#something related to nature maybe. or space. or something cool like that

[angelcatsiel]

really want to get rid of any mention of my real name on here and use something else but I swear to god I've been trying to think of a name I could go by for literally about 2 years at this point and I just can't find one that feels right aaaaargh

[mononijikayu]

love is the law, religion is taught — ryomen sukuna.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.” And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words

NOTE: when i was writing this, i thought it wouldn't be this long. but when i ended up writing more and more, i just couldn't stop. i ended up writing this as a sort of prequel to the other woman's latter parts. if people are aware of me from other websites or just here, you know i write a lot. this 20k usually was my usual writing. but i feel like people like a lot of short stories. i'll post about that some time else. i'm gonna be sorry for breaking more of your hearts like this. the reason this took so long as me drafting multiple times. and then my exams. so, it just...this will be a read. anyway, i love you guys!!! thank you for your birthday wishes. see you later <3

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YOU COULD FEEL THE YEARS IN YOUR BONES. You had been Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine for nearly ten years, a role that once filled you with dread and uncertainty. Over time, however, the nature of your relationship shifted. Unlike the others who served him out of fear or obligation, you had managed to carve out a space for yourself in his world—one of strange but growing trust.

It wasn't love, at least not for you, but it was something. Ryomen Sukuna treated you differently from the others. He sought your company more often, and the violent edge in his voice seemed to soften when he addressed you.

What set you apart wasn’t just your demeanor or willingness to adapt—it was your face, the way you looked almost identical to Ryomen Hiromi, the only woman your husband Sukuna had ever loved.

At first, you didn’t know why he lingered in your presence or why his temper cooled when you were near. It was only after overhearing a conversation between two of his most trusted advisors that you realized the truth. You looked just like her—the woman whose memory still haunted him. You had become a ghost of his past, a stand-in for the love he had lost long ago.

As the years passed, you began to understand Sukuna in ways no one else could. He never spoke of Ryomen Hiromi to you, but in quiet moments, you saw the flicker of something softer in his gaze.

Perhaps he found comfort in your presence because you reminded him of her. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he had come to care for you—not as the woman you were, but as the reflection of someone long gone.

Even so, you knew where you stood. You were the favored concubine, yes, but the specter of Ryomen Hiromi loomed between you, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of tenderness. You were not her, and you never would be. But in this cruel, tangled relationship, you had become the closest thing Sukuna allowed himself to care for.

You had long since come to terms with your place in Sukuna's world, understanding that his affection for you wasn’t truly yours. Still, it made life easier, gave you a strange sort of power in a place where others lived and died on his whims.

Once in a blue moon, sometimes, you both sat together for dinner. It was a rare occasion, that was for sure. Ryomen Sukuna often eats alone, served by his most loyal servant Uraume. But there were times when he would ask you to join him. It was often late at night, Sukuna didn't sleep well. You doubt he ever does. 

As the sun set and the air turned cool that night, Uraume had come to your chambers and told you that Sukuna summoned you to his chambers to sup with him. You were surprised. But you immediately dressed with the help of your servants and as soon as the last of your satin ribbons were tied to your hair, you rushed out towards his chambers.

When you had arrived, the servants had been tense. It is usually like that when your lord Sukuna does not get what he wants. You apologized to them quietly, as quietly as possible for your lord husband not to hear. You would rather not have him do so. He does not like anyone, anything he owns lower themselves. You told them to leave, to go away. You would rather that it be you in that room alone with him. It would be easier.  

It was one of those rare moments where he wasn’t looking to dominate or torment. Instead, he seemed pensive, sitting by the window, staring out at the horizon. Trays of food were scattered with luxurious food and luxurious ceramic tiles of alcohol. It was not for your husband. He does not need such sustenance.

It was for you, even with your small appetite. You could feel a bile rip through your throat. You purse your lips, walking inside the room and slowly lowering yourself, to bow. His crimson eyes flickered to you as you entered, and the smallest of smirks tugged at his lips. 

“You're late, little one.” he said, his voice deep and teasing, though there was no real malice in it.

"I was making sure I looked presentable, my lord." you replied calmly, accustomed to his games. "I didn't think you'd appreciate rushing in disarray with your servant.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, but you had learned to discern when that sound held genuine amusement. He urges you forward from your bowing position and you stand up, moving towards him and sitting on the silk pillow as gracefully as you could.

"You always did know how to play the part. Perhaps that's why I tolerate you more than the others."

You sat across from him, not too close, but not far enough to seem distant. "Or perhaps it's because I remind you of her."

At this, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you had overstepped. But instead of lashing out, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering on you. You looked over the meal and started to plate for your husband, even if he does not eat it. And then yourself. You slowly moved your sleeve away, carefully as you took the alcoholic beverage and started pouring it upon silver cups, first for him and then on your own. 

"You think you're clever, little one?" he said, his tone neutral, betraying nothing. "But tell me... do you believe that’s all you are to me? A ghost of someone who no longer exists?"

It was a question you had pondered many nights alone in your chambers, alone and cold, unable to sleep whatsoever. You wanted to believe that over the years, you had carved out a space of your own in his cold heart, but the truth was undeniable. You were Ryomen Hiromi’s echo, the closest thing he would allow himself to love again. But how much of you, the real you, did he see?

"I don’t pretend to know what goes on in your mind, my lord." you said carefully, holding his gaze. "But I know I am not her. And I know you don’t care for me the way you cared for her."

Silence hung heavy between you. Sukuna's eyes, burning with something unreadable, bore into yours before he spoke again, softer than usual. He uncharacteristically lets his hand move towards the table and slowly takes one of the silver cups full of sake and raises it to his lips. He downs it slowly, letting the cool smooth taste echoes on his throat.

"You're right, little one." he admitted, surprising you. "You're not her. You never will be. Best remember it, hm?"

His words were sharp, meant to cut, but they didn't sting the way they once might have. You were used to those words. And so you do not speak. You let him say what he does and slowly let yourself consume the warm flavorful broth.

Sukuna looks towards you once more, watching you eat some meat. Silence echoes through the room. Instead, they hung in the air like a truth neither of you could avoid. And yet, as he turned his gaze back toward the setting sun, his voice grew quieter.

"But you're the only one who's come close."

It wasn’t an admission of love or devotion—you already know that your lord Sukuna wasn’t capable of that, not anymore. You were used to it. And yet, even if it was something you were used to it — you were still pained by it. But it was the closest you would ever get to understanding his complicated feelings for you. It was all that was left in his pitch black heart that never belonged to Ryomen Hiromi. You swallowed the last of the meat.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.”

And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

He rose from his seat, approaching you with the predatory grace that always reminded you of the monster he truly was. He cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward him, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. You could feel your breath hitch hotly as his gaze burned your own. You purse your lips, trying to maintain control of yourself.

"But never forget, little one." Sukuna continued, his tone dropping. "You are here because I allow it. You may remind me of her, but you are still mine to control."

You held his gaze, unflinching. "I haven’t forgotten, my lord."

For a moment, the two of you remained like that for a moment. It was as though you were both locked in a silent struggle of power, emotion, and unspoken understanding. Even after ten years, it was just that way. Finally, Sukuna released you, stepping back as though the moment had never happened.

"Good." he said, turning away once more. "Now leave me for the night, little one. I’ve had enough of this sentimental nonsense for one night."

You nodded at him. You drank the last cup of alcohol and let the bitterness burn you. Soon after, you rose without a word, bowing slightly before you made your way to the door. Just before you left, you paused, glancing back at him one last time.

"I wish you a good night, my lord."

He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the horizon. But as you left, you couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, buried deep within him, there was more to his feelings than even he understood.

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THE PEOPLE OF HIDA VIEWED YOUR HUSBAND LIKE A GOD. They always have, for as long as you could remember. The grand hall of Ryomen Sukuna’s temple buzzed with the presence of those who had come from all corners of Hida.

The heavy doors swung open to let in petitioners, men and women alike, who approached with heads bowed low, their faces masked with fear or desperation. Some came seeking mercy, others with requests for blessings or favors only Sukuna could grant.

They dared not meet his eyes as they offered up their pleas, knowing that their fates rested on the whims of the man seated high upon the throne.

And there you sat, just below him, on a fine mahogany chair that had been made specifically for you, a symbol of your status within the temple. The carved wood was smooth beneath your fingers, but no amount of comfort could erase the tension simmering beneath your skin.

Sukuna's gaze swept across the crowd with indifference, his presence towering over all as his blood-streaked eyes flickered lazily between the petitioners. You could feel the immense weight of his power bearing down on the room, as though his very presence could crush anyone at will.

But what irked you the most wasn’t the groveling or the constant fear that filled this place. No, it was her.

Directly in front of you, standing tall in the center of the hall, was the statue of Ryomen Hiromi. The woman who had haunted you from the moment you became Sukuna's concubine. The resemblance between you and her was striking—uncannily so.

The cold, lifelike stone eyes stared straight ahead, almost as if they were judging you, just as she had judged countless others. The figure of Hiromi was positioned so that it faced not just Sukuna, but you as well, creating an eerie sense of being under constant scrutiny. Her hands, carved with impeccable precision, reached out in a serene pose, like a goddess looking down on humanity.

It was not just this one statue, either. There were others scattered throughout the temple—statues, paintings, carvings—each one depicting Hiromi in a different light. She was revered here, just as much as Sukuna himself.

The woman Sukuna loved most, the woman you could never truly become, was enshrined in every corner of his temple. Her image lingered like a ghost, haunting you, reminding you that no matter how close you sat to his throne, you would always be second to her.

Sukuna’s voice echoed in the chamber, deep and commanding, as he passed judgment on the next petitioner, his words casual as if human lives were merely tokens to him. You barely listened, too distracted by the sensation of Hiromi’s stone eyes watching you, bored at you with those haunting eyes..

You couldn’t escape her. Not here. Not ever.

Your eyes drifted from the petitioner at Sukuna's feet back to the statue, a chill crawling down your spine. It was too perfect. The way it captured her beauty, her serene expression, the very essence of what made her Ryomen Hiromi—everything that made her more than just a memory for Sukuna.

You wondered, in your darkest moments, whether Sukuna had commissioned these statues himself, making sure they were as accurate as possible, preserving every detail of the woman he loved more than life itself.

The thought gnawed at you.

The crowd shifted again, and you could hear the low murmurs of the people waiting for their turn to kneel before Sukuna. A faint breeze from the temple’s high windows stirred the air, and the faint sound of bells chimed in the distance.

And still, the statue stood, unwavering, staring at you with those lifeless eyes. It was as if Ryomen Hiromi had never left, as if she lingered between this world and the next, a permanent fixture in Sukuna’s heart, never allowing you to forget that you were only here because of her.

“Next.” Sukuna’s voice boomed, pulling you from your thoughts.

Another petitioner shuffled forward, trembling as they knelt. Sukuna watched them with a bored expression, waiting for them to speak.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, your gaze flickered back to the statue—always back to her. She was everywhere. No matter where you turned in this temple, in this life with Sukuna, Ryomen Hiromi was there.

Her presence was eternal, and it was driving you mad.

It wasn’t as if you truly hated Ryomen Hiromi. How could you hate someone you had never met, someone who existed only in the memories of others and in the cold, flawless statues that filled this temple? No, hatred wasn’t the right word. But her presence—her haunting, ever-present likeness—gnawed at you in ways that went deeper than resentment. It was painful.

Painful because every time you looked at her, it reminded you that you would never truly be seen for who you were. Sukuna’s gaze might fall on you often, but you knew the truth. He wasn’t looking at you—he was seeing her. You were a reflection, an echo of the only woman he had ever truly loved. And that knowledge burns inside you, slowly and constantly.

The way her statues were placed, almost reverent, made it clear just how important she was. To the people of this land, Ryomen Hiromi was no less a god than Sukuna himself. Her beauty, her grace, her presence—immortalized in stone—became a legend, a tale passed down from generation to generation. And you? You were simply the woman who bore her face, destined to be a stand-in for a love long lost.

You couldn’t escape it.

Even now, as you sat in that carefully crafted chair below Sukuna’s throne, the image of Hiromi loomed over you. Her delicate features seemed to accuse you, her eyes hollow but full of judgment. It was as if she were silently asking: Why are you here? Why are you in this temple, sitting at his feet, when you could never be me?

Your fingers tightened on the armrests, a subtle but instinctive reaction to the thoughts swirling in your mind. You knew it wasn’t logical to be angry at a statue—at a dead woman whose only crime was being loved by Sukuna—but the feeling still crept in. You had no reason to despise her, but the weight of constantly living in her shadow was suffocating.

Another plea for mercy echoed through the hall, but you barely registered it. Sukuna’s voice was deep, dismissive as he granted or denied requests with a wave of his hand. This was his world, and Hiromi was as much a part of it as you were. More, even. She had her place in his heart, in his temple, in the minds of the people who worshiped them both.

But where was your place? Were you always to be nothing more than a reflection, someone to remind him of what he had lost? And what pained you more was that even after nearly ten years by his side, you hadn’t found an answer to that question. Sukuna had grown accustomed to you, perhaps even fond of you, but you knew that in the deepest recesses of his heart, it was Hiromi’s memory that still held sway.

It hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t her. And no matter how long you stayed by Sukuna’s side, no matter how much you tried to understand him, to navigate the storm of his power and wrath, you could never be her.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your gaze, away from the statue, away from the memory that plagued you. The hall was filled with voices, but none of them reached you. Sukuna’s voice, sharp and dismissive, barely registered in your ears.

The weight of Hiromi’s existence pressed down on you, heavier than the stone statues that surrounded you, more oppressive than the walls of the temple that bore her likeness in every corner. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder—a dangerous, fleeting thought—what would it have been like if she had never existed?

If Ryomen Hiromi had never crossed Sukuna’s path, never claimed the part of his heart that was now lost to time, would his gaze fall upon you differently? Would he see you, truly, and not the pale reflection of the woman he had loved so deeply? Could you have been someone significant to him in your own right, not simply because of your resemblance to her?

The thought lingered, bittersweet, filling you with a longing you barely allowed yourself to acknowledge. It was tempting, imagining a world where Hiromi had never been. Where you, instead of living in her shadow, might have been the first to carve a place in Sukuna’s heart, the one to leave an indelible mark on his soul.

But it was a foolish thought, and you knew it.

Hiromi had shaped him. Her love—or perhaps the memory of her—had molded him into the man he was now. She wasn’t just a figure of the past. She was the cornerstone of this entire existence, the silent foundation upon which Sukuna had built his empire, his throne, his identity.

The cold stone likeness of her didn’t just haunt this temple—it haunted Sukuna’s very being. It influenced his every thought, his every action, even the way he looked at you.

You weren’t just living in her shadow. You were her shadow, a reflection of something he could never truly let go of. And no matter what you did, no matter how close you came to him, you would always be caught between the person you were and the ghost of Hiromi.

And the worst part? You couldn’t hate her. Not really.

You wanted to. In those quiet, agonizing moments when you felt Sukuna’s eyes on you, knowing he was searching for traces of her in your face, you wanted to hate Hiromi with all your being. But how could you? She had been everything to him. Her love had meant something so profound that even in death, she lingered, casting her long shadow over the living. Her presence was woven into the very fabric of Sukuna’s existence.

But more than that, you owed her everything. Without Hiromi, without the love that had marked Sukuna so deeply, would he have ever taken notice of you at all? Would he have seen something in your face, something in your eyes that reminded him of the one woman he had ever loved?

Without Hiromi, you might not even be here. Her memory had brought you into his life, kept you by his side for nearly ten years. The recognition that you shared her likeness had made you his favorite, the one concubine who had stayed when so many others had come and gone. In some twisted way, Hiromi had paved the path that led you to this place, to this seat below his throne, to the strange, fragile bond you now shared with him.

But living in her shadow—it was a torment all its own.

Every statue, every carving, every whispered prayer to her image reminded you that no matter how close you came to Sukuna, you were not her. And you never would be. The affection he might show you was born not out of love for you, but out of a love that had long since died with Hiromi. You were the echo of something that had ended, a reflection of a life he had lost.

It was a strange, agonizing paradox. Without Hiromi, you would have nothing, no connection to Sukuna at all. But because of her, you would also never have everything. You could never be the woman he truly loved, no matter how long you stayed at his side.

And so, you sat there, beneath Sukuna’s throne, as the statue of Hiromi looked down on you with cold, indifferent eyes, her presence an inescapable reminder of the role you played in his life.

A role you hadn’t chosen, but one you were bound to, for as long as Sukuna wished it.

You snap back to the present as Sukuna’s deep voice rumbles through the hall, breaking through your swirling thoughts. “What do you think?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the kneeling man before him to you. His expression is unreadable, cold and calculating, as always, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his tone.

You blink, focusing on the man who trembles at Sukuna’s feet, eyes downcast, waiting for his judgment. The hall, filled with the murmurs of the petitioners, goes quiet in anticipation.

“What is his crime?” you ask, your voice calm, though you feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you.

“He stole, little one.” Sukuna replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice as if daring you to suggest otherwise. “From one of my temples.”

You sigh softly, leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing slightly as you assess the man. His clothes are tattered, his hands dirty and worn—clearly a sign of the hard times that have plagued the land recently. The famine had hit Hida hard this year. Crops had failed, and many of the people were barely surviving, struggling just to feed their families.

“The famine has been hard on all, my lord.” you say quietly, though there’s an edge of empathy in your words. You weren’t excusing the man, but you understood the desperation that drove people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise done. Hunger was a cruel master, and you’d seen its effects firsthand in the villages.

“That does not mean he is entitled to steal, little one.” Sukuna counters, his tone sharp, though he doesn’t seem angry—more like he’s making a point. “There needs to be justice.”

You purse your lips, knowing Sukuna’s sense of justice could be harsh, final, and unyielding. He ruled with an iron fist, and mercy was not something he granted easily. But you also knew he valued your opinion, at least in his own little ways. After all, you were the one concubine whose voice he truly listened to.

“Then chain him to me, my lord.” you say, your words surprising even yourself. You sit up straighter, meeting Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Let this man serve me in the Vermillion hall. My private garden needs tending. Let him work under my watch so that he may learn a lesson. Let him toil in the hardship of life for his mistake, rather than meet more... final end.”

The man at Sukuna’s feet looks up, his eyes wide with shock, perhaps hope, though he dares not speak. It was almost rare for anyone to be heard speaking with such authority in this hall the way Ryomen Sukuna does.

It was rarer that your voice was heard with such a loud echo. The other woman speaks, they all must think. The rarest words from her lips. Mercy, the virtue of the woman she could never replace, echoing in the stone sight of her.

The hall remains silent, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for Sukuna’s response.

Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, studying you for a long moment. You can feel the weight of his power in his gaze, the way he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. He is not a man to grant mercy lightly, and you know the risk you’re taking by asking this of him.

But after nearly ten years by his side, you’ve come to understand how to navigate his moods, his whims, and his sense of order. You knew when to have him indulge you, even when it was not an occurrence you repeated frequently.

Finally, a slow smile curves at the corners of his mouth. It’s not a warm smile—it never is—but it’s a sign that he’s pleased. “Very well, little one.” he says, his voice carrying the authority of his decision. “Let him serve you in the Vermillion hall. He will tend your garden, as you wish. But if he steps out of line—if he falters, even once—you will bring him back to me. He shall meet his end in the hands of his lord. Do you understand?”

There is no mistaking the threat beneath his words. You nod, accepting his terms.

“Thank you, my lord.” you say softly, turning your gaze to the man who has been spared, for now. He looks up at you with a mix of relief and fear, clearly aware of how close he came to a far more brutal fate.

Sukuna leans back on his throne, watching you both, as if amused by the small victory you’ve won for the man. But you know better than to think Sukuna was softened. This was merely a moment of indulgence, granted to you because of the peculiar bond you shared.

As the guards move to take the man away, you return your attention to the grand statue of Ryomen Hiromi, standing in front of you, her stone eyes as cold and distant as ever.

In the shadow of the woman who had everything, you had won a small victory today. But the haunting presence of Hiromi lingered still, reminding you that no matter what you did, Sukuna’s heart would never truly belong to you. And no matter what – your kindness would never be as beloved by the people who revered the stone that was left.

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YOU ENJOYED THE PRIVILEGE OF PRIVACY. Every day, you enjoyed the distant life you had lived here in the Vermillion hall. The Vermillion hall had been a gift from Sukuna, presented to you on your fifth year in his temple.

It wasn’t grand in the way his own halls were, but it was yours. A quiet, secluded enclave within the sprawling temple grounds, removed from the constant presence of the other concubines and the weight of Hiromi’s looming statues.

In the years prior, you had only been given a selection of rooms within Sukuna’s own quarters, close enough for him to visit whenever he pleased. Though his visits were rare, those rooms had been a symbol of your availability to him, a reminder that you were under his thumb, always within reach.

But as time passed, and your bond with Sukuna evolved into something more complex than mere possession, he decided to give you something more. Vermillion hall became yours. It was a gesture that left the other concubines seething with jealousy.

They already despised how close you had become to Sukuna, how often he lingered by your side, and now they had another reason to resent you. You knew that their hatred ran deep, festered in the corridors of his temple, where whispers of favoritism and betrayal echoed in the dark.

To pacify them, and perhaps to create some distance between you and their hostility, Sukuna had given you the Vermillion Hall. It wasn’t a grand act of love, nor was it some romantic gesture. It was practical. The gift served to ease tensions, to quell your growing discomfort, and to offer you a reprieve from the suffocating dynamics of the temple’s inner court.

In Vermillion Hall, you had your own household. Your own space, away from the eyes that burned with envy. Your own garden, tended by servants who answered only to you. There were pleasantries there, comforts that softened the harshness of your life with Sukuna. The hall was peaceful, serene, and for the first time in years, you had a sense of autonomy, a place to call your own.

You were aware of what the gift truly meant. It wasn’t love, not even affection in the way one might hope. Sukuna had never cared in that way. His gestures, while grand, were always calculated.

Vermillion hall was an offering of peace, a way to keep you satisfied, pacified. It wasn’t an act of affection but of convenience. With your own residence, you were removed from the tensions of the other concubines. You were out of the way, kept at a distance while still under his control.

