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mononijikayu · 4 months

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as the world caves in — ryomen sukuna.

In an instant, the peace you had cherished was shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of war. With a sense of dread knotting in your stomach, you looked at Sukuna who nodded back at you resolutely. Your uncle led the way, his voice ringing through the compound. There was no way back. There was only kill, or be killed.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

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

masterlist

ashes of love

song: as the world caves in by sarah cothran

note: beyond what i usually write, but i ended up doing it because i dont think it would be easy to fit in the next chapter. the next chapter is already decided. so i dont think i have the heart to add another chapter. the series is already long as it is. but still, i hope you enjoy it. i hope you enjoy the ride. buckle up, the chapters change from this on to absolutely brutally painful. anyway, i love you!!!

YOU HATED BEING HERE. In the tranquil expanse of neutral territory, where the boundaries blurred between the domains of the Ryomen and Fujiwara clans, an uneasy gathering took place. Here, beneath the boughs of ancient trees and amidst the whispers of nature, the destinies of two families intertwined. Families bound by bad, spoilt blood —blood that unites in misery, meet to unite again.

Your bright colored kimono felt tighter as the air disappeared from your lungs. The weight of the fabric, usually a symbol of your clan's pride and dignity, now seemed like a constricting shroud, amplifying the suffocating tension that surrounded you. Each breath became a conscious effort, a reminder of the expectations and pressures bearing down on you from all sides.

You stood beside your father, Ryomen Isamu, his presence as imposing as the ancient trees around you. The towering oaks and cedars, with their gnarled trunks and sprawling branches, seemed to echo his steadfastness and strength.

Isamu's broad shoulders and firm stance radiated a quiet power, a testament to his unwavering commitment to honor and duty. His face, lined with the wisdom of age and experience, remained calm, though you could sense the undercurrent of resolve that lay beneath his composed exterior.

In stark contrast stood Fujiwara Ankoku, your grandfather. His cold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierced through the air with a severity that made the spring day feel like the dead of winter. His proud demeanor, honed by years of wielding power and influence, seemed to draw the very warmth from the surroundings, creating a palpable chill.

The lines on his face were etched deeply, not just by time but by the burdens of maintaining his family's supremacy. His robes, richly embroidered with symbols of the Fujiwara clan's authority, only amplified his intimidating presence.

The neutral ground, chosen meticulously to symbolize a chance at reconciliation, felt anything but peaceful. The tension between Isamu and Ankoku crackled like a storm ready to unleash its fury.

The air, thick with unspoken words and historical grievances, seemed almost tangible. Every rustle of leaves and every distant bird call felt amplified in the heavy silence that followed each exchange.

Your father spoke with measured calm, his voice steady and deliberate. "We seek an alliance built on mutual respect and honor, Ankoku-dono. This marriage is a chance to mend our….past wounds. We are kin, after all. We must move forward united."

Ankoku’s response was an apprehensive snicker. "Respect and honor, you say? Words often spoken too easily, Isamu-dono. It is a matter of them being upheld. What guarantees can you provide that your lineage is worthy of our name?"

Each word from your grandfather felt like a blade, slicing through the fragile hope for peace. His dismissive tone stoked the simmering anger within you. Your clansmen felt the same, you knew that too well. There was pride in all of you—the Ryomen were older, bolder, more ancient than the Fujiwara.

Even so, to say that you were unworthy of your cousin Koku was entirely foolish. The clan had wondered in hushed whispers if Koku was even worthy of you. The Fujiwara had only been in such power for such a short time, one could consider it a blink.

You felt the burning pride for your clan call to you.You and your brother were born to such a glorious name. You were both worthy. You have no need to prove it. Your blood was noble. It will always be.

"The same one which you had wrought upon me by marrying me to your daughter," your father retorted, his voice firm but edged with a restrained anger.

Hiramu’s lips trembled with laughter, but he bit his lip.Your mother’s glare bore against your father’s head and then your uncle’s. The tension in his words was palpable, a clear challenge to Ankoku's authority.

“Do you question me so, Ankoku–dono, that you forget thus?”

Ankoku's eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deepening as his expression turned icy. "My daughter brought honor and strength to your clan, Isamu-dono. It is you who must prove that your bloodline is worthy of continuing this legacy."

Isamu's jaw tightened, his composure fraying at the edges. "We have upheld our end of the alliance with dignity and strength. You see my daughter, as you have seen my son. They had grown to be the pride of our clan. It is not our lineage that is in question here, but the sincerity of your intentions, Ankoku-dono."

A cold smile curled at the corners of Ankoku's lips. "Intentions, Isamu-dono? My intentions are transparent. I seek to ensure the superiority of the Fujiwara name. That is my duty. If that means questioning the worth of those who wish to align with us, so be it."

You could feel the air grow heavier with each passing moment, the space between your father and grandfather crackling with unresolved tension. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the confrontation.

"An alliance built on mutual respect cannot thrive under a cloud of suspicion and disdain, Ankoku–dono." your father pressed on, his voice steady but with a hint of frustration. Sukuna catches your uncle’s eye for a moment.

"Things as of late, it must be known as regretful. But we must move beyond these grievances if we are to secure a future of peace and prosperity for both our families. Have we not proven this with my own marriage?”

Ankoku's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. "Peace and prosperity are earned, Isamu-dono, not freely given. Prove to me that my granddaughter can uphold the honor of the Fujiwara name, and perhaps then we can speak on the completion of this alliance.”

A sharp intake of breath from Sukuna caught your attention. His eyes, usually filled with warmth when meeting yours, were now cold and hard as he glared at Ankoku and then towards your cousin Koku.

The anger simmering within him mirrored your own, a shared defiance against the oppressive authority of your grandfather. Sukuna’s usually calm demeanor was replaced by a visible tension, his jaw clenched and his fists tightened at his sides.

Koku, seated beside you, seemed entirely unfazed by the turmoil around him. He sat with an air of smug confidence, his back straight and his chin lifted slightly, exuding an aura of superiority that only served to stoke the fires of resentment burning within you and Sukuna. The pride in Koku's eyes was unwavering, a clear indication that he felt secure in his position and indifferent to the suffering or discord that his family's actions caused.

