#you will say to this mountain move from here to there and it will move

[heliosunny]

thank you for feeding us with your yan content please continuing writing for more (no pressure btw)

also more yan phainon pls ): my life is yours

Yandere!Demon King Phainon x Reader

Your sibling was dying. The sickness had come like a curse, your younger brother’s body growing weaker each day. You had gone to healers, priests, alchemists—each shaking their heads, saying there was nothing to be done. His once bright laughter had faded into weak, pained whimpers. You had sat by his side, clutching his frail hand, praying for a miracle that never came.

Until the summons arrived.

"The Demon King Phainon has called for you."

The words alone sent a chill through you. The Demon King? The ruthless conqueror of the underworld? You had heard the stories of how he razed kingdoms, how his power was beyond comprehension. Why would someone like him want you?

You almost refused. But then you looked at your sibling, their chest barely rising, and knew you had no choice.

The demon realm was unlike anything you had ever seen: vast, dark, otherworldly. The sky churned with violet and crimson hues, casting an eerie glow over jagged mountains and blackened trees. The air thrummed with power, with something ancient and dangerous. And at the heart of it all sat Phainon.

He was unlike any demon you had imagined—tall, regal, with hair white as snow. His blue, a piercing, glacial blue, colder than the heart of winter gleamed under the golden crown. He sat lazily on his throne, watching you approach as though he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

"You care for your sibling deeply, don’t you?" he mused, his voice smooth, yet carrying an underlying menace.

You fell to your knees. "Please… if there’s anything you can do…"

He leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. "Anything?"

The weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

"Yes."

His smirk was slow. "Then you are mine."

You hesitated for only a second. then nodded. If it meant saving your sibling, you would endure anything.

Phainon kept his promise.

Your sibling’s illness vanished overnight. You had sobbed in relief when you heard their laughter again, clutching them close. But you never got the chance to say goodbye.

Because by then, Phainon had already taken you away.

You had expected chains, dungeons, cruelty. But instead, he placed you in a grand palace, one crafted of obsidian and lined with glowing runes. Servants bowed at your feet, offering silken robes, jewels, exotic foods you had never seen before.

He never forced you to stay by his side, not physically.

Yet, his presence was inescapable. He was always near, watching.

At first, you had kept your distance. You had no illusions about your situation, Phainon was the Demon King, and you were a mere human caught in his grasp.

But time had a strange way of softening walls.

It started with small things.

One night, you were wandering the halls when you heard movement from his chamber. The doors were slightly open, and inside, you saw him seated on the edge of his bed, shoulders tense, breathing uneven. His usually composed face was shadowed by something dark.

A nightmare?

You hesitated. Then, against your better judgment, you stepped inside.

"Your majesty?" you called softly.

His eyes snapped to you, sharp as a blade. But the moment he registered your presence, his expression softened ever so slightly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

"I was getting some water and heard you. You looked… troubled."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"I do not dream" he murmured. "But sometimes… memories return in ways I do not like."

You weren’t sure why, but your feet moved closer on their own.

"Bad memories?"

His fingers clenched around the sheets.

"Assassins. Betrayal." A bitter smile. "You wouldn’t understand."

Maybe not. But you understood pain. So you did something you never thought you would—you reached out, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. He tensed immediately, as if startled by the touch. But he didn’t pull away.

"You’re safe now" you said softly.

Phainon’s gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. His breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

"…Stay" he whispered.

One evening, he asked you to accompany him on a walk.

"You enjoy nature, don’t you?" Phainon asked.

You looked up from the book in your hands, arching an eyebrow. "I do, but there isn't much of it around here."

"Then let's take a walk."

You were surprised by the offer, but you didn’t refuse.

The forest he led you to was nothing like the gardens of your homeland. You expected a garden filled with roses, maybe a balcony with a scenic view. Instead, it was dark, ancient, and filled with creatures that shouldn’t exist. The ground pulsed faintly beneath your feet, as if the earth itself was alive.

"Why here?" you asked, glancing warily at a tree whose bark seemed to shift.

"It’s cooler" Phainon said simply. . "And I find the creatures here... fascinating."

He wasn’t wrong. You had never seen insects with glowing wings or mist that moved as if it had a will of its own.

But then something massive stirred in the shadows. A creature with glistening black scales slithered forward, its multiple eyes locking onto you. It let out a low, threatening growl.

Before you could even think, you stepped behind Phainon, gripping the back of his cloak.

His laughter was soft but unmistakable.

"Oh? Seeking protection from me now?"

"Shut up and kill it!" you muttered.

With a flick of his wrist, the beast was instantly reduced to a pile of ash.

Phainon tilted his head at the remains, his amusement fading slightly. "Strange. Normally, they obey me."

You gave him a look. "Yet, you took me here."

His gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

"Would you rather I let them come to the palace?"

You frowned. "That’s not what I meant."

Phainon only smiled. "Then let’s continue."

He reached for your hand. And though you hesitated, you let him take it.

"Maybe visit places like... demon market next time." You suggested

"And why is that?"

"I'll buy something to cook for you, the food at the palace didn't suit my taste."

He smiled and nodded. "Sure."

Phainon’s palace had an army of servants consists of demons who prepared extravagant feasts daily. Yet, one evening, as you were passing the kitchens, you saw the Demon King himself standing over a pot of something that smelled… absolutely foul.

You froze.

"Are you… cooking?"

Phainon glanced at you, stirring the pot with a lazy expression. "Trying to."

You hesitated, peering into the pot.

It was black.

"What… is that supposed to be?"

"Something edible." He scooped a bit onto a spoon, lifting it to taste.

You watched in horror as he swallowed without flinching.

"How did you survive before I was here?" you blurted.

He smirked. "I’m a Demon King. I can eat pretty much anything."

"That doesn’t mean you should." You sighed and rolled up your sleeves. "Move. I’ll cook."

He blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me. Or would you prefer to poison yourself?"

Phainon chuckled but stepped aside, watching with genuine curiosity as you worked. You cooked the way you had at home- simple but warm, flavors balanced with care. When you finally served him a plate, he took a bite and paused.

You shifted nervously. "What? Is it bad?" He shook his head slowly.

"No."

You were startled to see something unfamiliar in his expression. Softness.

"It’s warm," he said. "Like you."

Your heart stuttered. "Shut up and eat" you muttered, flustered.

He smiled—but this time, it wasn’t mocking.

