#princess mononoke fanfic

[manias-wordcount]

hiya! just got my wisdom teeth pulled a few days ago. so I’m in need of an Ashitaka x reader rn.

👉👈 can I maybe get an Ashitaka x F!Reader who’s his wife maybe? Shes maybe a month pregnant and goes on the journey with him. and their relationship is absolutely adorable and cute. occasional bickering. she’s also a demon a kitsune. but his tribe didn’t know cause she kept it hidden so only he knew and still decided to marry her.

the fic ends with them reuniting as he returns to iron town. her running into his arms with bandages covering her legs and arms after being injured in the battle..

Home (Ashitaka x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀, 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝟭𝗞 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗟𝗢𝗟. 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁! 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝗳𝘂𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲. 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝘆𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

He doesn’t what to think when he comes back and sees Iron Town completely destroyed.

  It was what he was expecting. He had seen so much devastation come about from this battle. From greed. But he’s only human. He’s only a man- only one person. And so, his heart races fast and beats hard out of his chest as he rides Yakul down the mountainside to the site of where Iron Town once stood. Even after he had returned its head and made peace with the forest and his curse, he knew fear. Even after the spirit had washed over him and the rest of the valley, he knows anxiety. And so, he rides swiftly. And he searches. And he begs in his mind and prays to all of the gods and spirits he knows- including the one who just had to die to let the forest have a chance to live again for a chance to see you again.

  And he does.

  Although to be fair, you see him before he sees you. And he hears you before he sees you. But at the sound of your voice- at the sound of your shout of his name- everything slows down. Because he turns his head. Because finally, he sees you. The second he does, he knows he’s home. Because his home is where you are, after all. 

  And it starts as a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding in. A feeling of long-awaited homecoming. Of freedom, even. Despite having seen you mere hours ago. But he can’t help it. You were put in harm’s way. You were stuck in Iron Town- fighting a battle you had no business fighting in. A battle that someone else caused. A battle that he dragged you into. 

  And now, you’re in the middle of the lake with the rest of the people from Iron Town- having escaped the black death that had flowed from the mountainside. But the numbers. The numbers have thinned. He swears, there used to be more people in Iron Town than this. But then he spots you picking up the bottom of your dark blue kimono, soaked by the water, as you begin to run towards him. Behind you are Toki and Kohroku, and a few other familiar faces. They look grim but alive. But it’s not them he focuses on. It can’t be them he focuses on. Not while the sound of your legs splashing in the water as you make your way towards him. Not while he’s dismounting from Yakul, ready to meet you halfway. Not while you’re so, so close that he can see every fresh bruise and cut and bandage wrapped around your body. 

  Not while he’s just so close to you.

  And the second you make contact with each other, it’s just about a couple feet into the lake. The water is at his knees, but he doesn’t care about getting wet. Because now, your arms are around his shoulder, and your head is tucked into his shoulder. His hands are able to squeeze themselves around your waist. And your bodies are able to melt into each other’s. Your bodies are able to hold each other. Something he truly thought he wasn’t going to be able to do anymore. Something he almost lost. Something he could have lost.

  “Ashitaka” You murmur his name. It’s a sound so sweet and so perfect that he can’t help but hold onto it at this moment. So he holds you tighter. So he holds you longer. Presses his lips against every single inch of your skin that he can find and promises to himself that he’ll never part from you again if he can help it. And so help him, he will. Even if it kills him, he will. “I was so scared, Ashitaka. We lost so many.”

  The way you whimper. The way you whisper out your fears and your sadness to him nearly kills him. But you’re alive. The forest is alive. And not all of Iron Town has fallen. That’s what matters. Towns can be rebuilt. The forge can be lit anew. Bones can break. Wounds can heal. Scars can fade. But he just couldn’t lose you. Both of you.

  “Shh, I know, I know…” He hushes you gently, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. There are tears dotting your cheeks. Threatening to spill over as your lip quivers and your body shakes. But he keeps an arm wrapped around you. Pressing your body into his as the water of the lake continues to lap at the two of you. But then he leans in close, pressing his forehead against yours while his hand travels down, down, and down. His voice gets serious and soft and relieved as you continue to stare deep into your eyes, his hand finally coming to rest on your stomach. “I’m just…so glad I didn’t lose you and the little one. I don’t know what I’d do…”

  At that he trails off, watching as your expression morphs into slight surprise and realization at his words. Your eyes draw downwards as you put your over his and take a deep breath. Before nodding slowly. Still there, your wordless action tells him. The child that the two of you share- the one that’s growing slowly within your body- it’s still there. Even after all the stress. Even after all the fighting. He didn’t lose the two people he loves more than anything in the world.

  “I had almost forgotten…” You say quietly. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have. You’re starting to show. It’s subtle. You haven’t grown that big yet. But he knows. And that’s why he never stopped thinking about you. About you and his unborn child. Because he almost lost you both. Because he almost lost you both. “...there was just…just so much-”

  “Hey-” He calls out gently, cutting you off the second he notices your voice start to quiver more than he’s comfortable with. His hands squeeze at your body, and you respond by holding a little tighter as your eyes flicker up to his momentarily. “Let’s not worry about that right now, okay?”

  You nod your head shakily. You don’t look convinced. Instead, you just breathe in and out slowly. Deep, deep breaths full of looming emotions that have yet to pass. So he tries again. This time, by holding you impossibly tighter than before. Like he’ll lose you if he lets go for even a second. Like he’ll wake up and find out that he’s still in the battle. Still in the war. Far, far away from each other. From safety. From home. 

  “Hey, don’t worry about that anymore, okay?”

  But he’s not. And you’re not either. So he just has to remind you that. He has to remind you of what home feels like. Of what home is. Of who home is. And how it’ll always be…

  “We’re home now, my love.”

  …wherever you find each other.

[rennsdeaddoves]

drawing screen cap's of princess mononoke 1. in my style and 2. with my oc and GUYS

THESE BITCHES ARE SO FUCKING CUTE TOGETHER LIKE ACTUAL HUSBAND AND WIFE MATERIAL (which is ironic considering they are actually each others husband and wife)

live renn reaction; me drawing Ashitaka and Moriko pumping the bellows together in Iron town

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: BOYCOTT TLOU • HELP TODAY • DAILY CLICK.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒊: 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒓

knight!abby x princess!reader

you can find chapter one here! and the series masterlist here

songs: (act one) main yeh sochkar uske dar se utha — mohammed rafi, (act two) ang laga de — aditi paul, (act three) sealed in fire and blood — ramin djawadi

summary: in the aftermath of your crime, one is eaten alive by regret and the other is consumed by vengeance. the innocence of a blooming love lies dead and from its ashes rises something raw and sweltering.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and angst, fingering (r!receiving), grinding (?), betrayal, typical fantasy and monarchal political themes, typical period-piece misogyny, mentions of death and a funeral, extensive descriptions of blood, violence and death, nightmares, enemies to lovers, threats made with both words and a weapon, side character deaths, profanities, derogatory language used, please read at your own discretion. semi-proofread

wc: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the wait!! i hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The turned over soil was dark with its upheaval. The drag of earth, the thud of it, was the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that called for grief and received no answer in turn. The only ones to mourn poor Asha were the other servants. Her mother’s wails cut through the air, a skull-rattling cry of anguish. The others did not allow themselves to weep. The workers of the Palace had seen enough bloodshed within its cold, white walls, now numbed to its horrors. Only exhaustion engulfed their features. Another one…

Asha understood this pain as much as she did the thump of her own heartbeat. That was why she decided to work with you, to be a gatherer of secrets. You could still remember the lightheartedness that graced her features, her lopsided smile when she said, whose eyes are all-seeing if not a maid’s? 

You were the reason for this girl’s demise. It may have been that nobleman’s blade that sliced to the bone, but it was your promises of hope and security that led her to an untimely grave. 

You, a coward. You, a murderer.

You slipped back into the Palace as the rosy shades of dawn swaddled the figures of the grieving, before the welling of tears threatened to fall. Your weeping would have been a mockery, something disingenuous to those who would bear witness. Did you have the right to wear mourning white and feel emotions strong as the beating sun, throat dry and body weak?

Another face flittered into the forefront of your mind, freckled and sharp-lined. Grief clung to the inside of your ribcage. If only you could crack it open and pour this ugliness of yourself out, become pure and benign. Become something worthy of any of the graces you had been given.

You could taste bitter salt on your tongue, feel warmth drip from nose to lip to chin. You could pray and cleanse yourself of your sins all you liked, but it would never be enough. She would look upon your heart with fondness no longer. She saw you as you were, now. Treacherous, rotten, worm-eaten.

☾𖤓

You still adorned funerary attire when you arrived at the Palace’s holding cells. It was located deep within its bowels, lacking its upper cleanliness. The bricks here were haphazardly laid, and an oppressive dampness had seeped itself into each nook and cranny of the place.

The guards had sputtered at your presence, choked words of you not being allowed down here falling from their lips in a weak attempt to deny you entry. But you knew them well. Their loyalties lay at the feet of the Crown’s coin, not at the throne of the King. All you needed to do was shove a necklace and a few bangles their way, and their lips were sealed.

The soft leather of your soles caught slightly with each step, made for marble floors and not the rough and dusty ground beneath. The only sounds present were that of your jewellery chiming with each step and a distant drip, drip, drip.

There were no other prisoners within the holding cells, long since shipped off and never to be heard from again. Icy tendrils ran up the length of your spine as you made your way down the cramped hallway, eyes frantically searching.

She was in the cell at the end. Her back was turned, silhouetted from the little light that encompassed the space. Her outline looked equally defeated and taut, as if she was grappling with what was and what should have been. 

You stepped closer, an exhale forcing its way past your trembling lips.

”Abigail.” Relief tapered the ragged edges of your voice. Your intricately stained hands clasped around the rusted metal of the bars as your entire being lurched forward.

Her body snapped tense, bowstring-tight, the set of her shoulders alone divulging the bitterness that simmered just beneath the surface. There was a moment of palpability as you let your presence hang over her, as unwelcome as pelting rain.

