#who should wear pearl stone ring | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

storiesoflilies · 1 month

Text

moments in twilight

synopsis: oh, innocent child of blood and bones. you cry as if your heart bleeds fire. has nobody ever taught you to burn them all first? w.c: 13k.

pairing: heianera!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, major character death. mentions of cannibalism, violence, and slight gore. ANGST! sfw, but mdni!

a/n: this was requested by this enthusiastic nonie! i hope you enjoy this and that it’s everything you wanted <3 a massive shout to @spookuna for being my biggest supporter and cheerleader, because i genuinely couldn’t have done this without her!

divider / art / ao3 / @ficsforgaza

the first sight of her fate didn’t seem real, like something out of a dream.

she couldn’t understand what – or who – she was looking at.

perhaps it was a fully materialized specter born somewhere from the deepest recesses of her imagination, unknown even to herself. it certainly seemed that way to her; she was only six and knew nothing of the horrors of the world, except for those that came to life in scary stories.

her ghost was digging feverishly into the earth, its fingers curled like claws, like it was searching for something. it was a dirty, scrawny little thing, wearing no clothes except for a soiled fundoshi that looked as if it was strung together by luck and willpower. every so often, it would pull something stringy and limp into its mouth, devouring it rabidly, though she couldn’t make out what it was.

why would her imagination come up with something so… awful?

it wasn’t a pretty, or kind looking ghost to be sure, and she scratched her arms as an uncomfortable itch settled into her skin.

the specter paused, like a fawn that had been discovered.

and turned.

no… it was a wolf, but it was really just a boy.

a boy that stared at her with a basin full of blood in his eyes. a garden that should have been filled with a gorgeous array of ruby roses, was instead full of violence and malice, of death and root rot. this was not a normal, or happy, sort of boy like the boisterous ones in her village.

she still thought she was dreaming, still believed the boy was just a ghost.

because what else could he be? real boys didn’t have a second pair of small eyes beneath their normal ones. even if his were closed, his two pale lids shut tightly like an oyster.

would there be precious little red, red, red pearls underneath them?

a gentle gust of wind swept through the trees, ruffling the boys matted locks of hair, and he vanished from her sight like a puff of dust.

surely now it was a dream.

real boys couldn’t just disappear.

until she felt all the air knocked out from her lungs as she crashed backwards into the earth, sharp fingernails digging into the soft skin of her forearms, and the boy’s crimson eyes were consuming her in his fire.

she knew then it wasn’t a dream, because dreams couldn’t hurt her like this.

she kicked and struggled, her ears ringing from the force of her head knocking into the ground, screaming until one of his dirty hands covered her mouth. she stilled immediately, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, and sliding down the apples of her cheeks.

“you can’t steal,” the boy hissed, his voice sharp and pointed like nails, and he shook her roughly as he repeated like a mantra. “can’t steal, can’t steal.”

she whimpered and nodded frantically, as sharp stones from the earth pierced her skin, adding to her misery. the boy licked his lips, a snake tasting the air with its forked tongue, and bent down closer to her ear.

“i’m hungry” he whispered, a dusting of glee coating his words like powdery snow. “i want to eat you.”

the sky was haunted with the last light of the sunset, like the cries of a mourning mother, swirling with hues of orange and purple. she wondered if she was going to become a ghost that could only existed in her own mother’s dreams.

for the first time in her meager existence, she felt her childish immortality slipping between her tiny fingers.

something uncomfortably hot and wet spread out from beneath her thighs.

the boy sniffed once, twice, with his nose upturned.

then he cried out angrily, his red eyes flashing in the twilight hour, and shoved her roughly into the ground before releasing his grip on her, recoiling defensively infront of his hole of dirt. she scrambled up ungracefully to her feet, her chest heaving, wincing as she tasted bitter soil and salty tears on her tongue.

“yucky! dirty, dirty!” the boy spat indignantly, hypocritically, as if he wasn’t more soiled than she was.

he was rolling in the dirt now, rubbing his face and body with it as if it were soap, as if the coarse earth could wash her touch away from him. she took two steps backwards from him, feeling an eerie charge of energy settling into the edge of the forest.

like the spark of a flame that could ignite into a wildfire.

she took another slow step back.

and then another.

and another.

until she turned and fled, like a squawking bird escaping the grasp of a hawk, her short legs crying out as she sprinted faster than she ever had in her life. she ran all the way from the edge of the forest, up the slight incline of the main pathway through her village, and finally crashed through the doorway of her home, startling her mother who was scrubbing away at dirtied clothes in a bucketful of soapy water.

her mother gasped loudly, alarm rising like a looming mountain, always there and ever present. “whatever happened to you? you’re all scratched.”

lie.

she wailed loudly, messy snot dribbling down her nose and chin and right onto her mother’s worn, muted robes. her mother shushed her gently, bundling her child into her arms and pressing comforting kisses to her forehead.

“what happened, my dearest love?” her mother repeated, whispering softly and soothingly.

lie.

she somehow knew that if she told the truth, it would only invite chaos and misery into her home.

“i p-played in the forest a-and falled,” she finally hiccuped, her bottom lip pouting and wobbling.

her mother cooed, wiping away her tears with a warm, rough thumb. “you fell? my sweet, you’ll be alright. oh, oh. why have you wet yourself?”

more mucus ran down from her nose, and she wiped it messily with her palm as she shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. she let her mother fuss over her, completely unresponsive as she dunked her tiny body into a wooden bucket, washing away the touch of the wolfish, snake boy.

until all that remained of him were the little scratches dotting her arms – rough and ridged, lines carved into the trunks of trees.

she thought of him all through the night, even when her mother had tucked her into bed and tenderly kissed her brow. everything was unknown to her now, nothing was certain. was he actually like an animal, capable of following her scent and finding her here?

would he gorge on her until all that was left of her was red, red, red?

༺ ✤ ༻

the boy had taken over her life – he was everywhere, in everything.

haunting her.

taunting her.

filling her mind with paranoia and warped visions of his red eyes staring at her, always. she saw him in between the boards of the walls and floor, and in every bite of food she took. the wispy tendrils of his hands possessed hers, eating right alongside her. he was in the blood of her scrapes, which always seemed to reopen whenever she bathed, and in her tears as she whimpered quietly, unable to sleep as she hid beneath her blanket.

as if that could save her from him.

it was in the boy’s nature to haunt her with his hunt, to frighten and consume her every thought.

she couldn’t expect anything less than that; it was who he was.

she’d seen it in his eyes, a peephole into the true nature of his soul, and it was full of violence and cruelty and…

sadness.

… and beauty.

he was really just a sad, beautiful little boy.

a boy just as old as she was. a boy who had somehow been put on a path of loneliness, without light, kindness, or love.

it had to be some sort of twisted fascination she harbored for the boy, the same way she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blood trickling from his scratches, or stop listening to the stories of ghosts and monsters in the night.

maybe it was his strange power that was possessing her, gripping her like quicksand and sucking her further and further down into his madness.

yes, that had to be it.

because why else would she be heading straight towards the edge of the forest, to him?

she tightly grasped a small bowl of rice and vegetables between her little hands, swiped from her own dinner right beneath her mother’s nose. it had long since cold, and she hoped the ghost wouldn’t mind. it was an offering, a desperate plea to break free from his curse that haunted her.

snap!

snap! crackle, snap!

a few twigs snapped loudly beneath her feet – a damning announcement.

she froze, nearly dropping her bowl, breathing quick and shallow puffs of air.

snap!

another one, this time from behind her.

she whirled around, and there he was.

the boy stood beside a thick tree trunk, his head cocked to the side and his eyes widened into full crimson moons. he was even more disheveled than he was a week ago, with mud caked to his skin and hair like dried, flaky clay. his ribs were more prominent too, scarily so, and his cheeks were gaunt like a skeletons.

he was weak.

far too weak, she realized.

she immediately extended her arms out, the bowl teetering on the edge of her fingertips, and breathlessly said, “yours.”

the boy grunted, “huh?”

snap! snap! crackle!

he’d taken a few steps forward, carefully, ever so fearfully.

she squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head up towards the twilight sky, her heart beating against her ribcage as if trying to escape, and tried more clearly, “food, for you.”

he was in front of her in a flash, his breath brushing over her cheeks. she cracked open an eye to peek at him, watching as he eyed the bowl with suspicion, sniffing loudly. he gagged offensively when his nose wandered too close to a vegetable, his tongue stretching far out from his mouth.

she half thought he was going to smack the bowl to the ground and lunge for her instead.

he’s going to eat me.

until he snatched it from her instead, retreating back behind the tree trunk.

she blinked, her lashes butterfly wings fluttering in a breeze.

there were the sounds of scoffing, rabid breathing and snuffling noises, and then nothing at all.

hiccup!

had he finished all of it already?

the boy’s face peeked out from behind the trunk, peering at her owlishly.

“why you back?” he asked simply, a touch of softness in his voice, the edge of a knife chipped and dulled.

she shrugged her shoulders. “you’re hungry.”

“but, what if i eat you?”

“tomorrow i’ll give you more, then you can’t eat me.”

he fully revealed himself, crouched low to the earth like a cat, staring up at her with his pupils blown. “you promise?”

she gulped. “i promise.”

“if you don’t, then i eat you!” he exclaimed, lips pulled back over his fangs in a threatening snarl, his hackles raised and shaking.

oddly, she didn’t feel afraid.

the ghost didn’t have the same malice as before; she could see his vulnerability in the way his fingers trembled. she felt it travel through the mountain air, settling onto her skin like a layer of dust. it wriggled like maggots, burrowing into her flesh and making her skin crawl.

her chest constricted painfully.

she felt so unbelievably and overwhelmingly sorry for him.

the boy scrunched his nose. “why’r you sad?”

“i’m not!” she replied quickly, a touch indignantly. she knew he would probably get angry if he knew how much she pitied him.

it was silent for quite some time as he stared at her, and she fidgeted in her spot. she knew she had to let him do this, to stay perfectly still like a rabbit in the reeds, as the wolf made its mind up whether it was hungry or not.

it seemed to work.

the boy huffed and collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap, his legs splayed out before him as he seemingly ignored her – a begrudging acceptance of her existing in his space.

she lowered herself to his level, the ground scraping beneath her legs, while maintaining that somewhat safe distance between them. her hands began to search for and pick up various rocks and twigs to play with, because she didn’t know what else to do to pass the time. the boy had his head held to the side, a shade of confusion painted over his cheeks as he clocked onto her every move.

she pretended he wasn’t there, ignoring the rising wave of bitter panic in her throat, and the fact that he was slowly inching closer to her, crawling to her like a prowling panther.

he sat beside her now, clearly observing how she sat with her legs crossed, then glanced towards his own legs kneeling into the dirt. she never stopped playing, pretending to be in her own world, watching from the corner of her eyes as the boy moved his body to mimic her posture and sitting position.

a giggle threatened to bubble out from between her lips.

the boy picked up a twig from her small pile, then retracted, looking at her with wonderful apprehension.

she gave him her full attention. “you can play too.”

another head tilt, and his pink lips curved downwards.

“…play?”

oh.

“have you never played before?”

“no, show me.”

and she did, without knowing how to really explain it. she told stories of how the twigs could be birds soaring between the gaps in the clouds, or the rocks could be fish darting in between the strands of a kelp forest. all the while, the boy was transfixed, and she began to really understand him for what he truly was.

scared and lonely, with an insatiable curiosity for new things – especially for her.

she only hoped she could live up to it.

༺ ✤ ༻

she discovered the boy’s name a fortnight later.

ryomen sukuna.

a strange sensation ran down her spine when she heard it for the first time, like a delicate lash from a whip made of fire.

she decided to ignore it.

they played together everyday since then, against the deep backdrop of the forest, and always during the duskiness of twilight. she would still sneak him scraps of whatever food she could spare, feeling guilty as her mother, who was none the wiser, always praised her for finishing her meals. her father would raise a questioning brow at her whenever she asked to play so late in the day, chiding her for being reckless, even if she passionately justified – albeit, borderline erraticly – that her imaginary friend would be very lonely without her.

“but why now? why can’t you play during the day with your… friend?”

“because he only comes out when the sun goes down.”

maybe sukuna really was a ghost.

she liked to hold onto that superstition. it made her lies a little less white, because he definitely wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

but it was still a lie, a pearlescent river of alabaster, and it had continued to flow strong for three years now.

she was nine years old, and during their time together, sukuna had only revealed glimpses of himself in little tidbits. it was like a sweet bite of plum on a hot summer’s day, satiating her for a time, but always leaving her hungry for more.

“where do you sleep?”

“i dig a big hole, you wanna see?”

“why do you only come after the sun?”

“i’m here all the time, you just don’t see me.”

but sometimes.

just sometimes, and only if she timed her questions right.

then sukuna would indulge her in just a little more.

“why are your eyes red?”

ryomen paused, a wickedly sharpened two-pronged stick in his hand, and shrugged nonchalantly. “i was hungry in my mother’s tummy, so i ate my brother.”

(there was a great clap of thunder somewhere far away, and the great sinful cut of the world bled just a little more.)

they were quiet for a long time after that.

he’d resumed stabbing the earth with his wooden weapon, completely unperturbed.

as if what he’d said was the most normal thing, like it was as easy as drinking the rain that fell from the pine leaves.

sukuna often said twisted things – things that reminded her of who she was really dealing with. although he had somewhat softened around her, he was still as wild and unforgiving as the mountainside he lived on.

she could never ever show him that it put her on edge.

still, much to her own shock, she was growing used to the depravity.

not that sukuna was always wicked, no. he would always ask her things, and she’d try to assume an air like her mother, knowledgeable and benevolent, as she guided him. when he wanted to know how she ate without using her hands, she took a pair of chopsticks from her kitchen and showed him how to use them. he’d sniff her hair, alarmingly too close, and asked how it was so much softer than his.

so one evening, she took him to the river where some of the villagers bathed during the day, and taught him how to wash himself.

“show me,” he’d ordered, his characteristic head tilt an open book of confusion.

he was more perplexed when she became flustered and refused to do it.

the ensuing conversation, in which she explained why she couldn’t just do that, was extremely awkward to say the least.

but she was even more surprised the next day when she came to play, and he was awkwardly standing there, his cheeks as pink as the once-hidden peaches in his hair. she’d stopped straight in her tracks, almost not recognizing her ghost without all the grime and dirt covering him.

he’s so beautiful…

ryomen blinked slowly, catlike, staring at his unusually clean feet with something akin to bashfulness. “what?”

“nothing,” she smiled, gentle like the summer rain that had just started to fall. “let’s play.”

