#but she's my little creature and I love her

[voidsuites]

MULTI BOT RELEASE !!! (1/31/25) ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ

art donaldson ・゜゜・．noid. tennis has given art everything anyone could ever want— a fulfilling career, you and lily, and countless influential titles and wins— and with him getting closer to becoming a household name, art’s more than aware of his luck. he’s beyond grateful. however, fame’s a double-edged sword and it’s getting harder to both play into the paparazzi and their mind-games and also protect his family, so it’s not a surprise that art loses his temper when those lines finally get crossed. (based off “noid” by tyler the creator!)

bruce wayne・゜゜・．billie bossa nova. underneath all the sneaking around hotel rooms and charity galas, both you and bruce long to be understood for more than just your family names and your money. whatever’s going on between the two of you is merely putting a band-aid on a niger issue, you’re aware, but there’s something about bruce that helps you rationalize the less-than-ideal circumstances. a lot can change in twenty seconds… a lot can happen in the dark. (based off “billie bossa nova” by billie eilish!)

jim hopper ・゜゜・．you’re a fighter. in one moment, all hop had to worry about was you slowly growing more independent and mike wheeler’s insufferable attitude, but now the mind flayer’s set its sights on you and you’ve seemingly lost your powers. setting the mess with the russians beneath starcourt mall aside, hopper’s main priority is making sure you’re safe and away from any more danger. you may be a fighter, but you’re his kid first. (based off “you’re a fighter” by kyle dixon and michael stein!)

joel miller ・゜゜・．western nights. joel knows you’re not supportive of the violent ways he provides for you, but in a post-apocalyptic world morals are put on the back burner while he concerns himself with keeping you both fed, housed, and taken care of. you’re stubborn, he’s stubborn, but you’d never think of taking off and leaving him behind. this time’s no different. (based off “western nights” by ethel cain!)

patrick zweig ・゜゜・．part of your world. mermaids were nothing but a mere children's bedtime story— they weren't real. that’s what patrick’s father had told him since he'd been a boy; that the wondrous creatures he believed in with all his heart were nothing but tall tales meant to put the children of new rochelle to bed with little fight. that’s proven to be false when you rescue him from swimming with the fishes for eternity, and now that he knows your kind is real, patrick just has to learn more. he’ll bring you as many human trinkets for your collection as you’d like if you’d let him be part of your world for a moment. (based off “part of your world” by jodi benson and disney!)

tashi duncan ・゜゜・．bodyguard. wlw. tashi’s always been protective of you since you started seeing each other, but it’s always amusing to see just how worked-up she gets when you’re the center of attention. stanford’s hosting a concert in the park, art and patrick are nowhere to be found, and tashi’s left to keep herself in control lest she “accidentally” scare people off because they’ve looked at you too long. she’ll protect you in the mosh pit, no doubt— but she’s still working on keeping that territorial nature of hers in check. (based off “bodyguard” by beyoncé!)

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 10.4K! so excited to get started on my celebration requests— you guys once again are the BEST!!!! i hope all of these are to your liking… but do forgive me if joel is a little too ooc lol i’ve only seen bits of tlou but i tried to capture him right. hehe. i also made a tumblr community for all things voidsuites-oriented 🤭 join yap city if you dare (i’m still figuring out what i’ll post on there but think of it as a communal close friends story on ig haha) anyways i love these characters and i love these songs and i love you all!!!! thank you for making this so much fun for me i’m so grateful <3

[whiskis]

Monster smash (part 2)

A/N: Hi lovelies! Welcome to this new-ish blog, I thought a good way to move was to post part 2 of this story y’all loved so much.

Multiple monsters x fem!reader || sfw, funny situation

You wake up to the sound of voices. Many voices, some grumbly and some other very deep, inhumanly deep. But there’s also clicking sounds, like the ones little forest creatures make when you get too close. You don’t even remember what happened. Did you faint?

“Honey… Are you all right?” A deep voice asks as your eyes flutter open, they feel incredibly heavy. There’s a lady with too many teeth in front of you… She’s scary enough that you close your eyes instantly, breathing hard as you try not to panic. And then the memories come back rushing through your mind.

The monster smash!

The person in front of you with thousands of pointy teeth is… the grocery lady! Shit, shit, shit… What did you get yourself into? Your brain is running so fast you feel almost dizzy, your body threatening to shut up again, but you breathe through your nose until you feel calm enough to re-open your eyes. The lady is not there anymore, but the tech dragon from your building is.

They are staring down at you with slow blinking eyes and a tiny smile, their nostrils flaring as if smelling your emotions. Can they do that? Can dragons smell emotions? Shit, what if they can? What are they able to smell? Can they smell your fear? Shit, could they smell that you didn’t shower for a week back when you had a big project at work? Oh, shit… Now you have to rethink about all the encounters you had with all of them.

“Pull back, you big dragon, let the lad have some space!” Someone else reprimands, pulling the dragon away with a chuckle. You only see a big gray hand but you can’t see who it belongs to, they move too fast to be caught by human eyes. What the fuck?

How can this be possible? How the fuck did you find yourself in that situation? Surrounded by monsters in a speed dating event… For fucks sake what was even your life anymore?

You try to sit up, but your brain is not agreeing with that decision and you fall back. You brace for impact, but you don’t land on the hard floor, but a soft surface that reminds you a lot to somebody’s lap. You look behind you and stare into thin vertical pupils that make your blood run a bit colder. That’s, that’s…

“You are a lizard woman!” You say a bit too loud if the flinch of everyone around you is any indication. But you don’t care, your confusion and hint of fear are rapidly replaced by indignation. You know that face, you know those eyes. You know them very, very well. “We shared tea many times and you didn’t tell me you were a lizard woman!?” Your tone is almost as angry as Bella Swan when she discovered Jacob named her daughter like the lake Ness monster.

Shit, was the lake Ness monster real? Was Twilight based in real events?! You have so many questions your brain can’t stop spinning.

“Darling, I-” Your friend from 4B tries to argue, but you are not having it. You sit up straight and get help from your landlord to get up, the minotaur landlord. The minotaur landlord that has no shirt on and has a very hairy chest you lowkey want to bury your face in. Focus, you remind yourself.

And the realization hits you like a brick.

You live in a monster building.

All your neighbors are monsters.

The one you considered your best friend is a lizard-woman.

What the actual fuck?

A/N: Reminder that you can read all my other stories back in @monstersflashlight (all organized in this masterlist), thanks for reading!

[cheeseatlantic]

ph my gyatt we having new simon bunny dad series request by yhe LOVELY bunnybeaches !!

BUNNY LOVE 1/6

You stepped into the living room, a carrier in your hands, your excitement barely contained. The fluffy little bunny inside had been a spur-of-the-moment decision at the shelter, and you couldn’t wait to introduce your new companion to Simon. You had no doubt he’d come around eventually; he just needed some time.

But when you set the carrier down on the floor, Simon immediately stiffened at the sight of it. He was sitting on the couch, his usual scowl deepening as his eyes flicked from the carrier to you.

“What’s that?” His voice was gruff, but you could hear the edge of annoyance already creeping in.

You grinned, crouching down to open the carrier. “Surprise!”

Out hopped your little bunny, a tiny, soft ball of fluff with the most adorable twitching nose. The rabbit sniffed around and hopped cautiously toward the carpet.

Simon’s eyes narrowed, and you could almost see the muscle in his jaw tighten. “You’re not serious,” he muttered.

You laughed, kneeling down to pet the bunny, who was now hopping around curiously, utterly unaware of the tension between you and Simon.

“Come on, Simon. Meet my new friend.” You smiled at Simon, teasing him gently. “She’s really sweet.”

“I don’t like rabbits,” he grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away like he couldn’t be bothered. “They’re too small. Too fragile. And they chew on everything. What if it ruins the furniture?”

You rolled your eyes, petting the bunny’s soft fur. “She’s not going to ruin anything, Simon. Relax.”

He sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. “Fine. But don’t expect me to—”

Before he could finish, the bunny scurried toward him, ears twitching as she hopped right up to his boots, her little nose sniffing his foot. Simon froze, staring at the rabbit like it might bite him.

Your grin widened. “I think she likes you.”

Simon’s lips tightened, but you could see a flicker of something softer in his eyes as he glanced down at the bunny. She was cute, and even Simon wasn’t immune to that kind of thing.

“No,” he muttered. “I’m not doing this.”

But as the bunny’s soft paws brushed against his boot again, he slowly crouched down—far slower than necessary—and gave the little creature a careful pet. His touch was light, hesitant at first, but as the bunny nuzzled into his hand, Simon’s scowl softened ever so slightly.

You caught the little glance he shot you from the corner of your eye—something that looked like guilt or reluctance. You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, watching as he tentatively pet the bunny again.

It didn’t take long for Simon’s resistance to crack.

By the next morning, you came downstairs to find the bunny happily snuggled on the couch with Simon. She was nestled against his chest, her soft little body rising and falling with every gentle breath he took. His large hand was cradling her, carefully stroking her fur, and for a moment, he looked completely relaxed—completely unbothered by the small, fluffy creature in his arms.

You couldn’t help the amused chuckle that escaped your lips.

“Are you… spoiling my rabbit?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

Simon didn’t look up, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. He cleared his throat, eyes flicking to you, still not acknowledging the bunny nestled in his lap. “She’s… she’s quiet,” he muttered. “Keeps to herself. Not as bad as I thought.”

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing smile. “I see, so it’s not that bad?”

“Mm,” he grunted, eyes shifting downward at the bunny’s twitching nose. “Not really.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room. “And you’re just… holding her because she’s quiet?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, shifting his grip a little, but the softness in his movements told a different story. “She’s… well, she’s not so bad. Quiet and calm. Doesn’t bother me.”

The bunny gave a soft squeak, and Simon’s fingers immediately stilled. You caught the way his gaze softened as he continued to pet her, the stubbornness melting away more each time she nuzzled into his chest.

“Okay, but you’re not spoiling her, right?” You grinned, teasing him now that he was caught.

He glanced up at you again, his eyes hardening like he was trying to stay firm. “I’m not spoiling her,” he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual. “She’s just… easy to look after. Doesn’t demand much.”

You snorted, sitting beside him on the couch. “Right. Doesn’t demand much.” You glanced at the bunny, now snuggled up and completely at ease in his arms. “Seems to me like you’re doing the spoiling.”

Simon didn’t reply at first, and you almost thought you’d won when he finally grumbled, “She’s just… easier to look after than you sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could retort, he sighed, his grip tightening just a little around the bunny. “But don’t get used to this,” he added, trying to sound serious. “I’m not going to let her make me soft.”

You smirked, leaning in just a little closer. “Right. Sure...”

For a moment, you watched him, and you could see it—despite his attempts to hide it, the way his eyes softened each time the bunny nuzzled against him, the gentle way he petted her, even how he kept her in his lap like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“Simon,” you said softly, “you love her, don’t you?”

He shot you a quick, almost panicked look. “I—I don’t love her. She’s just… she’s quiet. Keeps to herself.”

You laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Sure, Si. Whatever you say.”

Simon huffed but didn’t argue. The truth was clear in the way he adored the bunny, even if he refused to admit it. And as you sat there beside him, watching him spoil her with every gentle pet and soft touch, you couldn’t help but smile.

