#did you even remember he was the only child survive in a massacre?

[ginniesfangirllife]

............

No. I refuse to view these two as the same person.

[walpu]

Happy birthday Aventurine

...in which he finds himself enjoying his birthday for the first time after he lost everything

notes - gn!reader, was written with a stellaron hunter!reader in mind but it's not specified just know you're considered a criminal in this one, pre-canon, unestablished relationship with a flavor of pining, angs, hurt/comfort, no beta

Love my birthday boy

He doesn't celebrate his birthdays. Not since the day he lost everything. How can he celebrate the joy of his birth if on this day all the joy was taken away from him?

Born on the blessed day, he's Mother Goddess's beloved child. But why did she abandon her people then? Why it had to happen on the day they were celebrating her, on the day they were supposed to be saved? How can he see himself as something other than cursed, how can he see the day as something other than tragedy?

Anyhow, even if he would want to celebrate, for the first years after the massacre he didn't even have the opportunity to do so. And if he could, he would rather mourn his people, his family. But no, he can only focus on his survival, trying to fulfill the promise he gave to his sister.

Now, standing in the lonely hotel room, he can only smile bitterly at the sight of beautifully decorated cake Jade has send him. How ironic, wasn't she the one who told him to forget his name and his past? Perhaps she simply doesn't look at this the same way he does. "You can't change what happened but you can celebrate that you're still here", she would probably say. He envies her ability to brush off sentiments, really.

Now, when he is no longer Kakavasha but Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts, he was deliberately choosing to ignore this day. It has nothing to do with his new self.

He may still hold onto his mother's necklace, his father's shirt, the promise he gave to his big sis. But this day? He doesn't need it. He doesn't need another reminder of the moment he lost everything.

That's what he tells himself, ignoring the pain in his chest, trying to bury himself in the work, running away on a mission he insisted on taking, even if was supposed to be his day off.

Still, he gets the cake. This stupid reminder of the worst day in his life.

It honestly feels like a joke. He doesn't even have anyone to eat this with!

He knows Jade didn't try to mock him, she's pragmatic, not crue. But aeons, it does feel like mockery still.

So he sits with this stupid cake in front of him, not really knowing if he should just throw it away. Somehow it feels... wrong. Wasteful. He knows how stupid that thought is, both him and Jade are rich enough to buy thouthands of those cakes. Yet he can't help but remember how his mom and sister would go out of their ways to give him something nice for his birthdays, something that could be considered a treat, a gift. Now he can have everything he wants but... they won't be there to share it with him.

No one is there to share it with him.

... at least he thinks so. Up until the moment the window opens from the outside (eighteenth floor, mind you) and a very familiar figure jumps in.

He really can't help but smile. Not only out of habit but because your ability to sneak in anywhere you want is truly amusing.

"Oh, what I see? A wanted criminal breaking into the room of one of the IPC's most noticeable employees? Don't you afride of being caught, my dear? Or you've finally decided to end our partnership and get rid of me?"

He can't help but chuckle at your unimpressed gaze. Yes, he has told this joke more than once already. But it's not his fault it always make you roll your eyes in a funny way.

But he really is curious what brought you here. Showing up like that is very risky, for both of you. Something serious must have happened if you decided to visit him out of the blue.

... that's what he thinks until you pull out a small gift box from your pocket, throwing it his way.

"A little birdie told me today it's your birthday. I don't usually participate in the whole gift giving tradition. Nor do I celebrate something myself. But those things reminded me of you and I was nearby anyway" you say with a cheeky smile.

He doesn't even know how to react, honestly. His hands just automatically unwrap the box and... oh. It's a set of earrings. A very pretty set of earrings.

"They reminded me of peacock tails" you say, barely holding back a chuckle.

"How original you are. I'm a birthday boy, you should be nicer, you know!" he acts like it's just a small joke between you two but his voice is weaker than usual and his hands are a bit shaky. He doesn't want to overthink it, he really shouldn't do it, it's just a small gift, a joke.

You thought of him. You know his taste well enough. I came to find him. You're here with him.

He almost panics when you say your goodbyes and turn to leave (through the window again. He'll never know how you do it).

"Hey, hey, no need to hurry. Let me be a good host for my friend" he says with his signature smile (he always feels like you see right through it) while his hand is clenched behind his back (he feels like you see through this too).

Please don't leave.

When you sigh and turn back to face him, he suddenly feels relieved that Jade send him the cake. The thought of sharing it with a wanted criminal who caused nothing but headaches to the IPC is somewhat amusing.

"How about we visit a nearby casino after this, hm? I promise you won't lose with me by your side"

If he can have you by his side, mayve he'll have at least one memory of this day untainted by pain and grief.

[citruslullabies]

For some reason I just want to see Dogday x child reader, Basically they're somehow surviving in the place, and the child has grown quite a bit, and basically he's comforting reader after a nightmare

Here you are love! Took some creative liberties

Trigger warnings: blood, depictions of gore, death, just the standard stuff

Romantic/platonic?: platonic

Requested by: anonymous

Category: comfort angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x child!reader

Word count: 746

They Haunt Me

You remembered when everything went wrong, the day… no. The hour everything just collapsed onto your tiny shoulders at once.

You were about to get adopted, about to leave the place you had been raised in but you couldn't wait to be someone's little kid. And it was such a nice couple adopting you too, a woman named Krystal and her wife Emma. They looked at you with such warm loving eyes, only to be filled with terror moments later and to fall cold.

The screams and the desperate sounds of footsteps were all you could hear as you let out choked and quiet sobs, huddled up as far back as you could be. You hoped and prayed that everything would calm down and would be alright again as you shut your glossy eyes and prayed to an extent that no child unless truly desperate could comprehend.

You slowly opened them, eyes burning with salty tears as you heard the screams outside of that door. You didn't even know how you were still alive, everything hurt both mentally and physically. Your body felt like crumpled paper.

Everything suddenly quieted down, the scampers of critters and small weeps could be heard but going into the distance. You felt brave enough to finally get out of your hiding place and stumble around the massacre inside of the building.

With each footstep you grew more paranoid and afraid but you kept moving, yelping when suddenly a hand grabbed your ankle. You looked down in fear and saw a man desperately holding onto you, somehow alive but too far gone to be saved with his body sliced and torn as if fabric with carefully knitted guts spilling out and painting the ground he crawled on, nails broken and bloodied from being in the way of the only hand he had to move with. He tried to speak but blood gurgled in his throat, only making your fear worse as you shook him off and ran.

You found Krystal and Emma, both dead and brutally torn apart but hand in hand. Despite all of this… the blood, the gore, everything. This is what hurt the most. The women who were going to take you and love you so dearly, strung apart like confetti. Krystal’s face was wide open like her arms were, and Emma’s jaw was hanging on by a thread just like you were at this very moment.

With a pained gasp, you shot up and held your chest. Clutching your heart only covered by your flesh and bones that seemed to threaten to tear through them, sweating violently. You gulped and dry heaved a bit while shaking just like you did when you hid. You were still just a kid, even if you were much older by now. Dogday heard you and came rushing, kneeling beside you and pressing a paw against your forehead with the other on your back. “Angel?”

He was worried since you were the only thing he had left in this place. He could defend you from the monsters that lurked in the shadows but he could never protect you from your own mind. “Cherub, look at me… it's okay. It'll be okay.” The canine said softly while sitting on his knees, bringing your shaky form to him as he cradled you in his arms. You tried to say something but could only feel choked up as he continued to rock you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you were to him.

“M-mom, mama…” You choked out, saying the names that your new adoptive mothers encouraged you to call them before it was too late. Dogday had found you months after the hour of joy, shocked that someone was still alive. Especially someone so young, so he had taken you in as his own. In the end you were still adopted just under more unfortunate circumstances. Dogday carefully shushed you and pressed his dry nose against your forehead, sighing shakingly.

He rubbed your back and squeezed you tight in his arms, being careful since you were just skin and bone. He carefully rubbed your scalp with one hand so you could have the comfort you needed. “They're not here, cherub. I'm so sorry.” He whispered before adding with a shaky voice. “But I'm here, I'll always be here. I promise.” He reassured softly while feeling you slowly but surely relax in his arms.

Sadly, promises were made to be broken.

Thanks for requesting!

[trev0rc0re]

Dad! Trevor would be so adorable.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Like OK LISTEN we saw the way he was with Tracey, who isn’t even his OWN BLOOD in story mode. You know, when he literally went full on attack mode after finding out she was gonna exploit herself on Fame or Shame. Bro went actually BALLISTIC, grabbed a guy by the neck, publicly embarrassed an asshole producer after chasing his ass in a car for miles, and it was all for someone he considered his niece, whom he had not seen in 10+ years. Not even Michael seemed that upset or angry at the guy, and she's his kid. Trevor though…? Good lord, imagine him with his own kids.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Would most definitely be the type of guy to say:“Fuck that, I don’t ever want kids,” then literally be the best with them. The people around him are literally shocked to see a usually rude, crass, violent man transform into a huge softy the minute a child skips into the room, instantly pulling cash out of his pocket so they can go get themselves candy, or giving out fist bumps and bear hugs at the drop of a hat. He’s so naturally good with kids that it’s scary and unnerving to those who know him. “Seriously, how is that the same guy that has massacred multiple people?”