And yet, you were grateful. Despite knowing the reasons behind it, you cherished the hall because it afforded you something you hadn’t realized you craved so deeply—freedom.

You were far enough from the other concubines, from their petty schemes and cruel glares. Away from the prying, stone-cold eyes of Hiromi’s likeness, always watching you from every corner of the main temple. And, perhaps most importantly, you were away from Sukuna’s immediate reach.

Here, in your quiet refuge, you could breathe without constantly feeling the weight of his presence or his demands. The distance didn’t erase your bond with him—Sukuna could summon you whenever he wished, and you would always return—but it allowed you moments of solitude, moments to reflect and gather yourself.

In Vermillion Hall, you found a strange sort of peace. Away from the tempest of Sukuna’s world, you could finally be alone with your thoughts. And in that space, you realized how much you had craved this separation—how, even in your closeness to Sukuna, you had always yearned to be free from the shadow of both him and Hiromi.

The garden at Vermillion hall was your sanctuary. It had been from the moment you first stepped foot into it, surrounded by delicate vermillion petals, fragrant herbs, and the soft hum of nature’s presence.

Sukuna had forbidden the servants from tending to it, decreeing that it was yours alone to care for, a space untouched by others. It was a strange sort of gift—one that granted you solitude but also burdened you with its upkeep.

In the beginning, you had relished the challenge, pouring your time and energy into every plant, every blossom. The act of tending the garden gave you purpose, something to pour your hands into when everything else in your life felt dictated by Sukuna’s whims. It was an escape, a place where you could breathe and let your thoughts wander.

But as the years passed, you found it harder to keep up with. The garden grew wild, sprawling beyond what you could manage alone. The weight of maintaining it, along with the complexities of your life in Vermillion hall, began to overwhelm you. What was once your refuge now became a reminder of your isolation, each untended leaf and overgrown vine whispering of the loneliness you felt within these walls.

That was when Sukuna granted your request—begrudgingly, perhaps—and allowed you a servant. The man who came to you, your new gardener, was named Hironobu. His name meant “gentle abundance” and it seemed to suit him perfectly.

He was a quiet, unassuming figure, with a calm presence that filled the garden like a steady breeze. He wasn’t like the other servants, who always carried a quiet fear of Sukuna in their eyes. There was something different about Hironobu, a certain calm that put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

At first, you barely spoke to him, unsure of how to navigate the strangeness of having someone else in your once-private space. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, you began to find comfort in his presence. He tended to the garden with care, never overstepping, always leaving space for you to do what you wished. But slowly, you began to rely on him more and more. His hands, though calloused, were gentle with the plants, and you found yourself watching him sometimes, noticing the way he seemed to move with the rhythm of the earth.

Conversations began to bloom between the two of you, small at first—a comment about the soil, a shared observation about a plant’s growth. But over time, you began to talk about other things. Life. The temple. The world beyond its walls, which felt like a distant dream. Hironobu listened more than he spoke, his quiet presence a balm to your often lonely existence.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Not in the same way you were tied to Sukuna, but in something softer, something more human. Hironobu didn’t see you as a concubine or as someone living in the shadow of Hiromi. He saw you as you were—a person. A soul, just like him.

There was no pretense with him. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

In the afternoons, you would find him in the garden, kneeling by the plants, his fingers brushing against the earth as if he were communicating with it. You would sit nearby, watching him work, feeling a peace you hadn’t known in years. It was a strange thing, this growing connection between the two of you.

You weren’t sure when it had started—perhaps from the very first time he smiled at you, or perhaps later, when you noticed that being with him felt different than with anyone else.

With Hironobu, the garden began to feel like a sanctuary again, not just from Sukuna or the other concubines, but from your own loneliness. The space that had once been yours alone became something shared, and in that sharing, something beautiful blossomed—a quiet companionship, a bond that grew in the shadow of the vermillion blossoms.

For the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t completely alone. Hironobu was there, steady and calm, tending to the garden as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And with each passing day, you found yourself growing closer to him, drawn to the gentle abundance of his presence.

One late afternoon, as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, you found yourself kneeling beside Hironobu. He was carefully pruning one of the flowering shrubs, his focus entirely on the delicate task. You watched him for a moment in silence, taking in the way his hands moved with precision, the soft rustle of leaves under his touch.

“You’ve done wonders with this place, Hironobu.” you finally said, your voice breaking the quiet. “I barely recognize it anymore. It feels… alive again.”

Hironobu glanced up, offering a small smile. “It was always alive, thanks to your good work, my lady. It just needed a little bit more care.”

You could feel warmth brush against your cheek as you nodded, brushing your fingers along the edge of a flower petal. “I couldn’t have managed it on my own. I’m grateful that you’re here.”

There was a moment of quiet between you, the air filled with the soft hum of the garden’s life. Hironobu set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth, then looked at you with an expression that was both kind and thoughtful.

“You speak as if you’re alone here, my lady.” he said quietly. “But you’re not. Not anymore.”

His words settled between you, a truth that you hadn’t fully realized until now. The loneliness that had once pressed down on you had lifted, little by little, ever since he arrived.

“I suppose… I’ve gotten used to being alone.” you admitted, your voice softer than before. “It’s been that way for so long. Even when I was with lord Sukuna, surrounded by people, it was always the same. The others… they hated me. And lady Hiromi……” You hesitated, glancing at the distant temple where her statues stood in silent vigil. “She’s everywhere.”

Hironobu’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he sat back on his heels and watched you with a gentle patience that you had come to value. You could tell that he had some fondness for Hiromi.

Who wouldn’t? His parents must have told her of the good deeds of Ryomen Hiromi. You were but a nobody and Hiromi, she was immortal to the people, to the land. You were an outsider to these people.

“Do you resent lady Hiromi, my lady?” he asked quietly, his tone free of judgment.

You shook your head, though the truth of it weighed heavily on you. “No. I can’t. How could I? Lord Sukuna loved her. And she is kind and generous, she was genuine, I am sure. But I…..I’m… I’m only here because I remind him of her.”

Hironobu’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes thoughtful. “And yet, he chose to keep you close. To give you this hall, this garden. That’s not something he does for everyone, my lady. You are important to our lord.”

“Maybe.” You sighed, the weight of your situation pressing down on you once more. “But it’s not love. I doubt it was. Not like it was with lady Hiromi.”

There was a long pause as you both sat in the quiet of the garden, the only sound the soft breeze moving through the leaves.

“Do you wish it was, my lady?” Hironobu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the question. His eyes were steady, sincere. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered that yourself. Would it be easier if Sukuna truly loved you? If you weren’t just a replacement for a woman who was no longer here?

But as you looked into Hironobu’s eyes, the answer felt more complicated than it ever had before.

“I don’t know, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Maybe at first, I did. But now… I’m not sure it matters.”

Hironobu’s expression softened, and he nodded as if he understood. “Love doesn’t always come in the way we expect it to, my lady.”

You met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words felt more like an invitation than a simple observation.

“I suppose not.” you murmured.

A comfortable silence fell between you again, and after a few moments, Hironobu stood and extended a hand to help you up. You took it, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, and for a moment, you stood there together in the quiet of the garden.

“Shall we finish up for today?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. “Hironobu?”

He paused, looking at you curiously. “Yes, my lady?”

“I don’t think I could have done this without you.” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Not just the garden. Everything.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re not alone anymore, my lady. I hope you may remember that.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, a quiet understanding passing between you. As you walked back toward the hall, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted. Not just in the garden, but between you and Hironobu as well. The distance that once separated you felt smaller, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps, in the gentle abundance of his presence, you had found something you hadn’t been looking for. Something that, unlike the garden, wouldn’t fade with time.

══════════════════

YOU STARTED TO ENJOY GARDENING WITH SOMEONE. As the days passed in the garden, you and Hironobu grew closer. His laughter filled the spaces that had long been silent, echoing in the air like a sweet melody that danced among the blossoms.

Each shared moment became a thread weaving into the fabric of your existence, bringing warmth and light into your life. The garden, once a sanctuary of solitude and melancholy, transformed into a vibrant tapestry of color and life under his gentle care.

You found yourself eagerly anticipating his visits, counting down the hours until he would arrive, a basket in hand, ready to tend to the plants that flourished under his skilled touch.

The sunlight seemed to brighten when he stepped through the gates of the vermilion hall, illuminating not just the petals of the flowers but your heart as well. Each time he smiled, it felt as though the world around you bloomed anew, and you began to notice the small joys that had previously gone unnoticed—the way the sun filtered through the leaves, the gentle rustle of the wind, and the songs of birds fluttering above.

Conversations flowed easily between you, often starting with the mundane aspects of gardening—discussing the best ways to prune the roses or debating which herbs to plant next. But as you both shared stories and laughter, the dialogue deepened, revealing layers of your souls. Hironobu spoke of his childhood, his dreams of becoming a skilled gardener, and the joy he found in nurturing life. You opened up about your life in the temple, the challenges you faced as Sukuna’s concubine, and the bittersweet longing you felt for freedom.

“Do you remember the first time you showed me how to care for the orchids?” you asked one day, recalling the way he had patiently guided your hands, teaching you the delicate art of nurturing the fragile blooms.

Hironobu chuckled, a warm, rich sound that resonated in your chest. “You were a quick learner. I think you were more excited about getting your hands dirty than the flowers themselves!”

You smiled at the memory, the image of dirt smudged across your palms and the way his eyes had sparkled with amusement. “Maybe I just liked spending time with you,” you replied, your heart racing at your own boldness.

His gaze softened, and you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that hinted at unspoken feelings. “I like spending time with you too. You make this place feel alive. It’s more than just the plants; it’s the way you see beauty in everything, even in the shadows.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, filling the hollow spaces within your heart that had long been empty. You found yourself blushing, the warmth of his gaze igniting a spark of hope in your chest. In those moments, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift, if only for a while. You felt cherished, seen, and—dare you think it—truly happy.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks, you were reminded of the solitude that lingered beneath this newfound joy. While Hironobu brought a lightness to your life, there was still an underlying ache, a reminder that this connection, as precious as it felt, existed in a world defined by shadows.

One afternoon, as you and Hironobu knelt side by side in the garden, tending to a patch of vibrant marigolds, he paused, his hands resting in the soil. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “it’s strange how life brings us together in unexpected ways. I never imagined I would find such joy in tending a garden, especially one that belongs to someone as remarkable as you.”

You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s not just the garden. You’ve brought joy into my life, Hironobu. I can’t remember the last time I felt this… alive.”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden faded away. The towering walls of the temple, the looming presence of Sukuna, and the whispers of the other concubines—all of it seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you, surrounded by the fragrant blooms and the warmth of the sun.

“I wish I could give you more than this, my lady.” Hironobu said softly, his expression earnest. “You deserve to be happy, to feel free. This garden is a refuge, but I want you to feel that way outside of it too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of longing and affection intertwining within you. “I… I don’t know what the future holds for me, but right now, I’m grateful for this moment with you, Hironobu.”

One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of oranges and purples, you were gathering a basket of freshly picked herbs when Hironobu approached, his expression unusually serious.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, his tone almost hesitant.

You set the basket down and nodded, your heart fluttering with curiosity. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I want to apologize for what I’m about to say, my lady.” he started, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “I know it may change things between us.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Hironobu, what do you mean?”

He shifted his weight, glancing away as if searching for the right words. “I’ve grown fond of you—more than I intended to. I can no longer pretend that it’s just admiration or friendship.” He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours, filled with an earnestness that made your heart race. “I’m in love with you, my lady.”

The world seemed to pause at his confession. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

“I know you are married to lord Sukuna, my lady.” he continued, his voice low and filled with regret. “And I never intended to overstep my bounds. But I had to tell you, because hiding it would only cause me more pain and I would not be fair to you, my lady.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. “Hironobu, I—”

“Please, my lady.” he interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop you. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know how I feel. You deserve to know that you’ve brought joy into my life, more than I could ever have imagined. And if you cannot return those feelings, I will understand. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache. You felt a mixture of emotions—surprise, fear, and an undeniable warmth that surged through you at his words.

“I never wanted to put you in this position, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve enjoyed our time together so much, but I… I’m married to lord Sukuna. You know how he is.”

“Of course, my lady.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. I just thought… perhaps there was a chance you might feel the same way.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a wave. Sukuna was a force of nature, and while your relationship with him was complex, it was rooted in years of shared history—of loyalty and duty.

But here was Hironobu, his honesty and vulnerability laid bare before you. He was a breath of fresh air in your life, and the connection you shared felt like a balm to the wounds of your past.

“I—” you began, searching for the right words. “You make me feel seen, Hironobu. Happy. But this isn’t simple. I can’t just—”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured, my lady.” he said, stepping closer, concern etched on his features. “I expect nothing. I only wanted to be honest about my feelings. And take care of you, my lady. You deserve that much.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions almost overwhelming. “I appreciate your honesty. It means a lot to me, truly. But I can’t deny that this is all very complicated. I never intended for this to happen.”

“I understand, my lady.” he replied, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. I care about you, and I want to help you in any way I can. I will be your servant, for as long as I live.”

In that moment, something shifted between you. The air felt charged with unspoken possibilities, and though the path ahead was uncertain, the connection you had with Hironobu felt undeniable. You might not have the answers now, but there was a warmth in the garden that promised a new beginning.

“I see.” you said softly, your heart pounding. 

“My lady, I adore you. I always will.” Hironobu said, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll always be here, tending to the garden—and to you.”

As he turned to leave, you watched him go, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. You couldn’t help but wonder what this new chapter might hold, not just for you, but for both of you. In the garden’s gentle embrace, you felt a sense of hope begin to bloom, fragile yet persistent.

══════════════════

YOU THINK YOU’VE NEVER BEEN THE PERSON TO PRAY. But in the past ten years, you found yourself finding relief in prayer. It reminds you of your mother’s piety, of your father’s mumbling whispers to the gods, your brothers and sisters sitting beside you.

You haven’t seen them in ten years. But you wish they were well. And even if you don’t see them anymore, this gives you relief.

You knelt in the inner sanctum of the temple, bowing your head in prayer before the statue of Bishamon. Your lips moved silently, asking for a clear mind, but no matter how hard you prayed, you could not banish the thought from your head—Hironobu, your loyal gardener, had confessed his love to you.

It had taken you by surprise. You were Sukuna's concubine. You could not be with Hironobu. And yet, he made you happy in a way you hadn’t known was possible, and your heart was torn. To tell Sukuna was out of the question. If he knew, he could kill Hironobu without hesitation. You shivered at the thought.

The flickering light from the temple’s lanterns cast shadows on the walls, their soft glow doing little to soothe the turmoil raging inside you. How could something so pure—a love untainted by power and possession—be so wrong? How could you feel joy when the very thought of it put Hironobu’s life in peril?

Your mind returned to that moment, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke his feelings, the tenderness in his voice. He had always been gentle, always there with a quiet presence, nurturing the garden you so often found peace in. And now, he wants to nurture you. But you were Sukuna’s, bound to him by fear and something you could never quite define as love. Duty, perhaps. A twisted form of devotion. But love? That was not something you could claim to feel for the man who held you in his iron grip.

A soft breeze swept through the temple, brushing against your skin like a whisper, and you closed your eyes, imagining for a moment what life might be like if things were different. If you could run. If you could be free. But such thoughts were dangerous, reckless even, and you knew you would never act on them.

Just then, you heard footsteps behind you, a familiar presence that made your breath catch. Sukuna.

"I didn’t know you prayed," his voice cut through the silence like a blade, deep and commanding, bringing you back to the harsh reality of your situation.

Your heart raced as you slowly rose from your knees, turning to face him. He stood in the dim light, towering over you as always, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

"I did not take you for a pious woman," Sukuna continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing you.

"Piety is a comfort, my lord," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. "It eases the soul to have someone that listens."

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the statue of Bishamon for a moment before returning to you. "Hm," he muttered, unimpressed, though his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. "Then do you pray to me?"

You blinked, taken aback by the question. "What do you mean, my lord?"

Sukuna stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and intense. "Am I not a god?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous. "Your god?"

For a moment, your breath faltered, but then you gathered yourself. You had to be careful. You had to choose your words wisely. A soft, almost bitter smile tugged at your lips. "My lord," you whispered, meeting his gaze with a quiet defiance, "do I not worship you already? Does my entire existence, my suffering, my love for you—" your voice grew quieter, but sharper, "—is it not enough worship for you as my god?"

Sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, and for the first time in your life, you saw something close to uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

But you did not feel victorious. You felt hollow. Because no matter what you said, no matter how sharp your words were, you were still bound to him. Still trapped.

And Hironobu? He would never be yours.

The silence between you and Sukuna stretched on, thick with tension. His gaze remained locked on you, unyielding, as though searching for something deeper within you—some trace of weakness, some sign of betrayal. But you stood tall, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t let him see your turmoil, couldn’t let him suspect that anyone had stirred your heart, least of all someone as lowly as a gardener.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, though there was no amusement in his eyes. “Careful with your tongue, woman,” he said softly, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “There are limits to even my patience.”

You bowed your head slightly, a gesture of submission. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me if my words displeased you.”

He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing through your very soul, before turning away, his crimson robes trailing behind him as he walked toward the temple’s entrance. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, thinking he was leaving, that the conversation had come to an end.

But then he stopped.

“You seem… distant, little one.” Sukuna remarked, his voice casual but laced with suspicion. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could feel his eyes on you, even without seeing them. ��Something troubles you.”

Your heart froze. Did he know? Could he sense the conflict within you?

“No, my lord.” you replied quickly, too quickly, the lie on your lips before you could think. “I am merely tired.”

“Tired? This does not seem to be you, little one.” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the way his eyes bore into yours made your pulse quicken. “I don’t believe you.”

Your throat tightened as you scrambled for something, anything, to say. “I—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna took a step closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin with a roughness that made you wince, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I am not someone who tolerates deceit, little one.” he growled, his face mere inches from yours. “If something weighs on your mind, you will tell me. Now.”

The air around you felt suffocating, your mind racing with thoughts of Hironobu. You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The truth would mean death—for Hironobu, perhaps for you as well. But Sukuna’s grip tightened, his impatience growing, and you knew you had to give him something.

“I am troubled, my lord. you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “But it is not something that concerns you, my lord.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still suspicious. “Everything about you concerns me. You belong to me.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “It is only… the weight of my life, my place here. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your chin loosening slightly. “Your place is exactly where I put you, little one.” he said coldly, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that made your skin crawl. “Do not forget that.”

“I haven’t, my lord. You must not have to worry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

For a moment, he seemed to study you, searching your face for signs of rebellion, of disobedience. But then, slowly, he released you, taking a step back. You wonder if it was relief or it was disappointment you truly feel — knowing that he does not ask, that he lets you go. You purse your lips in a tight line. But you know that he does not wish to notice it. 

“Good.” he muttered, turning away once more. “Do not forget who holds your life in their hands.”

With that, he strode toward the exit, his presence leaving the room like a dark cloud finally lifting. You stood there, frozen, the echoes of his words reverberating through your mind. He didn’t know. Not yet.

But how long could you keep this secret? How long before Sukuna’s suspicions became too great, before he began digging for the truth? You had already slipped too close to the edge today, and it terrified you to think of how much closer you might come tomorrow.

And Hironobu… how could you ever look at him again, knowing the danger your feelings for him brought? Knowing that Sukuna’s wrath could fall upon him at any moment?

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not in Sukuna’s world. But in the quiet recesses of your heart, where Sukuna could not reach, the thought of Hironobu lingered—like a fleeting ray of light in a dark, unyielding storm.

══════════════════

YOU HAD EXCUSED YOURSELF FROM DINNER EARLY. And you could not take too much food when you were in Sukuna’s chambers. That had concerned Sukuna, even if he did not want to show it. You were a human being after all. And if anything was wrong with you, it concerns Sukuna. You were his. You were a part of him.

And if a part of him was unwell, he must ensure its settled. Ryomen Sukuna had not meant to stay long when he visited Vermillion hall, your residence. He had come for something trivial, something that now seemed insignificant as his eyes fell upon you.

He stood in the shadows, watching from a distance, concealed by the thick trees lining the garden. You didn’t notice him; your attention was entirely on that servant, that Hironobu. He could feel the air punched out of his chest.

The way you smiled at him, laughed softly at something he said—it was a smile Sukuna had never seen on your face before. Genuine, unguarded, free. Happy. In the truest sense. 

That wretched low life Hironobu knelt beside you, tending to the flowers, his hands moving carefully as he spoke to you. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. No, Sukuna could understand it. It was the tenderness he had when he looked at Hiromi. He looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.It was love. It was adoration. It was devotion. Sukuna’s chest tightened painfully, and his fists clenched at his sides.

What was this feeling? A tug, something sharp and bitter gnawing at him, growing stronger the longer he watched you with Hironobu. He wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost foreign sensation. He knew anger, jealousy, possession. But this… this felt different. More unsettling

He wonders now, if he’s ever seen that smile on your face when you look at him. If you’ve ever truly been happy in the grace of his existence. But somehow, within the depths of what remains in his heart, there was pain. There was jealousy. There was anguish. There was grief. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he felt like this. His heart had long died. Died with his beloved Hiromi and yet….

His face contorted into a scowl, his jaw tightening. He turned sharply on his heel, his robes whipping through the air as he left without a word. The sight of you with Hironobu left an acid taste in his mouth, and though he hated to admit it, it bothered him in a way he could not explain.

That next morning, he summoned you to break his fast with him—even rarer than supping with him.

When you arrived, the room was dimly lit from the shading silk, the atmosphere thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Ryomen Sukuna sat at the head of the long table, his scarlet eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

You felt a cold knot in your stomach as you approached him, the air between you tense and charged. You were not hungry. You could not feel any pleasure knowing that he was staring at you that way.

“My lord, I greet you with fervent devotion.” you said softly, bowing slightly before taking your place at the table. He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze that always made you feel exposed.

The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy, before he finally spoke. “I visited Vermillion Hall last night.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he said it, the deliberate pause—it sent a wave of dread washing over you. “I… I was unaware of your visit, my lord.” you replied carefully, trying to keep your voice steady. “You must forgive me if I had not noticed.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Clearly.”