Yeah, maybe your little bunny had won him over—and maybe, just maybe, Simon loved her more than he’d ever admit.

shoutout hophop for being the inspo everyone thank hophop

[seat-safety-switch]

If there is any proof that an outside force loves us, it's big dumb dogs. Smart dogs are helpful and essential, and large ones even more so. It's in the combination of dumb and sizeable, though, that the true value of dogs emerges. And nobody had a bigger, dumber dog than my aunt.

Where does this appeal come from? I think it's because all of us want to be loved unconditionally by another creature. Even if that creature is sort of idiotic. That just means they need a little more assistance in exchange for that love. Feels more fair, that way.

Those of you who have read books as children may remember the entity known as "Clifford." This comically large red dog menaced an entire town with his reckless behaviour. Unlike Clifford, my aunt's dog, who will not be named because my aunt is in the witness protection program, also held her neighbourhood in terror for months on end. Nobody was mad enough to do anything about it. Just look at his face, he's so dumb, he can't possibly have meant what he did.

One of the things he "didn't mean" was eating a hole through the wall of my aunt's house when left alone for an entire evening. Drywall, insulation and all. Part of a stud, too, but he just gnawed at that one. The neighbours noticed him out in the yard, trying to eat a birdbath, and tried to usher the nearly two-hundred pound hunk of canine muscle back into the house. He soon began chewing on a different wall, and they decided it would be best to leave things be, just in case attempt two resulted in him eating the copper out of the walls and getting zapped.

At the end of the day, though, it's that love between idiot and the owner of the idiot that is what it's all about. He loved my aunt, and my aunt loved him, and even if she occasionally had to shell out thousands of dollars to replace walls, birdbaths, and the bumper on the neighbour's Town Car, that's just the price she had to pay. Feels more fair, that way.

[readychilledwine]

Hi!, here's a Tamlin x reader request. So reader is always so fun and smiley and happy but every night, when everyone is asleep, she goes to the garden and sits there alone crying because of her abusive past. One day, when Tamlin goes to open the window at night, he notices you crying while sitting in the garden. Then he realises you do it every day. So one day, when reader goes to the garden, she notices he's sitting there. He asks her why cries there every night and they have a lil chat, and then tamlin eventually cups her face, looks her in the eyes and tells her "you mean everything to me. There's no one that matters to me more than you" or something like that. And then he just comforts her 🥺. Just make it super fluffy ✨️.

Among The Lilies

Summary - There was always a pro and con to every situation, and being Lady Spring was no different.

Warnings - Mentions of alcohol, overstimulation, feelings of being out of place and not belonging

A/N - This has been sitting in my drafts for a while. I am so sorry to the anon who requested this. I'm still not sure I captured what I was hoping for with this, but fingers crossed.

🌹Tamlin Masterlist🌹Master Masterlist🌹

You sighed as you chugged your second glass of sweet floral wine, watching the fae of your court dance for another night of celebrations. You weren't used to this. You were a forest nymph, a low fae who the Cauldron seemed to think belonged with Tamlin, a High Lord. You were not used to loud parties filled with fae laughing and dancing the way Tamlin was. You were used to silence, to fireside celebrations, small groups among a large crowd. You made the best of his gathering, though. Becoming known for being the life of the party and dancing the night away.

Celebrations like this had started to become a norm. Every accomplishment was met with wine, music, and dancing as Tamlin brought your home back to its former glory. The fae of Spring had been so excited to celebrate the Equinox this year that they had asked you and Tamlin to take it from a night of debauchery and fun to a week of dancing, drinking, and revelry. It would be the first the court had celebrated in 6 years and with the new court voted taxation system, the new faith in their High Lord, and if rumors and whispers were true, the influence of you, it was hard for Tamlin to deny them anything.

So here you were. Wearing the smile that didn't reach your eyes, struggling to breathe in the corset dress you had a love-hate relationship with, and waiting to slip out unnoticed. You had been enjoying yourself, but you were slowly becoming over stimulalated from the countless males and females touching you, thanking you, trying to dance with you. You were exhausted from the late parties that quickly faded into morning duties and after assignments.

You finally saw your chance, sparing one last look to where your husband stood, Lucien by his side, laughing at something Tarquin said. You bolted then, running to the doors and through the halls before slowing to a walk at the private garden Tamlin had planted for you.

The garden had become your safe place. A place for you to cry, to use your magic to recenter yourself, and to find peace. You felt almost guilty, coming here again and bombarding the poor sprites as they danced and enjoyed their little fires and celebration. Such small, kind creatures, but yet some of Springs most important. "Forgive me," you inclined your head before heading to the fountain you knew they'd be nowhere near.

This had become a ritual for you the past few nights, hiding out here with your back and head against the cool marble, breathing in the scent of fresh blooming roses and lilies. You typically stayed here until you relaxed before heading back in, but a sprite had different plans this time.

Small hands touched your cheek, wiping the tears that were falling as you finally collected yourself. A female fluttered her gossamer like wings next to you, her light green skin contrasting her flower petal dress. "Why is my lady sad?"

You smiled, holding a hand out to her and allowing her to land. "Not sad, just tired."

"Lilies are the flowers of sadness. You come here when you're sad. You go to the roses when you're blushing. The daisies for joy." She stood and held your thumb as if to hug and hold you. "Please tell me what's wrong?" Your heart ached, burdening this innocent creature with your frustration. Yet, she only nodded, seeming to understand the feelings you were having. Soon, you two became so engrossed in conversations that you didn't notice green eyes watching from a window and a sharp mind wondering why his wife had closed off their bond.

The next night was more of the same. More fae dragging you to dance. More hands touching your exposed arms. More music. More everything. You were not sly as you escaped this time and all but ran to your beloved fountain. Faltering, you saw Tamlin, a single rose in his hand as he sat watching the sprites.

"I had thought to myself, perhaps my rose just needed fresh air the first night you ran out here," his voice washed over you like rain as you walked over, sitting next to him. "Then it happened again. And again. Then, for the fourth time. And again tonight. You're coming here to cry, and evidently do so frequently, your friends have told me that much," a sprite with a familiar smile disappeared from your view. "But she will not tell me the one thing I want to know." His eyes finally met yours, lingering and studying your expression. "Why," the question was simple, one you should have been able to answer.

You finally found it in your mind, looking at the root of the complicated problem. "I struggle to feel I belong among the high fae still." You took a spot beside him, pulled your knees up and hugged them. "I offer pretty smiles, I give them the positive words they expect, and I play the part of happy wife, but I still struggle."

He hummed, his calloused hand finding yours, "Are you a happy wife? Or do I need to provide more?" His tone had changed, realizing this was more than feeling overcrowded. This was his mate, opening that dark feeling he knew was festering.

You could only smile at him, a real one that did reach your eyes, "I am happy in all aspects of our marriage. I just want a sense of belonging when it comes to other courtly matters." That was where you struggled. You struggled with the weight that came from the jewels you wore, the circlet on your head.

"Oh, you belong," he murmured as he pulled you closer. "You are this court. The very soul that drives it. Being a nymph does nothing to change that." His thumb came up, wiping a tear you had not realized was falling. "There is more. I can feel an ache in your heart wanting to come forward."

Moments of silence passed, "Am I enough?" That question had him cupping your chin, forehead resting against yours as you continued. "I don't want to be High Lady. I don't have the drive and ambition Lady Summer, Lady Night, or Lady Day have. I enjoy my place at your side, but not-"

His free hand came up, holding both sides of your face as he shushed you, thumbs continuing to swipe your cheeks. "You are more than enough. You are everything to me." His forehead stayed touching yours, your noses brushing as he spoke, "I love you as you are, for who you are. It would break me to see you change your drive to match the desires of others instead of your own."

You nodded as you were listening to his words. You could feel the beat of your heart beginning to match his, your body relaxing to match his. "I just want to be everything you've ever asked for," you confessed.

"And you are more," his lips twitched, "Cauldron, you are so much more. You are perfect for me. Perfect for my court. You are-" Tamlin paused trying to find the words. "I could write all the poetry in the world, source from the greatest love stories of legend, yet nothing could compare to what you are to me."

Those tears changed at that, sadness replaced by warmth as he touched his lips to yours in a comforting kiss before pulling back. "You are my sun," he whispered. "You are not just my world. You are the center I orbit. You are the source of light and warmth. You are how I time my day." Your smile was growing as he continued to speak, hands finding his broad chest as your eyes closed to fully process and enjoy the timber of his voice.

"I love you. I just.. I love you." He ended it so easily. Three words that encompassed thousands of emotions he could describe. "Never change and never hide these feelings from me. Let me help shoulder your burdens."

You leaned up, kissing him as you opened the bond, "And I love you." Your arms wrapped around him, head resting on his chest. "We should go back before our guests worry."

"Let them worry," he kissed the top of your head. "Let's enjoy the garden and the sprites."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[hishumanbellestories]

The Hazbin Hotel had never been so quiet.

Alastor sat in a grand, velvet armchair in the dimly lit nursery, cradling a bundle so small, so delicate, that it made even his usually unshakable hands tremble. Amara, his daughter, his little star, lay nestled in his arms, her tiny fingers curled against the fabric of his red suit.

She was barely a few days old, her warm freckled skin so much like yours, but her eyes — oh, those eyes — were unmistakably his. Though closed in sleep, he had already memorized their deep crimson hue, the way they shimmered faintly when she blinked up at him in curiosity.

Alastor, the infamous trickster, the fearsome Radio Demon, had faced countless horrors, had stared down creatures from the depths of Hell without so much as a flinch. And yet, looking down at this fragile little being, he felt something he never had before:

Terror.

Not for himself, but for her. The world was cruel, dangerous, unrelenting. What place did a child so pure have in it? What kind of father could he possibly be to a creature so soft, so full of promise?

Amara stirred, a small whimper escaping her lips, and immediately, Alastor’s instincts overtook his doubts. He gently rocked her, his voice dropping to that smooth, crackling radio tone that always soothed even the most restless of souls.

«Shhh, little Miracle», he murmured. «No need for tears. Papa’s here».

She settled slightly but still fussed, her tiny body restless against him. Alastor hummed, the melody slipping from his lips without a second thought — an old jazz tune, soft and slow, a relic from a world long gone.

As he sang, the shadows in the nursery curled protectively around them, shifting and swaying in rhythm, as though even they knew to be gentle for this moment. Amara’s breathing slowed, her tiny hand grasping onto the edge of his tie, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small.

Alastor lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. «Already trying to keep me in line, are you? Just like your mother!», he smiles amusedly.

He traced a careful finger over the wisps of dark hair on her head, wonder flickering through him. How had he ever lived without this feeling? This overwhelming, all-consuming love?

For the first time in centuries, Alastor was afraid of losing something.

But as Amara sighed in her sleep, nestling deeper into the warmth of his chest, Alastor knew one thing with certainty: he would raze the world before he let anything happen to her.

His grin softened as he pressed a gloved hand over her tiny back, holding her close, memorizing the weight of her in his arms. «Sleep well, my darling. For as long as I walk this earth, you will never know fear».

And so, as the Hazbin Hotel remained silent in the stillness of the night, Alastor sang his daughter’s first lullaby, a promise woven into every note: she would never be alone. Never be unprotected. Never be unloved. Not while he was here.