༺ ✤ ༻

it was autumn now.

the leaves of the maple trees had turned into molten gold and burnt orange peels, and the remaining blooms had already died out petal by petal. there was a chill bite in the air, a promise of snow and piercing cold to come. she hated when the weather was like this, she worried about sukuna living in the wild in such conditions, and it only made it harder to go out and play with him in the evenings.

he, however, enjoyed it whenever the weather turned cold – it soothed the fire in his blood.

or so he said.

sukuna was lying down beside her, saccharine on the grass whilst looking up at the sky. he was wearing some washed-out linen clothes, a size too big, that she had managed to steal one day from the village boys bathing in the river. the deep plum wine in the skies mixed with the blood in his eyes – all four of them – the two colors swirling and teasingly touching each other.

two nights ago, the wind had been howling like wolves, screaming of murder and spilled blood in the darkness. there had been a strange heaviness in the air, a sort of static, like lighting biding its time to strike.

when she saw sukuna the next morning, he had a proud grin on his face, his teeth and mouth speckled with blood. all his eyes were wide open, staring at her as if to say ‘look at us, look at us!’

she knew that he had committed some sort of depravity in the night to have earned the transformation.

but he never told her.

perhaps she was never meant to know.

they were always alert, darting between everything and anything that moved even in the slightest – from the leaves rustling high up a tree, to the birds soaring high up in the sky, and to the blades of grass tickled by the wind.

and her.

one always rested on her.

“ryo,” she started, ripping fistfuls of grass. “do you like to play in the snow?”

the eye fixed on her rolled in annoyance. “no, and stop calling me that,” he huffed.

she rolled her eyes, blowing a hot-pink raspberry at him. “yes you do, liar! i know you do.”

she knew that sukuna loved to be teased, but only when he was carefree and relaxed. during moments like now, with the ghost of the permanent scowl sewn into his features unraveled into wispy threads of gold. he was seriously mulling over what she had just said, something she knew he also enjoyed – untangling mysteries and puzzles in his mind, a satisfied gleam in his eyes when he finally figured them out.

“i don’t… like anything.”

she stilled.

a blade of grass fell from her grip, and she gnawed on her bottom lip.

why did she feel so embarrassed?

he wasn’t really referring to her at all – and yet, it all felt so personal.

“okay,” was all she could muster weakly, barely a whisper, resuming her onslaught on the grass like nothing mattered at all.

maybe none of it ever did.

sukuna turned his head and stared at her strangely, but said nothing.

thwack!

he was grinning wildly now. “let me chase you.”

she wiped away the raindrops that had splattered onto her cheek, a slight sting on her thigh from his smack. “i don’t wanna play.”

“but… you like this game,” sukuna frowned, head tilted, rolling over with his elbows digging into the grass. “why not?”

“i jus-ow! stop hitting me!”

“start running then.”

so she did, quite begrudgingly.

her footsteps crackled loudly against the forest floor, as the dark grey clouds darkened even more and the rain fell faster, and the sun dipped further behind a neighboring mountain. sukuna was hot on her trail, and she knew how easily he could catch up to her in an instant, but he never did. it was as if he switched off whatever made him less human during their games. maybe it was to give her a fighting chance, or perhaps it was entertaining to him to know he could always win whenever he wanted to.

if she got to the village fast enough, she would win today.

she swung herself against a tree trunk to propel herself forward, imagining she was an agile deer leaping between the trees.

get to the village.

win.

run, you can wi-

her leg gave way beneath her, sliding up in an arc as she slipped backward. her head hit the ground, and stars and minuscule black moons danced in her eyes amidst the silver clouds.

sukuna appeared above her, his face upside down, all of his eyes on her with what looked something like panic in his irises. it made her heart skip a beat, followed by a swarming terror of bats and a throbbing swell of pain in her left ankle.

and then… sheer, crippling embarrassment.

she started to wail loudly.

big salty droplets squeezed out from her tearducts, running to her temples and mixing with the rain in the dirt. sukuna's face contorted painfully, his mouth pulled into a grimace, his eyes darting over her like a hummingbird flitting between flowers.

"s-stop doing that," he tried to order harshly, but was cruelly betrayed by the shaky wobbling his lip.

snot messily dribbled down her nose as her ankle started to throb more intensely. "it h-hurts!"

"stop crying!" sukuna exclaimed, his fists clenched and shaking. "just stop."

she made the mistake of moving her leg, and cried out as fiery pain licked a smoldering trail straight up to her head. "ryo! please. make it stop, make it stop, make it stop."

his face fell, crumbling into pieces. with a tenderness she had never known, and the sleeves of his shirt falling over his hands, sukuna gently held the sides of her face.

she stilled, a drop of crystal suspended in time.

he hushed her, soothingly. "it's okay. just... please. stop crying."

she sniffled, broken sobs stuttering out from her lips, until they fizzed out altogether. all the while, sukuna never let her go, their foreheads brushing against each other, his peach frizz blowing in the wind. oh, how she wished she could see his face. she wanted to know that he wasn't faking this level of care – of emotion – if nothing really mattered to him.

sukuna lifted his head, his blood eyes glossy and pained, and whispered, "does it still hurt?"

her bottom lip trembled dangerously and she nodded. sukuna sighed, his hands leaving her face and scrunching his hair.

"i-," he paused, nervous. "let me try something."

sukuna looked at her expectantly, eyes widened and pleading. she nodded again, not sure exactly what she was agreeing to, he moved slowly, cautiously, as if any sudden move would set off her pain again. all the while, his gaze was trained on her, settled and pooling on her already swelling ankle.

he breathed out shakily, placing a rough palm over her warm skin, and she whimpered as a piping hot sensation seeped through to her bone. it was nothing like pain, but it felt like sukuna. it was a strange feeling, like little bubbles popping on the skin he touched. she knew then what she was feeling – his power. sukuna was concentrating hard, little grunts escaping his lips every so often, his brow deeply furrowed into a valley of ridges.

the power rose, a tidal wave of fire and blood, and then collapsed into nothing.

he hissed in frustration, sharply pulling his hand back from her ankle, head bowed almost… shamefully.

it was quiet for a heartbeat longer before sukuna muttered, “i’m sorry, i can’t fix you. i’m not strong enough.”

her heart swelled, and she smiled weakly. “it’s okay, ryo.”

he looked up at the dark sky, mouth opening and closing as he chased his words and settled on, “its going to be night soon.”

she looked up too, watching the veil of the silver crescent moon lifting. “mhm.”

she sat up slowly, sukuna immediately turning to watch her. “i-i don’t think i can walk, ryo,” she mumbled. “how can i get home?”

“but… you can’t stay here.”

“i know.”

“the bears will hunt you.”

“ryo, i know!”

his head tilted and a spark lit in his eyes.

“i can carry you!” sukuna blurted out, his chest puffed out proudly. “i’ll bring you to where i sleep. it’s warm there, and then the bears can’t eat you because i’ll be there.”

“… you can fight a bear?”

“what do you think i eat now? i told you I didn’t need your stinky vegetables anymore!”

she blinked three times.

“okay, and then what?”

“and then… i can figure it out in the morning. i’ll keep trying to make you better when you sleep so you can go home.”

without hearing another word from her, sukuna swept her into his arms, eliciting a startled yelp from her. he settled into a brisk pace, taking them both much farther away from the village. the light darkened considerably this deep into the forest, the trees hugging each other so tightly that hardly any of the sun’s waning light could pierce between the leaves.

suddenly, he stopped.

sukuna hunched over, her cheek squishing against his chest, and gently placed her down into a cavernous burrow.

"you really weren't joking when you said you sleep in a hole," she half-heartedly joked, looking around.

he scoffed, crossing his legs and sitting beside her injured side, halfway turned towards the entrance to the burrow. "you don't like it?"

"i never said that! it's just... different."

"not all of us live in a nice home."

the air turned slightly sour, lemons tainting his softness, and they were completely silent. the sounds of the night became louder then; strange animal cries off in the distance, and the rain pelting down from outside, steady drip drip drip of droplets falling from the entrance. sukuna was right, his burrow was reasonably warm. almost, dare she say it, actually comfortable.

he was still beside her, a hand pressed lightly to her injury, his power ebbing and rushing forward like a wave against the shore. as the night grew longer, sukuna seemed to be getting more and more agitated, hissing lowly as he failed at every attempt to heal her. she couldn't sleep regardless of his noises; the enormity of the situation she was in was too jarring. what if a bear discovered their sanctuary? what would her parents be thinking right now? sukuna had to be hungry, as well tired from expending his power. could he really fight a bear if it came down to it?

"ryo?"

"go to sleep."

"but i-"

"shut up, or i'll let the bears eat you."

"ryo! i just wanted to ask you something."

he groaned in annoyance. "what then?"

"earlier, when you said you didn't like anything. did you mean it?"

"well... yes. i don't lie."

"oh, yeah. i know."

sukuna tilted his head, both left eyes rolling towards her. "why did you get sad when i said that?"

heat rose to her cheeks. "did not!"

"you did so! i felt you get sad! you’re getting sad again now"

she fidgeted uncomfortably. "because!"

"because?"

"because, because- ugh! because then that means you don't like me, okay? and that hurts my feelings.”

red eyes flashed in the dark. “why do you care if i like you?”

“because we’re-you… you’re my friend. of course i care if you like me.”

“but, what if i don’t care?”

her heart dropped, and a fresh tear prickled the corner of her eye. “you don’t?” she mumbled quietly, a drop in an ocean of naive, childish feelings.

sukuna’s face crumbled again, and he gripped her ankle just a fraction tighter. “no! i mean, yes! i do care.”

he bashfully looked away, mumbling under his breath before he said a bit louder, “i like you.”

she perked right up at that. “you do?”

“mhm.”

“you promise?”

a low grumble. “promise.”

༺ ✤ ༻

for five days and five nights, she was in another world.

a world where all the memories of her past were washed away by the swirling green of the deep forest. it was an almost cathartic experience, a transition from one plane of existence to the next – one drawn in dripping red ink, a solitary existence that belonged only to ryomen sukuna.

or, at least, it was easier to imagine it that way.

otherwise, the painful pangs of guilt would strike her violently whenever her thoughts strayed to her village and family. if she paused and closed her eyes, she could feel the steady thrum of her mother’s grief, like an earthquake reverberating across the distance between them. it was all too much for her young mind to bear.

and so, she willingly slipped through the doorway into a new reality, where it was just her and her crimson ghost.

during that time, she had learned how to read him.

his anger was a lashing snake hidden between the rocks – wickedly sharp and quick to strike her with venomous words. they would spread quickly though her blood, making her huddle into herself, perfectly still, like a mouse meeting its most unfortunate end.

fortunately for her, she was only bitten once, and the snake had only acted out of hunger, not genuine malice.

if sukuna’s anger had been real, she doubted she would have lived to see the next sunrise.

his apology came much later after he had returned from the hunt, a satiated tiger slow to act. the only acknowledgement of his remorse was a silent head pat with a bloody palm.

his fear was iron claws scratching against a rock, piercingly grating and scraping at the walls of her heart. if sukuna was fearful, she knew it by the way he stalked and paced outside the burrow, a whip strike away from pouncing on anything that moved even slightly out of the ordinary.

“there are more people in the forest,” sukuna would mutter darkly during those fearful fits. “they're shouting your name.”

“did they see you?”

he responded with nothing more than a pointed look.

but above all, it was his kindness that was most present.

she first noticed it in the way sukuna corrected himself around her, protecting her from certain aspects of his lifestyle. for instance, when she saw the blood on his hands after a kill, or saw how horrified she was when he offered her raw, dripping meat from a deer he had just killed. it was in the way he had immediately changed his ways – washing his hands after a hunt, and skinning and butchering his kills far from the burrow so she wouldn’t see a thing.

it was also in the way he pretended he wasn’t purposely foraging berries for her, dropping them onto her lap like he had just randomly stumbled across them. it was in his stubborn refusal to give up on healing her every night when he thought she was asleep, and in how he treated her like precious sugar glass – so very careful in how he handled her.

it shouldn’t have been so surprising to discover that ryomen sukuna was neither cruel nor mad.

he was still that lonely boy from all those years ago, still learning how to be kind while yearning and searching for love.

one day, she saw him play with fire between his fingertips as if it were nothing extraordinary.

she saw how the blood in his eyes came alive, like dancing waves of a turbulent red sea. when he looked at her, she didn't expect him to smile so gently as he started a small fire and cooked her meat for her.

after sukuna had shown her more of his power, the cracks in his soul seemed to split apart, and his fire teemed and spilled out uncontrollably. he finally began to open up to her, telling her things she had always wanted to discover, along refreshingly childish ramblings.

“you know, i actually didn’t mind eating your stinky vegetables. yeah.”

“deer aren’t actually that pretty, but watching them when they’re still is… relaxing?”

“yeah, i lied before. i do like playing in the snow, especially throwing it at you.”

but some of the worst things would also spill out – things she would have preferred to never know, because they were dark and cruel enough to change the way she viewed the world.

“i didn’t mean to eat my brother, but i was just really hungry in my mother’s tummy, and she wasn’t feeding us.”

“she called me a demon for what i did.”

“no, i don’t know know where she is now, and i don’t know about my father too.”

“i do… feel a bit bad about eating my brother, because he was hurting.”

there was a stretched, almost foreboding silence before sukuna finally asked the question that must have been on his mind since the day they met.

“are you afraid of me?”

the fire spit and fizzled, and she hissed as a spark danced dangerously close to her skin.

“no, ryo. you’re my best friend.”

“really?!”

“well, duh. you saved me.”

he shuffled ever so slightly closer, their arms just about to touch, and mumbled, “so did you.”

she really believed she could have stayed with sukuna forever.

but her new world was shattered on the morning of the sixth day, as if the cosmic rulings of the world had decreed that they'd both had enough of a good thing.

still, it was all her fault – it had to be.

she was the one who insisted that she was too cold, that the chill in the air was day beyond what she could tolerate. she felt the wet tears clinging to her lashes were about to freeze over, and sukuna could not stand to see her cry. so, despite his own warnings, he lit her a fire for her during the day and watched nervously as the smoke rose high above the trees.

it wasn't long before the hunters came.

they came silently, prowling and closing in on them both.

and sukuna knew it.

he was bristling defensively, his neck hairs rising, eyes closed, and head bowed in the direction of a bush that had rustled unnaturally. the hunters crept forward cautiously, eyeing the boy with barely concealed suspicion, while beckoning for her to come with them.

she stayed put, pretending she was a statue of ice that couldn’t understand a thing.

a hunter tightened his grip on his bow.

another nocked an arrow.

and sukuna opened his eyes.

chaos erupted, a whirlwind of metal and feathers and red, red, red.

the hunters charged forward, consumed by a fear they could not rationally explain – of demons and monsters possessing their hearts and minds. but sukuna was faster than all of them, disappearing in a flash, and reappearing to hurl a hunter against a tree.

the poor souls had no clue what they were up against.

she knew sukuna could – and would – kill them all.

"no! no! no!" she screamed, heaving and desperately clawing at her face. “please.”

somehow, he could understand her amidst the shouts and cries of anguish from the men who had come for her.