”Abigail,” you said more urgently when she remained unfacing. Softer, “Look at me, please.”

At your coaxing plea, she turned her head to the side. Her familiar profile was illuminated by the weak, flickering flame upon the wall. The sight of her was faint, but there was a certain fatigue about the set of her brow, something restrained in the pinch of her lips. 

”You...” The word was pushed out on a weak breath, hazy as if pulled forth from a dream. Then, she gathered her bearings, shoulders rolling back and straightening so her broad frame swallowed up more space. Acrid venom coated her vocal chords as she squeezed the word, again, through the grit of teeth. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

You crouched to your knees with the hesitance of somebody trapped at the whims of a beast. Her sclera shimmered violently in what little light there was. Those eyes had always been a weapon against your resolve. Each glance of hers was a nocked arrow aimed at the fortified centre of your heart. Now, it was as if she had dipped the arrowheads in oil and set them ablaze.

Your voice tumbled, an unfamiliar bubble of uncertainty rising within it. Carefully chosen, sweet words would not work on Abigail. You were disarmed by her, at the mercy of your own foulness that had been laid so bare before her.

So instead you decided to speak a truth, one that would not gut either of you so quickly. “Asha, my… the handmaid. She’s dead. She was killed by that nobleman.”

You waited for a response but Abigail remained silent, eyes pinning you in place and searching for any sign of trickery. Your fingers tightened around the bars as you stared back, seeking any crack that she bore, any fissure you could slip through and work to your will, but none sifted to her stony surface. Perhaps she just relished in watching you squirm.

“Her burial was this morning,” you spoke gently, the image of the lively girl flickering across your mind, seared there forevermore. “I came here immediately after. I knew that— I was overcome with an urgency to see you.”

Her eyes drifted to your white clothing. A hateful, bitter smile split the plaster of her features. 

“Will you blame that poor girl’s death on me as well?” she asked in a mocking tone, voice laced with amused contempt. “Oh, I can hear it now, what they will say about me. Abigail, so faithful a knight that she struck down feeble noblemen and maids alike for her princess.” 

Heat crept up your neck as you bristled at her mockery. There it was, the stinging lash of the truth coming to strike once more. 

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who took the fall for the crime. This is on you, Abigail, and your own foolishness. You have… you have no right to scorn me for it.” 

Her body dipped forward, closer, and it was the first time you heard the weighty rattle of chains. They were fastened onto her ankles. Normal conduct for an alleged killer, yet they looked so misplaced now. Such a far cry from the shining knight she was only days ago.

The derisive tone she had moments ago slipped away to reveal a nakedness, a rubbed-raw thing that clawed its impatient fingers up her aching gullet. “And you did not fess up to your crime. You watched like a helpless little lamb as they dragged me away, all the while you were bathed in that man’s blood.” 

Her voice shook with the vulnerability of leaves caught within a storm, but it was not tears that she tried to reign back. It was rage, pure and sharp as the edge of a diamond. 

“Where is your honour, princess?!”

The same dormant fury that she held close to her sparked to life in your chest. If it were anybody else, you would have shoved the vile emotion down, but it was her. She had already seen the violence, the pulsing and ever-malleable wrath, that consumed your entire being. For once, you could be outwardly wretched. You could be honest.

Honour this and honour that. The blood of a hundred monarchs shaped the very drum of your heartbeat and she wished to speak of honour? You would laugh if it weren’t for the tightening fist around your lungs.

The colour seeped from your knuckles as you pressed yourself closer to the iron bars, as if you could melt into them with the very ferocity racing within you. “You forget yourself,” you reprimanded firmly. “If you dare question my honour again I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Her chin jutted out, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. The possibility of challenge hardened her features. “My title has been stripped, my morality brought into question– all on the basis of a lie. There is no worse pain that you can inflict upon me.”

Yet your life remains intact, you thought viscously. Yet I let you sit here and lick your bloody wounds, unharmed. 

“You should know my capabilities well by now,” you whispered, your words drifting to her like opiate smoke; low, heady, perilous. You were not subtle in the ribbon of a threat you wrapped around your words, tightened noose-like in the way your eyes pinned her in turn.

She rose to her feet then, the clank of iron ringing in the air as she dragged herself closer to the bars. She stopped just out of arm’s breadth from it as the chains screeched in protest. 

You had never felt threatened by her presence, but now you could at last understand the notoriety of her legacy that followed her like a shadow. As she looked down her nose at you, you felt a dull pang of sympathy for the long list of her opponents on the battlefield. Even restrained, she was a formidable sight.

“And you remain ignorant of mine…” she spoke lightly despite all things. “You would do well to remember them, princess.” 

There was a pointed promise in the way her lips shaped around each word, as if each one was loaded with the very essence of vengeance.

You lifted yourself from the ground, elegant as ever as you straightened your back and met her eye, drawing the veil that had slipped onto your shoulders over your hair once more. A princess. Her superior.

A smile curled on your lips, the cloying quality of milk beginning to sour. “We shall see, then, how… proficient you are from within a cell.”  

Your head dipped forward slightly, a hand pressed to your left breast. There was a taunt in how respectful the gesture was. It was one only exchanged between equals.

“May the gods smile upon your determined spirit, Abigail.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were dreaming of it again. Metal in your hands, metal in a gut. The bubbling groan of a man mere moments away from death. And, oh, the crimson, everything red-slickened and raw. His eyes were no longer his own, but rather beads of boundless contempt, staring and staring and—

Reality slammed its fists into your chest, awakened with a choked gasp squeezing its way out of your throat. Your eyelids flew open to the deep blue near-dawn. The crooning of first birdsong flitted through the arched doorway, eerie in its solitary note. You blinked up at the roof, the carvings of deities and flowers shifting and mingling, one and the same, in your unfocused vision.

The man you killed was not owed any sympathy. He was egotistic and wished to be as close to your brother as a cat curled on its owner’s lap. He would have done anything to garner the love of a tyrant, and you felt a nauseating amount of hatred for him even in his demise. There was no remorse for killing him, and you reminded yourself that it was an act of rooting out bad weeds before your reign, but your subconscious disagreed. 

It was still taking a life and it was a defiling rake of nails beneath your skin. No matter who the man was, he was still human.

You wanted to be ruthless, to cleanse yourself of any feeling and barrel towards your goals with cold, uncaring resolve. But then you would be the spitting image of your brother. The thought of it made your stomach turn.

You sat up then, the sheets slipping off of your torso and heaping onto your lap. You dragged your shaky hands down your face until your fingers traced the soft outline of your lips. 

Your thoughts parted then drifted back to Abigail. At this hour, they seldom didn’t

You recalled the strength in each of her actions even as she moved about with an easy fluidity. The glimpses of raised white scars that littered her body, one that you had never known the complete bareness of. 

What were her feelings when she first killed someone? Was she now plagued by a thousand phantoms in the world of her dreams, still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted upon them? Did she feel nothing at all?  

Your rumination was cut short when a faint breeze wafted through the curtains, fragrant from the foliage below. You lifted your head to it as it stirred the loose hair that brushed against your forehead. The action should have been soothing, but what you spotted turned the blood in your veins glacial. 

You had no idea how long Abigail had been here. She was sitting on top of a floor cushion in front of the balcony doorway, one knee propped just beneath her chin and the other leg stretched outwards. The position would have looked regal, akin to the uncaring languidness of a ruler, if not for the way she watched you. Chin pointed towards her chest, a blue glare slicing through long brown lashes. 

She was motionless in the purpling hues of morning, more beast crouched in wait than leisurely empress.

The fear you felt seeped marrow-deep, but something else lurked beneath it. swirling in the pit of your gut. It had been months since you had seen this face last, yet it was stitched into the seams of your every thought, conscious or dreaming. 

Something within you lurched.

For once, words eluded you. Ambition was a potent drug, you knew, and paired with vengeance it became absolute. How could you placate such a resolute mind?

Your throat dried as you watched her stand. There was no preamble as she crossed the room in a few long strides. This time, there were no chains and bars to keep her sequestered. The truth of this should have sent you scrambling, but astonishment buoyed you to the bed, quiet. 

Her freckled cheeks were awash with a rosy red, almost cherubic despite the face that she wore. A hateful expression. A hate so powerful, it teetered on a look of pain.

Your thumb twitched as she stopped mere inches away, the desire to smooth out the uneasy crease of mouth and brow shoved back into the depths of yourself. Why did her presence, the mere concept of her, steal away all reason and substitute it with something so sickly vulnerable?

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wilted on your tongue when you felt the cool press of steel against your neck. There was no tremble in the blade. Her grip on the hilt was certain. 

Understanding came as steadfast as the morning unfurling itself to the earth beyond your chambers. You, lovesick. Her, loathing you for it. For all of it.

“If you utter a single word…” she warned through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of the blade closer to your skin, the pressure of its presence imminent. 

Her eyes drifted down to the column of your throat, eyeing the stable heaving of your chest. A scowl fractured her features. “I should end your vicious little life right here and live up to the title you've cursed me with.”

You could sense it, the unspoken however. The wraith of the word settled over you like the gauze of a veil. If she wished to kill you so badly, she could have left you gutted on the fine sheets and fled before buttery sunlight engulfed the room. 

Why hadn’t she?

“I expected the same amount of goodness in response to my sacrifice. I expected you to come clean or… or to at the very least free me from that miserable cell!” Her features contorted at the remembrance of the dark, cramped space, the stifling silence, the numbing solitude. 

Then, the more chilling memories. Your face, flitting behind each blink. Your laugh, heard in the heavy rhythm of her own breath. Your lips, whispers and kisses and bites, felt only in the slumbering hours of a place that remained in stasis. Her hand flexed around the weapon.

Her voice took on the timbre of fervently plucked sitar strings. “The very thing I pledged my life to, the very thing I killed for, left me to rot. My King and his supposed sweet, saintly sister… how do you think such a wound festers, princess?”

You could not dignify her question with an answer. You had known no such discomfort, no such betrayal or ache. 

“Abigail…” Her name, spoken again with the quiet of a clandestine prayer. What else was there to do but acknowledge her through these three sweet syllables?