[the-marios]

Other than the red yoshi kid from TTYD, which characters are Remy’s favorites? Are there any he really doesn’t like?

Looking only at TTYD, here is a rough tier list as I understand it!

👍:

Luigi

Flurrie (he knows where her house is in the world map and we visit there semi regularly) (he likes discussing things with Flurrie and I’m occasionally asked to do a voice for talking back)

Koops

the Punies (Remy’s game file has been stuck in Boggly Woods for months because he loves just sort of vibing with 100 little creatures following him around)

Vivian (he knows she’s my favorite so he brings her out pretty often so I can talk to her like he talks to Flurrie)

Ms. Mowz (always so sad when she runs away lol)

🤔:

Lord Crump (he loves pointing out THE BAD GUY!!!!!! when he starts new files) (which is often since he likes the opening cutscenes) (I am unsure if this is positive or negative)

Bowser (the same reason, he seems to enjoy getting riled up at Bowser cutscenes)

👎:

Magikoopa (honestly the only recurring negative reaction I get; I think it’s because they still hit him from across the map even with Bump Badge haha)

[xoxomirrorball]

Daddy's Girl

hawaiian!percy jackson x fem!reader

Aged-up characters, college-age (23-24 ish)

Accidental pregnancy mentions + the things that come with pregnancy/birth, mentions/implications of sex

pt. 2 to Oh Shit, can be read standalone

——————————————————————————————

One thing nobody expected of Percy Jackson, savior of Olympus, was for him to be a picture-perfect girl dad. Everyone had assumed he’d be too rash for a daughter, expecting too much and putting too much pressure on her. But in actuality, it was the complete opposite. 

When you two went in for your first appointment, Percy had almost broken down at the sight of the small figure on the doctor’s monitor. He took the ultrasound photo and framed it, setting it on his dresser.

The appointment where they found the gender out is one of the days Percy would consider the best in his life. When the doctor announced you were having a little girl, he squeezed your hand and said, “I just won that bet with Jason and Piper.”

You sat between Percy’s legs on his dorm room floor. You were balancing your laptop on your ever-growing baby bump, googling baby names.

“I want something Greek but also for Zoë, you know?” you said.

“Yeah, me too. Her middle name could be Hawaiian?” He suggested. you looked up at him and smiled, nodding and kissing him on the cheek.

At your baby shower, the gender was announced to the guests and people wrote letters for her to open once she turns 18. Sally gave you both the biggest hug. What you didn’t know was that she handed Percy her mother's engagement ring, telling him that he had her blessing. Since she knew that your parents would hardly care for blessings or your wedding, Sally figured you would. You were already like her daughter.

When you went into labor a bit after your due date and facing some non life-threatening complications, Percy was by your side. He almost lost his mind when he couldn’t stay by your side for the c-section. Annabeth, Sally, Piper, Reyna, and Jason came running in soon after. They all sat patiently, Sally and Annabeth working on grounding Percy. They knew it’d been tough since Percy went to Tartarus all those years ago, especially since you two hadn’t spent more than 20 minutes apart since you became pregnant.

After a grueling amount of time spent in the waiting room, the doctor finally came out. Everyone looked in his direction at once, Percy standing up and preparing for the worst, just in case.

“Congratulations on a healthy, baby girl,” the doctor exclaimed, “you may go see y/n, but please only three at a time.” Percy sank into his mother's arms in relief before jogging down the hallway to your room. Everyone followed at a much slower pace, allowing you two much-needed bonding time with your baby.

“Hey Angel,” he greeted, entering the room.

There, on the chest of the love of his life, laid a beautiful baby with a head full of dark black hair and the dark, bronzed skin of her parents.  

“She looks just like you,” your sleepy voice said, “she just finished eating, wanna hold her?” 

“Of course I do,” he came closer to your bedside and kissed both of your heads, “but first how are you feeling?”

“M’good, just tired. Take your shirt off, lady says it’s important for skin to skin,” you commanded, eyes closed.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled and took off his shirt, picking up the baby gently.

“Be careful to support her head,” you responded, a lazy arm reaching out and flicking his leg.

“I got her, sleep my love,” he bent down to press a kiss to your cheek, making a point to cradle the baby extra protectively. You nodded before shifting around to get more comfortable. 

Percy marveled at the life laying on his chest. Her head laid on his pec, right where his heart was. Fitting, he thought. Her feet ended near his ribs, it was then he realized how tiny she was. He looked at a note from the nurse’s recordings. 15 inches, 7 pounds and 6 ounces. This itty bitty creature had him to rely on. Him and you. The best parents ever. 

It was obvious just by the way he looked at the baby in his arms, Percy would bring the Earth to its ends for her. He eventually took a seat in one of the chairs, taking a closer look at his baby girl. She was even more beautiful than he expected. He went to brush her cheek and when her tiny hand closed around his finger, he just about burst into tears.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and in came Sally. 

“Y/n’s asleep,” he told her softly, not taking his eyes off of Zandra.

Sally smiled at her son, “what’s her name?”

“Zandra Alamea Jackson, figure we’ll call her Zoe,” Percy replied, finally looking up at his mom. 

“Beautiful. Can I hold her?” you asked, reaching out, 

Percy hesitated before gently picking Zoe off his chest and handing her to his mom. 

“Oh, she’s so much smaller than you were. But she also looks like your carbon copy,” The woman said, smiling at your son and rocking the baby. 

“15 inches, 7 pounds 6 ounces,” he brushed a hand on her arm, marveling at the feeling of this being his child. 

As everyone had come in to hold the newborn, You had woken up just in time for Zandra to need to be fed. Percy stayed while everyone else left to either go home or give you some privacy. It was five in the morning after all, and they’d been there since two in the afternoon the previous day.

“Can you Iris Message Nico? I think it’s only fitting for him to visit his goddaughter now that everyone else is gone,” You asked, finishing up breastfeeding.

“Yeah of course,” Percy pulled some water from the drain and positioned it under the soft glow of the lamp, tossing a drachma into it. “Oh Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show me Nico Di Angelo at Camp Half-Blood,” 

“Percy? What the shit?” Nico muttered groggily, lifting his head from the pillow. 

“Can you shadow travel to me right now?” Percy inquired, hiding a smile. 

“Yeah, why?” the younger boy asked in suspicion.

“I have a surprise for you,” The Son of Poseidon declared. Nico raised an eyebrow before swiping through the message and moments later Nico arrived out of a corner. 

“Woah. What the hell did you do?” Nico asked. 

“I had a c-section. Meet your goddaughter, Zandra Alamea Jackson,” You cut in, waving Nico over to see your,

“She’s beautiful, looks a little too much like Percy though,” he declared, reaching to caress her cheek.

“That’s what everyone’s saying. I am beautiful, why is it such an issue?” Percy grumbled, pouting slightly.

You and Nico just rolled your eyes, used to the dramatics. 

The day you came home, Percy made sure everything was perfect. The house was spotless, laundry and dishes done and put away. Zoe’s room was neater than Annabeth’s bookshelves, the light purple walls complimenting the white furniture. you had a dark gray carpet with another smaller rug on top. It was half the sun and half the moon, a gift from Artemis and Apollo. Inside your crib lay a little dark purple blanket with black ravens and little golden stars, one side silk, the other wool. Another gift, this one from Sally. It was accompanied by a little blue stuffed shark, probably still double Zoe’s size. 

The room was full of toys, walls decorated with framed pictures of friends and family. Coming into Sally Jackson’s apartment and seeing it clean was never a surprise, but it being clean at the hands of Percy was new. He had prepped the whole house the day before his girls were allowed to come home. 

Zandra had settled into your new home quickly, thankfully sleeping mostly through the night. Percy handled it most of the time, he was a night owl anyways and adored spending time with his daughter. You felt like the luckiest woman in the world.Uyou had the perfect daughter and the perfect father to your daughter. You were truly content. One night when Percy had gotten up to change Zandra’s diaper, he brought her into your room, laying her on his chest with an arm around her and one over you, well it was a night you could say you slept the most content you had since being a child. 

Percy was your safe place and he always would be. You knew that if you were to jump into the River Styx in an attempt to gain the curse of Achilles your mortal spot would be the same, just below your left collar bone, though your anchor would now be Percy and Zandra when it used to be the family you remembered from before you discovered your true parentage.

When Zandra turned one month old, a large celebration was held at camp half-blood. Everyone was obsessed and cooed over this beautiful and powerful little girl, who looked just like her father but with your mother’s attitude, that much you could tell at such a young age.

Percy loved your eyes, he sometimes wished your daughter got them. Though the sea-green like his, swirling with dark power like her mother's would suffice perfectly. Nothing could change either of your opinions. Your daughter was perfect in every way, she deserved the world and so much more. 

Returning home from your midterm exam, you had noticed that Sally and Percy Jackson’s apartment had become covered in baby pictures in the short four months she had been alive. There was one of Zandra in a little yellow onesie, one of her in blue, a jean jacket, a picture of you and Zandra sitting on the couch, and so many more. You felt yourself tear up, making your way to the nursery. you heard voices and stopped to eavesdrop outside of Sally’s room. 

“Just ask her tonight!” the exasperated voice of the older woman came through the wall.

“It should be special,” Percy protested.

“You are special to her! Y/n won’t care where you do it, Percy.”

He hesitated, “Okay. Yeah, tonight.”

You hurried into the nursery, kissing the sleeping baby on the head before turning back to head into your and Percy’s room, pretending you didn’t hear that conversation.

you walked in and saw Percy with his back turned to you, talking to himself quietly. 

“Perce?” you asked, coming up behind him.

“Angel,” he smiled, kissing you softly, “I actually have to ask you something.”

“What’s up?” you inquired, smiling back.

He blew out a breath, getting on one knee and pulling his grandmother's ring from his pocket. 

Your eyes widened, filling with tears and you quickly covered your mouth to smother an escaped sob.

“I wanted to do this somewhere more special, maybe our spot at camp, but mom insisted it’s special enough just to have you with me. You, Y/n L/n, I love you more than anything in the universe, except maybe Zoe, so will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?” He questioned, looking up at you with his goofy lopsided smile.

“Yes! Of course!” you shrieked, allowing him to put the ring on your hand, right next to the ring concealing your dagger. 

“I told you so! I'm taking Zoe with me to the store!” Sally’s voice called, followed by the front door closing.

Some could say that was the night baby number two was conceived, but the only ones who could confirm that are Percy and you, and that was an answer no one would be getting. 

[inversemercury]

Meet my Creature Commandos OC (self-insert?) Lad/Lady!!

I have so much I want to say about them but I also really implore people to ask questions!! And also interact, especially if you have OCs for DC in general. I'll dump some more art under the cut with some basic information!

They are inspired by a variety of characters from different media I love! Some honorable mentions are Neopolitan (RWBY), Mariabell (From the Kiseki series), and Galatea Claude (Identity V). Also obviously Yukako and Kira from pt 4 of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

I had a stupid idea of people nicknaming them Lad (which actually stands for Lithe and Deadly), though most people took to tacking the y on at the end because it fit their feminine, doll-like schtick a whole lot more. And since Lady is selectively mute; this, coupled with their lack of cooperation with authorities made it difficult to determine anything about their real identity. But either version of their nickname so far hasn't garnered any significant reaction from them, they don't seem to mind it.