(he always did, he always would.)

the boy of blood and fire stilled, dropping his hands to his sides, and the wolves descended upon him instantly.

she screamed once more as a hunter seized her, dragging her away from the fray of madness. all the while, sukuna remained curled in a fetal position, all of his eyes locked on her retreating figure as he endured the the blows to his body with stoic silence.

only his eyes betrayed his pain.

༺ ✤ ༻

her heart was weak.

it could only beat with half its strength, as if it couldn’t be bothered to do what was expected of it.

when she was returned to the village, to the nearly suffocating embrace of her weeping mother, she was hailed as a miracle – a little girl who had somehow survived a demon. she was cherished and fussed over by the whole village, her family showered with gifts of millet and rice, plenty of dried boar to survive the winter, and stone amulets for protection against the evil that had touched them.

meanwhile, sukuna had escaped.

the hunters had said the demon vanished into the highest peaks of the mountains, where they could not follow. they bowed low and deep to her mother, their knees buckling as they vowed vengeance on the scourge of the mountain. but she knew it was all for show. they were completely terrified of him, too proud to admit it, and so the mere memory of sukuna was spat on and desecrated by the other villagers.

oh, if only they knew the truth of it all.

it took a fortnight for her heartstrings to stop aching from the pain of being ripped apart from sukuna, and even longer for her piercing wails to cease every night before she slept. her tears burned, tears of fire and salt, made from sukuna's precious blood that had dripped down his face as he was beaten.

all because of her.

her parents couldn't fathom her sheer anguish, perplexed and frightened by its intensity, and only able to explain it as the effect of a demon. all they could do was pray for her recovery, and the rest of the village did the same.

in the beginning, when she had exhausted all her energy from wailing and crying, she would peer into the darkness of the room. through the gaps in the walls of her home, she willed and prayed so fervently that she would one day see four red orbs peering back at her.

but twelve winters and summers came and went without sukuna, and she began to wonder if had all been just a dream. an elaborate tale of an imaginary friend her mind had tricked her into believing was real. a ghost that was never meant to be, one she ought to bury in the deepest recesses of her memories where he could finally rest.

but, oh, how lifeless her world was without him.

nobody could understand or see how the anguish swirled beneath her skin. she didn’t even have the words to describe it to herself anymore, other than she was not doing well at all and felt sick all the time.

how very isolating it all was.

she was fifteen now, and all her parents could talk to her about was marriage.

“you are a young lady now!” her mother would gush loudly, almost nagging. “one who survived a demon, and every man who passes through the village wants your hand.”

she tried not to think about it at all, but it loomed larger and larger over her head as the years passed, and she doubted she could remain as she was for much longer. in those moments, her thoughts would always stray to sukuna, and how if she could have married anybody, then it would have been him.

it was the only thing that felt right.

she tried not to dwell on that for too long.

but trying not thinking about ryomen sukuna was like telling the sky not to cry.

there were often tales from afar that the traveling merchants told the villagers as they stopped for respite and to sell their crafts – stories full of horrors and atrocities. entire villages, along with all their inhabitants, were found burnt to cinders or encased in a tomb of ice, with no rhyme or reason why, simply there one minute and gone the next. there were accounts of cries and calls from strange creatures in the night, born from suffering and pain. some spoke of certain people being able to wield magic, only to be found mangled and nearly destroyed by others of the same power.

she would think of sukuna after hearing those stories and wonder what kind of life he was living.

was he just as lonely as she was?

or was he happy indulging in the violence of his nature?

then, one fateful day, her father placed a hand on her head fondly and said, “tonight is your omiai, dearest. you will finally meet the man the nakodo has chosen as your husband.”

and that was that.

that night, she stared into the eyes of the man she was to marry.

they were kind, warm – so very plain. he spoke a little to her, mainly about how he could offer her a better life than what she had now. something more comfortable, with a better house, more food, and even kimonos made of silk.

it all sounded… safe.

reliable.

her family was happy she was marrying such a man, and assured her that they would come and visit her in her new home once she had settled in.

she didn’t care about that at all.

all she could think about was red, red, red, and how it felt like the ultimate betrayal.

she could do nothing but nod placidly at them all.

really, she should count her blessings that she was about the same age as her soon-to-be husband, and that he seemed likely to treat her with kindness and respect. maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that she would find some measure of fulfillment in her marriage.

she could learn to accept it all, even force herself to be happy.

even if a part of her could never be scrubbed clean from all the red.

the day before she left for her betrothed’s village, she went to the clearing in the forest where it all began. it was midday, the sun high in the air, and the sweet bite of winter kissed her cheeks as she stood there clutching the white silks that had been gifted to her.

“things are going to change for me,” she whispered to the trees that had long watched over her and sukuna, her head bowed low. "and i do not believe i will ever return here.”

desperation gripped her in a suffocating hold, hooking its claws deep into her spine. she wondered if there was a string that connected her to sukuna. a red-stained one, dripping in their blood. would he feel it wherever he was in the world if she pulled it hard enough?

if she tried, would he come for her?

(a gust of wind, a spark of flame, and a ripple of blood.)

she had realized some time ago what she had felt as a child.

but it was still a terrifying thing to admit to herself, even now, in this quiet corner of the world, that she had once been in love with ryomen sukuna.

it was best to bury it here with the trees.

tonight was the eve of her wedding, and all she wanted was to have just stayed there.

it was supposed to have been a night of solitary peace.

the last one she would ever have, with only the sound of the herbal bathwater rippling and the scent of yuzu in the air to keep her tethered to this world.

it had all been overturned in an instant.

the monsters came swiftly down from the mountainside in the night, slaughtering and tearing their way through every home in the village. the night was full of brutal screams, blood moons and snow falling from the weeping clouds. she could see them, but others weren’t so lucky. that brief look of terrified confusion was haunting – blood bubbling from their mouths as their throats were slashed by something they couldn’t see.

she stared at her fiancé, both of them trapped beneath a wooden beam, as his eyes, wide and lifeless, had not a single trace of the kindness they had once held. death had never been so close to her before, she could almost feel the cold kiss of its blade against her throat, beckoning her closer to the other side.

their assailant was a thin creature, broken and bent, with a feminine form. it licked the dripping blood of her betrothed from its wickedly sharp claws, unperturbed to the rest of the carnage unfolding around it.

“i miss you, i miss you,” it hissed in a low, screeching voice. “i love you, i miss you.”

the demon turned to her, eyeless, with only a mouth full of teeth and a thousand tongues, as if it could smell the life and heat fading from her blood. it crawled sideways towards her, its scraggly black hair brushing the ground in front of her face.

it paused, dipping its face down towards her, its reeking, snarling breaths close to her ear.

she screamed weakly as it sank its teeth into her shoulder.

soon, all our ghosts will dance together.

pale pink rose petals fluttered from the sky, falling along with the snow.

how beautiful is death?

“hmph, idiot.”

a flash of a thousand blades, and the world turned red and then black.

༺ ✤ ༻

it was the smell of incense that coaxed her back from the dreams of death.

honeyed rays of light danced behind her closed eyelids, their warmth caressing her brow and lips in golden life. when her eyes finally opened, she was convinced that she must have already been reborn. her body was wrapped in opulent silk sheets, delicately embroidered with intricate gold and silver flowers. a byobu depicting a blooming cherry blossom tree stood a few paces in front of the bed.

this was a bedroom of royalty, dripping with extravagance.

she felt as if she didn’t belong here.

but when she pinched the skin of her forearm, felt her legs moving and toes wriggling, and heard the sheets rustling loudly, she knew that this was all very real. all the blood that had been spilled was real, the kind man who would have given her a good life was truly dead, along with his entire village.

“you're awake then are you?”

she froze.

that voice.

it can't be.

so intimately familiar, yet it belonged to the strangest of strangers – deep as the oceans she had never seen, mysterious and smoky like the swirls of incense wafting through the room.

this was the voice of death.

she felt like she had heard it before, as if she should know who it belonged to.

because it was too beautiful to forget.

“sukuna?” she called out in disbelief, her voice fragile and trembling like leaves.

a low chuckle followed. “you still know me.”

oh my.

“h-how are you here? where have you – but y-you disappeared.”

the outline of shadow loomed large behind the byobu, and she gulped.

“i’ve been everywhere in this country. there’s nowhere i haven’t seen.”

it’s him, it’s really him.

sukuna hummed again, his figure swaying. she could make out the shadow of the bridge of his nose and his lips, as well as the elaborate layers of clothing he wore.

“do you remember what happened?” he finally asked after a prolonged silence.

she clenched her fists tightly. “yes.”

“good. and before you accuse me of it, i had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

“i-i wasn't going to.”

“how quaint. it’s rare that i’m not accused of causing wanton violence.”

she watched his shadow reach over and pour a liquid into a cup, followed by soft sipping noises as he drank from it.

“those... those things,” she began tepidly. “is that what you are?”

sukuna snorted. “no. i'm nothing like those low-grade cretins.” he sipped from his cup again. “although, it’s good that you can see curses. next time, you should run instead of just stand there.”

she was starting to remember him again.

she knew that he was nervous; it was evident in his sharp jibes toward her. sukuna always acted like this in unfamiliar situations, when he was unsure of how to act around her. so he would poke and prod because, at least, he understood pain and anger.

she chose to ignore it.

“i went back to the village,” he said, clearing his throat. “it hasn't changed much.”

a flash of terror struck her like lightning.

“but imagine my surprise when i discovered that something had actually changed,” sukuna’s voice had taken on a goading tone, and she could tell he wasn't pleased in the slightest. “you had left to go and get married, of all things.”

my family.

he scoffed, as if he sensed her shift in emotions. “oh, don't worry. your parents told me quite willingly. they were smart enough to know they couldn’t keep me from you.”

a trail of ice and fire ran down her spine.

oh, how much more dangerous have you really become, ryomen sukuna?

dread settled onto her bones like melted lead, and despite her better judgement, she sputtered out, "why now, after all this time?"

silence.

maybe he didn’t even know why.

sukuna's silhouette swayed back and forth behind the byobu, like beech trees high up the mountains, struggling to stay upright during a blizzard. like them, he was battling, but always against himself. his perpetual internal war against that small part inside of him that was human; full of his pain, fear, and kindness. sukuna’s cup was overflowing, even if he didn’t realize it, spilling and pouring everywhere – but she knew it.

she’d known it for the longest time.

“ryo,” her voice cracked like splintering glass. “answer me.”

he sighed, exasperated, “its been so long” – a sharp exhale – “but i can’t stop bleeding!”

utterly perplexed, she frowned. “bleeding? wha-”

sukuna’s shadow rose like a bonfire, erratically pacing in front of the byobu, and she could have sworn she saw the dancing shadows of four swaying arms.

he snarled, the words wrenched from between his fangs, "they tore you from me, and it made my heart bleed. it hasn’t stopped bleeding, because of you."

bang!

his heavy fist struck the screen, and she flinched frightfully.

“i-i don’t k-know what you mean,” she stuttered fearfully, her breaths coming out in rapid, little puffs. “i don’t understand what’s going on.”

he groaned, collected himself, and rolled his shoulders back purposefully. when he spoke again, his tone was calm, with none of the previous fire that had been spitting out from between his teeth.

“it doesn’t matter,” sukuna said, moving away from the cover as his silhouette disappeared. “you’re here now.”

the hidden implications were not as subtle as he thought. he was just as possessive as he had ever been, and it seemed that ryomen sukuna would not be letting go of her again.

she was still his, and had been for all these long years.

“you must be hungry,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “come here.”

her heart quickened.

slowly, she rose from the safety of the bed, each step as momentous as it was absolutely terrifying. after all this time, she would see sukuna again. the boy who had once protected her, coveted her, and shielded her from the worst parts of himself. the one who wanted to change his ways and be softer for her.

she rounded the byobu.

and there he was.

her bones shivered as her mind froze her in place, stopping her from moving a single step closer.

sukuna was sitting perfectly cross-legged in front of a low table, his eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted. a hand was frozen mid-air, suspending in bringing his cup closer to his mouth.

oh, how much he had changed.

sukuna had grown significantly in height, could quite easily tower over her if he stood. he was no longer a boy, but a man – big, broad, and dangerous. and she had not been mistaken before; he had four arms, adorned with strangest black markings, just like his face. if it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now. sukuna was everything taboo in this world, an embodiment of death and fury itself.

“sit,” he ordered, breaking his gaze and motioning in front of him.

his words were in a refined tongue, the kind spoken by highborn royalty and nobles spoke in – those who were educated and understood things beyond the grasp of people like her. she obeyed, feeling the urge to be as well-spoken as possible.

she had never felt so small or so common in all her life.

there was an array of different foods on the table, each more richly presented than the next. elegant bowls held freshly cut fish, arranged to look like the petals of a flower. at the centre of the table sat a lacquered bowl of sekihan at the center of the table, the red bean rice a sharp contrast to the earthy tones of the pickled vegetables around it. mochi of all colors and shapes were delicately wrapped in oak leaves, and chopsticks of pearl and gold were laid beside each of their settings.

sukuna cleared his throat. “so, marriage.” she nodded silently, picking up a piece of mochi. he continued, “i’m assuming it was arranged.”

“yes. he-uh, arrived one day in the village, he was a merchant. my father and the nakodo approved, and that was it.”

he hummed thoughtfully, a fearsome blaze in his eyes. “and did you want this?”

dangerous territory, tread carefully.

“n-not really, but he seemed… kind.”

a flash of red fury crossed his face, and sukuna pursed his lips. “i see. is that what matters most to you, then – kindness?”

careful, careful, careful.

“well… i did not want to end up with a man who would hurt me.”

a dry chuckle. “and do you believe that i will?”

a flash of a memory – of a burrow, of shared tears and painful farewells.

never.

“no,” she replied firmly, picking up another piece of mochi and chewing.

he seemed to approve of her answer, watching as she continued to eat. “good.”

they were silent again, the only sounds coming from the distant chirping of birds and the gentle trickle of a fountain outside. sukuna’s smaller eyes remained fixed on her, while the rest of his attention was on his meal and sake, his expression intensely contemplative and serious. his earlier heat had subsided into a brooding stillness, and he seemed just as amazed as she was that they were finally in each other’s presence again.

she bit her lip before tepidly trying his nickname on her tongue again, “ryo?”

he stilled for a moment, his eyes glistening with a hint of vulnerability before it vanished, and then made a questioning noise.

“what exactly do you expect from me here?”

“you will receive an education, i will not allow you to remain illiterate. you will learn to read and write, and study the arts and poetry. that is all i ask in return.”

“in return for what?”