As Sukuna's gaze bore into him, Koku met it with a condescending smirk, a look that spoke volumes about his sense of untouchable entitlement. He was the first born son, the symbol of Fujiwara pride, and he seemed to revel in the conflict, basking in the glow of his perceived invulnerability. And he was seeping in — destroying the peace, by forcing Fujiwara peace through a putrid marriage that should never be.

The tension was palpable, an invisible thread stretching taut between Sukuna and Koku, threatening to snap at any moment. The space between them crackled with unspoken animosities, the air thick with the weight of ancestral grudges and personal vendettas. You felt caught in the middle, the pressure of the moment making your kimono feel even tighter, your breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

"My daughter has proven his worth time and again, Ankoku–dono." Isamu countered, his voice rising. "It is not my daughter’s honor that is in question here, but your unwillingness to see beyond your prejudices.”

Ankoku's cold smile vanished, replaced by a stern, unyielding expression. "Choose your words carefully, Isamu-dono. This marriage is not just a union of individuals but a merging of legacies, of clans. Any misstep could bring dishonor upon us all."

Your father took a deep breath, steadying himself before responding. "We will honor this union, Ankoku-dono, but it must be based on mutual respect. If we continue down this path of mistrust and animosity, we doom ourselves to repeat the mistakes of the past."

The silence that followed was heavy, each second stretching into an eternity. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you watched the two patriarchs lock eyes, their wills clashing like titans in a battle for the future.

Ankoku finally broke the silence, his voice cold and measured. "Very well, Isamu-dono. We will proceed with this marriage. We will keep the peace. But know this: I will be watching closely. Any sign of dishonor or weakness, and the consequences will be severe."

As Ankoku turned away, the tension in the air began to dissipate, leaving behind a sense of uneasy resolution. Your father exhaled slowly, the strain of the confrontation evident in his eyes. You exchanged a long, meaningful glance with Sukuna, your silent vows of defiance and determination reaffirmed.

Ankoku, sensing the tension still lingering, paused and turned back towards Isamu, his cold eyes narrowing. "Do not mistake this agreement for weakness, Isamu-dono. The Fujiwara name demands nothing less than absolute loyalty and unwavering strength."

Isamu met Ankoku's gaze, his voice steady but edged with a simmering intensity. "And do not mistake our willingness to unite as submission, Ankoku-dono. We are equals in this alliance, and respect must be mutual if we are to succeed."

Ankoku's lip curled in a slight sneer. "Respect is earned, Isamu-dono. Your family has much to prove."

Isamu's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. "And we will, through actions and honor, not through empty words and hollow threats."

A tense silence followed, each word hanging heavily in the air. Ankoku's gaze flicked to you and Sukuna, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and challenge. "See that you do. The future of both our clans depends on it."

Isamu nodded, his expression unyielding. "Indeed it does. Let us hope that our children can bridge the gaps that we could not."

Ankoku turned to leave once more, but this time Isamu’s own voice stopped him. "Ankoku-dono, understand this: the Ryomen clan will not tolerate disrespect. We come to this union with duty in our hearts, but we will not be subjugated."

Ankoku's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and grudging respect. "Very well, Isamu-dono. Let us see if your actions can match your words."

As Ankoku finally walked away, the atmosphere remained charged with the remnants of their confrontation. Your cousin Koku stood from his position, his movements deliberate and measured. His smug expression never wavered, and he approached you with a condescending air that made your skin crawl.

"Well, little cousin." Koku began, his voice dripping with feigned politeness, "It seems we are to be bound by fate and duty. I hope you are prepared to uphold your part. To honor our family, despite your… humble origins."

You bristled at his words, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I am ready to do what is necessary for our families' future, Koku–dono. I trust you will do the same."

“Oh so formal with me. Are we not family?” Koku's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Of course, I will. After all, it is my duty to guide and protect you, to ensure that you do not falter in your responsibilities."

His patronizing tone grated on your nerves, but you refused to let him see your frustration. "I must do well by my family. I shan’t be degrading. I am sure this must reflect that I am perfectly capable of handling my responsibilities, Koku–dono. You need not concern yourself with such acts.”

Koku chuckled, a low, mocking sound that only served to heighten your irritation. "Ah, such spirit. It will be interesting to see how long it lasts. Remember, little Hiromi, this union is as much a test for you as it is for me. Do try not to disappoint."

Before you could respond, Sukuna stepped forward, his presence a solid wall of support beside you. His voice was cold and measured as he addressed Koku. "Hiromi-sama does not need your condescension, Koku-dono. Hiromi-sama is your equal, an heir of her lord. You must respect my lady."

Koku's eyes widened slightly, the surprise quickly masked by a sneer. "Respect, Sukuna? Respect is earned. Your Hiromi-sama may have the title, but she has yet to prove she deserves the honor that comes with it."

Sukuna's expression remained steely. "Hiromi-sama's worth is not for you to judge. My lady has shown strength and grace under immense pressure. That, in itself, commands respect."

Koku stepped closer, his gaze flicking between you and Sukuna, his voice dropping to a low, mocking tone. "It seems you have quite the protector, little cousin. But remember, loyalty can be a fleeting thing, especially when tested by the harsh realities of our world. One of course, your pet will never understand.”

You could feel Sukuna's anger simmering beside you, his body tense with barely restrained fury. You placed a hand on his arm, a silent plea for calm, and stepped forward to face Koku directly. You shook your head at him and mouthed an order, telling him to move away. Sukuna glared at you, as though he wishes to resist. Your eyes glared back, hardening at his indulgence. His face contorts and bows swiftly, before he walks off.

"My loyalty to my family and to this alliance is unwavering." you said, your voice steady and clear. "And I expect the same from you, Koku-dono. Do not let your arrogance blind you to the importance of unity. That is your hubris.”

Koku's sneer faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he masked it with a condescending smile. "Very well, little cousin. Let us play this game. Let us hope that your confidence is not misplaced."

He turned away, the tension in his posture revealing more than his words ever could. As he walked off, you exhaled slowly, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily on your shoulders.

At that moment, Your father Isamu had slowly come to approach you. You bowed before him, but he raised his hand, releasing you from that obligation to formality. He looks to you, before turning to order the servants away, to give you some privacy. In that moment of lonesomeness, the lord’s face withers to reveal a father’s.

