#or like im mourning a lost lover

[astro-gnome]

;_;

[thelonelynindroid]

Do NOT slow + reverb ur own damn songs you'll end up missing the ex you never even had

[chococolte]

☼ — osculatus solem

my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover

word count. 4.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol

Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.

It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.

Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.

The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.

Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.

You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.

Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.

His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.

Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.

Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.

Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?

Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.

Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?

Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.

You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.

It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.

You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.

He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.

Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.

Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?

If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.

Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.

Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.

When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…

Why is it them, and not him?

Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.

It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?

Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?

Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.

The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?

Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?

REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper

Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.

You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.

Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.

Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.

His first words to you: "Welcome home."

Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.

Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.

In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.

When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.

Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.

Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.

He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.

Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.

Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.

Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.

He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.

In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.

He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.

When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.

Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.

He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.

You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.

Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.

Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.

VENUSTUS ; as your lover

Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.

Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.

He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.

You are above him. He is beneath you.

Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.

Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.

The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.

But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.

The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.

It terrifies him.

Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.

It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.

It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.

It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.

Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.

He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.

It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?

You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.

It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.

Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?

The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.

She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.

In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.

Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.

He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.

Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.

Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.

Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.

He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.

Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.

This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.

Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.

You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—

If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.

You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.

Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.

But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.

You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.

[mysterycitrus]

This is so stupid but I was wondering if you might have any Dick and Roy meta? I've always loved your meta posts about the relationships between the Fab Five and different characters and lately, I've been seeing a lot of those posts where people splice certain comic pannels with poems/sayings/inspirational quotes and things that match and I've been wanting to have more in-depth ideas of the relationship between Dick and Roy because they're just so interesting but I don't have the brains to come up with anything myself

when i think about dick grayson and roy harper i think about the trope king + lionheart — a burdened hero, and their loyal protector — and how they switch roles with each other. like two standout dickroy books are probably old friends, new enemies and outsiders (2003), and while they’re both initiated with roy reaching out to dick for help, his motivations are very different. i think that dynamic, and how they don’t fit solely into one role, is part of why i enjoy reading about them so much.

in old friends, roy is the king — he’s trying to track down chesire and find lian, and isn’t initially honest about his intentions. he’s struggling with his decisions, and his faith in himself. dick acts as the moral support, his backup, and also calls him out on his actions.

but their relationship is still loving. there’s a solid foundation of trust that makes dick want to support roy and protect his daughter, to the point that he and jade nguyen show a (very) begrudging respect to each other.

in outsiders, dick is the king — donna has just died, bludhaven is going to shit, and roy knows that he’s spiralling. roy is the solid support who convinces dick to lead a new team because he knows dick hurts himself through isolation. they’re both grieving donna and the loss of their team, but roy forces dick to reconnect again. he forces dick to care.

despite being the leader of the outsiders, dick is uncompromising in his loyalty in roy. he tells people to leave if they don’t accept roy’s authority in the team. after roy is shot, dick takes the same action as roy in the first issue — he brute forces his way into getting roy out of the spiral. he holds a gun to roy’s head and tells him to take it.

im a huge sucker for friends to lovers, but what i really love is two competent people with absolute faith in each other. i dislike the idea that bat-characters are like….. absurdly op and everyone is just in awe of them all the time, but dick’s reputation means that trusting someone the way he trusts roy is important. he watched his teammates die, he watched his sister die to save his life, and he still trusts roy to be there. roy historically has a bit of an inferiority complex about working with dick, but dick does not reciprocate. dick knows roy will be there when it counts.

there’s a particular kind of love that comes from mourning the same person during one of the worst times of your life.

the fact that the early tragedies in their lives are so similar, that they lost family and an idea of place at similar ages, were mentored by mortal men who wanted to do good, but still ended up so close but so different is really really interesting to me. u get to outsiders, and they really know each other in a really intense way.

truly like…. i would fall on ur sword because i trust u not to land the killing blow. to finish — something something gay people

[bunniekittiee]

What do you think if Titan Bi-Han had returned to that MK1 timeline by chance and met his counterparts lover who remains with Kuai Liang and Tomas?? How would either react to seeing each other?? And what if he had lost her in his timeline?? Or something.

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader

Oh my goodness I love this so much! Seriously, you are all so creative! I tried to make this as sweet as possible! :,) Sorry if this is kind of short and abruptly ending, im doing my best to get through requests and also sleep off my sickness

It was never easy to come to terms with Bi-Han's betrayal. The night the brothers arrived to Liu Kang's temple without her husband, she thought the worst. Her heart was in her throat. The brothers held solemn looks as Kuai Liang gently told her that Bi-Han had betrayed them for Shang Tsung. He was never going to come back.

Her legs gave out on her as Kuai gripped her tighter, sobbing while she buried her face in his shoulder. The sounds of grief. How could he do this to them?

They were family. A somewhat happy family.

But that was never enough for Bi-Han. He always wanted something more.

Tomas and Kuai held her all night long while she cried. She cried like she was mourning Bi-Han, and in a way, she was. Mourning the Bi-Han she loved and cared for more than her own being. The Bi-Han that would never come back to her. It broke her, and everyday she reminisced about her life with him. How he would kiss the tip of her nose before he went to make plans, or how he would pull her in by her waist and softly sigh into her neck when he was behind closed doors. She missed him dearly.

As much as she wanted to be with Bi-Han, she could not leave her dear 'brothers' behind. Bi-Han had already abandoned them, they would be devastated if she left too. So she stayed. She was there when the Shirai Ryu first began their mission of protecting Earthrealm. She was there when Liu Kang had their swearing-in to take on the task that the Lin Kuei had abandoned. She was there with Kuai Liang and Harumi married each other. She was there when Hanzo Hasashi, not their Hanzo, invaded their timeline in search for a Harumi. She was there for many events after Bi-Han's betrayal, events that he was not there for.

Bi-Han never came back for her, and it made her depressed. Even though she would not leave the Shirai Ryu, it made her sorrowful that Bi-Han had forgotten all about her. In her locket, she still held a picture of him. Although his face was unsmiling, his features were softened. A look of love. She often looked at this photo, gently twirling the chain in her other hand. Sometimes she smiled at the picture, sometimes she stared at it sadly. She could never see the love of her life again, and she had to come to terms with that.

She often prepared their lunches and the boys were very thankful for that. She knew what their favorites were and how to make it correctly. Sometimes for lunch, they would all sit together and talk about old memories with the Lin Kuei. Often times, they were good memories. Ones that you could never forget.

However, by the end of the lunch hour, they would be sad. Sad that it had to be this way. And they hoped that maybe in other timelines, they were happy together. Without Bi-Han’s betrayal.

The morning was fresh yet cloudy and the smell of rain was beginning to clash with the smell of breakfast for the boys. They sat at the table as they sipped on tea and talked amongst each other. She cooked as quickly as she could so they could eat in enough time.

“What a depressing day.” Tomas sighed as he glanced out the window. “Sometimes days like this make me feel sad.”

“I understand, brother.” Kuai Liang replied with a small frown. “I like the sunshine.” They both looked at her.

She caught their glances. “I don’t mind it. Bi-Han always preferred rainy, depressing days. Even though most of the time it was snowing.”

Tomas snorted. “That’s about all we could get was snow.” They all giggled quietly as they resumed back to silence. Once breakfast was ready, she served them heaping amounts of food. As fit as the brothers were, they sure ate a lot. They definitely cleaned house when it came to food. But she didn’t mind. She enjoyed cooking very much as it made her feel helpful. Although she had duties to attend to, they were not significant like the brothers, so sometimes she felt like she was not doing enough. They always reassured her.

Scarfing down breakfast, they helped clean up their messes and said their goodbyes to start on their day. She sighed quietly as the door shut. As much as she wanted to stay inside all day, she knew she could not. When there were rainy days, Bi-Han insisted on her staying indoors and every once in a while, he would come home early to cuddle in bed. Kissing her neck and shoulder as he buried his head in her neck. Sometimes his hands trailed lower as he kissed parts of her body. Most of the time, that initiated a long night.

Shaking her head with a small smile, she took one last sip of her tea and began to start on her day. Most of the work was fairly easy. It was not that Kuai Liang believed she could not do hard work, he believed that she was one of them. So she deserved to have lighter duties. Their warriors had to prove themselves, Y/N did not have to prove anything.

After about two hours of working, she took a break to take in her surroundings. She breathed in the rainy air, feeling her lungs expand further. But in the distance, she saw a glowing light that pulsated. Tilting her head, she slowly got up until Tomas ran up to her.

“Get inside now!” He said firmly as he grabbed her.

“What’s going on?” She asked with worry.

“Just get inside please.” He replied as she began to make her way back inside her chambers. She was confused. What was happening? What was that light? There were many questions she had that could not be answered.

She waited, pacing around the room as she so badly wanted to go and see what was happening. Was it Bi-Han? Was it Shang Tsung? The possibilities were endless.

That was, until Tomas rapped his knuckles on her door once again. She opened it, immediately opening her mouth to ask a question but he grabbed her wrist again. “Come with me. There is something to show you.” He looked excited. Her brain ran a million miles per hour as he lead her to the temple. She was confused why Tomas looked so happy.

That was, until she saw who was standing in front of them.

Wearing a lighter blue uniform with clean, black locks secured in a bun and his face softened, was Bi-Han talking to Kuai Liang. Her world began to spin as she stared at him. He did not look angry or upset. He looked content. That was an emotion he had hardly shown unless he was secured in his own home. His eyes were not hardened. They were gentle. His eyes swept over to her figure and they locked eyes, his own widening at the sight of her.

“My firefly…” he said breathlessly as he began to quickly approach you. She felt herself begin to tear up as he engulfed her in a bear hug.

“Bi-Han.” She croaked as her tears fell from her face. “Is it truly you?”

He pulled his face away to look at her. “I am not the Bi-Han of this timeline, but I am still him.” His eyes were full of love and joy. She felt her heart slightly sink. “Then who are you?”

Sighing as he pulled away, he began to explain the history of his timeline. Where Bi-Han was never that hard on his brothers. Where he loved them both and never tried to shun Smoke. Where he did not kill their father. Where he did not betray them and pull away from Liu Kang.

But as he continued his story, his face began to fall. “However, when Shang Tsung came to fight with us, it costed much more than I anticipated. And he,” he looked as if he was struggling. “He took you away from me. He killed you.”

Taking his hands within her own, she looked at him. “I am truly sorry for that. We both lost our significant others it seems.”

He hugged her again. “I am happy to be reunited, even if it is for a moment. My beautiful girl.” Her heart swelled up hearing those words slip past Titan Bi-Han’s lips and her eyes watered once more. He was so sweet. It was a little surprising to see him this affectionate in front of his ‘siblings’, but she had to remind herself that this was a different Bi-Han. Which meant he was raised somewhat differently. He wasn’t the same as her Bi-Han, but they were sure alike.

All three of them spent the day with him, ignoring their duties as they relished in their happiness. Kuai Liang was standoffish at first, but he warmed up quickly to Titan Bi-Han. How could he not? This Bi-Han was so much more affectionate and friendly compared to their Bi-Han that they had grown accustomed to. The coldness was replaced with warmth.

He was so sweet, always complimenting Tomas and his fighting skills as they all trained the ninjas together. Tomas felt his heart swell with every compliment Bi-Han had given him. This Bi-Han was so much more pleasant. It was as if Kuai Liang had possessed the form of Bi-Han.

Their day together had been an eye opener for Bi-Han’s family. They realized how much they missed out on with their Bi-Han. How much he took away from them. They wished to have this one in their timeline, but they knew he could not stay forever.

Eventually, the brothers said goodbye and let her be with her ‘husband’. They figured they both needed the time to be with each other.

“My beloved,” Titan Bi-Han said as they closed the door to her chambers. “I have missed you for an eternity.”

Leaning into his embrace, she gently kissed him on his lips as they laid onto the bed. Bi-Han caressed her face with one hand while the other held her hip. His kisses were cold but the way he held her radiated warming love. He pulled away from her and rested his forehead against her, his dark brown eyes looking into hers. “I don’t want to lose you again.” He whispered. “I don’t want to leave you.”

She felt her eyes water again for about the hundredth time today and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “Do not cry, my firefly. I will always be around.”

“I wish I had him… you back. I wish I had you back, Bi-Han.” She said quietly as he laid a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I am here for now, my love.” He replied as he kissed her again. “Live in the moment, it’s okay.”

She wondered if it was considered adultery for making love with Bi-Han’s Titan counterpart, but she reasoned with herself in her head. He was slow and passionate, always giving her kisses and soft touches down her body as he became one with her. It was as if their souls were colliding and becoming one within each other. It was sensual. She had not made love with Bi-Han for a very long time, let alone another man.

He held her all throughout the night as their bodies intertwined with one another, basking in their warmth and adoration. He did not want to let her go. She was just with him for a moment, and he didn’t want to let it slip past his fingertips. But he knew he had to leave. But for now, he could enjoy his time that he had with her for now.

[verlaineszz]

"ALL I WANNA DO IS GET HIGH BY THE BEACH!"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚— HUMAN FYODOR X SIREN FEM READER

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩SUMMARY: A man with a haunting past and a dead lover has already lost hope in all of humanity. He originally wanted to save humanity, not until the only person he loved the most perished because of it. Avenging of what he can, he does heinous crimes and carry a hatred towards humanity due to the loss of his lover.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ — ANGST + HORROR + ROMANCE + PSYCHOLOGY

A/N: Im gonna make this fanfic quite short since I've been busy and drained.. Please enjoy the read<3!

( ၴႅၴ+WARNINGS! : DRUG USAGE, MURDER, DEATH (+ nickname usage, - Lyubov' (love) & Ангел (angel)

Being somebody who is considered 'immortal' wasn't easy, you see the people you love die easily.

Originally, fyodor wanted to save humanity, he believed that everyone needed saving except the people who abused the abilities that was bestowed onto them by the heavens.

He only loved ONE person, a woman who has gained his interest and his affection. The love he had was unconditional and affectionate, a raging storm that was shined upon with the everlasting moonlight. And that was all YOU.

But one day, you needed to visit a certain island due to your studies, being the lover fyodor was, he was quite skeptical and paranoid that something may happen to you, but he didn't wanna cut off your freedom as he does love you dearly.. So he let you off.

With a kiss on the hand and a cheek, you leave the house with a suitcase, on your way to the ship that you were going on, it was a ship controlled by a wealthy and powerful dictator, who the DOSTOEVSKY wasn't fond of.

The ship set sailed in ease..

A few days later, fyodor received a message that the ship went missing. Including you. And the only person who survived it was no other than the dictator himself.

Fyodor clutched his fists as he read through the letter, it wasn't often he was enranged like this, but the melancholic feeling of his lover missing consumed him, how could he let this happen? He should've never let you on in the ship.

Eventually thats when he becamd a ruthless man, he was already making ability users perish but the only thing he admired and adored the most has been taken away from him, he had a plan. A plan to kill the dictator.

He was used to hiding, but he didn't want to anymore. He'd do anything to avenge your death. Your body wasn't even found.

⁺‧₊˚ஓ༻𓆩♡𓆪༺ஓ˚₊‧⁺

Years passed by, population went down due to his sprees, this void in him was eating him alive.

Every neck he slashed and every shot he has taken was all for you.

He walked through the jagged rocks of the beach, trying to get away from his past. He wanted to forget about it, but he didn't wanna forget you. He walked groggily, he recently took some Lysergic acid diethylamide, he wanted to lay off of life for a second and forget his surroundings. He wasn't normally this disheveled and unhinged, but your death really took a toll on him.

The wind howled through the decaying coastal town, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, mournful cries of the sea. Fyodors face gaunt and holloweyed, stumbled along the cobblestone streets, the weight of the past dragging at his every step. He had come to this place seeking something anything that could fill the void left by the death of his wife. But in his search for solace, he had found only darkness.

He took another blotter paper with LSD, he walked till the end of the coast line, nobody was around as the numbing feeling of the substance took over his chest, that dulled tha pain he endured. His legs were cut and he was pale and skinny, you were always the one who was taking care of him that he forgot what to eat, drink and how to sleep.

He looked at the moon with half lidded eyes and soft breathing before hearing a familiar voice. The singing was melodic and smooth to hear, a voice that had the same pitch, tone, and key to yours. This can't be real right?

He immediately walks over to the sound, trying to find it. The sky was oddly colorful today. It was a deep blue. He walked over and he hears it getting louder, he breathes heavily. Running towards the sound, he didn't wanna speak yet. He had to find out himself, were you still alive? After all these years?

With unsteady steps, he descended the rocky path to the shore, the waves crashing violently against the rocks. There, in the shallow waters, stood a figure, bathed in the ghostly light of the moon. Her hair tangled and damp, her skin beautiful and glistening with the spray of the sea. But it was her eyes. those familiar, haunting eyes—.. that stopped fyodor in his tracks.

"Lyubov'.." he muttered with wide eyes and disbelief, his sadness washing away from his chest.

His breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain that this was his wife, that returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.

“fedya.. ” you whispered with a teasing grin, your voice a soft, melodic echo of the song that had called him. breath caught in his throat. It couldn’t be. Yet, as he looked at her, he was certain—this was his wife.. His beloved lover, That returned to him from beyond the grave. His heart swelled with a mix of joy and sorrow, his mind reeling with the impossibility of it all.

“You came back Ангел..!” he choked out, walking toward you with an admiring grin. “I knew you would come back."

The siren, his wife, smiled, a sad, distant expression that seemed almost… wrong.

“I never left, fedya. I've been here all along. Awaiting for your arrival, my dear." you whispered softly in his ear.

He fell to his knees in the icy cold water, reaching out to touch her. His hand trembled as it brushed against your cheek, you leaned into his touch, your skin cold, damp, and scaley..yet familiar.

He grinned gently, wrapping his hands on your waist, admiring your beautiful face. This is what dreams are made of right? Everything felt completely right. His eyes were filled with adoration and solace. The gaping void in his chest was filled once again, he was finally with you. His wife.

"I've done alot of things in the past, im afraid. But i did it all for you." he caressed your skin, but it felt.. Hard and cold. He ignored that, he just wanted to be with you, to touch you, to love you all over again. "I want you to understand, lyubov'. If you come back amd see the way things are now, don't be afraid."

His eyes were locked onto yours, tucking a piece of your hair behind your finned ears. He looked down, seeing your scaley tail. He didn't care of you weren't human anymore.

You lean onto him, "I'm back now.. Come with me instead, into the depths of the ocean." he nods, his gaze locked onto yours, "let go, and be with me.. Forever. In the sea. We'll love again,"— he nodded, his thumb caressing your cheek as he held your waist securely. "we'll laugh again, and we'll be together. Forever."