“for residing in my residence with me. you will not return to the mountains or the village, and you will never see your parents again.”

this was it.

her childhood dream of staying with sukuna was finally here. perhaps he had really felt her pulling on their red string, felt her desperation and fear, and had come to save her. he wasn’t entirely human, after all; maybe he could have sensed her from so far away, and known about that deep hole within her. and so, he had taken her away from it all, demanding only that she say goodbye to everything she had ever known.

but things were different now.

they weren’t little children anymore. there was a taste of change in the air – something tantalizing and liberating. their dynamics had shifted, whether they wanted it or not. adulthood had brought new possibilities that couldn’t have been there before, the kind that made her heart race and chest flutter.

in the way sukuna’s eyes flashed, she felt that he knew it too.

it was her fate after all, she had just been too young to comprehend it.

so be it.

“alright.”

༺ ✤ ༻

the ink was blacker than raven feathers.

drip! drip! drip!

as beautiful as the depth of midnight, it shouldn’t be wasted.

she bowed her head, pensively holding her brush. the words were right there on her fingertips, straight from the centre of her heart, but she didn’t know how to say them.

or rather, if she could say them correctly.

biting her lip, she lightly pressed her brush to the page, the words flowing out with every stroke. when she was done, she leaned back on her heels and looked expectantly at her teacher.

“your brush technique was incorrect,” uraume chided emotionlessly, their icy aura ever present. “but you were close. try it like this instead, see?”

sukuna’s second had been tasked with educating her and showing her the finer ways of noble life. under uraume’s tutelage, she learned to draw the beautiful curves of hiragana and the straight, angular lines of katakana. she was introduced to the golden literature of her country, where she delved into classic and more modern texts, and learned to appreciate the hidden depths beneath the surface of grand tales and poetry.

once, she had been jealous of uraume. it was unnerving to see how much confidence sukuna placed in the ambiguous and frosty figure, and it hurt to know he trusted someone other than her. but she soon came to realize that uraume’s sole desire was to serve sukuna, and sukuna harbored nothing for them other than respect that surely had been well earned.

“try it again,” uraume suggested, returning to their position behind her and watching over her shoulder as she picked up the brush once more.

moreover, uraume was neither cruel nor haughty about her illiteracy and never treated her like a lowborn. they always guided her with a gentle coldness and a detached tone of instruction. she wondered what they thought about the nature of her relationship with sukuna, and if perhaps uraume had ever been jealous of her. she liked to think they hadn’t been, and if they had, they never showed it or asked any questions. for that, she was grateful.

what she had with sukuna wasn’t something she could describe easily.

he was there now, one of his eyes watching the way her hands moved with the brush. it wasn’t unusual that he was present; sukuna often observed their lessons, seating himself a distance and quietly reading a book or scroll. he never lavished her with praise, such was not his nature, but offered more subtle compliments in her progress: a tilt of his head, a single nod, and a hum of approval.

she would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t thrill her to hold his attention.

they only grew closer as time went on, building new little routines with each other. every night after they dined together, sukuna would tap his fingers rhythmically on the low table, completely silent, as she either read poetry from a book or recited it from memory. these were moments of softness, sukuna's strange way of drawing closer her, as the red thread connecting them weaved them closer to each other with every passing night. his gratitude was silent too: a heavy hand on her head, a quick press of his fingers to her cheek, and a small smile as he left.

it was easy to imagine sukuna as changed in those moments, a regal lord always composed and calm.

but that wasn't the reality of the world.

she was frequently reminded of it.

"i need to go," he would suddenly say, abruptly pulling her from her focus.

she closed her book and peered up at him through her lashes. “where?”

sukuna smirked, a wild gleam in his eyes. “to quench my thirst.”

he would then disappear, but never for more than a few days at a time. she liked to hope that his brief absences were because he disliked leaving her for too long. when sukuna returned, he was like a predator satiated from the hunt – more at ease, prone to teasing and sending her into a shy fluster. she realized quickly that he was still as he had been when he was a boy; always acting upon his desires and impulses without a shred of restraint.

although, sukuna kept her well away from any glimpse of that side of him.

she was relieved to be spared from it. even though she had accepted his nature, she was far more content to remain his tether to a calmer side, always ready to pull him back into the peaceful river of soothing milk and honey that was her company. yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was all she would ever be to him.

she had to wait three years for the winds of romance to finally shift.

the day after her eighteenth birthday, sukuna began leaving things for her to find.

sometimes the gifts were small, such as delicate hairpins, vibrant silks, or rare fruits from distant lands. they would enjoy the fruits together, her laughter filling the room as she watched him scowl at their unfamiliar taste. other times, the gifts were more extravagant: a retinue of handmaidens to attend to her every need, opulent jūnihitoe crafted by the best artisans, the emperor’s most exquisite jewelry, and the rarest art.

but perhaps the most precious gift of all was his poetry.

she didn’t know why she had assumed sukuna had no taste for poetry. after all, he had ensured she studied it, and seemed to enjoy listening to her recite it. she had thought it was to encourage her to uphold the traditions of noble women studying the arts, to refine herself as a proper lady. given his impulsive nature, she merely thought he lacked the time and patience to write his own poems.

but oh, how he had a way with words.

it wasn’t in the more traditional styles she was used to reading, but it was uniquely sukuna’s. he was never one to follow the rules anyways. they had started off expressing the calming joy he felt in her company, with gentle musings about her being like a light summer rain or the soft morning glow of the sun. those early verses were lighthearted, designed to make her heart flutter with silly little butterflies.

and now?

now they could make her heart melt into a puddle of its own blood, making her body run hot with feverish, burning emotions.

with every poem she read, warmth would spread through her cheeks and chest, her bones shaking from the intensity of it all. it embarrassed her how obviously and hopelessly in love she felt. sukuna, however, was completely unruffled, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched her stumble over her words.

“any particular reason why you have that stupid smile on your face?” he’d tease, ostentatiously chewing on a piece of fruit.

she looked away petulantly, a slight pout forming on her lips. “stop it, ryo!”

it was blatantly obvious he savored this.

how could he possibly expect her to act normally around him after reading something like that? these poems were a gateway to his soul, a window straight through his eyes and into his heart. she could hardly contain herself any longer, and it was almost cruel that sukuna was keeping her in suspense for even a moment longer.

but did sukuna even want marriage?

he never liked being bound to anything, always pursuing whatever he desired whenever he wanted to. perhaps he wanted the benefits of courting her without ever becoming tied to her. she wasn’t sure if she could ever accept the idea of being his concubine. after all they had been through, it would crush her soul.

they were taking a stroll together in the gardens after one of her lessons, but the air was tense. sukuna stood unusually close to her, completely silent as they moved together, stopping occasionally and waiting as she admired certain flowers blooming. she tried hard not to be too flustered, and attempted to diffuse the palpable tension between them by talking about all sorts of things.

“oh, ryo! don't you think this flower is gorgeous?”

“hmm, yes. quite.”

“the weather is so pleasant for this time of year, isn't it?”

“yes it is.”

“look, the koi! aren’t they pretty?”

“for fish, sure.”

she gave up after that last attempt. it was obvious she wasn't going to get much out of sukuna today in terms of conversation – he seemed completely and utterly wound up.

they stopped underneath the shade of a tree, and she gracefully tucked in the layers of her clothes beneath her before sitting down. sukuna stood pensively beside the tree, his side profile solemn as he clenched and unclenched his fists. his movements were slow, methodical, almost like it was the only thing grounding him in that moment.

and then, in a flash, he was crouched right in front of her.

“i have something to say,” he announced, his voice like stone.

she swallowed thickly. “then say it.”

sukuna exhaled, and she heard the sound of his knuckles cracking and snapping before he continued, “i recognize that we two are… different in many ways. i have been bound to you from the moment i first laid eyes on you, and i will forever be yours.” – a sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale – “however, while i may accept this, i understand that you might not outside the ties of marriage.”

this is it.

“you are the one good thing about my soul,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a vulnerable softness that shook her to her core. “please, say you will accept me?”

she didn’t hesitate for even a moment.

“i have always been yours, ryo, and i always will be.”

༺ ✤ ༻

love was infinite.

it transcended time and space, indifferent to who it dragged into its otherworldly domain, filled to the brim with whiteness and the saccharine scent of roses.

being ryomen sukuna’s wife meant crossing that threshold into another world, one that he had forced to turn into the brightest shade of red. his love was ferocious, nearly crippling in its intensity. loving him meant baring her heart to him, exposed and vulnerable, ready for him to consume it completely. he was a deprived man who had finally been given the key to her soul, and now he was able to come through and show her how deep his love for her coursed through in his veins.

“i want to bury myself into your skin,” he murmured into her ear, his arms wrapped around her bare body. “and settle into the spaces between your ribs.”

and yet, sukuna was tender too.

he would crave the moments of quiet, when it was just the two of them, whispering in the dark about how much she meant to him. wherever they were, a part of him was always touching her – whether it was his head on her shoulder as they sat in the garden, or pulling her onto his lap during her lessons. all the while, his eyes were memorising every little thing she did; the way she laughed, how she breathed, and every different sound and expression she made.

sukuna was immensely proud to be her husband, always devoted to providing for and protecting her.

she never wanted for a single thing.

and yet, he was still larger than life, a force of strife and bloodlust.

she knew what sort of reputation he had, that he was something of a living legend. there was no doubt that history would remember his name, spitting on it and sending shivers down people's spines at the mere mention of it.

“the king of curses,” uraume revealed to her one day, a hint of pride in her voice. “that is what the sorcerers call him.”

and that title did not come without a challenge.

on an unassuming autumn morning, sukuna abruptly interrupted one of her lessons. “i must go,” he said abruptly, clutching his trident like a god of old, a hint of glee in his words. “the fushigawa clan must be brought to heel.”

and heel they must have.

for when he returned, sukuna's face had split into two, with a mouth comfortably situated at his midriff. she knew then that unspeakable atrocities must have been committed, because her husband’s body did not evolve unless he had killed and sinned in the most horrific ways possible.

sukuna averted his gaze from her, his skin drenched in blood that was not his own. `'you cannot love me like this."

“and yet,” she whispered, standing on her toes and cupping his bloodied cheekbones. “i still do.”

she had never expected his true nature to change once they were married. to deny it was to deny him – and his love for her. as long as he kept her far from the sight of it, what more could she ask for?

in those moments, it was easy to forget how quickly darkness could overwhelm a fire.

the twilight moon cast a gentle light as a pleasant breeze wafted through the air, brushing against her cheek in a tender caress. it was one of those quiet, soft evenings, where the world slowed down just enough for husband and wife to savor each other’s company. they sat by the koi pond, watching as the silk ribbons of gold and white fins traced elegant patterns in the water. sukuna’s head rested on her lap, a pair of his eyes closed, as she gently stroked his hair.

nothing was out of the ordinary.

save for the strange man with starlight hair strolling towards them.

her husband sat up, and they both turned to watch the man approach them. the stranger carried the aura of a man assured in his own destiny, radiating confidence in the self-righteousness of the path he was on. when he lifted his head and met her gaze, she couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of his eyes, which held a beauty that well surpassed even that of the heavens above.

she knew then that this was no normal man.

“you were stupid to come here,” sukuna huffed, barely sparing the man a glance as he helped her to her feet. “i prefer not to kill in front of my wife.”

“and yet, you will die all the same,” the man retorted, his hand glowing with a threatening iridescent aquamarine light.

boom!

there was a deafening thunderclap, followed by the loud creaking and crashing of tumbling wood. before she could blink again, she found herself somewhere far from their home, surrounded by trees and nature that seemed to stretch for miles. her husband’s expression was calm, a perfectly still lake amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions inside her.

sukuna softly touched her cheek. “this will all be over soon, my love.”

he pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

don’t leave me, please.

and then, he was gone.

a strong fear settled in the pit of her stomach amidst the eerie silence. she flinched each time the sky lit up in hues of red and blue, once with purple, and she could have sworn that she heard the sound of her husband’s untamed glee carried on the wind. every rustle of the trees set her teeth on edge, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the coldness of the night began to settle in.

snap!

she whirled around.

another stranger emerged, this time with hair as black as the night. shadows pooled beneath his feet, ominous snarling and snapping noises of hounds coming from its depths. with a sharp gesture, the man hushed and silenced the shadows, and the hounds ceased to be. he tilted his head curiously at her, as if he couldn’t fathom why she was here alone in this place.

but what struck her about him were his eyes — they were as green as the forests in the mountains.

it made her strangely homesick.

“my husband will never stop hunting you for this,” she finally said coolly, despite the terror coursing in her blood.

“you think that terrifies me?” he scoffed, instantly shattering the image of warmth she thought he had. “no matter what, history will forever remember as the sorcerers who brought the king of curses to his knees.”

a silver blade gleamed wickedly as the man grinned maliciously.

“meanwhile, you are irrelevant.”

she didn't say a word, understanding all to well what was about to happen and why.

would death be kind?

she shook her head, turning away from the man and looking up at the crimson twilight sky, unwilling to face the man or the cruel blade that was to be her end.

(a drop of blood in a firestorm, a scream of agony)

it doesn’t matter, so long as sukuna cannot feel it.

༺ ✤ ༻

death was abysmally cruel.

ryomen sukuna once believed that it would have given him the sweet relief he always craved deep down – something that would have finally extinguished the ceaseless fire blazing in his veins. it was a release he had always longed for, yearned for, and thought he had always been ready for.

especially when the curse, kenjaku, found him suffering amidst the wreckage of his vengeful rampage for the love that had been stolen from him.

“you had your chance, once,” the curse purred, his forehead stitches starkly contrasting with the pallor of the body he had taken. “but you knew that already.”

no, death had hurt him beyond measure.

it was a hailstorm of ice and sleet, beating down at him, surely dousing his fire, but so very slowly. even though his memory now was hazy at the best of times, he would always remember that pain. how he smashed and ground his teeth together, silent as stone as kenjaku worked to preserve his essence into every one of his fingers, because he refused to cry again.

all sukuna could remember was pain.

and her.

he would always remember her – the pain of loving her, and the pain of losing her.

and how he cried for the first and last time when he saw her crumpled body lying there in that forest. how he wanted nothing more than to hold her bones in his arms for the rest of time, to die right there and then with her, and let their skeletons be burned into ash together.

love had made him sick with desire, with hate, with yearning.

it terrified him.

because ryomen sukuna did not like to feel.

he then swore to himself that he would never repeat his mistakes. love was never to be touched again, and he would burn the world before it had the chance to hurt him once more.

and finally, here sukuna was, reborn and made anew, ready to enact that vow.

only, he hadn’t planned on being stuck inside this miserable, pretentious annoying brat.

no matter, this isn’t permanent.

“how you feelin there, yuji?” asked satoru gojo in an irritatingly perky voice.

sukuna’s vessel rubbed his chest tentatively. “i guess it kinda hurts a litt- ow! okay, never mind, it hurts a lot.”

satoru smiled. “well, lucky for you, i know someone who can help with that.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. oh, how he wanted to rip the smirk right off his face.

first, i’ll tear you–

a light laugh trickled in from just outside the door.

sukuna froze.

he knew that laugh.

the brat turned around, and through him, ryomen sukuna saw what he had thought he lost a millennium ago.

for a moment, there was nothing but white noise.

sukuna was entranced, captivated by the way her lips moved, the graceful way her figure leaned against the doorframe, and how every single feature of her face had remained unchanged and untouched despite all the time that had passed.

is this some sort of joke?