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Girl dad, obviously. She would take after him completely; huge, light amber eyes with flecks of yellowish gold, dark wavy hair, mischievous toothy grin… I can totally see him allowing his daughter to paint his nails in shades of bright pink, wearing the polish with pride despite his rugged appearance. God forbid anyone say anything about it, or attempt to make fun of it. Doing so would be an instant death wish— nobody is gonna make his daughter feel bad for her “craftsmanship.” She would probably try to style his thinning hair too, attempting to tie the surviving strands into a ponytail/braid and he would just let her LOLLLL. No matter how hard she pulled, or how much she kept brushing his forehead instead of his actual hair.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Or he would take her to ballet class in his beat-up truck, but not before a detour to McDonald’s. “Better not tell mommy how you pregame for ballet, kiddo. She’ll kill the both of us,” as they’re literally both fucking up a McDouble and large fries, smearing ketchup all over her leotard LOLL. He’s such a rule breaker when it comes to his kid. Skipping half the school day to hang out at the park together? he’s down. Ice cream for breakfast? Sounds good. Driving an hour in traffic into Los Santos to see whatever pop-star she’s obsessed with at the moment? He’ll hate every second of it, but he’ll do it. He would do anything for her.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ For someone who used to care for nothing, for nobody, not even himself, he’s so involved in every aspect of her life. He cares so much about her in a way he never knew he could.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆+++ I headcannon that he would be a girl dad, but he would only have one girl. One child. He remembers what it was like to have a sibling—how he was constantly overshadowed in his youth, competing for his mother’s already-sparse attention. He would never want his kid to feel the way he did growing up, ever.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆definitely taught her how to shoot a gun, use a switchblade, drive, and swing a bat/throw a punch properly. Young too. Needs her to be able to defend herself in any situation just in case, especially with his criminal involvement. Probably bought her a mini pink switchblade for one of her birthdays, much to his s/o’s dismay. She loved it though. Also taught her how to swear, accidentally. Her first word was probably fuck.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Looooooooves showing his kid off. Would probably wear one of those huge baby slings around Sandy Shores when she’s young, proudly displaying her any chance he gets. Bouncing her on his bony hip as he parades around the bar, a beer sloshing around in his offhand as the local drunks and crackheads look up from their own. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I made this! fuck you!” Got a tattoo of her name too.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆Would Trevor be the perfect dad? With his history, probably not. Would constantly question if he’s doing enough for his child, teaching her the right values, keeping her safe from his dangerous criminal lifestyle… the thought alone of her ever getting hurt because of his work leaves his throat dry, palms sweaty with terror. Would definitely struggle with drinking or his meth addiction as an escape, attempting to cope with the thoughts of being the reason she gets hurt. Some unresolved stuff from his own shitty childhood would probably come up at some point as well, but again, he would try his absolute hardest to give her the best, safest childhood he possibly could despite his negative thoughts. He’d get clean and push through for her. He has to.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆She definitely has “my dad will kick your ass” privileges at school. Nobody ever dares to mess with her, bully her, or so much as look at her the wrong way, cuz they know he actually will LMAOOO. OR WORSE.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆…And when she gets old enough to date? Good luck. I can totally see his daughter being picked up for her first date, already nervous enough without Trevor shadowing her when her poor boyfriend knocks on their door. “Accidentally” leaves his blood-splattered bat visible in the kitchen, pistol tucked obviously in his front pocket as he rests a heavy hand on his daughter’s shoulder, staring daggers into the poor guy. “I uhh… trust that you’ll have her back on this doorstep before 8, right bud?”

Her poor date looks petrified, sweat beading on his forehead, and not from the desert heat. “Y-y-yes sir, I can even have her home before then, sir. Anything you want.”

“Perfect. Anything happens to her, or you’re even a minute late, I’ll hang you by your tiny, freshly dropped balls, got it?”

[demonslayerunhinged]

Do you think Sanemi kept tabs on Genya while he was in the Corps? Like before Genya even joined? Sanemi tells Genya he’d ensure no demon would head his way in Infinity Castle, and the light novel I remember it saying along the lines of “he’d short commit murder if Genya said he’d join the Corps.” I know they never spoke upon the years separated from each other from Sanemi distancing himself, but I’d imagine he’d keep an eye on him to ensure that, right (although it obviously didn’t work since Genya joined anyway lol)? With how Genya thought he despised him, Sanemi probably didn’t send money or anything to Genya either (which I guess wouldn’t make sense in the long run.) Anyway, I just wanted your thoughts on this if it’s alright to ask! Sorry if this is long 😅

Additional thought - Do you think Masachika knew about Genya (since in the light novel we do know Sanemi told him about his mom and other siblings)?

Hiiiii! Thanks so much for your questions!

One of my criticisms about Demon Slayer are the information gaps we have regarding some characters. I think because Gotogue-sensei was in a rush to finish the novel because she had to go back to her hometown, she skipped a few things.

Yea, Genya and Sanemi's backstory is one of those gaps. Just like you said, we're never told if Sanemi was keeping tabs on Genya while he was in the Corps. In fact, we're never even told how the brothers survived after the death of their family.

Sanemi mentions going on a demon-killing rampage, but he never said anything about Genya. Where was Genya? How did he keep tabs on him? Where did they live? Did Sanemi just abandon Genya? Did he stay with a relative? What about the bodies of their siblings? How did their neighbors react?

I have a theory. Long post incominggggg!

I think Sanemi was driven out of the town and Genya was taken in by someone. Think about it, the people in the neighborhood would've heard the commotion, just to come out and see a boy brandishing a cleaver, the children in the house dead and the only surviving child yelling 'monster!'. Of course, they would think that this boy massacred his family and probably his mom too and Genya might have not been able to say anything coherent due to the trauma.

So Genya would have been taken in by a neighbor and Sanemi would be driven out. Sanemi would spend the next few years homeless, killing demons and keeping tabs on Genya to make sure he was ok. Then he encountered Masachika who got to know Sanemi's story and by extension about Genya (It's actually in the light novels, so this is canon).

During this time, I think Genya encountered a demon that was killed by a Demon Slayer and this encounter introduced him to the concept of demons, made him revisit the memories of that night and realize that his mom was a demon, and it was she that attacked his siblings and Sanemi was only trying to save him.

With this realization, he becomes tearful, breaks down and tells the slayer his story. The slayer asks for his name.

"Shinazugawa?" said the slayer, "Is your brother by any chance named Sanemi?"

Genya looks up at the slayer, his eyes filling with tears. "Yes! Yes he is!" he stands up and grabs the slayer's uniform in desperation. "Do you know him?! Where is he?!"

The slayer carefully unwraps Genya's fists from his uniform, he isn't annoyed. He knows that the poor boy is just desperate.

"Yes, he's a demon slayer just like me?"

"Where can I meet him?"

"I don't think you would be able to" said the slayer, "Because of our job we tend to move around a lot."

Genya drops to the ground and adopts a dogeza pose. "Please." he said through tears, "Please help me, I need to find him....how can I find him....please"

The slayer took pity on him, almost driven to tears by the pitiful sight. He coaxes Genya off the ground and wipes off the poor boy's tears.

"Okay" said the slayer, "If you want to see your brother, this is what you'll have to do."

The slayer then told him about the Demon Slayer Corps, the process of becoming a proper slayer and the final selection.

"In fact" said the slayer with a sad smile, "There's a selection happening soon. I'll tell you where to go."

Genya leaves the family he's staying with, telling them about his plans to find Sanemi. The family's like, "Aiit, see ya."

Sanemi comes over to check up on Genya as usual, but he sees that he's nowhere to be found. He panics and asks one of the family members, who tells him.

"The boy left, saying he's going to go join some Corps or something."

Sanemi eyes widened in horror. He goes to the Master, who informs him that Genya is indeed part of the selection. Sanemi panics, but he knows can't go interrupt the Selection and pull Genya out, so he waits and hopes his little brother makes it out okay.

During his wait, he then went on that mission where Masachika died, and after he finds out from his crow that Genya passed the selection. On one hand, he's relieved and glad that his little brother survived, but on the other now that Genya is part of the corps he can't guarantee his safety unlike when he was with his adoptive family.

He can't fathom losing Genya like he lost his other siblings. He can't explain this to Genya because 'men' but even if he does, there's no guarantee that Genya would listen, after all they made a pact to stick together. So, he decides the best way would be to be as horrible to Genya as possible, to basically become the monster his brother accused him of being all those years ago.

Then Genya meets Gyomei, promptly receiving the slap that changed his life.

Hope this sort of answers your question :)

[panakinthedisco]

As the world lay in shambles by the sudden outbreak of a disease called cordyceps brain infection, society is broken, the government is on the rubble where a world became lawless and violent. But even chaos is prevalent, some are persistent to find a vaccine, though it is deemed impossible and hopeless due to the overwhelming mutation.