You shifted in your seat, sensing the trap closing in around you. There was a tension in Sukuna that you had rarely seen, something simmering beneath the surface. You remained in your position, feeling a bile stuck on the edge of your throat.

You could feel the sweat fervent on your palm as you gripped your kimono tenderly, hoping he would not notice the tension and fear in you.

“I saw you, little one.” he continued, his tone low and almost too calm. “With that lowly thief of a servant...what was his name....ah yes, Hironobu.”

Your blood ran cold at his words.

You knew what your husband was like.

You had made a mistake, you knew that well.

“I saw how happy you were with him, little one.” Sukuna said, his voice tightening ever so slightly, though his expression remained controlled. “Smiling, laughing, as if there were no worries in the world. It’s a wonder I’ve never seen you look that way with me.”

His words stung, even though you knew better than to show it. You lowered your gaze, knowing you were walking a very fine line. You knew him too well. He considered you a part of him, the god he is.

And everything, it has to be about him. Your existence was taught to worship him. Loving him was the law, even if he would not give it back. And you could not have the same, you know that. 

“I—he was simply tending to the garden, my lord. We merely… spoke as we often do. It was a mere passing laugh and enjoyment.”

“Is that all?” Sukuna asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Because from where I stood, it seemed more than that, little one.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you clenched them under the table. You couldn’t lie, not to him. But the truth—how could you explain the way you felt with Hironobu without damaging yourself?

“My lord, I beg for your understanding.” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Hironobu is kind and loyal to me, to you. He tends to the garden and offers his company when I walk, to ensure that he could care for you in caring for me. Nothing more, my lord.”

Sukuna’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. “Kindness?” he sneered, leaning back in his chair. “Is that what makes you smile like that? Is that what makes you laugh so freely? How easy are you, little one? Do you offer such a thing to everyone, is it necessary, little one?”

“My lord—”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his voice cut through the air again, sharper this time. “Do you think I am blind? That I cannot see what’s happening under my own roof?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, meeting his furious gaze. He wasn’t just angry. No, there was something deeper, something more dangerous. Hurt. Betrayal. You wonder why he feels this way. He had it clear even ten years ago that his heart had died. And that he was a god.

Because how could that be? Ryomen Sukuna was not someone to feel such things, to be vulnerable to them. And yet, as he stared at you, the fury in his scarlet eyes was laced with something raw.

“Answer me, little one.” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Is he more to you than just a gardener?”

The truth was clawing at your throat, begging to be let out, but you knew what it would mean. Hironobu would die. Sukuna would never allow it, would never tolerate even the hint of disobedience or disloyalty from you. And yet… Could you lie to him again?

“My lord,he is nothing but a servant tied to me to grace your glory.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You know…you know I would never betray you, my lord.”

He watched you for a moment. It was then where Sukuna stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose to his full, imposing height. He stalked toward you, his scarlet eyes blazing, and you felt a cold sweat break across your skin.

“If I find out otherwise, little one.” he growled, his hand grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Hironobu’s kindness won’t be enough to save him. And you—” his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “—you will know exactly what it means to displease me. You know me the best out of those fools in the concubine hall, do you not? You must know what I am willing to do.”

His grip on your chin tightened for a moment before he let you go, leaving you breathless, terrified, and more trapped than ever. You tried to calm yourself, you know you cannot show more. You cannot appear weak, not like this.

Sukuna’s wrath hung over you like a storm, and as he turned and walked away, you were left with the suffocating knowledge that your secret was on the verge of unraveling.

As Sukuna stormed out of the room, the sliding door nearly breaking along the path he left behind him, you remained frozen in your seat. The air was thick with his lingering presence, the scent of incense mixing with the oppressive tension that still hung over you. Your hands, resting in your lap, trembled uncontrollably. You felt the weight of Sukuna’s warning, his threat echoing in your mind.

Hironobu.

The thought of him twisted your heart painfully. You had always known the danger that came with even the slightest hint of affection for another man, but Sukuna had never been this close to the truth before. His suspicion was like a sword dangling over both your heads, ready to strike at any moment.

You rose from the table slowly, your legs unsteady beneath you. The silence of the grand dining hall was suffocating, every step you took feeling heavier than the last. You could barely think, barely breathe. All you could do was replay Sukuna’s words in your mind. The anger, the possessiveness—and something else. The hurt.

Could it be that Sukuna, the mighty king of curses, had actually been wounded by what he saw? You had always believed that you were just another possession to him, another piece in his vast collection of power and control. But tonight, there had been something deeper in his voice, something almost vulnerable.

And that terrified you even more.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, you collapsed onto the bed, your body trembling from the weight of the evening. Your heart raced as you tried to steady your breath, but it was no use. Every time you close your eyes, you see Hironobu’s face, his warm, gentle smile—and Sukuna’s cold, furious gaze.

What were you going to do? You couldn’t abandon Hironobu. The thought of him being killed because of you, because of a love you couldn’t deny, was unbearable. And yet, if Sukuna found out, there would be no mercy. Not for either of you.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly sat up, brushing away the stray tears that had escaped. “You may enter.” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

The door creaked open, and to your surprise, it was Hironobu who stepped inside. His expression was calm, as it always was, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. Tension passes through you as much as fear does. You cover yourself with the blankets, as though to shield you from the vulnerability you feel for him.

“You shouldn’t be here, Hironobu.” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “It is not allowed. This is not…..It’s too dangerous.”

“I know, my lady.” Hironobu replied quietly, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “But I had to see you. I heard that lord Sukuna summoned you and everyone was whispering about him. He was mad, and I was worried that he could harm you, my lady.”

You looked into his eyes, the warmth and sincerity in them a stark contrast to the cold, terrifying presence of Sukuna. For a brief moment, being with Hironobu felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. But the danger was too real, too imminent.

“My lord will not hurt me. You must know this.” You wonder if you were saying the right words. Ryomen Sukuna has hurt you. He always has, even if he does not lay a hand on you. “You must trust that.”

“My lady, still—”

“Hironobu.” you began, your voice breaking slightly. “Lord Sukuna saw us in the garden the other day.”

Hironobu’s face paled, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “What did my lord say?”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. “He’s warned me. He said he saw how happy I was with you, how I smiled while we gardened today. He asked if you were more than just a gardener and servant to me.”

Hironobu’s hand tightened around yours. “And what did you tell him, my lady?”

“I told him I would never betray him. That we are only enjoying the garden together.” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay to keep you safe. He’s watching us, Hironobu. I do not want him to hurt you, over your kindness and friendship and I fear for you—”

“I won’t let him hurt you, my lady.” Hironobu interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ll leave if I have to. I won’t risk your life.”

“No, no.” you said quickly, gripping his hand tighter. “You can’t leave. That would only make him more suspicious. You are bound to me as a servant. My lord will be suspicious.”

Tears finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, but Hironobu cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks softly. “We’ll figure this out, my lady. Do not be afraid.” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “We have to be careful, even in our friendship, but I won’t let him take you away from me.”

The intensity of his words made your heart ache, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, to forget the danger, if only for a fleeting second. Being with Hironobu felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could be free from Sukuna’s suffocating grip.

But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you knew it couldn’t last. Ryomen Sukuna’s shadow loomed over everything, and no matter how careful you were, it was only a matter of time before he would find out the truth. One way or another, even if you had rejected Hironobu, Sukuna will end up being angry. And he would kill him. He would kill him and that would break you.

“I’m afraid, Hironobu.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Not having a life of my own.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, my lady.” he murmured. “We’ll find a way, even if it means we have to run.”

You shook your head slightly. “He would find us. You know he would.”

Hironobu didn’t argue. He knew the truth as well as you did. Ryomen Sukuna’s reach was vast, his power unmatched. There was no escaping him, not really.

But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, with Hironobu beside you, you allowed yourself to cling to the hope that somehow, some way, you could protect the fragile love you had found. Even if the world around you was crumbling.

The door creaked again, but before you could react, a cold voice sliced through the air.

“I told you, little one.” Sukuna’s voice was low, deadly, as he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes burning with fury, “there are limits to my patience.”

Your heart stopped.

You felt frozen in place.

He had seen everything.

The room felt as though it had been plunged into icy darkness the moment Sukuna stepped forward. His presence filled the air, suffocating, his crimson gaze searing into both you and Hironobu. The warmth you had felt moments before vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing dread that clawed at your throat.

You stood up quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. "My lord—"

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to you, and the fury in them made your blood run cold. His face was a mask of controlled rage, but there was a darkness beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

“I warned you, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word like a blade slicing through the air. His attention shifted to Hironobu, who had risen to his feet but made no move to defend himself. There was a strange calm in Hironobu’s expression, but you could see the tension in his body, the readiness for whatever was to come.

“My lord, please.” you begged, stepping forward, your voice trembling. “Please don’t hurt him. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s eyes snapped back to you, narrowing. “Do you think your pleas mean anything to me now?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You’ve lied to me. You betrayed me. And for what? A mere gardener?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to keep speaking even though your heart was breaking with fear. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything wrong, my lord. This is my fault.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Your fault? Oh, I know it’s your fault. You allowed this to happen. You let him think he could take what is mine.”

Your breath hitched. The possessiveness in the god Ryomen Sukuna echoed in his voice was suffocating, and you knew he was on the edge of doing something irreversible. Desperation clawed at you as you stepped closer, falling to your knees before him.

“Please, my lord. Please. This is not….” you whispered, bowing your head, your hands trembling as you reached out, barely daring to touch the hem of his robe. “I beg you—don’t hurt him. He… he only cares for me. It’s not his fault.”

Sukuna stared down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence—an unbearable, suffocating silence that made your chest tighten with fear. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, terrified of what you might see in his eyes.

“I should kill him where he stands,little one.” Sukuna said softly, though his voice was filled with venom. “I should make you watch as I tear him apart, so you understand the price of defiance.”

You gasped, your heart shattering at the thought. “No! Please, my lord, no!”

But before you could continue, Sukuna moved faster than you could react, his hand shooting out and grabbing Hironobu by the throat. The sound of Hironobu’s breath choking in his lungs was like a knife to your heart.

“My lord, please. Please, please—Sukuna!” you screamed, rushing to your feet, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “Please, no! I’ll do anything—anything! Just don’t kill him!”

Sukuna’s grip tightened, his gaze never leaving Hironobu’s face. “Anything?” he repeated, his voice cold and mocking. “What makes you think you have anything left to offer me, after this?”

Tears streamed down your face as you fell to your knees once more, your voice breaking. “I’ll take whatever you impose upon me, my lord—I’ll never speak to him again! Or any one else I swear to you, my lord! Just… please, don’t take his life. It’s my fault. I should have known better. I’ll do anything you ask, my lord. Just spare his life. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s grip on Hironobu’s throat loosened slightly, but his eyes remained locked on you, watching your every movement, every tear that fell from your eyes. His lips curled into a cruel smile, but there was no warmth, no mercy in it. He was enjoying this, owning you.

“Is that what you think will save him?” Sukuna asked, his tone soft, dangerous. “Your submission? Your devotion? Little one, I own you. I do not give your submission. You give it willingly. You know that.”

You nodded frantically, your voice a desperate whisper. “Yes… yes, my lord. But I swear to you. I swear, my lord. I’ll submit to you in every way. I won’t resist, I won’t fight. I would continue to be devoted to you, only you.  Just spare him, please.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze flickered between you and Hironobu, his hand still wrapped around the gardener’s throat. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could barely breathe as you waited for his decision. You feel like you were going to collapse, as you stopped breathing waiting for him to say anything.

For what felt like an eternity, Sukuna said nothing. The silence was deafening, the weight of his power crushing you under its force. You knew that he could kill Hironobu in an instant, with a single flick of his hand. And yet… there was something holding him back.

Finally, Sukuna’s fingers released their hold on Hironobu, and he stepped back, letting the man fall to his knees, gasping for breath. But the danger hadn’t passed. Sukuna’s gaze was still fixed on you, dark and dangerous.

“Get out of my sight.” Sukuna snarled at Hironobu. “If I see you near her again, I’ll tear you apart without hesitation. And there will be no more mercy.”

Hironobu, though clearly shaken, managed to stand, casting a glance at you, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. You gave him a small, trembling nod, urging him to leave while he still could. Without a word, he turned and disappeared through the door.

The moment he was gone, Ryomen Sukuna’s attention snapped back to you, and the full weight of his fury descended upon you.

“Don’t think for a moment that this is over, little one.” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You think I’ll just forget this? That I’ll let you off with a warning?”

You looked up at him, your body trembling. “I know… I know you won’t, my lord.” you whispered. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit. Just… please…”

“Please?” he mocked, leaning down so that his face was level with yours. “You think you can still make requests of me after what I saw today?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I beg your mercy.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he reached out, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. “Mercy, huh.” he repeated, his voice soft, but laced with malice. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying me?”

You shook your head slightly, tears still streaming down your face. “No… I don’t. But Hironobu—he didn’t deserve to die for my mistake.”

For a moment, Sukuna simply stared at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and something darker, something possessive. Then, he released you, standing up straight once more.

“You will never see him again. Never again. And not anyone.” he ordered coldly. “You will stay at my side when asked where you belong. Know your place. And if you ever defy me again, I won’t hesitate to kill him—and you.”

You nodded, your heart breaking as you whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HADN’T TALKED IN A WHILE. Somehow you think you had forgotten what your voice sounds like. Silence has embraced you, as much as the darkness of the once vibrant Vermillion hall.

After that fateful night, everything changed. You isolated yourself in your chambers, the once-vibrant world of your garden now forbidden territory. Hironobu had vanished, leaving only a painful absence that lingered like a wound that refused to heal. 

And there were whispers from the other halls of the temple that Ryomen Sukuna had killed him. You had expected it more or less. But it did not make it any easier. You wept in the silence of your halls.

And you had refused to eat, refused to change your clothes or wash yourself. Days blurred into one another, and the weight of your choices crushed you beneath their unbearable load.

Sukuna did not come to you. He did not summon you to his side. For a time, it felt as though you had become invisible to him, a ghost haunting the halls of the palace. At first, the silence seemed like a blessing; a reprieve from his suffocating presence, from his cruel words and piercing gaze. But as the days wore on, it began to gnaw at you. The solitude was maddening.

The garden that had once been your sanctuary became an unbearable reminder of what you had lost. You couldn’t bear to see the flowers Hironobu had so lovingly tended, the very space where you had felt fleeting moments of happiness. The very thought of stepping outside filled you with dread. You had no desire to face the world, not like this, not without him.

You were trapped—trapped between the suffocating control of Sukuna and the hollow, aching void left by Hironobu’s absence. Every breath you took felt heavier than the last, until even breathing felt like a burden you could no longer bear.

For a time, you thought it would be better to die.

The thought came slowly at first, creeping in like a shadow at the edge of your mind. But the more you dwelled in your isolation, the more it seemed like a mercy—a release from the endless torment of your existence. You had lost everything that mattered. The love you had found with Hironobu was gone, stolen from you by Sukuna’s wrath. And Ryomen Sukuna… he had broken you. His control, his possessiveness, his cruelty had shattered whatever was left of your spirit.

One night, the darkness in your mind swallowed you whole, and you couldn’t fight it any longer.

You had waited until the moon was high, the Vermillion Hall silent. You like to think that Sukuna had ordered everyone to leave you to your loneliness. But it was too late at night. No one came to your chambers anymore. No one would stop you. With shaking hands, you found a length of silk, soft and delicate, and tied it to the ceiling beam. 

The precious gold and vermillion silk had been a gift from Ryomen Sukuna long ago. It was the very name of the hall he had gifted you. One of the hardest silks to find and make. It was a symbol of his wealth, his power. And he gifted it to you, a small echo of ownership to you. How ironic, you thought, that it would be the instrument of your final escape.

Tears blurred your vision as you fashioned the knot, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You stood on the edge, your heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, you hesitated. But the pain in your heart, the unbearable ache of everything you had lost, pushed you forward.

In the cold stillness of that moment, you stepped off the edge.

You woke in a haze, your body weak and aching, the dim light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You weren’t dead. Somehow, impossibly, you were still here. Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to move, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat raw.

And then you saw him.

You weren’t sure the first time.

But you let yourself look again.

Ryomen Sukuna was sitting beside your bed, his presence unmistakable even in the pale morning light. His expression was unreadable, his dark crimson eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You couldn’t speak well anyway. Your throat hurts.

You had never seen him like this before—silent, unmoving, almost still as a statue. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the dark bruises around your neck, the evidence of your desperate attempt to escape.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned your head away from him, shame and sorrow overwhelming you. You force yourself to speak, even if it hurts. “Because… I can’t live like this anymore, my lord.” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’ve lost everything.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something passing over his face. “Everything? Do you think I would allow you to take your life without my permission?”

A pained bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it hurt to do so. “I can’t even die on my own terms?”

Sukuna leaned forward, his hand gripping the edge of the bed with barely controlled rage. “You think death would be an escape from me?” he hissed. “You belong to me, even in death, little one. Running away, it will not save you from me.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I belong to no one!” you cried, the words tumbling out in a flood of pain. “Not anymore. Not after what you’ve taken from me.”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his expression dark and unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened, though it remained cold. “You’re a fool.”

You turned to face him, your eyes red and swollen. “Why? Because I dared to want something else? Because I dared to love someone else? Even as a friend? My lord, I suffered for your sake. Being devoted to you like it is a law. It was…it was just a friend. A friend. And I cannot even have them. What am I to you, my lord? More than…more than someone who suffers worshiping you.”

He stared at you, his gaze penetrating, but he didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against the bruised skin of your neck, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away. There was a strange, almost possessive tenderness in his touch.

“You think this makes you free?” Sukuna murmured, his voice low. “You’re more mine now than you ever were before, little one.”

You shuddered, his words striking deep. “Why?” you whispered, barely able to hold back the sob in your throat. “Why do you care?”

Sukuna’s eyes burned with an intensity that made you tremble. “Because you’re mine, little one.” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And I do not let go of what is mine so easily.”

There was no warmth in his words, no comfort. But for the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. You swallowed hard, your throat aching from both the bruises and the tears. 

“Then why did you come?”

Sukuna’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something like regret, though he would never admit it. You know that too well. Ten years of marriage to this cruel soul, this cursed man turned god — you would never hear those words of comfort. Not even if you asked.

“Because I won’t let you die, little one.” he said, his voice steady but quieter than you had ever heard it. “Not like this.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with too many conflicting emotions to name. In that moment, you realized something. You were trapped, not just by Sukuna’s power, but by the strange, twisted bond that tied you to him. He would never let you go. Not in life, not in death.

And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

══════════════════

YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HIM. You weren’t fully recovered from your injuries just yet, but the healers had let you return to your daily life. You had just finished attending to your lord Sukuna in the audience hall. You stopped as he appeared before you, as you changed into more leisure clothing. 

And you were unsure what he was saying to you. But the weight of Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, his gaze as piercing as ever as he stood before you, his expression unreadable. He was not giving you anything, but orders. And you’re curious. As much as you were surprised. 

“You will take care of the child, little one.” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Your breath caught in your throat. “A child? I know nothing about children, my lord.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of amusement in the corner of his lips. “You will learn.”

For a moment, you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of the usual cruelty, but there was something different this time. This wasn’t a command born purely from spite or possessiveness. It felt heavier, more deliberate, as if he had considered this for a long time. You felt the familiar helplessness rise within you, the sense that you were powerless to refuse him.

“I… I will do as you ask, my lord.” you whispered, defeated. The words felt hollow, but they were the only ones you could manage. Sukuna merely nodded, his expression hard, before turning and leaving the room.

Days passed, and the dread settled deep in your bones as you waited for the child to arrive. You didn’t know what to expect, but Sukuna’s commands were absolute. There was no running from this.

And then, one morning, the child was brought to your chambers.

You stood at the door, frozen, as the small figure stepped forward. Your breath hitched in your chest as you looked down at the little girl before you. Her features were delicate, her long hair falling softly over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, but there was something far older in her gaze.

The child looked up at you, her eyes startlingly familiar—crimson, like Sukuna’s. They stared into you with a haunting intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But it wasn’t just Sukuna’s eyes that made you pause. No, there was something else, something that chilled you to your core.

The girl’s face, though youthful and innocent, bore the unmistakable likeness of someone you thought you’d never see again.

Ryomen Hiromi.

Your heart clenched painfully, and the room seemed to spin for a moment. It was impossible, and yet… the girl standing before you had Hiromi’s face—her soft features, her kind eyes, but mixed with the piercing gaze of Sukuna. You’ve seen enough of her statues all around the temple palace that you’re too certain. 

You swallowed hard, struggling to comprehend what you were seeing. Your chest felt tight as memories of Hiromi flooded your mind, of the woman you had once known, the one who had been so important to Sukuna.

Ryomen Sukuna entered the room behind the child, his presence like a storm cloud looming over you both. He regarded you with cold detachment, though there was something in his gaze that suggested this was not a simple matter for him either.

“This child…..” Sukuna began, his voice calm but commanding. “is Hiromi’s daughter. The child she lost long ago.”

You stared at him, shock rippling through you. “Hiromi’s… child?”

Sukuna nodded. “I found her soul.” he explained, his voice low and steady. “It was not easy, but with the help of a… trusted friend, I was able to bring her back. Her body grew anew, and now, she is here. Alive. For me to keep, as her father.”

Your mind raced, struggling to grasp what he was saying. Sukuna had brought the child back from the dead—had found her soul and, through some dark means, restored her. And now, this little girl, this child with Sukuna’s eyes and Hiromi’s face, stood before you. 

And to be her father? Not only that, but to force you to be a mother. To raise her, knowing how much the ghost of her mother haunts you already. You do not know what to do. You could feel your lips still reflect a gaping hole, wide open in shock.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why have you given her to me? Her mother’s kin still lives, my lord. Would they not want to know—”

Sukuna’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It does not matter what they want. You will raise her, little one.” he said simply. “You will care for her as if she were your own.”

You took a step back, overwhelmed by the weight of his demand. “But I don’t know how to care for a child, my lord I—”

“You will learn. You are not half–witted, aren’t you?” Sukuna interrupted, his voice sharp. “There is no other choice. I have willed it. And you shall follow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to argue, to refuse, but you knew it was futile. There was no escaping Sukuna’s will. He had given you this child, and there was no turning back now.