“ok yuji,” she said warmly, a kind smile on her face as she placed a hand on his chest. “this won’t hurt a bit.”

sukuna felt the ghost of her hand touching his own skin, familiar and warm, and he gripped his throne of bones tightly.

yuji frowned. “will it hurt you?”

“oh no, don’t worry about me. i can absorb as much physical pain as i want without feeling any of it myself.”

“that’s so cool! but, do you really not feel anything at all?”

she bit her lip, an ancient sadness in her young eyes. “well… sometimes i go blind for a while, and all i can see is the color red.”

“what? hell no, what if you go blind because of me? no way.”

yuji shied away from her touch, and she reached out to grasp his hand.

“no, i promise i won’t!” she practically begged. “please. yuji. i–something happens when i go blind, like something is trying to show me what’s missing inside me, and i need to find out what it is.”

so, you don’t remember a thing.

sukuna leaned forward, bones crunching beneath him.

“okay…” his vessel answered, apprehension and concern woven into his tone.

she smiled gratefully.

i think i understand what you were to me after all this time, my love.

༺ ✤ ༻

857 notes · View notes

laurorne · 3 months

Text

༊*·˚ CRAVING YOUR WARMTH | aegon ii targaryen x targaryen bastard sister!reader

summary: two dragons who seek to move closer for warmth during their grief must remain apart, as they can only hurt one another with their sharp teeth and barely contained flames. though they both share the intentions of a close relationship, they're unable, for reasons they cannot avoid.

content: targaryen incest, angst, allusion of self-mutilation/harm, bastardphobia in westeros, night after intimacy suggested, self-hatred, blood, wonky metaphors and personification, no beta we die like vizzy t, badly written angst, that damn necklace

word count: 1.5k

a/n: let me tell you that i struggle writing angst, but god do i love reading it. i'm like my own self entertaining paradoxical concept and it astounds me

A gentle hand smoothing over his back is what stirs him from the throes of sleep, nails skating along his marked skin softly enough to tickle. He shifts as the hand moves from the expanse of his back up to his hair, rubbing circles into the crown of his head. Twirling bits of hair between deft fingers as she presses a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

He hums, limbs stretching out clumsily as he rolls onto his side, fingers weak as his hand dances along the goose-down duvet until it reaches her. Her, and her softness, and her warmth.

“Wife.” He’s barely awake, even with the exasperated sigh that comes from his older sister.

“We are not wed, Aegon.” A gentle reminder from soft lips, her eyes taking in his tired demeanour, the curve of his brow.

She brushes the strand of choppy hair from his face, thumb dragging along the apple of his cheek.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lids finally fluttering open as he stares up at her with those watery eyes. The ones he knew made her weak to suggestion. He lets his hand creep up her calf –where he can still feel the divets of scars from their childhood running through the gardens– until it finds home on the hand she has in her lap, he threads his fingers with hers. The number of rings adorning her fingers was thanks to him: he and his obsession with keeping his older sister glamoured.

Imported Dornish rings that gleamed with the heat of the sun, Essosi ornate cloth and dresses that were far from the modesty of Court, hair pins adorned with pearls from the Summer Isles, and an intricate necklace crafted from the smelted metal of a Valyrian sword, inlaid with gemstones he had pulled from the Red Keeps vaults.

She was wearing it now, the stones gleaming under the sun that spotted through the lace curtains of her room. The engraved details scatter the few beams of light they catch like dew drops upon spider silk. The stones dangle between the valley her breasts create, the smallest of them twirls some intricate dance as she shifts. Like molten silver, it fits her without any of the stiffness metal should have.

“We should be.” He glances down at his hand intertwined with hers and watches her thumb rub over his —in the way she always has ever since childhood— it makes him all the more rueful.

He’s hopeful, far beyond it. His bones ache and his head throbs from a swelling hangover, and he feels his throat ache something terrible at its use. His eyes trail from their hands to her face, he wants anything aside from sorrow to be there.

It’s worse.

Her brows are furrowed as she stares down at him with pity, oh how he wishes it wasn’t pity.

“Oh, sweet boy.” She pulls her hand from his grasp and holds his face in her gentle hands with all the care he needs. “Some things, they just can’t be.”

His lip curls, a pathetic smile covering his visage as he cups the backs of her hands in his own. “But they could. Helaena would not care, she loathes our marriage. As do I. We could take Valyrian vows on Dragonstone. Just as our sister and uncle have. We could leave.”

“Aegon.” A wistful breath of his name, pained and twisted with grief of things that never were and never will.

“We don’t need to stay. Just you and I, riding atop Sunfyre. Across the Narrow Sea.” He moves onto his knees, staring into her wet doe-like eyes as he speaks. He doesn’t leave her an opportunity to doubt him. Doesn’t allow her to pull away as he keeps her hands on his jaw.

Her lips twitch and so do her fingers against his. “Aegon, don’t be foolish.”

“You mustn’t know what you mean to m-”

“Aegon, please.” She tries to pull away now, but he winds his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and presses forward. Wine-stained lips crushing against the curve of her nose, fluttering across her brow like the gentle wings of a cotton moth as it devours silks and linen allied— devourer of all things beautiful and plain.

He drags his lips to hers finally, soaking her up in a way only someone as depraved as he could. It’s like stretching out upon a rock after not feeling the son for years, like stripping yourself of shackles you’ve worn since birth. Her lips are chapped, a split in her lips from all the worrying she does to the poor thing scratches along his upper. He surges forward, pulling her so fully against him that it fills some empty part of him, like a puzzle piece that’s never been slotted into place. But oh —how it has— and how it always disappears just as quickly as it comes to him. He licks at her bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and shudders out a breath as she reciprocates. Her lashes fluttering against his cheeks as they finally shut, as she cups his neck and presses her butterfly kisses onto him, licks into his mouth as she breathes hotly across his face in a way only Aegon can enjoy.

He nips at her tongue accidentally, overexcited and eager as he is. And that seems to bring her back from whatever hole he had dragged her into. But he persists, hand drifting down to the smooth metal of her necklace as he thumbs at a jewel. He tries to savour her presence even as her face scrunches and her fingers fist the hairs behind his ears. It nearly pains Aegon, with the way his head tilts away from her just slightly, Adams apple jumping against pale skin as he stares oh-so adoringly, heady breaths stinking of wine fanning her bruised lips.

“We could start a family in Essos. As many children as you want.” He desperately reaches for her again.

“Aegon.”

“A home in Braavos, on the beach. Where we could lo-”

A hiccuped sob that withers in her throat is what stops him, punches the wind from his lungs.

Her lips are pursed and her hands have loosed upon his hair and move to cup his ruddy cheeks. Nails pressing into the flesh of his face hazardously. His eyes are dark and his lips part as he stares up at her, he sees the tears edging along her waterline. That deep frown she has when she’s trying not to cry, whether it's about something he had done or when she’s ordered by their Grandsire to stop her hysterics.

“Aegon,” It’s a sullen whisper as she lets his face go entirely, fingers slipping down his chest before they land in her lap again. “I am not a trueborn daughter. I will never be. I am not right in the mind. I will birth lunatics and monsters and wailing death. You can’t love me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, for once he has no sharp-tongued quip or comment. He pushed her from a height, just when she had finally reached the top of her spire. He retracts, fingers loosening from the grip he had on her pale hair, and lets her fall back onto the plush of her bed as she stares up at him like he’s burnt her. Like he’s dragged a dagger across the soft of her flesh and told her he never loved her. She pushes herself away, curling in on herself as tears cut through the flush of her cheeks. A wobbly exhale, and another as he drags a hand through her hair.

Her fingers dance down her neck and across the skin of her arms where they find home on the pale scars marring the upper parts of her arms. He can see her fingertips quivering with the urge to dig. To pull at chords of muscle beneath her skin and scratch at her bones. She had told him about things she saw. Things that hunted at the edge of her vision and scattered when she went looking. Dreams that came to the waking world with her. A pale man with the stench of darkness seeping from his pores.

“I love yo-” He leans forward to comfort her.

“You don’t.”

“I know that I love you.��

“You know nothing, Aegon.” She pulls herself to the edge of the bed and drags herself to stand, the silk bedsheets slip away and her goosebumps raise upon her bruise-marred skin, she’s as bare as the day she was born. Her throat is too tight and her necklace feels heavy as she stumbles to the secret passage, she slips from the room unbidden and leaves a smudge of blood on the wooden grain of the bookcase as Aegon sits in her bed. Salty tears of his own roll down his face as he clenches and unclenches his fists.

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen angst #bastard!reader

468 notes · View notes

tiredwitchplant · 11 months

Text

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Moonstone (White)

Moonstone (The Sacred Stone of the Moon)

Color: White, cream, yellow, blue, green

Rarity: Easy to obtain

Hardiness: 6.5

Type: Oligoclase/ Feldspar

Chakra Association: Brow, Heart, Root, Third Eye, Sacral, Solar Plexus

Deities: All Lunar Deities, Diana, Selene, Artemis, Isis, Chandra

Birthstone: June

Astrological Signs: Cancer

Element: Water

Planet: Moon

Origin: Australia, India, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, USA

Powers: Femininity, Calmness, Balance, Luck, Intuition, Healing, Sensual, Patience, Reproductive Health

Crystals It Works Well With: Aquamarine, garnet, pearl

How It is Created: Moonstone is a type of feldspar composed of potassium aluminum silicate. It can be found in a number of colors, but all examples demonstrate a particular sheen known as labradorescence; an effect also found in labradorite and blue moonstone. Labradorescence is a light effect caused by parallel hairlike structures laid down within the crystal matrix, which reflect light back and forth, creating different-colored effects, including blue, yellow, silvery gray, and white.

History: Moonstone is the sacred stone of India. During the earliest traditions, the gem was said to have been embedded in the forehead of Ganesh, the four-handed god of the moon, since the beginning of time. It was written in Hindu mythology that moonstone is made from moonbeams, thus its luster.

The magnificent gem is never displayed outside for sale unless placed on a yellow cloth, as yellow is a sacred color. According to other legends, Moonstone can give gifts of prophecy and clairvoyance to the wearer. It could also clear the mind for the wearer to welcome wisdom. But to unlock this ability, Moonstone must be placed in their mouths during the full moon. Since ancient Egypt it is considered as a spiritual stone as it is seen as the gem of protection for night travelers.

Since Moonstone looks a lot like the moonshine, ancient Romans believed that it was formed from moonlight. If you look at the gem closely, you’ll see a dance of light that lurks on the insides of the gem. Ancient Greeks merged the names of the goddess of love (Aphrodite) and the goddess of the moon (Selene) and christened Moonstone as “Aphroselene”. While the Romans believed that the gem exhibits the image of their moon goddess, Diana.

It is also known as an aphrodisiac and when worn by two people, they will fall passionately in love when the moon is high. Moonstone was once called the “Travelers Stone” as it is said to protect those who travel at night, especially at sea.

What It Can Do:

When worn, can attract true love and arouse passion

If you give your lover a moonstone during the full moon, there will be passion between you always

Can settle disagreements and return things to peaceful status

Sewn into garments can enhance fertility

Wearing moonstone protects sensitive emotions

Enhances divination, prophetic dreams and prevents nightmares

Great for meditation and scrying

Represents yin and attracts peaceful energy

Protects travelers at night and by sea

Considered good luck

Balances male-female energies and aids men who want to get in touch with their feminine side

Affects the female reproductive cycle and alleviates menstrual-related diseases and tensions

Helps with digestive and reproductive systems, assimilates nutrients, eliminates toxins and fluid retention, and alleviates degenerative conditions of the skin, hair, eyes and fleshy organs such as the liver and pancreas.

How to Get the Best Out Of: Wear as a ring or place on the appropriate body part, would recommend the forehead, for spiritual experiences, and solar plexus or heart for emotions. Women may need to remove Moonstone at full moon.

How to Cleanse and Charge: Moonstone is relatively soft stone, 6 on the Mohs scale, so it should be handled with care as it can be easily scratched or crushed. Moonstone should be stored separate from other jewelry in its own soft bag or lined box and should not be worn while performing strenuous tasks that could result in it getting bumped or scratched. It can be cleaned with plain water and a soft cloth. If it gets scratched, take it to a jeweler to have it polished out.

Charge your moonstone in the light of the waxing moon and keep it out of direct sunlight.

Crystal Grid: N/A Couldn't find one that wasn't too complex @_@

Sources

#moonstone #witchblr #witch community #witchcraft #occulltism #paganblr #gemstone #crystal witch #crystals #witchcraft 101 #witchcraft resources #geology #lunar #lunar witch #nature #geology rocks #rocks #samhain

330 notes · View notes

boundinparchment · 1 year

Text

Sand and Shells

In which you receive a gift from a friend, who may be more than he seems.

Pure Neuvillette fluff. Dedicated to @surveyycorps because otters are adorable.

Sometimes, you came to this beach outside the city to think. Not always the same time and not always the same day of the week, but nonetheless, it was a ritual. Rain or shine, this was your spot.

You removed your shoes, settled onto the sand, and stuck your feet in the water. Like always. Work was particularly difficult right now; you needed solutions to problems, not short-term fixes, and it was impossible to think at your desk. Especially when the tension and frustration was so thick, you would need a claymore to cut through it. Your supervisor answered to the Chief Justice and you had a feeling that perhaps certain things were being hidden to save face.

As if that would spare a dismissal or a lawsuit.

The Court didn’t take anything lightly, especially clerical errors from poor management.

Resting your cheek on your knee, you stared off into the distance, watching the sun on the ripples of water. It was quiet out this way. The occasional otter, a school of fish, or some crabs but otherwise, you were entirely unbothered.

That was, until you made eye contact with an otter nearby. It tilted its head, watching you. In its paws, a pink shell. Probably lunch.

You gave a small smile and waved. Otters were always fun to watch, especially in their true element underwater, where they glided and flipped and soared. To your surprise, the otter tilted its head in the other direction and gave a distinct chirp before it darted off.

Guess these guys aren’t too used to human company, you thought.

You shifted, clearing your head further and running your fingers through the sand. So lost in thought, you didn’t hear the putter patter of paws on sand nor the chirp; you jumped when you saw the flash of blue and white as a shell was laid at your feet. The otter squeaked but remained close by, watching you on hind legs.

It wasn’t scared after all…

In fact, its eyes were different too. Not inky black at all but silver and purple…more like a melusine…

“Is this for me?” you asked, picking up the shell. “Thank you. I ate already though. You should have it.”

The otter shook its head. When you didn’t open it, it took out a rock from a fur pocket and brought it over.

