene:

--

do hyun soo/cha ji won, flower of evil. korean drama

idek where to begin with these two, but ugh. ugh!! ugh!!!! the way they killed me over 16 episodes! definitely an unconventional couple, do hyun soo is a suspected serial killer who's been on the run for over 15 years, and cha ji won is his wife and also a detective recently assigned to hunt him down. their story is just such a raw and lovely look at trauma's effects on people and they're so ride or die for one another and their daughter. it's wonderful to see a love story about a long-term couple, as well.

--

yu sifeng/chu xuanji, love and redemption. chinese drama

THE ship for you if you like inverted gender dynamics, masochism tangos, and 10 lifetimes' worth of pining and star-crossed lovers. thousands of years ago, there was a god of war who was punished to live 10 lifetimes on earth so she could unlearn her hatred at heaven. chu xuanji is her 10th and final mortal incarnation, a girl who can't understand the 6 senses and lives with her father's martial arts sect, although she can't practice martial arts or cultivation herself. sifeng is a member of a rival sect, a sect that forbids love, marriage, or children from its members. it's revealed that sifeng has loved and followed xuanji through 9 previous lifetimes that all ended violently for him, and this is their last chance to break the cycle/get their happily ever after /;3;/

what i love most about this one is that it flips the script on gender dynamics-- sifeng is a martyr for love and xuanji is the overpowered one who struggles to understand her feelings. here's one of my favorite scenes where xuanji reveals her hidden powers to save sifeng from being whipped to death

--

sung deok sun/choi taek, reply 1988. korean drama.

the other love stories on this list are all fantasy-based or have extraordinary circumstances, so i figured for this last one i would pick a love story that's just so wonderfully normal and grounded. a lot of people got second-lead syndrome from this series, but i am empathetically not one of them!!

deok sun and taek are childhood friends and neighbors who grew up together. it's evident early on in the series that taek loves deok sun, and he's always honest about his feelings, but it takes deok sun a little longer to realize she's in love with taek. what i love about this ship is that it's really quiet-- we see them fall in love with small moments and through their actions/behaviors vs. large, grand confessions (although we get a great confessional moment near the end of the drama too!!). there's also such a great balance between birds of a feather and being complimentary toward one another.

some other favorites:

lan tian ye/su can can, wait my youth (chinese drama)

dan oh/haru, extraordinary you (korean drama)

lee jung in/yoo ji ho, one spring night (korean drama)

yoon sae boem/jung yi hyun, happiness (korean drama)

ha moon so/lee kang do, just between lovers (korean drama)

sung shi won/yoon yoon jae, reply 1997 (korean drama)

kang dong gu/han yoon nah ft. sol, welcome to waikiki (korean drama)

[sukirichi]

home from war | sukuna x reader

Home from War | sukuna x reader

featuring: sukuna x reader (historical au) with small moments of megumi x reader

warnings: very mild suggestive content, mentions of manslaughter and slight yandere tendencies + a toxic sukuna + angst + not proofread :D

part two!

How does one soothe their lover who’s come from war?

You ponder about this carefully, eyes dark as you let your gaze travel from the opening door. Sukuna comes in, bare chest littered with cuts caked in mud, blood, and dirt, and you see the way the grip around his katana falters just a little bit. The room is dark – it is late at night, after all, and you had stirred awake in your accidental slumber from waiting too long for him to return home – but you see him under the darkness clearly. Way too clearly.

Those markings on his face you so dearly love don’t even seem threatening. You seriously question your sanity at this point because he is the Ryomen Sukuna; King of Curses. It’s no secret that he does as he pleases, taking someone’s life as if it was second nature to him, claiming territories, wealth, and even people as if they were his own.

You should be scared, and in a way, you are.

But not in that way.

You’re scared because his shoulders slump, those once burning red eyes fluttering close as he drops to his knees on the floor. Without wasting another second, you leap off the bed, your arms wrapping around his figure. He reeks of death, and before you know it, you wash his exhaustion away by peppering his face with the pads of your lips.

Sukuna hums, pulling you closer to him until there is no space between skin, his neck nuzzling in your face. “I’m home,” his lips brush the bare skin of your neck, his breath warm and ticklish. “I made it home to you, my love. Safely like you asked.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Immediately, you bite down your tongue and blink back the tears that threaten to fall. Safely? You want to snap back, your nails almost raking down his back. This is hardly considered “safely” when his knees wobble as you guide him inside the bath, nearly unable to keep his eyes open as you wipe away his cuts and the other remnants of war present on his body.

“I’m sorry,” his voice echoes in the confined walls. You don’t even realize the tears had fallen until his rough, calloused hands brush a tear away. He tilts your chin upwards to look him in the eye, lips trembling when those devilish eyes soften – reserved for you and only for you – and Sukuna sighs through his nose. “I wish I could stop the war, but — ”

“It’s not possible,” you finish for him, forcing a smile to help ease his worries. At this point, you’re conflicted between wanting to scold him to not leave the temple anymore and just stay with you, but you also know why Sukuna doesn’t do that.

It’s because he wants to keep you safe. As long as you were around, Sukuna would go the moon and back just to keep coming back home to you. Perhaps that was the most painful part – the fact that you knew he wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t met you. Sukuna was the fearsome King of Curses, powerful and undefeated even after a thousand years, but he wasn’t omnipotent. Hundreds of jujutsu sorcerers have lost their lives trying to defeat them, and it took about a hundred more deaths before they backed off at the realization he couldn’t be defeated or exorcised.

Until you came.

You were Sukuna’s weakness, the chink in his armour, his Achilles heel.

The moment it was known that Sukuna kept a lover, they just kept coming. The war begun.  Soon enough, your days of rolling around in bed with him, trapped under his arms and weekends spent in whines of each other’s names disappeared.

Sukuna has a temple to defend. A lover to protect. A woman to cherish. A soul to treasure.

It was all because of you, and you know better than anyone else that he was tired. But he’d never tell you that. He would still scoop you in his arms; pull you closer by the hip so he could lay his ears on your chest, eventually falling asleep with the sensation of your fingers massaging his scalp while you hum to soothe him. The sound of your heartbeat has Sukuna exhaling rhythmically minutes later.

The notorious King of Curses, bundled up in the arms of his lover, completely relaxes in the privacy of his shared bedroom with the woman he loves most. It was as if the war didn’t happen at all. He sleeps with a small smile on his face, sleepily mumbling your name and reaching up to kiss your smooth skin every now and then.

It was perfect. It was heaven.

But that wasn’t you.

Because you are not her; you are not even human. You listen to all this on the other side of the temple. If you were anyone else, someone like her, then Sukuna’s intimate moments with his lover would be private – something that would be kept and cherished only between the two of them. But you aren’t human.

You are a curse born from people’s heartbreak and grief. You don’t even remember how you came to life; your first memory hazy of nothing but endless pain and so much anger you lost yourself. Until he came.

Ryomen Sukuna; the King of Curses – he adored you.