You had been holding it in for so long. But one night, when Phainon was away, one of his subordinates, one who clearly resented a human in the palace—cornered you.

"You don’t belong here" they sneered. "You think because the King favors you, you are one of us?"

You didn’t argue. What would be the point?

But when they tripped you, making you stumble against the stone floor, pain flaring in your ankle, the dam broke.

You curled up in a quiet corner, hugging your knees.

You missed your family.

You missed your home.

For all Phainon’s kindness, you still felt alone.

And then—he found you.

"You’re hurt."

You looked up to see Phainon staring at your ankle, his expression dark.

"Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to make things worse. But Phainon wasn’t an idiot. He knelt beside you, gently lifting you onto his back.

"What are you—?"

"You need treatment" he said simply. "And I’m not letting you walk."

So you let him carry you. As his warmth surrounded you, you realized something. For all his power, for all his cruelty, Phainon wanted to be cared for, too.

This was a mistake.

Because when the truth came out, when you realized everything had been a lie, you weren’t just betrayed.

You were heartbroken.

You had grown close to him, despite everything. Then you overheard the truth.

"It was all a lie. She was never here out of love."

The words hit you like a dagger to the chest. You stood frozen as the demons gossiped, unaware of your presence.

"He manipulated everything. She was always meant to break the seal for him."

Everything.. the kindness, the protection, the gentle moments—it had all been a carefully woven deception. That night, you locked yourself in your room.

Phainon found you.

He smashed the door open, eyes wild with panic when he saw the blood dripping from your palm. You had cut yourself, trying to undo whatever magic bound you to him.

"I don’t speak to people who lie" you said, voice shaking.

For the first time, Phainon looked truly afraid.

"I never lied about loving you."

At first, he endured your silence.

But when a subordinate attempted to brain wash you in his absence, Phainon intervened violently, slaughtering them in an instant.

You saw the horror in his eyes, not at what he had done, but at the thought of losing you for good. In that moment, you understood, his love was selfish, consuming. But it was real. And in the end, you let him in once more.

But Phainon was not one to leave things to chance.

That night, while you slept, he branded you with a sigil, a binding mark ensuring you could never leave him again.

"Who knows how long you'll stay?" he murmured, tracing the mark on your skin.

"I can't risk losing you again."

[zarvasace]

Description under cut. Aconite explodes. He can sure curse.

Masterpost for these guys

This comic is done in a sketchy, uncolored style with small-ish words and a light blue background.

Page One

Panel one: a hawk flies through the air and clouds and mountains. A pop-out panel shows an arrow flying through the air.

Panel two: this shows three people. On the left is Aconite (Acon), who wears a loose tunic and has a shy posture. In the middle is Malachite (Mal) who wears a quilted gambeson and has curly hair. His left arm appears to be missing. On the right sits Talon, who looks disgruntled. The bandage around his right eye isn't abnormal, but the sling on his left arm is. Mal speaks. “With Talon's wing—er, arm—shot out, we’re down a fighter. Looks like we'll be here for a few days… …which means we'll need to hunt or forage.”

Panel three: Same shot of Talon, but he's talking and gesturing over his shoulder, and the camera has moved to show the pile of supplies behind him.

“Hunting will be best, up this way,” he says. “Lots to shoot at.”

Someone off screen says snrk.

Talon continues. “Yeah, yeah. You can use my bow. Just gotta string it.”

Page Two

Panel one: Acon and Mal, in the same positions as before. Mal says, “That means you, Acon.”

“Me?” Acon replies.

“Unless you want to give the big, powerful, pointy thing to Link.”

Panel two: Link sits on the ground cross-legged, not doing much. A little arrow points to him and says: dead. Mostly inanimate.

Off screen, Mal and Acon continue to argue.

“He has a sword, Mal.”

“Do you think he could catch a rabbit or a pheasant with it?”

“…could you?”

Panel three: Mal puts his hand on his face in exasperation. “Yes—no—hold on. That isn't the point.”

Acon walks past him with a little smile. “I know. I'll do it.”

Panel four: full body shot of Acon in front of pine trees and forests. He holds an unstrung bow. He says, “Nice bow, Talon. What is it, a 30 lb?”

“40,” says Talon off screen.

“I could add some runes to it.”

“Food first, Acon.”

Page three

Panel one: Acon steps on one side of the bow and bends over to string it, which involves physically bending the wood enough. There's a little “tug tug” sound effect.

Panel two, a circle horizontally: Acon's face is surprised, with a “!?” effect.

Panel three: the same as panel one, but Acon is visible working a little harder now. The effect is in all caps: “TUG TUG.”

Panel four: A close up shot of Acon’s face, flushed and scowling. He his holding the unstrung bow horizontally.

“I can't do it…? >:(!” [mad face emoticon]

Panel five: Mal sitting cross-legged on the ground while watching, with Talon still sitting on his rock and talking.

“Acon, that thing is powerful enough that even my uncle has trouble. Don't be so bothered. I should have snares, too.”

Panel six: a further zoom in on Acon’s face. His scowl has lightened just a little. “I used to wear golden plate mail,” he says.

Page four

Panel one: Talon and Mal still sitting down. Talon winces and says, “That sounds.. . Ridiculous—”

“—ly unlikely…” Mal adds, smaller and presumably quieter.

Panel two: a big exclamation interrupts the panel. BY ALL THAT’S CRUSTY AND MOLDY!

Panel three: We see Acon from behind, throwing his hands up into the air and yelling into the sky. His words cover him and fill the whole panel:

By Hylia’s own hairy back, I can't believe my own incompetence—I might as well be wielding a tiny tin spoon instead of a weapon! Every sewage-filled, ridiculous year has conspired to rob me of any inflated ego I might ever have had—even a drunk Great Fairy would have trouble wiping more excrement over her life than I’ve clearly let you-know-who do! I'm a snivelling little Deku Scrub at a Goron wrestling match, to tried to absolutely nothing and burning enough that even a half-blind carpenter couldn't make paper out of me! Guess I'm safe from flesh-eating zombies! I'm a legend, all right—

Panel four: Talon and Mal again, both looking startled. “…who knew he had it in him?” Mal says.

White lines show Link as a ghost giving a thumbs-up and a big smile.

The end!

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 805: Sohoku's morale

Pag 1

1: The banking angle is like this

2: It's like putting the weight on the very edge of the round part of the tire

3: Keep braking at a minimum

4: Right before the curve, switch one gear lower while braking

7: While taking the curve without decelerating as much as possible...

