#teen fashion maggot

[chymphaea]

Larvie

I decided to draw her for the first post of the new year

[plantfell]

It's rare to find Knives simply wandering around the city streets. A bad habit that's carried over from his universe and the days where mingling among the "maggots" that infest the cities of No Man's Lands made him nauseous. These days, Humans still make him uncomfortable, but nowhere near the degree that they used to. Working at Club Euphoria has helped, as has the general strides he's been making towards becoming a better person.

There's also the fact that Knives isn't wandering aimlessly, but with purpose. As August fast approaches, so too does Legato's birthday. A birthday that he's woefully under prepared for. He hasn't even found a gift yet, but he's hoping to change that today. Hoping being the operative word. He knows there's a few things his partner has shown an interest in lately, but Knives hasn't bought a present before and he feels a bit of pressure to get it right.

Legato would probably be happy with a blank sheet of paper or a blade of grass, as long as it comes from Knives. Which means he has to be extra sure that it's a truly good gift. The perfect gift.

That's Knives' plan, at least. Then he notices something reaching out from an alleyway a little ways ahead of him. It doesn't feel like a plant, but it's shape is reminiscent of their feathers. Reaching out doesn't yield the familiar feeling of his siblings, but neither does reaching out to the younger Vash.

Knives tries to think rationally about it. The chance that it's another plant is incredibly low, given what he knows about their universes. Plus, there's nothing particularly unique about having feathers or angelic features in the grand scheme of the universe, but… It doesn't stop his heart from skipping a beat. Nor does it stop him from speeding up as soon as he decides to investigate the source of the feathery tendrils.

In the alley, there's no obvious sign of the tendrils source, but it's not hard to follow them until he finds it. Though, the closer Knives gets, his pace begins to slow. Despite the growing apprehension, he doesn't stop until he's standing over a young man; somewhere in his mid to late teens, if going by human standards.

Looking at the young man among the rubbish, it does almost look like an independent plant losing control of it's gate. The tendrils even seem to be originating from the young man's arm, just like his and Vash's Angel Arms. Unlike a plant, however, there's no pressure to the young man's presence. His clothing also doesn't look like anything that might come from his or the other universe. It's more akin to the older eras of Earth fashion, but not quite.

Knives realizes after a few moments that he should probably say something, instead of leering at the young man like a researcher discovering a rare bug. Maybe something reassuring or some offer of help. Something to calm the clearly distressed young man.

"Are you a plant?" Knives asks.

Well, there was no line of people ready to claim Knives had good bedside manners and it seems that the young man wouldn't be the first. Oh well, at least Knives is trying to help. Probably.

@plantfell || Thread 01.

He must've blacked out. Again. These episodes were becoming more frequent. He should be worried. He knows who the man in the mirror is now, after all. But the man — the Fourteenth — is silent once more.

...His arm hurts.

He blinks, slowly, sucking in a breath as awareness to his new environment rushes in all at once. This was not headquarters. What the hell? Where was he? He doesn't recognize the alley he's woken up in. Then again, he's never been the greatest at identifying where he was at a given moment. The materials... seemed to be a little too sophisticated compared to what he's used to. Like the world in his dreams. Like the Arc. He supposes his unwelcomed roommate must've managed the strength to walk him this far. There's a strange device in his coat pocket. He ignores it, for now. He has other priorities.

He can't stay here.

However, his body seems to be committing mutiny against him. His arm — his Innocence was acting up. Why? He grits his teeth, and actively forces himself not to look at the writhing mass of... he's not sure what Crowned Clown is doing. It scares him. He doesn't want to acknowledge it. But he can't help but catch glimpses of whatever it's doing from the corner of his eye; feathery tendrils reaching skywards, likely clearly visible from outside the alleyway. Like a signal. But who — what — was it trying to call? He grips his shoulder, as if that'll force it back into a more solidified shape, alleviate the discomfort somehow. It doesn't.

Maybe he should call out for help... Except he doesn't even know where he's at, and he doesn't want to bring the wrong kind of attention to himself. It takes a herculean amount of effort to drag his body behind some abandoned boxes and other piles of garbage towards the back of the alley. A poor attempt at hiding, because his Innocence was acting up, and no amount of desperate silent pleas to stop whatever it was doing would work. His body being mostly hidden from view gives him some relief. Barely.

If someone decides to investigate, he wonders if asking nicely will be enough to make them leave him be. He doesn't know what else to do.

[janshu]

Once In A Millennia...P1.

Summary: A thousand years ago you were married to the Sukuna, a mortal man with the power of a god. Bound to him, his "death" leads you to wander the world alone, against all odds. However...his spirit remains and was resurrected by an unknown boy...

Word Count: 1k-ish.

Warnings: Gn!reader, mentions of a past life & family arranging a marriage.

The days had begun to blur into one incoherent mess.

That wasn't too out of the ordinary. You couldn't be expected to remember every moment of every day, not when you had several lifetime's floating around between your synapses. The mundane and monotonous would naturally be forgotten to make room for the impactful and important memories. The one's you hold onto like your life depends on it and maybe in some way it did, life was mysterious in its ways.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that you had seen everything. Every advancement in every field from science to medicine, going from horse-drawn-buggies to vehicles and letters to text messages. Safe to say that nothing was a surprise anymore. What was life's great surprise now? In a thousand years you had seen and experienced everything, from the divine to the depraved.