Finally, he met his equal. A curse equally as powerful and blinded by darkness, hatred, and bloodlust – you were one of the rare curses whose presence he enjoyed, and it didn’t take long before he invited you to his temple and offered a seat next to him.

You are Ryomen Sukuna’s right hand warrior, his greatest partner when it comes to battle. If he was powerful before, people feared you both even more when you joined powers. He didn’t go to war without you. For days on end, you and Sukuna would traverse villages and slaughter kingdoms to fill the emptiness gaping in your hearts, but he changed when he met her.

That fragile, meak, little human that loved him and changed him.

Because of her, even you are forced to join this war against jujutsu sorcerers. It’s been a long war – consisting of ten days and waning red moons. You and Sukuna barely came out unscathed this time, the Gojo clan seems to have something else under their sleeves, and your yukata had been ripped open in pieces while blood washed over your body like water.

You and Sukuna came back tired, weak, almost defeated.

You lay your back flat against the wall, teeth attacking your bottom lip while you pour potions over your cuts. At the other side of the temple, Sukuna is already fast asleep, safe in the arms of his lover. And you? You couldn’t even let out a small noise of whimper. Sukuna’s heightened senses would pick up on it, mistake that it would be his precious little woman in his sleepy daze, and you don’t want him to be further agitated.

Besides, once he realizes that it was just you, he would only go back to sleep.

Because he knew you didn’t need him, not in that way. You were the Curse born from Heartbreak, possibly the only ever person who would know pain and suffering the same way he did, but that isn’t true. Sukuna wouldn’t understand that this is your suffering – to have him within grasp but out of reach, to know that he was always with you, that he loves you just the same, but not in the way you want him to, not in the way you need him to.

To him, you are his beloved friend and partner in crime.

You are not the one who soothes him when he comes from war. You are not the one that gets to feel his harsh tongue soften at the first contact of your lips, to have the privilege of having rough hands that easily tortured others to be gentle as he dips his hands in the dips and curves of your body. You are not the one who gets to see him when he wakes up and he smiles half-lidded. You are not the one who gets to kiss his pain and wounds away, to wipe his tears from his cheeks because looking at you makes him wonder how lucky he is to have you.

Instead, you are the one he brings to war with. You are the one he trusts to keep her safe, to watch his back and guard all possible blind spots during war. You are the one who jumps in front of him when a blast of fire is on his way, and you are the one who heals his wounds in the battlefield when he grows too weak. You are the one he laughs with when you’ve both decapitated the enemy, growing only stronger with each passing day under the belief maybe both of you could rule the world someday.

But does any of it matter?

You always believed that you were okay with it, that having him trust you with his whole life, enough to have you sleeping under the same roof as him, was everything you needed. But after she came, you watched him fall in love, and you felt pathetic.

You could never have him.

You could never have what they have.

Sometimes you wonder, what if you just said it? In those nights where nothing but the moonlight illuminated both of your blood-stained faces, chests rising up and down as it both rumbled with laughter, discarded glasses of alcohol thrown on the ground – it would’ve been the perfect moment, wouldn’t it?

Though deep down, you knew the answer.

Sukuna wouldn’t love you, couldn’t love you. He wanted someone to protect, not someone to fight wars with. He wanted someone to come home to, not someone he wrecked homes with. He wanted to listen to someone’s dreams and passions – all of the things you didn’t have because you were born out of pain, living in pain, and Sukuna was the only thing that soothed you for a bit.

Your breaths came out raspy as your wounds began to close up. The stench of blood remained on your body, the red liquid drying up.

Sukuna wouldn’t want an impure woman like you. It makes sense he loved her. She was as bright as the sky while you were as dark as day, and when she laughed, she lit up the whole room. You don’t laugh, you don’t even smile. The only times you ever got to feel that sort of happiness was when you were still a fresh-born curse, a wild Sukuna more than glad to teach you of his ways.

It’s okay, you lie to yourself, crawling back to your bed while ridding yourself of your clothes. You would shower later; sleep needed to come first. Curses like you don’t really need, but you were too exhausted – inside and outside – that for once, you want to submit to healing.

As you close your eyes, you hear Sukuna stir in their room again. The sounds of faint lip-locking echo in your ears, making you slap your palms on the sides of your head, but you hear it, you hear it, you hear it, you hear it.

“How is Y/N?” she asks worriedly, her dainty, small, and innocent fingers that could never harm a fly brushing against his skin. Warm.

“She’s fine,” Sukuna rasps tiredly, “She’s a little beaten up, but she’s in a better state than I am,” you hear him kiss her on the forehead, a contended sigh leaving her lips. “She’ll be fine, my love. You know Y/N. She is fierce, brave, and courageous. This war is nothing to her.”

“I still feel bad she joined the war just so both of you could protect me.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“She knows I love you,” Sukuna mumbles on top of her head, his hands tracing patterns on her back. Tears flowed out your eyes, your body trembling as you bit your fist, drool flowing down. You couldn’t stop the way you felt your heart torn to pieces. Really, it shouldn’t be anything new to you. You are a curse manifested from heartbreak, after all, but why did it hurt so much this time? “Y/N is a long time friend and ally of mine. She cherishes everything I cherish.”

“But still...aren’t you going to check up on her? I couldn’t even welcome her back. I haven’t seen you both in days and I...”

“Shhh,” Sukuna lulls her worries. “I’ll check up on her right now, although I don’t think she needs it. She’s a strong warrior, after all.”

“Sukuna,” her voice was laced with warning this time, but it later softens, as it always does. “Even the strongest have their weak moments, like how you are with me. Just because someone is capable of enduring the pain, doesn’t mean they won’t appreciate an act of kindness. Y/N has been loyal to you far longer than I have, but you really need to show your gratitude more to her,” she sighs, “Go check on her, my love. See if she’s doing well. If she’s fully recovered by tomorrow, I’ll head out to the market and prepare you both a lovely meal. It’s the least I could do.”

Sukuna chuckles, “My love, we don’t need to eat.”

“No matter. She likes miso soup, doesn’t she?”

By now, you’re frozen in bed. The blood and dirt and your skin have stained your sheets, and your hair is knotted in tangles from endless fighting. Maybe this is the reason why you hated yourself more than you hate her – because deep down, she isn’t really someone you could hate.

It makes sense Sukuna loves her.

Unlike you, she is kind, caring, gentle and full of love. What did you have? Pent up anger, bloodlust, temperamental tendencies and a hobby of withdrawing as a form of isolation because you couldn’t cope with the heartbreak – this is your gift. Your curse.

She is a blessing.

You hear the bed dip feet away, and whispers of, “Be safe, I’ll wait for you,” before a door slides close. Sukuna’s footsteps pad nearer in your hallway, in a place that he had his servants build just for you years ago when you proved your loyalty to him. Back then, you were over the moon when you saw him telling his people he wanted you to have your own room, but now it was like a huge slap on your face that Sukuna cared for you, but he didn’t want you close to him in the way she was.

Your room was on the other side of the temple, at the back, to be specific. While she stays with him in his own chambers, he used his magic to build her a beautiful garden filled with her favourite flowers, while you were somewhat locked away behind it all.