Pag 2

1: push as hard as you can when moving up!!

Pag 3

1: Shorten it....!!

2: The eight minutes distance...!!

To a four minutes distance!!

3: I can go further!!

4: Let's go!!

With everyone's strength!!

5: Woah, is that the selected team!? They passed me

Six people... no, it's seven people!?

Kyofushi joined them at the very back!!

6: Until the “lead” ahead of us....!!

Pag 4

1: The cyclists are here, there's the pack!

Do your best!

They're so colorful!

So fast!

These is the Inter High's.....

Pag 5

1: lead!!

Pag 6

2: Amazing!

They're so fast..!

They caused the wind!

Fighting!

Gooo!

Pag 7

1: The ones in the lead pulling the pack is....

2: the local from Kyushu, Fukuoka Josei!!

Kumadai is there too!!

4: So your best....!!

They looked here and smiled at us

Take the finish line ahead!!

Mokkosu!!

Pag 8

2: The finish line, huh!!

3: Yeah!!

4: The race is already turning to its final stage

5: Also this is the assembly stage now

A small climb... or after that? When Hakogaku will raise their pace and slip through the locals who are now pulling...

(Fukuoka do your best!

Kumamotoo!

They looked this way and smiled!)

Pag 9

1: the real battle for the finish line will start!!

2: It's gonna be a fight we absolutely cannot step back from!!

3: Step back? Not even a millimeter!!

4: You'll be pulling until then

Danchiku!! Kaburagi!! Team SS duo!!

Yessir!!

Yeah!!

5: I'll pull, horuaa....

6: But

7: Will Onoda-san be alright? He's exhausted for all the work he did on the mountain

Uh!! Danchiku is so considerate!! Also,this is a problem!!

Pag 10

1: Aaalright, me too

That's right!! Onoda-san

2: is basically at death's door!!

This guy...

The way he said it...

3: So-sorry... yeah...

I'm.... alright... I rested while on the long downhill earlier

4: What, are you really okay?

Oi, Issa, you're being too direct!

5: By the way, uhm.... we were in a rush when I joined you again... so I couldn't say it

7: I couldn't.... say it properly...

Pag 11

1: I'm sorry....

I lost....

4: He lost!?

We saw it on the sign board!!

5: Even though it was just around 20cm... even though I pedaled with my strength...

6: I didn't take... the mountain prize

Even though... everyone

7: sent me off

Pag 12

1: What are you talking about!! Onoda

What are you apologizing for!! Onoda-kun!!

Pag 13

1: Ima.... izumi-kun...

3: Naruko-kun....

5: I'll buy you some juice later

Ju-juice?

Kakaka!! That's not a big deal!!

Ah, but...

We

6: were fully happy that we got to send you off, Onoda-kun

Pag 14

1: You could run with Manami with all your strength, and that's good enough

3: Well, when you came back to the team all worn out and we saw the distance on the sign board, I knew that it had come true!!

5: You were even annoyed by Doubashi-san!

Ah, so that was for the mountain prize, I see

6: It raised the team's morale

That's enough

Pag 15

1: Teeh...!!

2: Yeah

Right now, the thing that will raise the morale more than anything

3: it's probably them

5: You're right, now there's

6: the water station

Pag 16

2: Onoda-san is in a pinch!!

Onoda-san is in a pinch!!

He's feeling weak, teh!!

3: I have to do something, teh..!!

Kinaka-kuuun!!

4: Onoda-san's ina pinch, teh!!

Give me all your food supplements and bottles, teh!!

Pag 17

1: Rokudaiii!!

Huh!?

So many!?

Why so much stuff!!

2: I thought you would say that, so I got ready, Rokudaii!!

Pag 18

3: I'll leave the senpai to you, Rokudai!!

4: Goooo!! Rokudaiii!!

What... that's an absurd way of delivering it

So much, on!!

What's with this guys... he delivered such a huge weight of supplies in one go!!

Pag 19

1: Ou- teh!!

2: They're perfectly in sync

Amazing

3: ….. Toji-san

4: This year's finish line...

Yeah, it's further away after the mountain stage than it usually is

From here on, after a few hills it goes on with an up-and-down

Pag 20

1: Then they'll enter a long downhill of around 5km

2: After the coastal national away they'll turn right

3: and they'll enter the town where the first day's finish line is

Pag 21

2: There are probably 10km left...

3: and after that

4: the race for the finish line will start

Pag 22

1: And those who are most likely to win will move!!

There's still more

Th-thank you

That must be heavy

6: There are 12km left until the finish line

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 35: Goodbye, Little Red Flower

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

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

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

Chapter 34

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

Almost.

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

Another tap, firmer this time, yet still gentle.

“Psst.”

A voice.

“It’s time to wake up.”

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

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

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

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

You look down.

Oh.

Right.

You’re completely naked.

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

What do you remember?

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

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

He has two cocks, after all.

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

Let all his sleeps be ruined by crusty sheets.

Prick.

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

“What is that?”

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

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

You tug the quilt tighter, a protective shield.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this what you and Sayuri would drink?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

Petty, petty.

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

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

Your brow creases.

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

Ren shakes her head softly.

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

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

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

Everyone. Dead.

Those were her words.

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

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

Do I even care?

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

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

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

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

I trusted you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

They pause, then lift their head.

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

Loyalty?

You huff, frustration rolling around inside your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

“Be safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or a sickness.

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

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

No colour. No warmth.

You exhale.

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

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

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

So, he’s still here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She whinnies, and you smile at her.

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

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

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

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

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

You force yourself to ignore it. To breathe.

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

Inhale. Exhale. Deep and low into your belly.

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

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

He’s leaving now too.

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

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

No lasting glances. No words. No goodbye.

Nothing.

You’re already gone.

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

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

It all blurs. You don’t look back.

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

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

Slowly, he comes into focus.

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

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

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

Now, he looks ready for war.

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

And yet—

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

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

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

They are letters.

Your letters.

The ones he took.

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

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

Three heartbeats pass before he finally speaks.

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

You wait.

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

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

“Goodbye, my Lord.” 

Composed. Formal. Chin lifted.

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

What does he expect? 

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

The thought twists.

Ruiner.

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

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

You risk a glance back.

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

* * * * *

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

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

An odd ache of sorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough.

Your fingers curl into the parchment.

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

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

She is the protected.

You, the protector.

She, the gem.

You, the trinket, shoved into a corner.