“If you insist…”

Prying open the shell, you didn’t see the typical meat at all, but rather a pearl, black as night. Pearls themselves were rare out here, let alone those of different color. You plucked it out carefully and marveled at its iridescence.

You smiled and looked back at the otter. Clearly it wanted approval. It understand human speech, to some extent. How odd.

“Thank you. It’s very pretty. I’ll keep it safe. Take your rock back, you need that.”

Offering the stone in the flat of your hand, the otter took it and tucked it back into its pocket. With a chirp and a squeak, it walked away back towards the water; it looked back once and waved before departing back smoothly into the lake.

What an odd little fellow.

You held up the pearl again. There was a jeweler on the way back to your office. Rings would get in the way…a necklace, then. Why let such a beautiful pearl go to waste?

Weeks later, upon a surprise inspection, your supervisor was fired. Chief Justice Neuvillette would, to the best of his schedule, oversee the transition. He spent time getting to know names and faces, and when he came to you, your heart stopped.

His eyes were always so captivating but…surely…

“Black pearls are quite rare. The jeweler did a lovely job…they’re difficult to work with.”

You swallowed and pressed your fingers to the pearl, cold against your skin.

“It‘s from a friend. I doubt I’ll ever meet them again, so I wear it to remember them.”

“Ah. Then they’re quite lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.”

You would remember that smile, soft and genuine, for days to come.

#neuvillette #gender neutral reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #yes yes hydro dragon allegations but also: otter

372 notes · View notes

cannibalhellhound · 5 months

Text

More Selkie AU >:D

Selkie Courtship:

Selkies value community and connection, so it's important that if they're courting someone they need to know who they are since selecting a mate is making lifelong commitment.

Must be said, the grandest gesture of love and trust for a selkie is to give their mate possession of their pelt when shifted, so they must make sure they are the right choice.

When the decision is made, a selkie will bring gifts to their chosen one; catching their favorite fish or a large squid is a particularly fond gesture, pretty and rare stones, seashells or pearls for decorations, or anything they might like -human chosen ones (usually fishermen or related) may be helped with their catches or gifted treasures lost in shipwrecks.

Selkies are commonly very tactile lovers and will smother their one with touches, hugs and any kind of contact from the early stages. It's one common way of letting others know about the courting.

Pre-mating playful banter includes rolling, bubble-blowing, and mouthing each other's necks and flippers, vocal displays, chasing, embracing, growling, head-thrusting, and flipper-waving.

Copulation usually takes place in water.

It has become way less common, but if there are multiple claimings over a chosen one the contendants may choose to fight instead of out-wooing their rival (usually with the fighting done at the end of the courting) with the chosen one having the ultimate say on who they choose.

Although courtship with humans is not encouraged (does not tend to end well for the selkie), it is not forbidden. Should it happen, the selkie will be shy to start with; watching their human from the safety of the water. Later trying to interact on land without their pelt to get to know them. As previously said, connection is important, and the selkie will only pursue and start the courting if they feel they know their human well enough to tell if their seal skin will be safe.

All this is only needed for courting, as opposed to just sleeping around as a one-off -habit of some selkie-folk, venturing inland to seek out “unsatisfied lovers”.

The tales of unmarried humans trapped into selkie marriages by picking up their pelts are poorly heard conversations. The actual occurrence is the ultimate rite of passage between selkie-human courting; the selkie dropping their pelt and allowing their human to grab it and give it back.

The connection of a mated pair (or pod) is strong enough to allow them to sense their one/s, as if having an internal compass to guide them in their general direction.

Some ways to symbolize their relationship is wearing silken thread around the ring finger, necklaces made of twin shells (often collected during courtship) or really anything that can be worn by the people involved that can hold meaning for them.

Weddings are small ceremonies held by one of the elders of the family, with a witness chosen by each participant, usually close friends to the mating pair.

Homosexual courting is completely normal and always accepted as a possibility.

#You have no clue of how much this thing just pops up in my brain #*throws this at you*#Air Gays™#selkie au #selkie #HelloI'mHayden #idk if there are any mistakes there my brain is too fried to try and fix anything #also can you tell I'm poly and just include that everywhere?#because I sure do that

21 notes · View notes

101flavoursofweird · 1 month

Note

3 for any PL character for the Angsty Sentence Starters?

((I’m sorry this took FOREVER, but thanks for the prompt…))

Spoilers: For Miracle Mask and light spoiler for Azran Legacy

Title: Rewritten

Description: Randall proposes. Angela gets cold feet.

Set: Two years after MM.

Warnings: Rejected marriage proposal, Angela’s controlling parents, Randall’s disapproving father, referenced character death… but a hopeful ending?

Inspiration: The prompt “We just don’t work anymore.” —With Randall/Angela (The winners of the ‘Which ship should almost break up?’ Poll) Also, Rewrite the Stars from the Greatest Showman

Two years since Randall’s return, Angela had been wearing her pendant less and less often, leaving it safely locked inside her jewellery box.

It wasn’t as though she no longer cared for Randall’s gift… but she had kept that coin close to her heart every single day that she and Randall had been separated.

After her wedding with Henry, she had strung the coin into a pendant and hidden it beneath her pearl necklace if she went out in public.

The pendant was like a secret promise— Angela would look after Randall’s treasure, while Henry looked after her, and they would wait for Randall together.

Marriage had never truly been part of the arrangement— merely a show to appease Angela’s parents— but now…

Now that Randall was back, Angela really needed to return that treasure or do… something to complete her promise.

When she finally went to retrieve the pendant from her jewellery box, however, Angela released a distraught gasp.

Her pendant— Randall’s gift— was gone!

She hunted high and low around the mansion. Henry assured her the pendant would turn up soon and no, he hadn’t moved it while he was cleaning…

Retracing her steps around town with Alphonse and his dogs’ aid didn’t yield any success either.

Angela doubted she would have just dropped her most precious keepsake…

It was possible someone had pinched it— but why Angela’s pendant, of all things?

There were far more valuable treasures in the mansion or Henry’s study at the Reunion Inn…

Though, the pendant did hold sentimental value, if only to Angela, Henry and Randall.

Randall�� Angela feared he would be devastated when he learned that the pendant was lost— after all those years she had taken care of it— but much to her surprise, Randall winked at her and told her not to worry.

Then… the very next evening at dinner, Randall presented her with a small black box.

They were eating a meal at home— not out in Monte d’Or— but Angela suddenly felt like the eyes of the world were fixed upon her.

A proud, expectant smile transformed Mrs. Ascot’s face. Henry, who had stood up from the table to gather their plates, stopped to watch with bated breath— as if every move he’d made since leaving Stansbury had led to this moment.

As Angela opened the box with trembling fingers, she pondered (prayed) if this could be another treasure from Randall, or a magic trick…

Her stomach roiled with dread, though, when she saw the ring.

It was beautiful; with an opal set in its centre ( Her brother’s birth stone …) and a gold band fashioned from the coin Randall had given her twenty years ago.

Angela’s breath hitched.

She could picture her parents’ reactions— How pleased they would be to hear about Angela’s proper marriage, at long last!—and Mr. Ascot’s frown; disapproving, as he had been with most of Randall’s choices.

If Mr. Ascot was still with them, maybe he would have forbidden any nuptials from proceeding. Secretly, Angela would have been grateful to him.

There was no need to restrain her tears— at leastthose could be written off as joy— but she needed to work past the knot in her throat. She needed to say something to Randall.

He was watching her with wide dark eyes, his mouth slightly open in question, his hands still frozen where he had offered her the box.

“I…” Angela spluttered. She picked the treasure out of the box— maybe she was wrong, maybe it was another piece of jewellery— and she nearly dropped it, her hands were so slick with sweat.

“Whoa!” Randall chuckled as he caught the ring— it was definitely a ring.

When Angela stared at him, he had to ask:

“Angela… Will you marry me?”

“…Yes.” She pushed the answer from her throat like a stone. A stone that fell into a river that swept Angela up in the wave of applause from Mrs. Ascot and Henry.

Angela clung to Randall as he kissed her passionately, lovingly, with tender relief.

“May I…?” he breathed, lifting her hand. Dizzily, Angela nodded. He slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, where it fit perfectly…

Like a manacle.

After dessert and champagne and a toast from Mrs. Ascot, Angela excused herself and retreated up to her… her and Randalls’ bedroom.

Angela gently removed the ring and placed it on the windowsill, where it glittered in the distant lights of Monte d’Or.

Inside the ring was an engraving which, according to Randall, roughly translated to: ‘My heart will beat for you until the stars burn out’…

A romantic notion— or a morbid one, especially with the true nature of the Azran legacy in mind.

When Hershel had grudgingly informed them about his globe-trotting expedition, Angela had hoped Randall would renounce everything related to the Azran, but… no.

Archaeology would always be a pastime to Randall, even if he had sworn off dangerous adventures and dedicated himself to rebuilding/running Monte d’Or.

Angela was still destined to be an archaeologist’s wife, to some degree…

“Angie?” Randall’s call at her— their— bedroom door was soft, hesitant.

Whirling away from the window, Angela shoved the ring back on her finger. “Y-you can come in!” Would he hear the reluctance in her voice?

Just to be safe, Angela put on bright smile as Randall poked his head into the room. His hair looked rumpled (Another haircut was due soon— Henry could help with that…) and his cheeks were flushed.

“You okay?” Randall checked, with a wide grin.

Angela nodded. “Yes, I just… needed a minute.”

“Were you blown away by my ring-crafting skills?”

“A little…” Angela felt her smile flicker.

Noticing the tiredness in her voice, Randall started to retract his head. “I can… come back later if you want?”

The opportunity was there; he was willing to give her time and space to process this. Angela could head to bed early, Randall would join her later, she would pretend to be asleep, and they could discuss this tomorrow...

Or Angela could stop waiting, for once in her life.

“No, it… it’s fine.” Angela reached out to him. “I need to talk to you…”

Away from your mother and Henry, she added silently.

Randall got the message. He shut the door, shuffled towards her and took her hands.

“Randall…” Angela sighed. His palms were warm and calloused in hers, concealing the ring between them. “I’m not… sure if I’m ready for this…”

Randall hesitated for a second, before he squeezed her hands. “That’s alright! I’m nervous too!” He glanced out the window, probably towards the register office. “It’ll take us a while to organise everything— maybe over a year…”

(Not if Henry had anything to do with it.)

“No—“ Angela swallowed as Randall looked back at her. She stammered, “I mean, I’m… I’m not ready to be engaged yet. I can’t accept your proposal.”

Twenty years ago, when she had turned down Alphonse Dalston in favour of Henry, Alphonse had met with her afterwards.

This whole marriage thing had been his family’s idea, Alphonse had snorted. No offence to Angela, but he wanted to go to uni to study hotel management, and he’d rather not be dragging a Mrs around with him!

For the first time since Randall’s departure, Angela had laughed.

Alphonse had known she was still grieving and he’d accepted her rejection with grace— far more grace than anyone had ever given him credit for.

It had been such a relief for Angela in her darkest hour. She may have lost Randall, but she’d still had (some) friends left.

Although Alphonse and Henry hadn’t seen eye to eye, they had put her feelings first.

Surely the man she loved would do the same? Now that they were all safely home, the Azran were history, and there wasn’t an urgent incentive to get hitched…

These past few moments, Randall had been peering at Angela with shock. Sadness, disappointment and a touch of anger soon followed across his face.

Earlier, he must have felt like he was on cloud nine… only for Angela to bring him crashing down.

“But…” Randall exhaled slowly. “I thought… when you changed your name—“

“Back to Redoll.” Her maiden name, even if she was no longer a maiden.

At thirty-seven, she should have been thrilled that the person she had cherished since childhood had proposed to her…

“—When you called your parents,” Randall recalled, with difficulty. “Didn’t you tell them…?”

“I told them… you were home,” Angela admitted, “and I told them I was ‘divorcing’ Henry, so they assumed—“

“Like I assumed,” Randall muttered. He dropped her hands.

“I’m sorry! I know— I should have been clearer with you…”

“You should have —“ Randall cut off whatever he had been about to say. Clenching his jaw, shaking his head, he surged around the room.

Angela watched as he slumped onto the bed.

Perhaps, if Angela had just kept quiet, if she had been jubilant like a normal bride-to-be, they could have been lying together right now…

Randall chucked off his glasses. He groaned. “Maybe… I should have asked you… before I went and proposed.” He blinked up at Angela. “I just… I thought we were on the same page?”

Actually, it was more like he had skipped a hundred pages— years of tedium and heartache— to reach the happy ending.

Everyone was still bringing Randall up to speed… but Angela hadn’t quite caught up either.

Randall had written his own a book— casting himself as a brave king, Henry as a traitorous minister, and Angela as a mournful princess/queen who had been tricked.

It turned out, however, that the minister and the princess/queen had remained loyal to the king… even after the king had tried to destroy their city.

In the end— and in Randall’s mind— the princess/queen was still expected to marry the king, no questions asked.

How could Angela explain that?

She silently shrugged to Randall.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Randall exclaimed,

“It’s been two years since… since I tried to…” When he opened his eyes again, Angela saw tears. “Is it because of what I did?”

“Of course not—!”

“Don’t lie to me, Angela— please…”

“It is… partly,” Angela conceded with a sigh. “But it’s not just—“

“What can I do?” Randall begged, stumbling away from the bed. “How can I make it up to you?”

He looked ready to climb a mountain or capture the stars, all for her.

Already, he had done so much. She had forgiven him within the first year.

But this wasn’t about forgiveness.

Angela shook her head.

“Tell me!” Randall returned to her side. Grabbed her hands once again. “Whatever it takes to redeem myself—“

“I’m not a reward for your redemption, Randall,” she pointed out, quietly.

“I know that— now…” Randall’s voice broke.

Angela squeezed his hands. “It’s not fair of me to hold you to that standard,” Angela intoned, “and it’s not fair of you to expect that of me— to live with the prospect of marriage looming over my head…”

Since the day her brother had left, she had lived with nothing but expectations.

When are you going to find a boyfriend?

When are you going to get married?

When are you going to have children?

Never ending. Never enough. Never, for a moment, asking what Angela wanted.

She had found some reprieve when Henry asked for her hand in marriage— she had staved off her parents’ demands for a few years— but now it was starting again.

Henry hadn’t had her best interests at heart when he offered her that choice— well, he had, but not Angela’s alone. He had made that proposal with the intention that he and Angela would wait for Randall together…

And, when the time came, Angela would return to Randall. Like the fortune from Akbadain, or the rights to the city.

Like nothing had changed since Angela was a teenager.

She was her brother’s bereaved little sister. Her parents’ precious daughter. Randall’s kind, boring girlfriend. Henry’s beautiful, reserved wife. Randall’s reluctant fiancé…

She could never just be Angela, could she?

“Do you understand, Randall?” Angela whispered, gazing into his eyes.

Randall sniffed, nodding slightly. Then he nodded again, stronger.