His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had yearned for this moment, to be reunited with you, to finally find peace and have you in his arms. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, cold and salty like the sea.. But how beautiful you were..

But as he kissed you, he felt nothing but bones. He felt something hard, it wasn't the soft lips that he would kiss every night.

No.

It wasn't.

The substances effect slowly faded away, he looked back at you.. his eyes wide with horror. The figure before him was no longer his wife, no longer the ethereal beauty who had called to him from the sea. She was something else!- something twisted and grotesque. Your bones were pale, bloated, mottled with decay, and your eyes.. those eyes.. were empty, hollow sockets.

This was not a reincarnation of you as a siren. It was your remains. Your rotting missing cadaver that had washed up on shore. Your boned were waterlogged and broken, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The crashing waves of the oceans was evident that it crushed your body. The waves and smell of the sea surrounded him as he held your decaying bones.

He looked at your ring finger. It still had the ring he proposed to you with, a patch of grey rotting skin was under the ring. Your skin, that he worshipped and adored the most. His breath was jagged and he held your hand, a single tear dropping down his eye.

The corpse stared back at him with empty eyes, her mouth twisted into a mockery of the smile he loved. He looks down and he held your decaying body close, leaning his head onto your shoulder.

"I.. I will then. If you want it, I'll do it."

It was all a hallucination. But he didn't want to believe that. He believed it was still you. He carried your rotting bones in bridal style, like he did during your wedding day.

He took another dose of his substances and he walked deeper into the ocean.

Deeper.

And deeper..

And deeper.

A/N: the color of the theme is blue and white, completely different from my theme which is red and black..but i wanted to change it up abit. Thanks for reading. This actually made me sad abit..

© All works by @Verlaineszz. Do not copy, redistribute, or repost on other platforms.

[cinnamostar]

02: home

part one.

pairing : minho x gn!reader

summary : “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

wc : 7.3k

cw : childhood friends, arguing, angst, sadness, mentions of bullying + racism/xenophobia, best friends to lovers, fluff, sappiness, its so doooomed

a/n : pls read part one before this! i was in so much pain as i wrote this, so im sorry in advance, my dear reader. please let me know what you think! likes and reblogs appreciated

tags: @im-on-a-hellavator , @httpswilloww @atinyniki (its not letting me tag so i hope this works ;w;)

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Maybe that was a little too harsh, Minho thought to himself as he remembered your glassy eyes and the guilt that painted your face a depressing blue, the bashful glowing smile of yours he adored nowhere to be found. Oh, how his heart soared to the heavens when he saw you back at the pond you both once called home years later, the same vibrance you carried as a child seemed to have never left you even after so many years. How he missed seeing you smile so timidly, yet lovingly, at the tadpoles who swam underneath the pond's surface, how he missed seeing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked as the wind bellowed through your locks, and how he missed you. 

It didn’t matter how many times the earth had rotated around the sun, it didn’t matter how long it had been, his heart could never let you go. 

The instant he saw someone standing at the pond, his body and soul knew it was you, there was no way he’d ever mistake that nostalgic, comforting presence of yours as anyone else’s. The way the soft rays of the sun highlighted your features nearly made his heart skip out his chest, as if he just saw an angel standing before him; the cherub he once knew as a child had grown up.

How he hoped you’d finally come back home to him, how he desperately wished for years to relive the sweetest moments of his childhood, how he wished you were there for each and every milestone in life, and how he wished you two could finally make up for lost time. And while his heart yearned for you, the abandonment he felt in his childhood festered inside him, as if he had taken a swig of poison that sought to destroy the love and adoration he had for you in a bitter, resentful, rage. He couldn’t help it, the pain and misery he felt growing up had never truly left and your presence reawakened those wounds he never learned to heal. His heart stretched painfully in this twisted game of tug-of-war, unsure on whether he should feel thankful for your return or relent to the enmity that had rotted within him for god knows how long.

Yet, it was so easy to submit to the indignation he was feeling as it overpowered any sense of gratefulness, choosing to ignore the miracle of you being back as his mouth soured over the taste of resentment. 

Had his prayers finally been answered? Has he finally wished you back into his life? I’m an idiot, he cringed as he began to regret his behavior. Maybe his anger wasn’t justified, maybe he should’ve met you with more grace. After all, you weren’t wrong, you were just a kid who knew no better. It wasn’t fair to him, but neither was his treatment to you after the fact. Ah. The guilt you must’ve felt over the years could not have been easy to manage on top of the stress of living in an entirely foreign country, as your tearful eyes showed him how much you had been agonizing over this. For so long, he had convinced himself you had forgotten him entirely, no longer cared for him as he mourned over you as if you had died, yet the years of the youth you both shared came rushing in like a tsunami the minute you both made eye contact. The overwhelming emotions of nostalgia and regret was a feeling only you two could ever understand, and my, was it complicated to choose how to feel with thousands of nameless emotions competing with one another.

The love Minho had for you never left, almost as if it laid dormant for years as it hoped for the day you two would meet again, the familiar butterflies of his childhood crush blossoming once again at the sight of you. Somehow, everything and nothing about you changed, it was something Minho didn’t have words to explain or couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. You were the Y/N he knew and doted on as a child, but you had grown into an astonishingly beautiful adult version of yourself and he found himself falling in love the instant his soul recognized you. 

For so many years, Minho had tried his best to erase any memory of you, but his heart couldn’t deny the love it had for you and no matter how hard he tried, it was always you. Through the trials and tribulations of life, you were his safe haven, the very thought of you bringing a sense of peace and tranquility no other could, and during the lowest points of his life, his body always instinctually took him to the same pond as a refuge. He coveted you and your presence, yet the pond was the closest he could get to you and the feelings he had longed for. 

Just maybe Minho was being unfair to you, he thought. After all, you both were just kids.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Since your run in with Minho, you had been suffering with an overwhelming amount of guilt, carrying the weight of shame on your shoulders as you came face to face with him for the first time in years. Having to finally confront the pained and saddened expression he wore was something you could have never prepared for, and the very memory of it was enough to make you break down in tears. 

You knew what you had done to Minho was extremely hurtful, and you couldn’t imagine what that must’ve felt like, no matter how hard you try. But knowing and witnessing it were two completely different things, and after seeing Minho’s watery eyes, you weren’t sure if you could ever forgive yourself. He was right, though. Maybe you shouldn’t have come back, maybe coming back was only reopening old wounds you both didn’t need to be dealing with all because of your selfish need to reconnect with your culture. 

Though, after spending most of your life overseas, you were starting to feel like you didn’t belong in your home country anymore. You had lost touch with cultural traditions, basic etiquette, and even struggled to speak your native tongue as well. You still spoke like the eight year old that had moved away long ago, and it was becoming increasingly embarrassing as you compared yourself to everyone around you. You stuck out like a sore thumb and for the first time in your life, you began to realize you didn’t fit in anywhere. Not here, not in the states. You were too much of your ethnicity to be considered a proper American, and you were too American to be considered a true citizen of your country, despite spending the first eight years of your life here. Coming back home didn’t reaffirm your identity, but only left you more confused and questioning who you even were. 

Minho was right, this was a mistake.

You so desperately craved a sense of belonging, and you became certain you weren't finding it here anymore, but you had to make it through the rest of your trip at the very least. You were just going to try to continue business as usual though, hoping you would not run into Minho again and would simply forgo the pond entirely. It should be simple enough, you thought. No one needed to know about your accidental meeting with Minho and you were sure he’d avoid you like the plague. It should be fine.

Well, that quickly changed as soon as your mom told you Minho’s mother invited your family to dinner at their house. The color from your face immediately drained as a cold sweat formed all over your body, your mother seemingly ecstatic at the news, “Oh, it will be just like old times! And you can finally see Minho after so long, isn’t that great, sweetheart?” she beamed, your father also nodding alongside her. 

You cleared your throat as you forced a fake smile, “Yeah, that does sound great, mom. When are we going over?”

“Tonight! So make sure to be ready to walk over by seven, okay?”

Tonight? Oh, god, no, that was far too soon when you had just barely recovered from seeing Minho yesterday, and now tonight? Breathe, Y/N. Just one night, then you’ll never see him again,  you ressaured yourself, trying to find a way to make this news manageable. You honestly should have seen this coming, your mom was also best friends with Minho’s mom, but for some reason that detail had escaped you.

Just one evening, just one dinner, then it would be all over, right?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Dinner was going as well as it could have. Minho’s mother spent a great deal of effort preparing a feast for your family and she showered you with compliments as soon as you walked through the door, commenting how you had grown into such a lovely young adult. 

Minho and you only exchanged an awkward hello, which didn’t raise any alarms in either of your parents as they somewhat expected this, especially considering how your friendship ended as children. Nonetheless, it did not stop the onslaught of questions each set of parents asked in attempts to catch up, nor did it stop them trying to force a conversation between you two.

“So, Y/N, how was university in the states? Did you like it there?” curiously inquired Minho’s father.

“Oh, it was great! Definitely got to meet some life long friends there and had lots of fun,” you politely responded, “I didn’t exactly live the typical all-american college experience, but it was still nice. Excited to start my new job once I get back though! I got a really good offer and the position I wanted.”

Minho’s mother gasped as she congratulated you, “That’s amazing! I remember your mother telling me how stressed you were about those interviews, but I’m glad you got it,” she then turned her head to Minho while giving him a slight nudge, “Minho also graduated, he got a job offer as well. Tell them about it, Minho.”

Minho awkwardly cleared his throat, “Uhm, yeah, I just got an offer with a bank here as an analyst, but I’m waiting to hear back from another company before negotiating.”

You nodded as he spoke, looking anywhere, but him as your parents also commended him, you weakly congratulating him as well. Wow, this felt painfully awkward, but somehow neither of your parents seemed to care too much about the tension between you two.

“How about a special someone, Y/N?” Minho’s dad asked, the question catching you by surprise. Your eyes landed on the boy who sat across from you, who looked just as surprised, but fully interested in your response.

“Ah, no, not right now… Kinda focused on myself for now,” you respond, a stiff smile on your face, feeling nervous under the sudden intensity of Minho’s gaze.

Your mother let out a chortle, finding your embarrassment endearing, “What about you, Minho? Any girlfriends?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows as everyone else joined in laughing.

“Minho does have a girlfriend! It’s such a shame she couldn’t make it tonight, she was a lovely girl,” his mom piped, “Reminded me a bit of you, Y/N, if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t know why, but something inside you sank, an indescribable wave of disappointment washed over you at the words girlfriend. Of course he had one, he’s, well, an attractive, smart, man. Of course, but why were you so bothered by it? You haven’t spoken to him in years, you virtually had no relationship with him and only had remnants of the past to hold onto, yet your stomach began to twist and turn inside you, almost as if you were jealous? Ah, no, this is weird, this isn’t right. Maybe the food just isn’t sitting with you well, maybe you caught a stomach bug that just so happened to show its symptoms just in this moment.

The boy coughed, “We, uh… We broke up, that’s why she isn’t coming.”

Everyone stood in silence, not expecting that kind of news over dinner, both sets of parents shooting him an apologetic look, but for some reason, you felt relieved to hear that. The pit that was forming in your stomach suddenly vanished, as if Minho’s words just cured you of your ailment.

“What, you never told us!” Minho’s mother exclaimed.

“It was a few weeks ago, it happens. I’m fine, really.” 

Maybe that explains the tired look in Minho’s eyes when you first saw him yesterday, maybe that explains the somber look he carried that day, and perhaps he went to the pond for a moment of peace, just as you did, except your very presence ruined it. There returned the familiar hand of guilt that rested its heavy hand on your shoulders, never giving you the chance to take a deep breath.

Beside that, dinner did move on relatively well as everyone took turns to catch up or reminisce on the olden days, all while gossiping about who was up to what. As dinner came to a close, both sets of parents decided it was best for you two to be left with washing the dishes alone in the house, as they moved to the patio area to chat amongst themselves.

Minho and you silently stood next to each other as he washed the dishes, handing them to you for them to dry with a rag, much as you two did while growing up. Although you two were much older, there was a comforting air that hung around you two that allowed you to relax the tension your body had been carrying over the dinner, humming a quiet tune as you dried each plate.

“You still hum while doing the dishes?” Minho asked, a small amused smile taking over his features.

You froze in place, not expecting him to willingly speak to you, much less take the time to ask you a question. “I guess I still do,” you replied lightly, afraid that the mere sound of your voice would somehow upset him. 

A quiet lull returned after your response, neither of you knowing what to do or even say around another as guilt nibbled away at each of you, but for your own different reasons. 

“I’m sorry.”

 “I’m sorry”

You both turned to each other, eyes widened in surprise as you both rushed mumbled apologies to each other at the same exact time. Neither of you knew what to do in this unexpected situation, awkwardness filling both your eyes as you both struggled to stammer out a response.

“I… I’m sorry for never telling you I was leaving, I should’ve known bet-”

“No, no, we were both kids. Neither of us knew better. I’m sorry for being so… rude. I don’t know what got into me. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered anxiously, continuing to dry the glass cup in your hand, “It’s a lot to handle all at once. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“It really isn’t okay. We were both hurting in our own ways, I think we both did the best we could at the time,” he smiled reassuringly at you, the same one he had flashed you the first day he dragged you out to the forest to find the pond, a smile you had come to miss. 

“Oh, and sorry about… your ex? Break ups suck…”

“It’s fine, I actually am glad we broke up… she was, well… it wasn’t great for either of us,” he mumbled, not willing to divulge any further, “Break ups suck? Sounds like you’ve had your fair share.”

You laugh lightly, “Unfortunately. Mine weren’t as peaceful as yours. You sound a lot happier than I was.”

“Well, you’ve always been a crybaby. Guess not much has changed about you, huh?” he mused, a teasing smirk forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes as you snorted, playfully nudging him with your hip, “Shut up. You’re still as annoying as I remember too.”

“I bet you missed it.”

“I did. A lot. Moving sucked.”

He handed you the last of the dishes to dry, deep in thought as he leaned his back against the kitchen counter, “Was it hard?”

You sighed as you put the last dish away, turning to him as you swallowed thickly, “I think I cried nearly every day for two years straight,” your gaze was stuck looking down at the floor as you fiddled with your fingers, “It was really hard. I didn’t have friends for a long time. No one understood me when I tried speaking English, and I didn’t understand the other kids a lot of the time, but I always knew they were laughing at me.”

Minho’s heart ached hearing how your voice slightly quivered as you recalled the memory, he could tell it was your first time ever saying any of it out loud. There was an icy sadness surrounding you as you spoke, yet no tears were to be found. Maybe you were good at hiding them, or maybe you had grown too tired to cry for your younger self at this point, but it didn’t take away from the scars the loneliness had left on your heart. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been there for you.”

You shook your head, an exasperated laugh left you as a resigned smile took over your face, “It’s okay, it was years ago. I’ve learned to deal with it. Besides, I did end up making friends and I ended up learning how to speak English.”

Minho was amazed at your ability to force a cheerful expression while discussing something so traumatic, something he would have never expected you to be able to do. He couldn’t help but wonder what you had endured all these years on your own, wondering where the sensitive and delicate version of you he had once knew had gone, feeling angry that you had been hurt so much that your tenderness was forced to become a callous exterior. 

The child he had once known was so fragile, he had to wear gloves when handling your porcelain heart, nervous his very own touch or breath could crack it if he wasn’t careful. Minho hated seeing you cry. He would defend you, fighting tooth and nail, like his life depended on it if anyone ever upset you, even going as far as angrily huffing and puffing at your parents if they ever raised their voice at you. And every time, he would comfort you right after in a gentle embrace until you calmed down, making sure to glare at anyone who tried to disturb your peace. How much did your little heart break over the years? Who was there to pick up the pieces and comfort you through those moments? Had you really dealt with it all by yourself? The thought alone made Minho’s heart writhe in despair, aching as he mourned this realization.

You reached out to grab Minho’s arm as you saw the downcast expression on his face, “Hey, it’s not your fault. I learned how to defend myself and I think I turned out pretty okay at the end of it,” you reassured before laughing, “Unless you think I’m lame now.”

Your laugh was enough to bring Minho out his incessant thoughts, a mischievous grin returning, “I never thought you were cool in the first place.”

“Minho!”

“Kidding, kidding. I’m just glad to have you back. I missed you lots.”

“I missed you too.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Over the past few days, you and Minho had become inseparable, spending nearly every minute of the day with one another, much like how you two did when you were children. For the first time in years, you finally felt that you belonged somewhere, no longer feeling out of place like you have since the day you moved away. It didn’t matter where you were, but as long as Minho was there, you felt like you were at home. He knew this too, he noticed the change from the first day he found you at the pond again to now. You were much more relaxed, as if all the worries in the world disappeared while you both were together, giggling over whatever stupid joke was made. You weren’t on edge as you were before, and the walls you had surrounded your heart with slowly crumbled away through his affections. 

And even though over a decade has since passed since you two last spoke, it was as if time had paused since the moment you left, and only resumed from the day you both made up. Nothing has changed, except everything about the two of you changed. Your childhood friendship continued like it was nothing, playing like a song that had been paused, waiting to sing its tune, except you two were much older, more matured, and had experienced so much of life. Whatever you each went through shaped you into the adults you were today, yet the kids you each knew hid behind locked doors that only the two of you had accessed.

Yet, there was a more complicated matter that you had to address before it snowballed out of control. Your feelings. Love was never a word you and Minho shied away from, as you often told each other ‘I love you’ while growing up, it seemed natural during that time of childlike innocence. You knew you loved Minho, and you knew he loved you, but saying it as adults had an entirely implication and your feelings were indicating something much deeper than platonic love. 

It was no secret that your childhood best friend had grown into a rather handsome man, and the childhood crush you once had on him was flourishing into something greater than just a crush. The smallest of gestures would send a frenzy of butterflies and warmth rushing throughout your veins, hoping to god Minho had not noticed just how much of an effect he was having on you.

If you two were walking through a crowded area, he’d grab your hand without hesitation as he led you through the swarms of people. If you had food stuck on the corner of your lips, he’d grab a napkin and wipe it off. If you saw a small trinket at the shopping mall you wanted, the very next day he’d come back with the item in hand, saying he bought it so you could remember to text or call him when you went back to the states. It was moments like those that felt so incredibly intimate to you, but part of you wasn’t sure if it could all be explained away by how comfortable you two were with one another. 