The reasoning behind the name is pretty self-explanatory. They are both lithe and extremely deadly, blessed with the talent of hypermobility in their joints (to an unnatural degree even by human standards) after undergoing numerous experiments during their stay at Arkham Asylum. They broke out shortly after gaining their powers, and once they were once again detained, they were transferred to Belle Reve.

Their weapon of choice is extremely unconventional, but not enough to deter them from their commitment to the bit.

As it shows in the 2nd image of this post, their body changes when they lose control of their emotions. Their fingernails grow at an unnaturally rapid pace, and same with their hair; it can sharpen and also wrap itself around a person or object with a mind seemingly of its own at times. Finally, my most favorite change, their greatest ability becomes their biggest weakness: their joints and muscles can actually stiffen up as they lose control over their limbs. Their skin hardens, begins to crack, and can even peel. It can be very painful if it gets to that point. Yeowch!

Here's a beta design of Lady, I think the bottom doodle showcases a little better how painful it actually was when she was getting treated at Arkham and couldn't control her powers at first.

I have more doodles I'd love to share in the future, related to their backstory which isnt fully fleshed out yet if anyone is curious about that ^_^ but I'm afraid of making this way too long haha so thank you so much for reading this far if you're seeing this! 🌟

[glittergeldreams]

·. ✦ Twilight Dr

________________.。·. ⋆ ˚✦。⋆ ·。._______________

But it doesn't matter how hard they tried, something special always comes out. And in a land where people transform into wolves and deadly predators shine in the sun, a secret like magic can't be hidden for long.

Who said vampires and shapeshifters were the only magical creatures to exist in Forks?

For centuries, witches have disguised themselves as humans. Timeless, beautiful women who were able to change their appearance as they wished, living to the sides or integrated in society as if there was nothing special about them at all.

That's why when my mother died giving birth to me, my aunt took me in and moved away from forks and the rest of our family. After all, two witches living in the same house isn't something that can go unnoticed by the supernatural, especially if one of them is still an infant unable to control her powers.

So we said goodbye to Charlie and moved away. For years. Over and over again until we had to stay put for years so that I could attend school.

But my aunt didn't want to have children not only because of the dangers of a witch childbirth, and it was obvious that caring for me was becoming a burden for her.

That when we decided I'd spend my last two years of high school with Charlie and Bella, who moved back with Charlie too.

________________.。·. ⋆ ˚✦。⋆ ·。._______________

Bella and I always stayed in touch, despite me traveling all over the world with our aunt. So when she told me she'd go stay with her dad, I decided to move with uncle Charlie too.

After all, I loved Forks when I was a kid.

⋆ Me:

Ivory (Ivy) Swan, a witch living on her own for the first time, practicing magic, studying as a teenager and discovering all the new creatures that live hidden behind the human facade just like her.

________________.。·. ⋆ ˚✦。⋆ ·。._______________

I always wear crystals on me, and I play around with magic even to do the smallest things, just to become comfortable with it.

One thing I often do, is change my hair color. It's easy to explain it to humans as temporary hair dye and I can have fun without damaging my hair.

I have my own little notebook I always bring with me and where I write everything that comes to my mind.

I'm not the most outgoing person, but I don't mind being around people. I try to see the bright side of everything, and despite not always being able to show it, I care deeply about my friends, and I'd do anything of them.

⋆ How I spend my days:

I read and write in my journals whenever I can. I have a passion for romances and fantasy books. I just love to compare my magic with the one written in the books, and test my limits.

I love spending time in nature, and I tend to all the plants in Charlie's house.

Since studying comes easy to me, I'll get a job in the Forks' bookstore to help Charlie with rent, and go to LaPush on the weekends when the sun is out and the Cullens have to stay in.

I obviously practice magic as often as I can.

________________.。·. ⋆ ˚✦。⋆ ·。._______________

When I'll become friends with the Cullens, I'll start spending time at their house too.

While I know their secret, I'll enjoy playing with them with my magic for a while, just to see how long it takes them to figure it out.

Knowing Alice, not too long.

⋆ My family:

Daughter of Laura Swan and an unknown man she never gave a name or a face to, I've grown up traveling the world with my aunt Meghan.

Charlie, her brother and my uncle, never knew about magic even when they were little, since their father believed it would hurt their relationship if he knew.

When I come back, all my aunt tells me to do is to never let Charlie know about magic.

Bella and I have always seen each other in the summer growing up, then started sending each other letters and e-mails when we grew up, always keeping in touch.

I consider her my sister more than my cousin.

[louis-the-french-one]

Smosh Cast X GN Reader / Damien Haas X GN Reader

Type: funny/fluff

Relationship: Friends/Coworkers

Summary: Reader is a cast member at Smosh and it's their time to be the host of 'What would (blank) do?"

Use of they/them pronouns for reader

Reader is around 28

1.556 words

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“Welcome everyone to what would [reader] do! The show where I will be reading some questions, give my honest answer and then my friends will try to guess that answer.” [reader] presents from their clearest voice, looking at the camera in front of them.

Behind the camera Emily the director gives them a sign to continue longer with the intro. The young cast member stops nervously and thinks for a few seconds before chuckling and remembering. “And the friends in question here today are Angela, Tommy and Damien Haas.” Emily nods.

“Why does Damien gets to have a last name and not us? That’s not fair!” Angela interjects.

“With me are Angela Giarra-” They try to start again.

“Oh no no it’s fine, don’t bother.” Angela turns to look away from [reader], faking being hurt.

“But that’s true, why don’t I get a last name? Is it because I’m gay?” Suddenly says Tommy, seeing the situation as the perfect time to crack his first joke.

All cast members crack up laughing, Angela turning back to face her friends. The youngest already having their face in their hands realising how chaotic this shoot is going to go.

“Well, it’s okay, we can’t all be [reader]’s favourite.” Damien let’s out grinning at Angela and Tommy while fidgeting with his pen.

“Yeah exactly you both will get a last name when you get to Damien’s level.” [reader] jumps in on the joke, entering a serious composure not daring looking at their friends. Not wanting to linger on the thought that the joke may hold some truth. “Anyway, time for the first question.”

They pick up the first card. “Congratulations, I have won the lottery, what do I do with my winnings?” [reader] says with an excited tone.

The young cast member holds the pen in their hand, tapping it on the table trying to think of the answer. Damien holds up his mini white board, thinks for a few seconds then glances toward [reader] and starts to write down his answer. Angela is chuckling to herself writing.

“So the lottery is like, millions right, like a LOT right” asks Tommy.

“Yeah, basically if I had a tone of money, what would I do?” answers [reader].

“Okay, okay.” Nods Tommy.

After a bit, when everyone is done writing, the director tells [reader] to start asking for the answers.

“Okayyy, um… Angela I heard you chuckling, what did you write?”

Angela flips her board. On it is written ‘PLUSHIES’.

“Plushies?” Asks [reader].

“no, it’s PLUSHIES. I think you would buy lots of plushies. Or like you know the big ones they have in fairs? I think if you had money you’d by TONS of them. I was picturing you with all those giants plushies in your small apartment and the image made me laugh. Just, let’s just go to someone else’s answer.” She shakes her head and starts wiping her board.

“NO, no, that’s good I do really like plushies. But I do already have big ones at home I don’t need to win the lottery to spend money irresponsibly.” They pan at the camera.

“Oh yeah, don’t you have that huge shark one?” Damien asks.

“Yeah I do actually. I love fishes and ocean creatures.”

“Saaaame” nods Damien.

“Well if you two nerds are done I would like to give MY answer.” Tommy says catching everyone attention.

“Oh yeah, of course, what’s your answer?”

“I said…” Tommy reveals his board. “Buy a private island. You like your alone time. You like vacations. I think you’d like to have a private island of your own to kinda isolate and recharge your battery when you want it AND do that somewhere that feels like a vacation.”

“That’s good I do love to get away from people.” They laugh. “Damien?”

“Well, I was, a little bit more reasonable than the two people on my right. Because I know you to be a responsible adult.” Damien starts to explain, [reader] makes a face questioning their ‘responsible nature’. “So I wrote…” He flips his board. “Buy a nice farm to live on with a lot of animals and pets. AND you know farms are in the country side, and you how the country side is, isolated” Damien looks at [reader] and raises his eyebrows as to insist on his argument.

“Oooooooh I like that. I really like that. ALL of you guys came up with good answers, but the TRUE answer is…” They reveal what they have written down. “Buy a house! The LA house market is killing me and all I want is to be able to live in peace in a house that I own.”

“Bullshit.” Interjects Angela. “You win the lottery and simple buy a house?”

“Do you know the price of a house in LA Angela?” Damien jokes. She simply shakes her head.

“So me and Damien are close, you did want to buy a place to live.” Tommy says.

“Yes, I did. Damien is a little closer to my answer though. A private Island? I don’t have the energy to manage that. A small farm, maybe. 2 points for Damien and 1 point for Tommy.”

“Urgh this is going to be difficult.” Complains Angela, head on the table. [reader] laughs as Tommy pats her back.

The shoot continues smoothly. Angela manages to get a few points but Damien stays in the lead.

“And now for our final question: If I didn’t work at Smosh, what would I be doing? Like If I wasn’t an actor what would my job be?” They read and starts writing almost immediately. “I feel like this is very easy, if you guys listen to me when I talk, I’m sure I’ve said it at some point.”

“Yup, I know exactly what the answer is, we’ve talk about this before.” Damien directly says and writes down his answer.

“Oh fuck off of course you know the answer. I’mma just write something funny I ain’t winning anyway.” Groans Angela.

“You never know, I think it could be anyone’s game”. [reader] says.

Tommy looks at them puzzled. “I, think… you have said something to me about this before. I’m gonna go with my gut. And if it’s not your answer I think it should be anyway.”

“Is this how it’s spelled?” Angela whispers to Tommy.

“Nooooo.” he shakes his head. Everyone chuckles.

After waiting for Angela to spell her answer correctly [reader] starts again. “If everyone is finished, I’m curious Tommy what did you write?”.

“I said a Chef.” He flips his board. “I know you love to cook, and I’ve had some of your food and it’s delicious. So I think you would be a Chef.”

“You do cook an amazing Lasagna.” Damien says out loud, perhaps unwillingly.

“Why thank you. I do like cooking. Angela?”

“I think you would be the person that smells candles and rates them for companies. I tried to give it a name but I couldn’t spell odorologist or whatever.”

“Whaat? Why candles?”

“Cause you got the face of a candle smeller. You look like you LOVE candles.”

“I don’t know if I should offended.” They laughed. “And finally, Damien, if you’re sure of yourself, let’s flip our boards at the same time. On three: one, two, three!”

They both flip their boards, looking into each others eyes. They stay a second before looking down seeing that they had the same answer. Their jaw drop simultaneously.

“YAyyyy.” Exclaims Damien.

“And I think that officially makes Damien our winner of what would [reader] do!”

“I mean, who’s surprised, no one. I got like two questions correct and he got like 10” Angela says.

“And that is why you’re not the favourite.” Damien laughs.

“Come on guys, you know I love you all. Even Tommy, I have nothing against homosexuals. Anyway, that concludes our video.” They laugh. “If you liked it and would like to watch another one, two of our videos should pop up on your screen. Good bye!” All the cast members wave at the camera and Emily yells cut.