Sighing, Angela let him go. “It’s time I gave this back to you…” She removed the ring— his coin, his gift she had carried for twenty years— and placed it in Randall’s palm.

Randall stared at it for a moment. “If… If I had asked you before I left for the ruins,” Randall mumbled, “would you have said yes— back then?”

“Yes…”

After her brother’s disappearance, after their family nearly went bankrupt searching for him, Angela’s parents had been determined to marry her off as soon as she came of age.

If she had to marry, then she would have made the choice herself. She would have chosen the bright-eyed boy who treated everyone as an equal, who could take Angela far away from Stansbury, who could talk her ear off about archaeology…

Even if her parents didn’t agree. Even if Mr. Ascot didn’t approve of the girl whose brother had perished in the Akbadain ruins…

“Yes,” Angela said again. “I would have chosen you, because I grew up with you and I loved you—“

“You did,” Randall choked out.

“I do,” she amended. “But I’m… still getting to know this version of you, who I’ve only known for two years…”

She let out a tearful sigh. “And I’m… still finding things out about myself… I suppose, what I need is more time.”

“I owe you that time, after everything…” Randall slipped the ring into his pocket. Angela wondered if he would save it for her, or if he would give it to someone else…

“You don’t owe me anything,” Angela assured him. “And you mustn’t wait for me… ”

“Will you let me know,” Randall murmured, “if you change your mind?”

“Of course.”

Then, she embraced him not as her fiancé, but as her first love.

Angela wasn’t sure if Randall Ascot would be her last love — for as long as they both should live— but she would always love him.

She would love what they had been… what could have been… and, perhaps someday, what they had become.

But first, there was someone she had to find.

“Good afternoon, this is Hershel Layton speaking. How might I be of assistance?”

Gentlemanly as ever…

Angela smiled down the phone. “Ciao, Hershel!”

“Oh, Angela…! ” Hershel’s formal voice filled with warmth. “Are you, per chance, in Italy?”

“Correct!” (No doubt, Randall had contacted him already…) “Right now I’m staying with my parents…”

When she trailed off, Hershel asked, “I hope you’re having a good time?”

“It’s been— good to catch up with them, and straighten some things out, but…” Angela glanced over her shoulder, even though she doubted her parents would hear.

Hershel prompted. “But?”

“…I won’t be staying for much longer,” Angela murmured. “I’ll be leaving soon— on my own…”

“ I see,” Hershel said, with understanding. “Are Randall and Henry aware?”

“They might suspect, but they don’t know where I’m going.” (She wasn’t sure yet either.) Angela sighed. “I just… wanted to give you a heads-up, before they asked for your help tracking me down…”

There was no judgement in Hershel’s tone. “Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?”

“Not forever— a couple of months, maybe.” How ever long it took to rediscover oneself. “But I will come back… ”

For a few moments, Hershel was quiet, considering.

Angela thought she heard a baby babbling somewhere in the background. Right— hadn’t he taken in a little girl, along with Flora and Alfendi?

(She really hoped he was happy, after everything …)

Then Hershel breathed, “If you ever find yourself in a spot of trouble— or simply need a listening ear— you will call, won’t you?”

“I will,” Angela promised, just as she had promised Randall and Henry. She brushed away a tear. “Goodbye, Hershel…”

Goodbye, Angela Redoll.

Hello… Angela.

4 notes · View notes

sixminutestoriesblog · 1 year

Text

moonstone

Let's wrap up the end of June with more stories about one of its birthstones. Alexandrite is actually a ''new' gemstone. It wasn't discovered, or at least classified, until 1830 in an emerald mine in the Ural Mountains. Since it was discovered in Russia and on his birthday, no less, the stone was named for Prince Alexander II. At first everyone thought it was simply an emerald but Alexandrite has the unique ability to change colors depending on the light its under and the stone tipped everyone off it was something entirely new when it went from the green they expected to red.

Which is all fascinating to me - but it does mean the stone hasn't been around long enough to really got much traction when it comes to folklore or legends around it.

For that, we'll look to June's third birthstone, the moonstone.

Before I get started though I feel as if I should point out none of my books on folklore include gemstones. This means I get just about all my information when it comes to superstitions about them from digging around on the internet or little bits of things I remember hearing in the past, like pearls being tears. Usually this is okay. I try to cross-check all my stories, only using ones that show up in two or preferably three different places and trying to avoid 'modern' sites that seem to be more about vibes than historical superstitions. I'm not here to tell you how to cleanse your house, I'm here to pass along old stories associated with items or moments our grandparents and their grandparents might have told each other. Point being, I ran across a couple different sites that listed off moonstone superstitions almost word for word of each other, which makes me suspect they all got the stories from one of the websites and just passed it around between them. It's not a good way to fact check whether they're real old superstitions or just a story one website made up and the others assumed it was factual and ran with it. The entire paragraph above me is basically just me saying 'Take all of this with a grain of salt'. I will try to keep everything true to its historic roots, leaving out things I find suspect, but I will also make misjudgements. In the end, these are all just stories and should be treated as such.

So - moonstones.

To the surprise of no one, moonstones are associated with the moon. Their milky luminescence and the way the light reflected through them seems to wax and wane as the stone is moved around are what give the stone its name to begin with. Any society comparing one to the other would automatically give the stone many of the properties they gave the moon. Hindu and Roman stories claim that moonstones are formed of moonbeams themselves, the rays solidified into something touchable. The Greeks and the Romans associated the stone with their goddess of the moon. In India, it wasn't permitted to lay the stones out for display in shops for sale unless they were cushioned in yellow cloth, a sacred color for a sacred stone. It's even been associated with Monday, suggesting if you were born on that day you shouldn't need to be a June child to enjoy the stone as your own since Monday is named after the moon.

Like the moon, the moonstone is good for lovers and prophecy. A moonstone in the mouth during a full moon will give you a hint of your future or perhaps just a future love. In fact, in India, the moonstone is considered a traditional wedding gift. Lovers who both wear moonstone rings will find their love deepened and increased and exchanging moonstones after a quarrel is supposed to help ease over the difficulty and restore the relationship. Since the gem seems to carry its own light inside of it, it was considered good luck both for a marriage and for all other aspects of life as well. Association with the moon also meant it was associated with fertility. It is supposed to help people retain their youth.

You know what else is associated with the moon? Sleeping. Put a moonstone under your pillow before you go to bed to enhance your dreams and let you sleep tranquilly. Not interested in sleeping? The moonstone is also supposed to protect travelers, especially ones that travel at night. The same protection extends to anyone traveling over water. Intriguingly, wearing a moonstone ring is also supposed to be a charm when playing cards, tipping the game in the gambler's favor and making the people playing against him more likely to follow the card shark's lead.

Do you want a full harvest and have money to burn? Bury a moonstone in the middle of your garden on the night of a full moon for an abundant harvest or hang it from a fruit tree for the same if you trust your neighbors.

The moonstone has enjoyed popularity all through history and in modern times, both the Art Nouveau movement and the 'flower child' hippy culture of 1960s America have seen a revival of interest in the stone. In 1970 the moonstone was named Florida's official state gemstone in honor of the moon landing that launched out of Cape Canaveral - even though the stone is not native to the state.

So what about that? When birthstones were handed out, June babies didn't do too badly at all, did they?

#superstition #folklore #birth month #birthstone #moonstone #moon #alexandrite #june #june birthstone #june birthday #art nouveau #florida

14 notes · View notes

sakurachan7734 · 7 months

Text

The magic within yourself will help you find the truth

Chapter 2: the death and birth of a witch

⚠️Tw: character death, car crash and difficult childbirth⚠️

No one pov

Nine months later Miranda went into labor late at night and quickly got her to a hospital but the labor was extremely difficult Zachary was getting worried about Miranda

Zachary:* hugs Adam’s* will mom be ok?

Adam:* hug’s Zachary* yes she will be ok and so will your sister

A few hours the doctors brought out the newborn baby girl

Adam: what happened it my wife ok?!

The doctor: your baby is OK but…. Your wife didn’t make it.

Adam:* takes Zoe and starts crying* no!

The doctor: I’m sorry for your loss and one more thing * hand, Adam Miranda’s ring, bracelets and necklace* here is her jewelry so you can remember her

Adam:* takes the jewelry*thank you sir come on Zachary let’s go home

Zachary:* crying* mom isn’t coming back?

Adam: no sadly

Zachary:* crying and hugs Adam*

A few weeks later, mother Stacy appears in Adams and Miranda‘s room

Mother Stacy: is Zoe ready?

Adam:* crying and holding Zoe* yes and this isn’t gonna hurt her right?

Mother Stacy: no, she won’t feel a thing

Adam: you guys aren’t gonna kill me, right?

Mother Stacy: no we won’t even though we do not allow humans into the castle. The only real exception to this rule is if Miranda died or went missing but since this is the case of her dying and the ceremony needs to take place since Zoe is one of us

Adam: ok I’m still a little confused about you witches and wizards

Mother Stacy: yes, I understand that, but let’s get the ceremony started. We’re almost late

Mother Stacy brings Adam to the castle and starts the ceremony with Zoe

Adam:* lays Zoe down on a stone pedestal* how long will this take?

Mother Stacy: not long I just need to touch her forehead and say some words

Adam: ok

Mother Stacy;* places her hand over Zoe’s forehead* today we celebrate and mourn the death of a beloved witch name Miranda and c the birth of her second child Zoe dove her mother went through difficult labor in order for her to be born into this family and we should accept her as one of us

The mark on Zoe’s forehead glows a light yellow and the marks on the rest of her body glow, a red color

Adam:* picks up zoe* thank you

Mother Stacy: your welcome take good care of her and Zachary

A few months later

Adam: who’s ready to go to grandmas house?!

Zachary:* jumping up and down*me me!!

Adam: well let me go get your sister Zoe, and then we can go!

Zachary: yay!!

Adam get Zoe out of her crib and they get into the car

Zachary: how long will we be at Grandma’s house for?

Adam: over the weekend like aways

Zachary: ok can I wear your hat over the weekend and mom’s necklaces?

Adam: yes why?

Zachary: it reminds me of you and mom

Adam: ok but you better take good care of them

Zachary: I will!

They make it to Catalina’s house

Adam: alright have fun at grandmas house!

Zachary: bye dad!

Catalina: awww your father let you wear his hat and your mother’s jewelry?

Zachary: yes as long as I keep it safe

Catalina: I’m sure your mother will be very happy that her jewelry is safe with you

Zachary: yea and what dose the three moons on the pearl necklace mean?

Catalina: oh it is the maiden,mother and chrome also known as the triple goddess

Zachary: ohh why is it tree moons?

Catalina: it represents the phases of the moon

Zachary: that’s cool! And is there anyway to get to the magical world that my mom is from?

Catalina: well all I know is that there is a mirror that gose there but I don’t know where it is

Zachary: oh ok

Meanwhile with Adam

Adam pov

The road was icy and slippery I have to be careful but it’s hard because there’s a lot of traffic right now I really hope Zara doesn’t lose the necklaces or-

All of a sudden a car comes swerving in and hits Adam’s car and two other people crash in him too despite the collision somehow, Adam was barely alive and managed to crawl. Someone he knew he was completely alone, and instead of crying out to the sky

Adam:* crying* please please mother Stacy take me to take me and bury me where you buried my wife I promise if I come back as a ghost I won’t cause any trouble!!

Adam then collapses and bleeds out in the snow mother Stacy appeared in front of him pick them up and take them back to castle

Meanwhile, with Zachary and Catalina

Zachary: what does the tree mean on mom’s second necklace?

Catalina: that’s considered the tree of life which is where you and your sister’s ceremony performed

Zachary: and earlier today I accidentally knocked over your teapot and when I went to pick up it burnt my hands when it was even hot

Catalina: oh that’s because that teapot was made of copper which is one of your weaknesses

Zachary: really? I thought we didn’t have any weaknesses I’ve been around it several times before I felt nothing

Catalina: yes, you have witnesses but thankfully you only have two copper, and any type of crystal fragment the reason why you felt nothing around is because you have to be in contact in order for it to hurt you

All of a sudden the news comes on talking about a car crash

News reporter: on this day November 15th a deadly car crash happened on a major traffic road witnesses say that three people were killed but the third body cannot be found more at 11:00

Zachary: that looks like dad’s car….* starts crying*

Catalina:* starts crying* no no please don’t do this to me Adam

Zachary:* crying And hugs Catalina* I’m scared

Catalina:* hugs Zachary* well it looks like you and your sister are going to stay here

Zachary: forever?

Catalina: yes…..

End of chapter

#wizard oc #oc backstory #oc family #oc story

2 notes · View notes

nightmarist · 1 year

Text

Alright finally writing our previous DnD session !

All previous parts:

The party has been shopping around, budgeting their treasures. They also came to an argument with Yilcer about whether her Archdruid Helvega is the same as the Sigurd Helvega they faced ages ago.

This particular session was very lore-heavy. I was worried they'd get bored, but pleasantly surprised by how immersed they were and how much they enjoyed piecing together bits of lore they each had, so I hope I can translate that well enough to text here.

Yilcer refuses to believe her Archdruid is the same Helvega as the necromancer they met, but it's mostly due to Ivan's petty one-sided feud with him: Ivan insists he's a bad guy because Sigurd let him drink his blood knowing it was tainted because he's "always wondered what would happen."

Tork had to mediate between them.

In the mean time, Xehara went back to one of the shop keeps, Zephyn, a Tiefling who has half his face seared to the bone, a seasoned adventurer who has definitely seen a lot. He asks Zephyn about his necklace, since Zephyn's wares are mostly jewelries. Zephyn personally isn't sure but suggests if it's magic and can't be taken off, he should ask a wizard or sorcerer.

The group gets back together and goes to Glamours and Gores, a magic and magic items shop run by a half-elf wizard named Dravor, dressed in midnight-black robes with subtle hints of gold threads, wearing gold pauldrons and chains.

Dravor sells them a few items, including some scrolls (Fireball, Speak With Dead, Grease, Disguise Self).

Dravor looks through a few of his tomes and tells Zehara the necklace is certainly of Ancient time, but can tell little beyond that. There is an enchantment attached to it, but he wouldn't necessarily call it a curse as much as he would call it soulbound. He did not detect any outright cursed or dark magic on the necklace, but it seems that its refusal to be removed is part of its duty, and that Xehara would have to be the one to find out what that is.

Yilcer wanted to open up a bank account since the ancient coins they have cost a fuckton of gold for just one. The Three Lizard Bank recognized her surname, Helvega, and asked if she was related. She at first didn't want to say, but passed a persuasion check after backtracking. They gave her a vault key to a Helvega vault. She at first refused to let anyone else go with her, wanting to discover the secrets of her Archdruid herself.

The vault was massive, but had very little actually inside.

Five portraits were stacked against the wall. She didn't recognize any except one: her Archdruid wearing a teal, armored robe holding a book, a quill, wearing a silver ring with a purple stone. But, what was unusual, is that his eyes were normal. White sclera, dark black irises.