A bitter smile makes it way to your face. Sukuna was coming, not because he wanted to, but because she asked him to.

You want to laugh. Instead, you run out the room in such speed that the sheets fly away from your bed, and the floorboards crack under the force of your movements. When Sukuna raps his knuckles on your door, asks if he could come in (as if he needed permission for that), and you don’t answer, he takes it upon himself to intrude.

He isn’t surprised at your discarded clothes, or how your room remains dark and empty, as if you’d never been there at all. This isn’t the first time you ran away, and this would not be the first time he ran after you either.

He knows you’ll come home.

After all, it was him you kept coming back to – although he didn’t know that.

Breakfast the next day wasn’t any better. She invited you to join them, fretting over the cuts on your cheeks and dabbing at them with a wet towel. She feels like a doting mother who wouldn’t stop worrying about her child who tripped, and again, you realize why he loves her.

The food was good. Like she promised, miso soup is placed in a bowl you painted years ago, and she beams at you expectantly while Sukuna caressed her thighs under the table. Your lips tremble as you take a spoonful of it, letting the warm soup soothe your exhausted body with a sigh. Sukuna peers at you in the same curiosity, head tilted to the side ever so slightly as if waiting how you’ll react.

It’s no secret you don’t open yourself up to anyone other than him. The moment she came to live with you both, he could tell you locked yourself up in your room and even disappeared for weeks under the lie that you were parading in the districts to “look for some fun.”

Sukuna knows you better than you know yourself. He knows it’s a lie, that you’re not someone who “looks for fun” and that you probably just stayed up in the mountains watching the sunrise. He knows you’re uncomfortable with her displays of affection, of how she easily adored you or how she cared for you like you were her sister or even a friend, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

If anything, he only hopes you would treat her the same way.

You don’t finish your bowl. It’s extremely difficult to enjoy the food when Sukuna compliments her on her cooking skills and she turns beet red beside him, nervously giggling that she just wanted to make you feel better. Sukuna bends down to steal a peck from her lips, teasing her that she was his “sweet angel” who had a heart of gold.

They don’t even eat.

They’re just giggling, laughing, kissing, and you understand – you really do. It isn’t every day that Sukuna gets to indulge in the presence of his beloved. But only you are there with him. It’s either he trusts you enough to let his guard down, or you’re unimportant enough that he doesn’t care if you see him completely baby her and spoil her rotten with how he grabs her onto his lap and starts kissing her nose and then her eyelids.

Their cheerful laughter is a great contrast to the sound of your heart shattering into pieces. They don’t notice that you’ve excused yourself, heading out the room and into the back part of the house, passing the servants on the way.

Similar to how they treat Sukuna, they quiver and bow before you, making sure to keep their eyes on the floor in fear you’d slice their heads off. You fight back a sigh. You wouldn’t do that – not when they welcomed you so warmly (or rather, fearfully) and accepted you as their master. You realize that they don’t act this way around Sukuna’s lover. In fact, they light up when she’s around and talk to her freely; everyone was just comfortable in her presence.

You know you’re not her.

You could never be her.

She was a human, and you’re nothing but a lonely, heartbroken curse.

Hours pass by, and no one looks for you. You dare not enter the garden Sukuna made for her even if you also like the flowers, simply because you don’t want Sukuna to be appalled at the thought that someone like you – a Curse who’d killed people and tortured others – would also be enamoured with something as innocent as daisies.

The lake is peaceful that night. It’s painful to bathe back at the temple because the servants won’t leave you alone. They insist on washing your body for you and that you should lay back, but you refuse to be coddled. The lake is on the other side of the mountain, deep in the forest with smaller curses lurking, so no one would find you here.

The moon shines down bright on you, and for the first time since you’d gotten home, you smile.

It looks so beautiful. So big and bright, yet so haunting and peaceful with secrets you could never uncover. You stare at it as you take off your robes layer by layer, feet dipping into the cold water before submerging completely. The ripples on the lake illuminated by the moonlight makes it even more soul-stirring.

You cup the water and wash your hair, finally getting rid of the invisible stains from the war. You felt clean, refreshed – but your heart still rumbled with hatred and darkness. Hatred that you couldn’t be good enough, hatred that you’re destined to be lonely and unloved.

One of the good things about bathing at midnight is that no one gets to see your tears when it mixes in with the water, and you throw your head back in laughter with your arms extended to the sky. This is who you are – a Curse with no future and no past.

Later, you choke as a sob begins, your fist clenching above your heart. It hurt everywhere.

You wanted Sukuna – so much that you felt like you were going to go insane.

If it wasn’t for him, you’d be trapped in an endless nightmare. But he saved you, cared for you, made you his equal. So why couldn’t he love you? You’ve always been there for him. When people turned against him or plotted a rebellion, you were the one who snuck into clan houses and slit their throats, making their descendants and followers witness the consequence of disrespecting Sukuna.

When he was nearly exorcised by an overpowered jujutsu sorcerer, you summoned an army of thousand lost souls to defeat them, nearly ending up with you losing your head in the aftermath. It was always you – you were always there from him since the beginning, so why didn’t he love you?

You cupped your eyes with your palms, unable to stop the tears from coming now. Your whole body shook with sobs, turning number and number at the cold water. Nothing mattered, nothing mattered, nothing did if you couldn’t have Sukuna.

“Sukuna,” you cried out, pushing your hair back as the ripples blurred in your tear-stained view. “Sukuna, help me, please...” Put an end to my suffering, you inwardly begged. Death is a better option than watching him fall deeper and deeper for her, knowing that could never be you. He’d never look at you that way. He’d never touch you that way. He would never be your lover, and your sobs grew more desperate because you know you are his lover.

God, you loved him so much more than you hated yourself.

This sort of madness had you gasping for air. Death – death is a better option. It is a much more peaceful way to go than to suffer each waking day to have what you want be explicitly stated to be reserved for anyone else but you.

You froze when a pair of arms encircled your waist, his grip strong and vice-like. He turned you around, his large hand coming at the small of your neck to bring you down to his shoulder where you could hide your tears. Until now, he knows you better than you know yourself, and he knows it would shatter you even more if he saw you crying.

“Y/N,” Sukuna begins, and your eyes widen when you see he’s still wearing his robe. He must’ve jumped in the water. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What’s wrong?”

Your lips turned blue from the cold. Unable to help the shiver that ran down your spine, your teeth chattered, and Sukuna pulled you closer to the heat of his skin. He sighed worriedly. “You need to tell me what’s wrong, otherwise, I can’t help you.”

“I” You falter. Your heart drums loudly in your chest. He would reject you, break your heart into pieces all over again but – so what if he did? It almost made you laugh. You’re the Curse of Heartbroken Souls. It wouldn’t make a difference if he hurt you now. Instantly, you weaken in his hold, and Sukuna’s hands grip your waist to keep you upright.