“Good game guys, I am flattered that you know me.” The young actor says.

“Of course we do” Tommy says.

“I swear I know you I just can’t remember details.” Angela explains a bit stressed.

“It’s okay Ange your answers were very funny.”

The cast starts getting up, lunch should be called soon.

“Can’t believe you know me so well.” [reader] says to Damien who is now standing close next to them.

“I have a good memory. And I like knowing stuff about you.”

The two locks eyes and the younger is quick to look at the ground and chuckle.

“Well I think we should head for lunch. Want to eat with me?”

“With pleasure.”

They walk side by side towards to kitchen starting a new conversation. Occasionally locking eyes when their fingers brush and they realise they may be standing a little bit too close for coworkers. Standing too close for just friends…

The end.

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A.N: Wrote this for a friend and thought I would share!

English is not my first language.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

Alright, we are home and ready to YAP.

Phyx, babe, I'm here to tell you that this is some truly exemplary fanfiction. Like, when I say this fic has checked all my boxes [and added a few I didn't know I wanted]??? I have never been held so tightly by the throat in a fanfic. Not like this.

The pacing for this fic is so masterful I need you to teach me how you fucking do it. Not a word or a moment wasted in any chapter, and the way you keep the tension building steadily, snapping and controlling the story and drawing us in, or shutting us out. Ah, I could ramble about this for DAYS.

Let's talk about your characterization of Sukuna. You have achieved this lovely balance of making him menacing, cruel, brutal, and wild [my favorite Sukuna flavors]. But you've also shown us how innately human he actually is. You've spun his tale so well where there are moments where he's everything like the legends say, and where he is nothing like the legends say. He is all and everything and nothing. I think you know how much I love him by now but your characterization is hands-down one of my favorites. Again, masterful work.

The Reader [I don't see myself as her] is also a masterful character. You've stoked the flames of curiosity from the outset where we learn about her in the same way her techinque works: little poisonous details that rot away the veneer to reveal the horrifying truth beneath the silk [ha, apt title]. She's stubborn, she's independent, she's stronger than she could have ever let herself realize [until this chapter], and she is so much like Sukuna that I think that's why he's so drawn to her. She's like him in that she is not a creature meant for any yoke. She will run freely or she will die fighting and snarling.

The two of them together burn like gasoline flames left untended. They want each other so badly it makes them do all manner of hurtful shit to deny their mutual attraction. I am waiting on tenterhooks for the moment they both finally accept the truth of what they are to each other because I know you're going to make it so cathartic.

The scene with the branding was tough. I can see why you needed a break. I can't imagine the headspace you had to shift into to make that scene hit like it did but again: masterful work. I am so ready to see Sukuna crash out over this because I know he's livid.

Also the white-haired demon is there, love that for him. But he needs to move, this is Sukuna country! 🗣️

This was such a brilliant update [and breathtaking cliffhanger] because now I'm fully invested in seeing these two end up together no matter what. I want them to destroy it all together [I'm insane].

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 35: Goodbye, Little Red Flower

Content warning: Violence, gore, blood, dismemberment, Sukuna POV at the end.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Breaking Of The Shell - Hunter As a Horse Doom - Alex Terrible

Chapter 34

The light tap on your bare shoulder almost pulls you from the haze of sleep.

Almost.

But you’re too comfortable to move. Too tired. Caught somewhere between peace and exhaustion with barely any thoughts. You drift, resting on whatever softness you lie on. It feels nice. And smells faintly of a warm, crackling fire and a deeper undertone, like marrow buried in the earth. Dense. Grounding.

Another tap, firmer this time, yet still gentle.

“Psst.”

A voice.

“It’s time to wake up.”

When your eyes drift open, you blink and are greeted by the sight of Sukuna’s messy sheets, a ridiculous mountain of pillows, and your form poured out across his futon, flat on your stomach.

Disoriented, you blink again, pushing yourself up slowly. Turning to sit, you face the room, aching in every muscle, body and energy spent. It feels like you could sleep for ages, especially here, wrapped in the decadence of this space.

A soft clearing of a throat breaks the quiet, and you glance left. Pale morning light filters through the garden doors, illuminating Ren standing beside the raised futon. She cradles a bowl of steaming liquid, her expression furrowed in thought.

“Morning,” she says, her voice polite, her head bowing slightly, but her eyes wander to the nearest wall, avoiding you.

You look down.

Oh.

Right.

You’re completely naked.

Muttering a few choice words, you grab the nearest thing—the massive blue quilt and swamp the fabric tightly around your body. It doesn’t take long for the memories of last night to resurface, and all you wish for is the heavy forgetfulness of sleep.

What do you remember?

Ceramics shattering. Sneaking into the King of Curses’ room in the middle of the night to stab him. All the truths that were finally hatched. Then, the forest battle. Your power. The fire arrow. The shouting. Screaming. Kissing. The sex—gods, the sex. Before, the quiet, whispering, “I should have stolen you sooner.” And finally, the monster letting you go, telling you to depart before sunrise, leaving you here, alone, covered in his…

You look down, cheeks burning with mortification as irritation prickles under your skin at the sticky sensation between your legs. There’s a lot. It’s everywhere.

He has two cocks, after all.

Taking a corner of the quilt, you scrub at your inner thighs, uncaring if you stain his sheets. If anything, you hope it leaves a mess—one small, final reminder that you were here. The act feels petty, but you reserve a corner in your mind that he deserves a whole lot more than this.

Let all his sleeps be ruined by crusty sheets.

Prick.

Peering back at Ren, your eyes flicker to the bowl cradled in her hands, which she seems to be directing toward you. The wafting steam smells of the earth, a grassy edge, maybe something sweet.

“What is that?”

Your prickly tone does little but draw her attention back to you. You level her with a stare. The sting of betrayal still crawls around in your mind, and looking at her directly does nothing to settle it.

“It’s a tea, my La—” Her words falter, lip tucking inward to stop herself.

You tug the quilt tighter, a protective shield.

So, the news has already spread throughout the shrine. This sham of a union is over. Eyebrows calmly arching, you wait for her to recover her voice.

“It’s a preventative,” she says, clearing her throat softly, “against anything... unwanted. Master Sukuna didn’t wish you to leave only to become pregnant.”

Her explanation barely registers before you take the bowl from her hands, careful to avoid brushing her skin—an intentional gesture after last night’s incident. No more shattered ceramics.

“How thoughtful of him,” you mumble, peering into the bowl’s murky contents and inhaling.

Despite the bitterness in your words, you know it’s true. Becoming pregnant would be foolish, and, as Ren said, unwanted. With no home, no clan, and no means of support, bringing a child into this life would be reckless.

“Is this what you and Sayuri would drink?”

You take a sip. Hints of over-brewed root and bark nips at your tongue.

“Not often.” Ren makes a humming sound in her chest. “If ever.” She moves across the room to pluck your ruined yukata that still sits as a rumpled pile on the floor. “Normally, he wouldn’t find completion inside us,” she adds, her voice calm, almost factual. “He would withdraw.”

“Oh.”

You avert your stare to the tea again. Taking a longer sip, then two more, you drain the rest in one long swallow. Wiping your mouth, you add, “I suppose I should feel honoured, right?” You tap the ceramic dish once with a finger before setting it down on the sheets.

Again, the bitterness in your words. They aren’t meant for Ren, but they come nonetheless.

Petty, petty.

She doesn’t respond, and standing at the end of the futon, she hesitates before dropping her chin. 

“I don’t mean to be forward, but—” She smooths your discarded garment between her fingers, as if trying to rub out the stains. “You need to leave,” she continues. The new tension winding through her tone has you sitting straighter. “There’s a force advancing toward Master Sukuna’s domain.”

Your brow creases.

“An attack?” Feet finding their way to the floor, you stand with the quilt wrapped around you. “Similar to previous ones?”

Ren shakes her head softly.

“No.” She hands you your yukata, which you take with careful fingers. “Master Sukuna seems more concerned about this. Apparently, it’s much more organized—and from the capital.”

Your pulse makes a dip. Skips a beat or two.

What you had wondered about last night is coming to pass. Heian-kyō is moving to retaliate against Ryomen Sukuna. The course of events likely tracing to what you asked of him nights ago—the destruction of the Kasai clan…

Everyone. Dead.

Those were her words.

You let the quilt fall, and threading your arms through the sleeves of your yukata, you slip inside.

What would they do if they ever laid hands on Sukuna? Unlikely—but does it matter to you anymore?

Do I even care?

Pinching the front panels of the garment closed, you glance around for the sash—your binding from last night—but it’s nowhere to be found.

Before you can ask any further questions, the door slides open.

Uraume steps into the room. Their pink gaze flickers toward you briefly, but it doesn’t remain. Crossing to a chest resting in the corner, their pale hands move to pile several folded garments into their arms.

You stare at them. At the pink strip staining the back of their head.

I trusted you.

Ren shifts beside you, clearing her throat for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“I’ll prepare some of your things for departur—”  

“I trusted you.” Your voice is aimed at Uraume’s back, but your words are meant for both of them.

The pale-haired subordinate’s hands pause. It falls silent. Then they continue while a pained expression passes over Ren’s face. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Did you all just sit around at the end of the day and laugh at me?” you add, teeth clicking shut. “Recount all the stupid things I must have done?”

With a thump, Uraume presses the chest closed. In the dim light, dust motes swirl, dance, and finally settle. They turn to you, head bowing deeply, taking you by surprise.

“I have nothing to say for myself,” they admit, tone sincere. “And whatever you believe, know this—our actions toward you were genuine.”

“Genuine?” Your laugh comes out humourless. “After lying to me this whole time?"

“Yes.”

They pause, then lift their head.

“But.” Their expression cools, and your gaze hardens. “Your intent was to harm Master Sukuna. My loyalty will always remain with him—just as yours has always belonged elsewhere.”

Loyalty?

You huff, frustration rolling around inside your chest.

“Of course my loyalty was elsewhere. I did this to protect my sister.”

Under Uraume’s white bangs, their eyes exchange a wordless glance with Ren before flitting back to you.

Of course, they also didn’t know this—none of them did. Hidden truths and lies are all that bind anyone here.

“It wasn’t something I chose for myself,” you continue. And yet—what choice did either of them have against the word of the King of Curses? Was there a choice at all?

For a moment, Uraume hesitates, as if there’s more they want to say. But they simply bow their head again.

“Be safe.”

Clutching the stack of garments, they turn, slip gracefully into the corridor and disappear.

You stand there quietly before Ren steps briskly toward the door.

“Please,” she murmurs. “It’s time to go.”

Lifting your chin, you follow her from Sukuna’s chambers, sparing one last glance at the mural—the fading seasons, the red bloom sprouting from the snow—before turning away.

Descending the corridor back to your room feels strange, yet familiar, like retracing steps through a place that no longer belongs to you. When you enter, Ren gives you space. You move quickly, taking only what you need for the journey. Everything else, and anything gifted, remains untouched.

Before changing into a dark, plain kimono and hakama, you wipe your body down as best you can with a piece of cloth, ridding yourself of Sukuna’s touch.