A prick of pain. The warmth of lifeblood trickling down the length of your throat. Just a nick, a rivulet. Abigail drew in her breath. Her irises seemed to shiver in their anger.

“I told you to be silent,” her voice sank into an exacerbated whisper. “Or would you rather I skewer you now?”

Gone was the radiant, gentle-hearted knight, eclipsed by the moon of this new vindictive creature. You were enraptured by the jaggedness of her being. Hair uncharacteristically dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Dilapidated sleeves rolled up to the elbow. 

“How angry you are…”

“Insolent–”

“Your beauty shines like this.”

Silence, thick and saccharine as flowing honey, settled over the moment. 

Abigail looked as if you had snatched the dagger from her and plunged it bone-deep. The first tremors of uncertainty twitched beneath her sure, calloused fingers. 

The wanting, besotted thing within Abigail gnashed its craving teeth. No. She would not let you disarm her of this, the one vein of conviction that pumped purpose into her battered heart. I will not waver.

But it was another thing entirely, to resist the beckoning call of surrender when you reached for her.

The moment your sleep-warmed hands came in contact with her own, she knew that fighting was futile. Her grip loosened, the blade slid from between her palms and into your own grasp. 

It was without a doubt stolen. It was weighty and intricately engraved with motifs of the sun and moon. The crest of your kingdom. How ironic.

Your gaze flickered from it to Abigail, whose eyes chased every movement of yours. She was waiting for you to return the favour, to press the blade to her own throat.

It never came. 

The blade was placed on the low, wooden bedside next to the bed, its mass clattering against the varnished surface. Surrender.

“Why…?” she breathed through the constriction of her lungs. Where was the familiar fire, that arrogance she came to despise?

“We were not destined to be adversaries.” Spoken as if this rivalry was something you alone could decide. 

Your features were aglow as first rays of dawn crept its way into the room. Brilliant eyes, straight spine, parted lips. In the liquid, shifting gold, you looked incorporeal. Coaxed from the most bereft parts of her mind.

A large palm cupped the softness of your cheek, a thumb running over the bending bone of your jaw and leading up to the bridge of your nose. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that you were flesh and bone beneath the title and crown. 

They say that the royal blood carried on the legacy of a fallen deity, who perished for nourishing this very kingdom. She never considered herself a particularly pious person but it rang true to her, especially now. 

“Then, enlighten me, princess,” she spoke softly. “What path have the gods carved for us?”

“The gods have no hand in this.” Blasphemous words that cut into her. “No, I won’t accredit this to divinity.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself melt into the coolness of her touch. “I want you, Abigail.” 

A litany of pleas that danced, unsaid, on your tongue. Love me, love me, love me. 

Begging was unnecessary, for the same thrill of need sang in her own bones. She tilted your head up slowly, admiring the way grandiosity slipped from your being as swiftly as it came.

Her lips against yours were a beckoning. They moved with a sure rhythm, gentler than the last time. Her kiss told you to unveil yourself to her. Give me sincerity, it whined. Give me an honest place to lay this love.

You fell back against the plush pillows, pulling her down with you. Her weight crashed against yours, hefty and unknown, yet comforting in its corporeality. She smelled faintly of mildew and rain, a scent splintered with the sharp tang of rust.

Your tongue ran across the bottom of her plump lip gently, asking for entrance. If she wanted the truth, you would offer it in its entirety.

Your searching fingers found her blonde tresses while hers skimmed down to the hem of your nightgown. She slowly drew the airy fabric upwards from your ankles to your knees and then the middle of your thighs. The contact of the calloused drag of skin sparked something within, warmth coiling in the pit of your belly like a slumbering dragon.

You broke away from her to sit up, pulling the piece of thin cloth up and over your head. Abigail watched, sitting back on her haunches, as each inch of your skin was bared to her patient gaze. The softness found in each curve was a marvel to her, a body unmarred by the outside world. She observed you like one would an intricate tapestry, each whorl and knot revealing more depth with each second passed.

A hum of appreciation reverberated through her chest as she began to focus on discarding her own threadbare clothing. First, the tunic and then the tight hose that stuck to her skin. 

Her body was a thing conjured from epic poems and scriptures. Robust and sunkissed, with the new dawn melting over her back and haloing the outline of her body. A hero, draped in the splendour of victory… a god, blessing the mortal realm with its incomprehensible presence.

You reeled Abigail back towards you, the searing heat of her heaving chest pressing against yours. Her lips trailed dulcet kisses along your jaw as her fingers splayed against the flesh of your thighs. 

Your bodies melded together, pressing as if through the sheer force of passion, you could become one. Your bodies sang with pleasure, thrumming out an ancient and gasping melody. 

Hands and eyes, dilated with velvet-black pits of ecstasy, explored. You traced over the scars that ran down her body, transforming them into rivers and pathways, her body an entire world that they occupied. 

Her fingers grazed over the wet, sensitive flesh between your legs, silky and petal-like. They found the sensitive bud there, rubbing gentle circles upon it with her thumb while two of her other digits prodded for entry. 

You arched into her, a sweet noise dancing off of your parted lips as she slid them in knuckle-deep. She lured bliss from your body with each thrust and curl, each sweet word and absentminded, drunken press of her lips against yours.

Your writhing figure against hers was enough to make her own cunt throb with pure need. You felt, even through the haziness, her broad body rocking against yours, her pelvis gently seeking friction against the plushness of your thigh.

A symphonic crescendo of moans swelled in the morning air as you both neared shivery climax. Her ministrations grew more frenzied, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth. 

The pressure snapped, swift and blinding. You held onto Abigail tightly as she shook along with you, shallow breaths mingling together. The hard planes of her stomach were now sweat-slicked and she felt almost feverish against you.

As the throes of orgasm subsided, you raked a hand through her hair and pressed a dry kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She was still panting, slumped on top of you.

 This was a first, this contentment that wound itself through her being. There was not an ounce of tension in the sculpted divots and muscle. 

You pressed another kiss to her temple and you exhaled as she buried her nose further into your collarbone. 

Vulnerability rose up within you, and this time you loosened your grip on its reigns. Insatiability had always been your greatest weakness. You wanted her, you realised, not just in passing but always. You wanted to wake up to golden hair fanned across your pillows and a freckled nose pressed up against yours. You wanted the surety she guaranteed and the devotion that it promised.

 You wanted to love with all of yourself, and not just through the confines of the mould that you had been trapped in since birth. You wanted to be loved, no matter how many times you were forced to bloody your hands.

For that, however, you would have to peel back one last layer.

☾𖤓

Abigail was turned away from you as you told her your plans of usurpation, her face tilted up towards the heat beating in as she gathered up her scattered clothing. She pulled each piece on with a languidness, the nape of her neck still flushed beneath curling blonde baby hairs.

The lack of reaction turned the sweetness of your post-lovemaking haze sour. Your thoughts raced and tangled together in an incessant bundle as you forced the words leaving your mouth to remain a steady stream.

Would this revelation swing the pendulum of rivalry into motion once more? With your prior actions, you could sympathise, but this… this was grander than her. It was the ember that would flare the kindlings of hope; a prosperous future assured.

No remorse could be felt for that.

“Abigail…” you spoke slowly, the shape of her name dripping with solemnity. “My conviction is stone.”

You drew breath into your lungs as you watched her drag her bottoms up her legs, as if you were whispering sweet nothings and not outright treason. 

“If you are not my ally… if your heart's not in this, I will declare you my enemy.” 

You touched the dagger still resting at your bedside, precious and half-forgotten. “Do we have an understanding?”

She turned to face you then, absentmindedly fastening the ties of her tunic. Tousled but bright as noonday, she was beautiful enough to crush the new bloom nestled in your heart. 

She gazed at the weapon before looking at you directly. Clear blue and milky white, unwavering and unreadable.

Not so much an arrow now, her eyes were a roaring blaze, and your resolve was the aftermath of something swallowed whole.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

The wind wailed into the silence, crashing its invisible body against the looming Palace and whistling in the gaps of the sun bleached stone. Chaos roiled in the underbelly of the night, the closing notes of summer felt in the lashing heat that lingered.

Despite the late hour, the oil lamps in the throne room and surrounding hallways burned low and perilous. Servants scurried out of the way, prostrating themselves on the ground as a cloud of white and gold glided past them. 

The tremendous, ancient doors opened with a loud groan, making you swivel around. Encased in the rigid formation, like an egg warmed by a hen, was your brother. He spared you so much as a glance as he climbed up the stairs leading to the throne, his footfalls muffled by the plush, richly coloured carpet. The knights dispersed to their positions as he did so, silent and armed witnesses.

“My King…” You knelt low to the ground, your head centimetres from the cold marble. You were his subject first, his blood second. 

You heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of a feather-stuffed cushion being squashed beneath weight. 

“Rise.” His voice was clear and authoritative. You lifted your head to your mirror. The same eyes beneath a cruel set of brows. Same mouth, pressed into a thin line. The same hands, enclosed around the sheath of a sword, merely ornamental. A dutifully polished thing that had never tasted violence.

You stumbled onto your feet, and noted his clothing; a plum-coloured robe and a necklace of pearls and rubies dripping down his throat, like bone and blood congealed. Ever opulent, ever the lavish King, even in the privacy of nightfall. 

“State your business,” he spoke with a now bored inflection. “Tell me why you have disturbed me at so late an hour.” 

There was a hum of warning beneath his tone. If the reason for this disruption was frivolous, you knew he would not think twice about spearing you through.

 After all, what was an imperial daughter? Your value was held in your capability to be married off, to secure alliances, to fawn and charm and pamper. You had proven long ago that you would not be a bargaining chip in the game of monstrous men. 

You may have been worthless in that regard, but perhaps there was a way to regain his favour…

Eyes wide and lips quivering, you huddled your arms to your chest. Weak, small, inferior tohim in every way.

 “I caught her, Your Grace. The knight that escaped her cell,” you spoke through the warbling tones of fear. “She… she made an attempt on my life, but, blessed by the gods, I was saved.”