Her, lovely.

You, anything but.

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

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

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

There has to be something. 

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

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

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

You stare at it, chest tight.

Forgive him?

Forgive him?

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

Your eyes sting.

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

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

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

The ink starts to bleed.

Your mouth twitches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat slows.

Remember.

Remember…

Remember what?

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

Remember.

Remember…

I remember a breeze. A whisper in the dark.

“How are you feeling?”

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

A smell.

That smell.

Smoke.

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

Something’s burning.

* * * * *

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

Screaming. Yelling. Crying.

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

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

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

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

As easy as splitting an overripe peach.

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

Three more follow.

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

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

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

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

There’s a bright red flash.

A spasm of energy hurtles toward him.

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

Flick!

A sharp hiss rips through the air.

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

Veins, cartilage, bone, tissue, muscle.

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

Not today.

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

Pitiful.

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

There are still more to kill.

Lots more.

“Come on!” His canines flash.

He feels insane. Drunk. Blood drunk. Bloodlust.

He wants more. So much more.

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

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

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

He releases it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

South. 

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

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

The second man continues, veering deeper into the brush. 

He doesn’t make it far. 

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Sukuna chuckles.

How sweet.

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

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

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

Sukuna’s grip loosens—slightly.

“To collect what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The monster’s expression darkens.

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

Patience.

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

Once your eyes have opened, it will destroy you.

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

Safe.

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

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

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

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

But that’s impossible.

Because it’s yours.

Your cursed energy. Here.

You are here.

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

And yet.

Spurts of it tell him something else.

You are here. And you are… fighting.  

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

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

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

Decay.  

His gaze narrows.  

He moves faster.

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

More signs.

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

Your work.  

He lifts his head.

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

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

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

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

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

Heian-kyō and Zen’in.

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

Fresh.

You were here moments ago.  

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

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

His lip curls.

Reckless woman.

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

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

Then, a desperate cry cracks the air.

He stops.

Goes still.

Listens.

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

But it’s you. 

He knows this.

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

The pulse of your cursed energy bleeds stronger.

The noise ahead swells.

Laughter.

Jeering voices. Too loud.

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

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

As though they’ve won.

He moves closer.

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

There’s only you.

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

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

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

But it isn’t enough.

She is losing.

And so are you.

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

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

You scream.

And—

Livid. Fucking. Fury.

Clarity comes to a sharpened point.

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

But that isn’t the worst of it.

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

That’s when he understands this condemnation.

裏切り

Traitor. Betrayer.

They’re going to brand you. 

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

This sight before him.

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

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

His.

Always.

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

You were never truly his to begin with.

Sukuna takes a step.

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

The King of Curses takes another patient step. 

He doesn’t need to run.

Time bends for him.

And everyone here will be dead in a heartbeat.

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

[dailykafka]

Not Kafka related again, sorry (you don’t have to keep responding to these if it starts to 'spam' your page). This is a response to your Georgia response a few days ago 👍

– Have you ever considered leaving Georgia? Or is it actually a nice country outside of the political rifle? What are some cultural things you like / find interesting about your country? If 'yes' to the first, what nation?

It is a great country and I love it very much (all the people I love are here soo) but obviously Ive considered moving abroad because even though I love the nature, people, culture, it's very difficult financially and politically. I don't have any specific country in mind just some European country probably. I (and many young people) often feel trapped because there's just no support from the state (like its a surprise if you find someone who doesn't have a loan from the bank). Barely any jobs, low wages, ridiculously high prices and on top of that we have an illegitimate government which is day by day taking away our rights and independence.

So as you can see the problem is the government and their politics, so we just have to get rid of them. The country itself is really great. We have great nature (we have the sea, mountains, some sort of desert too, whatever you like lol). The culture itself is really interesting, its not a homogeneous thing and every region has its unique culture with its unique traditions and food. Georgian cuisine is very rich. Even eating food, the way its served and the way its eaten is itself part of the culture.

I love that because we are kinda on the border of Europe and Asia, we have mix of these cultures and we have bits of this and that from everywhere.

Also, oldest evidence of wine production was discovered in Georgia (6000 BC) soo thats cool!

For me Georgia's history is really interesting too because it has always been the target of multiple empires and its pure luck (or just pure spite) that we are still here lol. Georgian literature is also fascinating (literally one of my favorite things). What I love about Georgian literature is how many women are heroes of the story or how important they are in the story. [you have activated my special interest, prepare for infodumping lol]

One of the oldest Georgian texts is from 5th century about a woman martyr called Shushanik and how she refused to give up her faith just to be spared by the enemy Empire (she was a nobility and her husband converted so he would get more influence and wanted her to convert too). The way these people are portrayed in the story and the way it is written, even though its in old Georgian and even though you don't understand half of the words, its a very interesting read and it feels very modern idk how to explain it😅.

There's another text, 12th century poem The knight in the panther's skin, where it's explicitly said that women and men are equal and they should be judged by their merits not their gender + it lowkey says "we love God obviously but loving each other is the real deal". The rumor is that the author of this poem was in love with then king Tamar (she was the ruler of Georgia back then) and he dedicated this poem to her.

I realize ive written too much… but anyways there's a lot of things I love about my country, its culture, history, literature all of it it very interesting and worth checking out! Tripadvisor should hire me now lol

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || OT7 엔하이픈 x fem!reader || drabbles — mini masterlist !!

summary: scenarios where enhypen ask for a kiss — insp. ‘XO (Only If You Say Yes)’

genre: fluff, romance, non-idol!enhypen x non-idol!reader, est. relationship, enha as simps

warnings: attempts at humour, the smallest hint of angst for some members, a little suggestiveness for some members but nothing major

[archive]

・❥・ heeseung — ramen resolutions

sometimes all you need is someone who tries, because they love you. heeseung was your someone, and he’d move mountains to prove it . or make you some ramen.. rain check on the mountains

・❥・ jay — let me treat you

jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

・❥・ jake — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ sunghoon — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ sunoo — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ jungwon — tbd

blurb tbd

・❥・ ni-ki — tbd

blurb tbd

a.n: been so tired and trying to find the motivation to write has been tough bcs i Want to write but i cant bring myself to type?? anyway, enough woe is me victimising . here is a start to a mini series of themed drabbles. i was gonna do it all in one post but i feel like that’s what’s holding me back from writing, a task too big (even tho it’s not even that big) so i reckon posting smth will bring me some motivation ?? hope you liked them :)

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[halexxsam]

Mountain and Cirrus having some rough sex (literally the most animalistic of fucking in ghoul kind) but it starts becoming more tender once the earth ghoul sees how sensitive the air ghoulette is getting and whimpering. He starts to praise her while at the same time blowing her back out that she won’t be able to walk right for a week

I’ll give you a cookie if there’s some after care cuddling! 🍪

Cruising on Mountain Time

A cookie, you say? Why thank you!