The girl stood quietly between the two of you, her small hands clasped in front of her, watching the exchange with an unnerving calmness for someone her age. Her eyes—her father’s eyes—bore into you, as if she already knew more than you did, as if she carried the weight of her past life with her. Her mother’s face haunted you already. Why? Why must you be haunted like this?

“This was Hiromi’s child. And I cherish her.” Sukuna said again, more softly this time, as if the words held a deeper significance for him. “Now, she is mine. Mine own daughter. You will raise her for me.”

You could only nod, the enormity of it all crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Sukuna’s presence was suffocating, but the child’s gaze was what unsettled you the most. It was as if Hiromi’s spirit lingered within her, a ghostly reminder of the life Sukuna had shared with her, of a woman who had meant more to him than perhaps you ever could.

And now, you were tasked with caring for the last piece of Hiromi that remained in this world—a child born from tragedy, resurrected by Sukuna’s dark power.

“What is her name?”

He stops for a moment.

“Chiharu.” He says in response. “Ryomen Chiharu.”

“Very well, my lord. I will… do as you ask, my lord. I shall care for your child.” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked down at the little girl. She met your gaze with those unnerving eyes, and you felt a strange chill creep up your spine.

Sukuna lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between you and the child before turning to leave. As he walked away, his parting words echoed in your mind.

“Do not fail me in this.”

Days turned into weeks as you adjusted to the new rhythm of life with Chiharu, the little girl now under your care. At first, it felt surreal to be responsible for someone so precious yet so fragile, a living reminder of a past life you could barely comprehend. But as time passed, the weight of your circumstances began to feel lighter, replaced by a sense of purpose you hadn’t expected to find.

Young Chiharu was a curious child, with a spirit that seemed undaunted by the complexities of her existence. She often wandered the halls of the palace, her footsteps soft against the cold stone floors, exploring every corner with wide-eyed wonder. It was in those moments that you found yourself drawn to her, your heart softening as she chartered away, her laughter ringing like music in the otherwise somber atmosphere of the palace.

Every evening, you would sit together in the garden in the Vermillion hall—the one place you had once avoided. Underneath the lush foliage, you would share stories, and slowly, you learned more about her.

Chiharu would speak of her dreams, her favorite flowers, and the little things that made her smile. She spoke of animals she wished to have, tales she had heard of distant lands, and the kindness she hoped to find in a world that had been cruel to her before.

As you listened to her, you found yourself revealing bits of your own life, your own fears and desires. With each passing day, the bond between you grew stronger, entwining like the vines in the garden. You shared laughter and quiet moments, and you began to feel a warmth blossom in your heart—a sense of family you had thought lost to you forever.

It was during one of these serene afternoons that Chiharu turned to you, her bright scarlet eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Mama.” she said softly, her small hand reaching for yours. 

The word felt foreign, yet sweet on her lips. Her mother was someone that she will never get to know again. You knew were not her mother, you knew that too well. But you felt a swell of warmth in your chest at the sound, as if she had bridged a gap that had long remained unfilled. You were not born to be a mother, you knew you would never be one. And yet, in her eyes — you were. You were born to be her mother.

“Yes, my sweet little flower?” you replied, your heart fluttering at the connection that had formed between you.

“Why did lord Sukuna name me Chiharu?” she asked, her gaze steady and curious.

You paused, contemplating how to answer her question. “Chiharu means a thousand springs, little flower.” you explained gently. “It’s a beautiful name, one that speaks of new beginnings, renewal, and growth.”

The little girl tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “But why did he choose that name for me?”

Your heart ached at the thought of Sukuna’s motivations. “I believe he saw something special in you. Perhaps he wanted to honor your connection to your past, to lady Hiromi. You are her child, Chiharu. And in a way, you are also a part of your lord father.”

“But you are my mother.” You hear little Chiharu whisper. 

You did not know what to say. 

You try to recover from her words.

You smile, for her sake, you think.

But you smiled for your sake too.

“We are both your mother.” You whispered back to her, putting her stray hair against the back of her ear. “But I am the one here at this moment, little flower.”

You watch her eyes brighten at the thought. “Truly?”

“Truly.” You smiled wider at her.

“What about my father?”

“Hm, what about my lord, little flower?”

Chiharu’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he loves me?”

The question caught you off guard. “I know he cares for you. That’s what I believe. In his own way, he has love.” But none for me.

Her small face lit up with a smile, though it was tinged with innocence and uncertainty. “I want to make him proud.”

A lump formed in your throat at her words. “You already make me proud, sweet flower. And that is what matters most.”

The connection between you and the young girl continued to deepen, woven through shared moments and quiet revelations. You discovered that Chiharu had a talent for painting, her little hands creating vibrant images that brought life to the entirety of the Vermillion hall. And you could not help but find joy in such revelations.

You encouraged her to explore her creativity, and soon, the once-dim walls of your home were adorned with her colorful drawings, depicting flowers, animals, and fantastical creatures. Even if the servants were concerned, you waved such words away. The Vermillion hall looked brighter with the scarlet flowers she drew everywhere.

Ryomen Sukuna would occasionally visit, his presence like a thunderstorm that cast shadows over your peaceful existence. When he did, Chiharu would run to him, her bright scarlet eyes sparkling with delight.

Despite the tension that accompanied his visits, you could see that he had a soft spot for her—a fleeting warmth that illuminated his otherwise cold demeanor. He adored this young girl, more than you know. He had given her such warmth more than anyone you had ever seen. 

One evening, as dusk settled over the Vermillion hall, Ryomen Chiharu presented one of her paintings to Sukuna, her little hands trembling with excitement. “Look, lord Sukuna!” she exclaimed, holding up a vibrant depiction of a cherry blossom tree, the one standing in the middle of your never–ending gardens. “It’s for you!”

Sukuna studied the painting, his expression inscrutable, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes. Perhaps pride, perhaps surprise. “You’ve done well, little blossom.” he said, his tone low and steady. “You had captured the lady’s cherry blossom with exquisite likeness.”

The child beamed at his praise, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Do you like it?”

“It is… acceptable, little blossom.” he replied, and though the words were blunt, there was a hint of approval lingering in his gaze. “I am certain that you will make more.”

You had wished that this was your life.

That you live forever in this moment.

But you knew better than to wish for that.

As the night deepened and the shadows in the grand hall stretched longer, Sukuna rose from his seat, his presence overwhelming as always. You called for Chiharu, who hesitated, her tiny face scrunching up in a pout. She clung to you, reluctant to leave, her voice soft, "I don’t want to go. My lord doesn’t come often anymore… I want to tell him about my day."

You knelt down, brushing your fingers through her hair and smiling gently. "He’ll come tomorrow, just like he promised, little flower." you reassured her, though a small part of you doubted the certainty in your words. She needed that hope, even if it felt fragile.

With one last glance toward Sukuna, Chiharu allowed herself to be led away by the servants, her footsteps fading down the hall. Silence settled between you and Sukuna, thick and awkward at first. He didn’t look at you immediately, instead gazing out into the night through the open windows, as if lost in thought.

“You take good care of her, little one.” Sukuna finally said, his tone gruff but softer than you expected. It was strange hearing thanks from him—it sounded unnatural coming from the King of Curses, yet there was sincerity in the rough edges of his words. "For that… I thank you."

You blinked, the weight of his gratitude sinking in. It felt strange, almost surreal. Sukuna, of all people, expressing appreciation. You inclined your head, accepting it quietly. "It’s nothing, my lord. She deserves the best care."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time, though. Instead, it felt like a mutual acknowledgment of the one thing you shared—a fondness for Chiharu.

You’ll never love me. you thought, the truth of it sitting heavy in your heart. But you didn’t need to say it aloud. You already knew. Still, the small moments like these, where his walls slipped just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more, were what you held onto. You treasured whatever you could get, however fleeting.

Sukuna’s gaze finally met yours. It was sharp, piercing as always, but there was something softer lingering beneath his usual coldness. "I’ll come tomorrow. Like I promised."

And for tonight, that was enough.

After he departed, you drank a little. 

It was better to mourn what could not be early.

When Chiharu returned, well bathed and dressed for the night, the two of you sat together beneath the cherry blossom tree in the garden. She had to dry her hair before she could get some rest. Her small hands clutching the other painting she had made tightly. 

“Do you think he really liked it?” she asked, her voice soft.

You smiled gently at her, cupping her face in your hands. “I believe he did. He may not show it, but he cares for you in his own way. You are a light in his life, little flower.”

Her eyes sparkled with hope, and for a moment, you felt a sense of unity in your small family, a connection that defied the darkness surrounding you.

As the petals fell around you like confetti, you realized that despite the chaos of your circumstances, you had created a sanctuary for both yourself and Chiharu—one filled with laughter, art, and the promise of new beginnings.

And in those moments, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a piece of happiness amidst the shadows.

══════════════════

IT WAS JUST ANOTHER NIGHT. But it was still something that caused you grievance. As night fell and the palace was shrouded in silence, you found yourself restless, wandering the dimly lit halls, your thoughts heavy with the weight of your circumstances.

Chiharu slept peacefully in her little room, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window, casting soft shadows on her innocent face. You paused to watch her, a smile tugging at your lips, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar ache in your chest.

The truth was inescapable: no matter how much joy Ryomen Chiharu brought into your life, the shadow of Hiromi loomed over you like a specter. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she represented was a constant reminder of your own insignificance in Sukuna's world.

Hiromi had been the one to hold Sukuna's love, the one whose memory seemed to linger in every corner of the palace. She was the woman who had given him a child—a child who was now the light of his life, while you remained in the dark, clinging to scraps of his attention. It was a bitter thought that twisted in your mind, gnawing at your heart.

As you lay in bed, staring up at the intricately woven patterns on the ceiling, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Hiromi. She had everything: his love, his devotion, a child who would carry a piece of her with her always. And what did you have? Nothing but the remnants of Sukuna’s affection, which felt more like an obligation than anything else.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the thoughts that haunted you. But the more you tried, the louder they became. You could still hear the echoes of his voice from earlier, the way he had looked at Chiharu with an intensity that made your heart clench.

He was a monster, but he was her father—someone who had chosen to resurrect her from the depths of despair. He had given her a life filled with warmth, while you were left with the remnants of a hollow existence.

“Hiromi has everything in my lord Sukuna.” you whispered into the darkness, your voice trembling. “A dead woman, and I have nothing.” Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking the fabric of the pillow. “She gave him a child, love, and he keeps it. And nothing of me.”

You couldn’t understand why it hurt so much. You had wanted to be close to Sukuna, to carve out a space in his heart that felt like home, but every time you looked at Chiharu, you were reminded of your failure. You were the one who existed in the shadows, the one who couldn’t compete with the memory of a woman long gone.

You closed your eyes, squeezing out the tears that felt like a dam breaking within you. Each drop felt like a piece of your heart spilling out onto the floor, a tangible reminder of your torment. You were grateful for Chiharu, but the bittersweet reality of your situation consumed you.

After what felt like hours of battling your own thoughts, you finally rose from your bed and made your way to the garden. The night air was cool against your skin, and you could hear the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As you stepped into the moonlight, you were enveloped in a quiet stillness, yet it did little to ease your turmoil.

You found yourself standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals fluttering like whispers in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You remembered how Chiharu’s eyes had sparkled with excitement when she painted that tree, how her laughter had filled the air like music.

But even as you admired its beauty, you couldn’t escape the lingering shadow of Hiromi. “Why do you haunt me?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you gazed up at the stars. “Why can’t I escape your memory?”

You sank to your knees beneath the tree, your fingers brushing against the cool earth. “I don’t want to compete with you.” you whispered, your heart aching with the weight of your confession. “I just want to be enough… for him, for Chiharu.”

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and in that moment, it felt as though the world held its breath. You could almost hear Hiromi’s laughter, see her warm smile—a gentle reminder of the life she had once lived.

A tear rolled down your cheek, and you let it fall, feeling the weight of your grief and jealousy wash over you. You had tried so hard to be strong, to forge a bond with Chiharu, but the reality of your situation loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf you.

As you knelt there, surrounded by the whispers of the night, you could feel Sukuna’s presence looming in the back of your mind. He was a force of nature, a tempest that left destruction in its wake, and you were caught in the storm.

“Will I ever matter to you?” you asked softly, the question lingering in the cool night air. The silence answered you, an empty echo of your unfulfilled desires.

The moonlight bathed the garden in a soft glow, but no matter how beautiful it was, the ache in your heart remained. You rose to your feet, wiping the tears from your face, knowing that you had to keep moving forward—for Chiharu’s sake, if not your own.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and you would face them with the strength you found in your love for the little girl who had unexpectedly entered your life. But tonight, in the shadow of a woman you could never compete with, you allowed yourself to grieve—grieve for what could never be, for the love that felt so far out of reach.

As you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of Hiromi’s legacy still pressed on your heart, but you clung to the hope that perhaps, one day, you could carve your own place in this world—one that belonged to you, and to Chiharu.

══════════════════

YOU WERE EXHAUSTED FROM THE WORK ALL DAY. But as the lord summoned you, you were inclined to attend to him. That is just how it was. It has been two years now, since Hironobu, since Chiharu had come to live with you.

And a lot had since changed with the way you and Sukuna existed together. Perhaps, it is what it is. This is all that is left. You think you would like to be content with that.

The evening was cloaked in a haze of amber light as you and Sukuna sat across from each other in the dimly lit chambers, the air thick with tension. A selection of fine spirits lay on the table between you, remnants of a night that had spiraled into a blur of laughter and inebriation. But the laughter had faded, leaving behind a bitter residue that clung to your heart.

You raise your glass, your hand slightly unsteady as you downed another shot, the liquid fire coursing down your throat. It was supposed to be a moment of camaraderie, an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. Instead, it felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustrations that had been building within you.

Sukuna watched you with a bemused expression, but there was a glint in his eyes—something predatory, something that made your heart race. Fueled by the alcohol and the raw emotion coursing through you, you slammed your glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the silence.

"You took everything I have!" you slur drunkenly, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out. "I gave you everything I had, and I am miserable because of it!"

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, the playful smirk slipped from his face, replaced by a flicker of confusion. But you pressed on, the anger and despair and somehow bitter laughter mingling in a toxic blend that fueled your fury.

"You made me miserable with you! The one shot of joy I have in my life—someone who could care for me—and you take him away from me? What have I done to you to make me suffer like this, my lord?"

The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in around you as the weight of your words settled heavily in the air. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, cascading down your cheeks as you fought against the sorrow that threatened to engulf you.

"I regret you, sometimes! Everything of you, I regret!" you cried, the confession tearing from your lips like a wounded animal. A laugh escapes you. “Ah, I am driven mad. I thought….I thought to be content but somehow, I kept thinking and thinking. The questions of what if I had chosen some other path.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your words. You could see the tumult of emotions playing across his face—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. But he didn’t speak, and the silence hung heavy between you.

“You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted to hurt you?”

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “You have no idea what it’s like! To live in the shadow of someone who came before me! To feel like I’m constantly competing with a ghost!”

The bitterness of your words filled the room, and you could see the flicker of something deep within him. A flicker of regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. What could there be left between two people who don’t talk? What could be left between two people who don’t understand each other well, and yet pretend they do?

“You think I don’t suffer too?” he challenged, his voice rising little by little. “You think I don’t care about you?”

You paused, the anger momentarily dissipating as you searched his face for any hint of sincerity. But all you saw was the monster—the god, the force of nature that had swept into your life and turned everything upside down.

“Then why do you make me feel like this?” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the tension. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? With Hironobu… with Chiharu… with anyone?”

A shadow crossed Sukuna’s face, and for a moment, it felt like you had struck a chord. But he quickly masked it, his expression turning cold once more. “Hironobu is nothing to me. He is weak, a distraction.”

“That ‘distraction’ makes me happy!” you yelled, frustration spilling over once more. “He cares for me in a way you never could! He makes me feel like I matter!”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but beneath that facade, you could see the conflict churning. You took a step forward, your heart racing. “I don’t want to be your pawn anymore. I don’t want to be a part of your world if it means losing everything I love!”

The air crackled with tension as the two of you faced each other, the weight of your words hanging between you. And then the dam broke. You collapsed into tears, the alcohol amplifying your emotions as you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. The tears spilled unchecked, your heart breaking under the weight of it all.

“I hate this!” you cried out, your voice muffled by the floor. “I hate feeling like this! I hate you!”

Sukuna stood frozen, a statue of power and control as he watched your breakdown unfold. But as your cries filled the room, something shifted within him.

He took a step closer, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud, and yet, despite the turmoil, you felt a flicker of something more—something like concern.

“Get up, little one.” he commanded softly, his voice low and steady. “You’re stronger than this.”

But you shook your head, your heartache spilling over. “I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to be free.”

There was a moment of silence as you both stood at the edge of a precipice, and for the first time, you could see the weight of your shared pain reflected in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he said finally, the words heavy with unspoken understanding. “You know it well, little one. I will never set you free.”

You didn’t know if he was apologizing for Hiromi, for Hironobu, or for the pain you both carried, but it was a start. You slowly rose to your feet, wiping your tears, though the hurt still lingered in your chest. You think that it doesn’t matter anymore. It never does.

Sukuna stood before you, an imposing figure, but in that moment, you could see the man behind the monster. The flicker of vulnerability lingered in the depths of his gaze, an acknowledgment of the bond that tethered you both to a past neither of you could escape.

“I may never be what you want me to be, little one.” he murmured. “But I won’t take away your happiness again.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity, and for the first time, you felt the hope of a fragile truce forming between you. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless, one that could lead you both out of the darkness and into the light—if only you could find the strength to keep moving forward.

The air was thick with unspoken emotions as you and Sukuna stood facing each other, the weight of your words still hanging heavily in the silence. His gaze bore into yours, a mix of intensity and something softer that made your heart race. You felt as if you were standing on a precipice, caught between the fear of falling and the desire to soar.

“I want to believe you, my lord.” you said quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of emotions still raging within. “But you have to understand… every time you pull me closer, it feels like you’re pushing me away. I can’t live like this—constantly afraid of losing everything.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted, a flicker of regret passing over his features. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he replied, his voice low. “But my world is not kind, and I can’t…..I can’t be what you want me to be. I cannot be kind to you.”

“But that’s just it!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling up once more. “You’re so powerful, yet you let this darkness consume you! You wield it like a weapon, and I’m the one left in the crossfire! Why am I always suffering for your sake?”

He took a step closer, the space between you diminishing as he searched your face for understanding. “I am a monster, little one.” he said, his voice raw. “I have done terrible things—things that haunt me. But I never wanted to drag you into that darkness. You deserve to be happy. But….it is not meant to be. And we are…we are stuck together, whether you like it or not, in this cage.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re the one who keeps me from it?” you challenged, your heart racing. “I’m so tired of living in your shadow, of feeling like a mere afterthought in your life. Every time I see you with Chiharu, it reminds me that I am just a placeholder—a ghost of a memory that doesn’t matter.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you feared you had pushed too far. But then he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you.

“I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “You’ve brought something into my life I never knew I needed. But it terrifies me. And I just….I will not let you go.”

You felt your breath hitch, a rush of emotions swirling within you. “Then show me, my lord.” you pleaded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that I matter to you. Don’t make me feel like I’m just a convenience. I want to be more than that.”

His gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the god before you was just a man—a man struggling with his own demons, much like you. “I don’t know how anymore, little one.” he admitted, vulnerability lacing his words. “But I will try.”

The sincerity in his eyes pierced through the haze of your hurt and resentment. You had spent so long fighting against the current, desperately trying to find your footing in a world that seemed intent on pulling you under. But standing here, facing Sukuna, you realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for something more, something real.

“I’m scared too, my lord.” you confessed, your voice trembling as the weight of your emotions threatened to crush you. “Scared that you’ll change your mind, scared that I’ll lose everything again. Or maybe you would kill me. But I can’t keep hiding from you. I cannot keep finding ways to escape you.”

The sincerity in your admission hung in the air between you, a fragile thread woven from the strands of your broken heart. Sukuna’s expression darkened as he processed your words, his usually confident demeanor faltering just slightly. He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in contemplation. 

“I know that too well, little one.” He brushes your hair away from your face. “I know it all.”

His voice was steady, almost soothing, but the underlying tension crackled like static in the air. You took a deep breath, a sense of resolve building within you. “I want to believe you, my lord.” you said softly, each word laced with the weight of your doubt. “But you know that you are not speaking true… you lie as easily as you breathe.And I drown loving you like its law and hating you for how you taught me to love you.”

The admission feel like a heavy stone between you, and you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps anger. But you didn’t back down. You needed him to hear the truth, the raw, unvarnished reality of your existence.

“It’s as if you’re a tempest.” you continued, your voice rising with the heat of your frustration. “One moment you’re this powerful force, sweeping me off my feet, promising me the world, and the next, I’m left to drown in the chaos you create. You wield your power like a weapon, and I’m the one caught in the crossfire.”

His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal struggle etched on his face. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he said, but the words felt hollow, echoing through the chasm of pain that separated you.

“And yet you’re the architect of my suffering.” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “You brought me into your world. And all I’ve known…is misery. You say you want me by your side, but you torture me. You kill me, everyday.”

The vulnerability in your voice cut through the tension like a blade, and you saw his expression shift. There was something there—something that hinted at the turmoil he carried beneath his godlike exterior. 

“You’re not just a concubine to me.” he said, his tone softer, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. “You mean more than you know.”

“More than what?” you spat, your anger flaring up once more. “More than a passing fancy? A moment of respite from your endless hunger for power? I am not a toy for you to play with, my lord. I’m not just a distraction from your demons, your misery. You want me to believe that I matter. You’re using me to fill the void left by Hiromi.”

The name hung in the air, heavy with the ghosts of the past, and you could see the shift in Sukuna’s expression—a flicker of pain, a crack in his facade. “You don’t understand…” he started, but you cut him off, needing to vent the storm of hurt and betrayal swirling within you.

“Understand what?” you cried, your voice breaking. “That I’m just a shadow in the light of a dead woman? That every moment I spend with you is tainted by her memory? You keep her close, a constant reminder of what I can never be. She gave you a child, love—everything I yearn for from you these past few years but can’t have. I feel like I’m drowning in your past while you expect me to be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you throw my way.”

For a heartbeat, the silence swallowed you both, the air thick with tension and unshed tears. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, a tempest of emotions raging beneath the surface—frustration, desire, regret. “I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, the words almost a whisper.

“And yet you keep pushing me away, my lord.” you shot back, your heart aching with the truth. “You think you can keep me at arm’s length, and I’ll just accept it? You can’t keep pulling me in with one hand while pushing me away with the other. I need to know that I am more than just a fleeting moment for you!”

“I’m trying!” he shouted, his voice rising, but the urgency in it didn’t mask the vulnerability. “You don’t understand the things I’ve done, the things I’m capable of! I’ve been alive for a long time, and you are the first to accept what I am. I am trying to keep you, little one. I need you.”

His raw honesty pierced through the fog of your emotions, and you felt your heart crack a little more. “Let me go, my lord.” you whispered, the weight of your own words settling heavily on your chest. “Let me be free of this burden you’ve placed on me. I want to be happy, but I can’t find that happiness in the shadow of your misery upon me.”

“I can’t.” he replied, desperation lacing his voice. “I won’t. You’re a part of me now, whether you want to be or not.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation sank in. “But I’m not sure I want to be part of this… this nightmare anymore.” you said, your voice breaking. “I’m tired, my lord. Tired of fighting for a love that feels more like a battlefield than a sanctuary.”

With every word, your resolve crumbled a little more, and you felt the exhaustion wash over you like a tide. The weight of your feelings, the burden of past traumas, and the constant strain of navigating the unpredictable depths of your relationship with Sukuna were too much to bear. You wanted to be strong, to stand your ground and fight for something better, but fatigue was clawing at the edges of your consciousness.

You could see the struggle reflected in his eyes—an intense mixture of determination and sorrow. But even in the heat of your argument, you sensed that his heart was also heavy with burdens he carried alone. You took a shaky breath, desperate for release from this tumultuous cycle of emotions.

As the exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, the fight within you slowly extinguishing. “I just—” you started, but the words faded as you succumbed to the comforting darkness that beckoned you.

“Just rest.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “You need to let go for a moment. I’ll be here when you wake.”

His voice wrapped around you like a cocoon, and despite the turmoil of your heart, you found solace in his presence. With one last shuddering breath, you finally surrendered to the pull of sleep, the weight of your burdens slipping away as your consciousness faded into the comforting embrace of oblivion.

In the morning, you know that nothing will change.

In the morning, you will still be miserable with him.

In the morning, you’ll love him like he is the law.

In the morning, you’ll worship him as religion taught.

In the morning, you’ll never be able to be free from him.

[famemonsterrr]

Astrology observations part 7 🪽

- I have said Leo are selfish but I have to mention how awfully selfish is 1st house sun or Aries rising are.

- Cancer sun with Taurus Venus is something I don’t see often but they are beautiful and caring individuals that give the best presents ever. (Ex: Ariana grande)

I have also noticed that cancer with earth placements tend to like softer aesthetics and colours. Like white and pastels ✨

- cancer with Leo Venus/mars makes someone really need for word affirmations. " you are amazing" "you are so talented".

- between the fire signs Leo and Aries would come from each others throats. Sagittarius is planning a trip or joining in new cult.

- Aquarius moon might have issue with bossy mothers.

- Pisces mothers either will be amazing and sooo caring or they will be emotionally needy and put pressure on their kids.

- mutable signs or air dominant people have learning difficulties (my dad and mom are Gemini and both have dyslexia. I got it as well💅🏻 ofc it’s genetics but It’s not coincidence I’m Pisces and I’m air dominant)

- Leo placements watch theirs own stories or whatever they upload like they are in love with themselves. Their own stalkers 💀

- north node in Gemini will always be students in life…(yayyyyyyy that’s what we want)

- Aquarius with Leo placements….nooooooooo just nooooo. God complex is real and it is Aquarius with Leo placements and vice versa. Cool people but u always right no matter what because you are better that anyone else 🙂

- if your lover has Venus or mars in the 8th house be prepared to have a good spicy time. The difference is that Venus is so passionate naturally and loves spicy time. However on mars to have a good bed time u kinda have to be a little bit toxic and turn them on. Make them jealous is an easy solution. Usually 8th house attracts a lot of toxicity or "passionate" energy.

- 2nd house Venus…OHHHH sooo sexyyyyyyyy. Candles,dinners and flowers. If you see a man having Venus on that house. KEEP HIMMMM

- Pisces suns just don’t get along with other Pisces sun. PERIOD

- Pisces sun with Aries mercury are baddies now Aries sun with Pisces mercury is a softie.

- water placements seem to love winter more than anything.

- if u have fire placements u would had gone or u are still are in ur ginger/red hair era.

- to all my Capricorn stelliums…are okay my loves? Maybe relax a bit. You are doing amazing 🥰

- to all my beautiful Chiron in cancer pliz go and heal in ur own space and the ways u only know. Maybe spend time with ur family and friends.

- Mc in Taurus means u will succeed no matter what in any field ur in. Maybe a little lazy but u need money and stability so when u feel u don’t have it u will work. Probably in business field or singing. People with placements have beautiful voices naturally as well

- Leo, libra, Virgo and Taurus are the type of people who will use ur own personal style as an insult and it’s sooo funny but I can’t go that far because I’m broke.

Thats all 🪽

This was so short lol but I need to remember you again that personal observations aren’t facts and because you can’t relate that doesn’t mean I ain’t accurate or u aren’t. Everyone has different experiences and life. So yeah astrology isn’t a fact at all. Anyway stay healthy and hydrated girly pops 💅🏻

[cera-writes]

Could I request Scott summers x reader with a similar eye mutation. The reader has a gorgon mutation and can turn people to stone, and they meet/ bond over not being able to see properly, eventually getting into a relationship.

A/N: I love this idea! It's so sweet! Tags: just sweet fluff with a shared understanding

A Shared Burden

The sterile walls of the X-Mansion medbay felt like a cage after the chaotic awakening of your mutation. Professor Xavier had explained the X-Men, a sanctuary for mutants like you. But 'sanctuary' didn't quite describe the prickling anxiety that crawled under your skin after Beast's in-depth examination of your petrifying gaze.

Hank had loaned you a pair of mutant specialty eyewear. It was a revelation that dawned on you now. You'd never be able to take them off with turning someone into a slab of concrete; or at the very least, controlling your deadly eyesight.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall man with a kind smile. "Hey there," he said, his voice gentle. "You must be (Y/N). I'm Scott, Scott Summers. Cyclops is fine too."

You offered a weak smile. "Nice to meet you, Scott. Though I wouldn't exactly call turning people to stone a mutant power you'd advertise in the brochure."

He chuckled, a sound that eased the tense knot in your stomach. "Yeah, well, Hank can be a bit… thorough. But hey, at least you get a cool codename out of it. Any ideas?"

You shrugged, a touch of self-deprecation tinging your voice. "Haven't really thought about it. Maybe something Gorgon-related, considering I turn people to stone with a glance. I mean, Medusa would be way too cliche."

Scott's smile softened. "Your power… it's tough, I imagine. But you're not alone. We all have things to deal with here." He gestured towards his head, the unspoken reference clear.

A silent understanding bloomed between you. Scott knew what it was like to live in a world where you had to be constantly on guard, where your very nature made you an outsider. There was a shared burden in his gaze, a quiet empathy.

"How about we get you settled into your room?" Scott suggested, his voice warm. "Maybe tomorrow we can start figuring out how to control your… uh… petrifying gaze."

The following days were dedicated to navigating your mutation. Scott, ever patient, was your guide. You practiced focusing your gaze, not on turning things to stone, but on dampening the overwhelming sensory input that triggered your power. He understood the struggle to keep your emotions in check, the constant battle to avoid accidentally turning someone into a statue.

Slowly, with Scott's steady support, progress came. You actually did learn to somewhat control the intensity of your gaze, to filter the world through your special glasses that dampened your mutant sight but allowed you to function.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you and Scott found yourselves on the balcony overlooking the X-Mansion grounds. You leaned against the railing, a comfortable silence settling between you. The setting sun cast a warm glow on the world, a world you could only perceive through a muted lens.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Scott said softly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"They say it is," you replied, a tinge of wistfulness in your voice.

Scott turned to you, a sincerity in his voice that resonated with you. "Maybe someday you'll see it all, (Y/N). But for now, you have something just as valuable."

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours. You mirrored the gesture, the space between your fingers tingling with unspoken emotions. "What's that?" you asked, a whisper that carried on the cool evening breeze.

Scott's smile, though unseen, was evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. "Understanding. You're not alone. We both carry burdens, burdens that make us different, but also burdens that connect us."

In that moment, amidst the muted colors and the filtered light, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that had nothing to do with the setting sun. You realized, with a jolt, that the hours spent training with Scott weren't just about mastering your power, they were about finding solace in shared experiences. The man beside you, with his unwavering support, was a beacon in a world that often felt isolating.

Weeks turned into months, and your bond with Scott deepened. You found comfort in his quiet strength, in the way he understood your struggles without needing words. You learned to communicate through subtle gestures, stolen glances, and shared laughter. One crisp autumn evening, as you sat by the window, a comfortable silence settling between you once more, Scott spoke.

"We may not see the world in the same way, (Y/N), but we see each other. And that's all that truly matters."

His words, laced with a quiet sincerity, sent a shiver down your spine. You met his gaze, a spark of understanding dancing in your own eyes. Perhaps you didn't need to see the world perfectly to find beauty. Perhaps the most vibrant colors existed in the warmth of shared understanding and the quiet promise whispered in the space between. As you leaned closer, the world blurring at the edges, you knew you had found a connection that transcended sight.

[nevesmose]

Nostraman Nature Sucks: An Attempted Lore Post

Ave dominus nox Night Lords fans. I thought I'd take some time to go through the various NL stories I have to hand and see what I could find out about the animals that lived on Nostramo. Might come in useful for something, who knows?

Sharks and Whales

As a child, on several coastal journeys with his father, he had witnessed the eyeless barrasal sharks that would group together to hunt the great whales of the open ocean. (Night Lords Trilogy)

His voice filters into something savage and predatory, as hungry as the eyeless white sharks of Nostramo’s blackest depths. (The Long Night)

Not a big surprise since they talk about them fairly often and have the Space Sharks as a successor chapter but Nostramo does have sharks. Pretty gnarly-sounding sharks if I'm honest.

I didn't know what "barrasal" meant, so I looked it up and only found one thread on r/40klore that had the same quote in it as above. Hmm.

Assuming it's not a typo or a more straightforward reference to something I'm just not getting, I'd venture a guess that barrasal, understood here to mean of or relating to "barras" like with "abyssal" could be connected to the French Revolutionary leader Paul Barras who is mostly remembered for supporting Napoleon's rise to power before being overthrown by him.

So maybe the older barrasal sharks will make use of younger ones as temporary hunting partners only to be inevitably betrayed and consumed by them. Sounds about right I think.

As for the whales, where do I even begin? I would imagine they're "whales" in name only like in Dishonored:

This does imply the possible existence of a whaling industry at some stage in Nostramo's history, though.

Crows

Jago reached into his pockets, offering a handful of breadcrumbs. Come, he said to the crows. Food for tonight. Flesh, flesh, flesh, they called back. He laughed as several of the black birds landed on his shoulders and outstretched arm. (Prince Of Crows)

‘Yes. I’ve seen them in books. Is a crow a type of bird?’ ‘Black of feather and dark of eye. It feeds on the bodies of the dead, and sings in a raw, croaking caw.’ (TLN)

Breaking news - legion that keeps referring to crows in shocking has crows on its homeworld scandal. "This is outrageous," said local Nostraman cutpurse and skin disease enthusiast Verxaglryn Quickstabber, "here we are trying to make a good name for Nostramo as a respectable hellhole, a place you'd be proud to exile your worst enemy to, and yet we're surrounded by some of the most intelligent and curious birds in existence. I was shanking someone in a back alley the other night and suddenly I saw a crow learning how to use rudimentary tools! Not on my watch, I said to the rapidly cooling body, and I threw my shiv at it. But it just flew away." At this point Mr Quickstabber was obliged to end the interview due to having been eviscerated by the Night Haunter.

I know their communication with Sevatar is happening in a dream but I really like the idea of the crows adapting to Nostramo by developing some kind of psychic hive mind that's also able to be understood by human psykers.

Crag Cougars

A beast of my home world. When next you see one of the Atramentar, look to their shoulder guards. The roaring lions on their pauldrons are what we called crag cougars on Nostramo. It was considered a mark of wealth for gang bosses to be able to leave the cities and hunt such creatures. (NLT)

Every single one of them is Scar from the Lion King, isn't it? An interesting hint about Nostramo's geography though, of which more later.

Rats

Groundcars whisked by, headlights brighter than deep-hive rats’ eyes, the occupants snug and safe behind armoured glass. (Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter)

No surprises here either. Where there's people there's rats after all.

Something with tusks?

The older Astartes grinned, wolf-like and keen, as the Atramentar either side of the Exalted’s throne growled through their tusked helms. (NLT)

This isn't that conclusive because a lot of Chaos Terminators have tusks no matter what legion they are, but Nostramo being Nostramo they probably belonged to a species of giant carnivorous mammoth that ate babies and sprayed acid from its trunk.

Cows? On My Sunless World?

‘They are still of standard human stock, and not to be mourned. What does it matter if the cattle fear the herdsman?’ hissed Krukesh the Pale. (KC:TNH)

This one's a real reach on my part as it's very likely just a turn of phrase, but I noticed it because wouldn't it be slightly more typical to use a sheep metaphor here? Plus it supports the existence of Nostraman cowboys/ranchers/vaqueros which is fun.

No bats?

His helmet bore a new, spread batwing crest in blatant imitation of Sevatar’s own. (A Safe and Shadowed Place)

A sole space was neat: a circle around an iron lectern fashioned in the form of a bat’s outflung wings, which carried a heavy book bound in human skin. (KC:TNH)

Although they appear a lot in the VIII legion's iconography and artwork, oddly enough I wasn't actually able to find a direct reference to Nostramo itself having bats. Let's cover my ass by saying this aspect might therefore have been brought in by the legion's Terran component instead.

Some Nostraman geography

The Hill Folk lived away from the cities, eking out an existence in the mountains. (NLT)

What's worse than living in a Nostraman city? Living on a Nostraman hill, apparently. This seems to just be an idea of ADB's that doesn't come up again but I've always found it quite interesting. Were the Hill Folk as scummy as the City Folk, just with more of a down-home Dukes of Hazzard vibe? Seems likely.

This also supports the idea of Nostramo not being completely urbanised like some Hive Worlds are. In my view its continents might have had a geographical layout a bit like Italy or Scotland where the cities are mainly on the flatter coasts with a more sparsely populated hilly/mountainous interior.

What else? (This part is just me making stuff up so feel free to ignore it. I'm not ADB, I'm not even ADB's hat.)

If the rest of Nostramo's marine life is anything like the sharks and whales then it's fucking terrifying. I would imagine, because it's funny, that a lot of Nostraman food features disgusting industrially-processed fish in some way or another. Like the food in Dishonored but even worse.

Is something wrong, dearest offworld husband? You haven't touched your stale bread, whalemeat and jellied eels.

Since all life on Nostramo seems to be comically carnivorous and aggressive, it would make sense in a 40K kind of way for there to be giant predatory penguins living at one or both of its poles. A bit like the monstrous blind albino penguins HP Lovecraft wrote about.

Last known infrared pict-capture of an early Nostraman settler attempting communication with a juvenile specimen of the native penguin species. There were no survivors.

[akutasoda]

hiii!! Requesting if that’s ok :>

reader who is very similar to a genie? Likes to show off their wealth, being playful and often tricking people, but also being helpful (at times). Their ability is making wishes? (Cause I want some angst..maybe reader is terrified of being left alone and small spaces after being treated like a real genie?)

a wish in a bottle

synopsis - everything about you interested them, but when they dug a bit deeper they wanted to do nothing more than comfort you

includes - chuuya, sigma, oda, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, mention of claustrophobia, wc - 1.1k

a/n: hello anon! i didn't quite get what fandom you wanted but i assumed bsd, if im wrong feel free to message me and ill do a redo!

chuuya nakahara ★↷

↪chuuya's first meeting with you left him with a mix of impressions. he thought that you were pretty cool but soon learnt about your habits of tricking and messing with people - he was not spared from your tricks. he didn't mind your playful nature, it was just the trickery. he had also held mixed feelings towards your eagerness to show off wealth, sometimes he thought it was just unnecessary.

↪as for your ability, he thought it was amazing. he found it not only interesting but admired how much control you had over what wishes you granted and who to. he knew it could be a dangerous ability, but that control over it that you held showed that you knew how to use it properly.

↪perhaps when you became closer, he would notice how clingy you would become, it wasn't overbearing and he didn't mind but it was curious. he started picking up your small attempts to tag along with him for whatever he planned on doing, he never brought it up however. again he never minded, he had grown to tolerate you and your antics.

↪but that also meant he picked up on your fear of small spaces. at first he ruled it down to claustrophobia, but it seemed to be something deeper than that. he would never confront you about but if you ever told him, he would hold nothing but sympathy for you.

↪he understood your fear, he could relate on a similar level, and so he made sure to never let that happen to you. if you had been treated like a real genie ages ago, he would want to rid you of those memories and hopefully those fears.

sigma ★↷

↪sigma's first impression was oneof confusion. sure he had met his fair share of weird people and while you may be the most sane you definitely had your 'charms'. your little habit of pulling tricks on people and messing around had lead to remind him that you kind of acted like a more sane nikolai. while he didn't mind, he just didn't really want two people like that to deal with.

↪he never understood your show of wealth, sure he owned a casino but he never really flaunted stuff like that as openly as you did.

↪your ability was something he could only admire. he felt slightly envious that such an ability existed, i mean you probably could grant anyone anything. but then he realised you were probably the best person to hold that ability, god forbid some people get hold of it. he also admited how sparingly you would use it, granting only the wishes to people you deemed worthy.

↪when you had become closer, he started noticing how you hung out with him whenever you could. always finding some excuse to be with him, he just kind of chalked it up to you liking hanging around with him which he was flattered by.

↪and then he picked up on your insistence of not wanting to be around or in small places, again chalking it up to claustrophobia. he never pried as he feared it may be a sensitive subject but if you did tell him, he would be so empathetic towards you.

↪he understands why you wouldn't want to be used in that way, he can relate to that in a worrisome amount. he would want to protect you from taht ever coming true by any means possible.

sakunosuke oda ★↷

↪oda had initially had a indifferent first reaction to meeting you, he never was one to judge people by first impressions. he thought that your playful and often teasing behaviour was interesting and certainly entertaining. and your habit of tricking people was also amusing but would stop you if he thought it went too far.

↪also never understood your little flaunting of your wealth, sure maybe you were proud of it but sometimes he thought it was just excessive.

↪he thought your ability was definitely an interesting one. he admired and complimented you on how well you managed it, using it scarcely and only on people that you thought you could trust. this was because he also knew that your ability was a powerful one and in the wrong hands could be problematic. he would always be curious to see how it worked but never wanted you to feel as if you had to use it.

↪and as you two got closer over time, he would notice that you always seemed to want to be around him or someone else you trusted, never wanting to be alone. he would ask but he figured it would be sensitive and the last thing he wanted to do was upset you.

↪also thought about asking you about your presumed claustrophobia. well he presumed it was, you never liked being in small spaces or even near them. but whenever you did come forward to him about it, he swears hos heart broke. he hated the fact that that was a fear of yours, but knowing some people he knew it was warranted and would do anything to prevent ot coming true.

paul verlaine ★↷

↪verlaine's first impression was, yet again, a mix. he found you intresting but your little tricks and insistence on trying to mess with him could easily annoy him. while it never annoyed him majorly he did find it quite irritating. but he very quickly adjusted to your rather eccentric personality.

↪never got why you liked to sjow off your wealth, flaunting it around and taking pride in it. he could get why you took pride in it but anything else was interesting to say the least.

↪your ability however, deeply fascinated him and he very much would've tried to figure out its limits and possibilities if you hadn't stopped him and refused to grant him anything. he thought it was very powerful and definitely dangerous in the wrong hands, but one thing he could commend you for was your control and self limits when using or thinking about using it.

↪he would note, when you two got closer, how you would be near him whenever possible. if not directly next to him you would atleast be in the vicinity or always curious where he was going and asking to tag along. he would also note how you doubled back if it involved small spaces.

↪however he would be more forward about it. well not forward but subtly hinting for you to tell him why.

↪and the reason why made him regret his initial reaction to your ability. what made it worse is that he could somwhow relate, obviously not on your level but a smaller level. and because you two had become so close, he wouldn't hesitate to correct anyone that even thought of doing something like that to you.

[zarla-s]

How do you decide when to use Spamtons little speech quirk and what to have him say? Your writing for him feels so natural!

Spamton’s speech pattern is surprisingly tricky! It has a lot of weird little things to it, haha. I’m glad you think I’m doing a good job though. :D Generally I try to keep in mind a few things for him...

Spamton misspells things a lot, but not always in the same way (with exceptions). He also likes substituting numbers for letters, usually in words that get caught in a spam filter to try to get around it but not always. ( [[Amazed at thi5 amazing transformation?]],  NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING AB04T! ,  SOMEONE LEFT [There] SOULS, [Lyeing Around......] ,  YOU FILLED YOUR [Inventorium] WITH [Half-Pr1ce Sallamy],  AND THE [Number on theB4ck]!,  [Unforgettable D3als] ,  [Pr3mIUm luxjerry w4tch] )

When Spamton takes over the narration or influences it, he still misspells things. (CONGRULATIONS YOU ARE THE 100th VISITOR!!! )

Spamton is bad at tenses and mixes them up a lot. This is one of the most endearing things to me for some reason, haha.  ( I'M SO [Proud] OF YOU, I COULD [Killed] YOU! ,  I HAVE [Becomed] NEO. ,  MY ESTEEM CUSTOMER, THAT GUY [Steal my look]!! OKAY, MAYBE HE [Steal]ed BACK WHAT I TOOK FROM HIM, WE WILL ALSO [Divorced] )

He messes up pluralization or grammar related to it at times. ( HOTSINGLE, 100 CUSTOMER, AN [Valuable Item])

He actually swears a fair amount but it’s usually censored. ( YOU'RE [$!$!] RIGHT! , DEALS SO GOOD I'LL [$!$$] MYSELF!,  [$!?!] THE PRESSES! )

His capitalization in his bracket words/phrases is inconsistent and he spells things wrong in them at times as well. He usually capitalizes the first word though. ( [[A LimiTed Time Only!]] , [[Designed BY The Classics]],  [[ Sucbscrube ]] ,  THEN [[WHY]] GO TO A DUMPSTER!!! , YOU'VE GOT THE [[LIGHT.]] , [ succumb to the worm ],  SO HAVE I GOT A DEAL THAT'S [sweet Sunday creme] TO ANY SELF RESPECTING [Ball Nut]! , [fluffey] ,  [Pracitce]).

His capitalization in general is kind of all over the place. ( LIGHT nER! HEY-HE Y HEY!!!,  THat'll be 1997 KROMER.,  ENL4RGE Yourself,  I USED TO be A BIG SHOT. ,  I WOn'T FORCE YOU. ,  It's still DARK... SO DARK! )

He gets the verb in sentences wrong at times or has too many/too few words in a phrase.  ( HEAR THOSE [Balloons]???,  [Cool down with a]!!!,  [Wake up and the smell the] MY DEAD CARCASS!!! ) His grammar also gets wonky, especially with the tricky homophones like your/you’re or their/there/they’re. ( YOUR A BIGSHOT!! ,  WELL LET THIS BE A [Email] ,  SHOW OFF YOU'RE [Big Shot] )

He sometimes doesn’t finish a sentence at all, or leaves a blank space. ( BUY [KeyGen] FROM ME AT [The Low Low Price Of] ,  MEANWHILE I CAN [sneak out the back] AND, [Hurry now]!!! [Blink] AND YOU'LL MISS      !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ,  THAT'S WHY THEY'RE COMING TO [kill] ME RIGHT NOW. THEY'RE COMING TO ). Sometimes he just says one or two words or sentence fragments. (MONEY NO, KEYGEN) He likes repeating unfinished sentences as well, usually when he’s worked up about something. ( THE MEN INSIDE WOULD THE MEN INSIDE WOULD , I'LL GET SO. I'LL GET SO. )

He uses periods to emphasize certain parts of a sentence and sometimes he just leaves brackets or carets or other punctuation in his speech. ( YOU'RE  LIGHT neR< AREN'T YOU? , GO BACK. AND PUT. THE DISK. BACK. WHERE YOU GOT IT. ).

Sometimes he has spaces in the middle of words or in the wrong places ( DID YOU HAVE AN YMORE?,  I'M A SALESMAN   ,  ). Sometimes it’s just a mess in general ( DOESN;T IT?KID? ), and sometimes he likes to combine words ( [HonestMan] ,  [handsomeGuy] ).

My general approach to this is just to keep any typos I make while doing his dialogue lol.

He drops out of caps usually when he’s scared or thoughtful (not accounting for after his battle), and usually when he’s thinking about Mike.

A fair amount of his substitutions are vaguely threatening or allude to some kind of violence or suffering. He mentions death, dying, and screaming a lot, usually in unexpected contexts ( PRICES SO LOW, EVERYONE I KNOW IS [[Dead]]!!!,  VACATIONING IN [Burning acid] , NOW I'M THE [[It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!]] GUY! ).

Sometimes these threats are relevant warnings if you know what he’s up to ( TAKE THIS DEAL AND YOU WILL [[Die]]!! IT'S THAT GOOD!!!,  [Die Now] AND I'LL THROW IN [50] [Bullets] FOR FREE!,  THIS IS [One Purchase] YOU WILL [Regret] FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! ). There’s always a sort of “off” vibe to him that makes him feel a little dangerous.

As an aside, Spamton talks about people beating him up a lot.

He likes turning phrases about refunds into non-refunds, haha ( [No Money Back Guaranttee] ). He’ll sometimes just admit outright he’s trying to scam you ( HOW'S AN INNOCENT GUY LIKE ME SUPPOSED TO [Rip People Off] , [What's yours is mine] AND [What's yours is mine]. ).

He’s extremely excited and shouting almost all the time, so he very rarely has only one exclamation point about anything. Usually it’s three but it can go higher. Just go ham on the exclamation points lol.

[[Hyperlink blocked.]]  is a tricky one. He does use it a lot, but the context for it is hard to pin down. Usually it relates to things like souls, what it is that’s controlling him or what it wants, or how exactly he wants to escape it. Other times it’s sort of privileged or secret information that would be caught by a filter and blocked, or it’s some scammy thing or another that’d be blocked for user safety. Usually it’s something that someone wouldn’t want the player to know.

He does use sales pitch, adspeak, or internet slang substitutions a lot, ( [Friend Request Accepted] , [[Anything You See On TV!]],  [[Workout-Ready Body]],  [Luxurious Basement Apartment] , [[Pass My Savings Onto You!]] )  but not all the time! A lot of his substitutions are single words, usually on an odd tangent to the original word or just unusual in general ( [Deep Abyss] , YOUR [[Ant-sized]] [[Rapidly-shrinking]] LIFE!! , [Wacky Stacks] , [Little Nipper], LIKE MANY [buzzing] AND [burning] CREATORS,  GET OUT YOUR CYBER [skin wallets] ).

Sometimes they’re just a normal word in the sentence ( YOU GOT [Guts] KID!! , [Part] OF MY BEAUTIFUL [Heart], LOOK IN MY [Eyes] LOOK IN MY [Nose] LOOK IN MY [Mouth] ).

I tend to think about his substitutions a bit like the Orz, where a substituted word has alternate or deeper meaning than you’d think BECAUSE it was substituted. By [LIGHT], did Spamton literally mean light, or does light have another connotation to it he’s adding that’s not clear? I like thinking of the substitutions adding a potential multiple meaning layers to a word, haha. Maybe he can’t help it, or maybe that particular word is hinting at something more...

He can say full sentences without any substitutions in them, but they’re rare ( WHAT ARE THESE STRINGS!? ,  YOU'RE LEAVING!? WHAT ABOUT MY DISK!?!? , TOO MANY EXCESS VACATION DAYS?? TAKE A GOD DAMN VACATION STRAIGHT TO HELL, I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAD! MY LIFE ADVICE! , BUT KRIS, IF YOU REFUSE. THAT'S YOUR CHOICE. I CAN'T FORCE YOU.). Interestingly, they often involve him saying he can’t force Kris to do something, something he says over and over and over. He seems very preoccupied with it.

[hunieday]

8th Anniversary story - Chapter 1 : Open the door and be lead out.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

[Car engine SFX]

Riku Nanase: Fuwah… Is the car Manager sent to pick me up here yet?

Riku Nanase: Banri-san?

Riku Nanase: Ah, here it is. Huh…? It’s the company car, but who’s inside…

[Car door opens]

Banri Oogami: Good morning.

Riku Nanase: Good morning. Are you not with MEZZO” today?

Riku Nanase: Wait…Huh?!

Riku Nanase: Why are you in our company car, Momo-san?!

Momo: Good morning, Riku! I actually have no idea either…

Riku Nanase: It's Yaotome-san?!

Gaku Yaotome: Neither do I…

Torao Mido: I don’t know either…

Riku Nanase: Mido-san is here too?! Where are we all heading to!?

Riku Nanase: Banri-san…

Momo & Gaku Yaotome & Torao Mido: We don’t know…

Banri Oogami: I’m sorry. I can’t go into details.

Riku Nanase: At that moment, it struck me. We are celebrities.

Riku Nanase: From this moment onwards, there are definitely hidden cameras and surprises  waiting for us…

[Cut to inside the car]

Riku Nanase: Y-Yes. Yaotome-san, can I sit next to you?

Banri Oogami: Well then, please get in.

Gaku Yaotome: Sure thing. Do you want some Nigirimeshi (rice balls)?

Riku Nanase: Yay! Thank you so much! I wonder if it’s salmon.

Gaku Yaotome: Oh, you got that right.

Riku Nanase: Yippie!

Momo: Tora-chan, Tora-chan, don’t worry.

Torao Mido: How can you eat so calmly? We don’t even know where we’re heading, there’s also this camera in the car… 

Torao Mido: Don’t worry, you say…

Torao Mido: Relax…

Momo: The more you worry and fuss about it, the less you’ll enjoy yourself. Just relax and let it go.

Momo: Relax.

Gaku Yaotome: Isn’t that a different mountain?

Riku Nanase: Oh, we can see Mount Fuji today!

Banri Oogami: Alright everyone, we’re leaving.

Momo: Yes! Everyone, salute MEZZO”’s manager for driving us today!

Riku Nanase: We’ll be in your care!

Torao Mido: We…we’ll be in your care…

Gaku Yaotome: We’ll be in your care.

Banri Oogami: …This is awkward…

Banri Oogami: Ahaha, thank you.

Momo: Your handle of that wheel is extremely cool, MEZZO”’s manager!!

Banri Oogami: Ahaha, I get that a lot.

Momo: Aw man, too bad… Well I’ll just burn it into my memories…!!

Momo: Ah! As expected!! Then…can I take a picture?!

Banri Oogami: Ahaha, that would be embarrassing.

Riku Nanase: Ah, Look! Mount Fuji’s over there!

Gaku Yaotome: That’s not Mount Fuji either. There’s only one Mount Fuji.

Gaku Yaotome: See that hazy mountain? That’s its direction.

Riku Nanase: And where is it?

Gaku Yaotome: Well yeah! It’s the number one in Japan!

Riku Nanase: Do you like Mount Fuji?

Torao Mido: What is this, am I dreaming…

Torao Mido: …

Torao Mido: …Kenta Eternal Private Property Act (1)…

Torao Mido: …

Torao Mido: I’m trying to relax…

Gaku Yaotome: …? What are you talking about all of the sudden?

Riku Nanase: If you try, it won’t come naturally.

Torao Mido: When I space out, I remember things I’ve memorized a long time ago.

Riku Nanase: You think about studying when you space out ?!

Gaku Yaotome: I relate to that. Sometimes when I’m staring at my hands I remember Fleming’s right-hand rule. 

Gaku Yaotome: That’s right! Oh, do you want some rice balls too?

Torao Mido: Yeah, something like that.

Torao Mido: Ah, well then…

Riku Nanase: Which one do you want, the left or the right one?

Torao Mido: …Left?

Riku Nanase: Left! You won't regret it will you?!

Torao Mido: Uh, yeah… Maybe.

Riku Nanase: Ta-dah! The rice ball on the left… Yaotome-san, what flavor is it?

Gaku Yaotome: Bonito flakes.

Riku Nanase: Bonito flakes! Do you like bonito flakes? 

Torao Mido: Well, I guess.. I like them the normal amount.

Riku Nanase: Bingo!

Gaku Yaotome:  Good for you, Mido!

Torao Mido: Ah, thanks..I…somehow I’m happy… Maybe I do like bonito flakes in my rice balls…

Momo: Uwaaaaah ! MEZZO”’s manager’s U-turn was super cool…!

Banri Oogami: Ah, I missed the right turn.

Momo: It’s completely fine! It’s so cool! A national treasure! A world heritage that mankind has been waiting to see for generations! 

Banri Oogami: Sorry about that, I missed it.

Momo: Uuu.. and you just boosted my self-esteem by telling me my praise boosted yours…!

Banri Oogami: I missed the right turn and now my self-esteem is being boosted from being praised by a top idol.

Momo: I’m gonna cry…

Torao Mido: Is there some kind of connection between Momo-san and MEZZO”’s manager?

Torao Mido: There’s definitely something going on, are you sure? His excitement is scaring me a little bit ?!

Riku Nanase: Ermm, no!

Riku Nanase: Yeah, but the camera is on so…

Gaku Yaotome: Momo-san, if this gets broadcasted Yuki-san will definitely sulk. 

Banri Oogami: And I’ll get scolded for this. Everyone, we’ll arrive in about 40 minutes, feel free to sleep if you want to.

Momo: Don’t worry!! I’ll negotiate so that they cut this part out!!

Torao Mido: … Is it okay if I contact our manager?

Banri Oogami: Ah, yes. Go ahead.

Torao Mido: Got it.

[Phone rings]

Torao Mido: I’ll contact our manager Utsugi-san to see if he could explain…

[Beep]

[Cut to another car]

Torao Mido: Oh, hello. Utsugi-san?

Haruka Isumi: Hello, Torao?

Torao Mido’s voice: Haruka?

Haruka Isumi: Utsugi-san is driving so I picked it up for him.

Torao Mido’s voice: Are you guys with Utsugi-san?

Haruka Isumi: No, it’s just me but, it was all too sudden…

Tamaki Yotsuba: Isumin, who’s on the phone?

Haruka Isumi: To…Torao…

Tenn Kujo: Mido-san? Is someone from TRIGGER with him?

Nagi Rokuya: OH! IDOLiSH7 as well?

Haruka Isumi: Hold on, I’ll ask.

Haruka Isumi: Listen, Torao. Who are you with right now? I’m with TRIGGER’s Kujo-san and IDOLiSH7’s Yotsuba and Rokuya-san…

Haruka Isumi: Huh ?! G-Got it… I’ll hang up

[Beep]

Tamaki Yotsuba: Who’s Toracchi with?

Haruka Isumi: He says he’s with Momo-san, Yaotome-san and Nanase-san…

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ho, Rikkun’s with them!

Nagi Rokuya: There are four people here, and four people there.

Tenn Kujo: So Gaku is with them. I wonder if we’re headed towards the same place?

Haruka Isumi: Not sure… is this a TV program or something?

Tenn Kujo: I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your manager who’s currently driving us?

Haruka Isumi: I tried earlier but he wouldn’t say a thing!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Be more assertive about it! Go for it!

Nagi Rokuya: It's a mysterious drive for mysterious purposes, how about you ask for hints instead of answers?

Haruka Isumi: Be more assertive about asking for hints… I see. Okay, Utsugi-san.

Shiro Utsugi: Yes?

Haruka Isumi: Give me a hint on where we’re going!

Shiro Utsugi: No, I’m sorry.

Haruka Isumi: You’re sorry?! Why? What about Touma and Minami? Are they with others like Torao?

Shiro Utsugi: Who knows. Ah, there’s a small refrigerator in the back seat with drinks inside.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Really? Can we open it?

Shiro Utsugi: Dig in, dig in.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yay! Thanks for the food!

[Fridge opens]

Tamaki Yotsuba: Oh, there are so many drinks! Which one do you guys want?

Tenn Kujo: I’ll have the Rooibos tea.

Haruka Isumi: I’ll have uhhhhh…

Nagi Rokuya: OH …!! There is the collaboration drink with Magical★Kokona! It’s the Magical Beauty Soda!!

Tenn Kujo: That’s right.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Good for you, Nagicchi!

Haruka Isumi: Do you like Magical★Kokona?

Nagi Rokuya: Rather than me liking it or disliking it, it’s more like whether it’s me or not.

Haruka Isumi: Well that’s deep…Then, I’ll go with that one too. Did you like your Magical Beauty Soda?

Nagi Rokuya: It was unique.

Haruka Isumi: Unique?

Tenn Kujo: I could guess.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I drank it too, but the taste changes with every sip. At first it tasted like banana, then lemon…

Haruka Isumi: That sounds interesting! I’ll try. Cheers!

Tenn Kujo: So?

Haruka Isumi: … Oh. It does taste like bananas at first… then it gradually shifts into…

Haruka Isumi: Steamed egg custard…

Tenn Kujo: Steamed egg custard?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wh- Steamed egg custard.

Nagi Rokuya: Yes… Even the description in the back says it’s salty pudding flavored…

Tenn Kujo: Steamed egg custard…I can’t imagine drinking that…

Haruka Isumi: Wanna try it?

Tenn Kujo: No, I’m good.

Haruka Isumi: C’mon, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I think it’s actually pretty good, even if it’s steamed egg custard.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Did they have to make it salty? Pudding flavor would have been better. It’s yummy…

Shiro Utsugi: Um…

Tamaki Yotsuba & Haruka Isumi & Tenn Kujo & Nagi Rokuya: …

Shiro Utsugi: It’d be for the best if you didn’t criticize it too much…

Tamaki Yotsuba: We shouldn’t criticize it?

Haruka Isumi: You’re saying we shouldn’t complain?

Nagi Rokuya: The Magical Beauty Soda was manufactured by the major beverage company Jyuurokugumi (Group 16)…

Tenn Kujo: All the drinks inside this refrigerator are from them…

Tamaki Yotsuba & Haruka Isumi & Tenn Kujo & Nagi Rokuya: …

Tenn Kujo: I get it. We are celebrities after all.

Tenn Kujo: and Jyuurokugumi… If I remember correctly…

Tenn Kujo: Well, let’s focus on what’s in front of us for now. The cameras are rolling after all…

Tenn Kujo: Yotsuba-san, what would you like to drink?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I’ll take the orange juice. They keep telling me to eat more vegetables ‘cause I snack too much. Oranges are their cousins, right?

Tenn Kujo: Well, you’re not completely wrong. Rokuya-san?

Nagi Rokuya: Mineral water, please!

Haruka Isumi: So I’m left with the Magical Beauty soda huh…

Tenn Kujo: This tea, developed as a collaboration with a long-established tea shop, is very rich and full of history…

Tamaki Yotsuba: The orange juice is super yummy too!

Nagi Rokuya: This mineral water has incredible thirst-quenching properties! 

Haruka Isumi: A-Amazing! A true magical beauty!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Ah…I got a rabbitchat from Sou-chan.

Haruka Isumi: Osaka–san? Why?

Tamaki Yotsuba: He says he’s heading to an unknown destination.

Nagi Rokuya: OH… the same as us.

Tenn Kujo: I think he’s worried about you. Tell him you’re safe and sound.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wonder if he’s worried…

Haruka Isumi: I think he might be feeling down as well. Why don’t you cheer him up?

Tamaki Yotsuba: He’s not the type to do that…

Haruka Isumi: Really? I think Osaka-san has a kind, reserved and delicate aura.

Tamaki Yotsuba: You think so?

Haruka Isumi: Is that not the case?

Tenn Kujo: I don’t think so. He’s tougher than I imagined.

Haruka Isumi: Tough? Is he like Minami? He seems kind as well, but when he’s angry he’s real scary.

Nagi Rokuya: Mister Natsume is not scary. He’s not kind either.

Haruka Isumi: W-Why are you speaking as if you know him more than me? You know we’re members right.

Nagi Rokuya: OH, of course. I think highly of ŹOOḼ’s bonds of friendship.

Haruka Isumi: Are you and Minami close?

Nagi Rokuya: I don’t know. You ask him.

Tamaki Yotsuba: …Okay, I sent him a message.

Tenn Kujo: What’d you say?

Tamaki Yotsuba: I said I’m okay, so he should be fine too.

Tenn Kujo: Haha. That’s something you would say. I’m sure Osaka-san and the others feel cheered up.

To be continued…

Konden Einen Shizaiho was promulgated on May 27, 15 (June 23, 743) during the reign of Emperor Shomu in the middle of the Nara period. It is also called the Konden Einen Shizai Law, which is a law that allows the permanent privatization of Konden (newly cultivated land by oneself). Later this system collapses. It is a decree that was the basis of the outbreak of a villa.

[genderkoolaid]

hi! i was wondering if you'd be willing to do an analysis of the aromantic manifesto thats been going around? most of the ppl ive seen so far have been from either non-aro queer ppl or non-loveless aros and i cant find any loveless aros talking about it, and ik thats something youve talked abt b4 (loveless aros i mean) id love to also see your thoughts on it.

So funny enough I saw this manifesto a while ago, but didn't really have any thoughts on it because I had too much trouble reading it for brain reasons, because its just. A lot.

So @spacelazarwolf compared this to lesbian separatism/radical feminism and I think that is pretty apt. Radical feminism takes accurate criticisms of the patriarchy (such as gender as a tool of oppression and misogyny) and comes to the conclusion that gender is, in all forms, inherently oppressive, men are inherently oppressors, and that to personally identify with gender roles or men in any way contributes to oppression, so we must take on political lesbianism to reject this.

This manifesto seems to do the same with amatonormativity. There are real criticisms of amatonormativity in queer spaces here; aromantics have talked a bit about how focusing queer liberation on romantic love as a reason why we shouldn't be oppressed is alienating, and how queer spaces often reinforce amatonormativity. But it then comes to the polarized conclusion that romance is itself oppressive, identification with romance contributes to oppression, and that we must take on (essentially) political aromanticism to reject this.

Which, like political lesbianism, is just... unnecessary? This is not the only conclusion we can come to as a result of these criticisms. And these conclusions prioritize abstract political theory over people's real lives and autonomy. Which is a big reason (although not the only one) why radical feminism fell apart, because eventually women got tired of having to structure their entire lives and identities around acting out Good Political Theory instead of being able to. y'know. Be themselves? But also, these kinds of conclusions are so absolute and polarized. They assume that nothing about gender or romance can grow and be improved.

There are parts of this manifesto I like. The line "The first big ruse of romance is that it is ubiquitous because it is natural, and it is natural because it is ubiquitous" I think is actually pretty cool and can be adapted to all kinds of things; for example, capitalism does the same thing, taking over as much of the world as possible & erasing other ways of life, and then using its dominance as evidence thats its just how humans naturally are. It brings up criticisms of love that are big parts of lovelessness, like the idea that love is inherently a good thing when it can be harmful and still be "love."

But then it takes the... strange path of saying that if people can't help how who they love, then neither can racists and transphobes and fatphobes, which is why romance is inherently oppressive. But like. Even within relationship anarchy, where all hierarchies are rejected, this problem won't disappear. Its a problem of attraction & how social systems shape how we think.

I also disagree with how it frames private vs public life:

Public life concerns the interests of people as citizens and is regarded as a legitimate sphere of social intervention. Private life concerns the interests of people as consumers/individuals and is nobody’s business but those privately involved. While the domestic sphere fashioned by heterosexual kinship relations has been historically designated as private life, queer intimacies have instead been regarded as a matter of public concern due to moral panics associating them with predation and perversion throughout history.

I disagree with this framing of private life as something which is seen as "nobody's business." Maybe that's true on the small scale of social politeness and ideals. But on a systematic level, to me, this is absolutely untrue, and its something I've been doing some thinking about with regards to modeling the patriarchy.

The patriarchy is greatly concerned with the private lives of individuals. In order to keep its control over society in general via gender-sex-sexuality, its important to control how people interact with others. Even heterosexual, cisgender relationships haven't been free from patriarchal scrutiny; the wife must submit to the husband, the children must submit to the parents, and the queers must be kept outside the home. Again, on the level of neighborly politeness, people are going to say "what happens in the home is none of my business." But a relationship where the wife is the breadwinner and the husband stays at home is easily subject to scrutiny because it threatens the patriarchal norms, which causes unease.

Romance, as a construct, is a tool of oppression in multiple ways. But the physical reality the construct is built on top of is not inherently evil. The feeling of romantic love is not inherently corrupt, the same way the feeling of gender isn't.

Their advice for abolishing romance also feels kinda... vague and unhelpful and messy. I'm still not really clear on what "abolishing romance" even entails because most of the things they list can be done while romantic relationships occur. It just reads like they took the ideas of relationship anarchy and made it political lesbianism 2

I, as an aromantic, find the idea of political aromanticism to be pretty gross. I know how it feels to be pushed towards a certain relationship with romance and I don't want to seen it done in reverse, and tbh I don't like the idea of making my identity into a political stance. Being aromantic absolutely influences my politics, but its also my experience as a person. Again, similarly to why it would be uncomfortable to have lesbian spaces be full of women who are not in any way attracted to women but are making a political statement.

It disappoints me that this manifesto's conclusion is that romance itself must be rejected, the same way radical feminism does. Because there are good points here, but all-or-nothing conclusion, to me, is more divisive than connective and that's a big problem. My feelings about gender abolition are that, if we achieve true liberation from the patriarchy, our construction of gender is naturally going to be very different. Perhaps those people will no longer use gender, or they'll just use it differently- but trying to force a specific outcome is unhelpful and clashes with individual autonomy and culture for the sake of political theory. Same goes for this. Maybe in a post-amatonormativity world, "romance" will lose meaning, or at least be very very different. But trying to force that outcome isn't helpful.

Anyways I hope these takes were interesting! Honestly given how much arophobia I've seen I'm worried people are going to see this manifesto and get hostile to a lot of aromantic ideas. So I wanna suggest that people check out I Am Not Voldemort by K.A Cook, which is where the concept of "loveless aros" came from, as well as The short instructional manifesto for relationship anarchy by Andie Nordgren, which created the concept of relationship anarchy. Both of these essays do a much better job at criticizing love & amatonormativity than this manifesto.

[fubblers]

If you see something cool in another city/state/country and think “I wish we had that here” there might be steps you can take to making that happen 👍🏻

Like you could create it of course. Or you could just support something related in your city.

This comes to mind for a very nerdy reason but there’s a maid cafe in California that does like daily idol style performances. Im not gonna make it out to California very often if ever. But I’d love to see a brick and mortar maid cafe in Florida. So naturally it follows that I should be going to or otherwise supporting the maid cafes at anime cons in Florida. Because why the hell would they open a brick and mortar location if they barely have attendance already?

If you don’t live close to any music festivals, then start seeing local bands. Why would anyone put together an amazing festival if no one’s going out to see local music?

Why would the local library start a knitting circle if no one is coming in and knitting or asking about knitting events?

Maybe someone is organizing the event/space of your dreams right now! Someone’s taking out a loan to start a cool comic shop. Someone’s gathering volunteers for an art festival. Someone’s putting out an interest check for a club at the community center.

Start showing up places. Start getting to know people in the scene, no matter how small. Bring a friend to an event.

Don’t just think “I wish we had cool stuff in my city”, just start going to the tiny kinda lame stuff. You’ll probably have fun if it’s already related to your interests anyways 🤷🏻‍♂️

Maybe you and a couple friends showing up regularly will give organizers a sign that “hey we could make this bigger”

[mysadcorner]

Maybe Jason Todd x reader who has Spider-Mans abilities? Ik Spider-Man is marvel but I think it would be pretty interesting/cool little crossover thing :) bc like SPIDER-MAN POWERS>>

Jason Todd x SpiderManPowers!Reader Headcanons

-Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in headcanons -

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Jason's first reaction to your Spider powers would be pretty loud and enthusiastic. He meets heroes, villains and other vigilantes all the time but you're abilities are something he's never seen before, and since he wants to get to know you this means he wants to know all about your abilities too.

If you use them to fight crime then he's going to be pretty distracted by the things you can do when he sees them for the first time. You seem so agile and capable with the abilities you have that he wonder's what kind of training you may have had. Also, he does get slightly jealous as to wanting abilities like that of his own similar to how a child would until he realises that your ability to swing using webs would be too much like something Dick would enjoy doing.

He'd be more than willing to accompany you, or at least watch out for you on the side lines if you're used to dealing with crime by yourself. He knows that not everyone grew up in a vigilante family like he did, so he wants you to know that he'll give you all the space you need until you want to do this together with him and use both your skills to an advantage.

Jason is very curious how he may have not heard about someone with spider-like powers roaming around Gotham before, and it's because of this that he assumes you must be pretty young and haven't yet established a well known persona for yourself. If this is the case then he'll go out of his way to drop hints and make people aware that you're around to help when he's helping people in need so that civilians and kids have a natural trust towards you.

The one and only thing that annoys Jason about you having spider-like abilities is the connection to animals. Not that he's found you and he constantly surrounded by reminders of Bruce he's sick of having to hear animal related vigilantes around him, but at least yours are genuine and not just used as inspiration for a frightening costume.

He likes to watch as you use your skills and abilities for mundane and everyday things, such as using your webs to drag things towards you or being able to climb pretty much anything with ease. He usually watches while you do this, but it also makes quiet rooftop meeting with you pretty interesting.

Your senses definitely come in handy during a fight, and he's very much grateful for them. Because of your senses you're able to defend and protect people who may be in danger or other vigilantes when facing a criminal and villain better than his reflexes could ever manage, whilst this also furthers your reputation as someone there to help others once word spreads around.

Swinging through Gotham would be a fun new thing for him to experience, even though he does make his way through Gotham using grappling hooks sometimes. However, really taking the time to go through Gotham without looking out for danger gives Jason a new found way to experience the freedom that you've been experiencing for a while.

Having spider-like abilities also comes with a lot of danger, as certain villains and criminals will be on the look out for you, both to cause you serious harm and to potentially use you for their own personal gain. Jason will be on the look out for things like this and will be the first to jump into action if anyone tries to target you.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/730300426715561984/oh-my-god-that-sports-jersey-and-garter-and?source=share

Do elaborate, sir 👀👀👀

related to this older ask answer

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, god, yeah, I would love nothing more than to elaborate. I forgot about that idea that we (mostly @sail-not-drift, but I was there, too, lol) floated around, so thank you so much for reminding me. Quaterback by day, slavering team whore by night Steve scrambles my brain, though, so I'm not sure anything that comes out will be fucking coherent, lmao. There's really something about the peak masculinity, pure testosterone, homoeroticism of college football quarterback Steve taking it like a champ that really gets to me. I mean... 😮‍💨😮‍💨

So, here's some more mush-brain thoughts:

It doesn't end when Steve, Bucky, and the rest of the team leave the private, charged space of the locker room away from prying eyes. How could it? Steve walks around looking like that. His looks--all soft, pretty face and hard, rough body--don't fade the moment he steps beyond the threshold of the locker rooms. So, there's no fucking way. And, fuck, he doesn't just walk, he hustles to classes like that, he studies like that, he plays games like that, he practices like that, and, most pornographically, he runs like that. All. the. fucking. time.

So, it's only natural that the boys on their team are on him like hunting dogs on the fresh scent of a raccoon outside the locker room.

At practice, they're running sprint drills, and the sight of Steve launching himself back and forth across the field, going all out pumping his arms and legs, then crouching to touch the white lines painted into the grass before popping back up and taking off again is too much. The immediate moment coach isn't paying too close of attention or wanders off to talk with admin more privately about game ticket sales or whatever the fuck, the howls and bites start.

They're dogs.

Piling onto him, wolf-whistling at him, making lewd comments and gestures, and smacking his thick obliques and broad shoulders and, yeah, those big fucking tits.

He has fucking jiggle physics.

It's distracting, okay?

He's jiggling and wobbling all over the field, his tight dri-fit t-shirt ringed with sweat under the collar, around his pits, and in a line between his pecs. It's unreal. How does anyone just look like that? Flushed a healthy pink, grunting with effort, and sculpted like a young Greek god.

Shit.

And a damn crying shame that when they're playing games that those tits are hidden underneath all his bulky padding--if only everyone watching knew what they were missing. If only everyone, not just his boyfriend and his loyal team, knew what he was hiding under there.

Goddamn.

You know what-?

Maybe they outta show everyone. And then, when that dirty fantasy crosses their minds, the crowd of sweaty, handsy men high on the exertion of a good workout, loose and feeling good, all look towards Bucky, knowing that he's really the one directing this operation. How about it? Should everyone know?

Steve accordingly pouts at Bucky--Steve just a sweet little seal helpless and barely treading water as surrounded by sharks--playfully trying to get Bucky to make them stop and lay off him so he can go back to his workout. He's whining performatively.

Bucky doesn't call off the dogs. He blows the whistle instead, encouraging the rowdy behavior, pushing off the side of the stadium with his shoulder as he finishes gulping down some cool water. A drop of it clings enticingly to his shapely bottom lip, as he suggests with the quirk of a predatory eyebrow that, yeah, maybe they should. And, you know what, Halloween is coming up. Maybe it's time they show off what Steve really is. Star quaterback, sure, that's one word for it, the G.O.A.T is another, and allstar, too.

But... Bucky gets that dangerous look in his eyes, the one that makes Steve weak at the knees, knowing he's fucking in for it now. And instinctively, he sways more into the hands all over him, squeezing at his sore muscles, needing support for the rising fever.

Also, he's the college's cash cow, isn't he? Maybe it's time he lives up to the name. They may as well pop him into a little cow print bikini for the holiday. His tiddies would look good in an itty bitty bikini top, don't you think?

And a cash cow with tits like Steve has..? They're gonna be milking him for a while.

Suddenly, practice ends up being cut short without coach supervision on account of everyone desperately needing to test a theory: can cash cow Steve cum from just having his nipples and tits tortured, no below-the-belt stimulation whatsoever? They need an answer.

And they're gonna fucking kill Steve through sheer embarrassment and pleasure, he swears it. He's gonna drop dead on the field one day. Every day that he shows up to practice is another step toward that occasion. Today, there is no exception with Steve's weak knees leaving him with no choice but to be hauled off the field by too many hands to count, all of them wanting a piece of him, carrying him away like a flood-swollen river, the current too strong to fight.

The answer turns out to be yes. Yes, Steve can cum from just having his poor tits abused, leaving his hard, hard nipples swollen and red and the smooth, milky white skin of his plump pecs bruised badly. He'll be biting his lip every time he uses his arms or flexes his chest for days.

And start a fucking petition for Steve's tits because the torture of them doesn't stop there...

It's on that exactly fucking occasion where the only thing going down is messing with those perky tits and deliciously pink nipples that the entire fucking team discovers how gorgeous Steve's face looks when in that particular flavor of agony. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, crumbling apart.

So, quickly, tit play becomes a favorite of every pervert on the team (re: all of the bastards). It's always been a favorite of Bucky's, which is partially why he pushed the team to those two hot spots sitting high on Steve's sculpted chest in the first place, but regardless, it's good for Steve. It's good for everybody, a little bit of agonizing pleasure that turns Steve into a mess of urgent squirming and high, pleading whimpers--begging for more or begging for it to stop, not even Steve himself knows when he's drowning in heat. Molten lava pouring over him, submerging him entirely.

It's plain as fucking day to see whenever anyone starts being mean to his sweet nipples but it's especially apparent when he's also got a dick in his ass. He's a slut, he needs filling. So, of course, he's most out of his mind when he's full and he's tortured just enough.

The rock and hard place of it all are two (or more) slabs of pure muscle in the shape of college boys having their way with Steve. And Steve is rubble between them, ground down to nothing. Nothing but bliss, making the most obscene faces as he's fucked full and his nipples are flicked, twisted, and pinched. His glassy eyes roll right back into his skull while his hot, red mouth drops all the way open, his jaw clattering against the floor. He's a whore for it. Drooling, sweating, and turning the same color as a fucking bright red cherry.

That face he makes when he's right at the edge, swollen lips quivering, about to cum from the love of being filled, clenching down, and having his tits groped, needs to be photographed and framed.

Put that shit in the Louvre.

Steve's a mess then--tits touched, ass fucked--and he's an even bigger mess in the locker room showers where he's supposed to be getting clean, not dirtier.

But Steve is nothing if not dirty. He can't help himself! It's in his fucking biology; the same as being a freak of nature, too good at football, is being a whore. It comes so naturally for him to slobber over cock that might as well be written into his DNA, right next to his all-American-football-star gene.

So, in the locker room showers, he's sucking Bucky's dick like he's starved for it and doesn't get this all the time, while a few different boys play with his puffy, pretty pink hole. Bucky's muscular back is slammed against the cool tile wall, his head tipped back, cock shoved deep into his boyfriend's too-skilled throat; Steve's on his knees in front of him, getting hit with the spray of the shower and melting under its hot water, dripping in vast, rushing rivers over his too-pretty curves and plains; the others are dogpiling into the tiled area wherever they can fit themselves in, hounding each other just for a piece of Steve.

It's energetic and chaotic, slippery and heady.

They're squeezing in just to feed Steve's hungry body a few fingers, aching to feel his velvet-smooth walls from the inside that clench around anything they stick up there like he'll die without it. Fingers. Tongues. Cocks. A fist. Even, Jesus Christ, the tips of footballs, taking bets on now much he'll be able to take before he can't stretch any wider and ends up whining through watery whimpers to stop and please, please, please just fuck him instead. Anything. He'll do anything to have a real cock and not a tease. He's that much of a slavering whore for being fucked.

While Steve makes pitchy, desperate sounds around Bucky's cock, gagging for it, their teammates are cracking jokes about how if Steve's athleticism weren't his money maker than this sweet little pussy definitely would be. He'd make a fortune in porn. And, hey, he could use the same kinds of fucking moniquors, couldn't he? Golden boy. Allstar. Playmaker. Captain.

Then, later in the season, they're crammed together, not in a shower but on the busses--the bus time comes with the game. Always does. They have to travel between stadiums 'cause they can't always have the home field advantage, as much as they might want it that way. The treat for such exhausting travel, though, is the post-game ritual involving, of course, Steve.

After a game, it's always so late, and in the dead of night, driving down desolate, lengthy highways, the team is free to wind down. Someone's playing music over their Bluetooth speaker, just loud enough for everyone to hear, but not blasting out anyone's ears. There's pockets of conversation and the white noise of a few players' snores and snuffles as sleep finds them. And, also, there's the shuffling, quiet sounds of each of the team all taking turns helping Rogers with his own cool-down ritual, getting up from their seats to pay him a visit all the way in the back, back row of the bus away from the driver's view.

Bucky stays with him back there for the whole ride, petting his golden hair and keeping an eye on him while everyone else comes and goes. They know how to share intimately well, and everyone knows they get a few minutes--maybe longer, depending on the length of the drive--with Steve's hot mouth around their cock. They just gotta be patient and wait for it to be their turn.

After such exertion that comes with the all-out blitz of a game, Steve doesn't have the energy to actually blow anyone, so he's not. It's not a blowjob for everybody on the team. No one is nutting; they're bonding. It's just a few minutes of safe keeping in Steve's warm, slick mouth.

The sensation of countless cock after cock, heavy and musky and soft in his mouth with thick thighs pressed against his ears and a hand in his hair, stroking him as if he's a kitten purring away in their lap, keeps Steve calm and easy. He drifts all the way home like that. Somewhere hazy and glittery above his body. Out of his body. It takes true fucking brainpower to think on the fly, assessing the whole field, every player and every potential outcome, and modifying team gameplay plans and strategies to fit, trying to lead everyone to victory, so it's no wonder that afterward, Steve just wants to float. He doesn't want to think. He just wants to feel.

He loves the feeling of cock. Heady, thick, and weighty on his tongue.

He loves being full and warm and kept. All the way down the back of his throat.

Especially after a loss--he takes those too hard, being the golden boy of the team and star of the show, after all--cockwarming everyone on the way home, winding down, is what he needs.

It's the perfect ritual.

Speaking of rituals... in the same way rituals are baked into sports, so are superstitions. Everyone knows that. Lucky socks, numbers, and chants. But, also, venues. Home field advantage is a very real thing with familiarity, more of the team fans turning out and cheering, etc. but it's also a superstition. You feel better at home. Other venues, besides being unfamiliar, can be off-putting from something as simple as getting put in the shittier locker room pre-game to something as complex as resting overnight in hotels with reputations for being haunted. Anything to throw someone off their game and get the upper hand.

So, once, when they're away visiting another team, far enough that they have to sleep before traveling all the way home, they're put up in a complimentary hotel by the league, and that hotel turns out to be one of the supposedly haunted ones, naturally, all the way there, the boys whisper in Steve's ears and sneak up behind him, prodding him in the sides, slapping him on the ass, and asking him if he thinks he'll have a visitor in his room that night. A non-living visitor, specifically, 'cause otherwise he's used to a lot of visitors. Especially at night. And, knowing you Rogers, you'll like it? Yeah? You wanna be fucked by some ghost, hm? Wanna take any cock you can get, even if it isn't flesh and blood, yeah? You take silicone already. What's the difference between that and ectoplasm, ay, champ?

Then, because they're all immature college asshole jocks, the team absolutely pranks Steve that night in the haunted hotel.

They do it in the most creative way, at least. Pranking Steve by playing clips of some of the hot, filthy amateur porn they've made of Steve--filming him on their phones, blurry and shaky with the worst lighting and greedy zooms to display the messy, slick gape of his hole around two cocks pistoning in and out of him, the drooling, swollen, tight-fit of his mouth around another cock, and his eyes while they roll back into his head in overwhelmed bliss--in the neighboring rooms and out in the hall. Surrounding him, yet again.

They just wanna see how long it takes for him to realize those wailing, feminine moans are his own and not some little lady ghost crying out to him from the other side.

Plus, if he gets scared enough, maybe he'll need more than Bucky to hold onto, and he'll crawl into all different players' beds one. at. a. time. whimpering and shaking, begging to just be put to sleep with a good old fashioned exhausting fuck because he can't take staying up anymore.

Sure, it's a little mean, but it takes more than one well-orchestrated prank to throw their golden boy off his rhythm. He's got this shit in the bag.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I found a transcript of the Jan 98 Q interview but it won’t let me post a link

https:// groups.google .com/g/rec.music.beatles/c/7clhNbsz3jE/m/stFmXJnzJSMJ

Maybe see if you can view it by removing the space between google and .com. If not I can screenshot and send you pictures

Oh wow, amazing!! thank you so much! this is an old usenet post from December 1997 and the user named Alison Fiddler kindly typed it up 27 years ago :)

I'll post the full transcript (and a bit reformated for legibility) below the cut for everyone.

Paul McCartney Interview for Q Magazine, January 1998 edition

Q. When you first wrote a song with John Lennon, did you realise you would play one of the biggest parts in rock 'n' roll?

(Michael McConnell, Crawley, West Sussex)

Q. If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?

A. Obviously not. But even with all the so-called "historical" events that followed, you're just too inside it all, too busy doing it to realise anything's "historical". You just get on with it. I'm not a great ponderer. Some people would say that's a mistake but it's just the way I am. It's quite cool not to always get the overall picture because it leaves something to be found out. The musicologists get paid to discover the differences between me and John. I'm only just beginning to see it now, based probably on their analysis. So John is often one note, I'm often more melodic. (McCartney is thinking especially of Ian McDonald's book Revolution in the Head, where he describes the ace partnership in contrasts: Lennon's method is "harmonic, dissonant", McCartney's that of the "natural melodist".) It might sound amazing but we never spotted that when we were writing. We just did our thing. But it is kind of apparent when you bother to analyse it.

(Mark Wilson, Deeside, Flintshire)

A. In bed.

Q. Were you ever envious that Brian Epstein didn't fancy you?

(Nick Gibson, London)

Q. What were the last records you bought?

A. No, I didn't mind. We just used to go to these clubs at night and wonder why there were so many men. It was OK. Brian was very cool about his side to things. I think the nearest any of us got to it was the John-going-to-Spain thing (it inspired the movie, The Hours And The Times) and I'm not sure what the strength of all that was. I think it was power play on John's part. But Brian kept his private life aside. He kept it out of our faces (pause, possibly for effect). He kept it out of mine, anyway.

(Chris Timms, Harrogate)

A. The Prodigy's The Fat Of The Land, Radiohead's OK Computer and Chopin's Nocturnes.

Q. How do you feel about all the animosity between you and Oasis right now?

(Christina Vellano, Syracuse, New York, USA)

A. There is none as far as I'm concerned. What happened was I'd said, Good group, good singer, good songwriters. But people asked me about it so much that one time I decided to take it further and say that they don't mean anything to me. I am not related to Oasis. I wish them good luck and everything. But my kids mean something to me, John Lennon means something to me, but Oasis ....

Q. Who would you pick to play with in your dream six-piece band?

(Alan Thatcher, Essex)

A. Dream? So we're into fantasy, aren't we? Ringo, John, George, that's three. Me. Jimi Hendrix. That makes lots of guitarists, so Little Richard on keyboards.