With your leather gloves on, you pause in the doorway. The shattered ceramics from last night have been cleaned, leaving no trace of the realizations they pulled forth. Sliding the door open, you turn left, following the long hallway toward the front entrance. You pass the central hall, passing attendants along the way. They move through the corridors with their heads drawn low, not acknowledging you.

And you wonder—had they known about your gift all along? Perhaps that’s why they kept their distance, treating you like a walking, breathing wound.

Or a sickness.

Pushing the massive front doors open, you step outside. The morning drips with light rain, drizzle clinging to the air as fog blankets the ground in a soupy veil.

Everything is grey—dull, grey, muted, lifeless.

No colour. No warmth.

You exhale.

The clipped tap of footsteps behind you draws your gaze back over your shoulder. Ren stands at the mouth of the corridor, her face unreadable.

“Take care of yourself,” you say with a nod. She bows, head lowered, never lifting it.

Forcing a tight smile, you descend the wet stone steps of the shrine. The sodden ground gives beneath your feet as you make your way to the stables. Inside, your gaze sweeps over the stalls, tracing the familiar shapes of Sukuna’s horses, one after another, all accounted for.

So, he’s still here.

You pull open the door where Ayana waits, but a dull thud draws your attention downward.

There in the hay, your sheathed tantō lies, snug in its scabbard.

You stare at it for a heartbeat. Sukuna must have retrieved it, intending for you to take it. Your mouth twitches faintly, but instead of picking it up, you step over it, leaving the weapon where it lies.

A gift given, and one you’ll leave behind.

Ayana greets you with a gentle nudge, her warm breath coasting over your cheek. Huffing softly, the corner of your mouth attempts to rise.

“Ready to go, girl?” you murmur, circling her with a reassuring pat. Her dappled coat is smooth, brushed to a shine, clear that someone has taken care of her.

“We’ll ride toward the capital. Yuna will likely be waiting there for us,” you say, running a soothing hand along her neck before reaching for the bridle slung over the nearest beam. You begin fitting it over her head, your gloved hands steady as you secure the tack.

“And when this is all over, I’ll find you a place with real pastures. Somewhere with soft grass and open space, plenty of room to run wild.” You adjust the straps. “I’ll bring you something good too. Maybe sweet chestnuts. Or apples from some market we find along the way, the kind that smells like warm honey.”

She whinnies, and you smile at her.

“Freedom. Choices.” You give her a final pat. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

The creak of the stable door opening makes your head tilt slightly. You pause. The heavy footfalls arrive like an approaching storm, the rustle of fabric a whisper, sending searing heat down your spine.

Sukuna’s footsteps might as well be stomping around inside your chest—all loud and disquieting.

But instead of hiding, you keep your focus on Ayana, and don’t look up. You continue preparing her, hands moving with careful precision.

Still, you can’t ignore the faint trace of his energy brushing against you, prodding—almost as if in greeting.

You force yourself to ignore it. To breathe.

You can block it out, can’t you? If nothing else, you’ve learned this much—you are far stronger than you ever realized.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep and low into your belly.

Slowly, the oppressive hum of him dulls. Quieted, but not gone. Never entirely gone.

A stall door groans open. One of his many horses lets out a low chuff, and then his voice—deep and quiet—fills the space, murmuring soft, soothing words to the beast. The familiar clink of buckles follows, the slow pull of leather straps.

He’s leaving now too.

You quicken your pace, finishing swiftly to avoid a final confrontation.

With the saddle fastened, you mount Ayana and steer her toward the main doors, keeping your focus locked ahead—nowhere else. A firm nudge to her side, and you burst from the stables, refusing to acknowledge the flash of red eyes snapping toward you as you race past.

No lasting glances. No words. No goodbye.

Nothing.

You’re already gone.

Erupting down the dirt-packed road with the wind tearing through your hair, the rain picks up. But you don’t mind. This is a first taste of freedom.

Pressed between the towering, muted trees at your sides and the endless curve of the grey sky above, Ayana surges forward, her hooves slicing through shallow puddles.

It all blurs. You don’t look back.

But it doesn’t take long before your mare’s gallop is drowned out by the thundering of hooves from behind.

Before you can turn, Sukuna suddenly appears beside you, his massive warhorse cutting across your path. Ayana rears back with a startled cry, and you grip the reins tightly to steady her, heart pounding as he pulls alongside.

Slowly, he comes into focus.

You haven’t met his gaze since last night, seen his face since that vulnerable moment when he was buried deep inside you, when he turned you away.

Now, eyes finding yours, they move across you, and something fractures behind the scarlet hue of his stare.

He looks so different from only hours ago. Before, he had been lost in pleasure—or whatever other tumultuous emotions had circled in his mind.

Now, he looks ready for war.

A dark charcoal kimono and hakama stretches over his broad frame, the long spear strapped to his back a promise of violence. He appears as a shadow against the pale morning, cut from a deep wound, a stain.

And yet—

Tiny droplets of rain cling to him, softening the edges. Beads dot his lashes, dampen his pink hair to a deeper shade of blush. His eyes blink against the drizzle, and for a moment, the storm touches him too.

Hands loosening on Ayana’s reins, you part your lips to ask why he’s come—only for him to reach forward and crush something against your sternum.

Your chin tilts downward. Pressed against your chest is a thick stack of parchment, its edges curling from the damp. Reaching for them, your gloved fingers brush against the soaked paper, and you avoid his hand. Then your gaze drops lower, catching on the seal pressed into the front. A snake, coiled in red.

They are letters.

Your letters.

The ones he took.

Your eyes snap back to the King of Curses. He looms over you, his upper left arm still closing the space, palm flat against you. He looks out of place, oddly quiet, like he wants to speak but can’t quite force the words free.

Your grip on the reins shifts, leather creaking—the only sound above the steady patter of rain and the breath of the two horses.

Three heartbeats pass before he finally speaks.

“Be careful,” he mumbles lowly, pressing his hand more firmly as though unwilling to let go. His brow furrows. The way he looks at you—it’s there. If only he could unburden himself, let the words crawl free, you might listen.

You wait.

But his mouth and throat are fortified, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that aches.

“Stay off the main road. Don’t ride east, it’s dangero—”

“Goodbye, my Lord.” 

Composed. Formal. Chin lifted.

Your interruption makes him hesitate, lip twitching—before, at last, he releases you. Slowly. Reluctantly. And it’s that reluctance on his face that makes him look like a man who’s taken another blade to the neck and doesn’t understand how.

What does he expect? 

Again, you’ve given him pieces of yourself. And again, he has taken.

The thought twists.

Ruiner.

Tucking the letters deep into the front panels of your kimono, you turn away. Without a backward glance, you guide Ayana forward, and the space separating you stretches wide—like the unseen divide that always existed between your two rooms at the shrine.

Ayana surges ahead. The world blurs into gold and brown. But you only get so far before something inside tugs—an invisible thread pulling too tight.

You risk a glance back.

There’s a final flash of red clinging to you before vanishing, swallowed by the fog and rain, and the four-armed demon dissolves into the grey.

* * * * *

You don’t ride for long before finding a place beyond the main trail to dismount. Under the shelter of a sprawling oak, your mare slows, and you pull the letters from the safety of your kimono.

Settling onto a cold slab of rock, its damp surface seeping through your layers, you decide it’s time to read through them—if only to chase away the feeling clawing at your chest.

An odd ache of sorts.

Glancing down at the parchment in your hands—there are many. Some remain folded and untouched. While others have been folded and refolded, their creases worn soft, as if read over again and again.

Why Sukuna felt the need to keep them hidden, you’re unsure.

Taking the first from the top, you ease it open and begin.

Dearest Sister, I hope this letter comes to you well. Court life has been a marvel—every day feels like stepping into the poetry of a dream. The noblewomen are endlessly graceful, and I’ve started lessons to refine my own gestures and speech. Did you know there’s even a proper way to arrange robes for an audience? It’s all so fascinating, and I feel I’m learning so much. Yuna

Your brow drops. You set it aside and retrieve another.

Dearest Sister, I’ve had the opportunity to meet several suitors from other clans, Zen’in, Kamo. I’m still waiting to meet a man from the Sugawara clan, said to have silver hair and striking blue eyes like the open sea. The others carry themselves differently, some with charm, others with an air of superiority. I wonder what they saw when they looked at me. Yuna

You drag your eyes away from the elegant script, rifling through the stack before selecting another.

Dearest Sister, The dango here is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. Soft, sweet, with just the slightest hint of char that, regrettably, left me with a terrible stomach ache. I lack restraint, but how could I when they were served on—

Enough.

Your fingers curl into the parchment.

What kind of letters are these? Not a single word asks about your well-being or safety. Not a single inquiry into how you are being treated at the shrine. She speaks only of herself, every sentence orbiting around her.

Jaw clenching, you shuffle through the rest, searching for a kind word—anything that isn’t self-indulgent. But there’s nothing. It’s always about Yuna. It always has been.

She is the protected.

You, the protector.

She, the gem.

You, the trinket, shoved into a corner.

Her, lovely.

You, anything but.

You’ve convinced yourself time and time again that your needs were never worthy, that you were deemed undeserving. Yet despite her volatile upbringing—one so similar to your own—she could still show you some hint of compassion, some fragment of concern. Couldn’t she?

You keep searching, keep looking, and still, nothing.

A crack runs through your heart, a fractious crumbling. Ridiculous to feel this way. All this from a few damn letters. But you swallow and flip through the papers once more, unfolding and refolding.

There has to be something. 

Your fingers halt on a small, unmarked letter, the parchment lightly stained, its surface rough, absent of any emblem. Discreet. You unfold it slowly, revealing the familiar ink strokes of your father’s handwriting.

For a moment, you simply blink, looking down at the ramblings of a dead man—a man you killed—staring back at you.

To my youngest daughter. I will make this brief. If I am no longer here, I have one simple and final request to offer you. Do not trust the next head of the Kasai clan. Trust no one. Trust yourself. Trust your memories, but know that the mind is a terrible thing when touched. While you remain in the south, under the creature’s eyes, remember your mother. Remember her. Remember. And for all the harm I have caused you, I can only hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Your Father. Kasai Takuma.

You stare at it, chest tight.

Forgive him?

Forgive him?

The thought alone feels impossible. A delusion he has no right to ask for. A fucking fool’s errand.

Your eyes sting.

Crumpling the letter, you toss it aside, letting it sink into the wet grass.

The thought burns at you, picking. You push to your feet, pace in agitation, eyes fixed on the wadded paper while the damp earth begins to swallow it whole.

“The mind is a terrible thing when touched…” you murmur, watching the letter start to cave in on itself. “What the hell does that even mean?”

The ink starts to bleed.

Your mouth twitches.

With an exhale, you step closer, grabbing it before moisture can fully soak through, then stare at it again, reading it over and over until his nonsense is memorized.

Because something about this feels wrong. Bone-deep, wrong.

The Kasai clan was destroyed days ago. There is no clan head. No power. No influence.

Once, I think I cared for you, just like your mother had, but I forgot what that felt like.

Your father’s words wander back, unbidden. The same words he spoke before you stabbed him in the throat.

“You’re not making any sense, you bastard.”

Sighing, you let your head fall back, neck tilting as your eyes drift skyward. The rain has passed, but the clouds linger heavy, dragging their swollen bellies close to the earth.