Kannika Suriya-Neuman, the only child of two known Medical professors took part with the cause - becoming the first pioneers who tried to find the vaccine, ten years after the outbreak. With her parents, Phillip Neuman and Anna Suriya, the tumultuous journey to find a cure becomes, metaphorically speaking, the search for a holy grail that can end the virus once and for all. Their team that consisted of surviving doctors and medicine majors from different prestigious universities across America took part in a seemingly impossible cause.

Even though there is progress, a group of syndicates that are formed has other things in mind. For years living in a world without law or governance, the idea to take power in a lawless country will be gone if a vaccine is created. The Citadel whose ideology is protecting the society they created is now in a threat to the vaccine so they did the unthinkable, pulverize the whole operation.

By the massacre of Kannika's colleagues along with her mother who sacrificed her life by saving people, the search for the cure becomes thin up until a revolutionary group by the name The Fireflies steps in to protect the remaining survivors.

But the quest of the cure becomes hopeless for another ten years. Kannika, now thirty eight years old, is beginning to believe that the world she's living in is going to rot along with the decaying corpses of the clickers and runners. Until, Marlene, one of The Fireflies, tells her about a young girl who might be the answer to the prolonged cure.

Hope begins to shine in the horizon as Kannika sets the journey to find the young girl who is said to be immune from the virus. In between crossroads and that small hope that she hid in her heart, a man with a cold heart comes to her with tenderness and begs to be indulged by that love that he couldn't even remember. Kannika finds herself with Joel Miller, a man whose life is enveloped in regrets and sadness. But Kannika is in thin ice as Joel would take a bullet for the young girl that he grows to love as his own child.

A child over the future of many generations.

While for Kannika with a gun in her hand pointing to her lover, she silently hopes from the darkest corner of her mind that Joel should've pulled the trigger.

pairings: joel miller x original character / original characters x canon characters

warnings: major character deaths (oop!), smut, violence, brief mentions of SA (will state in the chapter) and gore.

author's notes: this is a slowburn romance for kannika and joel. also, as much i want to make this as a reader x joel, kannika neuman has a special in my heart soooooo sorry y'all! this fic will stick to some parts of the canon (series and video game) but act one and act two is full canon divergence. basically making my own lore.

other notes: most of the graphics of this fic are made by me unless its stated.

translated version/s: i've got a spanish translation for this fic in wattpad. you can check it out in here [CLICK HERE]

collateral damage gif banner: made by @alderaandors <3

AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD & AO3

ACT ONE | INFERNO (sets in ten years after outbreak)

001 . . . . fungi

002 . . . . sense of normalcy

003 . . . . happy anniversary!

004 . . . . breaking dawn

005 . . . . the holy grail

006 . . . . alternate universe

007 . . . . i am, i am, i am

008 . . . . all things must pass

009 . . . . sense of kindness

010 . . . . whiskey and fate

011 . . . . machiavellian

012 . . . . a little light

013 . . . . tortured soul

014 . . . . the punisher

015 . . . . not now, not ever

ACT TWO | PURGATORIO (sets in eleven years after outbreak)

016 . . . . a path ahead

017 . . .. happiness is a warm gun

ACT THREE | PARADISO (sets in twenty years after outbreak)

SEE BELOW THE SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS OR YOU CAN VISIT MY ACCOUNT.

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS ☆

[normiedoctorwho]

I think about the massacre episode of doctor who a lot. Not only is it the rare companion driven story, but I truthfully love the character drama. Doctor who was originally billed as an educational program for children. The time travel so children could learn about historical events and the future stuff so they could learn about science. And what the massacre does is makes Steven an audience surrogate because he doesn’t know about this tragedy at all.

Doctor Who is a British tv show and this event was a French tragedy, so they might not even be aware this happened. Granted I’m coming at this from an American perspective and like it might’ve been mentioned in a AP European history course I took in high school but not in depth. Just another tragedy of the Protestant reformation.

But here in Doctor who, you learn what happened through Steven’s interactions with those who were there. And as it all plays out you’re forced to contend with the fact that this happened. This was real. They were real people, not just a page in the history. Steven’s reaction of shock and anger to the Doctor asserting that he was right to do as he did and that he wasn’t guilty of Ann’s possible death is how we’d all react. How could he turn that girl away! He saved Katarina from the fall of Troy after all!

But then you’d remember how that played out. What happened to Katarina. And suddenly the Doctor’s motives for leaving Ann behind become more muddled. Was it actually to preserve history? Or was it because he thought Ann had a better chance of surviving the St Bartholomew day’s massacre than she did in the TARDIS?

But Steven doesn’t think of this, and most of the audience probably doesn’t either. So he storms off. Not even caring where the TARDIS lands next. Granted Steven comes back like 5 minutes later and we don’t know why, and the Doctor is absolved of Ann’s murder via Dodo’s existence, but still.

I know I went off topic there at the end but the point is doctor who expertly educated it’s audience on a historical event. And it gets the audience invested in what happened by leveraging their lack of knowledge. So that like Steven, you never want anyone to needlessly die like that again.

It’s probably my favorite who story after remembrance of the daleks and I wish people would give it a chance, despite it being lost. The audio drama version on audible is very well done.

Edit: last thing. A subtle detail I really like is when the Doctor realized what’s about to happen, he called Ann by her name before he told her to leave asap. The first Doctor always called the young women he met my child, so the gravity of what was going to happen hit him hard and they were hiding in a somewhat famous Huguenot’s house. The Doctor was genuinely trying to save her within the rules he thought he had to go by.

[watermelonsloth]

Itachi and the Uchiha Massacre

This might be one of the most controversial posts I’ll ever make.

I find myself very undecided about how I feel about Itachi’s role in the Uchiha massacre. It fills me with the same moral indecision and disgust of the trauma olympics (aka the comparing of “who had it worse”). Every time I try to come to a consensus, I immediately doubt my conclusion and question whether I’m giving Itachi too much of the benefit of the doubt or I’m not taking his circumstances into account enough. It’s like asking if him being a child outweighs him killing children. And that makes me uncomfortable.

On the one hand, he did something very very very bad. He killed an entire clan of people, including who knows how many innocent civilians and children. He then proceeded to psychologically torture his seven year old brother with the memories of him doing so. Prior to being met with this specific conundrum, I would’ve said without hesitation that this is a black-and-white situation with Itachi being solidly in the wrong. Even if he wasn’t the only perpetrator, he still would deserve much of the blame for being one of the executors of such an abhorrent act.

I cannot stress enough how terrible the massacre would’ve been in practice.

However, and this is where I might lose a few of you, as more information is revealed, one question nags at my entire fucking central nervous system. How much of a choice did Itachi really have?

To understand the full circumstances, first you have to understand that the context falls under two categories: who Itachi is (and his perspective) and what position he was in when he made the decision he did. First, who he is:

Itachi grew up in a militaristic village that normalizes violence, especially violence being used to solve problems.

This village has also normalized putting the village’s survival over oneself and one’s friends/family.

He was alive to see the very end of the third shinobi war and the nine tails attack, two events that have solidified his belief that war is the worst thing ever and should be prevented at all costs.

Hiruzen, Danzo, Kakashi, and Shisui encourage his belief that war should be avoided at any and all costs. Three of them are authority figures (see the Milgram experiment for why that’s relevant) and one of them is his first and only best friend.

He is a very introverted and closed off person. He’s so closed off that not even his immediate family can read him. Because of this, his inner circle is very small (meaning he has a very small support network).

He grew up with a strict, authoritarian father and entered the anbu at a young age, meaning he grew up being expected/pressured to obey those in positions of power without asking questions.

He’s an introvert who’s scared of conflict and keeps his head down.

Second, his actual position when he was told to kill his clan (I might be missing some, so feel free to add any others you remember.):

He was thirteen. That is a child in grade 8. That is the age of most genin.

Tensions between his family and village are implied to have been rising for a while and are now at the point that, for whatever reason, negotiation is deemed impossible.

Tensions are so high that if the village doesn’t act soon, the Uchiha’s coup will spark an all out civil war.

The Uchiha clan has little to no chance of winning the conflict and will likely have most (if not all) of its members killed in it. Plus, the conflict would’ve also resulted in many casualties on Konoha’s side as well, including civilians, children, and shinobi who had nothing to do with what was happening.

Tensions between him and his father are extremely high as well with the two of them being implied to regularly argue.

His best friend, possibly only friend, died by jumping off of a cliff in front of him after giving him one of his eyes and left the responsibility of handling the entire situation to him.

He’s being suspected for the murder of said best friend (and was flat out accused of it in front of his younger brother by three adult police officers) and is suspected as being more loyal to the village than to his clan, making him even more of an outcast to his clan.

He's aware that his best friend was attacked and mutilated by Danzo, one of the village leaders and his superior. If he wants any action taken against Danzo, he’ll have to fight a solo, uphill battle against all of the village leaders and risk losing all sway over the Uchiha situation (which would still be a ticking time bomb) in the process.

If he doesn’t want to fight a two sided war or lose what little power he has in the situation, his safest option is to follow orders while pushing for a plan where casualties are minimized.

Did Itachi have other options? Yes, I’m not gonna pretend that genocide was Itachi’s only choice. But a lot of people seem to forget how difficult or flawed a lot of his alternatives would have actually been in practice.

For example, I’ve seen a lot of people throw around the idea of Itachi just grabbing Sasuke and leaving the village. First of all, the massacre still would’ve happened, Itachi and Sasuke just wouldn’t have been there for it. Second, Itachi would’ve had to remove Sasuke from the village without being caught by the village or the Uchiha clan when he was under the scrutiny of both. Itachi is a good shinobi, but I don’t know if he’s that good. Third, how would he even get Sasuke to go along with him? Itachi may not have been close to his clan, but Sasuke loved his clan. Yes, Sasuke also loved Itachi, but it’s a pretty big stretch to say that seven-year-old Sasuke would’ve just gone along with it, especially when he wouldn’t have been able to understand the true scale of the situation. (Itachi would pretty much have to kidnap Sasuke for this plan to work.) Fourth (and similarly), people don’t tend to like uprooting their entire lives to leave the home they grew up in, even in emergency situations or when it’s the objectively better/safer option. Itachi and Sasuke, who were both raised to be “lay down their lives” loyal to their home, would’ve been especially averse to this idea. Fifth, even if they got over all of that and got out of the village, Itachi would have to raise his younger brother alone at thirteen years old while being on the run from a world power with no protection in a world where they’re at risk of being killed or getting the attention of creeps like Orochimaru simply for having kekkei genkai. It’s not like Itachi had outside contacts (beside Obito but Obito would not have helped them even if Itachi trusted him enough to trust Sasuke’s life to him) or there was a benevolent nation to take them in. Even if they managed to one day settle into a peaceful life, it would’ve taken years of fighting to survive before they’d have gotten there. Cool fanfic idea, but making Itachi slightly more innocent isn’t a solution.

The idea that Itachi should’ve just told the Uchiha clan what was going on and got help from them is similarly short sighted. The Uchiha clan were the victims in this situation, but they weren’t perfect angels either. Itachi was not close to, or particularly well liked by, his clan. Save for Shisui (who is theoretically dead in this scenario) and Sasuke, he had no emotional connection to the clan, only vague respect and a waning sense of responsibility towards it. And even if he did go to them, Itachi telling them what was happening would’ve just sparked a civil war, the one thing Itachi was desperate to avoid and the thing that would’ve gotten them all killed.

So…

What was the point of all this?

I’ll admit that I hoped typing out my thoughts would somehow end in me settling on an opinion, but right now I’m still just as undecided and significantly more depressed. Because, like, it’s just a depressing, shitty situation where there were victims and perpetrators and Itachi who just so happened to be both. Maybe trying to ask if Itachi is either “good” or “evil” is asking the wrong question. Maybe the entire discussion about how moral Itachi is as a person or all of the other choices he could’ve made is missing the point.

[heniareth]

The Battle of Ostagar

Chapter 5: Flemeth’s Hut

In which Astala discovers she's not dead, but many others are, and now they have to deal with this.

Wordcount: 3653

WARNINGS:

- discussion of death - mention of cannibalism - abuse from parent to child in action

(Read the whole chapter on AO3 or down below)

Somebody screamed.

Astala bolted upright, reaching for her weapons. Only then did she realize that it was she who was screaming.

Where was she?

The interior of the hut was unfamiliar. Astala sat up to try and get a better look at her surroundings but didn't get far before she registered pain. It was dull, a throbbing to the rhythm of her heartbeat accompanied by tightness in her shoulder and belly when she moved. It sat deep. What had-

The tower.

Right.

Tentatively, Astala finished sitting up. She could do that. That was good. Going by everything she remembered—arrows, darkspawn and the Archdemon—she should be dead. She should be very dead. How was she not dead? How had she arrived... here?

She had just enough time to take a proper look around—she saw a pot over the fire, smelled stew coming from it, felt fur below her hands and spotted drying herbs hanging from the wooden beams above her—before the door opened and a young woman entered. Dark hair pulled into a bun, patchwork leather skirt and deep purple tunic... Astala blinked.

"Morrigan?"

Morrigan turned to her with a small but genuine smile. “Ah! You are awake! Mother shall be pleased.”

She crouched down in front of the pot, lifted the lid and stirred the contents. The smell of meat intensified. Astala’s stomach growled loudly.

“What happened?” Astala asked.

“You were injured, and Mother rescued you,” Morrigan answered, throwing her a glance crowned by a small frown. “Do you not remember?”

“I…” Astala strained her memory, trying to recall what exactly had happened at the tower. “There were lots of darkspawn. And a dragon! How did your mother do that?”

“I suggest you ask her,” Morrigan answered. “She may even give you an answer.”

Astala tried swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It worked just fine, apart from the pull and the fact that the throbbing sensation in her abdomen intensified. But she’d be able to make her way back to Ostagar.

A trickle of cold dread ran through her veins. Was there an Ostagar to make her way back to?

“What happened to the king’s army?” she asked.

“Your teyrn Loghain quit the field,” Morrigan said, trying a bit of the stew and adding some herbs. “The darkspawn won your battle.”

“So…” Astala said and got all words stuck in her throat. Defeat. At the hand of darkspawn. “The king’s army?”

“Massacred. There are no more Grey Wardens, other than you, the dwarven girl, and the human boy.” She paused and glanced back at the door. “He… is not taking it well.”

Astala stayed seated. She stared into the slow, licking flames below the pot and tried to wrap her head around what Morrigan had just said.

“All of them?” she finally asked. “Duncan? Our commander?”

“Dead,” Morrigan simply said, not without sympathy.

“Everybody?” Astala asked again. Jerome, Onastas, Martin with his huge pot full of food, Palla with the intimidating grey eyes…

Leonard.

Khêd.

Ilanlas.

 “Did… you say your mother only saved us three? Could the others have survived?”

Morrigan closed the lid of the pot with a firm clack of metal against metal. Then she stood up, and only then she turned to Astala.

“I am afraid I do not know,” she said. “You do not want to know what is happening in that valley.”

“Why?” Astala asked. “What's happening?”

“Are you sure you want me to describe it?” Morrigan asked.

Astala pushed herself off the bed. She could stand, fine even. She crossed her arms; she was feeling cold. Blood loss, probably.

“Please, tell me.”

Morrigan exhaled sharply, but she leaned against the hearth and spoke: “I had a good view of the battlefield. ‘Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere, and darkspawn swarm them… feeding, I think.”

She took a careful look at Astala. Astala swallowed but nodded.

“Continue?”

“The darkspawn are also looking for survivors,” Morrigan said. She wasn't enjoying this conversation. “They drag them down beneath the ground; I cannot say why.”

Sand against her cheek, slipping uselessly through her fingers. Claws wrapped around her ankle, pulling, the screeching darkspawn dragging her into the cave that had swallowed Ilanlas’ friend.

Maker save her, and may his gods watch over Ilanlas. The cold dread in her veins spread.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan,” Astala managed to say, dragging herself back to the present.

“I…” Morrigan hesitated. “You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer.”

“Still.” Astala gave her a weak smile. “Can you tell me where Alistair and Sulri are?”

“Outside,” Morrigan said. “Mother wished to talk to you as well once you woke up.”

“Thank you,” Astala said again and started walking. She could walk. Good.

Once she was outside of the hut, she took a deep breath and just stood there for a moment, soaking in the light of the afternoon sun.

She was alive.

She was alive.

-

She found Alistair at the edge of the lagoon that surrounded the hut, staring out over the murky water. He didn't say anything when she approached and stood next to him. Neither did she. What could words do in a moment like this?

For a while, they stared over the water together.

Finally, Alistair heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders rising and falling like a mountain shrugging.

"Sorry," he sniffled and wiped his nose. Then: "You're alive, Maker's Breath!"

Before Astala could stop him, he enveloped her in a tight hug, the kind that slowly squeezed the air out of you. Astala tensed her back against the pressure and awkwardly patted Alistair on the back.

"You also look… alive," she said when he finally let her go.

Alistair smiled, let out a little huffed laugh. The smile dissolved almost immediately.

"Duncan and… Everybody. They-"

"I know," Astala said, and patted this huge shem on the arm once more. "I know."

Alistait accepted the comfort, poor as it was. He stood there for a while longer with his head bowed. He really wasn't taking it well.

"Well," he finally said. "We are here. And Sulri is here. That has to count for something."

Astala thought of Ilanlas, and Khêd, and nodded for appearance's sake. The inky clouds that had preceded the darkspawn still swirled above them. The sun didn't quite manage to break through.

They went to Sulri, who was sitting at the back of the hut, where the roof jutted out from the wall, throwing pebbles into the lagoon. The rhythmic plitch of the stones hitting the water disturbed the dead silence around them. Astala found herself scanning the horizon for darkspawn, and was relieved when she saw none.

She crouched down next to Sulri and waved hello. Alistair sat down on Sulri's other side. Sulri didn't acknowledge either of them. Instead, she took a larger stone and lobbed it into the lake.

Sploosh.