Q. With Wings, did you feel pressurised to live up to The Beatles?

(Andrew Williams, Neath)

A. Yes, it was a case of "follow that!". Impossible to do. Looking back on it, it's a lot better than I thought, though some of it is just not PLAYED as well as The Beatles. My son (James, co-worker on McCartney's last pop album, Flaming Pie) plays a lot of Wings, so I'm re-listening, and there's good shit that I'd forgotten about. A lot of the lyrics were off the wall, drug stimulated. Things like "Soily - the cat in the satin trousers says its oily". What was I on? I think the answer is stimulants.

Q. Do you still support the legislation of cannabis?

(Grahame Woods, Northwood, Middlesex)

A. I would make a distinction between legalising and decriminalising. I'm in favour of the latter. The problem is that jails are stuffed full of kids doing what a lot of people do. Why stuff the jails with young kids? Plus it's one of the best places to score. I remember when I got busted in Japan, nobody made the slightest effort to rehabilitate me (laughs). Just stuck me in a box for nine days. Obviously you come out and you are fairly resentful.

Q. Do you roll a wicked joint?

(Steve Kline, Bury)

A. I have nothing to say in answer to that question, m'lud. I wasn't even at the venue.

Q. The critics have been harsh on your solo work. Did this ever

discourageyou?

(Robert Hemauer, Madison, Wisconsin, USA)

A. Yeah, sure, but you don't let it kill you. It's a difficult one, because it's never cool for someone to tell you you're shit. Many people through history were damned by the critics of their own time - Cezanne, Van Gogh, Stravinsky, all great painters! Ha ha!

Q. We'd like to see your paintings but can't get to the exhibition in

Germany (McCartney unveils his work for the first time in Siegen, Germany, next year). Any thoughts about putting your paintings on "tour", or publishing a book of them?

(Kathy Goodman, San Diego, CA, USA)

Q. You've done so many things - classical, films, music, art, drugs - is there anything left you might have a go at?

A. A difficult one. If you're a so-called celebrity - like Bowie, Anthony Quinn, Tony Curtis - and you exhibit any art, inevitably, people are not going to think of you as a real painter. Gallery owners come up to me and offer to give me exhibitions. I say, You haven't seen my pictures, and they say, It doesn't matter. Well, it does to me. Otherwise, it's just trading on the name. However, this guy from Germany came over, looked at all my paintings, seems to like them. He's telling me what they're all about.

(Tim Bowler, Swansea)

A. The thing is how reluctant I've often been to have a go. I think we were brought up pretty repressed. Brought up to be seen and not heard, to stay in your place, particularly a working class thing. And I think - I hope - with The Beatles, we got rid of a lot of that. With the painting, for instance, it was Willem de Kooning who liberated me. I used to go to his studio, took in one of my paintings, said, Hey Bill, I hope you don't mind but can you tell me what it is? (Affects American drawl) "Oh, looks "like a couch." Well it looked like a purple mountain to me. And he says, "Well, whatever." Here's one of the greats, his works go for one million, and it was great to see how little bullshit he was bringing to it all. It's really important to explode these myths that surround the arts, music, painting. It's Wizard of Oz time - so many myths, and it's often just a little man behind the screen. The paraphernalia that surrounds them gets in the way. Often you meet leaders in their field and they have none of that. I remember asking a great painter - Peter Blake, maybe - for some advice once, and he said "Just paint a lot". Similar to my approach to music.

Q. How do you know when a song's finished?

(Joyce Slavik, Palatine, Illinois)

A. It's full up. You've answered all of your questions. Normally, I start following a thread: "Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice ... " The thread might come out of nowhere, and I follow it and complete it, like crossword puzzle. When the crossword is full up, the song is finished.

Q. What's more embarrassing: writing Hi Hi Hi or Say Say Say?

(Tien Vu, Costa Mesa, California)

A. (Weighs up pros and cons). Say Say Say.

Q. Why did you give such extensive interviews for an authorised biography (Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now) instead of writing an autobiography?

(Deena Hochberg, Southampton, Pennsylvania)

Q. I'd like to know if Sir Paul sings in the shower, and if so, what does he sing?

A. I don't think I'm a writer. I've never been moved to do it. You have to have a pretty big fire in the belly to do something as big as that. I fancy music more. I'm happier writing in songs rather than in prose, or poetry. Though I wrote something that was never published about the time I got busted in Japan - for my kids. Because I knew one day they'd say, "Hey dad, what was it like, nine days in a Tokyo jail?". So I had a mate of mind, who did all our printing, knock up a few copies, one for each of the kids.

(Jennifer Nash, Bursville, Minnesota)

Q. As a kid you used to play pranks at school by throwing balloons filled with something "worse than water". If you had one of those balloons right now who would you like to hit with it?

A. It's normally the bath. I prefer a good bath. And the answer's Firestarter - "I'm a firestarter, de-de-de-de-dera."

(Brett Yuskiewicz, Leipzig, Germany)

A. Jonathan King. He's a prat from way back.

Q. Which football team did/does each Beatle support?

(WC Chan, Maryland, USA)

A. None of us were big footie types. We weren't very sporty, unlike other groups who were always having knock-arounds. My dad was an Everton fan, which I was most of my life. But then Liverpool started playing well, and Everton didn't, so I took the unprecedented move of supporting them both. It's not allowed, I know, but there you go.

Q. For years, you've claimed it's you in the Walrus costume in the Magical Mystery Tour film. But watching the footage shows that for it to be you, you and John would have had to exchange all your clothes. Are you winding us up, or have you not watched the film in 30 years?

(Dorothy Northcutt, Tucker, Georgia)

Q. What is the quality of each of the other Beatles that you like(d) the best about?

A. The big one. Very good question. I tell you what it was. In the stills we had taken, I was the one with the Walrus head on – in the film it's different. So John then immortalised it in Glass Onion, "I've got news for you all, the walrus was Paul". Obviously at the time you don't care, it's just a Walrus head. You don't realise years later people like our friend from Georgia will analyse it.

(S. Breggles, Richmond)

A. All of them – musical talent. All of them – honesty. Ringo – funny, and kind-hearted. George – straightforward and open. John – witty with a soft centre, or maybe hard with a soft centre.

Q. Do the copulating beetles on the sleeve of Ram (1970) stand for F**k The Beatles?

(Luc Van de Wiele, Wemmel, Belgium)

A. It happened to be a picture Linda had taken. We couldn't resist it just because of the way it looked. She'd caught these two beetles f**king, and then the significance hit us. We saw that pun, yeah, thought why not?

Q. Was there ever a third Lennon song for Anthology 3?

(Jake Lennington, Rush City, MN, USA)

A. There was, but George didn't like it. The Beatles being a democracy, we didn't do it.

Q. I have a Beatles t-shirt which I bought from The Grapes (celebrated Liverpool pub). I was told the band are pictured in their favourite seats - adjacent to the Ladies where you would often catch a glimpse of the girls changing for an evening at The Cavern. True?

(Alan Tomkins, Goring, West Sussex)

A. I hope so. It SOUNDS true. Had there been an opportunity to spot the girls changing, I'm sure we would have sat there.

Q. If you hadn't been a musician, what do you think you would have been?

(Tony Carter, Manchester)

A. The only thing I could have probably qualified for was teaching. So I might have been an English teacher.

Q. Does it do your head in - stuff like the handwritten lyrics to Getting Better selling for $249,000 at Sothebys?

(Peggy Robinson, Trinant, Gwent)

A. It's the price of fame - literally. You scribble them on the back of an envelope, and it gets to be famous. People want it, so it becomes a desirable object. Like Mozart's bog paper, which is another highly desirable object, apparently. More valuable obviously if it's been used.

Q. What is the inscription on the ID bracelet you wear?

(Rachel Hyland, West Harford, Connecticut)

A. It says Paul - for when I forget who I am.

Q. How does it feel to have a star named after you (the christening courtesy of American astronomy fans)?

(John Sales, Barry, Glamorgan)

A. Really cool. The good thing is that as you get on, your fans get on too. And some of them are pretty swotty. Like the people who started Apple, they were just Beatles fans, hence the name. You don't sit around looking at the sky, trying to find it, but it's like getting a very nice birthday present. I'm not religious, I don't believe in any one system - I sort fo think the universe is basically benevolent and we f**k it up - but I am spiritual. I saw Stephen Hawking on TV the other night, and he was saying that we are made of the same stuff as the stars. Which is great. We are all stardust, luv.

Q. What do you want written on your gravestone?

(Tom Mangold, Exeter)

A. Here lies Gracie Fields. Anything to keep people away.

[duchessofostergotlands]

Unpopular royal fashion opinions: The heels are too high. Royal fashion has gotten too conservative. Yellow is a difficult colour to wear. Fake eyelashes are not great.

Ok so some thoughts:

I think feet are a crime against nature and shoes are just a means to an end to cover these hideousness monstrosities so I pay very little attention to them unless they're very cool lol

I did think about something a bit like this actually. It was going to be more of a "there's no such thing as "appropriate" royal dressing." People throw that word around a lot - usually about Letizia - and when I ask them what they mean by inappropriate and what they're basing it on they never give me a good answer. Usually in the end they just give up and say "I just don't think royals should dress that way." No explanation. And they're allowed to have that opinion but "I don't like it" is a long way from "it is inappropriate for a royal to dress this way." I get if clothes are emblazoned with racist slogans or if they are against the specific dress code or something like that. But more often than not the outfits don't detract from their ability to do their job and it's purely misogynistic pearl clutching about a woman they already hate being comfortable in the way she looks and taking up space.

Yep, hate yellow. Only works in a handful of cases but when it does it's gorgeous. I already have a colour related one on my list though so might not include it this time.

Do royals wear fake eyelashes? I pay attention to make up about as much as I pay attention to shoes - maybe even less so - so I have no idea!

[raccoonfallsharder]

hii! i just wanted to say i love your blog sm. your fics are amazing and your fanart as well😩 your work has such a good emotional depth that’s so nice to read/see. you have a way like the movies did of showing the attention to detail with their worlds and other worldly cultures and shit it’s so interesting to read <3. i didn’t know if your taking requests but this was just a random thought that would be so cool to see you write. no pressure ofc but i thought it’d be so cool to see rocket more introduced to like more music/Terran pop culture references😭. i feel like rocket would like goth music like the cure and shit and tbh lady gaga i feel like also😭😭. it’s so cute to think of him getting shown like classic horror and stuff, he’d probably think a lot of them as comedies or shit😭. i jsut had these thoughts to share lol. your writing has me daydreaming i swear <3. i hope you are having a good day <33 : D

you are absolutely the sweetest little bundle of love nonnie. cups of tea, midnight bonfires, and golden autumn leaves. that's you. thank you so much for the kind words. they truly made my last two weeks. and i'm so sorry for the delay - the start of the schoolyear has been kicking my ass to knowhere and back, and then this… got away from me. it’s really unforgivably fucken long for mostly just being a list ~

but i hope you enjoy it anyway ♡♡

oh btw i linked some related headcanons that might interest you at the end!

to be honest i don't think i go through a single commute to or from work without thinking about how rocket would respond to the latest bit of terran culture you're showing him. when he was spending time on terra during the snap, he noticed steve’s little pocket-journal checklist of movies and books and shows to get caught up on. well, he didn’t just notice it — he might’ve maybe possibly swiped it — and once he trusted you enough to know you weren’t gonna fuckin narc on him, he decided to show it to you. he asks questions about the various titles, and steve’s notes scrawled in the margins. the two of you started there.

rocket isn’t quite as prejudiced against actors as many of his fellow guardians, but he does approach the idea of movies and tv with a healthy dose of skepticism. you probably start out with some documentaries, and he loves those. he’s enthralled by the ones about outer space — appreciating what they’ve gotten right and snickering about what they got wrong, getting a little weepy when the narrator makes some poignant philosophical observation. he stares at the screen with something that wrenches at your heart when you turn on the nature docs, those cut-ruby eyes turning into something soft and molten, silvered over with a yearning you’re sure he doesn’t even recognize inside himself.

you might think he’d be a fan of true crime, but no — not unless it’s someone scamming a big corporation or stealing from some hubristic rich bastard, or maybe the occasional murderer who accidentally confesses his crimes on a hot mic. the truth is that rocket’s already personally familiar with some of the worst true crime in the galaxy and he just sort of assumes that’s how things operate at large. why’s he need to watch people talk about?

it’s this kind of thinking that impacts the kind of fictional shows and movies he ends up liking, too — once you finally convince him that acting is more about storytelling, and less about lying or trying to wear someone else’s skin. you’d think he’d be super-into horror but he’s very — selective about it. murderers, slashers, and body horror (especially of the medical variety) are not in his wheelhouse. he gets anxious in the worst sort of way: impatiently twitching on the couch next to you, chewing on his claws. he rolls his eyes but his shoulders stay tense and his tail is puffs up three times it’s normal size. he might occasionally snort and scoff at how fake things look but again, that’s only because he knows.

and he wishes he didn’t.

supernatural horror is much more palatable to him, and alien-based horror is usually hilarious as far as he’s concerned. space dramas and adventures have an unpredictable impact. he says star wars is too dramatic (wild coming from someone who has since decided he loves reality dating shows) and gets weirdly emotional about star trek. and you have to repeatedly remind him that neither the aliens franchise nor killer clowns from outer space are documentary series (he has some weird hang-ups about terran clowns and will dryly tell you that he’s pretty sure they’ve tried to kill him in another life). he’s extremely and overly fascinated by some of the weirder terran horror and horror-adjacent media: cult classics from the 80s and 90s, Tales from the Crypt, Twilight Zone — some of those weird old fantasy movies too, like the labyrinth and company of wolves. you always indulge him, trying to remind him of what’s fiction and what’s not, and what loosely straddles the line of being based on a true story (even though sometimes you have to fight with the urge to roll your eyes when he points at the screen and says, no, that’s real, i been to a planet like that!).

you learn he has an uncanny eye for CGI. looks weird, he grunts every time something rendered crosses the screen. very into practical effects, though. he spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make a claymation sequence of the collapse of ego — the living planet, that is; not some great philosophical metaphor — and took over your kitchen for two months to do it. you’d expected him to get bored of it quickly, but you’d misunderstood just how fixated he’d been. he’d stopped taking pete’s comms for the entire last three weeks and had barely slept at all till it had been done.

he’s equally selective about games. classic shooters bore him — why bother when you can go do the real thing with any despot-of-the-week? — but he kind of loves cozy games. he enjoys horror games as long as they follow his horror movie rules, too — minimal lifeform-on-lifeform torture, heavy on the supernatural or other weirdness. poppy’s playtime is a current fave. he loves dnd, of course. once he figures out the mechanics he always wants to dm because he’s got more control issues than a freighter full of ravagers, but you haven’t missed the fact that that he’s got a recurring favorite character that he pulls out regardless of which side of the dm screen he’s on — a shockingly wise and kind aquatic sorceress named lylla, with the gentlest healing vibes. it rattles you the first time he plays her — so at odds with his normal snark — but you decide it’s just his way of letting his soft side shine through when he normally tries to hide it under prickly defensiveness.

it might surprise you (or maybe not), but he’s far less picky about music, to be honest. sure, he’s got preferences — certain songs he’ll play on repeat, or jam out to, or weep over. but he’s just as excited to clone a taylor swift record as he is to get his hands on some iron maiden. he’s got something surprisingly positive to say about every single song you ask after.

that one’s real catchy, he’ll say, bopping along to dolly’s 9 to 5 — only to then croon his way through the lingering notes of jolene. then the next time you see him he’s asking how he can secure more tupac albums.

he gets all teary-eyed over the sweeping strings of sometime around midnight, then later tilts his head, ears flickering, to drink in the light starlit notes of single acoustic guitars and lonely pianos. he’s as greedy for 90s grunge as he is for screamo and post-rock. sometimes he steals your phone and it’s usually just to download a nirvana album you once had him listen to, but just last week you realize he’d blown a sizable portion of your grocery budget by buying the entire babymetal discography.

he explains it to you one late autumn evening when you’re in your room with him, introducing him to seventeen seconds. the two of you are just chilling. he’s traded in his jumpsuit for the kids’ sweatpants and the hoodie you bought him — the one with the ears — and of course you very wisely don’t tell him how stupidly cute it is. the sun’s going down and the room is slanting and pooling with blue-and-gold shadows slowly deepening into purple, and you’ve lit a couple caramel-apple candles for the vibe. maybe you’ve got mugs of warm spiced apple cider or cocoa or something. he’s sprawled on the rug on your floor and you’re leaning over the edge of the bed, with the entire musical archive of the cure, woven liberally with a random joy division album, some merciful nuns, and other collections from your personal library of favorites.

he’s super-into it, of course.

this sound is somethin’ else, he tells you as he stares up at the shadows. The candlelight is reflecting off some unknown surface in your room, casting flecks of fractured light across the deepening dark of the ceiling. his blunted claws tap a steady rhythm on the floor beside him.

you say that about every song, you tell him drily, and he shrugs.

but i mean it, he tells you in the gold-flickering darkness. there’s a long silence, and you think he’s just listening to the music — but halfway through dope, he suddenly breaks his silence.

i ain’t exactly the most emotionalistically-intelligent, he says quietly into the room. don’t trust myself to know when someone’s good or bad. there was a guy, when i was a kid — well. anyway. it’s frickin hard to trust anybody, myself most of all.

you wait to see if he’ll go on — but he doesn’t. at least not till you say, i get that. there’s good people out there, but the worst are usually so good at tricking us. and then it’s easy to second-guess ourselves — forever.

from the corner of your eye, you see him nod emphatically.

not in music, though, he says quietly. you hear him swallow — painfully hard. i think — music’s when people tell you most about what they are. even when it’s hard to understand at first. when there ain’t any words.

you tilt your head, allowing him the privacy of not looking directly at him. instead, you study the flickering candlelight and shadow, painting amber and dark-velvet patterns on the ceiling. that’s why you like every song? you ask at last.

that swallow again, hard as a rock in his throat. i dunno. maybe it means something, when someone gives a part of ‘emselves like that. to you — a stranger. just — serve themselves up like a gift for your judgement.

ah, you think. the vulnerability.

as if he’d heard you, he snorts. me personally? i’d never risk it.

even now, you can feel him watching you uneasily from the corner of his eye — waiting for you to mock him, maybe. but you only hum an agreeable note.

i never thought of it that way, you admit, but it’s true. you smile at the ceiling. and you said you weren’t emotionally intelligent.

he huffs, but the sound is more relieved than annoyed. i ain’t, he snipes. and then — more tentatively — maybe that’s part of it too.

you feel your eyebrows raise, but you still don’t look his way — cradling the back of your head with your hands while the music continues in around you, and smell of warm caramel apples fills the soft shadows between you. what do you mean?

softer now — almost nervous — he confesses to the darkness and the gold light and the sound of lady gaga’s voice. every time i listen to a new song, s’like I find something in myself i didn’t have before. or didn’t know i had before. or that i thought had died.

your heart stills in your chest and your breath catches, and everything in you suddenly aches. before you can say a word — before you can think — he spits a scoff into the air.

never mind. i was kidding. that’s fuckin’ stupid—

no, you interrupt quickly, and it takes everything in you not to turn over and catch his eyes and hold them. not to reach out and hold his hands, because you know he’s not willing to accept that level of comfort.

not yet. but soon.

so instead, you make your voice into the softest thing you’ve ever imagined. no sharp edges, no corners to cut himself on. just downy well-worn blankets and soft crumpled love-notes, happy welcome homes and the warm caramel of autumn apples. you will it go wrap around him and give him all the comfort he won’t let himself accept any other way.

no, you repeat. i get that.

i get that.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

related headcanons: rocket's movie & television tastes ✶ what if rocket finds the mcu movies? ✶ music and rocket & adam, pete & jason ✶ rocket & coloring ✶ rocket & origami ✶ rocket & lava lamps ✶ rocket & sudoku, crosswords & word-searches ✶ rocket & hanayama puzzles ✶ rocket sings

raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

[divine-crows]

Grimoire/Bos Prompts or Research Topics for the Witch that Doesn’t Know What To Do Next

(Pt. 2/4) 

Another list with ideas, as always, these ideas and prompts by no means belong to me, and if you’d like, check out my first post for more prompt-type ideas (hopefully I’ll remember to link the first one before I post this.)

- What does each season mean to you and what are witchy activities, spells, and rituals you can do during these seasons? This one is pretty self-explanatory. A cool idea I had for it is dedicating a page to each season and including something from each season in it (like a pressed leaf for fall, pressed flower for spring, etc.) You can also include how plants or the weather usually looks during each season (An idea courtesy of Molly Roberts on YT). 

- If you like fantasy novels-- how their magic differs from real magic, things you wish fantasy authors would incorporate or do, and any phrases that speak to you on a magical level. You could also write a sort of self-analysis about why you like the genre and any possible magical ties. (Ex. maybe you like fantasy novels because you realized it’s the only way you really see magic in media, or maybe it’s indulging the inner child in you that still wants to shoot fire out of your hands). 

- Music, Art pieces, or general Artists that give you magical vibes. You can also put the lyrics, the art, or something pertaining to the artist in a page/use it to decorate empty space. This also can tie into pop magic. 

- If you play an instrument and have something like a string that can’t be used anymore, write about it and find ways you can magically incorporate it, and if you want, you can find a way to decorate the page with said object. This can be extra fun if you use the instrument for magical workings, and it can also apply to things like old art supplies. 

- Your heritage and how you can use it in your craft. This can range from a list of types of magical concepts that relate to your heritage, to whole practices and paths that were made that your far back ancestors would have used. You can list these types of magic and: 1) list the history of them 2) talk about how it’s connected to you [is it personal? Is it something you want to make personal?] 3) Are there factors about it that should be considered? [is it a part of a practice, did another group influence/use it?]. This can be useful because it gives you a way to connect further with your practice and to take a fun adventure where you can learn more about yourself. Always be aware of other cultural factors and don’t appropriate. 

- How you prefer leaving offerings. Most likely, you’ve at some point learned how to leave offerings (whether it’s working with deities, or with nature in general), and you’ve found a way to leave offerings that work for you. Maybe you prefer praying/speaking before or after leaving an offering, maybe you just leave an offering with a brief couple of words, or maybe you prefer leaving art you’ve made from paintings to poems. Further, maybe you prefer having an outside altar versus an inside one and vice versa, or any of those things might vary depending on what you’re communicating with. Write about it, and why you do it for future use.