“Fuck, Y/N, what’s wrong —”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” you repeat, more confidently this time. You pull away from him in the slightest bit, eyes blown wide as you peer up at his appalled ones. His hands squeeze your waist subconsciously, his sharp nails piercing through your skin until it draws blood. It makes you gasp a little, but you’re used to the pain. Right now, you want to be selfish and free yourself from this pain. “I want you to kiss me, Sukuna.”

His eyebrows pinch together. “What the fuck are you saying? I love someone else, you know I won’t —”

“Won’t do what?” You challenge, eyes burning from the intensity and ferocity of each nerve humming to life. “This isn’t who you are, Sukuna. You’re the King of Curses. Or have you already forgotten those days you would accept those female offerings and you’d fuck them until they’re out of their mind, then discard them as if they were nothing but dirty laundry? You were strong back then, majestic, but now you’re fucking weak,” You spat out. You know you’re spurning him on and pushing all his buttons, but somehow saying those words gave you great relief.

Now, it was time to see his patience snap, which shouldn’t take long since his grip had turned bruising on your hips, and he growled under his breath. “Don’t do this, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who shouldn’t do this,” you growl back, “You haven’t been the same ever since that pathetic excuse of a woman came. Don’t you remember that she left her husband and children just because she was a whore for you? Because you pleased her better than her human spouse?” You push him away with enough force that it sends him a few feet back, and Sukuna scowls. “She doesn’t love you! She only stays by your side because she was nothing but a filthy rat before and now you treat her like a queen! She’s nothing but a lowly human who —”

“Enough!”

“ —made you believe you’re someone she could love! Don’t you get it, Sukuna? We’re Curses, she’s a human! She will never understand us! You’re lying to yourself if you believe she doesn’t cry herself to sleep at the thought she’s next to a monster —”

“I said, that’s enough!” In a flash, Sukuna was in front of you, clawed hands wrapped around your neck. It would be so easy for him to break you and kill you right then and there, your feet already above ground and your exposed breasts just within his sight. Nevertheless, you only laugh cruelly at his agitation. “You know nothing,” he squeezed your neck tighter, “about what it’s like to love someone. How dare you say that she does not love me?”

“I know, because if you let me, I could love you a lot more,” you choked out, clawing at his arm, but he is unfazed by your efforts.

Sukuna lets go of you. You drop in the water as you gasp and breathe for air, but Sukuna’s wide eyes bring you back to reality. It’s that face, the one that tells you he’s been unaware this whole time, and the sudden confession drops on him like a cannonball.

Like a switch has been flipped off, you revert back to your normal self. Using your arms to shield your body, you run away from him, about to make it to the bank when his voice stops you. “Do you truly mean it? Do you love me?”

You close your eyes. “Yes. I always have.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” you pull your hair to the side, squeezing the water out. “You barely believe me now, so why believe me if I said it earlier? It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Then why were you calling for me? I heard you crying. You said you wanted me to help you.”

You whip around, tears furiously flowing down. “I’m going to the jujutsu sorcerers myself tomorrow and let them exorcise me. There’s no point to my existence, Sukuna. I’m tired of all the wars. I’m tired of fighting for someone I don’t even care about. I’m tired of loving you and watching you look at her instead of me, when I’m the one who’s always been there for you. I’m tired of —” you hiccup, embarrassed that he was now watching you break down in front of him. You were a powerful curse, dammit, you shouldn’t even be crying about this. “—I’m tired of not being the one you love.”

Sukuna stands there gaping. You don’t give him another chance to speak as you walk away, seemingly a new habit of yours now. You haven’t always been this way. Patience was never one of your strongest points, but being around Sukuna for the past years taught you a thing or two. That all shatters now that you’ve grown tired, the shame of patheticness crawling between your legs as you retrieve your robes, not bothering to dry up.

He exhales through his nose, claws balled into a fist to restrain his anger. Now he wants to be gentle with you the way he is with her?

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic – you keep chanting to yourself. You’re not there yet, but there have already been rumours that you’re the Queen of Curses, the only one who ever managed to be Sukuna’s equal. Although men feared you, they also lusted after you.

How could they not? You were a sexual prowess, and a fearsome figure in the battlefield. Men are confused whether they want to be with you, or if the mere utter of your name had them fainting. Sukuna, on the other hand? He didn’t care. He didn’t notice you. You’re nothing but a war tool to him, his friend and companion during his dark days when he grew bored and would randomly slaughter homes and enslave people.

He’s not the same anymore. The Sukuna you once knew was gone, and you turned back away from him bitterly, the blue flames licking up your skin as a symbol of anger, hatred, but most of all, humiliation.

That night, you didn’t go back to the temple.

And a small, quiet village who’d been loyal to both you and Sukuna had become the victims of your frustration.

The next day, silence echoes in the hallways of the temple. You couldn’t hear even the soft breathings or whispers of the servants. Your ears perk up once you cross the threshold, dropping your bloody katana and releasing your hair from its red tie. The temple servants must’ve already heard that their relatives died the night before – all thanks to your inability to handle your feelings.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, you’ve done this a thousand times before with Sukuna: killing people, enjoying their screams, basking in their surrender and painting the image of hope fading from their eyes into the back of your school.

You’ve done this a thousand times before with Sukuna, but this is the first time you’ve done it alone. You only ever took their lives because Sukuna asked you. Because he assured it was a way to keep gaining strength and to make a name for yourself; that being a powerful Curse was the best feeling in the world and no amount of woman or alcohol felt greater than power.

Sukuna lied.

To him, his heaven was in her arms.

And you? Utterly lost. Broken. With nowhere else to go. As you enter your room, you’re greeted by the sight of a made up bed and cleaned sheets. Even after slaughtering families, your servants still cleaned your room out of fear, and the previous blood from the other day had been wiped away with bleach.

Then, you see yourself from the floor length mirror. White yukata that might as well have been red from the amount of absorbed into the cloth draped over your curves, and your eyes lost what little light it once held. Blood drips from your fingertips and you swipe your thumb over your lip, a small gasp falling to your lips as you recall a little girl, barely five or six winters old, with the exact same lips trembling as she begs you not to kill her parents.

It’s the splitting image of you when you were younger, when you ran around cities unintentionally wreaking havoc out of confusion over your powers. You have no parents. No past. No memory. You just came into existence because of mankind’s grief, and it only made sense you carried that burden more than anyone else.

But you’re not this. You are not a killer. You didn’t enjoy it. You never enjoyed it. Even when Sukuna convinced you that you did, there was no forgetting the fact that you cried yourself to sleep when you were younger at the thought you grew more powerful because you added to the heartbreak of people.

The word heartbreak lights up a bulb in your head. That’s right...you’re the Curse of Heartbreaks – of pain, of grief, of mourning, of suffering.

If you couldn’t have what you want, then why should he? Isn’t it already written in your fate that your destiny is to carry those pain, inflict it onto others, and make them realize they’re wasting their lives believing a lie that love prevails all? That love prevails even someone as irredeemable as Sukuna?

You won’t allow it.

Without wasting another second, you dash to her room. Sukuna’s out to deal with some clan leaders for whatever ritual he wants to perform or out to get more healing potions. The girl never went anywhere else outside the temple because both jujutsu sorcerers and curses are always ready to prance, and she’s smart to not put herself in harm’s way.