This piqued his interest. Your brother rested his chin on a thickly jewelled hand, his body leaning forward. Frankly, there was no love in his heart for the nobleman that lost his life, nor was there a thirst for vengeance because of it. Nonetheless, Abigail’s escape had tarnished his punitive, unbested reputation. 

For that alone, her head deserved to roll.

“Ah… finally a useful word you speak.” He smiled, his lips still wrapped around his teeth. Its mirthfulness stopped short of his eyes, still as shrewd as ever.

You watched as he gestured around the room, turning his head this way and that in mock confusion. “Well? Where is the unloyal cunt?” Joy trickled down into his demeanour now and, like a child anticipating gifts, his body straightened and his eyes shone. Only in his cruelty did the more human parts of himself show from within. 

You turned to the guard standing beside the entrance, and inclined your head deeply. 

There was a whirl of feather-white silk as he left the throne room, and mere moments later, the clang of metal against the marble floors reverberated through the vast space. It was different from the cheerful, jingling song of the anklet bells of dancers that typically graced these halls. This was weightier. It held no rhythm or reason.

Abigail was dragged in hastily, adorned from waist-to-toe in chains. The men who pulled her along dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and her form sprawled with no resistance. The dry scratch of her voice, pain, left her lips. Her golden, knotted hair clashed with the deep red of the carpet, spilling across it as she tried to right herself. It was one last shred of dignity, to rise upon trembling knees.

A low, appreciative whistle shot through the air, drawing your attention back to your brother. A grin now split his features, a thing with too many teeth. Each gemstone shimmered as he stood, a wave of light as he clutched his sword tightly by his side.

“You’ve done well, sister,” he praised as he descended the stairs slowly. His eyes were trained on Abigail as he spoke to you, his steps were punctuated with the chime of finery. He had a likeness to a predator in this moment, something feline slinking towards its prey.

“Very well, indeed.” Deep purple pooled at his ankles, his finely crafted shoes just centimetres from Abigail’s form. He looked down his nose at her, undeterred by the glare she shot up at him. 

There was a hiss of steel being drawn. Your brother’s sword was an elegant thing passed down to the new King when the old died. Golden hilt and flowering carvings that twined up the blade, it gleamed prettily in the lamp light. Despite its deadly point, it had never been used for battle, only a symbolic cementation of status.

What was he…

He tossed the sheath away and its impact rang hollow across the cavernous room. Then he turned away from Abigail, his attention on you. 

Instead of blinding pain, you were met with the handle being held towards you. His eyebrows softened, you supposed, in an act of what he believed was familial fondness. If I cannot exploit you as a flower, I will make use of your thorns.

“I believe this victory is yours.” 

You had no choice but to take the sword in shaking hands. The surprisingly lightweight hilt felt like fire, burning in your grasp. In all your years, you had only ever gazed upon this ancient relic.

Your brother rested a hand on your shoulder, as if to soothe your nerves. You were a skittish animal, always, in his mind. 

“Even a fool can do this if the blade is sharp enough,” he whispered, lullaby-soft. “Get your vengeance, my sweet sister. Honour our blood and let the final image of her life be the throne that she betrayed.”

Your fingers pressed into the cool metal. Abigail’s eyes were trained on you, her mouth parted ever so slightly. You watched as her body shifted. Lungs expanding, throat constricting.

“Now!” 

In an instant, disarray seized the room. The clang of armoured bodies sounded everywhere and so too, the squelch and roar of men dying. The resounding whine of the doors being closed and barred. Trapped in the midst of massacre.

You kept your gaze trained on your brother’s face. First, you watched as he recoiled with shock. The curtain-lift of realisation.

Finally, anger.

The hand on your shoulder tightened and bunched the fabric of your nightgown. His teeth were bared and the veins in his throat protruded with rage.

“What have you done?! You spineless little bitch!”

Your brother was wrenched away from you with full force, curses and spittle still flying from his mouth as he was forced onto his knees. Abigail was out of her chains, never completely restrained to begin with, and she eyed you with a tight expression as she held him down.

“What have I done, brother?” Your voice now trembled with the venom of restraint snapping. “I have done what is right. Our people deserve a true ruler, not a coddled man who plays at one.”

A wet laugh bubbled from his mouth, hysteric over the symphony of steel around you. “And you think you have what it takes to be a ruler?” His eyes were open, drinking in the light, wide pools of disdain. “If I am so coddled, what does that make you? Tell me, what do you know of history? Of warfare?

“What are you but a woman? You were raised for marriage,” he continued, his amused mask slipping to reveal the undercurrents of fear that roared within him. “I was raised to be King! This is my birthright and you cannot simply snatch it away!”

“Princess.” Abigail’s voice was stern over your brother’s prattling. A simple reminder. 

You stepped closer and watched as he faltered.

“W… Wait and heed my words. There is an order to these things,” he spoke desperately. “Disposing of me won’t alter it. Do you think the masses will warm up to you just because you are soft-hearted? They will still starve and slave their lives away, and they will hate you all the more for your gentleness. See things as I do, sister. When their hunger grows, will they look upon you kindly? You struggle, even now, to hold a sword. 

“They won’t view your weakness as benignity.”

Even in the act of begging for his life, he managed to crush you beneath him, like wilted petals in the palm of an enclosed fist. You brought the blade close to your face and inspected each silver bud of jasmine and rose. 

“Should I care about whether they view me as strong?” you asked, the cadence of your voice sounding distant and foreign to your own ears. “You forget that within the hour, I will control your army.”

You held out the sword in front of you then, the steel glinting. Your ancestors were right not to use it. It felt like a sin to have to dirty it.

No matter, you supposed. Today, history will be rewritten. With its rebirth, it was inevitable that some traditions would rot. Best to start with this one.

“What was it you told me before? ‘If the blade is sharp enough…’”

The wailing of a man defeated pierced your ears. His eyes were unseeing and yet so filled with despair. He slumped against Abigail’s grip and she let him fall to the ground with a thud. 

You loomed over your brother, sword raised over your head.

“Goodbye, dear brother. We will meet again, I’m sure, in the land of the damned.”

It was as clean as the business of death could be. A splash of vermillion against the desolate white. A whimper, followed by cloying silence. 

The deed was done.

[detectivesparrow]

Title: Love in the Shadows

Paring: Ashitaka x Reader (Princess Mononoke)

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: gn!reader, one-sided love, slight angst, fluff at the end

divider by @saradika

The journey to the West had taken you farther than you had ever imagined. The forests, the spirits, the strange creatures—all of it seemed like a dream. But the reality was that you had chosen to follow Ashitaka, the brave prince from the Emishi tribe, on his quest to lift the curse that threatened his life. What you hadn't anticipated was the growing connection between him and San, the wolf girl.

The first time you saw them together, there was an undeniable spark. San, fierce and wild, yet gentle in her own way, seemed to understand Ashitaka in ways you couldn't. You had hoped to be his companion, his confidante, but watching them, you realized there was something deeper between them.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself stepping back, giving them space. You pretended not to notice the way Ashitaka's eyes lit up when he talked about San, or the softness in his voice when he called her name. Your heart ached, but you hid it behind a smile, always supportive, always there for him.

One evening, as the sun set over the lush forest, you sat by a stream, lost in thought. Ashitaka had gone to meet San again, and you felt the familiar pang of loneliness. You had tried to keep your distance, to create opportunities for them to be alone. It was painful, but you believed it was for the best.

"This will be good for him," you thought to yourself, "he won't need me anymore." Placing your feet into the stream, you watch the golden rays of the sun turn the sky pink and gold over the forest as the water runs through your toes. Kodamas circle you as if keeping you company for your ever-growing loneliness.

Ashitaka, however, noticed your absence. At first, he didn't understand why you were always busy, always finding excuses not to spend time with him. Every time he would try to meet with you, you just brushed him off or hurried away to help the ladies of Iron Town. He saw you being pulled in different directions of the town, seeing you interact with the townspeople, smiling and laughing without him at your side.

He missed your presence, your laughter, the way you always seemed to know what he needed. It bothered him, more than he wanted to admit.

One night, after another meeting with San, he found you sitting alone, curled up by the fire. Your eyes drooped lazily, in a sleep haze, just looking at the flames. The light flickered on your face, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil in your heart. He approached you, concern evident in his eyes.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked softly.

You looked up, startled, and forced a smile. "I haven't been avoiding you, Ashitaka. I've just been busy."

He frowned, not convinced. "Busy with what? We're on this journey together. We've always faced everything together."

You sighed, knowing you couldn't keep lying to him. "Not anymore, my prince. We are no longer a pair. Ashitaka, you have San now. She needs you, and you need her. I don't want to get in the way."

His frown deepened, and he sat down beside you. "You're not in the way. You're my friend. I care about you."

Those words, meant to comfort, only made your heart ache more. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I just think it's better this way."

He was silent for a long moment, and you could feel the weight of his stare. "Is that really what you want?"

No, it wasn't what you wanted. What you wanted was to be by his side, to share his burdens and his joys. But you couldn't say that. Instead, you nodded. "Yes. It's for the best."

Ashitaka didn't respond immediately. He seemed lost in thought, struggling with something within himself. Finally, he reached out, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you."

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you dared to hope. But you knew it was impossible. San had his heart, and you couldn't compete with that. "You won't lose me," you said, gently pulling your hand away. "I'll always be here for you, Ashitaka. Just… not in the same way."

Days passed, and despite your efforts to distance yourself, Ashitaka kept trying to reconnect. He sought you out, insisting on spending time together, even if it was just in silence. It was confusing, painful, and a constant reminder of what you couldn't have.

One evening, you were walking together through the forest in awkward silence. No conversations to fill up the space, just you and him walking along the trail. Feeling uncomfortable, you keep your eyes forward and look at the scenery.

Kodamas follow you two, smiley and jumping around your feet. Making sure to keep a good distance between you and him, you start to smile and play with the kodamas.

Realizing the physical space between the two of you, Ashitaka attempts to get closer to you. He took some larger steps and is now less than half an arm's length away from you. He observes your expressions of glee, interacting with the kodamas, and his heart pangs.