Cradled by the circular waves from the stone's impact, the cadaver of a fish rose to the surface.

Sulri wrinkled her nose, sat the next stone in her hand down and scooted away from the water.

Astala sat down next to her.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she said.

Sulri was still staring at the dead fish, expression between mildly disgusted and outraged, as if the poor thing was to blame for all of this. Astala tapped her knee to get her attention.

"I'm sorry about Khêd," she repeated. "Did you know him for long?"

Sulri shook her head and then waved her off. She didn't want to talk? That was okay. Astala had seen worse responses to grief.

Alistair heaved another big sigh. "What do we do now?"

Astala bit the inside of her cheek, waiting to see if any of them would come up with a brilliant solution.

"Well…" she said tentatively when nothing happened. "I would… It might be a good idea to take things slow. We almost died, after all."

"There's no time for taking it slow!" Alistair threw his hands into the air. "We've failed! The darkspawn will overrun Ferelden and all Grey Wardens are dead!"

"Are they?"

Astala scrambled to her feet. Flemeth had stepped around the house, followed by Morrigan. The elderly woman crossed her arms.

"And here I was under the impression I had saved three of the order."

"But we- I'm sorry, ah… madam," Alistair stammered. "What do we call you? You never gave us your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless," Morrigan's mother said. "The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"The Flemeth? From the legends?" Although still soft, Alistair's voice was briefly filled with awe instead of sadness before he caught himself. "Daveth was right. You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean?" Flemeth answered flatly. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Astala doubted there had been only a bit of magic involved in getting them out of that tower and dragging them—her?—back from the funeral pyre.

"If I may," she ventured. "I- Thank you for saving us, really. I'm very grateful to still be alive. But… why did you save us?"

"Well," Flemeth said as if it was obvious. "We cannot have all the Grey Wardens die at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn."

"Yes, but…" Astala hesitated.

It didn't do to anger a powerful witch. Certainly not by questioning her motive and reason behind saving them instead of… well, anybody else.

"We aren't the most experienced," she finally said.

"Does that matter?" Flemeth answered, absolutely unperturbed. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land in the face of a Blight. Or has that changed while I wasn't looking?"

Astala didn't like her tone. Save her or no, she hadn't almost died only for this woman to be needling her. As if Flemeth was her supervisor on a job!

"I don't know if the Grey Wardens are the best candidates to unite the land," she said, carefully but firmly. "They didn't manage to do so at Ostagar, at least."

"No thanks to teyrn Loghain," Flemeth said, nodded and waited expectantly.

"It doesn't make any sense!" Alistair said bitterly. "Why would he do it?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth mused and nodded. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."

Alistair visibly sat up straighter at the witch's approval.

"Perhaps," Flemeth continued, genuinely serious from what Astala could gather, "Loghain thinks the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see the real threat that lies behind it."

"Is it too much to expect that a tainted Old God will be taken seriously?" Alistair muttered.

Astala cast a glance around. She still didn't see any darkspawn, but that didn't set her at ease. The monsters weren't gone. Or, rather, they were, but in the wrong direction.

She had tk warn her family.

"Maybe we could try to contact the other Grey Wardens," she ventured. "There are more elsewhere, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "The nearest Grey Wardens are in Orlais, and it would take far too long to gather them and an army. Not to mention that nobody wants Orlesians here. We would be kicked out before we could say hello, and not just by Loghain."

Sulri tapped Astala's leg and started signing. She slowed down when Astala asked her to, made her gestures as broad as possible. Still, Astala understood absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I don't think this is going to work right now."

Sulri lowered her hands with an expression that could have frozen flames.

Astala shrugged apologetically and turned back to Flemeth. "So what do we do then?"

"Why do you ask me?" Flemeth answered and blinked owlishly. "I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."

Morrigan, who had been silently standing behind her mother, turned abruptly and left. Flemeth paid her no mind, not even when the door to the hut shut rather loudly.

"At the very least, we have to warn everybody," Alistair said, answering Astala's question. "Teyrn Loghain may think the darkspawn are just a minor threat, but we can't leave everybody else exposed to danger!"

Flemeth turned her attention to him, head cocked to one side. "And who will believe you? Unless you think to convince this Loghain directly of his mistake?"

"He just betrayed his own king!" Alistair jumped to his feet. "If arl Eamon knew what Loghain did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for an execution!"

Astala frowned. "You know an arl? Personally?"

"I…" Alistair hesitated.

"I suppose," Flemeth quickly intervened, "that this arl Eamon was not at Ostagar."

"That's right!" Alistair looked from Flemeth to Astala, and brightened up for the first time in the whole conversation. "He still has all his troops. And he was Cailan's uncle! He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet, of course!"

In the shadow cast by her hut, Flemeth's eyes gleamed.

"We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Alistair finished the thought.

"Now, wait a moment-" Astala started, but Flemeth was quicker.

"What happened to the treaties I kept safe? Have you managed to lose them as well?"

"They- I have them!" Alistair pulled them out from under the breastplate of his armor. "How could I forget about them?"

He pressed the treaties into her hands and looked down at her expectantly.

Astala leafed through the old, yellowed pages and looked back up at Alistair. "I don't-"

"Grey Wardens can demand the help from dwarves, elves, mages! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!" Alistair said.

Sulri snatched the treaties out of Astala's hands. Astala let her.

"Alistair…" she said. "There are three of us."

"Exactly!" Alistair said and nodded emphatically. "We need an army, and there we have it!"

Astala must've made the wrong kind of expression, because he went on.

"This is our only chance! There's nothing holding the darkspawn back from marching into Ferelden and burning it to the ground. We have to do this!" He took a deep breath and gestured at the three of them. "We are the only ones who can."

Astala stared at him and then at Flemeth. Flemeth looked back. She didn't blink. Her mouth didn't curve, but in her eyes there was a mad sort of smile.

Astala looked back at Alistair and saw only determination scrawled over a canvas of grief.

Oh Maker.

Oh, fuck.

-

Flemeth was of the opinion that they better leave if they wanted to keep avoiding the darkspawn. So they went and got their things. What things they still had left. Astala pulled on the gambeson—she'd have to clean the blood out of it, and mend it—and decided to leave the chain mail behind. It was broken, she had no way to fix it, and it would only weigh her down. She kept the breastplate. It had the Grey Warden's griffon on it, and that might be useful.

Everything else was still in that ruin now occupied by darkspawn: her pack, hurriedly assembled and then lovingly stocked up by her father; her blanket, bought with the money Ilanlas had gotten for her; the scrap metal she'd feverishly collected from darkspawn corpses in hopes of selling it and maybe getting something good out of her conscription. She still had her weapons, her coin pouch, and a contract with an order that didn't exist in Ferelden anymore. Save for the three of them, of course. What a grand fucking team. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that she still had boots and that it was summer, not winter.

Speaking of boots, she had absolutely ruined them. Her mother might even have been proud, covered stains from darkspawn blood as the boots now were. The worst kind of irony.

Morrigan reappeared briefly to provide them with pack rolls and provisions, and then disappeared into the inside of the hut again. Astala tied her pack with her meager belongings to her belt. Alistair carried the bulk of everything. Sulri needed help with her pack and took a long time to ask for it. But, at some point, they were ready to go.

Astala turned to Flemeth. "Thank you again for helping us."

"Thank me once all of this is over," Flemeth answered curtly. "And, before you leave, I do have one more thing to offer you."

The door to the hut opened and shut. Flemeth stopped speaking and her eyes left Astala to fix on Morrigan, who was approaching them, ignoring their group in favor of her mother.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have three guests for the eve or…" She glanced at their packs. "... none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving, girl," Flemeth said gravely.

"Oh," Morrigan said in a mocking tone, "such a-"

"And you will be joining them."

"What!?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears," Flemeth said and laughed at her own joke.

Astala couldn't say she found it funny. Not when Morrigan was growing visibly pale.

"Thank you," she said tentatively when neither Alistair nor Sulri said anything. "Really. But if Morrigan doesn't want to join us…"

"Nonsense." Flemeth cut her off. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan protested, her voice raised in alarm.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance," Flemeth simply said. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"Excuse me?" Astala burst out. She must've misheard.

"Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth but…" Alistair said, absolving Flemeth of the need to answer Astala. "Won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," Flemeth replied.

"Point taken," Alistair said, none too happy.

"Mother…" Morrigan turned to the old woman. "This is not how I wanted this! I- I am not even ready-"

"You must be ready," Flemeth said forcefully. "Alone, these three must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight." She paused to give her words the appropriate weight. "Even I."

"I… understand…" Morrigan said with a strained sigh.

"And you, Wardens?" Flemeth turned her full attention to them. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you must succeed."

Morrigan was staring back at the hut, where the stew was probably still bubbling, and she wouldn't eat it.

"Hey, you'll be okay with us," Astala said quietly to Morrigan.

Morrigan threw her a cold look, as if it was Astala who was dragging her into an adventure she didn't want to go on. Then she turned around.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please."

When she left, Flemeth didn't look after her; she was back to staring at Astala with those unsettling golden eyes. She didn't say anything, either. The one who broke the increasingly uncomfortable silence was Alistair, who leaned closer.