Characters: mountain/cirrus; brief dew, swiss, & cumulus

tags: scenting, dubious content, safeword mention, rough fucking, manhandling, profanity, aftercare

words: 2553

Read below the cut or on a03!

Everyone in the pack always called Mountain a gentle giant. He always volunteered to help siblings with their tasks, always willing to be some extra muscle for hire. He helped out with decorating for every season, always tall enough to attach streamers and tape up banners.

He was gentle with his pack, too. He would pull on his element to sooth Dewdrop back to sleep after a nightmare woke him up, or grow some aloe leaves to carefully wrap on his arms when he burnt himself. Mountain paired well with Swiss in the way that he helped him practice with his quintessence, allowing the multi-ghoul access to his greenhouse, helping him move his plants and tweak their growth. Swiss even transformed a fire lily flower into a powerful water source that expedited other plants growth time. Mountain and Rain fit like puzzle pieces, water and earth being bonded before the start of time.

Mountain was especially gentle with his air ghoulettes, Cirrus and Cumulus. Summoned together, the pair were a force to be reckoned with...literally, they could blow you down on your back and knock your breath out of your chest without a second thought. Mountain was raised to treasure air folk, the tie between earth and air something that was not forged as easy as with water. Not only could Rain kill his entire greenhouse, but so Cirrus and Cumulus.

And everything was fine. Mountain never snapped.

Until he couldn't take Cirrus' teasing anymore.

It was a slow day, the air moving quietly through the open window of the greenhouse. Mountain had been up with the sun, her siren call starting to dwindle as the dark sky started to rise. He grumbled, dirt caked under his finger nails, some spare rocks poking him from under his bare feet.

Cirrus snuck in, watching him move around his space. "Hiya, honey," she purrs out, leaning on the door frame.

She watched as his shoulders sagged a bit, relaxed just at her presence. "Hi Cir" he smiled, turning around and giving her a once over.

She looked absolutely delicious. Her long flowy hair framed her face perfectly, falling delicately over her shoulders, teasing along the small straps of her tank top. She wore a tight pair of red sleep shorts, hugging her in all the right places. The chill air caused her nipples to perk through her shirt, making Mountain the epitome of a deer in headlights.

She laughed, "You're not very sneaky, you know?"

He made a soft noise, a deep red blush blooming on his face, traveling down his neck too. He ducked his head, "Sorry."

Cirrus tsked. "You know I love when you look at me, don't apologize."

"I know, but still," he smiled, taking a breath. "How was your day?"

Cirrus walked further into the greenhouse, choosing to sit on a small stool by Mountain's side. "It was fine, didn't get up to much," she laughed out, catching Mountain eye. "What about you?"

"Been here all day, replanting to new batch of plants Papa got me."

She brought a hand to the small plants, running her fingers over the velvety soft leaves. "Been bored all day, Mounty," She whispers out.

He hums, wiping off some dirt onto his pants. "Wanna help me clean up for the night, then?"

Cirrus chuffs out, her head dropping down comically, fingers coming up to move the strap of her top of her shoulder. "No."

Mountain stopped in his tracks, a slight scrunch in his eyebrow. "No?"

"No." She glares at him, challenging him to fight back.

He let a soft growl escape, against his better judgement. He reserved that behavior for Dew, or even Rain. "You're up to something," he paused, turning around to face her. "Been talking to Dew too much, hm?"

She laughed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," he chuckled, "But it won't work."

Cirrus pouted, her other hand moving to knock the last strap down. "No? Are you sure about that?" She purred out, standing up and moving closer to him, thin fabric just fighting to stay up and around her breasts.

Mountain growled, eyes darkening at the sight of his temptation. "Do you really want to play this game with me, hm?"

Cirrus smirked, "Yes, please."

Mountain grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against him. He slithered one hand up to hold her throat. "Oh, you ask so pretty, don't you sunflower?"

The air ghoulette whined out in response, knees buckling slightly at his tone. She has him right where she wants him. "Only sometimes."

He squeezed his fingers, causing her to gasp at the lapse in blood flow. He cooed down at her, his other hand coming to fondle at her breast. She squeaked at the pressure, her face adorning a beautiful blush.

"Mounty, please. Want you." She pleaded, one of her hands coming to thumb under his dirty work shirt, fingers twisting mindlessly in the hair on his stomach.

"You sure you want it like this, petal?" He growled out, a thumb coming to play at her plush lip, pushing into her mouth and petting at her soft tongue. Cirrus nodded, sucking in more of his calloused thumb. "Such a good girl for me."

"Dew tell you about safe words?" He asked, hands never leaving her.

She released his thumb with a loud pop, making him groan out. "Yeah, and the stoplight system."

Mountain nodded. "Alright, good." He moved the hand from her breast to grab tightly at her chin, bringing her gaze to him. "You will use them if you need to, yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Very good." Mountain chuffed out, twirling her around so her ass pressed against his front, allowing her to feel the rather large effect she has on him. He rubs his dick up and down the crease of her butt, holding her tighter when she rubs back on him.

In one swift move, he clears his workshop desk and presses her flat against it. Bending her over perfectly, her ass just begging for his attention. He places one hand on the small of her back, keeping her where he wants her. "Stay."

He popped out a claw, ripping off her tank top and shorts in one go. Cirrus made a surprised sound, hands coming up to grasp at the edge of the desk.

Mountain didn't bother to check on her, one hand coming up to cup her fat and dripping cunt, squeezing slightly. A line of slick connecting from his fingers, he let out a low growl and shoved his fingers in his mouth.

"Fuck, doll. You taste heavenly."

He didn't wait for a response, wetting his fingers once more and plunging two straight into her. Cirrus moaned out, her own claws popping out and digging into the wood of the desk.

"Ah, shit Mount," she whined out, cunt clenching around him.

"Aw, too much for ya, princess?" He taunts.

She shakes her head quickly and presses her ass back, his fingers sliding in all the way down to the last knuckle. "You can take it."