Ryomen Isamu expressed a mix of pride and worry as he approached you. His gaze held a depth of concern that spoke volumes, revealing the inner turmoil he grappled with. "Daughter."

"Father." You smiled at him, but you knew, as he did, that it was never full. There was a weight to his words, a heaviness that lingered in the air between you. "I am glad to serve you and your will, father."

Isamu's expression softened, but the worry remained etched in the lines of his face. "Hiromi, you do not have to do this. I do not want you to sacrifice anything for the sake of peace."

You opened your mouth to argue, to reassure him of your commitment to the alliance, but before you could speak, Isamu's next words stopped you in your tracks.

"I know about you and Sukuna," he reveals quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "And if being with him is what makes you happy, then I will allow it. I would do anything for you to be happy, my dear. So that you may not suffer as much as me.”

Shock washed over you, mingled with a pang of guilt. You had thought your feelings for Sukuna were a secret, carefully concealed from prying eyes, but now you realized that your father had known all along. The realization was both comforting and heartbreaking, knowing that he had seen the turmoil within you and had chosen to support you nonetheless.

Tears welled in your eyes as you shook your head, your heart breaking at the thought of disappointing him. "Father, I... I cannot…" you whispered, the words catching in your throat. "As much as it pains me, I must do my duty to you, to our family, our clan. For the sake of peace. You know this.”

“Daughter—”

You feel tears prickle your eyes. “Father, please.”

Isamu's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "I understand, my dear. Your sense of duty has always been your strength, and I am proud of the woman you have become."

His words wash over you like a balm, soothing the ache in your heart even as they deepen the resolve within you. You hold onto his embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of his love and understanding. It's a rare moment of vulnerability between you, a reminder of the unbreakable bond that ties you together as father and daughter.

The weight of his acceptance and support is both a comfort and a burden, knowing that he sees the sacrifices you make for the sake of peace, for the sake of your family's legacy. But in this moment, you also feel a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounds you.

"Thank you, father," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Isamu pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he meets your gaze with unwavering love. "You are my daughter, Hiromi. And nothing will ever change that. No matter what challenges lie ahead, remember that I will always be here for you."

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you try to hold back tears. "I know, father. And I will always strive to make you proud."

He enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you close as if trying to shield you from the weight of the world. In that moment, you felt the depth of his love and sacrifice, and you vowed to do everything in your power to honor his trust and uphold the legacy of your family.

As you pulled away from the embrace, wiping away your tears, you met Isamu's gaze with a renewed sense of determination. "I will make you proud, father. I promise."

Isamu smiled, a bittersweet expression tinged with pride and love. "I know you will, my dear. And remember, no matter what challenges lie ahead, I will always be here for you."

With those words lingering in the air like a comforting embrace, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever trials awaited you on the path ahead, you knew that with your father's unwavering support and your own sense of duty guiding you, you would face them with courage and resilience.

TIME PASSED TOO QUICKLY FOR YOU TO KEEP UP. The past few weeks had been a blur of unspoken words and lingering heartache. But you could not say it out loud. You couldn’t cry out or sob about it. Not anymore. Your personal life could not get in the way, you knew that. But you couldn’t help it.

Not in the lonely nights when you long to brush your fingers against fuschia hair. Not when you long for the warmth that brings you the sun on cold nights. Not when you long for the rare smiles that truly only belong to you.

These past weeks, Sukuna and you had not exchanged a single word. When you saw him, you tried to look away. When he looks at you, he lowers his gaze. Between the two of you, the silence between you grows heavier with each passing day.

He has maintained that he is loyal to you, that he is your right hand man. That he only belongs to you. Yet, he cannot call you with all the loving names he has made for you. He cannot hold you, he cannot love you as you wanted him to. And it breaks your heart over and over.

You had tried to focus on your duties, to bury your sorrow in the preparations for your upcoming wedding to Koku, a union that you loathed. You tried to sleep it off, to bury out the sound of whispers. But nothing had settled you. Not duty, not stifling your sorrow, not resting. The weight of duty pressed down on you, stifling your spirit and filling you with a sense of despair.

Uncle Hiramu had tried to speak to you, so did father. It was easily noticeable that you were unhappy about your day to day. They worried, you knew that much. But in each conversation that comes between you, you consistently said that you were fine.

You parrotted words that expressed the same thing — you must do your duty. A Ryomen must do their duty. But you knew, they did not buy it one bit. Yet they kept their tongue tied and mouth closed.

In a desperate bid to escape the suffocating atmosphere, you saddled your horse and rode out into the countryside, the wind whipping through your loose dark hair as you sought solace in the open expanse. The rhythmic pounding of your horse's hooves against the ground provided a temporary reprieve from your thoughts, but no matter how far you rode, no matter how fast, no matter how the pressure of your horse’s weight dove against you, you couldn't outrun the pain.

Eventually, you slowed your pace, coming to a halt near a secluded grove of trees. Your kimono had all but become wrinkled, your hair tattered. You thank your horse in a small mumble, your breath echoing exhaustion. You dismounted and led your horse to a nearby stream, letting it drink as you sat on a large rock, your heart heavy with the burden of your unspoken sorrow.

Hours passed, the world around you a blur. Soon enough, your mind began to drift. Laying your head against the tree, closing your eyes from the image of the secluded grove. The stillness of the place wrapped around you, offering a brief respite from your pain. The voices around you faded into the background, replaced by a distant hum as you retreated into the sanctuary of your memories.

You saw Sukuna’s face, his eyes filled with warmth and mischief as he teased you about a particularly clumsy moment during one of your training sessions. You remembered the way he laughed, a sound that felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds, lighting up even your darkest days. There were stolen moments in the garden, where he’d lean in close, his voice a soft murmur in your ear as he shared his dreams and hopes with you.

A particular memory surfaced, one of the two of you riding through the countryside, the wind in your hair and the world spreading out before you like an endless tapestry of possibilities. You recalled how he’d reached out to steady you as your horse stumbled, the warmth of his hand a comforting anchor. In those moments, with Sukuna by your side, the future seemed bright and full of promise.

But now, those days felt like a distant dream, a cruel illusion that had slipped through your fingers. The reality of your impending marriage to Koku, a man you neither loved nor respected, loomed over you like a storm cloud, darkening every corner of your heart.