Why haven't you looked at him like that in so long? What has caused this change in your relationship with one another?

As he reaches out to grab your attention, you trip over a root and fly into the ground. Ashitaka quickly tries to hold you but ultimately fails. Instead, he opts to shield you from hitting the dirt, sending both of you tumbling down the small hill.

After some rolls, you guys eventually stop. Ashitaka, now leaning over you with his arms by your head, looks down at you wide-eyed. Both of you breathing hard, just bask in the after-effects of the fall. Realizing how precarious the position looks, you attempt to push him off and get up. He does not budge. You look up at him questionably.

Looking down at you and realizing he's got you trapped between his arms, he blurts the words that had been haunting him, "I've been thinking a lot about us. About you. You've always been there for me, even when I didn't realize it. And now, I don't want to lose that."

You stopped, your heart pounding. "Ashitaka…"

He shakes his head, "why have you been avoiding me? Do you no longer like me?"

"No!" you shout, "of course not. I've just been busy…"

He looks at you, unimpressed with your excuse.

You look to the side, unable to hold his gaze, "I've been putting distance between us so that you can hang out with San more."

"San?" He questions. "Why?"

"Well, I've seen how you look and talk about her. It's one of love and I'm not going to be the wall between you guys."

"Why? San is my friend and you are too."

You just continue looking away, tears starting to pool in your eyes. "Yes, you are my friend too."

Taken back by your glassy eyes, he backs up in surprise, allowing you to push him off and make your way back to the town.

"Wait!" he shouts, trailing after you, attempting to get your attention.

You continue walking away, arms wrapped around your body, ignoring him.

Catching up to you in quick strides, he wraps his arms around you. "You are special to me," he whispers. "You are the only one to stay by my side and hold strong to us. Please, don't leave me behind."

Tears now falling, "Ashitaka," you say shakily, "I love you."

His eyes widen but his hold tightens around you.

"I've put space between us because I know you love San and I want what's best for you."

Turning you around, he clasps the side of your arms. "San is only my friend. You are who I love!" he declares, face to face.

You stared at Ashitaka, his words echoing in your mind. He loved you. The truth of it struck you with an overwhelming mix of relief, joy, and disbelief. You had spent so long hiding your feelings, convinced that his heart belonged to San.

"Ashitaka, I..." you began, your voice trembling. "I thought you loved San. I saw the way you looked at her."

Ashitaka's grip on your arms tightened slightly, his eyes earnest and filled with emotion. "San is a dear friend, but my heart has always been with you. I just didn't realize it until you started pulling away. It made me see how much you mean to me, how much I need you."

Tears streamed down your face as you looked up at him, your heart swelling with hope.

A soft smile spread across Ashitaka's face, and he gently wiped away your tears. "Then let's not waste any more time," he said. "Let's face whatever comes together, as we always have."

He pulled you into a tender embrace, holding you close as if afraid to let go. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart. In that moment, all the pain and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the profound joy of being with the one you loved.

Ashitaka leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, loving kiss. It was a promise, a testament to the journey you had shared and the future you would build together.

[mikasaspatas]

aim for my heart moodboard m.f jjk

Culling games setting - major manga spoilers this fic will take place in the jjk story line and continue on after fully caught up with manga. Yn a Russian prisoner prologue coming soon. wattpad. @ leviandpieckssexdoll

only a few songs that give the vibes if this fic: playlist coming soon.

[druh19]

icons de personagens intp pq fiquei com inveja da aninha !

Vamos deixar todos os bbs do Chaos felizes 🤏✨

༝ INTP characters icons |like and reblog if saved|

[pikuna]

Yokai Heart - Chapter 2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandoms: Dandadan (Anime), Dandadan (Manga) Relationship: Ayase Momo/Takakura “Okarun” Ken Characters: Ayase Momo, Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Inspired by Dragonheart (Dragonheart), Youkai Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Yokarun, Shrine Maiden Momo, Protective Takakura “Okarun” Ken, BAMF Ayase Momo, Canon-Typical Violence, Action & Romance, Romantic Fluff, Interspecies Romance, Aged-Up Characters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feudal Japan, Historical Fantasy

Summary

With the last of her family passing away, Momo had nothing to her name but spiritual powers no one can know about. To escape her fate as concubine to the local Shogun, she leaves her birth town and becomes a Wandering Miko. But as an untrained Shrine Maiden she had no luck fulfilling her expected duties and she refuses to entertain men for money. Surely a con act together with the Yokai she had sealed a pact with was a good alternative, right?

Didn't take me long to throw out the prediction of 6 chapters. This story grew on me so much and I have a few ideas, so I don't know how long it actually will be. Please enjoy some badass Momo fighting scenes.

Ao3 Link

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This was not how Ayase Momo had thought this hunt would go. It was raining, it was dark and she was hungry. The absolute worst. At least she had found some shelter in a small cave and now was just waiting for the rain to finally stop.

She had left her hometown just a few weeks ago, as soon as the harsh winter weather made way for spring to bloom, carrying enough food for a week and other supplies for her travels.

To earn some money, she had tried to offer her help as wandering Miko to the shrines in a few villages, but the priests always saw through her false bravado and noticed her lack of knowledge of even the simplest rites. Her grandmother had taught her so many things: How to hunt, how to defend herself and how to read people. They even started developing Momo's unusual spiritual powers shortly after she discovered her gift, but it was too late. Curse herself for refusing to start her shrine maiden training for so long. But who could have thought that fate had planned to put big obstacles in her way?

A few odd jobs here and there was all Momo could do to at least get some coin for food, but most of the time she had to sleep out in the wild in the mud. A not so helpful priest of one of the shrines had suggested that she could always perform…other work that some wandering Miko would do. And she had decked him for that, before running out of the village. She didn’t hold it against any woman who would entertain men for money, but for her it was no option at all. Momo would rather hunt and gather food herself and sleep in the dirt than be a plaything for men. That’s why she ran away from home in the first place.

Grumbling about her misfortune and hunger, she kept kicking the walls of the little cave out of frustration. Maybe this was the Kami’s way of punishing her for being so rebellious. Well, the Kami could shove their big heads up their spiritual asses for all she cared.

With her stomach loudly announcing that it really needed some food, Momo opened her travel basket in search for something edible. It contained her good old bow, a few arrows, some change of clothes, medicine and…the leftover of a loaf of bread. Hard, but still good to eat and she couldn’t be picky right now. Munching the stale bread, she looked out into the rain, musing about the day earlier.

She had been, again, rejected to help at the local shrine and so Momo had to go into the village to see if any work was available that she could do. On an announcement board in the market, she found a letter from a local lord. Apparently, some kind of beast or spirit was seen running through the peach field of said lord and he wanted it gone. The reward was a high amount of mon that would last her a month! Part of her hoped it was just an animal, then she could easily kill it with her bow. However, according to some of the merchants, nobody had been able to hunt the creature down and the hunters always returned half dead. But their wounds were often nothing more than scratches, which sounded more like an evil spirit.

So here she was, during a night of the full moon, waiting for the rain to stop and the spirit to show up. Momo knew it was foolish to face a spirit or Yokai during such a night, but she was desperate. She couldn’t afford to wait and let someone else get her prize. Luckily the cave was close to the peach plantation, so she would notice if someone...or something would approach the trees.

And her patience...or stubbornness was finally rewarded, when the raindrops fell less and less frequently, until they completely stopped. Devouring the last crumbs of her bread, Momo got her bow, quiver and a blessed tanto sword out of her basket and readied herself for the hunt. Leaving the basket behind, she rushed out into the night towards the peach trees. The fruits seemed to be just ripe enough to eat, but Momo did her best to resist the temptation. She had work to do.

---------------------------

It had been an hour since Momo had started prowling through the field of peach trees and morning would arrive soon. Aside from a few farmers, the poor souls had to work so early, she didn't come across anybody. She had even used her second sight to extend her reach and look for any unusual auras. Also nothing. This was weird. Did somebody else get it before her? Or did the creature finally leave this area?

Suddenly she heard screams coming from far behind her. A loud growl followed.

Momo's feet reacted immediately, turning her around and running towards the commotion. She closed her eyes, using her second sight to prepare herself for what would await her. She was shocked to see a massive aura zipping around. It hadn't been there just a minute ago! It was chasing several smaller auras. That must be the farmers she walked past earlier. The closer she came, the clearer the aura's form became. It was white and flaring uncontrollably in the shape of a long serpent. An uneasy feeling built in her stomach and when she reached an open area in the middle of the plantation, her worries were confirmed: It was a dragon. A dragon that had nothing of the majesty the ryūjin had in their hundreds of paintings, but a grotesque version of them. Its whole body and billowing mane was an eerie white, the only other color were red strands in the hair and lines along its face and body. The scales of the beast stood up like hundreds of spikes, the two legs were gangly and way too long. A black maw, that was also too big for its face and looked more like a mask, snapped with blunt teeth at the farmers and grinned at them in a macabre way while it watched them flailing around. It was obvious it was toying with the poor people, keeping them in the clearance and blocking any way to escape.

The Kami must really enjoy making things hard for her. Dragon Yokai were one of the most powerful ones and this one was a white dragon: A symbol of death.

Momo was stopped in her inner tirade towards the gods, when one of the farmers came running towards her, terror in his face. His face turned more hopeful when he spotted her.

"Praise the kami, help has arrived!" he shouted breathlessly and grabbed her upper arms, clinging to her. She jolted at the forceful contact, but she refrained from shoving the man away. He was just afraid right now. "Please, shrine maiden. Please deliver us from this demon!"

The whole mission had become way more dangerous, but also more important. She could not fail this. With a determined look, she nodded to the man. "I will draw its attention to me. As soon as the dragon is distracted, you round everyone up and run for the village. Okay?"

Muttering his thanks and praise, the man scrambled away, back towards the other farmers.

Taking in a deep breath, Momo steeled her nerves.

Right, how to best fight a dragon Yokai that is very fast?