"What a shock, right? 'Three guests or none', and then, poof! She leaves with us."

Astala eyed Flemeth, and was struck by the absolute certainty that Flemeth was hearing every word Alistair said.

"She's a bit… dramatic, don't you think?" Alistair went on. "'Shall we have three guests or… none'. Why that long pause?"

Astala took a deep, steadying breath. "She was looking at our packs and putting two and two together."

Alistair hesitated, then nodded as if considering this, and backed away again.

Flemeth kept looking at Astala. Astala refused to look away.

Finally, Morrigan returned, a pack slung over her shoulder with a bedroll, blanket and fur jacket tied up on top of it. Her mouth, drawn into a thin line, relaxed in a very deliberate way as she approached.

"Farewell, Mother," she said with a casual sigh. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."

"Bah!" Flemeth barked. "'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight."

Morrigan physically recoiled, and her expression crumbled.

"I-" she stammered. "All I meant was-"

"Yes, I know," Flemeth answered gently. "Do try to have fun, dear."

Morrigan turned away abruptly and joined their group, which had waited a few steps away. When she reached them, her expression was impenetrably neutral.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there." She crossed her arms. "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide."

Astala tore her gaze from Flemeth, who was still staring at her, and waited for Alistair to take the lead and answer.

That didn't happen, and the silence started to become uncomfortable.

Finally, Astala cleared her throat. "I like your idea."

Morrigan looked at the other two. Sulri gave a shrug so exaggerated it swam in sarcasm, and Alistair said nothing.

"Very well then," Morrigan said, a few degrees colder. "Follow me, if you please."

She led them to a new path, neither the one by which they had come to nor the one by which they had left the hut before their- her Joining. Astala fell in behind Morrigan, Alistair and Sulri joined… and, just like that, they were off.

To gather an army.

One uncomfortable conversation about Morrigan's cooking skills later, Astala already had enough. This was the stupidest thing she had ever signed up for in a long time.

[dxrknessembr8ced]

B.B. Hood is now finally reaching through the village full of zombies but when she got near there were no undead or B.O.W.s. that were ready to rip her to shreds but now she hears the sound gunfire and screaming far from here. Those were the soldiers that are quarantining the area and also evacuating the survivors who aren't infected from the village. The child rushed over through the village only to uncover thousands of these blue umbrella soldiers, dead and torn apart by something big as she venture further through the roads, she doesn't need to wait or find out what did this cause her answer is right in front of her, as it jumped in front of her right out of nowhere. A tall monstrosity carrying a container which he then place it on the ground revealing to be containing a large rocket launcher fit for his size.

" SSTAAAAARRRSSSS... "

This monster needed no introduction, no warning, this creature is Nemesis. Once Umbrella's perfect killing machine that was programmed to kill all S.T.A.R.S. members and thought to be destroyed during the raccoon city incident of 98 but now? He's back and reprogrammed to eliminate all darkstalkers and dark hunters which include B.B. the dark hunter and one immune from T-erebus. Now armed with his launcher on his arm he's going to do everything in his power to kill B.B. and the rest of them with extreme prejudice.

B.B. widened her eyes seeing that this is no longer a game anymore, but now a fight of her survival, she knew this was good to be true but like hell that she isn't going down with a fight as she quickly reloads her M60 in her hands.

" OH FUCK OFF, COME ON YOU BIG UGLY PIECE OF...?! "

She notices the laser dots on her body from that launcher. Nemesis does not fool with his prey.

" ....Well shit! "

Firing a missile to neutralized B.B. the girl immediately evaded the missile which then blasted a military vehicle behind her which cause an explosion that knocked the girl on the ground breaking her arm even. B.B. now winced in pain screaming as she can't even move her arm but she saw a handgun on the ground. She tried to grab it using all her last remaining strength but Nemesis caught to her stepping on the weapon as he grabbed her body. Staring in her eyes with those all pale eyes that reads death.

" STAAARRRSSSS.... "

B.B. begun struggling as she tries reaching for the knife in her pocket, but couldn't but if that doesn't work she started punching as well as yelling at him trying to break free but the he grabs the arm she uses punching him and then...

' PRRRRRAAAACCCKKKK! '

In a flash of her now widened eyes begin to flood with tears, B.B. screamed in absolute agony as her thrill seeking demeanor now crushed as the child burst into tears, but he wasn't done the pursuer this time grabbed the broken arm twisting and ripping it all apart.

' PRRRAAACCCK !!!! '

All the girl can do is cry and scream as her life before her is now coming to an end at the hands of Nemesis who now let her go as he dropped her on the ground watching her scream and cry as blood squirting from both where her arms use to be and slowly she's dying as her screaming and crying stopped as the last thing she sees is the monster of the past, the very thing that defeated the infamous and most dangerous dark hunter as tears continue to flow. She begins to now remember her life with her grandmother as well as her pet dog, all the friends and all the enemies, now? All of those times are gone as she now seem to become lifeless. Dead on the spot. After her life ceased Nemesis turned and walked away from the village as the untimely death of B.B. is just the start of a great genocidal massacre. With Nemesis now finally unleashed there is no stopping him until all his targets are dead. This is the night where darkness dies. The night where Las Erebus is finally making it's move.

[schleckermaul]

   CHILD OF MISFORTUNE, where are you going? where do they lead you? why are you not by my side?

   break's steps ring quietly across the grass, wetly clinging to his boots. it's raining. there's no other noises, nothing to orientate himself towards any direction. it's quiet, and the rain is a soft pour, washing some of the blood off his face, white hair returning to its usual shine, unstained by red. in his hand, his sword, still, but mad hatter has gone entirely quiet, eerily so.

   all he can do is listen, and walk. he doesn't know where he is. somebody was at his side, just a moment ago, he knows it. there's nobody there, no voice calling his name.

   no voice—

   child of ill omen, can you not hear? i'm reaching for you. when will you return home? when will you save me?

                                                      ' kevin! '

   xerxes drops his sword.

   the shift is nigh unnoticeable, if only it weren't him. the core— the intention— the chains, pulling him down, down, down. the world around him breaking, alongside the screams of a small girl, as he's returned to the material world. the hand of his incuse, moving, pushing him closer towards the darkness of the abyss.

   but is it dark? that's what they always said. and yet, the light reaches him, even now. a bright, startling, illuminating brightness.

   it hurts his eyes, the way his hands would burn standing too close to a flame. there's screaming, not too far away. a pained struggle, one he's so familiar with.

' kevin— it hurts ... '

   he's running.

   and he can't see her anymore. he recognizes her voice, hears it most of all, out of anybody else he's ever hurt, all the time, almost every single night. this one, he can't forget. this one can't drown in the sheer amount of his victims. he killed her. he killed her—

   his knees skid across hard earth with the pace of him throwing himself next to her. she's crying, sobbing, he can hear it in her voice, and when his arms reach out, her body is so small in his hold. he's shaking. she clings, one hand in his sleeve, the other in his shirt, her voice distorted, half not here anymore.

   half already pulled down. the way he was.

   ' kevin, kevin, please— i didn't mean to, i promise, please— ' and panic has never closed his throat so fast, yet xerxes— kevin— is rambling, voice choked, stroking the hair out of her face.

   ' milady, it's alright. it's okay, i'm here, i didn't— ' i didn't leave, he wants to say, and the heaviness of that lie heaves itself onto his chest so heavily, he sobs with it. she begged him back then, too, he remembers. leaning across the coffins of her family, with nobody left but himself. kevin had lost so many people that day, though she lost so much more. she was the only one who survived the massacre, constantly at his side when he tended to the bodies, made sure they were properly buried.

   they had just spent the day in town, as his master asked him to. a walk on a sunny afternoon, returning with sweets she wasn't supposed to have. it was supposed to be simple.

   she was too young. she was so small. she was crying.

   ' kevin, why did you leave? '

   he never knew what to do when children cry.

   one hand finds her cheek, and his breath trembles when he brushes tears from her face. she's in pain. her incuse is completed. the chains are reaching for her. this is what he did, this is what the intention did for him. he asked to change the past, and this is what it turned into. instead of him, it's her, writhing on the ground, in his arms, pleading with him, scared.

   she doesn't want to leave. she doesn't want to die.

   she just didn't want to be alone.

   ' milady, ' he presses out, and the tears run hot across his face, from one eye, only. he's so much older, now. he was so stupid.

   she jerks with another rough pull from below, crying out with pain and hurt, and kevin feels how the ground opens up beneath them, though he can't fall in with her. he clings, the same way she clings to him, presses her against his chest.