He starts to pump in and out agonizingly slow, just to feel her get all tight around him. Once she stops making those sweet sounds, he adds another, and then another, until he could almost fit his entire fist inside her.

Mountain brings a hand to pet Cirrus' hair and move it to the side, exposing her neck. Bringing himself over her, he nestles into her neck, taking a whiff her enticing scent. "Ready baby?" He asks, a gentle tone taking him over.

"Fuck me, hard." She growls, her jaws snapping at him.

"Yes ma'am," He retorts, rubbing his cock up and down her folds, slicking himself up. "Take a deep breath," he commands, before sliding in all the way.

"Fuck, Mount. Shit you're so big, fuck, can feel you in my stomach," She whines, a hand moving down to press against her stomach.

"Mmm feel so good Cir, squeezing me so perfect. Like you were made for my cock." Mountain snaps his hips in a perfect rhythm, the poor wooden table legs creaking out.

"Uh huh," Cirrus wheezes out.

"Suckin' me in like you were made for this. Fuckin hell's, should've fucked this pussy sooner." Mountain growls, continuing his brutal assault on her cervix.

Mountain knew she was close when Cirrus started to scramble against the table, resisting against his hand holding her down. "Ya close already?"

Cirrus nodded incessantly, her whining growing increasingly louder. "Hnngmm."

Mountain was sweating terribly at this point, his hazel hair sticking to his forehead, lip pulled tight between his teeth. A loud crack broke up the lewd sounds the pair was making, and the ghouls quickly realized that Mountain had broken the table in half.

Cirrus gasped. "Shit, Mount, the table!" She tried to move away from him, but he just pulled her up and away and continued pounding into her.

"Nuh uh, the table might have broken, but I'm not done with you yet." He moved one hand on her hip and another holding her throat, he leaned down and nuzzled back into her neck, nipping at her harshly.

Cirrus began to drool at the pressure of Mountain's hand on her throat, gargling out her pleas to cum. "Mnnn need you, need it so bad."

"Yeah? My needy girl? Can't think right without a cock in her, huh?"

"No, no sir. I can't, please lemme—" Cirrus gasps.

Mountain moves the hand on her hip down to her cunt, rough fingers rubbing over her clit. Cirrus squeals in his grasp, her hands coming up to where he holds her by the neck.

"C'mon, wanna feel you clench around me real tight, wanna give it all too you." Mountain bounds out, hips continuing their brutal thrust into Cirrus' hot cunt.

She tensed up in his hold, breath caught in her throat. Her legs left the ground as she shook, being entirely held up by Mountain and his cock still buried inside her. "Oh, Satanas, Mount."

Ever the gentleman, Mountain stopped moving as he felt Cirrus clamp down impossibly tight around him, letting her ride out her orgasm in full blown pleasure. He breathes out, holding in his own release for later in the night. He's not done with her yet.

Once he felt her relax a bit, he started moving again, albeit a little slower. Cirrus immediately tensed back up, punched noises spilling from her lips. "Mng, fucking shit, I can't-, fuck—"

Mountain let out a soft noise, removing the hand from her throat and petting down her side, plucking at her nipples. "Nuh uh, you asked for this, remember? Teased me and riled me up."

Cirrus nodded, letting out a shaky breath. But Mountain had one rule: always use your words.

"Say I can, F-fuck, tell me I can, Cir." He breathed out, till moving in and out of her warm cunt, her slick and cum dripping down his cock, creating piles on the floor.

When Cirrus didn't answer him right away, he grabbed her face and pulled her to meet his gaze. Despite the fact she just came, her cunt throbbed around him as he looked down at her, his huge hand covering the entire half of her face.

"Cir, honey? What's your color?"

"No, I can take it, promise. You didn't cum." She whines, pulling herself back on his cock and trying to hide the full body shutter it caused her, but it was no use.

"That's not an answer, sweetness. Don't worry about me."

Cirrus took a deep breath. "M' green, promise. Just, uh, slower, please?" She mumbled out.

"Of course, honey. You ready?" He asks, a hand moving back down to her clit.

"Yeah, I'm good, thank you." She breathes out, choking out when he begins to fuck back into her.

"Alright, hun." He said, picking back up his rhythm, though slower as she requested. He focused on how good she felt wrapped around him, how tight and warm she made him feel. "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

Cirrus nods, a dazed look in her eyes. "M' your good girl, Mount."

"Yes you are, my best girl." He rumbles out, bending down to kiss along the column of her throat, his hands moving back to hold her hip. "Shit, clench around me again, hun, fuck, please."

Cirrus nods, focusing on getting Mountain to cum instead of the pain-pleasure she feels with him moving inside her. "Cum for me, Mount, need it."

Mountain's fangs pierce his lip as Cirrus clenches down impossibly tight around him, making him feel like he will never be able to pull out again, not that he would complain about that. "Mmng, shit love, feel so good."

Cirrus feels his cock twitch inside of her before he spills, his hot cum making her gasp out, shivers racking over her once more. Mountain holds her close, never letting her slip from his bruising grip as he holds himself buried deep within her.

The pair breathes together, both coming down from their respective highs. Mountain's grip loosened slightly, fingers no longer digging into her hip bones. "You alright, dear?"

Cirrus nodded, one of her hands coming up to grab at Mountain's, holding him close. "I'm alright, promise. You can pull out."

He nodded, pulling out slowly, a small gasp at the cool air around his softening cock. He picked up Cirrus and carried her over the to couch, plopping her down before turning to his workbench and grabbing some spare clothes. He pulls on a soft pair of boxers before holding up another pair of boxers and an old shirt of his to Cirrus.

The ghoulette yawns as she nods her head, holding her arms above her head for Mountain to dress her. He smiles and pulls the shirt over her head, hoisting her up on shaky legs to pull up the pair of boxers.

"There's a good girl, aren't ya?" He smiles, pulling her onto his lap, a large hand coming to the back of her head, pushing her down to rest against his chest.

"Thank you, Mounty." She purrs, eyes beginning to shut.

He kicks up a soft purr, a hand coming to rub up and down her back. "You never have to thank me, sunflower." He pauses, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She peals herself away from his warm chest to look at him, "No, no, never. I promise."

Mountain chuffs and a small smile appears on his face. He looks into her eyes and he knows she is telling the truth. She lays her head back on him and starts up her own purr, matching frequencies with him.