And here you were again, sitting on the couch of Minho’s living room after he had begged you to watch a new scary movie with him, insisting this was to make up for the pre-teen years you both missed out on and that he would’ve forced you to watch one then. You tried to protest, saying that you guys weren’t kids anymore and there was no need for these ‘tests of bravery,’ yet you couldn’t resist the way he would pout and whine, begging you to do so for him just like he would as a child. 

You were barely watching the movie, just peeking out from behind a blanket as Minho’s secure arm wrapped around your shoulders, your head laying on his chest as you cowered in fear over the pure suspense of the movie. Each time you’d flinch, you could feel a soft rumble come from Minho’s chest, doing his best to stifle a laugh and hide the fact that he was enjoying every moment of this. 

“I fucking hate you,” you scowled, still recovering from the last jumpscare.

Minho giggled at your face, finding your attempt to look upset absolutely adorable, “No, you don’t,” reaching his other arm over you as he squeezed you into an affectionate embrace, “It’s not my fault you’re still a giant baby after all these years.”

You grumbled while doing your best to shove Minho off you, but there was no way you’d be able to overpower him. You’ve hugged Minho so many times throughout your life, but this time, it sent your heart racing so loud that you could hear it drumming in your own ears, silently praying that he couldn’t hear it too. Something about this hug felt different, especially when he kept you close in his arms, refusing to let you go as he snuggled into you. This trip was going to be the death of you.

Without fail, every time you jolted in your seat, Minho was quick to chuckle at each of your reactions and tighten his grip on you gently, not skipping a beat to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead while whispering to you that it was just a movie. If you were two kids, this would be something normal and innocent, but right now, it left you feeling like a flustered mess who was melting under the heat of his affection.

You were slowly feeling yourself short-circuit, your body starting to sweat from the heat of embarrassment that was washing over you. Surely, Minho would feel the amount of warmth emanating from you at this point, yet he seemed completely unbothered as his eyes were trained on the movie ahead of you. You were relieved that he seemed aloof to the distress you were experiencing, but also mildly insecure that he seemed so… relaxed despite the proximity you two shared. Maybe he had only seen this under the same childhood innocence and nothing more, maybe it was only you making a big fuss over this.

It was becoming too much for you to bear as you started to shift uncomfortably, slowly getting up while excusing yourself to the bathroom. Minho’s eyebrows furrowed with concern, “Are you okay?” 

You nodded your head hastily as you made your way to the bathroom, “Uhm, yeah! Just not feeling well suddenly, not sure why. Just gonna splash some water on my face.”

He didn’t seem too convinced, he could sense there was something more to it, but decided to let it go. You raced to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you to finally catch a breath, shaking your hands as if you were trying to remove all the nervous energy out of you. Your face was hot to the touch, thankful for the cold water from the faucet as you splashed it onto your warm cheeks. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but it was long enough for Minho to come knocking at the door, “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You swung the door instantly, startling Minho as he backed up from the door, his eyebrows raised at your change in behavior, “What’s wrong? Don’t lie to me, I can tell something’s up.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed as he looked into yours, trying to search your eyes for an answer as you bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes entirely avoiding him, “It’s nothing, I’ll be fine-”

“Y/N.”

“I promise, I’m probably just overreacting, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

He stared down at you with his arms crossed, pursuing his lips as he watched the corners of your lips twitch, a telltale sign that you were lying, “Am I making you uncomfortable? Was the movie too much for you? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head panickedly, “No, no, it’s nothing like that, I swear! Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

You gulped, you knew there was no way out of this. Minho knew you better than anyone else, he knew you weren’t randomly feeling ill over nothing, he knew it had nothing to do with the movie. 

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Minho. It’s okay.”

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it, but can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with me?”

The stubbornness you found charming as a child was definitely an absolute pain in the ass as the adult man in front of you analyzed every microscopic detail you, trying his best to get to the bottom of what had you acting strangely. You couldn’t lie to him, no, he would know as soon as you opened your mouth it was a lie. Sure, you could tell him he was the cause of your unsettledness, but would that even go well? There were too many factors to consider, too much to think about and your long pause told Minho everything he needed to know.

He sighed, taking a step back as he started to make his way back to the living room, “It’s fine, I can tell. If this is too much, we can stop here. We can talk about it tomorrow morning.”

“N-no!” 

The words flew out your mouth before you had the chance to even think. Oh, you were mentally cursing at yourself as Minho turned to you again, his face furrowed with confusion, “No?”

“I just… I mean, it’s just a lot, but it isn’t at the same time?” you sounded so unsure as you said it, which only caused Minho to tilt his head to the side as he tried to understand you.

“It’s too much, but it isn’t…” he mumbled to himself, his mind straining to figure out the riddles you were speaking, “I know I said we don’t have to talk about it, but you do realize you’re not making any sense, right?”

You forced a tight-lipped smile, inhaling sharply, “Uhm, yeah… It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“You’re lying. You know exactly what you mean, you just don’t want to tell me.”

You winced at his bluntness, not really surprised at how direct he was being with you, “Do you not trust me anymore?”

His eyes glossed over with insecurity and worry as he asked that question, your heart dropping immediately, wanting nothing more than shoo those feelings away, “What? Of course I still trust you.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s complicated?”

“But why?”

“Why can’t you just drop it?” you raised your voice in frustration at his insistence, not willing to budge as he tried to pry his way into your mind.

“Well,” he hesitated, “The last time you hid something from me, you left. So forgive me for being a little scared.”

Your mouth dropped open at Minho’s statement, not expecting him to be so vulnerable with you out of nowhere, “I… Minho, I’m sorry,” you whispered tearfully, your stomach flipping onto itself as it digested the grief Minho had just voiced. You stepped towards him, reaching for his hands as you clasped them between yours, “I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t really know if I should be saying this.”

“Trust me this time, please? I don’t want to be left in the dark again,” he pleaded, his mind reminding him of the day he waited for you as the amber sunset turned into the night sky.

Your hands started to tremble in his, your nerves taking over as you unexpectedly found yourself about to confess your feelings to a man who lived thousands miles from you, a man you had only started talking to a few days ago, a man who had somehow known you your entire life, despite missing so many crucial years together. Your breath hitched as the butterflies in your stomach got caught in your throat, your nerves signaling off as the electrifying feeling of adrenaline took over, “I, uh… I am really happy we’ve made up, I’m really happy to have rekindled our friendship with one another, and I’ve loved all the time we have spent with each other over the last few days, but…”

Trepidation ran through you, biting your lip for a brief moment as you hesitated to continue your sentence, “Maybe I’ve come to love it a little too much?” At this point, you were looking for every way possible to avoid saying your actual feelings, hoping Minho would connect the dots for you, but his face told you he had no idea what you meant. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me I’m still not making sense, I can see it in your face,” you sighed. He nodded, urging you to continue with patient eyes.

“I… like you?”

It was quiet, so quiet you swore both Minho and you could hear your heart thumping, your hands clamming up as you held his, terrified eyes examining his face for his reactions. He stilled for a moment, as if he was processing your words before breaking out into a grin, a hearty laugh escaping him.

“I already knew that.”

You froze in place, disbelief painting your face as you stared at him incredulously, “What?”

“Don’t tell me you’re also still clueless after all these years,” yet he took your silence as confirmation, shaking his head as he giggled, “Do you really think I was being overly affectionate with you for no reason?”

Your mouth dried up from nerves, stuttering over your reply, “I… Yes? I thought you were just… I don’t know, I thought you were just treating me the same way you did as when we were kids.”

“And do you know why I treated you like that growing up?” he questioned with a candied smile.

You blinked slowly, your head shaking cautiously as you tried to decipher his words, “Because… I don’t know? We were best friends.”

“Sure, that was part of it, but it was more like me having a giant crush on you.”

“...”

“... That means I still like you, if that wasn’t clear enough for you.”

There was no way this was real, this all had to be a dream, you just couldn’t believe your ears. Your childhood crush, the man that caused our feelings to go absolutely haywired in a matter of a few days, felt the same exact way for you this whole time and you just somehow missed it? No, no, this was certainly a dream, why on earth would he be into someone like you, someone who-

“Y/N,” he removed his hands from yours, resting them on top of your shoulders as he leaned down to come face to face with you, effectively waking you up from your reverie, “Let’s make up for lost time,” he whispered, his breath fanning on your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You stared back with doe eyes, all your vocabulary escaping you as you gulped, nodding your head perhaps a little too excitedly. Minho’s smile only widened at your reaction, his rough hands traveling to cup your face with half-lidded eyes, his head leaning forward as his chapped lips closed the gap. His lips melded against yours, your hands grasping at his t-shirt as you felt your knees buckle under him, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. You felt yourself weaken under his touch, becoming prisoner to his affection as the world around you quieted, much like the moment of silence that existed between the end of a performance and explosive applause of the audience. Everything stalled, as if the expanse of the universe took a pause and the supernovas’ violent bursts slowed to witness feverish kiss between you two. You were becoming lightheaded, pulling away from the dizzying kiss as your chests heaved in an attempt to catch your breath. Minho’s cheeks and ears burned a bright scarlet, a sweet smile grazing his features as his eyes brimmed with love and affection, softly whispering:

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Once again, the familiar, low, hum of mosquitos filled your ears as Minho’s firm hand led you down the same dirt trail you’ve traveled down hundreds of times, leaves brushing against the skin of your arms as you cautiously followed his grasp. Today, Minho told you he had one last surprise for you before you traveled back home, blindfolding you at the entrance of the forest as butterflies fluttered in your stomach, temporarily distracting you from the fact that this was your last day here before returning to the states, returning to your mundane life and leaving this mind numbing summer romance behind.

He slowed down his pace, signaling to you that you had arrived to your destination, his hands slipping out of yours as you felt his presence behind you, gently removing the blindfold as he softly whispered, “we’re here.”

As soon as the blindfold was off, your eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the change of lighting, scanning the scene that stood ahead of them as Minho made his way into your vision, a saccharine smile beaming at you, “Do you like it?”

Like was an understatement as a grin broke out onto your face, your heart filling with an overwhelming amount of adoration as you took in the surprise Minho spent so long preparing for earlier this morning. There, beside the pond, laid a small plaid blanket with a picnic basket centered atop of it, a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bottle of wine propped up against the basket. You gasped with delight as your heart softened, “Oh, Minho, I love it.”

His shoulders relaxed at your words, no longer feeling nervous as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the blanket, sitting down next to you as he gingerly laid out the food he prepared in front you. “I made you some of your favorites,” he added, gently opening the bottle of wine and pouring you a glass, “I hope its as good as it looks,” he laughed anxiously, handling you a small bento box with the a serving cutely prepared, the vegetables cut out into small hearts decorating the rice. You took a bite of the food as soon as you had the chance, a small moan escaping you due to how delicious it was, your eyes widening in surprise, not expecting it to be so flavorful, “Minho, this is so good, you made this?”

He proudly nodded, pride bubbling up within him as you complimented the meal he made for you, one where he spent an agonizing amount of time to make because it just had to be perfect for you, especially today of all days, a day he wanted to send you off with the happiest memories.

You both continued to enjoy the date Minho had put so much effort in, occasionally teasing one another or chuckling at whatever lame joke the other made, both of you trying to avoid the looming topic at hand, the inevitable ending of this summer love story that was doomed to last for only a few weeks.

“So…” Minho anxiously drawled, “You’re leaving tomorrow…”

You smiled weakly as you cleared your throat, “That I am.”

He pursed his lips, struggling to ask the question you both knew you needed to address, “So… what does it mean for us?”

A heavy sigh escaped you as the tension in the air thickened, both of you intently staring at one another, trying to decode what the other was thinking before speaking, “What do you want it to mean?”

“I asked you first,” he responded a little too fast for your liking, not willing to voice his thoughts without hearing yours first.

“Well, uhm…” you paused, debating with your mind and heart as you decided your next words, “I am going back to the states, back to my friends, back to my job, back to my life.”

“Right,” he mumbled with a crestfallen expression, “Your life is there, not here.”

“It is.”

“What about me?” he whispered in a quivered voice.

“Well, your life is here, my life is not here. I don’t really…” you took a deep breath, tears starting to prick your eyes, “I don’t know how we would work.”

He nodded tearfully, knowing he couldn’t deny the difficulty of managing a long distance relationship, especially one like this, “What if I moved with you? What if you moved back?”

You shook your head, your heart breaking at Minho’s attempts to find a solution, “Minho, you don’t even speak English, you wouldn’t be able to find a job there and use your degree-”

“I can learn! I promise, I’ll start studying-”

“Minho.” 

He stopped mid-sentence, his stubbornness refusing to let him accept the reality you two had found yourselves in, “Minho, you already have a job offer here, your friends and family are here. You wouldn’t be happy in the states, it’s so hard living there as a foreigner.”

“I’d be happy anywhere as long as I’m with you,” he begged, praying you’d at least try to see the glimmer of hope he was trying to conjure up, “I don’t care where, as long as I’m with you, I’d be happy.”

You bit your lip as you tried to suppress a sob, “You know that’s not true, you know your happiness can’t be dependent on me alone.”

“You don’t want to come back here?”

“I… can’t, Minho. My life isn’t here anymore, it hasn’t been in years.”

Crystal tears fell from Minho’s eyes, his eyes no longer being able to meet yours as the your words crushed his soul, the love he felt for you expelling into his tears as he began to mourn your loss once more, sobbing much like he did all those years ago. Through hiccups, he blubbered “Please, Y/N. Please don’t leave me again.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you sniffled, no longer being able to watch the man you love completely fall apart in front of you, cursing yourself for your cruel words that stabbed over and over again in his bleeding heart. “I’m so sorry, Minho. I don’t want this either, but what choice do we have? You and I both know our lives would never cross paths, we would never be able to come together.”

“We can try-”

“For what? To only cry years later to have this same exact conversation again?” you snapped, your frustrated tears and guilty conscience no longer being able to handle his pleading, it only wounding you more. You’ve already spent the past few weeks trying to scour for a possibility, a fragment of hope that showed you a timeline in which you two would be happy together, but it simply didn’t exist in this life, no matter how many times you flipped and turned the story. This wasn’t a movie, this wasn’t some romance novel where love would triumph it all, this was the bitter and harsh realities of life, and you hated it with all your heart.

You let out a despondent sigh as you lamented over the situation, your hands gingerly reaching out for Minho’s chin, forcing his teary-eyed face to look at yours, “Minho, I’m sorry, baby.”

He sniffled, his nose reddening as hot drops cascaded down his cheeks, “I’m sorry too.”

“I love you with everything in me, Minho, and I always will no matter where life takes us,” you murmured heartbrokenly, “I have known you for thousands of lifetimes, and I don’t regret meeting you in a single one.”

His hands reached out to hold yours, removing them from his face as he grasped them tightly, as if he was fearing you’d fade away if he loosened his grip, “I just wish we worked in this one,” he trembled.

“Me too, but…” you heaved, “Maybe in the next one, right? You’ll find me again?”

He laughed melancholily, “Always. I’d chase you to the very end of the universe if I had to.”

“Kiss me one more time? So I don’t forget?”

He smiled with anguished eyes, not hesitating to tilt his head as his lips captured yours once more,  in one last, passionate kiss with all the devotion in the world, leaving the taste of your bittersweet love, one where only the two of you would know and understand. 

You were leaving him again, but at least he got to say goodbye this time.

[mononijikayu]

a red winter — ryomen sukuna.

The wind whispered through the cherry blossom trees, casting a delicate veil over the scene. Sukuna's heart, heavy with sorrow, echoed the mournful silence of the winter landscape. He had loved you more deeply than he could ever express, and now, in this moment of finality, he struggled to comprehend a world without your presence. He struggles to know what life truly is worth, if there is no you to give it meaning. He looks at you, defeated. 

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Miscarriage, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Miscarriage, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: a red winter by ahn ye eun

ko-fi

note: i quickly wrote this knowing ill be gone for a while due to my exams. i would like to say that i apologize that this is what im leaving you with for a week or two. but truly, i hope you forgive me. in any case, two more chapters!!! thank you for your support for ashes of love. i hope you love this chapter and i'll see you in the next one!!! i love you <3

YOU FELT EXHAUSTED. In the following months, you found yourself embroiled in relentless clashes against the usurpers of your son’s rightful lordship—the formidable Zenin and Kamo clans. Each battle drained you further, the weight of responsibility and the constant struggle wearing down your spirit. Despite your children's repeated insistence on joining you in battle, their youthful determination remained unwavering. They wanted to avenge their clan, their name, their father. 

However, you steadfastly refused, maintaining that a child should never be on the battlefield. Your son was just ten and seven, your daughter only shy of ten and two. You refused at each turn their determination to be in battle. And each time, the quarrels would tear you apart. But you would not let them win. Not at this moment. They were all you had. And you were damned that you would lose them too. 

Your heart ached at the thought of their innocence being tarnished by the brutality of war, their futures jeopardized by the unpredictability of combat. You had just lost your husband. To lose your children would drive you to a place you did not want to think of. You met their fervent appeals with gentle yet firm insistence, seeking to shield them from the harsh realities of the front lines.

You bid them farewell with a heavy heart, watching as the columns of men marched solemnly away from the Ryomen lands, their faces set in grim determination. Each step they took seemed to echo with the weight of impending doom, a silent acknowledgment that many among them would not return from the battle ahead.

Turning to look at your children, you saw the stark contrast in their reactions. Your son stood tall and stoic, his jaw clenched with a resolve that mirrored your own. His refusal to meet your gaze spoke volumes of the burden he carried, the unspoken fear of losing his father and the weight of inheriting a legacy of honor and duty.

Beside him, your daughter hesitated, her eyes betraying a mixture of fear and uncertainty. She searched your face for reassurance, her lips parting as if to speak but faltering before any words could escape. In her youthful innocence, she struggled to comprehend the gravity of the moment, torn between wanting to be brave for her family and the overwhelming fear of the unknown.

You sighed heavily, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down upon you like an oppressive cloak. You took a moment to memorize the sight of your children, their features etched with worry and determination. In their eyes, you saw reflections of your own struggles, the sacrifices made in the name of duty and the relentless march towards an uncertain future.

With a deep breath, you were helped atop your own horse, the sturdy beast beneath you a steady anchor amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within. As you urged your mount forward to join the departing ranks, you spared one last glance at your children, their figures growing smaller in the distance.

In that fleeting moment, you prayed silently for their safety, for the strength to endure the trials ahead, and for the hope that one day, they would understand the sacrifices made in the name of honor and duty. With resolve renewed, you rode forth to meet your fate alongside your comrades, the echoes of farewell lingering in the air like a solemn promise of return.

Amidst the chaos of battle, you led your forces with a heavy heart, consumed by concern for their safety. The clash of steel and the agonized cries of comrades-in-arms created a grim backdrop to your inner turmoil. As the carnage unfolded around you, you clung steadfastly to the belief that their lives were precious and must be preserved at all costs.

Your relentless bloodhounds tore through anyone who crossed their path, driven by your command. Meanwhile, your white flames scorched enemies one after another, fueled by the intense energy coursing through your bleeding wrists. Despite a blow to your face causing you to stagger, your purple eyes blazed with determination as you knelt, the blood mixing with your cursed energy.

With a fierce resolve, a naginata materialized in your palm, and you lunged forward with primal aggression, unleashing a ferocious attack upon your foes. The battlefield echoed with the clash of weapons and the cries of the fallen, but amidst it all, your unwavering determination to protect your comrades burned as brightly as the flames you wielded.

As you fought with a savage intensity, each swing of your naginata cut through the air with deadly precision. The battlefield seemed to bend to your will, as if your determination alone could reshape the outcome of the conflict. Your allies fought alongside you, their trust in your leadership unwavering despite the odds stacked against them.

Blood and sweat mingled on your brow as you pressed forward, the weight of responsibility heavy upon your shoulders. The battlefield was chaotic, bodies strewn across the ground, both friend and foe alike. Yet, through the haze of battle, you remained focused, your senses attuned to every movement and threat.

Amidst the frenzy, a sense of clarity emerged—a resolute belief that this war, no matter how prolonged or brutal, would not break your spirit. Your heart pounded in rhythm with the pulse of the conflict, each beat a testament to your unwavering commitment to those who fought beside you.

After what seemed like an eternity, the clash of steel finally subsided, leaving behind a haunting silence punctuated only by the groans of the wounded and the crackle of distant fires. The battlefield lay strewn with bodies and broken weapons, a grim testament to the ferocity of the conflict.

You stood amidst the aftermath, your chest heaving with exertion, and your naginata still in hand, its blade gleaming with blood under the harsh glare of the sun. The adrenaline that had fueled your relentless assault now slowly ebbed, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that threatened to overwhelm you.

Surveying the scene, you felt a mix of emotions—relief that the immediate threat had been neutralized, sorrow for the lives lost, and a grim determination to press forward. Your thoughts turned to your comrades-in-arms, the survivors who now looked to you for guidance and strength. They bore the scars of battle, both physical and emotional, but their resolve remained unbroken.

Slowly, you began to organize the aftermath—tending to the wounded, accounting for the fallen, and preparing for the next phase of the campaign. Despite the toll it took on your spirit, you knew there was no time for rest or reflection. The war raged on, its relentless tide pulling you deeper into its grasp with each passing day.

As dusk settled over the battlefield, casting long shadows over the scene of carnage, you found a quiet moment to reflect. The faces of those you had lost haunted your thoughts, their sacrifices blossoming red with the thunder of war. Yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also a glimmer of hope—a steadfast belief that your efforts were not in vain, that each battle brought you one step closer to an end. 

With a weary sigh, you turned towards the horizon, where the first stars of evening began to twinkle in the darkening sky. The weight of responsibility sat heavy on your shoulders. You cannot quit now. You must continue. Even if this kills you. No matter what. You must continue. Whatever the costs.

The voice in your head laughed derisively, its mocking tone echoing in the recesses of your mind. "Foolish human," it sneered, "You cling to your frailty and stubborn pride. What honor is there in this futile struggle?"

You gritted your teeth, a surge of defiance rising within you. "There is honor in fighting for what is right," you retorted, your voice firm despite the tremors of doubt. "I would rather die in this struggle than any other way. At least here, I stand for something greater than myself."

The voice scoffed, its presence like a shadow looming over your thoughts. "Stubborn to the end," it taunted. "You will learn the futility of your resistance."

But you held fast to your convictions, refusing to let doubt cloud your resolve. "I will not yield," you declared, steeling yourself against the relentless assault of doubt and fear. "There is honor in the struggle, even if I do not emerge victorious."

As the voice faded into the background, its laughter turning hollow and distant, your lips pursed into a flat line. You sighed heavily, the weight of exhaustion settling deep within your bones as you leaned against the pillar of the wall. The ground around you was stained with blood, a stark reminder of the relentless cycle of battle that had defined your existence.

War had been your constant companion, an unyielding force that shaped every aspect of your life. It was a truth you had come to accept, yet one that weighed heavily on your heart. In moments like these, when the chaos subsided and the cries of conflict faded into silence, you allowed yourself a rare moment of reflection.

Gazing up at the sky, where a solitary heron glided gracefully against the canvas of deep blue, you couldn't help but yearn for something beyond the endless struggle. You wondered what it would be like to experience true freedom—to soar through the open skies without the burden of duty and battle pressing down upon you.

The heron's wings sliced through the air with effortless grace, a symbol of peace and serenity that felt so far removed from the harsh realities of your world. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a life untouched by war—a life where the sky was not a backdrop to conflict but a boundless expanse of possibility and tranquility.

But as quickly as the thought came, it was replaced by the harsh reality of your circumstances. The war demanded your unwavering commitment, your sacrifice, and your strength. There was no escape from the responsibilities that tethered you to this life of strife.

With a heavy heart, you pushed yourself away from the wall and resumed your vigilance. The heron continued its graceful flight, disappearing into the distance, leaving you with a lingering sense of longing. As you turned your gaze back to the battlefield ahead, you steeled yourself once more for the challenges that lay ahead, knowing that true freedom would have to wait for another time, another life.

When you had gotten up, you had been given news from the other fronts of the battle. Mikoto Masaomi, a loyal ally, managed to defeat the Kamo, effectively knocking them out of the war. This victory brought a brief respite, but the Zenin still posed a significant threat. Leading your forces against the Zenin, you fought fiercely, yet the battle ended in a stalemate. The toll of constant conflict was evident, both in your body and spirit.

In a surprising turn, Ryomen Sukuna appeared on the battlefield, his presence as formidable as ever. He swiftly killed the Zenin lord, forcing their surrender. True to his word, Sukuna did not come to see you. He honored your wishes, even though the distance between you brought a pang of sorrow.

With the Zenin subdued, only the Gojo usurpers remained. But the exhaustion was too great. The relentless battles had taken their toll, forcing you to postpone the campaign against the Gojo clan usurpers. Gojo Seiryuu, desperate to reclaim his rightful place, begged you to allow him to lead the charge. 

Your return had been marred with his pondering. You could see your husband in him, through and through. His youthful fervor and determination were palpable, but you couldn’t bear the thought of him facing such danger. He was still a boy. And you didn’t want him to deal with this. Not yet. Not while you were still alive.

"Mother, please," Seiryuu implored, his voice filled with a mixture of desperation and resolve. "I need to do this. For our family, for our honor."

You shook your head, your heart heavy with worry. "No, my dear boy.  You must understandI cannot risk losing you too. You are the future of our clan. We will find another way."

His cerulean eyes, filled with the fire of youth, met yours with unwavering determination. "I am ready, mother. I can do this. I am a grown man. I must avenge my father. Please.”

Despite your resolve, the fear of losing him gnawed at you. The battles had already claimed too much, and the thought of sending your son into such peril was unbearable. "You don’t understand, dearest boy. This war has taken everything from us. I can’t let it take you too."

He reached out, taking your hand in his. "Then let me fight for us. For my father. For everything we’ve lost."

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. "I will not lose you, my boy. We will find another way. I promise."

As you stood there, facing your son’s determination, the voice in your head whispered again, mocking your fears and doubts. “No, my son. I am sorry.”

He stared at you, hurt and disappointment etched in the lines of his cerulean eyes. His jaw tightened visibly, a silent testament to the emotions roiling within him. For a brief moment, you searched for the right words, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap that had suddenly formed between you.

But before you could speak, he nodded slowly, the motion deliberate and final. The hurt in his eyes deepened, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Without another glance, he turned abruptly and walked away, leaving you standing there, words unspoken and regrets hanging heavy in the air.

You reached out, a futile gesture towards his retreating figure, wanting to call him back, to explain, to mend what had been broken. But the moment slipped through your fingers like sand, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his footsteps fading into the distance.

As you stood there, grappling with the weight of his disappointment and the ache of your own remorse, you realized the gravity of your actions. The hurt you had caused weighed heavily on your heart, a bitter reminder of the consequences of words left unsaid and moments lost forever.

Masaomi had come to you, his usually composed demeanor overshadowed by urgency and concern. He stood before you, his voice carrying the weight of conviction as he advocated fervently for your son, Seiryuu. His words were measured yet impassioned, highlighting the young boy's potential, his dedication to the Ryomen clan, and the responsibilities that awaited him as the bearer of the six eyes.

"Hiromi-sama," Masaomi began, his voice carrying a mixture of respect and urgency, "Seiryuu-sama believes he is ready. And I must agree. He has grown into a man, and not just any man, but the heir of the Ryomen clan and the Gojo lineage. How will others perceive his mother fighting on his behalf?"

His words hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Masaomi's concern was palpable, his loyalty to both you and Seiryuu evident in every carefully chosen syllable. He stood before you, awaiting your response. But you don’t say anything. His lips pursed into a line.

"He has the potential to surpass even his predecessors, he already has." Masaomi continued, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes. "But he needs a chance to prove himself. And your voice of support, my lady, is most important.”

“He is still a boy.” You whisper to him, your eyes tender with pain. “I do not wish to see him killed, Masaomi. He is all that is left of my husband.”

"He may be a boy but he is a boy who wants to lessen your burdens and avenge his father," Masaomi explained, his voice steady yet impassioned. “He may be your son, but he is your equal now. You cannot deny him.”

You purse your lips as your maternal instincts battling against the tide of his words."He’s still so young, Masaomi. I cannot send him into such danger."

Masaomi’s gaze softened with understanding, yet remained resolute. "He is lord Gojo now, my lady. You cannot shield him from the world of danger forever. Not even if you tried. Do not make him resent you for taking away his only chance to bring peace to his father in himself.”

His words struck a chord within you. You knew he was right. As much as you wanted to protect Seiryuu, you couldn't keep him from his destiny. Tears welled in your eyes as you voiced your deepest fears. He was right, you knew he was. But you could not help yourself. You could not help but stumble into fear one after another.

"I'm terrified, Masaomi. Of losing him, of my weakening body, of death creeping closer."

Masaomi stepped closer, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. "You shouldn’t speak that way." he said softly, his hand reaching out to clasp yours. “We shall win, as we always have.”

“I do not deserve your loyalty.” You muttered under your breath. “What would my father say? What would my uncle say?” 

He shakes his head. “You have been more than what we could imagine, my lady. I doubt they will say anything but praise, my lady. You were their hope then, and you are our hope now.”

“You flatter me too easily.”

He shifts for a moment, giving you a soft smile. “It is all honest words, my lady.”

You sighed, your eyes shining brighter than before. “You must protect him. That is first and foremost your priority. You understand? Let him lead, but caution him, rein him in when he needs it. I cannot risk losing him too.”

Masaomi's expression softened with empathy as he listened to your whispered words. He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment of your grief and the weight of your fears. He could see a weight lift from your shoulders when you said those words, when you finally let it all go — to finally let them share your burdens.

"I understand, Hiromi-sama," Masaomi replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "Seiryuu-sama's safety and future are paramount to us all. But he is determined, and with your guidance, he will navigate these challenges with the wisdom and strength that you have instilled in him. As your father has done for you.”

You nodded slowly, the ache in your heart palpable as memories of your husband and the burden of leadership mingled in your thoughts. "Very well, Masaomi," you said, your voice steadying with resolve. "Prepare him, but tread cautiously. His path must be chosen wisely."

Masaomi bowed deeply once more, a silent promise in his eyes to uphold your wishes and protect Seiryuu to the best of his ability. As he turns to leave, you call him with a tender tone. He turns his back and looks towards you once more. Your eyes lower for a moment. You do that a lot when you think. When you ponder about what to do. He knew that look too well.

“What do you ask of me again, my lady?”

A sad smile touched your lips. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Without hesitation, he replied, "I’m willing to give everything of myself to you. I always have. You know that.” He stops himself for a moment, looking at you. “My body is yours, my heart is yours, my mind, my soul—everything has been long surrendered, my lady. All you have to do is ask of it and I shall give it.”

You knew he would say that and you knew that he would never deny you anything. You smiled at him, walking towards him. “Then do not deny me this.”

“I would not dare, my lady.”

The decision to marry Masaomi was not taken lightly; it was a strategic move born out of necessity rather than desire. In the tumultuous landscape of ongoing conflicts and shifting alliances, stability and continuity were paramount for the Ryomen clan's survival. As the leader, you bore the weight of ensuring a secure future not only for yourself but for your son, Seiryuu, and the entire clan.

Masaomi had proven himself time and again as a loyal and capable ally. His unwavering support and dedication to the Ryomen clan had earned your trust. Despite the initial surprise and speculation from outsiders, you knew that marrying Masaomi was the best decision to safeguard your son's inheritance and protect the clan's interests.

The news of your marriage spread swiftly through the supernatural community, sparking whispers and speculation. Some questioned the motives behind the union, while others admired your pragmatism in securing the clan's future amidst the chaos of war. For you, it was a sacrifice of personal desires for the greater good, a testament to your resilience and commitment to the Ryomen legacy.

It wasn’t enough that he was your loyal servant. Your son needed a father figure, someone who would protect and guide him with the same fierce devotion you had. Mikoto Masaomi had readily agreed to the marriage, his loyalty unwavering. He had given his life to serve you, and now, he would live to serve and protect your son.

As you stood together, facing the uncertain future, you felt a strange sense of peace. Masaomi’s unwavering presence was a balm to your soul, a reminder that you were not alone in this battle. He would be there, by your side, to face whatever came next.

"I appreciate your dedication, Masaomi," you replied softly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and resolve. "Seiryuu is everything to me. He's the last link to his father and our legacy. I trust you with his life as much as I trust you with mine."

Masaomi nodded solemnly, his expression unwavering. "I understand the weight of this responsibility, Hiromi-sama. I will not fail you or Seiryuu. You have my solemn vow."

A brief silence hung between you, filled with unspoken understanding and the weight of the decisions that had led to this moment. You knew the challenges ahead would be daunting, but with Masaomi by your side, you felt a flicker of hope that the Ryomen clan could endure against all odds.

In the midst of the escalating conflict, Masaomi had taken your son with him to quell the resistance from the allies of the usurpers. His mission extended to launching an offensive against the Gojo holdings to decisively eliminate the threat posed by the usurpers. Left behind in the safety of your chambers, you sighed heavily, exhaustion etched into every line of your face as you gently rubbed your swollen belly.

The news of your unexpected pregnancy had caught you off guard. Beyond your childbearing years at nearly forty-three, you had believed such a possibility to be remote, if not impossible. Yet here you were, carrying a child conceived against the odds. The strain on your body was undeniable; each passing day seemed to amplify the weariness that settled deep within your bones. With each movement, you felt the weight of your age and the physical toll of pregnancy, a reminder of the fragility of life even amidst the tumult of war. 

And you feared the worst. Most women your age do not survive childbirth. Women even younger than you do not survive it either. There was no security.Even with your previous pregnancies, you have had a hard time. Masaomi had been horrified that such had happened, he had borne guilt over the matter but you had reassured him that you would be fine. He does not yet wish to leave for battle. Not until you had the babe. But you would not stall him. Not when this war longs to be finished and won.

As you sat in the quiet of your chamber, contemplating the risks and uncertainties that loomed ahead, Masaomi entered with a solemn expression, his worry palpable in the furrow of his brow. He approached you with a gentle but concerned gaze, his hands clasped tightly together in a display of internal conflict.

"Are you sure about this, my lady?" Masaomi's voice was soft, tinged with anxiety. "You know the dangers. We've lost so many, and I cannot bear the thought..."

You met his gaze with a calm resolve, though your own fears echoed silently within. "I know the risks, Masaomi. We've faced them before," you replied, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. "I've survived this before, and I believe I can do it again. Our child deserves a chance at life, just as much as we do."

Masaomi's eyes softened with affection and concern as he reached out to gently stroke your cheek. "You are strong, my lady," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But it pains me to see you endure such hardships."

"It's a burden we both bear," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "But we must see this war through to its end. I won't hold you back."

He shook his head slightly, his expression conflicted. "I can't bear to leave you like this."

A small smile touched your lips, filled with reassurance and determination. "You must go, Masaomi. Our people need you," you urged gently. "We will face whatever comes together, as we always have."

Masaomi exhaled heavily, torn between duty and his desire to protect you. Finally, with a nod of reluctant acceptance, he straightened his posture. "I will stay until the child is born," he declared quietly, his resolve firm. "Then I will go, and we will end this war, once and for all."

“You must not.” You tell him, shaking your head. “Finish the war as soon as possible. There will be time to meet the babe after.”

“But my lady—”

“I shan’t change my mind.” You whisper back to him, your hand rubbing the center of your belly. “Your heir may wait.”

He will not win against you. Not a mere consort. He purses his lips. He slowly nodded. “Very well, my lady.”

“There is another I must leave to you,” You tell him. “Just in case.”

“What is it, my lady?”

"Should I die, Sukuna will try and lay claim to the Ryomen's power," you say, your voice steady but filled with resolve. "He has the name, the legitimacy equal to mine. None can stand against him."

Masaomi's eyes widen with shock. "But, my lady, to let the Ryomen name die... It's unthinkable. The Mikoto were a lowly house. To supersede the Ryomen...”

You cut him off, your tone firm. "It does not matter. My children will understand my will, and so must you. This is the only way to ensure their safety and the future of our clan."

Masaomi's expression is conflicted. "But, my lady, the burden... It is too great. The legacy of the Ryomen cannot simply be passed on like a mere title."

You meet his gaze, unyielding. "I leave you with the duty of caring for the clan. It is better that way because you are the one I trust the most."

He shakes his head, still grappling with your decision. "My lady, this is too much. The Mikoto name... it cannot bear the weight of the Ryomen legacy."

A sad smile touches your lips. "It must. For the sake of my children, and for the future of our people. You are strong, Masaomi. You will carry this burden and protect them."

Masaomi's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "I... I will do as you wish, my lady. But I pray that you live long enough to see your children grow, to see this burden through yourself."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity behind them. "Thank you, Masaomi. I know you will do everything in your power to honor my wishes."

With a heavy heart, Masaomi bows his head. "I will, my lady. I promise you that."

As he leaves, you feel a sense of relief mixed with sorrow. He turns his head back and makes his way towards you. You shrugged, taking a moment to look at him. He lowers his eyes and turns to your belly. His hand touches the babe, letting himself feel the movement of the little one—as though he’s burning it into memory. Seiryuu turns from his horse as he watches you and his stepfather have a moment. He bows his head to you and rushes forward, commanding the men. Your husband sighs, taking his hand off. 

“Will you not change your mind?”

“No, I will not.” You tell him once again, smile on your face. “The past must die with me. And be born with this little one, a new world.”

“You should not say such things so easily, my lady.”

“You do not know what will happen. It is better to be prepared.”

"My lady, this is too great a burden for Mikoto. To bear such a name, to carry on such a legacy—"

You shake your head, cutting him off. "No more, Masaomi. I do not wish to hear any more. You have to leave soon for the campaign against the Gojo usurpers. This is my will, and you must honor it."

Reluctantly, he nods, understanding the gravity of your decision. "When I return, we shall continue this conversation."

A faint smile tugs at your lips. "Perhaps."

As Masaomi prepares to depart, you feel a mixture of relief and sorrow. The burden of leadership weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you find solace in the knowledge that Masaomi will carry on your legacy and protect your children. You watched until they disappeared into the distance. You felt your child kick your belly. You sighed, rubbing the spot so tenderly against your layers of silk.

“You will have quite the future.” You whispered to your babe.

You can only pray to the gods that you are right this time.

Even if you would not be a part of it for much too long.

YOU SCREAM AND SCREAM. In the stillness of that fateful night in 973, the plans of the Gojo usurpers unfolded like a dark shadow cast over the impending dawn of victory. The air was thick with tension, the flickering torches casting eerie glows on the faces of the conspirators as they huddled in clandestine meetings, their voices hushed but urgent.

The Gojo usurpers, their ambitions threatened by the advancing forces of Gojo loyalists, the Mikoto warriors, and the steadfast Ryomen allies, knew that their only chance lay in a desperate gambit. The decision was made with grim resolve—to strike directly at the heart of their adversaries' strength.

Their target was clear: you, the matriarch of the Gojo clan, and Masako, your daughter, the symbol of the clan's future. By eliminating you and seizing Masako, they aimed to cripple the Gojo's leadership and secure their own claims through blood ties. The marriage of Masako to one of their sons would not only validate their rule but also ensure a fragile semblance of legitimacy amidst the chaos of war.

Under the cover of darkness, their forces mobilized with stealth and determination. Armed with the cold resolve of desperate men facing inevitable defeat, they moved swiftly towards Hida, where you resided, unaware of the imminent danger that lurked just beyond the horizon.

The night echoed with the distant sounds of marching armies, the clinking of armor, and the whispered orders of commanders. Each footfall carried with it the weight of treachery and ambition, as the usurpers plotted to reshape the fate of the Gojo clan in a single, decisive strike.

As dawn approached, the air was heavy with anticipation and dread. The clash of loyalties and ambitions hung like a storm cloud over Hida, where the fate of generations would soon be decided amidst the chaos and uncertainty of war.

In the tumultuous darkness of that pivotal night, your body, already weakened by age and the strain of conflict, began to betray you. The onset of labor pains, sharp and unrelenting, signaled the beginning of a battle within yourself—one that mirrored the external turmoil besieging Hida. 

Surrounded by the distant clamor of warfare and the urgent incantations of sorcerers, you endured the excruciating waves of pain with a resolve born of necessity. The severity of your condition was undeniable, the bleeding relentless, yet your determination to bring life into the world burned fiercer than ever.

Amidst the chaos of battle encroaching upon Hida's walls, you gritted your teeth and pushed with all the strength you could muster. Each agonizing moment underscored the fragility of life amidst the brutality of war. The fear of failure, of succumbing to the machinations of the usurpers, spurred you on, driving you to defy the darkness that threatened to consume everything you held dear.

With each contraction, each cry of anguish mingling with the clash of swords and the roar of flames, you fought. And finally, in a breathless moment that seemed to suspend time itself, your efforts bore fruit—a daughter, fragile and yet a testament to resilience, was born into the chaos of that fateful night.

As you cradled the newborn in your arms, the weight of exhaustion and relief washed over you. The cries of battle continued outside, a stark reminder of the world awaiting her beyond the sanctity of your embrace. Yet, in that fleeting moment, amidst the turmoil and uncertainty, there existed a fragile hope—a new life to protect, to nurture, and to defend against the tumultuous currents of fate.

With your newborn daughter nestled against your chest, the world around you seemed to quiet, if only for a fleeting moment. Despite the relentless siege on Hida and the precariousness of your own health, a sense of profound peace settled within you as you gazed upon the fragile life you had brought into the world.

Outside, the battle raged on, its intensity echoing through the walls of the fortress. Sorcerers and warriors continued to fend off the relentless assault of the usurpers, their efforts a stark contrast to the fragile serenity within the birthing chamber.

Amidst the chaos, you felt a surge of gratitude for the loyal defenders risking their lives to safeguard your family and your home. Their unwavering commitment bolstered your resolve, reminding you of the stakes of this conflict—a battle not only for territory but for the very future of your lineage.

As you cradled your daughter, her small features a delicate reflection of hope amid adversity, thoughts of Masako and Seiryuu weighed heavily on your mind. They were out there, fighting not only for victory but for her future—a future shaped by the outcome of this night's struggle.

Despite the pain and exhaustion, a sense of determination coursed through you. You knew the battle was far from over. The usurpers' desperation had made them ruthless, but it had also exposed their vulnerabilities. This night would mark a turning point, one where courage and sacrifice would forge a path forward for your family and your people.

In the flickering light of torches and the distant glow of fires, you whispered promises to your newborn daughter, vows of protection and love that transcended the turmoil surrounding you. With each gentle stroke of your hand against her soft cheek, you silently vowed to defy the darkness that threatened to engulf your world.

With trembling hands, the weight of your newborn daughter felt both fragile and heavy against your chest. The urgent cries from outside the birthing chamber reminded you of the perilous situation unfolding around Hida. Each echo of battle brought a stark reality to your decision—a decision born of necessity and love.

Your most trusted servant, a woman whose loyalty and dedication had been unwavering through years of service, stepped forward with solemn reverence. Her eyes, usually steady and determined, reflected the gravity of your command. She understood the weight of your words, the urgency conveyed in your trembling voice.

"Milady," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of chaos. "I will protect them with my life."

As you placed your daughter into her waiting arms, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you—fear for their safety, relief at their imminent departure from the besieged fortress, and an overwhelming sense of maternal instinct driving you to ensure their survival.

The newborn daughter, swaddled in soft fabrics, stirred slightly in response to the change in environment, unaware of the danger that surrounded her. Her innocent presence contrasted sharply with the turmoil outside, a poignant reminder of the fragile balance between life and death in times of war.

With a final glance, you entrusted not just your daughter, but the future of your lineage, into the hands of your loyal servant. Her resolute expression mirrored your own determination, a shared understanding of the sacrifices demanded by duty and love.

"Go," you whispered again, your voice steadier this time despite the lingering ache of separation. "Protect them."

As she turned to leave, your gaze followed her retreating figure until she disappeared into the shadows of the fortress corridors. The weight of your decision settled heavily upon your shoulders, a burden borne out of necessity to ensure survival. They must outlive you. They must go on and live. As long as they were alive, you will be too.

As the chaos of battle drew nearer, the urgent shouts and clashes of swords reverberated through the walls of Hida fortress. Sorcerers and warriors fought fiercely, their spells and blades flashing in desperate attempts to fend off the relentless onslaught of the Gojo usurpers. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of war.

Despite the turmoil outside, you lay back in the dimly lit chamber, your strength waning but your resolve unwavering. Every labored breath carried the weight of exhaustion and pain, yet amidst the physical torment, your thoughts were consumed by the safety of your daughters. With each passing moment, the sounds of battle seemed to grow louder, a grim testament to the escalating violence that threatened to engulf everything you held dear.

The loyal servant hurriedly gathered Masako, your eldest daughter, and the newborn infant, her movements swift and determined in the face of imminent danger. The newborn's soft cries mingled with the chaos outside, a fragile testament to new life amidst the brutality of conflict. As the servant prepared to depart with your precious daughters, you knew that this moment marked a pivotal sacrifice—an act of maternal love that demanded separation to ensure their survival.

With a final, tender glance at Masako and the newborn, the servant disappeared into the darkness of the fortress corridors, her figure silhouetted against the flickering torchlight. In that fleeting moment, you whispered a prayer, a fervent plea to whatever powers might listen, that they would find safety beyond the walls of Hida.

Alone in the dim chamber, surrounded by the echoes of battle and the fading light, you closed your eyes, your heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty. Despite the weariness that threatened to overtake you, a flicker of hope burned bright—a fragile ember of belief that your sacrifices would not be in vain. With every ounce of strength, you clung to the belief that the combined forces of Gojo loyalists, the Mikoto, and the Ryomen would prevail, ensuring a future where peace and justice could once again reign.

In the quiet solitude of the birthing chamber, amidst the turmoil of war, you surrendered to exhaustion, your mind drifting between the realms of consciousness and dreams. With each passing moment, you held onto the hope that your daughters would find refuge, that they would grow to see a world where their mother's sacrifice had secured their future.

You let the tears pour from your face freely.

You made your peace with life and death.

You slowly sat up from the childbed and sighed.

“There must be an end, there must be.”

YOU COULD FEEL YOUR BODY TEAR ITSELF APART. Amidst the chaos of battle, blood seeped from your body in a steady, unnerving flow as you navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the Ryomen Manor. Each step was a struggle against the onslaught of childbirth, tearing through you with relentless force. The pain was an unyielding companion, a relentless torrent that threatened to consume every ounce of strength you possessed.

Blades clashed and cursed energies crackled around you, a symphony of violence that echoed through the once serene halls. Each encounter reverberated with desperate cries and anguished screams, the sound of battle and suffering intertwined in a cacophony that filled the air. Fear, raw and palpable, hung heavy like a shroud, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and the coppery taste of blood.

In the midst of it all, your senses heightened to a fever pitch. Every sensation—fear, pain, anger, grief—merged into a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm. Even as your own body numbed from the relentless onslaught, you remained keenly aware of the turmoil around you. The urgency to escape, to ensure the safety of your newborn daughter and Masako, drove you forward despite the physical agony and the impending danger that lurked around every corner.

The world beyond the inner chambers of the manor beckoned—a world where hope for survival flickered like a fragile flame in the storm of battle. With each faltering step, you pressed onward, your determination fuelled by a mother's instinct to protect her children at any cost. Every heartbeat, every labored breath, a surge of blossoming climax to war’s games.

At any moment, you were sure that your body would collapse. But that did not matter. You looked to the blood blow you. Your eyes fluttered, trying to keep awake. This would be enough. Enough blood. You stand in position, as straight as you possibly could and raise your hands near you. You took a deep breath as  your hands spread out in front, with thumb and index finger touching. 

“The seal of the ring of the Sun, Moon, and Earth.” You muttered under your breath as your body surges with cursed energy. “The gates of heaven, the battles of Bishamon, the naginata to blow….domain expansion! Heavenly Subjugation!”

As you uttered the incantation, the air crackled with tension, charged with the intensity of ancient powers coursing through your veins. The seal of the Sun, Moon, and Earth manifested upon your flesh, glowing with a primal energy that seemed to draw upon the very essence of celestial forces. Cursed energy surged within you, intertwining with your resolve to protect what remained of the Ryomen lands.

Above, the sky twisted and darkened, clouds swirling in ominous patterns that mirrored the chaos unleashed below. Stars twinkled with an otherworldly brilliance, aligning in intricate constellations that seemed to dictate the course of fate. The earth itself trembled beneath your feet, a testament to the raw power now at your command.

With a deep, steadying breath, you felt the blood flowing from your wounds mingle with the cursed energy, forming a potent symbol of your determination and sacrifice. The land itself responded to your call, the whole of Ryomen's domain pulsating with the echoes of ancient battles and celestial subjugation.

As you invoked the Heavenly Subjugation, time itself seemed to warp and bend. The world around you froze in suspended animation, caught within the unyielding grasp of your domain expansion. Minds trapped within the frozen tableau of reality, repeating in an endless loop, their actions and intentions ensnared by the unrelenting power you wielded.

Through gritted teeth, you focused every fiber of your being on maintaining the domain. The weight of centuries-old grievances, the sorrow of loss, and the fierce determination to protect your legacy propelled you forward. Each moment stretched into eternity, every heartbeat synchronized with the ebb and flow of celestial forces harnessed through your will.

Ryomen Sukuna arrived soon enough. You did not know how he knew, but he could feel you—your cursed energy spreading through Hida, mayhaps even beyond. The scent, the tension, the force of it was unmistakable to him. His eyes grew wide as he took in the scene before him: your Domain Expansion, Heavenly Subjugation, where darkness swallowed the world.

You stood in the courtyard of the Ryomen manor, bleeding from childbirth, your eyes slowly losing their light even as your stance remained resolute. You were altering reality as you spoke, creating a time loop illusion to protect those you loved. Sukuna knew that you had to keep yourself alive long enough to sustain the loop.

Breathing heavily, you barely registered Sukuna's approach. "Stop,stop it now!" he commanded, his voice filled with a rare note of desperation. "End it. The more you continue, the closer you are to death. Hiromi!”

You looked down at the blood pooling at your feet, from the birth of your child. Determination filled your bright purple eyes as you began to chant once more, releasing more cursed energy. It mixed with your blood as you invoked, "Heaven’s Blossom." 

Brutally misfigured, cursed spirits emerged from the pool of blood, their forms twisted and horrific. Each spirit bore the mark of their origin—born from your blood, infused with the dark energies that coursed through your veins. Their emergence was heralded by a guttural, otherworldly howl that echoed through the chamber, chilling the very air.

The spirits wasted no time in manifesting their malevolent intent. With a relentless fury, one of them lunged at Sukuna, the King of Curses, a primal force of chaos and destruction. Sukuna met the attack with a snarl of defiance, his movements fluid and deadly as he defended himself against the spectral assailant. The clash between the ancient curse and the vengeful spirit was a symphony of violence, each strike reverberating with primal power.

Meanwhile, the other cursed spirits moved with eerie precision, their ghastly forms gliding across the chamber floor towards their intended targets. With merciless efficiency, they descended upon their victims, their talons and fangs tearing through flesh and bone with grotesque ease. The more blood that flowed, the more the creatures seemed to grow in strength and ferocity, their unearthly hunger driving them to greater acts of carnage.

Amidst the chaos, another spirit joined the fray against Sukuna, its spectral form shimmering with malevolent energy. The King of Curses found himself beset on all sides, forced to fend off multiple adversaries while striving to reach you, their creator and the source of their dark genesis.

The chamber became a battleground of primal forces, a maelstrom of violence and supernatural prowess. The air crackled with dark energy, the stench of blood and death hanging heavy as the cursed spirits unleashed their unholy wrath upon all who dared to stand in their path.

Through the haze of battle, you struggled to maintain control, your bleeding wrists pulsing with cursed energy that fueled the relentless assault of your creations. Every movement was a calculated dance of survival and domination, your willpower tested against the insatiable hunger of the spirits you had unleashed upon the world.

As Sukuna fought tooth and nail to break through the onslaught and reach you, the chamber trembled with the intensity of the conflict. Each blow struck resonated with the weight of destiny, the outcome of the struggle poised on a knife's edge between triumph and oblivion.

"Stop this madness!" he shouted, slashing through one of the cursed spirits with a fierce swipe. But your resolve did not waver. You knew that this was the only way to ensure the safety of your children. “Night flower, please—”

You did not listen. The cursed spirits, borne of your blood and unleashed with relentless fury, swarmed the courtyard like vengeful specters. Their twisted forms twisted and tore through the ranks of the Gojo usurpers and their allies, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake. The air reverberated with the chilling echoes of their unearthly howls, a grim symphony to accompany the onslaught of death and destruction.

But Sukuna, the King of Curses, would not yield to such malevolent forces unchallenged. With ferocious determination, he met the spirits head-on, his movements fluid and deadly as he tore through them one by one. Each strike of his monstrous strength was a testament to his primal power, his wrathful gaze fixed upon you amidst the chaos.

The courtyard became a battleground, a grisly tableau of blood and death as Sukuna's relentless onslaught turned the tide of battle. The cursed spirits, once formidable in their malevolence, fell before his fury, their ethereal forms dissipating into nothingness with each devastating blow. Yet, despite the carnage surrounding him, Sukuna's focus remained singular—on reaching you, the source of this dark and chaotic magic.

As the last of the cursed spirits fell to Sukuna's relentless assault, the courtyard fell eerily silent, save for the ragged breaths and the lingering echoes of battle. The ground beneath your feet was stained with the blood of fallen enemies, mingling with the earth in a grim testament to the cost of war.

In the aftermath, Sukuna's eyes, filled with a mixture of relief and anger, locked onto you. His powerful presence approached swiftly, the intensity of his gaze piercing through the aftermath of chaos. Despite the victory, the tension in his demeanor was palpable, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him.

He reached you in swift strides, his footsteps echoing in the quietude that followed the storm. The King of Curses stood before you, his towering form a stark contrast against the backdrop of devastation. His expression, a mask of emotions ranging from fury to concern, betrayed the depth of his turmoil. It was like then all over again, you think to yourself. When he was a boy.

"You fool. You stupid, stupid fool." Sukuna growled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the courtyard. "How could you do this? You knew from the very beginning that you could—”

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and remorse, the weight of your decisions heavy upon your shoulders. "I had to. you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "There was no other choice."

Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable as he regarded you with an intensity that bordered on fury. "There is always a choice, you know that." he countered, his voice a dangerous whisper. "But you chose darkness. This stupidity.”

“As you did.” You smiled at him wearily.

"You did it," he said, his voice breaking. "But at what cost?"

You swayed on your feet, the toll of the fight and childbirth overwhelming you. "The cost was necessary," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "My children are safe."

As your domain shattered around you, the immense strain and the toll of wielding such dark power became unbearable. Gasping for breath, you felt every fiber of your being scream with exhaustion, threatening to give way beneath the weight of your own formidable abilities.

Sukuna's voice echoed faintly in the distance, calling out your name with urgency and concern. The once-imposing battlefield around you now seemed distant and surreal, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of your body failing you. With each labored breath, the air burned in your lungs, and you struggled to remain conscious as the ground rushed up to meet you.

The bitter cold of winter snowflakes began to drift down from the leaden sky, settling softly upon your face and hands. The serene descent of snowflakes painted a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded, a haunting reminder of the fleeting beauty and harsh reality of life.

Sukuna's strong arms enveloped you, pulling you close with a mix of desperation and tenderness. His gaze bore into yours, filled with a sudden panic that mirrored the intensity of your own struggle. He could see life slipping away from you, and his heart clenched with a fierce protectiveness born of deep and unexpected emotion.

"Calm down," Sukuna urged, his voice thick with emotion as he cradled your weakening form. "Stay with me."

You tried to respond, but each attempt was met with a painful cough, blood staining your lips and throat. The metallic taste of iron lingered, a cruel reminder of the toll exacted by your relentless pursuit of power and protection.

"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible amidst the biting wind and the soft patte of falling snow. "I didn't mean..."

Sukuna's expression softened, his features etched with a profound sorrow that cut deeper than any blade. He pressed his forehead against yours, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the biting cold that threatened to claim you. His fingers brushed gently over your cheek, as if trying to imprint your presence into his memory forever.

"Don't speak," Sukuna murmured, his voice a mixture of anguish and fierce determination. "You'll make it through this. I won't let you go."

But even as he spoke, you felt the world slipping further away, the edges of your vision blurring into darkness. Each breath became a struggle, a battle against the inevitable pull of unconsciousness and the chill of approaching death.

As the snow continued to fall, softening the harsh outlines of the world around you, you closed your eyes. The weight of your decisions and the burden of your power finally relinquished, replaced by a quiet acceptance. An acceptance that he does not accept. 

In Ryomen Sukuna's embrace, surrounded by the gentle embrace of winter's embrace, you surrendered to the inevitable passage of time. Your breathing slowed, the rhythm of your heartbeat fading into the stillness of a world forever changed. You let it all be, surrendering to the echoes of the cycle.

He tries to shake you, his voice urgent and filled with desperation. "Keep your eyes open for me. I can find someone to heal you."

You shake your head weakly at him, a sad smile touching your lips. "I knew it would end this way." you whisper to him with a soft tone. “From the beginning….”

Sukuna's red four eyes are wide with fear and sorrow as he clutches you tighter. "No, no," he swears, his voice breaking. "I will heal you. I will take care of you."

You reach up and touch his face gently. "I'm exhausted, Sukuna. It's time."

Tears brim in his eyes as he pleads, "Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me."

Your vision begins to blur, but you manage to smile at him one last time. "I have to leave. People always must."

“You are not people. You’re…you’re….”

You take his hand and kiss it softly, feeling the warmth of his skin for the last time. "I loved you the most in this life, but I hope in the next, I would not."

As you slowly drift away in his arms, the world around you becomes a distant blur. Sukuna's anguished cries echo in your fading consciousness, a haunting melody of love and loss. His grip tightens, as if he could tether your soul to this mortal realm, but even he, with all his formidable power, cannot halt the inevitable.

The winter snow falls softly, blanketing the world in a cold, quiet stillness. Sukuna's breath fogs in the air as he holds you, his tears mingling with the snowflakes that settle on your skin. His voice, once so commanding and fierce, is now a broken whisper. 

"I won't let you go," he murmurs, his tone laced with a desperation born of centuries of solitude. "I won't...Not now. Not ever.”

Your hand, resting gently against his face, falls limply to your side. The warmth of your touch fades, and the light in your eyes dims until it is no more. The final breath escapes your lips, a soft sigh that carries your spirit away from the realm of the living.

Sukuna holds you close, his body trembling with the weight of his grief. The courtyard, once a battlefield, is now silent, save for the soft whisper of the falling snow. He remains there, cradling you in his arms, the world around him a stark contrast to the turmoil within his heart.

Hours pass, and the first light of dawn begins to break through the darkness. The sky blushes with the hues of sunrise, painting the scene with a fragile beauty. But Sukuna is oblivious to it all. His world has shattered, and no amount of time can mend the pieces of his broken heart.

Amidst the crimson-stained snow, Ryomen Hiromi, esteemed leader of the Ryomen clan, breathed your last breath. The battlefield, now silent except for the soft fluttering of snowflakes, bore witness to the end of a formidable life—a life marked by courage, devotion, and unwavering love.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they cradled your still form. His gaze, usually fierce and unyielding, softened with grief and disbelief. Your once-vibrant eyes, now closed in eternal rest, held the reflection of a thousand battles fought and victories won.

The wind whispered through the cherry blossom trees, casting a delicate veil over the scene. Sukuna's heart, heavy with sorrow, echoed the mournful silence of the winter landscape. He had loved you more deeply than he could ever express, and now, in this moment of finality, he struggled to comprehend a world without your presence. He struggles to know what life truly is worth, if there is no you to give it meaning. He looks at you, defeated. 

"Night flower….." he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion. "My love..."

He pressed his forehead against yours, as if seeking solace in the remnants of your warmth. Memories flooded his mind—of laughter shared beneath moonlit skies, of whispered promises in the quiet of night, of battles fought side by side against insurmountable odds.

But now, there was only silence. The weight of your absence settled upon him like a leaden cloak, suffocating and unbearable. The woman who had been his anchor, his confidante, his beloved, was now gone, leaving behind an irreplaceable void.

In the distance, the first rays of dawn painted the horizon with hues of gold and pink, a poignant contrast to the sorrow that enveloped Sukuna's heart. He knew that life would go on, that wars would be waged and victories celebrated, but for now, all he could feel was the emptiness left by your departure.

Gently, Sukuna closed your eyes, his touch tender yet filled with a profound sense of loss. He kissed your forehead, a final farewell to the woman who had captured his heart so completely. "Rest now, my love," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the whispering wind. "You will forever be in my heart."

As the world stirred awake to greet a new day, Sukuna remained by your side, his grief a silent tribute to the depth of your bond. The snow continued to fall, covering the earth in a blanket of white, the echoes of purity in your love amidst the chaos of war and destiny.

And so, amidst the red snow, Ryomen Hiromi passed from this world.

Ryomen Sukuna realized for the first time in years what it was truly like.

What it was truly like to be the most powerless creature in all of the world.

facts about this chapter

i can finally reveal the family tree of the ryomen family. i had to hold off but this is the family tree in the book, written by the newly born lady mikoto about her mom.

the mikoto became a prevalent clan by the end of the wars. the ryomen family name remained as a secondary name, but people ignored it the moment the family name changed to mikoto.

masaomi never remarried - he focused on revitalizing the ryomen/mikoto into one of the outliers of the jujutsu world all his life and protected his only child from any politiking that threatened her.

the mikoto are divided into two ranks now - those blood descendants of hiromi and those adopted and or are mikoto. the descendants of hiromi are represented by red and those adopted and or are mikoto are presented by purple. it traces where you come from in the clan.

hiromi's hand sign for heavenly subjugation is from the kuji-in or nine hand seals which are system of mudras and associated mantras that consist of nine syllables. hiromi uses number eight which is called zen.

eight is considered a holy number in ancient japan. its also considered a number of prosperity. the death of hiromi brings prosperity to other people, except herself.

hiromi dies at the age of 43 - which sounds like stillbirth in japanese. 死産 - shizan: 死 - death/to die and 産 - childbirth/produce.

masako was unseated as the heir to the ryomen because of the birth of her sister - due to the fact that her mother married masaomi and had a child with him. with the change of the clan name and the change in the system, masako was thought to be better as her brother's adviser.

the beginning of the gojo-ryomen/mikoto family ties truly started with the marriages between the children of hiromi. gojo satoru traces his descent from them.

sukuna did not challenge hiromi's youngest child for the ryomen seat. but a lot of the ryomen bannermen sided with him or went to the service of the gojo because masaomi was lowly in rank and thought sukuna or seiryuu/masako had more blood right than masaomi or his daughter did.

the chapter word number is in total 9900 words last i check and nine is an unlucky number in japanese. as nine often can sometimes pronounced ku — with the same pronunciation as agony or torture.

the next chapter happens near 70, 80 years after the death of hiromi and it will be from sukuna's perspective.

[chocsra]

"Playing with Balls are Not For The Weak (Pause on that.)"

15! basketball plyr! chuuya x gn! reader - HIGHSCHOOL AU, HEADCANONS + DRABBLES

a/n: as per request, thank you @sstarshroom my pookie ☺️, sincere apologies for the title its my toilet humor. next week will be dazai content im sorry my dear dazai fans

content: headcanons, drabbles, fluff, slowburn, pre-relationship,"in a world of boys, hes a gentleman", chuuya as them short hoopers, relationship of these two actually sucking at life, cheeky and smug chuuya, idiots in love, dumbass behaviour

as a classmate, chuuya would have a pretty big friendgroup but only really hang out with a few select people;

in class, he's quiet and focuses on school;

he's also naturally smart, a good 80s-90s student without much effort;

chuuya takes academics seriously but since he doesn't really have to work his ass off to study, he wouldn't be competitive in school, so sorry to all the academic rivals to lovers girlys

you know what he would take seriously though, sports.

and it's not even the serious shit, you could play dodgeball and he's sweating his ass off;

so certified hotshot of the school, short king energy, okay.

Your teacher tediously writes away on a few documents of paper, adjusting his glasses with the flick of his hand. "We have a few boxes from the food drive," he announces, catching the attention of your working classroom. "I need a strong person to carry them to the office, pleas-" a loud smack of a laptop closing can be heard, "MEMEME!!" the class goes silent, staring as your classmate, Chuuya Nakahara, happily voluneer to deliver a few boxes.

okay, okay, so as a classmate, people either think he's slightly irritating or alright, it's another story in gym class though, nobody likes him.

"Pass the ball- PASS THE BALL!" Chuuya yells, you couldn't lie; him wrapping a piece of red cloth around his head like some kind of warrior was sorta concerning? No, really concerning. The small boy leeches his arms out as defense, concentration written all over his face. You dribble the basketball a few times, about to pass it to him. "I said pass it!!" he shouts, rude. You furrow your brows in offense before harshly throwing the ball in his direction, aiming for his head.

Unfortunately, throwing basketballs at your own team player's forehead didn't result in an instant win. As you two sat on the bench, watching the current game along sidelines as Chuuya rubs his temple with an icepack, his red headband cloth resting atop of his knee, focussing intentively. When your team has been declared lost, he clenched the icepack in his hand and starts profusely running around the gym, mourning a gym class basketball game.

I mean, it's not like he's a terrible person though, you've seen the guy, he can be nice, he's got it in his system. Like one time in gym class, dodgeball specifcally.

"Ow! The fuck?" yet another dread of gym class was at your service, the heated air of dodgeballs flying left and right through the air overwhelmed you to say the least. And one of those balls just hit you right on the head, you pensively rub your temple, hearing a loud "You're out!!" from the opposing team.

Curse words roll off your tongue in embarrassment, about to do the walk of shame to the bench until a hand rests on your shoulder. "Hey," you twist your head around, seeing Chuuya approach you, as everyone else fights like their damn lives depended on it. "Did the ball hit your head?" he asks, the boy had short copper locks that framed his face pretty nicely, this time there wasn't a red cloth tied around his head.

"Yea," you quip, turning away from him, the hand on your shoulder lifts as you feel soft fingers brush away some of your hair from the side of your face. "Yeah, that's not allowed, you're still in the game, okay?" the redhead assures you as he casually takes a quick look at your temple. You nod releuctantly, as he pats your shoulder again a few times before smugly continuing the game. Since when did Chuuya Nakahara abide the rules?

You know, there seems to be a reaccuring pattern between you two. Everytime you're near each other, someone always get hit in the face with a ball.

But, there seemed to be more casual conversations, ones that didn't include violence with sports equipment.

As a friend, Chuuya was teasing, he always said no to what you asked him to do, but ends up doing it anyway.

"Can you hold my bag?" you ask, "No." the redhead says as he grabs your bag anyway

but as a friend, he came with more benefits. a trustable walking partner.

It's that time of the season, December, where snow engulfed every pathway you walked on. It was one of those days after school, walking home in the freezing cold; but today was unlucky, you were caught in a snow storm. And apparently, your friendgroup is nowhere to be found.

To be honest, walking alone is kind of scary, intimidating, terrifiying. You would run, but ice was everywhere, tripping in public wouldn't be any better than fear.

You saw a black jacket, red scarf, and a backpack with soccer keychains and a massive waterbottle. Most obvious feature, was the black gloves the figure wore. "Chuuya!" you call out, the boy almost immediately spins around, nodding to you as a greeting. "What's up?!" he flashes a cheeky smile, the redhead was pretty far away from you, and you weren't just interested in a simple 'hello'.

"Can you walk with me?" you ask, shoving your hands in your pockets from the cold. The redhead doesn't falter his smile, not hearing you as he had earphones on. "What?" he asks, communicating with you whilst walking backwards; some assholes just don't care about splitting your head open on ice.

"Can you walk with me?!" you repeat, the ginger stops in his tracks, muttering an "ohhh" as he speeds towards you. Again, some assholes just don't care about their life. And so, Chuuya doing a quick slip and drop onto the sidewalk, in a snowstorm, whilst running to you would be the outcome of this story.

...

You immediately start laughing your ass off, watching as any smugness on his face completely disapates. Accepting defeat in every form. "Fuck!" you cackle, slapping your knee. You attempt to skedaddle to him, still laughing before.. Slip. You fall onto him, your elbow piercing his ribs, the boy chokes out a cry of pain before you laid together on the ground in pure defeat. You know what passing by cars thought of when they saw you two? Two teenagers laying on the ground, 'X' style, in the middle of a fucking snowstorm.

You made it home safely, having to make your friend and classmate, Chuuya Nakahara, hot chocolate as an apology.

yeah, having chuuya as your friend can get pretty hefty, and violence is all that seems to be thrown at your friendship;

as a friend, you and chuuya didn't feel like friends sometimes, it was weird;

he constantly asked you to come to his games, in all honesty - you were too busy or just felt like staying home;

there was one day though, you did come to his game, out of pure curiousity

and when he saw your face, accompanied with a wave, the teenager knew; he was inlove.

he was really bad at showing it though

After enough convincing, you finally showed up to another one of Chuuya's games, you've already once; but apparently this one was really important.

You were actually concentrating, it was getting really heated, time was getting thiner, and the scores were relatively even.

The crowd roared as Chuuya took the ball, running through the court with a focussed but cheeky look on his face.

Just as he reached the net, he yelled out the loudest, unexpected sentence.

"[Y/N]! This one's for you!!"

The crowd's jaw drops in shock and anticipation, whoosh, he missed miserably.

damn, you guys really suck.

[maimingaffairs]

HII IM DEEPLY AMAZED BY UR WRITINGS CUZ U GOT ME GIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL AND KICKING MY LEGS. ANYWAYS!!

I would like to request angst to fluff for Aleksander where they were past lovers but reader was killed just like what happened to Luda. Eventually on the present time (Alina's timeline ig), during the winter fete, Aleksander saw reader's face as Alina was doing her magic showcase ig and Aleksander followed reader outside (maybe for fresh air) and then thats when reader started getting flash backs maybe a headache (DO UR MAGIC HERE LOVE) and maybe when whe wakes up, he's asleep by her side and she just says "Sasha?" in that sweet tone and ALL FLUFF

(SORRY IF THIS WAS A BIT LONG, IM KINDA HAVING AN ENERGY OUTBURST)

hi my anon baby <3 i worked on this for a couple of days. sorry it’s so late!!! i feel as if i’ve seen a couple fics like this and i tried to make it as different as i could while still staying within the margins of your request… i hope it’s okay.

warnings: canon typical violence, character death (kind of?) blood, angst, fluff, all of it. just all of it.

word count: 4.7k

of Wildflowers & Damnation

(aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

-

Some days were easier than others. Just as on the other side of the coin, some days were harder. Inconveniently, today happened to be one of the harder days for Aleksander. He tried to reason with himself often that after nearly five hundred years of living, that he shouldn’t be so affected by loss anymore. 

That didn’t make it any easier, unfortunately. He’d lost so much in his life, that he didn’t mourn so heavily, and then he’d lost you. 

He’d met you nearly two hundred years after the creation of the fold, and to say he loved you would be to say it was only a bit cold in the arctic, which is to say, it was a gross understatement. He loved you more deeply than he ever knew was possible, and perhaps that’s why it was so terribly hard to accept even all these years later, that you just weren’t alive any longer, while he lived on. 

He had tried to bring you back, he really did. Much to his mother’s dismay, for the second time in his life, he resorted to the use of merzost to heal you. But you never woke. 

Aleksander stood silently near his door. It was nearly time for him to find Alina, to join the festivities at the Winter Fete, to show the country’s most influential just how powerful the Sun Saint really was. He knew it was time to go, but his mind wouldn’t rest.  It wouldn’t stop replaying your last day with him. 

-

The two of you walked hand in hand through the forest that was just behind your small home. Aleksander wasn’t normally one for such plain and domestic types of endeavors, but the wildflowers were blooming in the valley at this time of year, and he wanted nothing more but to see you smile at them, as you did every year before that. 

“Do you have a favorite flower, Sasha?” You had asked him softly and looked up at him with a big grin. You better than anyone knew that he wasn’t much of a flower person, but the question was still on your mind as you walked together. 

He thought to himself for a moment as he peered down at your excited face and then he shrugged, “Oh, there’s too many to choose from, my lovely. Perhaps a dandelion.”

“Dandelions are weeds, Aleksander.” You pointed out and he shook his head and nudged your side. 

“They still bloom, do they not?”

You didn’t seem to like this answer, because you simply huffed under your breath and gave his hand a little squeeze, “Okay but I meant a real flower. Not a little yellow weed.” You insisted. 

He thought for a moment longer and then he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, “Alright. Poppies.” He finally conceded and you seemed to like this answer much more than the last, because you hummed and sidled up to him sweetly, your head resting against the side of his arm. 

“Poppies. I would’ve taken you for a rose person.” You mused. 

“And why roses?” He asked, curious to hear your response. 

“Because. They’re terribly beautiful, but you wouldn’t dare just grab one recklessly. They’re covered in thorns. You have to be gentle with them, work around the thorns. Then it’s yours to have. Kinda like you. Just gotta work around your thorns.” You replied and then let out a tiny giggle, “At least, that’s what I did. Seemed to work out just fine for me.” 

Your words made his chest feel as if it was flooding with impossible new amounts of affection for you and he stopped the two of you where you walked and he leaned down to delicately wrap both of his arms around your waist. You eagerly wrapped your tiny arms around his shoulders and he moved down a bit more, closer to your level. 

To Aleksander, you were the sweetest thing in the world. Everything from your kind smile to your fiery attitude made him swell with love for you. To love and be loved in return was such a strange concept for him to grasp. Especially when the returned love was given by such a gentle soul such as yourself. He often found himself unworthy of such a love, unworthy of your kindness, your care, your acceptance. You knew of his past transgressions, yet you loved him anyways, always insisting that mistakes get made. Everyone messes up. To the world, he was The Darkling. The Black Heretic. A wicked man with a soul as dark as his eyes. That version of himself even existed in his own mother’s eyes. But to you, he was simply Aleksander. 

He held you even tighter now and he buried his face in your hair for a long time before he slowly pulled away from you and brought his hands up to delicately cup your face. He held your face so gently as if he was convinced it would shatter between his fingers and he watched your eyes, fascinated by you. 

“What a sweet little thing, you are. What did I ever do in this life to have been blessed with such a love?” He asked softly, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours a few times. 

“If I had to guess, it might have had something to do with your sympathy for weeds. I suppose they need love too.” You teased, and he didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your teasing before he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. You kissed him back and placed your hands on top of his, letting out another little giggle into his mouth. He pulled back and watched you in amusement, a smile spreading across his own face. 

“What could you possibly be laughing at during a moment like this?” He asked and you scrunched your nose up and patted the backs of his hands a few times. 

“Your beard tickled my lip.” You replied gleefully, your eyes meeting his in a mirthful gaze. 

He slowly pulled away from you and took your hand again, pulling you into his side as the two of you started to walk once more, “Shall I cut it then?” He asked and chuckled. 

You practically skipped alongside him as the two of you walked and you shook your head, “No. I think you look handsome. But you might need a haircut soon. You’ve got bangs nearly.” You pointed out and reached up with your free hand to push a strand of hair away from his eyes, “Don’t worry. I can do it for you.” You added and laid your head against the side of his arm once again. 

He laced his fingers in between yours and gave your hand an affectionate squeeze as he led you down along the dirt path, “How have your lessons with my mother been going?” He asked. 

It was your turn to nearly roll your eyes now and you took a quick glance up at Aleksander, “Well. She doesn’t like me much, and I’m still not very good at controlling my fire so… to be continued. Maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps I just don’t want to learn anymore. I have no use for these powers.” You replied and tapped the side of his hand with your pinky finger. 

You were an Inferni, a poor one at that. Normally Aleksander would protest and tell you to embrace your gift but he didn’t this time, resigning to let you speak your mind. If you didn’t want to pursue your abilities, he wouldn’t force you, “I don’t think she dislikes you.” He replied down at you finally. 

“Oh, I think she does. She’s always got a backhanded comment locked and loaded just for me.” You argued with a little sigh. 

Aleksander knew it wasn’t you that she disliked in specific. It was just the fact that his mother disliked the fact that he was selfish enough to let himself love you. She always insisted that he’d ruin you, just like the girl he loved before you. She insisted that he wasn’t meant for you, always telling him to set you free before he inadvertently broke your wings. Deep down, he knew his mother was right. She usually was. But he couldn’t bring himself to ever make you leave. Not now. He was too far in. 

He shook his head a couple of times and sighed, “She’s not exactly inviting. But that’s not to say she dislikes you. Don’t pay her any mind, my love.” He replied and then brought your intertwined hands up to his lips so that he could place a few light kisses to your knuckles.

He lowered your hands back down between the two of you once again and he glanced up over the hill in the distance. You two were nearly to the small valley and he could tell your excitement was growing, because your steps got more hurried and you occasionally would let out giddy squeals and hums. 

A snap of a stick on the path behind you had Aleksander sweeping you in front of him as he turned around to survey the area. The two of you had stopped walking now and he looked around behind both of you, finding nothing. 

“What was that?” You asked quietly and glanced up at your lover, feeling a bit uneasy. 

“I’m not sure, darling.” He replied cautiously and turned back around to glance down at you. 

Your eyes were already fixed up on his face. You didn’t look scared, but you didn’t look like you felt too secure either, and he didn’t blame you. Something had shifted in the forest around you two, there was a strange feeling. You grabbed onto his arm tightly and you gave it a little tug. 

“Sasha, we don’t have to go any farther. We can head back home now.” You whispered, but he shushed you softly and turned back around slowly to check the path behind the pair of you. 

A small snapping sound came again, but this time it was now in front of the two of you. There was a little shuffle and another snap and he felt you yank his arm again.

“Aleksander.” 

He turned around as your grip on his arm loosened and he looked down at your face, which was now drained of color. You wobbled a bit and fell forward onto him, and he swiftly caught you with a shocked exclamation of your name. 

He held you upright and that’s when he saw the arrow that had lodged itself in your back and stuck out through your chest. He wildly looked around and had spotted two men in thick furs darting out from behind a tree. Drüskelle. He had barely a second to move the two of you before they let loose another arrow and he retaliated quickly. 

One of the men let out a yell in their native tongue and Aleksander wasted no time in quickly diving down to the ground with you as another arrow flew. He gently sat you up against one of the small trees on the edge of the path and turned around, and with zero hesitation, finished the two men off easily with The Cut. As they fell to the ground, he looked around for more. When none came, he turned to you and scooped you up into his arms as quickly as he could, not daring to pull the arrow from your chest quite yet. 

“Hey, hey. Y/n. You’re going to be alright.” He insisted. 

But the way your head lolled to the side weakly made him think otherwise. You didn’t respond to him, but you looked up into his eyes, tears beading in the corners of yours. 

“We’re going home. I’m taking you to my mother, we can fix this.” He promised and didn’t wait a single second more before he was dashing off down the path with you hanging all but limply in his arms. He could feel the warmth of your blood seeping through the sleeve of his shirt and he grit his teeth, refusing to let himself panic. You were going to be okay. You had to be. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Aleksander was going to let you go now that he had finally found you after years upon years of being alone. He didn’t notice the tears gathering in his own eyes until they were falling down his cheeks and you let out a distressed sound.

“No, Sasha. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.” You whispered hoarsely, and the sound of your voice only made it worse.

He ran straight out of the forest and through the field behind your home before he finally ran through the back door. He laid you down on your side atop the round wooden table in the middle of the room and he yelled for his mother, who came shortly after he called. 

“Mother. We need to do something. Drüskelle, in the forest attacked us, and they-“ he started frantically, only to be cut off by the older woman.

“There is nothing you can do, Aleksander.” She said shortly and then shook her head, “We don’t have a healer nearby. We aren’t healers ourselves.”

He looked over at you, and you seemed so much smaller than usual now, curled up on the table with an arrow still protruding from your back, “Mother, there has to be a way. I will not let my lover die.” 

“There is no way. There is no natural way for us to save lives. You know this. Bid her goodbye.” She said sternly. 

His head perked up a bit and he reached out to make sure you were still alive by touching your pulse. 

Weak, but still there. Just barely. 

“But I can. I can do it, I’ve practi-“ 

“You cannot!” She protested and held her hand up to her son, “You will not! You will take whatever time you have left and say goodbye, for it is only the way of life. We see life come and go and we remain. Not even you can change that. I’ll give you space. That is final.” Baghra said sharply and turned on her heel to leave the two of you alone. 

Aleksander was at your side in half a second, and he crouched down to be level with your face. Tears were rolling across your face and your lip trembled fearfully. 

“It doesn’t hurt, Sasha. Don’t worry about me please.” You whispered and he reached out to brush tears from your eyes. 

“I’m going to fix this. Okay? You aren’t going to die today. I swear it.” He promised, but his faith was running thin. He reached out and he grabbed your arm gently and held you in place, “I’m going to remove the arrow, okay? And then we’re going to heal you.”

“You are not a healer, Aleksander. Don’t do this.” You begged softly and he looked down into your eyes again. He pursed his lips and shook his head a few times. 

“I won’t lose you. I won’t walk this earth without you by my side, do you understand?”

“No, Aleksander, no.” You protested, trying your best to sound stern like Baghra had, but your voice faltered and he knew you didn’t have much time left. 

He ignored your protests and grabbed hold of the arrow and quickly pulled it out of your back, and whatever voice you had left was spent on the wail you let out as your blood began to freely spill out over the table. He quickly threw himself over you, only to find you shaking. He looked down at your face to learn that your shaking was from your silent sobs and he frowned deeply. 

He was going to save you. It was going to be alright. 

He closed his eyes and placed his hand over the bleeding hole in your back, wracking his brain for the strength to use the magic so forbidden that had been abused by his ancestor, to heal you. To save you. 

He let out an agonized yell and finally felt the same cold, pricking sensation spread through his veins that had occurred the day he created The Fold. He felt stinging in his fingertips as he pushed out everything he could from his hand into your wound. Into you. 

At long last, the stinging stopped and subsided, and Aleksander realized you’d gone still under his touch. He felt a little splash of relief and he turned you around onto your back, only to find your eyes closed. He felt his face drain of all color and he shakily reached up to feel your pulse against your throat. 

Nothing. 

To say the days following were that of pure anguish was to put it lightly. He’d taken you to the valley of millions and millions wildflowers and laid you to rest there. At least he knew you’d be somewhere you loved. 

For weeks after your death, Baghra was full of warnings and disappointment for him, chastising him for using merzost once more. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Aleksander. You may have very well not healed your lover, but you don’t know what you’ve done. This will come back to you one day. You will regret it. There will be punishment.” She warned.

Not that he cared. 

“Let me regret it. Let it haunt me for the rest of my days, woman. It’s not the only ghost that hangs above my head, now.”

-

You didn’t recall much. At all. All you knew is that one day you suddenly did recall, as if it was the beginning of your life. 

Amnesia the doctor called it. You’d likely had a head injury and forgotten things, that’s all. 

Whatever you were before, whatever life you led, it was erased from your mind without a single clue as to what it had been prior. In the last few years that you started recalling, you’d worked as a dress maker in the city of Ketterdam. When one of your clients had graciously invited you to come to Ravka’s Winter Fete with her and her daughter in trade of two elegant gowns for them, you’d accepted her offer immediately. 

So there you stood, in the hallway of the crowded Ravkan palace, eyes traveling the faces of everyone who passed by. The two girls you’d attended with had gone off to greet the royal family, and you’d stayed back, opting to survey the crowd instead. You’d heard word that the Sun Summoner was going to be putting on a display in only a few short moments, and just as the thought crossed your mind, it all began. It started with a whirlwind of activity, and you watched the Grisha throughout the room showcase their abilities skillfully, and the sight invoked a strange feeling deep within your chest. You had the sudden urge to bring your hands together just as they did, feeling as if you could perform alongside them. You fought the urge back and flexed your hands a bit at your sides, shaking off the strange feeling.

Your eyes travelled to the front of the room and they fell upon a girl and a man, standing shoulder to shoulder, both wearing black. You assumed it was the Sun Summoner and who you had heard to be General Kirigan, the fierce Ravkan general who also happened to be Grisha. As the pair began their display of power, you felt your head begin to ache dully, and once the Sun Summoner’s light lit up the entire room, the pain in your head only grew sharper. 

Everyone in the room seemed to be filled with excitement, and as the display was done, the volume seemed to increase tenfold, making you clutch your head between your palms. 

The pair at the front of the room turned around and when you saw The General’s face, you blinked a few times. A thought clawed at the inside of your mind, begging to be let free. But you didn’t know how. You didn’t even know what it was. He seemed to notice you shortly after you noticed him, and you could’ve sworn you saw a look of complete astonishment cross his face as quick as a flash of lightning.  

Suddenly the room seemed to blur out as if in your periphery and you gasped as little flickers of imagery flashed behind your eyes. 

A field of flowers, the darkest eyes you’d ever seen, and fire. You furrowed your brow together and you leaned your hand up against the nearest wall, your chest rapidly rising and falling with short, quick breaths. Disorientation fell upon you and you found yourself stumbling through the crowd of partygoers and out of the room. The bustling hallway was a struggle for you to navigate, but you eventually prevailed and found the door to the courtyard. You all but went falling out the door and you stumbled clumsily until you reached grass and you held your hand to your chest as you stopped running. You felt sick to your stomach and your hands began to feel clammy and you swore that you heard someone calling your name- though you were unsure how you knew the name was yours- because you hadn’t been called by it before. You couldn’t even respond in anyway before your eyes rolled back into your head, and you were collapsing backwards towards the ground. 

-

Aleksander felt insane when he followed you out of the palace. He’d had days where all he could do was think of you, but never once had he seen your face anywhere but his mind. He called after you, but you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did, you didn’t respond. He walked briskly up to you just in time to watch you collapse, and he lunged forward to catch your falling body in his arms awkwardly. The strange angle at which he held you up at made you look so small and fragile, and he hoisted you up into his arms. It couldn’t be you. There was no possible way it could have been. He didn’t dare look down at your face for a few moments, standing there in the courtyard with his jaw set firmly. 

Finally, he did dare to look down, and when he did, he almost found himself collapsing with you. Sure, you were unconscious and your hair had become a bit tousled, but there was no mistaking the face that he saw. It was yours. His y/n. 

He looked around wildly, trying to come up with an explanation for the mere fact that his very dead lover was here. How you were here. He buried you. He reached up with one hand and he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheeks. He refused to let himself feel relieved or happy or excited. If this was the punishment his mother had promised him years ago, he wouldn’t give in. But he couldn’t just leave you. Not out here, not like this. He stood with you in his arms for a while longer in contemplation before ultimately deciding he’d take you back to his chambers and wait for you to wake. If you woke. Then he’d proceed to ask who you were, to figure out what was happening. 

He carried you off through the night towards the nearly deserted Little Palace, and once inside, he made a beeline for his bedroom. Once he reached the shelter of his room, he closed the door fast and locked it, looking around to make sure no one was inside. He promptly walked you to his bed and laid you out on it, staring down at you. The urge to lay at your side was consuming his every thought and he ground his teeth together, fighting back a round of tears. 

Yours was the face he saw when he fell asleep. Every night. Some dreams were pleasant. You and him in the flowers, or even in bed together, happily. He’d hear your laugh, your hums, your sweet voice… all of it. Some dreams were not so kind, and these were the ones where he relived your last moments over and over again. 

His endless patience had seemed to run out and his will to remain complacent broke. He’d take the pain of having to lose you again if this wasn’t real, he’d be damned all over again to feel the emptiness of your loss if only just a moment of his time could be spent by your side one last time. 

So he kicked off his boots and removed his black decadent kefta, and he slid down into the bed next to you, his eyes not leaving your face once. He reached out across the minimal space he gave between the two of you and he grazed his fingertips across your cheekbones, up into your hair, down the side of your neck and along your jaw. Everywhere. He traced the outline of your lips and he swiped the pad of his thumb across your chin. Not a single thing had differed from his memory. If you’d told him he’d plucked you out from behind his eyes and laid you out in front of him, he would’ve believed it. 

Oh yes, if he was to be damned with the consequences of trying to save you, then he’d take them. He’d take them graciously if it meant one last night at your side. 

-

He was unsure of when he fell asleep, but he didn’t ever realize that he had until he felt hands on his face. His eyes shot open and he expected sunlight to light up his room, but instead it was dark, with only a glimmer of silver light filtering through the window. He frantically looked across from him on his bed and he reached up to push the hands away from his face, but once his eyes focused in the moonlit room, he dropped his hands and found himself lost in your eyes instead. 

Your hands stayed against his cheeks and you seemed to be at a loss for words. He knew the feeling well. It was mutual. 

The state of unconsciousness you had fallen into had been one of unrest. Memories upon memories began to flood your head all at once. Still, you were unaware of how you were alive and how you had come to be unearthed, but you assumed it must have had something to do with the merzost that you so vehemently opposed him using. 

He reached out to touch your face so gently, as if he thought you were only a figment of the moonlight and would disappear underneath his touch. When you didn’t, he let out a sigh, one that sounded terrified and relieved all at the same time. You couldn’t find your voice while you stared at him, your mouth wanting to form a thousand words all at once. 

Until it settled on just one.  

“Sasha?”

To Aleksander, this was the sweetest sound he’d heard in his entire long life, and he couldn’t help the tears that loosed themselves from his eyes. He could only nod in response as he wrapped his arms around your small form and he pulled you against his chest. 

If this was damnation, then he’d embrace it with open arms, and if this was a second chance to save you from the consequences of his past, then he’d do better this time. Whatever the case may be, he wasn’t going to leave this room until he was sure you wouldn’t evaporate into nothing. He laid his hand ever so protectively against the back of your head and he leaned his own head down until his lips touched your hairline. He could’ve whispered a million things to you at that moment, promised you everything, sung you praises and profess his love until he ran out of the breath to do so with, but he’d never been one for that many words all at once. So he leaned down to press his lips against yours, and it said everything he couldn’t all at once. He pulled back slowly and he tipped your head back a bit so that he could gaze down at your face, unchanged by all this time. 

And so he uttered out a promise, one that he intended to keep this time, no matter the cost.

“Yes, my sweet girl. It’s me, and I will never lose you again.” 

[starzzmissthesun]

The OC long post is here!!!!

Ok, to start this off, their story isn't completely worked out yet, but all of the important stuff is! Also, big thanks to @rowses and @thebearsthings for brainstorming with me!=DDD Also, they are the BIGGEST unreliable narrator, seeing as they barely remember their past, and have some perception vs reality issues. Im referring to my character as The Vampire(though they are not the only one) and the one who turned them and was their partner Their Lover. This is cause we dont know their names!! Also im referring to them both in gender neutral terms because The Vampire doesnt know much about Their Lover(nothing at all really) and they don't know that about themself(which ill get into later)

This will have talk of graphic violence and cuts/blood, and the vampirism is sort of a metaphor for sexual assault.

First and foremost, they are a vampire who travels as a bounty hunter. They get paid for killing the person, and that's how they feed. They are from the south, no particular time period, just before a time of internet. In being turned, they lost and forgot their entire identity, their name, gender, memories, and their lover, The reasons why will all be explained throughout. Bottom line, they're a mystery to themself.

Lets talk about the before, and how they got turned. For the years before, they were living in this beautiful Victorian home with their lover, that their lover "inherited" from distant relatives. In their mind, this relationship was perfect; soft touches, watching the sunset, kisses before a goodbye. (It was not, as a friend said "toxic yaoi (gender neutral)") Then, a kiss on the neck turned to teeth sunk deep. They started to feel drowsy, dizzy. (ill make a post about how i think vampires work if you want) They collapse to the floor as blood starts running down and their lover has betrayed them, after all this time. They almost jump to see if their lover is okay when they cut deep into their own wrist, but stops when the blood from that wrist is drained into their own mouth. They wake up in the dark, everything's too loud. They are covered in blood and alone. Alone in their own mind, too. As they walk around trying to figure out anything, they pick up notepads with dates written down and shorthand notes, little trinkets scattered around the house, a picture of them and their lover (?) but their faces are turned away. They run to find the closest mirror, but nobodies in it, nothings there. When they decide to leave the house, they stop in the pool of blood to see a ring sitting in the middle, the same on their lovers hand in the picture.

This is the only finished art I have of them rn->

This is right after they were bit, that's their lover in the mirror (not really there obviously). They wake up with bleached hair, but as time goes on they try to go to their natural colour in hopes of being themselves, but really get further always from their starting point. They do this with a lot of the "clues" they were given, they just take them so wrong and end up even more unhappy. They can't even look in a mirror to see them self, or get close enough to ask someone.

They figure out how being a vampire works, need to eat so they bounty hunt for money for places to stay in, the cowboy gettup of the south allows them to cover their skin in the harsh sun. They never stop moving, they just keep going and going. They usually take cases that might lead them to their lover. They just want to know. They need to know why they would turn them into this, why they would throw away their lives together, why they would leave, what were they like, what The Vampire was like. They can not and will never be able to know more about themself because they will always be looking outwardly and in the past. They mourn their old self and idolize them, want to be them. Their loss of self will never be gained back, for they will never think "but what do i wanna be called, what gender do i feel like, what hair do i want to have?" because they are too busy looking for clues of what they used to be, what theyre "supposed" to be. They look at themself from before as a cookie cutter they must fit into.

They will never be able to have a happy ending for this reason, they are a tragedy. They look for their lost lover in others, every relationship they get into ends on strange terms and each is wildly different. They are somewhere else, always kind of absent for these people. They try so hard to be normal, to find these relationships, but there's always an ever present "What if?" What if my lover liked this? What if I wore my hair like that? What if they also drank their coffee this way? What if x kind of person was my type? What if I dressed this way? They will always be dissatisfied, because in their story (not the aus ill probably make for character exploration:\) they never find their lover, they never find out what they used to be like, or any of their history outside of nightmares and deja vu.

They travel the land, hoping motel to motel, kill to kill, lover to lover, NEVER in relief, always under tension. They feel their past self hovering behind them guarding, watching, judging. The only thing pushing them forward is the hope that theyll one day find Their Lover. When times get tough, they look to that same ring that left a permanent bruise on them, being twirled between their fingers.

Gonna definitely add to this later, and PLEASE ask questions or comments or anything, they drive me up the walls!!!!!!!

[mazzystar24]

Hi there! as I said before im a huge English nerd who read and annotated (in glitter gel pens) a disturbing amount of William Wordsworth at 6/7 years old, now here to infodump some poetry info for the hunger games/tbosas fans

So I think most ppl know the whole Lucy gray baird and Lucy gray song being about the poem by Wordsworth and it’s famous cryptic ending

What you may not know is that it’s not an the only poem of his that references a Lucy in fact there are MANY references to a Lucy in his poetry all grouped as “Lucy poems” HOWEVER I will add that people generally don’t group “Lucy Gray” with the rest of Lucy poems as it’s the only one with an established backrgound and the rest of Lucy poems are very different in nature (lemme explain)

In the rest she is less a distinct character more a symbol it’s actually even a debate if Lucy is even a person in the poems or just a figment of the narrators imagination it’s also debated whether the character of Lucy is a character or a literary device or even just representative of a lost muse

This is because Lucy changes in these poems constantly and is never really established in some she is interpreted as a grown woman and a lover of the narrator in some she is a child and a daughter, none of the details are ever really the same, and Wordsworth was like SUPER secretive about it like literally no one knows the true nature of the Lucy poems.

but there are consistencies; in many she is dead and the narrator is left to mourn her or the narrator talks of worrying that she will die, in most of not all she’s heavily interlinked with nature imagery and is kind of represented in a way that distincts her from others, in a way that grants her a sense of humanity only in her death

So generally it’s agreed that Lucy is simply representing any loss of a loved one rather than being her own person.

So why am I mentioning the Lucy poems when Lucy gray is seperate from them and therefore isn’t related to the name meaning of Lucy gray? Glad you (didn’t) ask:

1. The Lucy poems are very much what people would like to condense her into, the capitol doesn’t want her to be a person, doesnt want her to be distinct and characterised and only wish for her to be representative of something else even in death

2. Snow repeatedly asking if she’s dead during the games in the movie reminded me of it- kinda like how narratively she was almost a Lucy but by the end she becomes his Lucy gray not something beautiful for him to mourn but something mysterious to haunt him

3. More on my first point the most blatant thing for me that links this is that scene at the zoo where the lucky flickerman dude calls her “Lucy” to which she immediately corrects with “Lucy gray” thus establishing herself once again as a whole person rather than a to-be dead symbol (this is in the same scene at the zoo where she starts to charm the capitol and become a person in their eyes)

[midnightanxietytm]

Kitana muses about her creator

A/N: I'm back lovelies, and this time with a Mortal Kombat snippet. I had this one laying on my docs since like a month after release so enjoy! Requests are open btw

Summary:

"The man tilted his head at her with a smile, standing beside her on the balcony. She turned back at the horizon, resting her arms on the railing and pulling one of her fans, absentmindedly spinning the blades. “Why did you make us?” She asked, finally.

Liu Kang looked at her, puzzled."

or

Kitana doesn't really know how to feel about the alternative versions of herself and Liu Kang.

Contents: Liutana mentions, MK1!Kitana thinking about Titan!Kitana, character study, introspection, Kitana pov. Listen she's been my main since forever im lowkey obsessed with her.

Word count: 699

For as long as she could remember, Liu Kang has been there.

Officially, she was very young when she first met him, just old enough to start mingling in court business, what earth realm would define as a teenager.

She remembers he was polite, that he had intense eyes and that he never looked down on her, not that anyone ever dared to, but Liu Kang had something in his eyes that resembled a mixture of pride and pain, as if he was mourning what she could become. He had told her things about earthrealm then, about its champions, its people, then about the outworld, the places she didn’t really step into as a princess. He always had a lot to say. Now she knows why.

"You and my Titan version seem awfully close!" She had mentioned it once, and he refused to elaborate.

Not that he needed to, Kitana had eyes. 

The definite confirmation came in training with an alternative version of herself; an idea given by Liu Kang himself. 

"A god?! He's my consort!" She heard her own words with muted shock, but it made perfect sense now.

It was weird to think about; the fact that in multiple timelines, her and Liu Kang were… together. And it explained the weird glint in his eyes every time he looked at her. The protector of earthrealm had been mourning the lover he thought he lost, while staring at a perfect copy of her. How painful it must have been, she thought as she stared at the sunset.

“Ah, good evening, princess.” Said the subject of her musings, in his usual polite tone. “Am I disturbing you?” 

She turned to face him, the remaining sunlight casting shadows on her face. Liu Kang was a handsome man, and he had always been polite and kind… “Not at all, In fact, I was thinking about you.”

The man tilted his head at her with a smile, standing beside her on the balcony. She turned back at the horizon, resting her arms on the railing and pulling one of her fans, absentmindedly spinning the blades. “Why did you make us?” She asked, finally.

Liu Kang looked at her, puzzled, so she continued; “It brings you pain, I can see it. You look at us and you see eons of history, yet you know it wasn’t really us there, at least not the ones you knew, we are constant reminders of everything you lost, or worse, everything you could have had.”

The god turns away from her, once again silent. He wasn’t angered by her question, that Kitana knew. The silence drags, the sun is almost gone.

“It pains me, yes.” He said, finally. “But it brought me a certain peace, knowing that I could give those I loved a better, more peaceful life. Even if it was in a completely different reality.” Liu Kang looks down at his own hands, Kitana does too. Those hands had created the universe, the realms, created her. “I won’t exactly tell you what happened in the previous timelines, but trust me, it was nothing but pain for all of those I loved, every ounce of happiness we achieved was snatched from us…”

The princess touched the tips of her fan blades. “From us…” she quotes him in a whisper, and again the silence engulfs them for a heavy moment. “I know about you and… the titan me.”

Her creator only let out a soft laugh, almost tender. “Every version of you is too smart for their own good.”

“You are the one who could have made me less smart.” She laughed too, and they turned back to face the last rays of sunshine disappear. “Can you at least be with… the one you love?” Be with me, or titan me, a version of me, was what she taught at first, but it felt too intimate to say, too confusing, she wasn’t his Kitana, and he wasn't the one for her either, not in this reality. 

“Not all the time, as I would wish, but it’s already better than nothing.”

And that’s comfort enough, she thinks, for all of them.

Thanks for reading! My request are open and i added some fandoms including MK, the lists and rules are pinned.

[tecchoussuperlady]

SHEESH

Thanks for the request from @urfavpisces111

I hope u like it, even if this is not my typa of interest. I tried, but it's a bit shorter.

SFW!

Warnings: angst no comfort, mentions of cheating, cursing, manipulation

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

Hands roughly bruised and caloused were playing with emtpy glass on the little coffee table. The usually full fight club was now empty. Instead of usual screams combined with agressive shouting and cheering were now replaced with sorrowful quiet atmosphere.

There were already two empty bottles of whiskey, with the quality of being jujutsu sorcerer comes an extraordinary stamina.

Kinji knew that yours realitionship wasn't perfect, nothing is perfect. But mistakes were done and he should start working with what he destroyed instead of drinking himself into numbness. This clearly wasn't a right thing to do no matter what reason or apology he would come with. Just lying is bad, but cheating is another level.

To his bad luck [name] vanished faster than he could start thinking straight. Even if his actions were unapologetic, he wanted to at least make sure that you know that it's not your fault. There was never nothing wrong with his lover. They were perfect, however the match didn't end up as the most flawless one. The mistake was his drunken solution.

If he only listened to his lover every time they scolded him for being impulsive. While baking when he took out the meat raw. While ordering more food than he would be able to eat even in two. While he was gambling with his own life during fights.

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

Quiet footsteps walking barefoot towards the hotel room bed. It was huge.

"Finally calm sleep, without having to share a bed."

The young woman mumbled to herself before she hushed to the bed.

Left hand quickly grabbing the phone and dialing the number she would remember even if she lost all her memories.

"Hello?"

The other line was quiet.

"Anyways, im done with the request, im bringing everything tomorrow."

The lady said into the phone and hung up.

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

After drinking another bottle of the expensive whiskey, Kinji's mourning was interrupted by knock on his office.

"The door is opened!"

Slow footsteps were elegantly entering the room.

"Hello hello"

"[Name] ! What are you doing here?"

Kinji started panicking. How did she get there? Did she forgive him? No, she would never.

"I'm visiting my beautiful faithful amazing boyfriend!"

Sharp inhale followed.

"Sheesh, im here for my things. I'm definitely not leaving my belongings behind, it wasn't for free. "

Kinji just gulped down the saliva which settled in his troath.

"Feel comfortable then, you can take your time."

The young woman just shrugged and started collecting her belongings which she left behind. As an spare phone charger, or some clothes.

Few minutes later Kinji decided to break the uncomfortable thick atmosphere.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't your fault. We had problems and i took the wrong way instead of solving them with you. I just want you to know that there is nothing wrong with you, you are perfect and i was just a dick. I wasn't trying to find someone better, I just wasn't using my brain."

A/n: i ate like seven toasts today, life sucks.

Kinji exhaled after finishing his speech.

"Yes, and? Did you think that i would become insecure or something after YOU cheated on me? No thanks, i know my worth."

Her hand grabbed blanket she brought here earlier few months ago.

"And if you are wanna know i sold your fight club."

Kinji raised his head. Is she playing with him?

"What?"

"As i said, I'm not sorry, but i was working there undercover to take a look at Gojo's student. You taking care of me was an lucky bonus. Im done here, thanks for the gifts and free dinners. You were fun sometimes!"

Her hand grabbed the bag and left as fast as she appeared.

Was this his karma? Kinji knew that every sction comes with consequences, but he didn't expect to loose his hard work.

"I enjoyed it too..."

A bare whisper left his mouth.

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

I'm sorry if good ending was expected, but u won't catch me accepting cheating. (Family troubles ig)

Hope u enjoyed at least a little! ♡

[redr0sewrites]

I really need An Angsty fic with Aaravos and Reader where the reason he helps the Humans get what they want was so that they could destroy Eachother cus the humans killed his lover Aka Reader?

Anyway this is just a Lil idea that popped up I hope it's OK lol :) I luv my starboi☆

im sorry this took so long 😭 i love this request it really made me excited to see!!!! again im so sorry it took forever to get too i was on vacation for a while and i lost track of time <\\\3 anyway, hope u enjoy

🥀Cw: angst with no comfort, aaravos is in mourning, slight descriptions of violence and murder, depression

your death had been an accident, that is what aaravos had been told. a simple casualty of war, someone who got caught in the cross hairs of something they couldn't control. it was supposed to reassure him, it was supposed to make him feel better about your passing. and yet, it didnt. the screams of anguish that escaped from aaravos' throat cut through the air like a knife through butter, slicing waves of agony over anyone who heard them. you were gone, his precious star.

you had always been so kind, so willing to help others. you had tried to see the good in humans, you had always believed in them. your own sense of justice caused your demise. the beings that you had once loved and cared for so much had slain you, leaving aaravos painfully, dreadfully alone. aaravos remembered you well. he remembered long conversations under the stars, the both of you giggling and smiling as though nothing could ever hurt you now.

"what we have is special", you always told him with a smile. "nothing can hurt us if we have eachother". and yet, you were gone. aaravos woke yet sobbing again, your side of the bed disgustingly cold and empty. the sight of your face and the warmth of your touch was fleeting, disappearing as his dream faded. he tried to reach out, to warn you not to go, but every time you slipped through his fingers, telling you would be just fine. he felt like he was drowning in his own tears, reminiscing your final hours together.

"i'll be back soon my love", you giggled. "theres nothing to worry about. im only visiting the humans again!" despite the overwhelming sense of foreboding gnawing painfully at his gut, aaravos had nodded. oh, how regret burned in his heart at that simple acceptance.

aaravos remembered everything. he had lived a long, long time. he remembered every wound, every scar, and yet none stung as much as your death. he remembered when you first started helping the humans, you had offered magic to those pitiful creatures. aaravos had tried to warn you, he had tried to tell you that this path only led to pain, but you wouldn't listen. you never did. you told him to trust you, and trust you he did. aaravos followed you without a care or a reason, he loved you unconditionally in the same way that the moon loves the sun, always chasing, always wanting, and yet you always slipped away when sunrise came.

another tormenting dream. aaravos woke again, gasping and shivering as tears spilled down his cheeks. he reached towards your side of the bed, than remembered. aaravos layed back down, sinking bitterly into the mattress below him. nothing was comfortable now that you were gone. pastries were not sweet enough, wine was not strong enough, and sleep was not long enough.

the wound that was your death had festered and rotted so much within aaravos' heart that he feared he did not have one anymore. anguish had turned to regret, regret into depression, and depression into anger. the anger had only grown stronger, the loss of your light in his world was too much to bear.

the humans would burn for this, he wanted them all to feel the pain of his rotting heart. they had stolen his life, his love, his sun, and he would steal theirs. the creatures you had onlce loved, the beings you had put so much time and energy into saving, those despicable humans, they would pay. deep down, somewhere broken and small, a voice whispered from aaravos' heart that maybe, just maybe, this wasnt what you would have wanted. but that didnt matter anymore. you werent there to tell him that.

eee hope u enjoyed! this turned out better than expected :0

[cosmicangst]

ok ok ok i just got home and as always here are my thoughts

really enjoyed colin lemoine's take. in terms of just pure vibes hes a step closer to damon daunno than reeve carney. he's not as boyish comic relief as nicholas barasch and he feels like the most.... grounded?? orpheus i've seen. he acts out the "touched" aspect without flanderizing orpheus into just his naivete and rendering him foolish and infantilized. the best way i can describe it is that he just seems like an optimistic but ultimately ordinary guy you could meet at a grocery store line who also happens to be plagued w Unfortunately Blessed with Musical Visions by the Gods Against His Will Syndrome

amaya braganza!!!!! jesus what a vocal powerhouse. her flowers killed me. something about her vocal inflection or acting choices really made her grief over losing her life and her love so visceral. she would be right at home at the obc recording because her voice was pitch perfect. she has a terrific belt but it's during the quiet moments where she's the most effective. like at the end of all i've ever known you can really feel she's already mourning her loss before she's even lost anything which is why flowers was more heartbreaking than normal

will mann is the most intriguing part of this cast to me. hermes actors have the choice of landing on the spectrum of objective narrator to a guardian figure. will feels like the most paternal. you get the sense that not only did he observe orpheus grow up he also had an active hand in raising him. when orpheus nervously stops during epic iii will says "go on, baby" with "baby" obviously ad-libbed 😭 like yes that is his baby

my only real critique of this performance is that the show doesn't actually pick up until way down hadestown. not sure if the cast just wasn't feeling the crowd or themselves until that point (it was a sunday night so i get it). i just make note of this bc livin it up on top is this high energy number that felt strangely middle energy for some reason lol anyone who was experiencing the show for the first time and had no frame of reference wouldn't notice anything amiss but bc im abnormal and pedantic i definitely noticed

and this is by no means a critique of lana gordon's persephone whose lady of the underground is one of the top highlights of the show. she brought the roof down during "there's a crack in the wall".

which brings me to my favorite part of the show: matthew patrick quinn. i didn't think anyone could replace patrick page in my heart but i was just in love with everything matthew brought to this character. he manages to combine facets of patrick and kevyn morrow's hades that i love together. matthew has kevyn's slick charisma and anger but he has patrick's power and world-weariness. he's this incredibly tall, serpentine, and long limbed figure that towers over everyone. patrick as an intimidating and antagonistic force felt like an ancient old god who can break your house by inducing an earthquake but matthew's vibe is more like he could literally be the snake that could tempt you out of a garden of eternal paradise

he and lana are also 🔥🔥🔥 like you can simultaneously feel the millenia of history between them but they also have the chemistry of two hot people going on a date for the first time after a long period of slowburn. the resentment, the familiarity, he way he's obviously repressing his desperation to keep her and both trying to look unaffected and turning to their vices when they reject each other's touch i could absolutely scream

which is why i was sobbing by the end of epic iii. i think the catharsis was just a lot lol and they were so playful during their dance too! like actual lovers who have the most absolute fun during good times. matthew does this little wiggle for her when they're sidestepping and im 100% sure lana broke character and they both started laughing it was so sweet

anyway the fates, the ensemble, everyone was astounding and im gonna see if i can grab another cheap balcony seat before they leave in a week to see if i can catch j antonio rodriguez as orpheus