   ' you'll be fine. ' a thin voice, a feeble lie. her hair brushes against his ear, and he feels how her body rises and settles with each frantic breath, clinging to a life that's no longer hers. she won't die. not for a long time. she'll turn into a chain, like any other illegal contractor before her, and she'll remain in darkness until the abyss is returned to its brightness that burns so badly, right now.

   will she enter the cycle of a hundred years? will he see her again, once he dies, once he's reborn?

   he clings a little tighter. ' i'm sorry, milady. shh, please— ' another jerk, another cry. these are wounds he cannot heal. ' i know, it's okay, it's okay. you'll be fine, i promise you. you'll see your mother and father again, your sisters. i'm here. i know it hurts, it's okay, i'm here. you're not alone. i'm with you— '

   but it doesn't calm. of course it doesn't. the pain only worsens, as the chains wrap around her arms, her waist, her legs, and yank her away from him. she's screaming for him, trying to reach out with her small hands. and for that one moment, he holds it, whispering reassurances, still, trying so hard to look at her properly.

   he feels her eyes on him. but he can't see her.

   he smiles.

   the chains pull. kevin lets go.

   it would hurt so much more, if he continued to cling.

   and then it's just her screaming, as she's being swallowed up by darkness, the distant roar of her chain, being pushed back home. where kevin should be. where kevin was made.

   child of misfortune, did you see any ending other than this?

   when the earth quiets down, and the light behind his eyes disappears, kevin is left with nothing. her warmth remains with him, until the rain washes it away. it's pouring, now, and he can't bring himself to be happy about the way it hides his tears from the world, drenched as he is. he kneels, staring at his hands.

   all he had to do was not leave. all he had to do was stay.

   kevin screams, until his throat gives out.

[knightwinddragon]

Fly High, My Darling

My little bird. I hope wherever you are now, you are happy, you are safe, you are free. I still remember your fear and desperation as you tried to escape my clutches. I am truly sorry for having to do that to you, but I hope you understand I did it for you. I hope you forgive me, but it's okay even if you don't. I tried. I tried so hard. I prayed for you, I begged for you to be saved, but alas, I failed. No matter what I or anyone else says, I failed you, my darling. I put your life in my hands and failed to save you from the cold clutches of death. But I am also happy you are no longer suffering. Would it have been better if you had lived?

I ask myself that whenever I remember you. I remember I was travelling, and found you under that car. You looked so pitiful and miserable, you were so still, I thought you were already gone, but I suppose life couldn't have been that kind, could it? You were alive, loosing so much blood. Your beautiful wing almost gone because of the cruel clutches of humanity's hubris. That damned thread wrapped so tightly around your wing, almost detached from the rest of your body. I remember blood. So much blood. Too much for such a little bird.

I remember your heart beating far too fast, I remember chills running down my spine, ice-cold panic piercing my heart. The blood curdling fear when I realized just how low your chances of survival are. The blood, your blood, soaking my hands and clothes. I remember the doctors doing everything in their power to save you.

My sweet, innocent child. Oh darling, I remember how hard you fought, how brave you were. You held for so long, I am so proud you. I wonder, what would have happened had you lived? Your precious freedom was so viciously torn away from you, would have been able to live with that? I still sometimes ponder on these thoughts. These what-ifs. But nothing will change the fact that you are no longer here.

Do you blame me? I wouldn't mind if you do, of course. You are well within your right to. I wonder, had I not stopped to save the other, would you be here now? Ah yes, the other. You know, on my way to take you to the doctor, another little one just like you fell in front of me. Maybe the fates took pity on him, but whatever may be the case, I got to him before that awful string of death could get a proper hold on his wing before and he flew away into the freedom once more.

But alas, it's all in the past. Nothing I say now matters anymore, anyways. I just wish you and the others gone just like you didn't have to suffer because of our selfishness. I still remember the moment the light left your eyes, never to return. To your soul, I say, Fly High, My Darling, never look back, fly into the light and never return. Never look back, there's only pain and suffering here. Please, never return.

To those who killed you and the others, I want to ask, have you no shame? No guilt? Are you truly so selfish? You have been warned time and time again about the consequences of your actions, I know you have been. Every year, you witness this massacre, because yes a massacre is exactly what this is. You destroy millions of lives, and for what?! You wanna fly some kite?! For some FUN? Do you truly have no heart? Are we really that far gone? Is there no hope left? I know you know exactly what kind of chaos and destruction you bring. I know you knowingly turn a blind eye to all the blood on your hands. I know you do. I know you are aware of just how stained your rotten hands are. I know.

Every year during this time, all I see is death. All I see is the blood bathing the streets. All I see is the corpses of innocents hanging everywhere. All I see is the mothers and fathers who went to get food for their children, but never returned. All those starving children who died believing their loved ones abandoned them. And all I see is my fellow humans laughing, enjoying their lives, partying with one another, and blissfully ignoring all the destruction that their hands caused. And all I feel is disgust and a horrible burning hatred in my heart.

So, uhhhh yeah, based on real life incidents, this one is actually my own personal experience. There is festival, the Kite Flying Festival. The threads of the kites are usually coated with tiny shards of glass to make them sharper, so people can cut off one anther's kites (kinda like a game). These threads are extremely dangerous and lead to so many deaths, so lives of people, animals and birds are lost to these threads. Especially birds. Thousands of birds die in my city every year because of these kite threads in my city (way more if you count the whole country). This particular bird in the story was found by me under a car and a thread had almost completely severed it's wing. By the time I found it, the pigeon had already lost a lot of blood. I was volunteering to rescue birds that were affected during the festival. The doctors unfortunately couldn't save the poor thing, too much blood loss. It hurts so much watching all these innocent lights get lost to the darkness. I hate this feeling of helplessness so much. We saved so many, yet all I can see are the ones we failed.

Again, this is just me venting. I'm sorry, but I need this outlet.

[jynxd]

At the age of 10, Jinx had to deal with with trauma that most much older than her would never experience. Unlike them, however, her fragile mind wasn't quite built to deal with that trauma. As adult most had a way to properly process everything; they had grown up and matured. Jinx didn't have that as a child who had suffered such losses at a significantly young age of 5. She had witnessed raw brutality and death. It was a massacre, one that had taken everything from her.

The only good thing that had come out of this was Silco, who had found her that day after the smoke had cleared. After the enforcers had cleared out without a single care for the lives they took. Silco had found a broken child and took her home. Held her in his arms as if she were the most precious cargo. He gave her a home, gave her a reason to survive. She was smart enough to realize that he was trying to give her the tools to be strong, but Vi always found a way to undo all that work.

Jinx at first looked away in shame, afraid that she had earned Silco's ire as he head was lifted. However, the caress of her cheek proved the opposite. Bluish silver eyes looked up at Silco, slowly her body began calm as it only barely shook now. However, the memories were still fresh in her mind as she could see hear the gunshots echoing in her mind.

The reputation Silco had garnered was that of a monster under the everyone’s bed. Jinx didn’t need to get out to know that. However she had ventured out just enough to hear all the whispers. It was on one of those occasions that she had spotted her sister, with a tall burly man, whom she discovered was the notorious Vander. That same man was spreading lies, warning people about her papa. But they were all wrong.

Monster or not, it was Silco who was with her now, comforting her when she needed it most like he always would. He alone knew her struggles and was there to tell her the voices were lying, too. Just like he was now, and the look in his eyes told her he believed what he was saying. But he wasn’t angry at her, either. No, his ire was directed at the lies her voices were telling her. The ones that always told her everything was her fault.

“I’m sorry papa, they keep telling me all of things and I keep believing them…” Jinx said was tears continued to run down her cheek and onto his thumbs. Never once did her eyes stray from his, as if pleading him to forgive her. “I see them when I close my eyes, my parents, even though i don’t remember their faces or their voices. They never say anything to me, but I always feel like they are blaming me. If I hadn’t convinced Vi to take me across the bridge to just get a peek at topside…” That’s why Vi blamed her, too.

“But if I’m not the reason Vi left me, than why did she never come back? I called out her name but instead she just… left me.” Jinx’s face scrunched up in pain of it all, her claws sinking deeper into his skin and created an indent. Why was she even feeling this way about a sister she barely remembered? “I have you, but it’s like a sister I barely remember is punishing me for something. What did I do wrong? Why can’t I move on without everything hurting?”

Jinx had been precariously young when Silco had discovered her on that bridge. She could not have been older than five years of age. It was not fair that such a young daughter of Zaun had been forced to pay witness towards the brutality of the conflict, she would have to inherit like her forefathers before her. Only a fool would have assumed that such a massacre did not leave ugly traces upon the young soul.

Had it made Silco regret throwing the Molotov cocktail, which had set the entire battle on the bridge in motion? No. Even with this price, Silco would have always made the same choice. Vander had always been a domesticated dog and as such, he could not make a choice of his own. Somebody had to do it for him. On the bridge, it had been Silco, who had forced the Hound to remember his bloody calling.

After the bridge, it had been the Sherrif with the brown skin. Vander had bargained a shaky peace deal and the only way he could do this was in grovelling before the very power he had tried to overthrow. By siding with Grayson, he had given the Enforcers free reign to march down here and do whatever they wanted. The Hound had handed over his leash towards the very people, he was supposed to tear to shreds. It was like being betrayed all over again.

However, when worst came to worst, Silco was a grown adult by now. He had seen the ugliness of the other side of the river in all its pastel colours. He had even seen the shoddy paints on his side of the river as sometimes, even someone from Zaun could fall for Piltover's charm. Someone like Asik, who turned the charm into ruthlessness, as opposed to Vander, who had become complicit to everything.