There were stacks and stacks of letters neatly arranged, and several books. They were all in a language she didn't know, however, ad she cursed at herself, realizing the others were studying this language. She found a safety deposit box and opened it. Inside were:

A broken pearl necklace, a large amethyst flower, a large peridot flower, an opened letter with the wax seal preserved of an axe and a lavender stalk crossing but in a language she didn't know, two silver rings with an amethyst and a peridot respectively (that she recognized one as in the portrait) with engraved phrases in another language, four small black obelisks, and a pitch black dagger coated in rust or old blood.

She went back and very frustratedly demanded the others go with her.

They had ONE scroll of Comprehend Languages and had to choose which of the items they were going to read. I gave them the choice of:

A stack of old letters. A stack of new letters. A stack of ancient books.

Either way I was going to give them the safety deposit box letter and rings for free since they're quick reads.

Everyone examined all the items in the room.

The group recognized the portraits as the indiiduals from the Godkiller temple as well as portraits hanging in Sigurd's office at the Elk God's temple: Eloise Starguard, Asa Heilung, Razvra Zhiat, and finally a portrait of Sigurd himself. However, the fifth was recognized but unexpected: A heroic portrait of a middle-aged man with chopped brown hair and scruffy beard. He is Xehara's target.

Everyone mulled over these portraits.

Xehara and Tork looked at the two stacks of books. One of them was a stack of language books in many languages. They recognized Sigurd's handwriting in various notes, as it seemed he was learning all these languages himself. The second stack of books were neat and they passed a check to determined they were preserved by the same magic that had been preserving Razvra's body (and now-decapitated head....)

Tork and Xehara passed a Wisdom check so I allowed them to understand the subject of the books but not fully translate them. They were five books about the Usherian Pantheon, seemingly each about a god, but couldn't decipher what the fifth book as about.

Yilcer is the one who used the Comprehend Language scroll and chose to translate the older stack of letters.

Here's a copy paste of my notes:

Sigurd details that there is a sickness disturbing the local flora and fauna in a way that seems unnatural or supernatural. He asks permissions to travel to the temples, as the Divination Chambers seem to be having difficulties connecting to the gods. It’s a strange, otherworldly thing he’s never seen before. But, like any illness, Sigurd insists he can take it.

Asa seems to be the first of his companions, as he sends a letter to the central Ushurian temple, the Temple of the Quartet, detailing her aid in soothing frenzied creatures that have come to illness. The Temple of the Quartet seems to be located near Fjorsom and Brislat. Asa is apparently a warrior nun dedicated in Ranger arts. She and Sigurd travel to Draghule together and find the dragon god suffers the illness. He details the symptoms:

It is of ragged breath, drooling from its mouth with a wretched stench of death. It is rather unable to move and appears to have a bloat. He and Asa, as skilled healers each and Asa of great animal-clinictic study do what they can to aid the Great Dragon, but little seems to help it. Sigurd informs the Temple of the Quartet he will attempt his Final Measure, and perhaps self-study its signs and symptoms. They reply to him with prayers for his own health, and thank him for his sacrifice.

He details that after curing the illness, he and Asa were blessed by the visage of Galdramadur Himself, in draco-humanoid glory, thanking him for his service and sacrifice. The god seems to be doing much better, and even said that the mortal coils of the great beast God-Avatars can occasionally suffer mortal-inflictions. Sigurd, however, tells the Temple he does not find this illness to be very…. Mortal.

Sigurd has hired a band of mercenaries to travel with him and fellow priests, to protect them from the troubles that would meet them traveling from Osanisk to the southeastern shores to travel to Aeonaclys.

Letters are addressed to his mother. He has a few letters from his mother praying for his safety. A few of the letters describe the band of mercenaries, a barbarian, a fighter, a pair of wizards, two paladins briefly, small things about their origins and personalities. A few funny things, such as Asa scolding them for brutishness towards animals and plants. He details one particular paladin longer than the others – the description is certainly Razvra.

He keeps in touch with his mother. His mother calls him Siggy.

In Aeonaclys, he mentions to a nun that an Angel barred them from entering Morthana’s temple at first. He reveals it was because Morthana’s avatar had been sick, as well, but eventually allowed him upon realizing he healed both Galdramadur, Desmaduke, and Ranmaya. Morthana herself soothed him a most dreadful tale. He does not write this tale, only insists that when he returns, it would cause a dire stir amongst the worshipers and can only be told in person.

Aloise, an Angel, joins him as she feels it is her duty to do so.

He tells his mother about small things. He tells her he thinks Razvra would enjoy their farm because he enjoys gardening, and hopes to show him someday. He said Razvra also likes horses, and tells her they should get one or two. Razvra’s horse is named Tabernackle. He includes a drawing of Razvra combing its hair.

He finished cleansing each God-Avatar.

He is asked a few times by clinicians and worshipers about his health. He insists it’s simply taking time for his own body to heal such an alien illness. He assures them he will be fine. It’s no different from healing a flue or a leper.

Most of the letters thereafter are between Sigurd and The Three (Razvra, Eloise, Asa), detailing small everyday things of their lives, keeping in touch for years. There seems to be a lot of peace now. Razvra and he live in a place called Alma, on their own farm. Sigurd’s mother had passed and he was given well-wishes – there are flowers pressed between these letters.

Asa has children in the Brislat grove. Eloise jokingly complains of the never-ending petty mortal sufferings she hears as a Guardian in Aeonaclys. Eloise and Asa both ask him about his health. He says it’s hard to keep it contained, but his body can manage it. It’s the least he can do for faith.

More time passes but new letters to them state Razvra is going with him “like old times” to visit the temples and god-avatars to cleanse the Godsickness again. Eloise and Asa both tell him to be careful, reminding him that his body is still recovering from last time. He cleanses them all again. Years pass.

New letters state his worry that the sickness is returning at exponential rate. He cleanses the gods, but they only get sick again. Eloise and Asa offer to help him, they’re own clerical abilities they believe could combine with his. He refuses, saying he doesn’t want to put his beloved companions in any danger.

Months pass.

He writes to them he fears the god-avatars are beyond saving, or will be soon, but the priests refuse to believe him.

Asa and Eloise insist he must make them see truth, that the avatars are still bound to mortal coil.

Sigurd tells them the priests are afraid the gods would cease if their avatars cease. Sigurd insists that the gods use the avatars to deal with mortal complications but otherwise would be powerful enough to resume new coils. They are GODS. The primordial essence of all life. They would not “cease”

They each agree to search for new Great Beasts that can withstand the power of the gods.

Months go by between letters, some are from Sigurd to priests, priests being upset with his line of thinking, finding him blasphemous to think anything could contain the Godsouls. Sigurd insists that avatars need not necessarily be Beasts, but any powerful being willing and capable of becoming the mouthpiece for a god would do.

Many letters are collected, addressed to Sigurd, from many priests, priestesses, nuns, monks, nobility, commoner, renouncing him as a Blasphemer. He has been stripped of his title as Ascendant Priest.

Sigurd vaguely mourns in a letter he has blood of his brothers on his hands for the foolishness of blindness. And soon, the blood of his greatest devotion will be on his hands, too.

The rest of the letters are only from Asa and Eloise, frequently writing to him, asking for his reply, asking for Razvra’s reply, asking Razvra to keep Sigurd safe. They resort to begging for an answer before the letters stop. Sigurd had one, seemingly unsent reply: I can fix it.

In between the letters are various illustrations (that I did not draw lol)

Some drawings of Razvra, Asa, and Eloise, mostly doing mundane things: Razvra brushing his horse's hair, Asa gholding her hand out to a small animal, Eloise hanging laundry on makeshift posts, some various figure drawings of various monks, nuns, priests, and priestesses, a few drawings of buildings, a few of the interior of the Forge Temple but with people, a few of the Elk temple but with people, a few of an oceanic temple, a few of a stone temple, a blood stained drawing of the goblet.

Ivan stealthed and took the drawing of the goblet (as a reminder, his people were said to be created by the magic of a goblet, and some time go he found and took the very goblet out of the Godkiller temple, but has very little knowledge of its true purpose otherwise)

The group told Yilcer they've been to two of the sketched temples and described vaguely what the found there, but told her little else.

I also let them read the rings and deposit letter.

The letter read:

Happiness, many believe, is the enchanted palaces we read of in our childhood, where fierce, fiery dragons defend the entrance and approach; and monsters of all shapes and kinds, requiring to be overcome ere victory is ours. But I know this work, and I know this life. I know the fear that punctuates the depths of the gut, the heartbeat of finality when you believe you are on death’s final knell. But I too know happiness. The mending of the soul that comes after gore, the soothing of gash wounds by the palest, most charming light, the tenderness of a kiss to the smallest scrape. I will always the sword-arm to he who is forever my healer, the mend of my heart – Sigard Vega

Ring with a dark purple stone says: Until Nothing Remains

Ring with a dark green stone says: Except for Our Regrets

Knowing Razvra and Sigurd had been married, they determined these were their wedding rings, vows, and gifts. They asked to see my illustrations again and everyone said how sad it was realizing the rings and flowers were in their respective color palettes:

They determined everything in the deposit box was particularly special, and almost ritualistic. They determined (without my confirmation but they are correct) that the four obelisks were likely tied to the fact there were originally Four Champions (Sigurd, Razvra, Asa, Eloise). The dagger, they determined, was likely what Sigurd used to kill Razvra, a very stark contrast to the beauty of most everything else in the box, and an almost sickly keepsake to remind him of what he had done.

I also gave Yilcer a particular piece of information that she shared with the group:

All names come from languages, and while she can read that Sigard Vega is a name, she can, at this moment, understand its translation and roots. Sigard means "Victorious Guardian" and "Vega" means way. I also told her, you realize that the name Helvega means "The Way to Hell"

Ivan speculated very correctly that the reason why the Godkiller is symbolized by a dead horse is because it's a bastardization, a symbol of what Sigurd had lost and thus changed his name to "The Way to Hell" showcasing his own descent of mourning to madness.

Ivan also had a very correct speculation, but I hadn't confirmed it yet, that when Sigurd said the God-Avatars needn't be beasts, he asked Tahir about the Revenant Ritual. Tahir's brother is a Revenant, which in my game means he is a body possessed by another soul. Tahir said that when he saw his brother, he had been stabbed through the heart and wrists to bleed and die so that his body could make room for another soul. Ivan compared this to the ritual they vaguely came across in the second or third session, cultists who did the same in the name of the Godkiller.

Yilcer offered information at this point:

She had asked her Archdruid before the adventure if he had ever seen this blight before. He said yes, once a long time ago, long before she was born. She asked what it was and he said it was something unnatural, or perhaps supernatural, but otherwise did not know. She asked what he did to stop it before, he told her he did "something terrible." She asked if he would have to do it again, and he simply said "I hope not."

Tork put 2 and 2 together: They found Razvra's body in the temple of the Dragon God. They found the Elk-God's body in the Godkiller's temple and an empty temple of the Elk God. There are two more champions, and two more temples. One of the champions is a guardian of the Raven goddess Morthana.

They looked at the portraits again. The one of the mystery man, Illark, had a broken frame. An Investigation check proved that it was likely thrown or otherwise smashed in frustration, but they found it strange it was still preserved with these others if Sigurd had been the one to throw it.

They also noticed, but no one seemed to pick up on my hint yet: Asa, the elf woman, had red hair and tawny skin. Yilcer passed a check and determined she was an Eldarin like herself (who is also from Brislat if you remember / read Yilcer's backstory).

They flitted back and forth between whether they wanted to sell Sigurd's stuff or not. Yilcer very much did not want to, but they all decided his story was already too fucking sad AND they decapitated his dead husband - "We have to leave him something!" Tork said.

They took the stack of newer letters as well as all the books, but left the portraits and deposit box.

They asked the bank teller how old the vault was. She looked through records and found it was actually the very first account the bank ever opened and sadly did not have any official dated records from back then, but its several hundred years old. They asked when the last time someone came an she told them about a hundred years or so (which is about when Sigurd met/adopted Yilcer but no one noticed that yet).

They bought a few more things in town now that they remembere why they went to the bank to begin with: Yilcer has an account now and exchanged an Ancient coin for gold to finish their shopping spree.

After Tahir got the Distinguished Outfit from all over the shops, he decided to flirt with Dravor as a distraction. Dravor rolled a nat 1 so he was very much enamored by our dog furry in thigh highs while Xehara stole the remaining 4 speak with dead scrolls and four comprehend language scrolls. Everyone was trying to get him to steal more than that but he refused. Dravor, being a nervous wreck while Tahir continued to flirt with him, gave Tahir a special potion of healing that does 10d6 + 10 healing. Tahir kissed him as thanks and the poor man nearly passed out.

I REALLY need to draw Dravor because he's like. A tall foreboding goth wizard with long dark beard who was reduced to blabber. I told them it was like when Kiff in Futurama gets nervous and just can't say anything.

I might make a list of the things they bought if anyone is interested, A few items I ripped from BG3 but a few I made up for their particular individual needs. I'll have to ask my note-taking player what they got, though, thank the gods he's been helping me keep track.

Ivan thought about his vampire clan has a triumvirate of gods. An Angel of the Moon named Mani, A Demon of the Sun named Kuukul, and a Necromantic Sorcerer named Erste. After seeing Eloise being called Manaven in another language at a previous temple, he determined that Eloise is likely the Moon Goddess he and his people worship. His people have a temple carved into the mountain that is said to hold the corpses of their gods, but no one except the absolute elite are allowed to go there. He realizes Eloise's body may be there, but has no idea who Kuukul or Erste may be.

Before we wrapped up I gave them a summary of important locations:

The scrolls Sigurd gave to Amin (Tahir's brother) to give to Xehara has portraits of Illark and one is the seal of Stillas, a beautiful city-state of commerce and wealth. It is possible Illark could be there. It's about a 3 week journey.

Much further to the west is Brislat and Fjorsom, and thus where the Temple of the Quartet is.

To the east they may find the origins of a peculiar necklace they found in Sigartha.

To the Northwest is Osanisk, an oceanic country and home to the Temple of the Angler Goddess.

To the far east or they could Osanisk are docking points where they will have to take a boat to Aeonaclys, Ivan's home, and thus where Eloise might be (and thus putting Asa in Osanisk).

They seem to prefer to head towards Stillas, so we'll find out next week.

If you all need it, here's are the Maps:

Cities Map | Countries Map

They are currently in between the desert mountains in a valley called the Caravan Carnival in Dauthas, also called Paripahari (not labeled, sorry), it is a long river that connects the oceans and cuts through Stillas where a great many caravans convene together, a Silk Road of sorts.

#reprise of renewal #dnd #homebrew session #its really just my own entire story as a skin on top of dnd as a system #i should probably learn gurps or something lmao #but i love 5e #i REALLY want to implement ars magica someday though that magic system s so fucking cool

4 notes · View notes