In the past she had exorcised a few smaller Yokai, just some troublemakers. Not something as powerful as this. Her combat abilities were limited to defence and hunting deer. No divine protections or blessings she could bestow upon herself. She was wholly underprepared for this. And that's why she was so determined to kill this Yokai. It would be proof to herself and others that she didn't need any fancy, spiritual training, nor active blessing from the Kami. Just her own unique skills and quick thinking. Her grandmother had always complimented her creative problem solving.

First things first: Dodging would be difficult, so she summoned a spiritual, teal colored orb as a shield around her as protection from at least a few attacks.

Second: Before she could come up with an actual strategy to wound the Yokai, she had to find out its weaknesses. Time for some probing then.

Grabbing an arrow from her quiver, she ran closer into shooting distance of the dragon, who was still tormenting the poor farmers. Absently she noted that while it snapped at them with its maw, it never really hurt anybody. At least not physically from what she could tell. Still, there were a few people that were so weak that they had to be carried by others.

Momo drew her bow and waited for an opening where the dragon was standing still for a moment, before she shot her arrow. It landed where she had aimed it, but it bounced off the hard scales. Just as she had feared. Already nocking her next arrow, she saw the dragon's head snap into her direction, the pure red eyes with no pupils focusing on her. An unsettling feeling clenched her stomach at the way they glared at her. Well, she had its attention, just as she had planned. No backing out now.

Without any warning, the dragon rushed towards her and struck its claws at her. She was thankful for her protective orb, because otherwise that would have torn her to shreds. The orb absorbed most of the hit and she was just pushed a few feet backwards. But the dragon kept attacking her orb, swiping it with its claws and kept pushing her until she hit a tree with her back. Now the beast tried to attack her with its maw, but Momo had enough time to jump to the side. Its teeth got stuck into the thick wood of the tree and she seized the opportunity to finally fire another arrow, aiming this time between the sticking up scales. And she hit her target.

A pained howl. Wood splintering.

And the black maw was biting down at her again, only stopped by the orb. She had not expected the dragon to be able to open its maw that wide; its jaws must be unhinged now!

But she had no time to think about that. The dragon was putting pressure on the orb and she could feel and see the cracks in her protection. It was all the warning she got before the orb shattered into a million pieces, just enough time to roll away from the maw that snapped shut. Unfortunately for her, she lost her bow in the process and she had no chance to retrieve it. The dragon pressed its claws down on it, snapping it into little pieces.

Cursing the dragon for its fast reflexes and own quick thinking, Momo backed away from it. Her eyes never left the beast, so she was surprised to see it was not chasing after her immediately. Instead it focused on the spiritual leftovers of her orb. The maw opened slowly and the teal colored shards turned into smoke that the dragon seemingly absorbed. A low and... pleased rumble came from its throat. Did it feed on her spiritual power? She knew that a Yokai's diet could be emotions and energy from humans, but this was new. And it gave her an idea.

While the dragon was still engrossed with the taste of her leftover energy, she quickly channelled her power into another orb, this time more dense and potent. As if the dragon could smell this, it sniffed the air and turned towards her. She saw how its muscles tensed and before it could pounce her, she threw the ball of spiritual energy as far as she could. Like a dog chasing a ball, the dragon went after the orb. When it caught it, the Yokai chomped down on it and slowly absorbed the energy through its maw.

That should be the distraction she needed.

Again concentrating, Momo summoned a pair of spiritual arms that seemingly appeared out of her back. As soon as she had manifested those arms, she drew her tanto sword, blessed by her late grandmother and ran towards the still feasting dragon.

The spiritual hands grabbed the dragon's long body as soon as she was close enough. This startled the Yokai and it tried to free itself from her grasp to no avail. In anger it turned around to her with a loud growl. Momo was not deterred, still running towards its. Claws came down on her. She jumped to the side and pierced her sword into the paw as soon as it hit the ground.

Another loud, pained yowl.

Again the maw came down on her.

Without thinking, Momo dispersed the first pair of spiritual hands and conjured a new pair in a second, grabbing the lower and upper jaw of the maw and keeping it from biting down on her. Roaring in frustration, the dragon raised its head into the air, jerking back and forth as if it tried to swallow her. With nothing else to hold onto other than her spiritual hands, Momo drove her blade into the roof of the dragon's mouth and clung to it for dear life when the dragon reared and screamed in pain.

The dragon's tongue started to move against her, trying to push her down its throat.

"I would stop that if I were you!" She shouted at the dragon and stomped down on its tongue, earning another yelp. "Or my blade will pierce your skull!" To emphasise her words she angled the blade so it would go up to its brain and moved it further into the flesh. A long, pained whine came from the dragon, but otherwise it stood still.

Good. It could understand her. Not that it would help much in this situation.

Focusing as much as she could, Momo conjured another pair of hands. She had never tried four at the same time and she had to hurry. The second pair reached out of the maw, growing in size, closing around the dragon's throat...and started to squeeze. The beast let out a gurgling sound, before massive strands of white hair shot out of its mane and wrapped around the spiritual hand's wrists. She was too surprised by this to keep her concentration up, so the dragon was able to pull the hands away from its throat and then they disappeared again.

Damn. At least it was not trying to pull the same trick with the hands that held its jaws. It probably feared the blade in its mouth too much.

At least the farmers were safe. Between the teeth she could see the last few carrying the unconscious ones away from the clearing.

The two combatants were at a standstill. She was not able to escape the maw without risking getting swallowed and if the dragon would want to keep its brain intact, he couldn't bite down while she was still there.

But that also gave her an opportunity. She closed her eyes and focused on the dragon's aura again. It was a blinding white, just like the real body, coiling around itself. Maybe she could find a way to weaken it by manipulating its aura. Searching for a weak point that she could attack, she noticed something. The white aura was not coiling around itself. It was coiling around...another aura? A dark red one that trashed around in the centre of the white, as if it was trying to escape. Her mental eyes focused on this aura and after a few seconds...the aura looked back. Black and red tendrils reached for her in something that looked like a desperate gesture.

Curiosity peaked and not knowing any better, Momo reached out with her mental hands and started pulling the dark aura out of the grasp of the white. The more she pulled, the bigger the dark aura seemed to become and in turn, the white became smaller. At some point the black overwhelmed the white and absorbed all of it, expanding itself and pushing her away.

With a gasp, Momo opened her eyes. What just happened?

She had no time to think about it, as the dragon started to trash around, apparently not concerned about getting hurt by the blade anymore. It stuck its claws into its maw, trying to pry her out of it. She tried to avoid them, only to get a deep cut on her left arm. The pain startled her so much that she lost focus and her spiritual arms disappeared for a moment. Enough time for the dragon to yank her out of its mouth, together with the blade.

And just in time it seemed.

The dragon's whole body started to contort and it cried out in pain.

Momo had grabbed her blade, ready to continue the fight, but she was too horrified by how the limbs and body of the dragon stretched and cracked, only to shrink into itself. The serpentlike body squashed itself together until it was in the shape of a human torso. The limbs turned into spindly long arms and legs, also looking human but with long, black nails akin to claws. The face changed from a dragon to a man, albeit the maw was still there, just smaller and more fitted to a human face. The white scales have turned into sickly grey skin, black clothing covering it. Only the white hair with the same red stripes, as well as the ones on his face, showed the connection between this and the form it was in a few seconds ago. And were those glasses on its nose?

The dragon Yokai had become a human Yokai. One could mistake him for a very tall and gangly man.

But Momo knew better. It... he was maybe no dragon anymore, but still a Yokai. One that had attacked innocent people. But also his aura had begged for help. Was he a victim of the other white aura?

She must have been in her trance longer than she thought, as she absently noticed how the sky slowly turned brighter. Morning had arrived.

The Yokai seemed to be very disorientated from his transformation. Momo shook her head. This was not the time to have sympathy for this creature. She ran towards his staggering form and hit him with the pommel of her blade in the stomach. As soon as his back hit the ground, she slammed her knee into his abdomen to keep him down, causing him to grunt in pain. Holding the blade above her head, she was ready to pierce his heart.

"Any last words?" she asked him, struggling to catch her breath. Momo didn't know why she gave him a chance to talk, if he could talk at all. Maybe because a part of her was more hesitant now. She had never killed something that looked like a person. Even if it was a Yokai.

His body moved as he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but her knee pressed him back flat against the ground. Two spiritual hands formed and pinned his arms into the grass. She dared him to move again with a glare. The hesitation still kept her from bringing down her weapon.

He managed to regain his bearings after a moment, his now normal eyes focusing on her. She noted how the morning sun behind her made them shine in a more warm orange tone than the red glare they had earlier. Why she noticed that in the first place was a question she shoved away immediately.

"You're beautiful," he breathed out after a second, the awe in his raspy voice matching the one in his eyes still focused on her. Momo blinked rapidly, taken aback by the fact that he indeed could talk and by the words he had just uttered.

This was what he had to say right now ? And why was he looking at her like she was the sun herself? It made her skin prickle in a not so unpleasant way and she could feel her cheeks flush. What was he trying to do here? He probably wanted to gain her favour and then beg for his life.

But nothing like that happened. Instead his body relaxed and he let his head ease into the grass. No resistance at all, as if he was waiting for her to bring down her blade.

"Why are you not fighting back?" she asked in a whisper.

And why did she care? This was her golden opportunity to kill a Yokai, proving herself to be a capable shrine maiden and earn some coin. No one would cry about one less Yokai in the world. So why did she hesitate? As if she wanted him to give her a good reason to spare him. But he only shrugged, looking rather nonchalant at her.

"Accepting defeat. You beat me fair and square, Miko-san."

He couldn't be serious! This was not some game they were playing. She was about to kill him. She absolutely would! And why was he addressing her so formally? Yokai were not known for having such manners.

"You have enough strength left to throw me off of you. So why don't you?"

Those warm, red eyes looked at her for a moment, just contemplating. She wanted to strangle him for how insouciant he was right now.

"Don't feel like hurting you," he murmured.

She scoffed at that, fighting off another blush at how gently he spoke. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that before."