But you are harm’s way.

You run so fast through the hallways that you keep bumping into corners, denting the wooden boards and the floor cracking beneath you. You don’t stop until you reach their room, swiping the doors open, and sliding on the doorframe when you see she’s still asleep.

She and Sukuna must’ve stayed up all night performing...activities. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been this weak. She’s a lively and bubbly girl, she wouldn’t have – you freeze in your spot.

Tentatively, you reach over to where she softly snored, tilting her to face you by grabbing her shoulder. She only groans in her slumber before burying herself under the covers. “Sukuna...” her brows furrow as she twitches, probably dreaming about something, and she kicks the covers off with a whine. That’s when you see it. And then you see everything.

A small – barely there – bump on her tummy is half concealed by her lace gown that reveals her skin free from scars, a sign that she’d never really been in battle. But she’s carrying his child, and even though you’re not the one pregnant, you feel bile rise up in your throat.

Your knees wobble and you fall beside their bed, your palms shaky as you place it over her belly. First, you hear a baby cry, and then, a man’s scream.

Sukuna carries his daughter’s form, the little thing bundled up safely in towels while her father coos at her. She’s so small, vulnerable and exposed to the horrors of the world, but she didn’t need to worry about that. Sukuna would protect her, and so would you.

You stand outside the room, a small smile on your face with your arms crossed on your chest. Well, you’ll be damned. You’re not a fan of children and babies in general, but you do admit the infant’s cries sound like music to your ears. It means she’s alive and healthy, and even though her existence is nearly impossible considering her father is a curse, the girl was born perfectly fine and well.

Suddenly, a dark, ominous presence looms over the room. You stand on guard, hands drawing your blade to prepare for whatever or whoever attacked you. You’re not a fan of the kid and or her mother regardless, but Sukuna is left open and vulnerable for attack in this state. He’s too busy fawning over his kid to sense any incoming assault.

However, something doesn’t feel right with this one. That dark, suffocating feeling doesn’t travel. Instead, it’s stagnant and somewhat docile, as if it has no intention to attack, but its threat still remains. It doesn’t even seem like it came from anywhere or it’s about to arrive. Rather...it’s like it was always there to begin with.

Your eyes widen at the realization.

What would happen if a curse...fathered someone else? Would it be human? Or would it be something worse?

You slam the doors open, and everything happens in slow motion. The baby’s mother reaches out to a nearly sobbing Sukuna, eager to see her child, but just as her small, grubby hands wrap around her mother’s pointer finger, it falls. She stops breathing, her arm falling limp, and Sukuna stops cooing. The baby’s cries cease, staring up at her father and extending her small arms to cup his face.

It seems he realized it too, but it was too late.

“Sukuna, don’t!”

The child giggles, her knuckles brushing against her father’s jaw, and the King of Curses lose his grip on her. You watch as they both fall, a garbled scream leaving your lips. The midwife runs to save the child before she’s crushed under Sukuna’s weight, but she too has fallen victim the moment her skin made contact with the baby’s.

No...it’s not even a child or an infant. It’s not even human.

It’s the Curse of Death.

And at her birth, the world would grow dark, darker than what you and Sukuna have already caused the world to be. Her words would sound like a fork scraping against a plate; torturous, excruciatingly painful, and enough to have you begging for death. The simple brush of skin upon skin takes away the energy, power, and life even of the most powerful beings. After all, what is stronger than Death? It was the only absolute truth in the world – which all things must come to an end.

You retract your hand from her body, sweat dripping on your hairline. That thing growing inside her body...it must not be born. Sukuna would die.

With a silent scream, you whip out the dagger and force it upon her stomach. Or at least, you would’ve, if not for the blade that had peaked out your chest and nearly poking Sukuna’s lover’s back. Blood stained the silver blade, leaking into your lap.

You drop your dagger.

“I trusted you,” Sukuna begins calmly, pulling out the sword from your body in one swift movement. He ignores the way you cough out blood, your head shaking as if to deny his words. His face remains expressionless as he wipes your blood on his thigh, dropping the potions to aid her pregnancy beside her on the bed. Sukuna crouches down to your level and pulls you by the hair until he’s close enough that you could see his two other eyes also glare at you. “Have I not made it clear she is to be untouched? Just because you’re unable to handle your petty jealousy, does not give you a goddamn right to kill what’s mine.”

“What grows in her is a monster,” you sneer, struggling against his grip. You’ve forgotten that his sword is imbued with his special curses that would immediately exorcise any weaker Curse, but because you’re on the same level as him, you die slowly, and a lot more painfully.

“That child is mine. It was created out of love.”

“It is not a child!” You argue, “It will be born as the Curse of Death, one that will kill both you and your little lover!”

“And if you’re lying?”

You grit your teeth. “I would never lie to you, Sukuna.”

His brow shots upwards, a smirk creasing his lips. “Is that so?” he shoves you until you slam against the wall. Sukuna treads to you dangerously, his tongue peeking out to swipe at his lips. You know that darkness in his eyes better than most – it’s the look he always wore when he decides to go for the kill.  “Then, since you’re always honest to me, tell me this: do you still love me?”

You don’t even think about it.

“Yes. That’s why I’m telling you to get rid of that thing before you and everyone else dies.”

“A concerned little lamb,” he hums in amusement. “That makes it clear then,” Before you could process what happens next, you take your last breath as Sukuna rips out your heart with his claws. It’s not an actual heart, but rather the core of your Curse manifestation and the gem-like object is crushed under his fists. “Queen of Curses, Curse of Heartbreak,” he drops the pieces of your heart into your lap, Sukuna growing more and more blurry in front of you. “Die the same way you came to life: with a terrible, terrible heartbreak.”

Sometimes, you can’t help but feel like you’d been an awful person in your past life. It’s not that you’d ever done anything illegal or rebellious. Your parents are quite proud of your immaculately clean school record, and your grades are even above average. The school’s faculty absolutely adores you for your preppy personality, always volunteering to help others and taking the lead when no one wants to budge.

You suppose you’re quite a role model, but what no one understands is that maybe you’re always going out of your way to be kind with someone because deep down, you have a nagging feeling you’ve once been a terrible person.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around your legs as you hug it to yourself, whacking your forehead in your knees to get rid of those impending thoughts. There’s really no reason behind it, more like an intuition that you’ve forgotten about something important.

You’re pulled out of your trance when warm, soft hands push your hair back, and a pair of even softer lips land at your shoulders. Immediately, you smile, turning your head to peer at the dark-haired beauty that shyly peeks up at you under his long lashes. He keeps peppering kisses all the way up to your neck until you laugh from being ticklish, and it doesn’t take long before Megumi has you smiling again.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbles on your shoulder, his warm hand drawing comforting circles on your lower back. Again, the simple gesture ignites something within you, something about oddly familiar even if you don’t feel like you’ve experienced it firsthand. “You’ve been deep in thought lately.”

“Lately?”