Life had begun easy. Being only the child of simple country folk who took pride in their work, worshipping the gods in their own special way, you were given more freedom than most in your childhood. Father and Mother had let you wander the secret places of the village until the sun set and dinner was ready, fed and ready for bed you'd lay down on the comfortable cot they had purchased with the earnings from that season's harvest to let you dream the night away. Until he came, that fateful day where your parents made the decision to sacrifice you to the warlord baring down on their home and land. The ultimatum that sealed your fate was simple: you or them and being the pragmatic people they were chose themselves to save.

Now hundreds of years later you weren't sure you should curse or bless them for their decision because that choice set you on the path to where you are now, browsing the morning market like the days of old with the luxuries of the modern age.

That's when you were made aware of it. The creeping cold of being watched, of being found. The inescapable reality of a person exhaling their hot breath against the back of your neck at an angle your neck simply could not turn towards. The feel of a large palm bearing its weight against the curve of your spine with the addition of three more to various hand-holds across the expanse of your body.

"Have you been well, my sweet spouse? The years haven't been kind to you, have they?"

The deep chuckle of a man thoroughly sadistic in the uncaring manner of which they dispatch those he deems maggots, a man changed, a curse upon the world.

Your husband: Sukuna Ryōmen.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten. Wouldn't it be a pity if you've forgotten your husband?"

And when you understandably twist your head around to venture a guess why he of all beings was behind you at a random stall? There was no one. Not the copious amounts of people shopping for their meal ingredients, not even the shopkeepers or the one that was impatiently waiting for you to purchase that fruit and strangely enough: no husband in sight.

An odd hallucination perhaps?

You were being followed, very conspicuously might I add. Clearly they thought themselves to be a master spy by the way they hid behind dumpsters, peeked around poles and made themselves the most obvious person in the ocean of people. Pure lunacy or a power move you weren't sure of yet, the garment they wore a dead giveaway to their intentions. The deep navy uniforms of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. A sorcerer and not a good one if their sneaking skills alluded to their abilities.

Far more inconspicuously you took a look at the figure with the reflection of a shop's window pane. A young man, average, pink undercut and overall nondescript but there was something familiar about his aura. A sinister darkness that was foreign in his kind features. That couldn't be natural. Sepia shaded orbs trained on your figure with a burning intensity that would set your soul on fire with its pinpoint directness. The more important matter was why a sorcerer was following you. To your knowledge they believed Sukuna was a myth and your marriage to him had been forgotten in the past seven hundred years so was it superstition that led him to follow you? Or did you have a curse attached to you and he was doing his job?

Odd, to say the least.

"Excuse me? Uhh, hello? Uhm..'scuse me."

A hand clamped down on your shoulder from the opposite direction you had been watching the sorcerer. Turning back around what did you find? The very same magic user you had been spying. How did he move so quickly? That was a split moment and he was behind you. How did he manage that?

"Yes?" You responded, face rather devoid of emotions while taking a closer inspection at the sorcerer. Upon closer look he was indeed a boy, in the middle of his teen years at the most yet experience had aged his soul considerably. The windows of his eyes closer to that of a wizened old monk rather than a bright-eyed pubescent teenager. The oddest feature that stood out were the dark tattoo's across the bottom edges of his eye sockets, rather distinguished against the otherwise blank face. Fashion statements got stranger and stranger with each passing century.

The boy appeared to have a goal in mind as his eyes searched your face, your eyes and the windows to your soul. Whatever he was looking for either wasn't there or he kept the discovery to himself because after his hand was removed he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Oops, sorry! Thought you were someone else."

"No harm done, honest mistake."

Without another word the sorcerer boy turned on his heel and retreated in the direction he came from. How he had managed to double back and come from your blind spot was still a mystery, there must've been more than meets the eye on that boy.

Yuji Itadori returned to the First Year dorm hall and slid the door closed behind him as he entered. It was late, much later than when he was expected to be in bed and resting. If anyone had noticed his absence then he'd be in a world of pain. What could be worse than the punishment's Gojo could think up? Well, there was one thing. That tattooed psychopath using his body as a vessel. Whoever that person was had set him off. The control he originally thought he had on the cursed spirit had hung by a thread, a battle on who got to control his body raging on. It was a stalemate, mostly. He had control over the vast majority of his facilities but that uppy bastard had gotten his hand in the metaphorical doorway and pried himself into the driver's sleg. Taking over his legs and waltzing up to them and without a plan. They were lucky he had regained himself right as he touched them, what would've happened if he hadn't? There were moments he went on and on about slaughtering women and children like maggots but was the sight of them enough to cause a sudden bloody rampage? Apparently so.

The transition to phase into the mindscape that kept Sukuna contained was seamless. As if he had walked to another section of a home, could be considered as easy as breathing but whenever he was there it was not because he went willingly. He was summoned.

On the pinnacle of the mountain of bones, perched upon on the throne, Yuji noticed there was a crazed grin on the very man's face. Revealing the pearly whites amidst his bloody gums, eyes wide as he leaned forward. Not looking at his host, quite the opposite but something beyond him. Shoulders cloaked in a white robe rose and fell in time with his maniacal giggles, gleeful and relieved. It would be perturbing if he wasn't used to the grating sound by now. The reason why he was laughing was the disconcerting subject.

"Ahh, there you are, dearest spouse. How long will it take until you return to me?"