When he feels Cirrus' breathing even out, he picks her up carefully and carries her back to the ghoul den. He places her in the middle of his huge nest, tucking the blankets up to her chin. He watches her sleep until he is content she won't wake, eventually venturing down to the kitchen to grab her favorite snacks for when she wakes up.

Mountain purrs louder at the sight of her in his nest, placing the snacks on the side table before joining her in his nest. She immediately holds onto him, wrapping herself around him like a weed to a root.

The bond between earth and air goes stronger every day.

[aspirant1598]

[radiantmists]

man especially having now read the flashbacks i think about how hard xie lian always tries and how many people have told him that he tries too hard, that he never should have bothered and that doing so made things worse, or even more commonly just hating on him for not fixing things or being arrogant or whatever they think his problem is. and some of those people are probably even coming from caring places!

but before hua cheng, had anyone ever sat next to him and said, you tried and that's good, it matters that you cared, you did your best. nobody could have done better than you.

how badly must xie lian have needed that?

[moonchild-in-blue]

I'm sorry, I just think that -

Wishing you godspeed, glory There will be mountains you won't move Still, I'll always be there for you How I do I let go of my claim on you, it's a free world You look down on where you came from sometimes But you'll have this place to call home, always This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes

Frank Ocean - Godspeed

you know?

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.

[slayfk]

posting here because this just doesn’t feel right to talk about in the horseimagebarn voice but this is extremely important to talk about.

my partner and i have returned to our hometown to stay with her family and my own has gotten a hotel here too (they moved to the town we currently live in after we did) so we are all safe and out of the thick of it

however there are tens of thousands of people who are not both in my own town and in the many surrounding it. appalachia will take an extremely long time to recover from this and there are more storms on the way. all i see on social media right now is people asking for shelter because their homes have been destroyed, or people asking for help searching for family members who are missing. hundreds of trees have fallen. hundreds of homes have flooded. roads are literally falling apart. preexisting sinkholes due to shitty pipes are opening up and consuming land. dams are on the verge of bursting and the only way to stop it is to release water so quickly it floods whole towns. all but one of our cell towers are down, so only people with at&t have service and the rest can’t contact anyone. over half the town still doesn’t have power. a major water supply issue occurred and the entire town is on a water boil order with no electricity to boil with. people are trapped in their homes and workplaces or out on the street because they have nowhere to go. law enforcement is blocking off roads but trapping people in the process. people have to be rescued by helicopter. our animal shelter has no water or power and boarding facilities have been flooded. entire villages like chimney rock nc are gone, and entire cities like asheville are cut off from the rest of the state and are completely inaccessible. ALL OF THE ROADS IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA ARE CLOSED. 400+ roads are closed because they are unsafe . that is INSANE!!!

when people say that climate change isn’t real, they don’t know what they’re talking about. climate change and its father capitalism are only going to continue to worsen lives in every way possible. i live in the mountains and our infrastructure is completely unprepared to handle hurricanes and it’s only going to get worse. it’s such a strange and eye-opening experience to live something like this when you think that it could never happen to you because that type of weather shouldn’t reach you in your environment. climate change doesn’t care where you live. it’s real.

western north carolina and the rest of the southeast that has been hit by helene need help. more people need to be talking about this so that the government DOES SOMETHING because the government historically fucking hates appalachia and it still does!!! the major state institution near me took DAYS to respond despite being the only place in town with power and wifi connection because they had to wait for the state to approve their response—they could have allowed thousands of people to evacuate days prior to the hurricane hitting us but they didn’t do anything before or after until it was too late!!! it’s bullshit!!! PLEASE get talking about this because something has to be done. climate change is going to continue happening and our mountains and the people in them are going to suffer immensely. hundreds if not thousands are now homeless. please talk about this look at the footage online of the wreckage and look how quickly our infrastructure crumbled. we need better. the people of appalachia deserve better.

i’ll get back to posting horses soon. but for now this is a lot. my friends are homeless and my family had to get off the mountain or be trapped there without power and water for days. we’re all safe but exhausted. i hope everyone who has been affected by this is staying safe. if you are in western nc, dm me. when i come back, if you’re in my area, im happy to bring supplies. stay safe everyone

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Mission Mishap

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: A recon mission gone awry leads to Bucky having to protect his sunshine. As the snowstorm gets worse, he becomes her shelter from the storm, showing a tenderness that he rarely allows others to see.

Word Count: Roughly 1.8k

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, fluff, injury-related pain, bruising, cold exposure, mild language (like two curse words)

Author’s Note: It was snowing, and I got ✨inspired✨

This felt a little choppy because I combined two drabbles, but I think it works :)

Navigation

What should have been a quick recon in the mountains became more complicated when a snowstorm hit faster and harder than previously anticipated. You could barely keep up with Bucky as he pushed ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the nearby. The cold penetrated through your layers; gnawing at your bones and intensifying the ache of your bruises, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

"Can you handle a few more yards?" he asked, his voice low, and despite the chaos, was comforting. "Map says there’s a hostel a quarter of a mile away."

"I’m fine," you mumbled. You knew your words were merely a weak attempt to reassure both yourself and him.

Bucky turned his head toward you, his gaze softening. 

"Don’t do that," he replied. "Stop pretending you’re fine when you’re so clearly not."

The harsh wind bit at your face, and you tried to keep up with him, you couldn't hide the way your teeth chattered.

"You need to stop," Bucky said, voice sharp and authoritative. "You’re shaking like a leaf. Let me help you."

Before you could argue, he moved without hesitation, shedding his jacket in one smooth motion and draping it over your shoulders. 

"Come here," Bucky said. "No arguments. You’re freezing, and I won’t let it get worse."

You tried to protest as you stammered, "I-I’m fine. Really, Bucky, I’m fine."

But Bucky wasn’t having it. 

His glared down and you and you looked away.

"No, you’re not," he said again, this time softer. "You’re going to listen to me now, okay?"

He didn’t wait for a response. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your arms around his neck and lifting you without much effort. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as you gave up on protesting. His body heat radiated through his sweater and the warm jacket he wrapped you in helped in instantly melting away the cold that had settled into your bones.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell under you, steady and reassuring, grounding you as the world around you spun with snow, harsh winds making it difficult to see. He held you close, his grip never wavering as if to say he wasn’t letting go, not for anything.

"You listen to me," he said said softly. "If anything happens to you out here, I’m going to be fucking pissed. Understand?"

"Noted," you said softly, your voice muffled by his neck. You tightened your grip on him, clinging to him as your life depended on it because, in a way, it did. Not that you’d ever complain.