"Wasn't really myself," he looked at the wound on her arm. His eyes softened into an expression that looked...guilty. "Sorry that I hurt you, Miko-san."

Momo didn't understand. Why was he not acting at all like a devious or cruel spirit, like Yokai are supposed to be? Her grandmother had always told her to be careful around them, that they could lull you into false safety. But...she couldn't feel any malevolence from his aura and his eyes...they looked so honest. Maybe his face was covered by this weird maw mask that made it hard to read his whole expression, but his eyes told her everything. They truly were like the windows to his soul.

The hunters that had come after him the nights before came to her mind. Maybe he could excuse his attack on the farmers with this story, especially since she saw it herself. But nobody had reported a dragon, so he had not always taken that form.

"But you attacked people before. Were you not yourself then?"

"I was," he admitted, his guilty demeanour lessened but still visible. "Acted in self-defense. I try not to kill anybody, unless they deserve it."

Her eyes narrowed at that. "And who, pray tell me, deserves death in your opinion?"

He didn't answer right away, instead he cocked a brow at her. "You are taking your sweet time with killing me."

Anger flared up in her at his audacity. Not embarrassment at being called out for stalling, absolutely not. She smacked her knee into his chest, causing him to wheeze. "And you are way too content with being at the end of my blade. Answer the question!" she barked. This time he complied, as soon as he caught his breath again.

"I only go after bandits and murderers. After those who misuse their power. And those who harm children and women."

"So what?" she let out a mocking snort. "You're a righteous Yokai? Don't make me laugh."

"You wanted an answer Miko-san," he said calmly, closing his eyes. "Accepting it or not is up to you. I have no reason to lie."

And that was what bothered Momo so much. He had all the reason to lie, to attempt to gain her sympathy or trick her and fight for his life. But no, there was only acceptance from him. He was ready to die and that unsettled her so much. If it was true what he had said... Well, it was a very good reason to spare him. This country was plagued with more evil humans than spirits.

Her hands relaxed. Then she lowered the blade to the side and dispersed the spiritual hands that held him down.

Any desire to kill this Yokai had vanished. She would feel horrible now to take his life. And she wanted to know why he acted like he was concerned about hurting her and if he truly only killed those who deserved it. His other form had been a dragon, one he seemingly could not control. She needed to get to the bottom of this, before she could get rid of him without feeling guilt. For once, she prayed to the Kami that this decision would not bite her back in the future.

With a defeated sigh, she got up from him and picked up the remnants of her bow to inspect. It was beyond repair. Great. She threw the broken pieces away.

His eyes opened again and now followed every movement of her curiously. When she offered him her good hand, he looked at her puzzled with an eyebrow raised.

"I don't feel like killing you anymore," she answered his unspoken question with a shrug. "I will spare your life. For now." When he took her offered hand, she yanked him up and pulled him close enough that their faces were just inches apart. "But one wrong move and I might change my mind," she warned him with a low growl. "And since I defeated you, you will listen to everything I say. Are we clear?"

There was... something glinting in his eyes, before he nodded. "Crystal clear."

With a firm nod from herself, she let go of him and took a step back, taking in his hunched over form. He probably was way taller than her, but this pose made him look smaller than her. She wondered if that was just his posture due to his heavy maw or if he did this on purpose so she didn't have to crane her neck. One could mistake him for a normal person...if they ignored the maw, the flaming hair and the grey skin. Okay, one would have to ignore a lot. But he also didn't look as monstrous as he did before and while she knew of plenty of Yokai that posed as beautiful women, there weren't many described to look like a gangly man that could turn into a dragon demon. It was weird that he looked so dark in his black clothes compared to the white of his dragon self.

"You should take care of that. Looks bad," he interrupted her observation of him and pointed to her arm. Blood was dripping into the grass and since the rush of the fight had vanished, she could feel the stinging pain radiating from the wound. She lifted her arm and flexed her fingers experimentally. The muscles seemed to work without pain, so the talons of his other form had only torn into her skin and some flesh. That was an easy fix, she had some salves and bandages in her basket.

She had a lot of questions and she also had to think about what to do with him, now that killing was off the table for the moment. But they had to wait until she had treated her wound. When she looked back at him, she could see the guilt clear in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I had worse before," she lied. Somehow she didn't want him to look even more sad than he already was. Her words didn't do much to cheer him up however, so she just let it be.

"Come on, follow me. You have a lot of explaining to do," Momo commanded him and turned around to go back to the cave where she had stashed her belongings. With a glance over her shoulder she could see that he was indeed following her. She kept her guard up, blade always in one hand in case he would attack her from behind, but that didn't seem to be in his mind at all. He wrung the wrist of the hand that she had pierced in his other form. A bit of her own guilt nagged at her conscience. Was the inside of his maw also still wounded? If she had any salve and bandage to spare, she might offer to treat his wound too.

[ersetu-gazette]

So after rewatching Princess Mononoke I suddenly realized it would be a great media to crossover with Mother of Learning (sorry I have crossover-itis, it's chronic). Internal political conflicts due to imperialism, two sides fighting (one side more in the wrong than the other) where mitigating damage and diplomacy is the best option and sometimes force is required, one side working against the gods, one character chosen by them, and a protagonist only tangentially involved forced into the conflict (and he jumps in once he knows the stakes).

Obviously they're very different media, but I think their framing and how characters approach their similar conflicts would be an interesting thing to play with. So out of curiosity what would everyone think would be more compelling?

Explanations on how I would do each version below the cut:

1st option: The Princess Mononoke movie plays out exactly how it did, and then the characters wake up at the start of the movie before Ashitaka was cursed but after Eboshi shot the first boar god. Ashitaka, San, and Eboshi have to find a permanent solution that leaves the Deer God alive by the end. This requires the three of them to team up and deceive Jigo and the emperor. 2nd option: The plot of Princess Mononoke takes place on Hsan. Most of the gods (the wolf, ape, and boar gods) are instead fey, except for the Deer God who is the last god left, who descended to the material plane to incorporate into a more mortal form (as he is the god that designed souls and believed they had to experience and protect mortals there). The main cast are all mages. Lady Eboshi got her nobility by inventing a stable method of making cold iron, an easier method to kill spirits. San is a battle mage raised by the fey chosen by the angels to help save the last god from dying. She used to be the heir to a native nation that was only recently conquered by the empire. Ashitaka is a minor soul mage/exorcist from a small nation trying to resist being conquered. When he was cursed at the beginning it persists throughout the loops, the more he relies on its power the more easily it taints his body throughout the loop. Eboshi is convinced the time loops are a way to allow her to succeed at killing the Deer god, San is doing everything in her power to stop her from destroying the forest, and Jigo is a high ranking soul/mind mage spy in the imperial church (who has partial awareness of the loop). In previous loops Ashitaka never made much impact but in one of them gets Jigo's attention when he triest to take a more neutral side, Jigo assumes that Ashitaka is a looper on San's side and worsens the curse he was inflicted with, (but somehow gets him into the loop? idk I'll workshop it)

The cast over the story are forced to find an uneasy alliance and recognize the emperor needs to be stopped. There's a lot of parallels to the original Mol plot but it goes in it's own direction. There's a chance for MoL cameos but they won't be a major focus. 3rd option: Zach and Zorian are pulled into the Monosuke plot and forced into a time loop until they can stop the Deer god from dying. (Still not sure if they're natives to the world or have been isekaid). 4th option: Straight up isekai. Zorian and Zach have to stop the Deer God's death and the conflict between humans and nature before things go bad. Of course there will be some type of extra burden or problem they'll have to deal with so they can't just use their magic to brute force solve everything.

[veeparkersstuff]

"I want to see with eyes unclouded by hate" -Prince Ashitaka

🌿BTS as Studio Ghibli's male characters according to ChatGPT🌿

(Like or reblog, don't repost pls!🤍)

[scottishkitty-arts]

The Karsus Demon (BG3 Gale FanFic Prompt)

(More Gale brainrot because his stupid wizard has wormed his way into every neuron of my brain)

So, my most favourite movie of all time is Princess Mononoke, especially Prince Ashitaka's relationship to the demonic entity with which he interacts. To explain in brief terms for those that haven't seen it, a prince from thought-to-be-destroyed tribe is stricken by a curse from a demon. This demon once took the form of an impossibly gigantic boar, having been slain in life after being shot by an iron bullet. However, the tormented soul rested not, and it's body transformed into an writhing mass of pestilence. When this mass grasps the prince's forearm, it buries itself deep, inflicting a curse & leaving a large visible patch of rotting flesh in it's place. As the story proceeds with the prince heading westward, an intriguing trend is identified; whenever he experiences intense emotion, his flesh writhes as he temporarily channels the immense power that the boar god once held. Yet, as if in tribute, more of his flesh is sacrificed to the growing rot in return.

I have always adored this concept; so seeing a not-so-subtle scar upon yanking the Waterdeep wizard from the malfunctioning portal in Baldur's Gate 3, I couldn't help but find a reason to draw parallels & imagine a similar situation.

And so, I present to thee the "Karsus Demon". After all, with so much time having passed & so much energy being accrued by the accursed orb Gale carries, it would be interesting to see how that orb could be channelled- in, well, a less explosive manner. After all, Karsus sought this magic in order to make of himself a god, so I can imagine the magical curse seeking a similar end.

So, the design I came up with for this was heavily inspired by Prince Ashitaka's plight, in that with each channelling of the orb sacrifices more & more flesh to the markings. When channelling, I naturally had to mimic the colour the orb takes when Gale consumes magic- assuming this to be the orbs "active" state. Additionally, as this power is demonstrably evil in nature, I used the game's own depictions of demons as inspiration (with large hooked horns & cloaking wings). And, as one final nod to Ashitaka, I had the magical blight follow one arm. I believe, in game, Gale is right-handed, but I like the idea of one hand being the "casting-hand" where magic is concentrated, while the other is the "conduit-hand" where the actual spell is shaped & invoked. (I also drew the art following his left arm, shhh)

I do love the concept that Gale, himself, is not emotionally altered by the situation- still being his jovial, friendly self, with the demon only arising when rage turns his vision red.