Jinx on the other hand had not been given a chance to grow up. Her mind was both her greatest asset and her greatest curse. She was perfect - a genius and a monster, all rolled into one. Silco was sure of it. One day, this now ten-year-old girl would do great and terrible things. However, right now, she needed him to guide and nurture her, and help her learn to win the fight against her inner demons.

Over the years, Silco had learned when Jinx was haunted by the voices in her head and the visions, which felt so real, she believed them. Thus as she showed the familiar symptoms from closing her eyes and curling in on herself to uncontrollably trembling and whispering, Silco addressed her by her name with a calm and clear voice before he sat down beside her and after a moment, wrapped his arms around her. He didn't stop speaking until Jinx finally uncurled and pressed herself tightly against him. Her wolverine claws dug themselves into his sides, little stubs, which did not yet have the strength to cause pain.

Her tears stained his dirty shirt and slim, pale arms. Silco let her find refuge in his arms as she continued to tremble and finally speak of what bothered her so much. Hearing her words, Silco drew in a gust of breath sharply. He placed his hands on the sides of her neck and lifted up her head, thumbs caressing her cheek.

"Never say that again!" Silco's voice trembled from care and fury. "That's rubbish, you hear me! Your parent's passing wasn't your fault. Vi leaving wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault! Ever! Don't you dare listen to what the voices in your head say! None of this is your fault. And if Vi honestly dares to blame you, she is gonna have to answer to me!"

[ryantheelf]

A lot of people seem to miss the context behind Itachi's actions regarding the Uchiha massacre, and I would like to elaborate on why I believe his story makes complete sense in the context of his character, even if that context doesn't quite redeem him.

He killed his entire family, children included, and tortured his brother believing he was protecting him. How could he believe such a thing? How does someone who is a genius genuinely believe causing immense trauma to his little brother will somehow ensure his brother's survival?

Let's start from the beginning. We know that, at four years old, Itachi saw war - not only did he live through a war, he was on a battlefield, which means Fugaku took him to a battlefield to see the horrors of war as a lesson, most likely. This is speculation but it's not even remotely far-fetched.

Itachi is deeply traumatized by this experience, and that's what turns him into what Obito calls a pacifist. It's easy enough to say someone has pacifist beliefs, but Itachi - even being considered gentle and soft - was an assassin by trade.

We need to focus here on the world in which he was raised. Recent posts have brought up interesting points on why Hiruzen's neglect of Naruto may not have seemed like neglect to him, how the entire shinobi society is based off the mistreatment and militarization of children with only slight improvements from generation to generation. Not only that, Konoha is run with a deep sense of nationalism that permeates their entire philosophical and religious view centered around the Will of Fire.

This means Itachi was raised with propaganda that told him Konoha were the good guys all along, that they wanted peace despite being at war, that killing their enemies would bring peace. Killing would bring peace.

At eleven he was already an elite assassin, adding to his trauma. He was then told, at thirteen (barely a teenager here) that he would need to murder his entire family to prevent civil and international war.

This is a child who has been terrified of all-out war since he was little, who saw battlefields covered in bodies, and who has been told his whole life that he is a genius, that he alone can make a difference in the world, that the burdens of this world are his to carry and the solution for them is the murder of those who challenge Konoha's world order.

If you're told your whole life that you're intelligent, you're a genius and a mastermind, you never stop to think that you don't have the knowledge, maturity, or mental fortitude to make certain decisions. What thirteen year old should face such a choice?

At this point, Itachi sees the following:

Konoha is good and wants peace

The Uchiha will destroy civil and international peace, inciting a new Shinobi War

Many if not most Uchiha will die in the war

Many other people including innocents will die in the war

Assassinations prevent war and bring peace

The institution of Konoha must be protected above all else

The propaganda and indoctrination he was fed as the solution to his trauma is the reason he doesn't question Konoha, he doesn't focus on how they mistreat his clan and doesn't notice their obvious failings where children are concerned. This is normal, after all. This is how the world works.

To prevent Sasuke from being killed, he weaves this intricate web that he thinks makes complete sense. To keep Sasuke loyal to Konoha and prevent him being hunted by the same institution that Itachi so deeply believes in (because he can't face another option), he hurts Sasuke. Because he hates himself for this choice and hates what he's had to do, he believes he deserves punishment, so he makes himself irredeemable so his brother will punish him.

He also thinks Sasuke killing him will provide resolution to Sasuke's trauma, giving him the closure Itachi never had. It's not correct, that's not how trauma works, but let's remember this is a thirteen year old.

Okay, Itachi made these choices as a child, but why does he hold onto these beliefs as an adult? Easy - because he can't face the possibility of being wrong. If you made a horrible choice believing it was the right thing to do, could you live with the consequences of being wrong? Probably not.

He believed in his plan because it was the only way it could be worth anything. He had to justify it to himself in order to live with the pain and give Sasuke the closure he believed he needed. He had to hide and keep it all to himself because he was the one holding the whole world together.

In the end, Itachi was just another burned out gifted kid digging his heels into the ground of his toxic beliefs because facing the reality of his mental fragility seemed to be the inciting incident for the apocalypse.

[deltas-writing-corner]

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Warnings: Implications of noncon | abusive behavior | unhealthy obsession | death | slight gore | Please ask to tag additional content warnings that I have failed to disclose

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand. 

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are. 

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day. 

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation. 

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human. 

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation. 

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable. 

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?” 

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place… 

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night. 

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness- 

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then. 

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet. 

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely. 

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts. 

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down. 

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated. 

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior. 

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated. 

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

[kshithi-and-stories]

JC is not the only one...

I read the novel long back and I do not remember much. But I can say for sure that JC is not the only who had problems. 

Lan Zhan -  His mother was isolated and he got to meet her only once a month. Then she died. He lost his father because of Wens. He lost Cloud Recesses to fire because Wens attacked unprovoked. He had to attend the Wen camp with a broken leg. He saw his beloved as he was vilified and abused for doing the right thing. He lost his beloved for 13 years. He had to live with the fact that he could not save Wei Ying. He was whipped for trying to save his beloved which took 3 years for him to recover. He was punished into isolation just like his mother. 

Wei Ying - Lost his parents at 4, lived on the streets for few years with no shelter from bad weathers, had to fight with wild dogs for food, gets bitten by these dogs. In Lotus Pier he is abused emotionally and physically by people  who were supposed to be his guardians/parent figures. He is punished for no reason. He is made to take blame for the other’s mistakes and whipped again and again. He is always reminded of the debts he owes the Jiangs. He cannot do better than JC in school because Madam Yu will not like it. He is whipped because some Wen maid told Madam Yu to punish him. He is blamed for saving Jiang sect allies and Yanli loves one of them. He is blamed for the attack of the Lotus Pier for no reason at all and he had to take on this blame through out his first life. So, it was not some heat of the moment. JC did not correct this mistake at all. Had to save JC from Wens and from himself by giving away his golden core. Then thrown into burial mounds. Faced with distrust and envy from all even though he is a war hero. He was vilified and made into an enemy for saving innocent lives, including a child. He was abandoned and betrayed by his so called brother for repaying a debt which the Jiang sect owes. He was ambushed by the Jins for attending a function in which he was invited. He had to see his shijie die in front of him and blamed for her death.  All of his found family was massacred in front of him in a siege led by his so called brother.  In essence he lost three families in his first life. 

Lan Xichen - Lost his parents as mentioned above. Then manipulated by his sworn brother into being an accessory for numerous crimes, including killing of his other sworn brother.

Nie Huaisang - Saw his brother getting murdered by a trusted person. He is the only surviving member of his family. 

Meng Yao - Abused through out his lift for his birth status.

Xue Yang - Lived on the streets, abused in his childhood.

Jin Zixuan  - Jin Guangshan was his father and Meng Yao was his brother. 

Wen Ning - Abused under Wen Rouhan and by his cousins. Tortured and killed in a prisoner camp for no other reason than having the surname Wen. A sect leader whom he had helped turned his back on him and led a siege against all of his remaining family members. Cultivation world massacred his remaining family. He was held captive for 13 years.  Saw his sister being burnt alive.  

JC - His mother abused him to some extent and always compared him to WY. His father might have neglected him (I am not sure about this). Lost his parents to Wens. Lost his sect. Lost his sister. Lost his golden core and gained another golden core immediately. Please add if I missed out anything. And no, WY saving Wens is not him abandoning JC. It is WY repaying the debts which JC owes the Wens  and also trying to save Jiang sect from backlash. It is actually JC abandoning morals and his so called brother. 

I know that people process trauma in their own way. Not everyone handles adversaries and trauma the same way. You can be excused for your actions when you are young. You can have trauma as a blanket excuse for everything wrong you do when you are young. The same cannot be true when you are an adult.  No matter how scarred you are and how traumatized you are, as an adult you need to have accountability and face consequences for your actions. No one should be made responsible for your happiness and your well being. Only you can decide to be happy. Others can show you kindness and empathy, but not at the cost of their own mental health. In the end, only you can decide if you want to get better.