You could feel his steady heartbeat, the way his breath slowed as he focused on getting you both to safety. His steps were purposeful, unhurried, but determined as he carried you toward the small hostel.

When you finally reached the building, Bucky didn’t waste a second. Without a word, he guided you inside and he gently set you down on a chair. The warmth of the room feeling like a stark contrast to the biting cold that had gripped you just moments before. Pun intended.

"You stay here," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "I’ll get us a room and call the team."

You nodded. 

As he moved to make arrangements, you wrapped yourself tightly in his jacket, the faint scent of him still lingering on the fabric. 

You winced from the pain in your side, but you manged to stay still. You looked out the window, watching as the storm raged on.

When Bucky returned, he didn’t waste any time sitting next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. 

"Better?" he asked.

You leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence envelop you. 

"Yeah," you said softly. "Much better. Thanks, Bucky."

"You don’t have to thank me," he muttered, his voice low, almost intimate. "I’m just doing what’s right. Keeping you safe."

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of his embrace. "I know," you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with gratitude. "And I’m glad you’re here."

Bucky’s fingers brushed through your hair, his protective grip never faltering. "And I’m not going anywhere," he murmured.

A moment later, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the room he booked and dumping you on the bed. The sudden motion made you giggle as you kicked off your boots.

Bucky turned up the heat, and as the warmth began to fill the room, you settled onto the covers. 

"What did the team say?" you asked quietly.

"They’ll try to make it tonight," he replied. "But I told them we can wait until the morning."

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I’m keeping you safe tonight," he murmured, quickly adding, "And Sam snores. I can hear him from two rooms down the hall. I’m in no rush to go home, sunshine."

You laughed softly, your eyes brightening. "You’re unbelievable, Bucky."

Bucky grinned, his usual grumpy expression softened. "Yeah, but you’re stuck with me."

"Seriously though," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, "I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not on my watch."

"I know," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. "And I trust you."

His eyes softened, just for a moment, before he cleared his throat and pulled away slightly, pretending to be unaffected by the vulnerability in the air. 

“Hey,” he muttered, his voice hushed and rough with concern. He paused for a moment as if considering whether to push or back off. He couldn’t ever quite figure out how to balance his protective nature. But when it came to you, he couldn’t help himself. “You sure you’re okay?”

You forced a smile, shifting a little more, trying to get comfortable, but the throbbing in your side was relentless. The last thing you wanted was for him to notice. He already had enough on his shoulders; you wouldn’t let him add your worries to his pile.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. Lie.

"Bullshit," he grumbled, his voice laced with frustration, the one that surfaced when he cared too much and couldn’t fix things fast enough. "What’s the matter?"

Bucky stared at you, his eyes narrowing. 

God, that stare. 

It was like he could read every inch of your soul, and you couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.

“Talk to me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your side flaring up in protest. You winced, sucking in a sharp breath, hoping he didn’t notice, but of course, he did. 

He always noticed when it came to his sunshine.

"My side. Just a little pain," you admitted, the bruise hidden under the layers of clothing you still wore.

Bucky’s face softened, his worry evident. Without a word, he stood up, reaching for the small medical kit in his bag.

"Lift your shirt," he said, his voice low but commanding.

"I'm fine-" You mumbled. 

But Bucky wasn’t one to back down. He crouched in front of you, his large hands already moving to your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt with a touch that was far too tender for someone like him.

“Lift.” The word was soft, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a warning wrapped in affection. The way he said it made it clear that this was happening.

You frowned and you raised the hem of your shirt, exposing the tender spot on your side where the impact from earlier had left its mark. "Shh, sunshine." He whispers soothingly. "You're okay, promise."

Bucky’s hands were gentle as he inspected the injury, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, and his touch was careful but sure. There was something tender about the way he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. It made you lightheaded.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he muttered, though you could hear the underlying concern in his tone. “But we’re still gonna clean it up, yeah?”

 His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his expression softened into something that hurt to look at. 

Like you meant something to him.

The second his fingers brushed over your side, just lightly grazing the bruise, you couldn’t help it. A whimper escaped, and your body tensed. You hated it. Hated being weak.

“Shh.” His voice was soothing. “You’re doing so good.”

You tried to move, to escape the pressure, but Bucky’s hand was already on your abdomen, holding you gently but firmly in place. His fingers splayed out over your skin, not forceful, but steady.

“Sorry,” you muttered, your voice strained as another wave of pain hit and you squirmed.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bucky murmured, his grip tightening just a little, his other hand reaching for the antiseptic wipe. "Just breathe for me, okay?"

Something about his voice, soft yet commanding, made the tension in your body ease just enough for you to inhale deeply, to steady yourself.

“You’re tough, sunshine,” Bucky murmured, his eyes softening even more as he cleaned the bruise. "You’ll be alright."

But his voice held a gentleness that made your heartache. As he worked, cleaning the wound, his touch was slow, deliberate. The sting from the wipe was sharp, but his hands on your skin were grounding, like he was pulling the pain out of you with every careful movement.

Every time you whimpered, every time the pain made itself known, he soothed you with gentle words,“I know, sunshine, I got you,” “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

He cleaned the wound with slow, careful movements. The cool, sterile wipe stung a little, but his gentle touch was soothing, making the discomfort easier to bear. 

“I got you.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. A calm anchor. “Just breathe, sunshine.”

And you did.

When he finally finished, he leaned back and reached for a bandage. He pressed the bandage against your side like he was trying to heal something deeper than the bruise, something you couldn’t name.

“Good as new.” His voice was softer now. “You’re tough, sunshine. You’ll be alright.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing the edge of the bandage. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, but there was no bite to it. His gruffness was a comfort, like a wall of security you could lean against when everything else felt shaky.

“Just-” His eyes softened as he looked at you, the rare tenderness that always made your chest tighten. “Get some sleep, alright?”

You nodded, curling up under the covers.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, your voice small and soft as you nestled against him.

Bucky’s hand gently brushed through your hair, his fingers pausing to stroke your scalp in a way that made you feel like the most important thing in the world.

“Goodnight, милая девочка.” Sweet girl.

His words were quiet, a soft reassurance in the night. You let out a sigh, the ache in your side fading as the warmth of his body enveloped you, and slowly, you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Bucky stayed awake for a while, keeping watch, making sure you were alright. But as the night drew on, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, making sure you were okay before falling asleep himself.

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Much love x

- Maeve