I think this concept is super neat, & I might write a piece on it in the future. If anyone else likes it, hey, feel completely free to nick it & do your own spin!

[manias-wordcount]

fluffy ashitaka (princess mononoke) headcanons? 👉👈

Soft HCs (Ashitaka)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗘 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗮 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗶 𝘀𝗮𝘄 𝗵𝗶𝗺. 𝗵𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲. 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

His favorite thing to do is to take you out “hunting” when the two of you have a slow couple of days to yourselves (At least he says you’re both hunting as he helps you mount Yakul and climbs on behind you)

But you know he’s just about to spend the entire trip holding you as he gives you archery lessons and shows off beautiful new parts of the forest he found

Speaking of which, he’s very physical with you

He’s the type to grab your hand or wrap an arm around your waist to guide you somewhere

And of course, he’s more than generous with the kisses! Especially on the cheek <3

Naturally, at the end of the day, he’s more than happy to lay with you by the fire and cuddle

In moments like those, the two of you talk about absolutely everything

From spirits and stars and stories to fears and hopes and dreams

Of course, he hates when these little trips with you have to end and you both have to go about your daily lives and the hustle and bustle of being around others

So don’t forget to give him a kiss to hold him over for all the moments he can’t be by your side! <3

[rennsdeaddoves]

massive princess mononoke hyperfixation

[sylveonwip]

I have been working on an adaptation and rewrite of Ghibli's Princess Mononoke for over a year and a half, and I've finally committed to releasing chapters every week.

Have you ever thought "Wow! Princess Mononoke would be so much better if it didn't have the straightness and identity denial!" Well... I've already written that version

And two chapters are out already, hope you take a look <3.

[detectivesparrow]

Masterlist

A masterlist of all my works

Saiyuki

Bounded By Resolve Platonic!Saiyuki x Reader, group, fluff In Good Hands Saiyuki x Reader, individuals, fluff Mine Cho Hakkai x Reader, smut

Princess Mononoke

Love in the Shadows Ashitaka x Reader, fluff

My ALL time favorite fic ❤❤❤

All In Alpha! Ushijima, Tendou, Semi x beta!reader by @seijorhi , omegaverse, abo

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

I have some words but i can't decide on the au's so you can choose whichever you want 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 or even no au whatever comes to you mind 🩷🩷🩷

Glacier

Microphone

Final

Beginning

Overwhelming

These are some good ones! Thank you for all the prompts. Sorry it took me all day to get to them! The Glacier, Microphone, and Beginning prompts are answered in this post. Final and Overwhelming will be answered in a separate post to keep this from getting too long!

Each prompt in this post is used for a different AU: the Alpha AU, Peanut AU, and Isola AU, respectively. The Isola AU is actually one I haven't really written for yet, so thanks for giving me an opportunity to write something for it!

Glacier - Alpha AU

"Don't give me that look," Charles said, looking down at Leo, who was looking up at him like he was an idiot. "It wasn't like this when I last passed through! How was I supposed to know?"

He swept his arm in a gesture towards the towering wall of ice at the end of the valley. At the start of summer, when he'd first traveled this trail with his tribe towards the hunting grounds, the pass had been clear and easy to traverse, with the toughest part of the terrain being the delicate wildflowers that had dotted the ground. Now, in the dead of winter, there was a rather looming glacier in the way.

Charles probably should've expected this, really. It was no mystery that winter tended to bring lots of snow and ice.

He sighed, tugging a fur tighter around his shoulders. The wind was sharp today, as it had been for the past few, and it was gradually getting worse. He knew home couldn't be much farther . . . just another half a moon cycle's hike, maybe. The question was if the weather would continue to hold that long. They'd been pushing their luck already . . . the frozen lake incident was still fresh in Charles' mind. And it was probably still in Leo's mind, too. He was a clever wolf, and protective. His current expression might be part exasperation, but is might've been part worry, too. Glaciers weren't exactly known for being easy to get around. And they were both hungry and exhausted as it was.

Scanning the valley, he tried to map out a potential alternate route through the pass. One that had the lowest risk of accidentally injuring himself, ideally. "Come on, Leo," he said. "Let's try to find a trail."

He trudged through the snow, Leo trotting beside him. Hopefully that glacier didn't slow them down too much.

He wanted to be home. He wanted to see his family. He wanted to see Max.

He hoped that day was close. And that he would live to see it.

2. Microphone - Peanut AU

Peanut's first encounter with a reporter in the paddock happened when he was in Lando's arms. Lando had taken him out for a walk in between free practices one and two, and had decided to take a stroll through the paddock while he was at it. Peanut was still thrilled every time he got to say hi to someone new, so it was just as fun for him, if not more, to go around and talk to some of his friends in other areas of the paddock.

He had almost looped back around to McLaren, and had scooped Peanut into his arms to cuddle him, when a reporter flagged him down. He still had time to kill, so he decided to stop and talk. FP1 had been great, so he wasn't very likely to say something emotionally charged by accident. Plus, everyone was focused on the George and Max beef today. Worst-case scenario, they'd probably just ask about that.

He kept Peanut in his arms while he talked, not wanting him to wander off by mistake. Peanut hadn't shown a proclivity for running off so far, but in a place as busy as this, he didn't want to take any chances, especially when his pup was still practically a baby. Just look at his oversized feet and stubby little snout! The reporter was certainly charmed by him, if her smile was any indication.

As Lando answered the questions, Peanut seemed intrigued by the microphone. Whenever it was tilted closer for him to answer a question, Peanut tried to stick his nose out to sniff it. When it was pulled away, he cocked his head sideways like he was trying to puzzle out what its purpose was.

At the end of the interview, the lady wrapped up by smiling at Peanut. "Thank you for your time. And your dog is so cute!"

As if anyone could ever disagree, Lando thought. Peanut had the sweetest face ever. "Oh, thank you. Wanna say anything to the cameras, Peanut?"

The lady chuckled and indulged the joke by holding out the mic to Peanut. The puppy responded by poking it with his nose, sniffing for a few moments, then cautiously licking it. He made a face like he was expecting it to taste better.

Lando laughed, and gave Peanut a big scratch behind the ears. "You're a natural, Peanut. Good boy!"

3. Beginning - Isola AU

It was a cold, rainy night. Water streamed off the tent, running down the hill. Inside was perfectly dry.

Not that Lando was inside to know that.

He stayed at his perch, keeping watch. It wasn't very likely anyone would chance upon them at this time of night, and in this weather. But they were still so close to the edge of the kingdom . . . he didn't want to risk it.

Not when things stood the way they were.

He'd left the kingdom in a rush, in the cover of night - him and the king. King Martijn. A beloved king, one whose disappearance would be the cause of massive alarm and turmoil. Under any other circumstances, Lando would've been out of his mind to take him from the kingdom like this. He was probably being branded as a traitor by the people at this very moment.

But he couldn't have left King Martijn in the kingdom like this. Not when the magic of Isola was at work.

Not when the king was currently stuck as a big cat.

He glanced at the tent again, seeing the tail of a blue-black lion twitching drowsily. Lando still had almost no idea what had been done to his king. He'd been standing outside the throne room, and heard words that had sounded strangely like muttered magic from the messenger who had asked to see the king alone . . . and then screaming.

The next few moments had been filled with chaos, and more than a little blood.

And after that, he'd fled with the king. There had been almost no time to plan. He'd just packed what he could and convinced the king to follow him. There had been no other option.

King Martijn couldn't rule while he was trapped in the body of a wild animal. Half the guards would've tried to shoot or stab him on sight. The other half would've tried to capture him, and probably not very gently. They would've seen him as nothing more than a wild animal, one capable of eating them if it so wished. They would've had no idea that they were actually hurting their king. And if Lando had tried to explain the truth, he'd probably have gotten locked up for losing his mind, or cut down alongside the lion.

Lando could only hope that he was doing the right thing. There was nothing in the kingdom, or in any known land, that could possibly reverse Isola's magic. If that was even what it truly was. Based on what little he'd heard and seen in the throne room, that was the only theory Lando had that made even a lick of sense. Seeing as Isola was the land of the dead, there would almost certainly be no living (or fully living, at least) witches or mages he could turn to for help. So the only remaining solution was simple, at least on paper: travel to Isola and find the cure there.

For obvious reasons, though, the island of the dead wasn't very easy to get to. At least not if you cared about being able to leave alive.

Lando had no idea what to expect on this journey. He had no idea how long it would take, how easy it would be, if it would even be successful. He could just be dragging his king on a pointless trip across the known world. He could just be failing as a guard worse than he'd ever had.

Because he knew it was no secret - he wasn't exactly the pick of the litter when it came to royal guards. Many still questioned why he'd been chosen. He was capable with a sword, sure. He could ride and track and shoot. And he was known to be loyal to the crown. But there had been countless other candidates as well. More than a few had been far better candidates on paper than him. So for him to be chosen as captain of the guard? It had definitely raised some brows in court.

King Martijn hadn't changed his decision, though. He'd trusted Lando to be by his side, day and night. Lando to protect him. Lando to be his last line of defense.

Lando always wondered if there had been more than one motivation behind his decision. Because he, for one, still remembered what had been shared between them in their youth. When Lando was just a boy longing to follow in his father's footsteps, and King Martijn was still a prince who could roam the castle and kingdom as he pleased, with no responsibilities for either of them. When they were both free to be friends, and the weight of the world wasn't yet on their shoulders.

Lando wished things could be that simple again.

For now, he focused on the king. He stood, unclasping his own cloak, and walked over to the tent to drape it over the king. He didn't want his majesty to become cold in the night. He deserved every comfort Lando was capable of providing, no matter how small or simple.

Gods knew the journey ahead of them would be hard.

Lando just hoped he could keep the king safe until they made it back home.

[moonriserworld]

After Leorio and his childhood friend are cursed by a corrupted river god, Leorio searches for a cure. His travels take him all over the world, before he comes across some strange performers, a destructive industry town, and a feral “prince”, whose scarlet eyes burn for vengeance.

Presenting The Chained Prince: Chapter I: