#the pain of opening herself up to that?

[softquietsteadylove]

I have a Thenamesh AU request if it’s alright?:)

Let’s say they got Gil back and his memories too. But Thena has a hard time to accept him since she saw him die and can’t really believe that’s him. She keeps a distant to him and avoids him as good as she can on the domo. So what if Gil does something that really proofs that he is real and he really came back? Where Thena finally believes it?

Would be a very emotional request and a bit soft in the end :)

"Dinner is served!" He turned to them with a bright smile, "get it while it's hot!"

The rest of the Eternals clambered to get some of the delicious and lovingly made food for themselves. Especially those who had been held captive in the World Forge, adapted to human life and missing the small comforts.

He eyed the doorway, "there's more than enough-"

Thena left.

Gilgamesh sighed, looking down at his pot of stew. She hadn't spoken a single word to him since his return. It was so dire that even looking at him was an improvement in her acknowledgement of his presence.

"Hey," Kingo said gently as he came up for his serving. "Don't let it get to you. She's...well, you know."

He did know; he knew better than anyone, in this life or the next. He nodded, giving Kingo a smile. Once everyone had a helping, including a very different looking Sprite, he dished out two bowls and walked out with them.

She didn't make a sound, she didn't leave any trace. But he would always be able to feel that pull to her.

The door swished open for him, sensing its users presence. Perhaps it was kind of her to not lock him out of his old room. "Feeling nostalgic?"

"These are my quarters."

He smiled, walking in cautiously and placing down the two stew bowls. No matter her reluctance to be with him now, it still warmed his heart that his room had brought her more comfort than her own. She always did sleep better in here with him.

Or maybe all she had done was come in here and mourn him.

Gilgamesh frowned at her, sitting rigid and folded around herself on his bed. Her legs were crossed, her arms folded, just staring at the far wall. "Thena."

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk?"

"Anything else?"

He supposed he should be grateful to get this much out of her. If his Thena truly didn't want to talk, not a force in the universe could pry those perfect lips open.

Thena looked up at him as he pushed the bowl of stew into her line of sight. Unstoppable force met immovable object, and finally, she accepted it from it.

Gilgamesh sat down beside her, giving her enough space not to feel imposed upon. They took slow bites, listening to their breathing, their chewing, the clink of the spoons in the bowls.

Thena stirred hers around, taking it in as she swallowed.

He looked at her. "Is it how you remember?"

She didn't bother answering him.

Maybe questions about her memory weren't the best ice breaker. He shifted on the bed and cleared his throat. "It is a little different from our recipe at home."

At home; the words made her flinch, as if he'd lashed out and cut her.

He was slow and gentle, though, like the first times he'd had to lure her out of her room after an episode. "Can you tell what's different?"

She looked at him, finally, if only to express her annoyance. But she looked at her bowl again, her lips pursing faintly as she moved her tongue around in her mouth. "It's missing...something."

He was honestly impressed she could tell that much. "What have you been eating?--while I've...been away?"

That was a risky question to ask, but it would have to be asked sooner or later. Thena took her time answering, which was just fine with him. "Druig would make food."

But had she eaten it, was the question. It wasn't as if she could starve, and all she would need was a bite here or there to keep herself going. But it always made him sad to think of her letting herself go without the simple comforts of food for that long.

Gil set his half empty bowl aside, angling himself more toward her. "I'll give you a hint. It's-"

"Mushroom."

"Okay," Gil nodded as Thena stopped his little game dead in its tracks. She took another bite, though. "You've gotten better at that."

"You don't have bay leaf here on the ship so you used mushroom to make it more savoury," Thena murmured as if on autopilot. Another bite.

"I guess you would know if it was any different."

"It's his recipe."

"It's my recipe."

Her eyes shot to him, smooth and swift and lethal, just like the rest of her. He didn't startle from it, letting her eye him with annoyance and disdain and poorly veiled hope. Those eyes always told him everything he needed to know, whether she liked it or not.

"It's my recipe," he repeated softly. She let him pull the bowl away from her, his hands lingering against hers. If she didn't want him to, she could push him away. She could snap even his bones if she really wanted to.

He had never used his Cosmic Energy against her outside of an attack, and he never, ever would.

"Everything else was the same," he began, her hands - slim and light and delicate - resting in his.

"Beef, onion, carrot, flour, broth," Thena listed off, her eyes horrifically distant as she watched the process of it being made in her memory.

Gilgamesh chuckled, moving their hands slowly. She watched him do it, letting him slide their fingers together until his palm could meet hers. "What's the first ingredient?"

Her eyes hardened. She was fighting so hard to protect herself.

Just this once, he wouldn't let her. "What's the first ingredient of everything I make for you?"

"Love."

Gil reached forward, brushing away the deluge of tears suddenly flowing from those stunning eyes. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I've been gone for too long."

Any time would be too long apart from her.

"It's you," she whispered, every fibre of her being fighting not to come unwoven permanently.

"It's me," he promised, understanding of what she needed from him. He brought her palm up to his cheek. "I'm here."

She shook from head to toe, looking at him as if they were in that forest again--as if he had a hole in his neck and was breathing his last breaths. "I see this sometimes. And it's not real."

How cruel. How wretched and unfair Arishem was to make his beautiful Thena endure that. He turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand, "I'm real."

She shook her head again, even as she both pulled him closer and moved closer herself. "No."

"I'm real," he whispered as she climbed into his arms, the way she would at home. The way she would in Australia, wounds on both of them, her dress tattered and trailing behind her. She would settle herself into the safety of his arms and find there as much rest as she could.

"How do I know?" Whatever she had been through in his absence had shaken her to her core. He could ask her about it later, slowly, a little bit at a time. Or never, if she truly didn't want to tell him.

He tightened his hold on her, resting his cheek against her hair. "You'll just have to trust me."

She had nothing to say to that, at least not yet. But she remained in his embrace. She pressed her face into the side of his neck, feeling the pulse of his blood in his veins. "Gil?"

How he had longed to hear that. That one little sound, from her soft little voice. Just for him. "Hm?"

The rumble of his chest against her helped her unwind a little. His hand pressed flat over her back, offering warmth and the promise of his support. It helped her anchor herself to him.

In Australia, if she woke in the night, she would call to him like that. To check if he was there, if he was awake, if he was safe--if he was real. Any number of things. And he liked to believe that even in the depths of sleep, he would respond that same way.

Thena buried her face in his chest, undoing his vest and slipping her hands around him. The closer her hands could be the more sure she could be that he was within her reach.

He would combine the rest of their bowls later, make sure she got enough food in her. But for now, she needed this. He did too, to a degree. He would always need his Thena, and she needed time with just him like she needed air in her lungs.

"The others?"

"Who cares," he chuckled, lying back on the bed with her in his arms. The little pearls in her ears touched her cheeks, and her cardigan was soft to the touch. But this was undeniably what he had been missing in that state of suspended animation from which they had woken him.

[stellerssong]

ok sorry the OTHER thing about lucienne is like. as previously stated she is dream's handpicked emissary from the waking world to the dreaming she's the diplomat in chief she's the translator she's the bridge. because the dreaming is, in a very real way, dream's own psyche, this is tantamount to giving lucienne a tremendous degree of access to his interiority and by transitive property also tantamount to entering into a deeply emotionally intimate relationship with her (unimportant for the purposes of this post whether that relationship is platonic or romantic).

now, in general, looking at the pattern of dream's close emotional relationships—dream doesn't share himself with people as a rule (beyond the access that all things that live have to the dreaming; but i'm talking about his self here, the one he doesn't like to acknowledge he even has), but when he does share with people, it's with people who have some shadow on the soul, so to speak. just looking at attested relationships in show canon, his deepest emotional connection seems to be with death, who embodies the duality of light and dark even better than he does himself. calliope is the muse of epic poetry—heroism and tragedy—and also bears the sort of divine pride that led her to cut dream off for hundreds or thousands of years when he wronged her. the less said about that other guy, the better, but he's no sunshine-rainbows-unicorns type—he's a soldier of fortune, a bandit and a killer, a man who profits from the sale of human life. even best bird matthew, in comix canon, had a sordid past that will maybe be partially retconned for the show but has still been gestured at.

dream likes the complicated ones. he's drawn to them. they speak to something in him that he won't acknowledge in himself (he has to be Whole, fully integrated, without reservation, because he is the king and he is the dreaming and if the dreaming ain't whole then the universe is in trouble—but he feels that ache nonetheless).

all that is to say: when people try to portray lucienne as dream's Designated Well-Adjusted Neurotypical Friend, i begin to harm and maim.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

cw rape but im listening to sic transit gloria by brand new and like,,,,fic idea

[quietwingsinthesky]

leviathan!charlie also takes care of the weird plothole about her going from “hunting & hunters are scary and dangerous wtf get away from me” to “oh wow murdering people is soooo fun, guys!!! i just wish it was more magical!!!” because in this scenario it is not her going into hunting and somehow being in complete denial of the bloody reality of it, but her actually regressing to more violent tendencies in order to keep in contact with the Winchesters, who are basically the only friends she has.

leviathan!charlie who teamed up with them to take down dick specifically so that she would not have to act like she did in purgatory and could find a new life, but inevitably being drawn into the black hole of hunting/winchester-related violence. leviathan!charlie who sets out like vampires can to feed on animals…. and the occasional asshole, but that one shaky spot on her moral ground gives her room to backslide into seeing the monsters she hunts as just more assholes to eat (regardless of the fact that they are her!!! she’s a monster too! she just got lucky siding with sam and dean first!) leviathan!charlie who tries to hold onto the humanity she painstakingly taught herself, but the longer she’s around the winchesters, the harder it is to be anything but a monster.

[anthromimicry]

oh, but imagining the potential for warmth and also perhaps some humor in the scenario that misao decides she wants to try to cook something for someone she loves while they're over is currently making my heart happy. like i'm not going to lie — misao has honestly not cooked a day in her life since she just simply never had the need to, being a jorōgumo and all, but she would want to at least try to show she cares for them by attempting to cook their favorite dish or something whenever they're over at her home. and this would still apply to her even if she ended up completely failing at it at first because one of misao's love languages is acts of service. thus, of course she would want to provide them with something as integral as food. but GAHHH, picturing it from misao's loved ones perspective is also equally as sweet to me, because them guiding her on what to do while reassuring her that it's okay? and them eventually just deciding to cook together because misao may or may not get overwhelmed by the fact that she has such little knowledge about what to do because she wants everything to be perfect is... idk. it can be either incredibly romantic, or make for a very wholesome platonic moment between her and another character, which i LOVE

[lexa-griffins]

How does Clarke support Lexa when she's on her period?

She goes completely taking care of her baby mode. Because, Lexa isnt the type to complain even when her cramps are killing her, Clarke knows she has to be the one to offer certain things or Lexa will try to brave the cramps with nothing. The hot water bottle always being switched just before it gets cold, the pain killers that Lexa says she doesn't need but that Clarke convinces her to take because she looks so miserable and if she wont take them for herself then at least she can take them for Clarke who hates to see her in pain. Clarke brings her tea and snacks and convinces Lexa to actually get some food in her stomach since Lexa cant even think to eat when she's in this much pain.

But mostly Clarke cuddles with her, not giving much of a shit if Lexa gets the sheets stained. She lets her sleep most of the day curled to her side and by the end of the day when Lexa conplains about feeling gross, she'll carry her to the shower and be there with her even if she hates how fucking hot Lexa likes her showers because because she knows they help with her cramps.

And because sometimes Lexa is just horny at the end of the night despite the cramps that are still there, Clarke will make sure to give her at least one orgasm and no, she doesnt care about the blood even if Lexa does and makes her feel a little embarrassed its nice to be treated so much like a princess when she feels gross and bloated and in pain.

[todayisafridaynight]

Underrated Sibling Moment is actually mitsu being like ‘i dont want to go back to the captain alone are you insane’ after ichi fumbles the loan collection and ichi has to ditch him for a few hours and mitsu can only kill time and Not think of The Inevitable until they can go back to sawashiro together as if that’ll save them from The Inevitable like if you get it You Get How Real That Was

[tvrningout-a]

which deadly sin are you?

envy

your jealousy manifests itself by making you feel inadequate. you think you need people to like you to be successful. you'll change every aspect of yourself if it means that you'll get an ounce of praise. sometimes it's hard to see where the persona ends and where the real you begins. you shouldn't be too hard on yourself because the real you is amazing.

[aesrot]

my mom bringing up the possibility of autism bc her coworker said her sensory issues are a symptom. that made me so happy

[trollbreak]

Man I put on shuffle for eiteth brain and got yarrow angst instead. Hewwo??

[feluka]

tlovm season 2 episodes 3 and 4

[vampacidic]

i need to replay blue reflection second light

[bisexualbuckleyy]

no show has ever done character arcs better than ted lasso and that is a fact

[deadsetobsessions]

He could overlook a lot of things, but this was getting ridiculous. You’d think seasoned vigilantes would have better excuses prepared, but Danny had caught that flash of panic that crossed Tim’s face as Danny came face to face with Tim dragging an unconscious Steph to her designated room in the manor.

“Uh.”

“Danny! Uh, Stephanie brained herself- uh, sliding down the bannisters and- pleasedon’ttellBruce.”

Danny blinks, staring at Tim and then very pointedly, very slowly, turned his head back towards the direction he came from: the main hall… where the bannisters were. He wonders what vigilante hijinks they were trying to hide from B this time.

Tim coughs, trying to inch Stephanie away. “Uh. She was doing… cartwheels?”

Danny let his eyes slowly take in the bruises that were clearly not from “cartwheeling in the mansion” on the both of them. There’s a huge bandaged cut on Steph’s forearm and a giant bruise on the edge of Tim’s jaw. Tim’s face twitches nervously, not that anyone else would have noticed- except Danny has enhanced ghost senses and could feel the panic coming off of his adopted brother.

“You know…” Shit, what does he do? Not knowing would be so much easier if these idiots gave him good excuses! “I don’t think I want to know what you two have been up to… but should I be worried for your, uh, physical health?”

“Nope!”

“… Okay.” He says. Tim opens his mouth to make further excuses but Danny adds quickly, “But don’t tell me, because if Bruce asks, I want plausible deniability.”

Cartwheels, Danny’s ghostly ass. Luckily, this show of doubt reaffirms Tim’s belief that Danny believes them all of the other times. Danny grins inwardly, planning capitalizing on the guilt that flashed over Tim’s face.

“Deal.”

“Want help?” The halfa points at Steph, who’s still being dragged over the carpet by a noodle armed Tim. Danny knows Tim’s strong, he’s a vigilante, but it’s funny watching him pretend to struggle.

“Please. I’m so tired right now.” He looks it too. Danny’s brows furrow with genuine concern when he takes in Tim’s drowned raccoon look. He picks up Steph, firmly removing her from Tim’s suddenly weak grip. Being careful to avoid her injuries, Danny nods at the door to her room. Tim cracks it open and does a little showy gesture towards the inside.

“C’mon, we’ll tuck her in and then I’ll tuck you in.”

“What, you don’t have to do that.”

“If you don’t let me tuck you in and make sure you sleep, I’ll tell Alfred who really accidentally poured boiling hot coffee on his azaleas last week. And I’ll sic Dick on you and tell him you haven’t been sleeping enough.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Tim grumbles. “But fine. It’s really not my fault I’m this tired. A missing spleen is hard to handle, you know.”

“Yeah, missing an organ sucks,” Danny says, shit eating grin hidden long enough to catch the contemplative bloodhound look that passes over Tim’s face.

“Which- uh, which one of your organs is missing?”

“Liver.” Danny says, remembering the flashes of pain. He tilts his head away to hide the grin at Tim’s panicked face.

When he tucks Tim in, he pretends to believe Tim’s sleeping act and left his room while mumbling about the Wayne’s clumsiness and bruises and stocking up on bruise cream. He couldn’t even enjoy Tim’s floundering, this time, worried as he is.

——

“Brother.” Danny half turns his head, just to beam a sunny smile at Cass. He signs an exuberant hello. The halfa hangs up his coat as he addresses his adopted sister.

“Cass! What’s up?”

“Dinner.” She smiles back, signing that Alfred wanted them to the dinning room post haste. The main dining room, because rich people were fruit loops and Batman is totally included. Cassandra looks down and gasps.

What…?

Oh. Fuck. Danny glances down. He genuinely forgot about that.

“Huh.”

“Okay?” Suddenly, Cass is right next to him, hand reached out and hovering over the actual knife Danny forgot was sticking out of him. At least it’s where his liver should be, so he won’t have to pretend.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m good. Don’t have a liver.” Danny decides on the spot that he’s not gonna mess with Cass. She smiled the same as him. “Got mugged on the way back but I think they said I could keep the knife, right?”

“Danny.” She’s frowning at him. He feels like he just kicked tiny Cujo. But he doesn’t feel bad enough to blurt everything out.

“Here. You can have it if you want?” Danny casually pulls out the knife and holds the wound together with his bare hands. Cass looks more alarmed. She bodily picks up Danny and starts running.

“Woah!”

Cass throws him at Alfred, gently.

“Miss Cassandra! Why, I never-!” Alfred pauses in surprise.

“Uh. Wow, Cass. You’re really strong.” Danny pipes up, hand still over his gushing wound.

She ignores him, pointing at Danny and telling Alfred, “Hurt. Got mugged. Dumb.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Gothamites are ready to jump people at any moment. Besides, it’s daytime. It’s not like the vigilante furries are out to save my butt. I think I did really well coming back safe, you know?”

“Hurt. Forgot the knife. Was in him.”

“Master Danny!”

Danny pouts. He also knows there’s a discreet camera in the corners of the sitting room, so he’s definitely hoping he could phase into the cave when Barbara eventually tells the group that he called them “vigilante furries.”

Alfred clucks his tongue and set to work patching him up. Danny tries not to bask in the careful way Alfred tended to his wounds. It reminds him too much of Jazz, if Jazz was British and a man with greying hair.

But because they were watching him and he was watching them in return, Danny noticed the moment Alfred’s hands stalled and Cass’ gaze got intense. What now…?

Oh, fuck, his vivisection scar. Oops. Danny smiled, channeling Dani (his lovely clone sister) at her most innocent.

Cass smiled back, just as sunnily, fists tightening at her side in repressed fury.

——

“Cass? Why’d you call us?”

“Yeah, baby bat. I got a couple o’ smugglers to talk to.”

Cass paces.

“What is it, Cassandra?” Damian tuts impatiently.

“Danny. Has… scars. Autopsy. But was struggling. When cut.”

“What.”

“A vivisection, Master Jason.” Alfred’s voice was crisp and eerily cold. His hands are folded, rage only held back by his sheer will and a well practiced sense of propriety.

“We find. Who hurt him,” Cass snarls. “We. End.”

Jason’s eyes glint green, hands going to his guns. “Fine. By. Me.”

“It does tie in with the dead comment. I wonder what happened to him.” Tim clacks away at the bat computer, furiously looking into the matter already. Bruce has taken to prowling, stressed out at the prospect of one more of his children- not a vigilante at that- getting hurt the way Jason had. Worse, even. A vivisection. He was alive, dissected. Aware enough to struggle. Dick looked like he was torn about hunting down and lunging at whoever hurt Danny to rip their throats out with his bare teeth versus the urge to go back up to the manor and wrap Danny in bubble wrap.

In the corner, Danny was having a quiet breakdown because he came here to watch them react to vigilante furries, not offering to murder the people who vivisected him. What the fuck?? He ran his hands through his hair, invisible.

——

“Oh, by the way, we should consider more daytime shifts.”

“Why?” Spoiler asks Barbara.

“Danny got mugged. And called us the nightly furries.”

“The fuckin’ what-?” Jason chokes out, laughing. Bruce stops his pacing, body language becoming slightly offended.

Danny muffles a laugh only Alfred would have heard.

[hor3nee]

• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

   Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

[byakugoseal]

tag dump: broken & updated tags part ii