“Hmm,” he moves up your face, pressing a long, solid kiss at your forehead. It makes you relax and sigh happily, unable to help your urge to crawl into his lap and bury yourself in his arms. “Ever since Itadori enrolled here, you’ve always looked at him...quite weirdly. Is he bothering you? You know if he does something weird, I won’t hesitate to feed him to the Divine Dogs.”

That elicits a laugh from you. Now that you think about it, you’ve been awfully quite ever since Gojo sensei came back with that overly excited kid. You don’t know why, you don’t even realize his presence affects you, but you don’t want Megumi to worry about it when you can’t understand it yourself. So you hug him closer until the scent of fresh laundry wafts your senses, and you brush his scalp tenderly.

Megumi purrs.

“It’s nothing you should worry about, I’m sure I’m just tired from exams.” Unlike Megumi, you’re not a jujutsu sorcerer. You came from a totally human family that lived a totally mundane humane life, unaware that curses exist and people actually die from it. If it wasn’t for Megumi saving you that one time in school when you unknowingly stayed behind the same night the Occult Club did and ran into some freaky monsters, you would continue living without any idea of it.

It wasn’t always easy accepting Megumi’s true identity, but you loved him more than anyone else, and so hiding in his dorms while lying to your parents you were going to sleep over a friend’s house has become somewhat a daily occurrence. You’ve even made friends with the lovely Nobara and Maki senpai who welcomes you with open arms – although maybe it’s because you never fail to bring them food from the city and some fashionable items for Nobara.

Megumi senses your hesitance to talk about it, so he drops it and enjoys the feeling of your skin on him instead, your breaths falling in the same rhythm. Tonight, he and his classmates would go out on a mission again because the idiotic Gojo-sensei was away overseas, and as always, you’d stay up late in Megumi’s room, waiting for him to come back right after he promises you you’ll come back safely.

You close your eyes and wrap yourself around him like a koala, and Megumi laughs at how small you are. He doesn’t brush you off, though. He knows you fear for his life despite the fact you trust him with his abilities, but you can’t help it. It’s only natural to worry about your loved one, after all.

For now, he’ll have to keep cuddling and kissing you for as long as he could before he leaves.

How does one soothe their lover who’s come from battles?

You scramble away from Megumi’s bed the moment you’re waken up by the sound of steady knocks. The first aid kit lays on his study desk, which you swipe with sleepy eyes as his baggy clothes crinkle in your smaller figure. It’s rare that Megumi lets you see his state during after battles, but today, tonight, he allowed you to stay even after his mission.

Your steps are nothing but hurried when you slide the door open, his name about to fall from your lips until you’re greeted by a young man with strawberry blonde hair and black marks on his face. It’s Itadori Yuuji, but at the same time, it’s not him...

His cheerfulness and airheaded self is gone, replaced with a much sinister entity residing within it. The man before you sighs, frowning in distaste at your clothes – your boyfriend’s clothes – before he invites himself in and shuts the door behind him.

Sukuna hums, pulling you closer to him until there is no space between your skin and his, his face nuzzling in your neck. “I’m home,” his lips brush the bare skin of your neck, his breath warm and ticklish. “I made it home to you, my Queen. Safely like you asked.”

“Wha-?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers so quietly you wonder if you heard it at all. “For not believing you, for not seeing you. It took me thousands of years to realize where I fucked it all up, but I know the truth now. And you were right – you were always right. I hope in this life I no longer break your heart in the same way you soothe mine.”

 - - - - - 

A/N: Sounds like a pretty confusing ending, which it is, and I was gonna leave it at that but because I don’t want anyone to go “HUH?” after reading this, I’m just gonna explain :D Sukuna eventually realized how toxic he was to the reader in her past life, how he convinced her to be a bad person with him then emotionally abandoning her the moment he found his happiness. She was the Curse of Heartbreak, and her powers remained even after she was “exorcised.” 

She broke his heart by showing him how he lost everything after her exorcism and his lover’s death (because he also saw the future that the child was the Curse of Death) and all those years of suffering eventually made him realize that the power of heartbreak was the one that destroyed him. So in the present, when the reader was reincarnated as a human girl, he finally found her and tries to make up for his mistakes because she was actually his first love, he just didn’t realize it because both of them were somewhat barbaric and psychotic. Lmk what you think, I hope you liked it!

[asparklerwhowrites]

Writing Indian characters, from an Indian person

India is a huge country! while most characters in mainstream media are from the 'big cities' i.e Mumbai, Delhi, Hyderabad, etc, there are many, many more places and areas to look at! since India is such a vast country, there is incredible diversity. 19,500 languages and dialects are present, with people of different skin, eye, and hair colors and types! there are, of course, a lot of inherent prejudices present, which I'll address a little later.

#1. Know their roots

There is no 'one' Indian experience. People from different places celebrate different festivals, worship different gods, and speak different languages!

A checklist of things you should know about your Indian character's background, in essence:

Which state and city/town/village are they from?

How many and which languages do they speak, and with what frequency? (Mostly, people can speak at least two languages!)

Are they religious? (more on religion later)

What are some of their favourite memories/moments linked to their culture? (festivals, family gatherings, etc)

#2. Naming your character

Some common names for boys: Aarav, Advik, Shlok, Farhan, Ritvik, Aarush, Krish, Ojas, Zain.

Some common names for girls: Arushi, Ishita, Trisha, Rhea, Riya, Zoya, Vedika, Khushi, Charvi.

Common last names: Shah, Singh, Agarwal, Banerjee, Dala, Bhat, Joshi, Iyer, Jain, Dhawan, Dixit.

Be careful while picking a last name: last names are very much indicators of the ethnicity/community you're from! most older folks can guess the ethnicity of people just by their last name - it's pretty cool.

Naming systems usually follow the name-surname format, and children usually take the last name of their father - but I believe some regions have a bit of a different system, so look that up!

#3. Stereotypes to avoid

This goes without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway. Being 'Indian' shouldn't be your character's entire personality. Give them traits, feelings, and a purpose other than being a token diverse character. Some stereotypes that are really a no-no when it comes to Indian characters:

Making them good at math and academics in general (my Cs in math beg to differ that all Indians are good at math. often, the reason Indians are stereotyped to be so smart stems from an incredibly toxic and harmful environment at home which forces children to get good grades. unless you've experienced that, its not your story to write)

Making your Indian character 'hate' being Indian (not everyone?? hates their culture?? like there are many, MANY faults with India as a country, and it's important to recognize and take action against that - which often makes us iffy about how we feel about our country, it's genuinely not your place to write about that UNLESS you are Indian. don't bring in 'hatred' of a place you've never visited, and don't know much about.)

Make them scaredy-cats, 'cowards', who are good at nothing but being the 'brain' (I will literally behead you if you do this/lh)

#4. Why India shouldn't be portrayed as 'perfect' either

It's likely that most of you won't be going in SO deep with your Indian character, but India isn't the perfect 'uNiTy iN diVerSitY' as it's depicted in media. There are incredible tensions between religions (especially Hindus and Muslims), and even remnants of the 'untouchable' way of thinking remain between castes. There's a lot of violence against women, and misogyny is definitely something Indians are not foreign to. People with paler skin are considered to be 'better' than those with darker skin (in the older generations especially)

#5. Some common customs

Removing your shoes before entering the house, since your house is considered to be 'godly' and shoes shouldn't be brought inside

Eating dal (lentils), chawal (rice), sabji (a mixture of vegetables/meat that's cooked in different ways) roti (Indian flatbread) is considered to be a full, well-balanced meal and at least aspects of it are eaten for lunch and dinner (if not all four elements)

The suffixes -bhai (for men) and -ben (for women) are added to first names and are commonly used by adults to refer to someone of importance or who they hold to esteem.

However, 'bhai' (which literally means 'brother) is often used as slang when referring to friends or family. Other slang includes 'arrey' which is used to show irritation or 'yaar' which has the same context.

It's custom to call adults who you refer to in a friendly way 'aunty' or 'uncle', like the parents of your friends.

Talking back to your elders is forbidden, especially your grandparents who you have to refer to with utmost respect.

#6. Religions

India is a very religiously diverse country. The most common religion is Hinduism, then Islam, Christianity, Sikhism, and Buddhism. All religions have their own complexities, and since I'm a Hindu, I can tell you a little bit about that!

It's common to have a mandir which is a small altar dedicated to the deities your family worships. (Fun fact - they're usually placed in the East direction because that's where the sun rises)

Most kids can say a few shloks by-heart, which are a few lines of prayer! (lmao I've forgotten most but I used to be able to rattle off at least ten when I was younger)

Most people know at least the general plot of the Ramayan and Mahabharat - two famous epic stories. (I'm not sure if they're inherently 'Hindu' or not)

Many people wear necklaces with a small pendant of the deity they worship!

Common Hindu deities: Saraswati, Ganesha, Shiva, Krishna, Vishnu.

It's important to note that religious violence is a thing. Muslims especially, are oppressed and discriminated against. It's a very, very complex issue, and one that's been going on for thousands of years.

#7. Myth & Facts

India is a very poor country

Yep! Lakhs of people live in villages with no electricity, clean water, or amenities nearby. There's no point sugar-coating it. There are HUGE gaps between the poor and the rich (have you heard of Ambani and Adani :D) and while our millionaires rejoice in their thirty-story mansions, people die of famine, disease, and hunger every day. I am personally lucky enough to be EXTREMELY privileged and attend an international school and live in one of the most developed cities. Most people aren't as lucky as me, and it's a really true, horrifying reality.

Everyone in India is vegetarian

No lmao - while many people ARE, there's a greater and equal amount of non-vegetarian people.

We burn our dead in parking lots

This circulated back when the second wave was going on in India, and the media blew it out of proportion. First of all, what the actual f!ck. Cremation is a Hindu ritual, and by saying that aLL Indians burn their dead you are erasing the other religions here. Secondly, cremation is a sacred ritual only attended by close family of the deceased member. It does not happed in PARKING LOTS. It's a time of grief and loss, not a way to humiliate a religion for the way they treat their dead.

Drop any other questions about India in the comments/DM me!

[karatam]

Read recently (October 2022)

Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky. Hard sci-fi, set in a far far future when the human race is nearly extinct. Follows 2 plotlines, one of the last generational ship trying to find somewhere to survive, the other following the evolution of a planet terraformed by the old earth empire. Very plot-heavy, this novel takes place over thousands of years. Super interesting and I'm going to try to find the sequel. Be aware that there are lots of spiders in this book (like, they're half the main characters), so if you have a severe hatred of spiders, then this book is not for you.

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo. Set in San Francisco in 1954, a girl from Chinatown falls in love with her classmate and realizes that her whole life is going to change. Tender and yearning, full of both the hope of change but the frustrations of societal expectations and prejudice. A lovely queer love story.

Malice by Heather Walter. A queer retelling of Sleeping Beauty. Alice has magic, a valuable commodity in the queendom of Briar, but she's also very obviously part Vila, the ancient enemy of Briar's patrons, the Fae. The crown princess, Aurora, is the last heir to Briar, inflicted with her family's curse to die at 21 unless she receives True Love's Kiss. How many times can you tell someone they're a monster before they start to believe it? I quite liked this and it took a turn that I didn't think it would, one that makes me very eager to read the sequel.

The Last Watch by J. S. Dewes. A true hard sci-fi space opera. The Divide is the weird empty space at the edge of the universe, where human ships patrol, watching for the return of the alien race that nearly wiped out humanity. Follows two main characters: a disgraced grandson of the most powerful person alive who is sent to the Divide in exile, and the captain of the ship that he was sent to who has secrets of her own. This was a lot of fun and managed to make actually like the 'wise-cracking, shit-talking, rich guy' character which is rare tbh. I'm going to read the sequel right away.

The Exiled Fleet by J. S. Dewes. A fantastic sequel to The Last Ship. Picks up 6 months after the previous book ended and throws you right back into the thick of things. We get to know our characters (both main and secondary) better, get more fun sci-fi elements, and even more political intrigue. Lots of twists and turns and I can't wait to see where this series goes.

Unconquerable Sun by Kate Elliot. Very much hard sci-fi, so much so that the sheer amount of in-world jargon and world building made the first third of the book overly confusing. I don't usually need glossaries, but man I wished I had one. Follows mainly Sun, the heir to a space queendom, and Persephone, her rival turned maybe ally, while flipping between quite a few other povs as well. Sun is fighting for her mother's respect and against the political intrigue of the other Houses, all while an enemy empire bears down on the queendom. Billed as "gender-swapped Alexander the Great in space", I can see how it'll get there later in the series. Definitely picked up in the final third and I'll probably read the sequel.

The Library of the Unwritten by A. J. Hackwith. An interesting take on what happens to all those stories that we never quite finish writing. Claire is the librarian of the unwritten, a resident of Hell, who must hunt down and retrieve a powerful artifact to save her library. It will involve traversing multiple realms of legend and crossing paths with vengeful angels. I lost a bit of steam by the end, but it was an enjoyable read. 

In A Garden Burning Gold by Rory Power. Greece-inspired fantasy, about a near-immortal royal family, with magic that helps run the natural world. I didn't like it. It's a duology that I truly think would have been much better as a single book. The pacing was very weird, where it felt like nothing happened for the first 90%, then suddenly way too much plot all happened at once right at the very end and so none of it felt earned or like pay-off. Also, even though the main characters are all meant to be like over 100 years old, they act like idiotic 23 year olds and it irritated me. Also, I've seen it be given an LGBT tag sometimes and that feels a bit misleading, as there is literally like 1, maybe 2, sentences right at the start implying that one of the MCs had married and sacrificed women in the past, and then it's never mentioned or brought up again. Felt like a let down.

Crownchasers by Rebecca Coffindaffer. This was a hell of a lot of fun! When the emperor of the galaxy dies without an official heir, it kicks off a crownchase, where the heirs of the major families race to find the imperial seal and claim the throne. The old emperor's niece has mostly abandoned her imperial upbringing when she's thrown into the race with her fellow heirs, all of whom she grew up with and some of whom are willing to kill to get the throne. Main character has an ex-girlfriend and current male possible love interest. Snappy and funny and tense, I'm really looking forward to the sequel!

Bloody Rose by Nicholas Eames. A swashbuckling, fast-paced, rollicking time! Second in the series but technically a stand-alone, it follows a young bard, Tam, as she joins the most famous mercenary band in the land. Arena fights, an impending war, giant monsters, and more. Sometimes went a bit too hard on world building (there are SO MANY characters, many of whom are mentioned once or twice but still given a whole backstory) and the ending was abrupt (never a huge fan of going straight from the climax of the whole book to an epilogue), but it was a fun read with interesting plotlines. Also a nice little smattering of gayness, which is nice.

[tsarinatorment]

Fic Recs

Felt like doing some fic recs today, so here are 20 of my favourite fics (because 20 is a round number), selected purely because they were the first ones I thought of, across various fandoms! As always, only complete fics get a mention.

(it's getting late now but if there's interest I'll do a "20 Tsari Fics" for those interested in which of my own I'd recommend)

A Son By Any Other Name by carryonstarkid Thunderbirds (AU) Teen. Family, Angst. Scott, Tracy Family. 83k Cursed as a child, Scott Tracy lives a life in which everyone he encounters must follow all of his given commands.

Chat's Eye View (Love letters to Paris) by Icka M Chif Miraculous Ladybug Gen. Friendship. Adrien, Marinette. 6k Adrien picks up a hobby, falls in love with his city, and inadvertently drives Paris crazy.

Cracks in the knight by authorettejasmin Detective Conan (Magic Kaito) Teen. Hurt/Comfort. Hakuba, KID. 5k Nightmare is dead. Hakuba is tired. And Kid is in his house.

for all those pages thumbed by Star_flaming Harry Potter Gen. Friendship. Filch. 30k Argus' life was a largely thankless one (unless you counted the thanks of the paintings he maintained), working on keeping a thousand year old castle from falling down around the ears of students who didn't care. He had his cat, his work, his books, and a constant boil of self hatred and resentment to get him by. And then a sixth year handed him a letter from her aunt, thanking him for acting as conservator of Hogwarts and calling him Dr. Filch. It was the first time he had been called Doctor since he started at the castle. He had little choice but to write back, after that.

In Dreams by m_arnie Riordanverse (PJO; TOA) Gen. Friendship. Zoe; Apollo. 5k Zoe did not get demigod dreams… until she did.

Mild-Mannered School Teacher/Adrenaline-Junkie Vigilante by JajaLala Boku no Hero Academia Teen. Family. Fuyumi; Dabi. 136k Fuyumi Todoroki was stressed. She was always the peacekeeper, the ice-quirk user who calms the hot-headed members of her family. What was she supposed to do when she was frustrated, and couldn't calm herself down? Go onto the streets and become a vigilante, of course. Follow this mild-mannered school teacher/adrenaline-junkie vigilante as she befriends the mysterious Dabi, tries not to get caught by the persistent Miruko, and through it all struggles to keep her family together.

Mission Impossible by Loopstagirl Thunderbirds Teen. Family, Adventure. Scott, Gordon. 55k Being selected for his first solo mission should have been exciting for Captain Scott Tracy of the Air Force. But there was something else at play. Something dangerous and deadly. Something that could cost him more than his life.

Nine Lives by P_Artsypants Miraculous Ladybug Teen. Hurt/Comfort/Angst. Adrien, Marinette. 59k When Adrien Agreste is scheduled to go to a Military School in Germany, Chat Noir must make a critical decision. Does he give up his Miraculous? Or does he give up Adrien? I'll save you the trouble of guessing, he gives up Adrien.

On Their Side by Gumnut Thunderbirds (TAG) Gen. Family, Humour. Colonel Casey, Gordon, Virgil. 1k She trusted these boys with a great deal.

See You Again by cookietosser One Piece Teen. Family/Angst. Rocinante; Law. 15k Rocinante has been through a lot in his life. Adding uncontrollable time travel into the mix? That's just the icing on the cake.

The Dragon-King's Temple by Kryal Stargate SG-1/Avatar: The Last Airbender Teen. Friendship. Zuko; Toph; Jack. 196k Through the spite of the spirits or plain rotten chance, a door that would have been better left untouched has opened. On the other hand, with Fire and Earth as one's allies, sometimes escaping is the easy part.

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris Avatar: The Last Airbender Teen. Family/Friendship. Zuko; The Gaang. 36k Some people are born with soulmarks. Zuko has them, but his grandfather burned them off because they "make you weak." Team Avatar has a few things to say about that.

The Silent Conversation by mcj Thunderbirds (TOS) Teen. Hurt/Comfort. Scott, Jeff. 5k The sound of sirens, a flash of light and waking up under a pile of rubble. How can Scott survive knowing help just might not come?

The Trouble With Eastern by teaandtumblr One Piece Gen. Friendship. Strawhat Pirates, Law. 3k What would happen if everyone on the Grand Line really did speak different languages? A couple of little explorations done here and there.

the weight of family (the pull of gravity) by Origamidragons Jojo's Bizarre Adventures (Part 6) Gen. Family. Jolyne, Giorno. 1k "It's your lucky day, Kujo. Somebody made your bail," the guard said. "Says he's your cousin."

There May Be Some Collateral Damage by metisket Bleach/Harry Potter Teen. Friendship. Ichigo, Harry, Weasley Twins. 61k Ichigo’s been ordered to go undercover at a magic school to bodyguard a kid named Harry Potter, and this would be fine, except that he’s about as good at bodyguarding as he is at magic. And he considers it a good day, magic-wise, if he hasn’t set anything on fire.

Uncle Bilbo Is Not Going On Your Adventure by Erisah_Mae Lord of the Rings Gen. Family. Bilbo, Frodo, Thorin, Gandalf. 16k Gandalf assumes that he is going to be able to bully Bilbo into coming along on the quest for Erebor. You know what they say about people who assume... Bilbo's not going, and nothing Gandalf can say is going to change his mind.

Watashitachi wa Roger kaizoku desu (we still stand proud) by stereden One Piece Teen. Family/Hurt/Comfort. Buggy; Shanks, Roger Pirates. 280k The Roger Pirates disappeared after their Captain's death, and were happy enough to let the Marines forget about them. Until the Marines decide to execute their Captain's son, that is.

What the Cat Dragged In by Kryal Marvel/Miraculous Ladybug Gen. Friendship. Tony; Adrien; Marinette. 70k Tony's pretty sure it's written into cosmic law somewhere: superheroes are not supposed be cute. Apparently, no one's told these two. He’s okay with that.

While the Ring Went South... by ThunderaTiger Lord of the Rings Gen. Friendship. The Fellowship. 145k For two weeks, the Fellowship wandered south from Rivendell making for Caradhras, yet Tolkien tells us almost nothing of this journey. Behold the missing scenes!