Your heartbeat slows.

Remember.

Remember…

Remember what?

Closing your eyes, you take a long, deep breath. Calm.

Remember.

Remember…

I remember a breeze. A whisper in the dark.

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze snaps open as a choking scent invades your nose.

A smell.

That smell.

Smoke.

Leather gloves creaking, you curl your hands into fists as your eyes lift to the east, catching sight of thick, dark plumes rising, streaking the sky in an ugly stain of ash.

Something’s burning.

* * * * *

Elsewhere, in a village to the east, some time later…

Screaming. Yelling. Crying.

Flames lick at the grey sky. Huts on fire. Villagers running in every direction.

The King of Curses knows no mercy. Even surrounded by ten, twenty, fifty men, he fights. And when Sukuna fights, he fights viciously. Violently. He fights alone.

From across the burning, crumbling village, five assailants throw themselves toward him all at once. With Hiten out, the demon’s hold on his cursed energy is loose, and he responds in kind.

The first man arrives, swinging his katana with misplaced triumph, aiming for his weapon hand. The sharp edge of the blade descends with a high-pitched wail, but before he can take another step, his blood and guts are already smeared across the ground.

As easy as splitting an overripe peach.

Sukuna grins at the mess and laughs, then lifts his chin from the warm, wet, glistening heap. 

Three more follow.

He’s ready. Muscles in his chest swollen, the upper half of his kimono slung at his waist, four arms draped at his side, he steps forward to meet them.

For a heartbeat, as he moves, the energy of a lesser sorcerer rolls up against him in annoying fits and spurts. It’s distracting, a bit of a nuisance. Lip peeling back, he ignores it, his focus returning to the rushing of feet toward him, the advancing trio moving with well-trained precision.

But training means nothing in the presence of a many-faced monster.

Garments snapping in the heat of battle, Sukuna takes in the insignias woven into their attire—men from Heian-kyō and the Zen’in clan. The latter, he knows, is behind the constant attacks on his domain. For the past month, they’ve pushed his patience, having sat in league with the Kasai clan. Were.

There’s a bright red flash.

A spasm of energy hurtles toward him.

Dodging, he slides into a wide stance, sandals gripping the damp soil. His upper right arm lifts, two fingers poised. Scarlet eyes burn.

Flick!

A sharp hiss rips through the air.

The three men stagger to a stop, shudder, then split apart—torsos sliding cleanly from their hips, their bodies fall in halves to the ground with meaty thuds.

Veins, cartilage, bone, tissue, muscle.

Sometimes, Sukuna enjoys dragging out a fight—testing his opponent’s limits, squeezing out every last drop of potential.

Not today.

Today, he fights to kill. Today, he wants to see eyes wrench wide, watch insides spill pink, feel flesh tear under his hands. The slick heat of blood—he needs it. Needs to drown out the colour of snowmelt, the vision slipping long out of reach.

Pitiful.

He lets himself feel fucking pathetic for one second before turning to the last man in his vicinity.

There are still more to kill.

Lots more.

“Come on!” His canines flash.

He feels insane. Drunk. Blood drunk. Bloodlust.

He wants more. So much more.

The final man raises his hands, fingers aligning into some kind of hand sign.

“Thrilling.” Sukuna’s demonic grin pulls wider.

With a smooth motion, his lower left arm draws back, halberd poised.

He releases it.

The incantation barely leaves the sorcerer’s throat before the blades sink snugly into his windpipe. The man’s cries mutate into animalistic sounds as he crumples to his knees, then collapses onto his back, eyes fixed on the ashen sky.

“How boring,” the King of Curses mutters, stepping closer to the body.

Planting his foot on the lifeless chest, he leans into it, dislodging Hiten from the ruined neck with a slick, hideous squelch.

“Such a waste to use this here,” he scowls, turning the bloodied weapon in his hand with a reverent eye. “It deserves far worthier opponents…” Lowering the haft to the dirt, he lets the blade rest upright. “Perhaps another time.”

He lifts his attention from the spear, falling on the remains of the sprawling village, surveying where the chaos takes shape.

The pests of the Zen’in clan and men from the capital swarm the dirt paths between ruined huts, fire stinging the air as they rip the place apart. He catches sight of others lingering at the edges, biding their time, waiting, but he’s not sure for what.

Four eyes sweeping to the fields beyond, he sees they’re smothered in ash, the homes already burned to the ground before his arrival. This village—once the heart of this domain northeast of the shrine—is as good as lost. Survivors, mostly women and children, pick their way through the wreckage or scatter into the surrounding wilds. Few converge in the distance, forming a group as they attempt to flee toward the tree line—only to be cut down or dragged away.

A month ago, the situation wasn’t this dire. Then again, a month ago, everything was very different. But this assault feels… calculated.

As he moves toward another cluster of assailants, that same flicker of lesser energy brushes against him, making his brow crease in irritation. Again, he ignores it, too busy weighing his next opponent.

Out of nowhere, two horses rush past, their riders racing in the direction he came from. 

South. 

A warning rings out inside his mind, and he doesn’t hesitate to move.

Abandoning the village, Sukuna tracks them, his massive form cutting through the terrain. With a flick of his wrist, the first rider is ripped from the saddle, slamming against the earth.

The second man continues, veering deeper into the brush. 

He doesn’t make it far. 

With a single swipe, Sukuna cleaves through flesh and bone, severing the rider’s leg mid-gallop. The limb hits the ground first. The man follows, crashing into the undergrowth. His horse bolts, vanishing into the trees, leaving its master mutilated in the dirt, groaning in agony.

Through the thicket, the King of Curses moves slowly. Blood pools beneath the mangled figure, staining the rain-softened earth dark. Sukuna reaches him and kneels, fingers curling into the man's battle attire—a layered mix of padded silk and hemp, suited for a warrior of Heian-kyō’s polished courts yet built for combat. Hiten shifts at his side as Sukuna hauls the man upright, their faces close enough that he can taste the sour tang of his breath, can see the fear stretching lines in his features.

“Why are you here?” Sukuna’s voice is a bored, guttural drone.

What he said must have been funny, because his trembling prey smiles at him, baring a row of gummy teeth.

Oh.

Sukuna chuckles.

How sweet.

Canting his head like an animal, the monster’s lower right hand finds its way to the dismembered leg. His fingers crawl deep into the raw, bleeding cavity until the man’s mouth opens in a scream.

“I’ll ask again,” he drawls, pinching an artery between firm fingers. “Why are you here?”

“To collect!” the warrior croaks in pain, blood bubbling onto his chin, some managing to spill onto the mossy ground.

Sukuna’s grip loosens—slightly.

“To collect what?”

Sweat slithers down the man’s brow to settle in the hollow of his cheek. 

“You,” he wheezes, then the grin from before returns, overtaking his shuddering expression. “And to take that whore of a wife off your hands.”

Sukuna’s face turns solid. Emotionless. He says nothing. Even when he imagines tearing the man’s jaw free from its roots, leaving him to choke on his own bile and blood.

“You are sentenced to death for the crimes against the Kasai clan,” he continues, glee painting his words even as his skin pales like a corpse. “Your wife stands accused of conspiracy and treason for instigating a coup.”

Sukuna’s jaw sets. He removes his fingers from inside the bloody stump.

“But, she’s wanted alive.” The man pauses. “There are far greater plans for her.”

The monster’s expression darkens.

“And who said she had anything to do with it?” His teeth are bared despite himself.

Patience.

“A witness,” the warrior sneers. “Someone of higher influence than both of you.”

“Fuck your so-called witness. It means nothing to me,” Sukuna hisses, yanking the man forward until their noses nearly touch. “The Kasai clan is gone. I took them apart.” 

“No.” The man wheezes out a laugh, then licks his bloodied bottom lip. “Not all of them.”

The King of Curses already knows this. And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the accusations, the sentence placed upon him. Let them call him a criminal, a demon, a cannibal, disgraced, wretched—he’s heard it all before. But you? That’s… a different creature entirely.

His fingers flex around the warrior’s clothing, crumpling it further in his grip.

“Who?”

The man’s grin spreads grotesquely wide, every tooth on display.

“The new head of the Kasai clan.” He starts to laugh, his head lolling back in wild abandon.

Only then does Sukuna notice the eyes, the pupils—blown wide, unnaturally so.

“And she’s magnificent.” She. “You’ll see. You’ll see when—”

With a harsh twist, the man’s face is wrenched sideways. His laughter cuts off. Bones splinter. Flesh stretches. Pulls. Tears. 

Sukuna doesn’t stop.

He rips the jaw clean from the warrior’s skull. Blood sprays across him in a fine mist. Holding the chunky mass of bone and tissue in his hand, he turns it slowly between his fingers as though admiring a beautiful flower. Below him, his victim collapses to the ground, his hands flying up to claw at the gaping red hole where his mouth once was. But there’s nothing, and his screams are reduced to wet, gurgling sounds as his body twitches in pain.

“Magnificent, was it?” Rising to his full height, Sukuna drops the shattered jaw. “Let’s see how magnificent Yuna Kasai is when I’m done with her.”

Without sparing another look, he turns, leaving the man to suffer, and saunters back toward the village.

As he walks, he collects everything, thinks about the manipulative little bitch who has finally revealed her hand—turning against you, usurping what remains of the Kasai clan, setting everything into motion.

Like a slow-working poison. And by the time you realize what she’s done, it will be too late.

Once your eyes have opened, it will destroy you.

And after all this, he let you go—knowing full well you were no longer safe.

Safe.

He scrubs a hand across his face, then runs it through his hair, fingers dragging through clotted blood and sweat. With another hand, he grips Hiten, shifting its weight as he slides the weapon’s haft into his obi, the blade rising over his shoulder, still within reach.

Walking out of the tree line, the village comes into view, and that same pressure as before pushes against his senses—a slow, drugging pulse in his veins. Drugging in the way that it’s familiar... 

Sukuna slows, then stops, cocks his head to the side, all his senses straining.

That lesser energy he’s been feeling. Not lesser, just untamed energy. It reaches across him like a stranger but still familiar—known, but not entirely. The face of someone he once knew but never fully understood, even if he wished he had.

But that’s impossible.

Because it’s yours.

Your cursed energy. Here.

You are here.

Why the hell are you here? You can’t be. You were far from this place. He had told you not to ride east. So why does it feel like he’s breathing you in again? Hadn’t he finally rid himself of your presence?

And yet.

Spurts of it tell him something else.

You are here. And you are… fighting.  

His four eyes roll across the surroundings, searching. There’s a wisp of it. He feels it. Then, he moves.

Carving his way through any assailant even as they lunge at him, he slips past every strike, every arc of steel, and every flicker of energy that flares to life.  

Delving back deeper into the village, fire cracks. The wind shifts. Smoke spills down his throat, and the warm scent of death thickens, layered with fouler scents.  

Decay.  

His gaze narrows.  

He moves faster.

The ground slopes under his feet. A natural dip in the land, where runoff pools from the rain. Down past charred remains of a market stall, he steps over a corpse. 

More signs.

Footprints trailing through the dirt, the grass at their edges reduced to black husks. Ash curling over withered reeds. It only goes so far before the rot stops.

Your work.  

He lifts his head.

The village stretches forward, its wreckage bisected by a narrow road snaking through the center. 

More corpses litter the ground. Not just dead—ruined.

Darkness eats at the edges of their skin, flesh slack and mottled, collapsed inward. Their chests yawn open, ribs gaping, organs spilled like spoiled fruit.

So this is the full extent of your power—all from a single touch.

He pauses, taking it in—the tattered scraps of the dead’s clothing, the insignias barely visible through falling soot and ash.

Heian-kyō and Zen’in.

Sukuna steps over the bodies. Another corpse shudders in its final moments, a rattling hiss as bones slump into a heap of innards.

Fresh.

You were here moments ago.  

He breathes it in, takes it in, the reeking taste of sick life on his tongue.  

You’re messy. Inefficient. Brutal. Room for error.

His lip curls.

Reckless woman.

“Where the fuck are you?” he growls, stepping over another pile of split torsos and soured meat. But there it is—your pulse, steady through this slaughter.

Skirting a half-collapsed hut, he follows its pull.

Then, a desperate cry cracks the air.

He stops.

Goes still.

Listens.

His ears catch the sting of metal, the shuffle of hurried feet, and a crowd of voices. 

But it’s you. 

He knows this.

Through the shambles, down shallow alleys, past collapsed walls where fire has eaten at wood and thatch—he moves.

The pulse of your cursed energy bleeds stronger.

The noise ahead swells.

Laughter.

Jeering voices. Too loud.

He rounds the last ruin and steps into an open stretch of the village square.

In the distance, a cluster of men stands in a tight mass all shouting and revelling. Teeth flashing, voices raised as though they’ve just brought down something great.

As though they’ve won.

He moves closer.

The ravenous crowd parts like a vein split open, but there’s no beast lying at their feet.

There’s only you.

The Zen’in clan and men from the capital have you.

Their hands claw at you—pulling, dragging, yanking—before shoving you face-first into the slick mud. Your arms are wrenched behind your back, leather gloves missing, exposing discoloured fingers and hands.

Beside you, one man yanks Ayana’s reins, his knuckles tight around the leather. The mare screams, bucking wildly, panic twitching through every strained muscle. Kicking up dirt, she fights to break free.

But it isn’t enough.

She is losing.

And so are you.

Thrashing, you fight like a wild creature ripped straight from the forest, meant to be bound and butchered.

And you don’t stop. Not even when a man straddles your back, his knees digging into you as he shoves a dirtied strip of cloth between your teeth, wrapping it tight around your head, forcing your cries to collapse into muffled rage. Then he adjusts his grip and pulls. Your spine wrenches into a painful bow, body buckling under heavy weight.

You scream.

And—

Livid. Fucking. Fury.

Clarity comes to a sharpened point.

Jaw clenched, it's incredible how the violence hits Sukuna all at once—so forceful he's certain his teeth crack down to the marrow.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Another man steps around your struggling form, gripping a branding iron. Its tip glows—a hot, furious thing. Your right arm is wrenched back, palm up, pinned to the ground.

That’s when he understands this condemnation.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

They’re going to brand you. 

You must feel the heat licking at your skin because he sees your eyes go wild with terror. Sees the moment the screams rip harder from your throat, gag soaking with it.

This sight before him.

The sound of you struggling, fighting, handled like prey—after everything—this is all it takes.

He understands it instantly, viscerally, and an ugliness crawls within him, a weapon unsheathed. That same feeling, the one that gripped him last night slides over his being, the one he felt before he followed you into the forest. That repetition of tiny words all to form a much grander thing.

His.

Always.

But he doesn’t name it. Doesn’t think it. Doesn’t breathe it back into existence.

You were never truly his to begin with.

Sukuna takes a step.

Something must alert you to his presence, because your gaze cuts through the crowd and finds him. And you are furious. Eyes screaming into him, eyes screaming at him. And with that look, the first threads of his restraint toward you fall apart.

The King of Curses takes another patient step. 

He doesn’t need to run.

Time bends for him.

And everyone here will be dead in a heartbeat.

If only he knew of the quiet blade being drawn behind him.

[tomahachi12]

I may have came up with another drone

For those of y'all that stuck around from my "Spinel days", you might recognize this little freak

I'm gonna squish them like the bug she is

[bonemeal12]

I can’t even finish this after the latest episode I’m sorry I can’t I can’t do this this is too much I-

[icarianncarrionn]

A little laugh escapes her, shaking her chest against his back, and she presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Nah. Nah, I don’t have to torture myself, you do that shit for me.” She jokes. “That said, I still don’t want anyone else.” Even if what he said was true, and she goes back and forth on that feeling all the time, she could have anyone she wanted, and then nobody will ever want her. Her mind tells her that she's impossible not to love one moment and then the most unlovable creature to walk the earth the next.

Tisha mumbles, "Everyone else isn't you. It turns out that's a huge problem for me." before she even remembers that it's a line of poetry, another book she tucked in his bag, or meant to at some point. Maybe she's been trying to share some secret part of her heart this whole time, and she's just catching up to it herself. "I don't remember what that's from. It's a poem, but I don't remember. It's true, though. Even though it's not my words, it's true."

@worldofsenelfy

Goosebumps. And shivers. That was what it felt like, spreading all across Ilyas' body when Sunny came that close to him. And it wasn't even altogether very unpleasant. If it'd been unpleasant, he'd have scooted away or pushed her off.. right? It was a bodily sensation, a strange one, and one he didn't think he'd ever feel again. Maybe that was the reason he laughed - chuckled.

"You--" No, he swallowed what he was about to say. He knew it wasn't nice. Calling someone crazy? Wasn't exactly a compliment. His head shook a bit, but somehow he still did seem amused. "Anyone in this world--you could have anyone in this world." Beside the amusement, there also was a hint of disbelief in his voice. Why him? Why in seven hells him? It didn't click in his mind. "You must really like to torture yourself." It wasn't funny, not even one bit. And yet, he couldn't stop smiling.

@icarianncarrionn

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Clone wars headcanons about everything and nothing

Ahsoka has a decent amount of allergies but only a handful are actually life-threatening and no matter how much she tells Anakin that it never stops him from treating them all the same

And by treating them all the same I mean he’s slapped some snacks out of her hands because he knew she was slightly allergic to it

In his defense the clones are really bad at keeping track of her allergies and because of that they have fed her a couple of things that were lethal to her and ever since then Anakin’s never really trusted them with food

Also in his defense Ahsoka once ate something she was highly allergic to on a dare (the poor clone didn’t know she was allergic) and all she did to remedy the situation was hand said poor clone her EpiPen before passing out

Unfortunately the clone didn’t know how to use the EpiPen so Ahsoka ended up passing out and Anakin and Rex had to rush her off to the med bay because they didn’t know how to use the EpiPen either 

Because of this incident the clones weren’t allowed to give Ahsoka food and there were a couple of signs that said “blue to the sky orange to the thigh” around the ship

I feel like everyone in Clone Wars is simultaneously touch-starved and tactile which is a very fun mix especially when I think about Ahsoka and everyone else because I like to think whenever Ahsoka asks for a hug 9.5/10 she gets one 

Master Plo is the most used to this cause Ahsoka’s been like this since she was a child and he’ll admit he’s spoiled her with hugs 

If you were to ask her what his hugs feel like she would say they feel like childhood or that feeling you get when you smell something that you could only find in your home when you were a kid

Obi-Wan is an interesting can of worms because he’s as tactile and touch-starved as the rest of them but he’s also incredibly touch-adverse which results in him declining hugs 5/10 because he just can't fathom touching someone in that moment

But when he does give Ahsoka a hug she’ll say there’s nothing like it and she would often describe it as a breath of fresh air and very soothing on stressful days 

Rex is most likely it give Ahsoka a hug bro is simply the hugger™ and she would describe his hugs as comforting if not a little awkward but grounding none the less kind of like hugging a weighted blanket just out of the drier 

She doesn’t get to see Padme nearly as often as she would like which means she tries to get a hug whenever she can and Padme will never decline her hugs if anything she initiates most of them

Ahsoka doesn’t remember her mom or her hugs well but if she had to give an example of what a hug from her mom felt like she would say Padme’s 

Anakin honestly isn’t comfortable with touching people he doesn’t know well but when he does feel comfortable with someone he’s clingy 

Ahsoka will never admit this half cause it’s embarrassing and half because she fears it would hurt the other’s feelings but Anakin’s hugs are easily her favorite something about the all-encompassing hug makes her feel safe and secure like nothing else 

But the funny thing is that sometimes he doesn’t really have the energy to hug Ahsoka so he’ll just put all of his dead weight on her which usually results in one of two reactions from her 

one. Is usually her saying “Hug me like you love me” or something along those lines to which he will squeeze the everloving force out of her or two. “Hug me like a normal person” which usually gets the smartass response of “Who said I was a normal person”

So it’s pretty obvious that Anakin and Ahsoka have their bigger competitions but they’ve also got little ones like who can make the funnier face when Obi-Wan is trying to do his work which normally ends with the duo hunched over laughing and Obi-Wan finding another place to work 

The: “Who can accurately make the noises Obi-Wan makes while stretching” challenge which just usually results in the clones worriedly checking in on them cause it sounds like they’re in pain

The: “Who can eat more ice cream” challenge always ends with Anakin regretting his life choices and Ahsoka doing the dishes because she feels bad 

Long story short they’ve got a lot of challenges cause they’re competitive little weirdos but the funniest part is they rarely keep score of who the winner is so they’re in an endless cycle of useless competitions 

Obi-Wan has slowly collected mugs for everyone he’s close with and they have a nice little home in his otherwise empty mug cupboard 

Anakin and Padme have matching from Naboo because Obi-Wan took them shopping when they were pretty young 

Padme can’t drink tea with them as often as she would like but when she can schedule a small tea break Anakin makes sure to smuggle all their mugs out of Obi-Wan’s kitchen

Ahsoka’s mug is possibly one of Obi-Wan's favorites it’s a good size and practical but’s also got nice intricate color-changing details because they both thought it looked cool

Cody and Obi-Wan’s mugs are pretty similar but their main difference is the childlike handwriting on the bottom of one that says “to: Obi from: Ani”

Rex doesn’t get a mug until later and it’s the most unconventional and inconvenient mug in all of creation the poor dude has to hold it from the sides because his hands don’t fit in the handle

And its design pisses Obi-Wan off every time he sees it the only thing that’s stopping him from smashing it into hundreds of little pieces is that Rex picked it so in the cupboard it stays 

Sometimes the group forgets that Ahsoka isn’t human which leads to very funny circumstances 

Like Rex losing a decent amount of credits trying to call Ahsoka’s “bluff” of being able to bench twice his weight 

Or at the fact that Obi-Wan was once hiding from Ahsoka and Anakin because he didn’t want the duo to see the extent of his injuries from a solo mission 

But he forgot that Ahsoka could smell and hear better than the average being so she was able to track him down pretty fast (she was also freaked out cause she could hear his erratic heartbeat and smell the blood so that wasn’t a pleasant experience for her) 

Or the number of times when she’s eaten an unholy amount of food just for Anakin to wake up at 3 am to find her scavenging for more cause she’s still hungry 

And let me tell you seeing some small hunched-over little creature with reflective eyes at that time of night would make even the chosen one screech like a banshee