The memory of Sukuna’s smile, his touch, his laughter, was too much to bear. Desperate to escape the suffocating weight of your duties and the impending wedding, you decided to steal a few moments of freedom. You sighed, not knowing or caring what the hour was. What propriety was as you lay against the grass. You could only want, you could only dream. You could only yearn. You wanted to pretend that your world isn’t falling apart.

Moments later, the sound of approaching hooves reached your ears. You blinked, slowly returning into reality. With a heavy sigh, you sat up. You turned to see Mikoto Masaomi, your loyal guard, riding toward you. His expression was one of concern as he dismounted and approached you.

You felt like he had aged in just a small time, just looking for you. But then again, you had disappeared for so long. He got off his horse, and settled the animal beside your own. He walked towards you and bowed.

"Hiromi–sama." Masaomi said softly, his voice filled with worry. "We've been looking for you. Are you all right?"

“I’m alright.” You retorted, tight lipped. “I was just….”

Masaomi sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of his concern. “Hiromi-sama, you do not have to lie. It is alright… to be honest with me. It is just me. Your loyal friend.”

You looked at Masaomi for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of judgment or doubt, but found only sincerity and a deep, abiding loyalty. His presence, a constant in your life, offered a rare moment of solace amid the turmoil. For a moment, your brother’s face tethered in your mind as you looked at Masaomi.

“Masaomi, I just....” you began, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. “I… I feel so lost. Everything is falling apart. Sukuna is gone, and I am being forced into a future I never wanted. It feels like I am being crushed under the weight of everyone's expectations, and I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.”

Masaomi nodded, his expression understanding and patient. “I know, Hiromi-sama. I see the strain this is putting on you, and it pains me to see you suffer. You have always been so strong, but even the strongest hearts can break under such pressure.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over. You turned away, trying to hide your vulnerability, but Masaomi gently took your hand, his touch grounding you in the present.

“It is alright to feel this way,” he continued softly. “You are not weak for wanting something different, for longing for happiness. You are human, and your feelings are valid.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the dam within you finally begin to break. “I miss him so much, Masaomi. Sukuna… he was my anchor, my hope…..my heart. And now, without him, I feel adrift, lost in a sea of expectations and duties that I never wanted.”

Masaomi’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a reassuring pressure that reminded you of his unwavering support. “Hiromi-sama, your happiness is important. You deserve to find joy and peace, not to be shackled by obligations that only bring you pain.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision, and you looked down, the words spilling from your lips in a torrent of despair. “But how can I? I am bound by duty to my family, to this alliance. My brother’s duty is mine. I cannot abandon them. If I refuse, it could mean disaster for everyone I love. How can I be so selfish as to choose my own happiness over the well-being of my clan?”

Masaomi’s voice was gentle but firm as he responded. “Choosing your own happiness is not selfish, Hiromi-sama. It is necessary. A leader who is broken and unhappy cannot effectively lead or bring peace. Your well-being is the prosperity of your clan, of all your vassals. Of me.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “But what can I do, Masaomi? How can I find a path that honors both my duty and my heart?”

Masaomi’s gaze was steady, his expression filled with determination. “We will find a way, Hiromi-sama. Whatever it takes, we will forge a path that allows you to fulfill your duties without sacrificing your soul. And if that means defying tradition or challenging those who stand in our way, then so be it. As I was with your brother, Akimu–dono, I am with you. Always.”

His words lit a spark of resolve within you, a flicker of hope that had been nearly extinguished. You squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “Thank you, Masaomi. You have never abandoned me. I am grateful to you. Truly.”

Masaomi smiled, a rare expression that softened his usually stern features. “You will never have to find out, Hiromi-sama. The Mikoto will always stand with you. If we must go against the Fujiwara, then we will. Until death, Hiromi-sama. We will join you.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering loyalty, filled you with a newfound determination. But there was still the lingering pain of separation from Sukuna, the unresolved feelings that gnawed at your heart. Masaomi seemed to sense this, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he studied your face.

“You need to talk to Sukuna when he returns,” Masaomi said gently but firmly. “You need to tell him how you feel, Hiromi-sama. Keeping these feelings locked away will only cause more pain. He deserves to know the truth, and you deserve the chance to find peace, whether it be with him or through closure.”

The idea of facing Sukuna after all this time, of baring your soul to him, was both terrifying and exhilarating. Your heart ached at the thought, but deep down, you knew Masaomi was right. Avoiding the truth had only prolonged your suffering.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What if… what if I’ve lost him forever?”

Masaomi shook his head, his expression resolute. “You will never know unless you speak to him. And even if his feelings have changed, at least you will have clarity. You cannot live in this state of suffering, Hiromi-sama. It is not fair to you, and it is not fair to him.”

You took a deep breath, the enormity of the decision settling over you. “When he returns… I will talk to him. I will tell him everything.”

Masaomi’s smile broadened, a rare show of genuine happiness. “That is all I ask, Hiromi-sama. Be true to yourself and to your heart. No matter the outcome, you will have the support of the Mikoto and of those who love you.”

As the last light of the setting sun bathed the grove in a golden glow, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, you had a clear direction. You would confront your fears, face the truth, and fight for your own happiness, whatever that might look like.

You and Masaomi mounted your horses and began the ride back to the estate, the cool evening air washing over you. As you rode, you allowed yourself to hope. To imagine a future where you could find a way to honor both your duty and your heart, where you could find peace and perhaps, even happiness.

YOU TOOK MASAOMI’S ADVICE. The days stretched into weeks since you last saw Sukuna, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment. The engagement to Koku felt like a noose tightening around your neck, suffocating the very essence of who you were. You missed Sukuna terribly, his absence a constant, aching void. Finally, you could bear it no longer and summoned him to your chambers.

The night air was cool as you waited in your dimly lit room, the flickering candle casting shadows on the walls. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. When Sukuna finally arrived, he entered quietly, his presence filling the space with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Hiromi-sama,” he said formally, bowing slightly as he stood before you. “You called for me. Why am I here?”

The formality in his tone cut through you like a knife, a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between you. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “We need to talk, Sukuna. There are things we need to say… things we need to understand.”

He nodded curtly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Very well. Speak.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I… I’ve missed you, Sukuna.” you began, your voice trembling. “I’ve missed us. This engagement…duty as it may be – it's tearing me apart. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel anything for you.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it. “You chose your duty, Hiromi-sama. You chose Koku.”

“I had no choice!” you cried, your voice breaking. “You know that…. My family, the clan… they all depend on this alliance. Peace depends on this. It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I have to do.”

“The Fujiwara care little for honor and you know this.” He hisses back at you. He shakes his head. “Do you honestly believe that they will not do some trickery, some game upon us?”

Your eyes narrow. “Sukuna, they are my kin. They shall honor–”

“Blood means little to the greedy.”

“You know I cannot….” You whisper, lowering your gaze. You knew he was right. You knew that he was honest about it. When has Fujiwara been honorable? “You are not the only one suffering this, Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what about me? What about what we have? What we had together, our love? Does that mean nothing to you? Do I mean little to you?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. “Of course it means something! It means the world to me. You mean everything to me…..But I’m trapped, Sukuna…..I…”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the same way? You’re not the only one suffering here, Hiromi.”

The raw emotion in his voice broke something inside you. It burns to hear only your name from his lips. Not his endearment. Not his token of love. The tears you had been holding back spilled over, and you turned away, trying to hide your vulnerability.

“I hate this.” you whispered. “I hate all of it…..I don’t want to,....I don’t want us to fight. I don’t want to do away with this. From the person I love.”

Sukuna’s expression softened suddenly. It hurts him to see you in tears. To see you in pain. He sighed. He loses to you, he always does.

He reached out, gently turning you to face him. “Night flower… look at me.”

You met his gaze, your heart breaking at the sight of his own anguish. “I don’t know what to do, Sukuna.” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I feel like I’m losing myself. I want to follow my heart but I just….”

He pulled you into his arms, his hold possessive and desperate. “You’re not alone in this, night flower. I told you, I will not abandon you.” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find a way against the Fujiwara. Trust me.”

You felt the heat of his body against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, intimate space. He tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours.

“Night flower,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You belong with me. You know that, don’t you?”

A sob escaped your lips as you nodded, the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I know.” you whispered back. “I’ve always known.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened with a fierce possessiveness as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing, desperate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of frustration, and of a love that refused to be denied. Your initial resistance melted away as you clung to him, pouring all your pent-up emotion into that single, searing moment.

His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as if trying to meld your bodies into one. The intensity of his kiss left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel his desperation, his need for you, mirrored in your own.

When he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, he rested his forehead against yours. “I can’t let you go.” he whispers to you tenderly, shutting his eyes.. “No matter what it takes, night flower. I’ll do it. Just….just stay with me.”

You nodded, the tears still streaming down your face. “I’m sorry, my love.” you agreed, your voice a whisper. “I really am.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I—”

He says, his eyes opening once more. “I’ll kiss you.”

You looked at him, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do it.”

“Beg for it.”

In the heat of the moment, your words dissolved into a needy moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the overwhelming desire that pulsed between you. "Don't tease me." you pleaded, your voice husky with need, unable to deny the magnetic pull of his touch. “Please, my love.”

“Hm… what does this little flower want?”

“You.” You moaned, weak against his warmth. “Only you, my love.”

Sukuna’s response was immediate and primal. He growled deep in his throat, the sound reverberating through you and igniting a fierce, uncontrollable hunger. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling you flush against his hard body. The intensity of his need matched your own, a raw, animalistic force that threatened to consume you both.

With a low, guttural sound, Sukuna's lips crashed down on yours, not gentle or tender, but demanding and feral. His kiss was a storm, fierce and unrelenting, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to mark you as his. You gasped into his mouth, the pain only heightening your desire, and he took the opportunity to delve deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a battle for dominance.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. His hands roamed your body with a possessive urgency, his touch setting your skin aflame. He pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and you arched into him, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.

Sukuna's grip on you tightened, his nails digging into your flesh as he growled against your mouth. "You're mine, night flower." he snarled, his voice rough with possession and desire. "All mine."

The ferocity in his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you moaned, your body reacting instinctively to his dominance. You clawed at his clothed back, needing to feel him closer, to be consumed by the fire between you. Sukuna responded in kind, his mouth leaving a trail of fiery kisses down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, marking you as his own.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the world narrowing to just the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of passion and need. Every touch, every kiss, was a desperate claim, a refusal to let go. The line between pleasure and pain blurred as Sukuna's teeth grazed your collarbone, your back arching in response, pressing your body harder against his.

He pushed you back against the wall with a force that left you breathless, his body pressing firmly against yours. The hard, unyielding surface behind you contrasted starkly with the searing heat of his touch, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. Your back arched instinctively, seeking more of the delicious friction he offered, as your senses were overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

His hands roamed possessively over your body, igniting flames of desire wherever they touched. The sensation of his fingers tracing the contours of your skin sent shivers down your spine, awakening a hunger you hadn't realized was lying dormant within you. With each caress, each brush of his lips against your skin, you felt yourself surrendering to the primal need that pulsed between you.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer, urging him to deepen the kiss. Sukuna's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path of bites and kisses in their wake. Each touch was like fire against your skin, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body and making your head spin with dizzying delight.

With a rough, almost desperate motion, he tore at your clothes, his hands exploring your skin with a fervent need that sent shivers down your spine. Fabric tore away under his touch, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his hungry gaze. The air crackled with anticipation as he hungrily drank in the sight of your bare skin, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that made your heart race even faster.

You tear at his clothes eagerly, happily — not caring about the cost, the damage. Such fine clothes do not need to exist. You wanted him. You wanted your lover. You did not care for much else. You wanted it off. You wanted to feel him. Skin to skin, the advent of bare worlds merging together in the flesh.

"I've waited long enough," he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed his body closer to yours, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. The heat of his words sent a surge of desire coursing through you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The raw hunger in his voice stirred something primal within you, awakening a need that mirrored his own. You found yourself responding to him with an urgency you couldn't deny, your body arching into his touch as you surrendered to the overwhelming passion that pulsed between you.

His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of your exposed skin with a reverence that made your breath catch in your throat. Fingers traced delicate patterns along your curves, sending electric currents dancing across your flesh and setting your nerve endings ablaze with sensation.

"I won't let anyone else have you," he vowed, his words a fierce declaration of possession as he claimed you as his own. There was a primal possessiveness in his touch, a certainty that you belonged to him and him alone, that sent a thrill of excitement racing through you. “No one, not any man. No one.”

In that moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the wild, untamed passion that burned between you. You surrendered yourself completely to him, giving in to the irresistible pull of desire that drew you together like moths to a flame.

As his lips crashed down on yours once more, sealing the union, that vow with a searing kiss. You knew that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, bound together in a love that defied reason and logic, a love that would endure for eternity.

As Sukuna's lips claimed yours in a fervent kiss, his hands continued their exploration of your exposed skin, tracing every curve and contour with an expert touch that left you trembling with anticipation. With each caress, he seemed to stoke the flames of desire within you, igniting a burning hunger that threatened to consume you entirely.

His touch was electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body and leaving you yearning for more. Fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing down to your collarbone before wandering lower, teasing the edges of your desire.

With a skillful motion, Sukuna's hands roamed lower still, tracing the outline of your hips before slipping beneath the fabric of your remaining clothing. His touch was bold and confident, fingers dancing lightly over the heated flesh of your thighs as he moved ever closer to the source of your need.

You gasped as his fingertips brushed against your most intimate parts, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a wildfire of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely.

Sukuna's touch was relentless, brutish. You feel like you would burn at each motion. His fingers expertly coaxing forth the symphony of pleasure that lay dormant within you. With each stroke, each caress, he pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss that mirrored the fervor of your desire.

As the intensity of his touch reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release. Moan after moan, your entire being was consumed by the flames of passion that raged between you. With a final, exquisite touch, Sukuna pushes you over the edge, sending you spiraling into the depths of pleasure as you surrender yourself completely to him.

Your reaction was one of pure ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that swept through every fiber of your being. As Sukuna's skilled hands and lips worked their magic, you felt yourself unraveling, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely.

Every touch, every caress sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge of release.

When Sukuna finally pushed you over that edge, sending you spiraling into the depths of ecstasy, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before. You felt like you were seeing the stars for the first time.

The way he made you feel, the way his fingers played through your confines made you quiver, shake over and over. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last, until you were lost in a haze of pure bliss.

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, Sukuna's voice cut through the haze of pleasure, his tone husky with desire. "You're mine," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He bites against your neck. “Mine, mine. Forever mine.”

You let out a soft moan of contentment, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. His possessiveness could only ever make you even more pleasured.

"’kuna," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt broken against him, so deliciously broken. And he loved it. “I’m…gonna…gonna…ah!”

The air crackled with raw intensity as Sukuna's gaze bore into yours, his eyes dark with desire. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “Say it, night flower.”

"I'm yours," you replied, your voice filled with a mixture of passion and submission. “I’m….oh…I’m yours! Yours!”

Sukuna's grip tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost painful urgency. "Louder, little one." he commanded, his voice tinged with a hint of dominance. “I don’t care if they hear us. Louder.”

"I'm yours!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with each word as you surrender yourself completely to him.

A fierce hunger burned in Sukuna's eyes as he claimed you once more, his touch rough and possessive as he took you to heights of pleasure you had never known before. Every movement was charged with an intensity that left you gasping for breath, his hands exploring every inch of your body with a relentless urgency that drove you to the brink of madness.

As the crescendo of passion reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. And then, with a cry that echoed through the room, you came undone in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and spent in the aftermath of your shared release.

In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present - a fleeting instant of pure, unadulterated bliss that bound you together in a timeless embrace.

And as you basked in the afterglow of your shared passion, you knew that this was where you belonged - in the arms of the one who had awakened the deepest desires within you.

Sukuna's lips curled into a smug smirk as he watched you, his eyes alight with satisfaction at having brought you to such heights of pleasure. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, a silent testament to the intensity of the moment.

"Was that everything you hoped for?" he asked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You could only nod in response, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release. Words failed you in that moment, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being utterly and completely consumed by him.

Sukuna's smirk widened as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the rough intensity of moments before.

"You belong to me, night flower." he murmured against your skin, his words a promise and a vow all rolled into one. “You are mine to love, to have, to live, to breathe. To bow to. To yearn for. You are only mine.”

“Make it so.” You huff tenderly at your lover. “I am truly yours.”

As Sukuna's hands skillfully undid the fastenings of his pants, releasing his arousal, a surge of anticipation coursed through your veins like wildfire. The sight of him, his eyes ablaze with unbridled desire, set your heart thundering against your chest with an intensity that matched the rhythm of your racing breaths. In that electrifying moment, the confines of the room seemed to shrink, the air thick with the palpable tension of longing and need.

With a hunger so primal it bordered on desperation, you met his lips once more in a pulsing kiss, your bodies melding together in a fiery embrace.

The world dissolved into a blur of sensation as you drowned in the heady rush of his touch, every caress like a flame igniting your skin, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your entire being. Each brush of his fingertips against your skin was a symphony of ecstasy, each stroke leaving you gasping for more.

Your hands moved with a frenzied urgency, exploring every inch of his body with a fevered passion. Fingers traced the contours of his form, memorizing every dip and curve as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pull of desire.

There was no room for restraint in this tempest of passion, no need for words as your bodies spoke the language of lust and longing, entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

When you parted for air, Sukuna moved slightly and you watched as he towered before you, even in his kneeling position. His presence was overwhelming, commanding the entirety of the room. His figure exuded an aura of raw power, every sinew and muscle of his sculpted physique hinting at the strength that lay beneath.

Your eyes trailed down his form, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his torso. He was a towering figure, his height accentuated by the sheer magnitude of his presence. And as your gaze lingered on the bulge straining against the fabric of his pants, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him.

He was a man of undeniable stature, you had always known so. But to see him in full, to the bareness of his person – you found that he was possessing a primal magnetism that drew you in even more with an irresistible force. And as he moved closer, the intensity of his presence seemed to envelop you, filling the air with an electric charge that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment, you were acutely aware of just how small you felt in comparison, and yet, there was an undeniable allure to his size, a primal instinct that stirred within you at the thought of being consumed by him entirely.

And as he drew you into his embrace, you couldn't help but surrender yourself to the overwhelming sensation of being enveloped by his sheer magnitude, knowing that in his arms, you were safe and utterly, completely his.

As Sukuna stood before you, his presence looming large, you couldn't help but remark, "You're so... big."

A smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, his voice low and husky. "And you like that, don't you?" he teased, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you admitted, "Yes, I do."

Sukuna's smirk widened into a grin as he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a strong embrace. "Good." he murmured against your ear, his voice laced with desire. "Because I'm going to make you feel every inch of it."

As Sukuna positioned himself above you, a primal hunger burned in his eyes, mirroring the fierce desire coursing through your veins. With a rough urgency, he slid inside, the heat of your connection igniting a wildfire of sensation that threatened to consume you both. Your eyes locked in a fierce gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the raw passion that bound you together.

His thrusts were relentless, each movement driving you both closer to the edge of oblivion. With each powerful thrust, he claimed you as his own, his dominance asserting itself with every primal urge. Your body met his roughness as though a thunderous wave against a cliff. You surrendered to him, every touch igniting sparks of pleasure that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

Before you could react, Sukuna closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your shoulders with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. His touch was rough, demanding, as he pinned you beneath him, a primal force of nature unleashed. In that moment, there was no denying the intensity of his desire, no escaping the magnetic pull of his dark desires.

The hard, unyielding surface undernearth burnt you as his thrusts pushed you against the tatami floor and over roughly. It was a sharp contrasted with the searing heat of his touch, heightening the sensations that coursed through your body. Your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his hair as you returned his kiss with equal fervor.

As Sukuna positioned himself to bottom out, his eyes ablaze with hunger, he whispered huskily, "My darling wife, my little bride. My night flower.”

Your breath hitched as you met his intense gaze, feeling a surge of arousal coursing through you. "Yes, yes….y’r wi’e, ah, ah yo’r bri’e!" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “M’ husb’d, my husba’d!”

With a primal growl, Sukuna claimed your lips in a battering kiss, his hands gripping your shoulders with possessive strength. "Good little wife." he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire. " I'm going to show you what it means to belong to me."

As Sukuna's desire intensified, so did his movements. With a growl of primal need, he increased the force of his thrusts, driving himself deeper into you with each powerful movement. Your body responded eagerly to his rough dominance, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

You gasped at the intensity of his actions, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself completely, honestly, truthfully, to the raw passion of the moment. "Mo’e," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. “Faster, fast’r…oh, oh!”

Sukuna's lips curled into a feral grin as he complied with your plea, his movements becoming even rougher, more primal. Each thrust was a declaration of his dominance, a reminder of the unbridled passion that burned between you.

With each thrust, Sukuna's control slipped further, consumed by the primal urge to possess you completely. His movements were primal, bordering on savage, as he claimed you as his own with each powerful thrust. The room echoed with the sound of your moans, a symphony of pleasure that filled the air as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating rhythm of his desire.

You arched your back, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervor, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you sought to satisfy the insatiable hunger that burned between you. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, a whirlwind of sensation that threatened to engulf you both in its fiery embrace.

As Sukuna's primal desire surged, he growled against your ear, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good, so tight around me," he rasped, his breath hot against your skin.

Your own voice was lost in a symphony of pleasure, your moans mingling with his as you surrendered to the primal rhythm of your bodies. "Hard’r!," you pleaded, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. “I’m feeling….I’m feel’ng… Please!, ‘on’t stop! ‘Kuna, ah!”

With a primal grunt, Sukuna complied, his thrusts becoming even more forceful, more desperate. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, building towards an inevitable climax that promised to consume you both in its fiery embrace.

You were certain that you could no longer think. Not about propriety, or who ever could hear. It doesn’t matter. Only he did. He was your world. And you know you were his.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "’m cloooose…" you gasped, your voice strained with the impending release. Tears flow through your face freely. “‘Kuna, it…oh, oh!”

Sukuna's movements became even more relentless, driving you towards the brink with a primal urgency. He bites against your neck hard, causing you to mewl.

"Come for me," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he urged you on. “Come, little wife. You could do it. Give your husband one more.”

With a cry of ecstasy, you shattered into a million pieces, waves of pleasure crashing over you in an overwhelming crescendo. Your body trembled with the force of your release, every nerve ending ablaze with sensation as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure that consumed you.

But Sukuna wasn't far behind. With a feral roar, he followed you over the edge, his own release tearing through him with a savage intensity. You felt him pulse inside you, each throb of his hot release sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

As you both rode out the aftershocks of your shared climax, you collapsed into each other's arms, spent and sated. In that moment, there was no room for anything else but the raw, unbridled passion that bound you together.

As you lay entwined in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, Sukuna held you close, his breath still ragged with desire. "I never want to be separated from you." he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “Not in this lifetime, not the next. Never.”

You melted into his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of his declaration. "I don't ever want to be apart from you either." you murmured, your heart swelling with love.

Sukuna's arms tightened around you possessively, as if afraid to let you slip away. "Promise me you'll stay." he pleaded, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

You looked up into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected in their depths. "I promise, my love." you vowed, sealing your commitment with a lingering kiss. “Now and forever.”

IT WAS TERRIFYING TO STAND BEFORE YOUR FATHER NOW. You and Sukuna knelt side by side in the grand hall, the tension thick in the air. Before you stood your father, Lord Isamu, and his brother, Hiramu, Sukuna’s own adoptive father — your uncle. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you, it now feels real. But you had made your decision. It was time to face the consequences of your actions.

The grand hall, with its high ceilings and ornate decorations, seemed to close in around you. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of clothing or the distant murmur of servants. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the enormity of what you were about to confess.

Sukuna's hand in yours was a small comfort, a reminder that you were not alone in this. His presence, solid and unwavering, gave you the strength to meet the stern gazes of the men before you. Lord Isamu, your father, looked weary, the lines on his face deepening with concern. Hiramu, Sukuna's father, wore a mixture of curiosity and amusement, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"Father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "we have come to confess something important."

Isamu’s eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle indication of anticipation His gaze, warm and reassuring, also held a hint of wariness as he studied you, as if trying to decipher the truth behind your words. It was a look you had seen before, often preceding moments of stern reprimand or heartfelt advice.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you like a heavy burden. Despite the urge to look away, you met his gaze head-on, determined to convey the sincerity of your words. There was no turning back now; you and Sukuna had made your decision, and you were prepared to face the consequences, whatever they may be.

"Sukuna and I... we've... we've performed all the acts of marriage," you confessed, the words spilling from your lips in a rush. Each syllable hung in the air, heavy with implication, as you awaited your father's reaction.

For a moment, there was silence—a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Isamu's expression remained inscrutable, his features a mask of carefully controlled emotion. It was as if he were weighing your words, measuring them against some unseen standard of judgment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "Is that so?" he said, his voice deceptively calm. There was a sharpness to his tone, a subtle undercurrent of disapproval that sent a chill down your spine. It was a tone you knew all too well—a warning that you were treading on dangerous ground.

You felt a pang of guilt at the thought that it was disappointment in his eyes. Yet, beneath the veneer of reproach, there was something else—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or even a trace of resignation. Isamu was a man of duty, bound by the traditions and obligations of his station, but he was also a father, with all the complexities and contradictions that entailed. You were his only child left. What should he let you suffer more?

As you awaited his response, you couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in his mind. Was he disappointed in you? Angry? Or did he, in some small corner of his heart, understand the depth of your love for Sukuna, despite the circumstances?

Whatever the case, one thing was certain: the road ahead would not be easy. You had chosen to defy convention, to follow your heart in the face of overwhelming opposition. But as you looked into Isamu's eyes, you knew that you would face whatever challenges came your way, you would not forsake Sukuna. He was yours. He was your heart. He was your soul. Your husband. You would not forsake him, even if your father did.

Sukuna took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Ryomen Hiromi, the most noble of your blood, is my wife." he said clearly, his voice unwavering. "In every way that matters, we are husband and wife, my lord. I will not….I will not forsake my wife. Not even if you put me to death for it.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Ryomen Isamu sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the revelation. He felt a headache pulse through his head. The hubris of love between the youth. He could only wonder what it was like.

"This means the marriage with Koku cannot happen." he said, his voice tinged with weariness. The strain of the past weeks was evident in his eyes, the conflict between duty and his love for you tearing at him. “After all the work we put into it….”

“Father, I know that I….that I insisted on doing my duty.” You gulped as you held tighter to Sukuna’s hand. “But I cannot forsake my heart. I love Sukuna. I do. And my heart, it is stronger than anything else. I cannot live without it. And I cannot live without Sukuna. Please, father. I shall do anything you ask of me.”

“I too will do the same.” Sukuna added hastily as he held his head high in front of your father. He looks to you for a moment, before he returns his attention to his new father-in-law. “I am devoted to your daughter. Only to Hiromi. If there must be consequences, I will bear it with my wife, as she insists. We are yours to command, my lord.”

Hiramu laughed, breaking the tension with a hearty sound. "At least the kids are honest with us now, eh, brother?," he said, clapping Sukuna on the shoulder. He turned to you with a warm smile. "Welcome to the family, daughter-in-law."

You blushed at his words, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Holding Sukuna's hand tightly, you looked up at your father. You let go of your husband’s hand and slowly lowered yourself to bow towards your uncle. “Thank you, father-in-law.”

Isamu's stern expression softened slightly, and he slowly nodded. “Well, what is there for me to do, brother? We have no choice….They have consummated marriage. It is known. It is done.”

“I shall try to be worthy of your trust, father-in-law.” Sukuna too humbled himself, bowing before your father, who sighed heavily at his act.“I will not let you down.”

“You best not.” Isamu retorts back, his words stern. “My daughter risks ruin, the clan risks war. There is much that costs us. You both followed your hearts more than your brain’s logics–”

"Now calm down, brother. You act like you aren’t happy that your daughter is happy." Hiramu said, snickering.

“She is my only child left, I am happy. But as clan leader, I simply cannot—”

Hiramu waved his elder brother off. "We'll deal with it. As long as Hiromi and Sukuna are happy. I don’t think anything is to be frowned upon.”

Isamu sighed, nodding resignedly at his younger brother’s words. “Perhaps your grandfather would be satisfied with a plausible marriage peace between your future children and Koku’s own children.”

“Or if there is a war—”

“Brother, we will not seek war just because our children wed.” Isamu sighed at his younger brother, who rolled his eyes. “There is more logic to Ankoku–dono than that.”

“We shall see.” Hiramu snickers bitterly.

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, a flood of emotions overwhelming you. The fear, the uncertainty, and the relief all mingled together, leaving you momentarily speechless. Sukuna squeezed your hand, grounding you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your feelings.

"Thank you, father," you finally managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. "I know this isn't what we have planned, but I promise we'll make it work. We'll find a way to honor our families with the duties you endow on us now.”

Isamu nodded again, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You always were strong-willed, little one." he said softly. "I told you. I have always known you would find your own path."

Hiramu chuckled. "And it's a good path." he said, his eyes twinkling with pride. "No paths are bound, after all. The Ryomen will be stronger for this. Do not worry.”

As you knelt there, holding Sukuna's hand, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The road ahead would be challenging, but you were not alone. With your family’s blessing, and Sukuna by your side, you were ready to face whatever came next. Nothing is hard now.

YOU ENJOYED THE PEACE IN SUKUNA’S ARMS. In the serene embrace of marital bliss, the world outside seemed to fade away as you and Sukuna basked in the warmth of each other's love. With every tender caress and whispered endearment, you found solace in the sanctuary of each other's arms.

Your father and uncle's decision to delay the announcement of your marriage felt like a reprieve, a precious respite from the tumultuous currents of politics and conflict that swirled around you. In these quiet moments, you reveled in the simple joys of the companionship of your husband. In these slowly drifting days of joy, you happily yearned for finding refuge from the storm that raged beyond the confines of your shared quarters.

The prospect of a public declaration of your union loomed on the horizon, promising both joy and uncertainty. You do not know how the whole world will react. But for now, you were content to linger in this private cocoon of happiness, savoring each stolen moment together.

The world does not sleep in your bed. Your husband does. And you wanted to indulge into the privacy of your world as much as you could. You wanted to belong to each other before you did the world.

Wrapped in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Sukuna exchanged tender glances and gentle smiles, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude. In each other's presence, you found strength and reassurance, a beacon of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty.

As you lay intertwined in a tangle of limbs and whispers, the outside world faded into obscurity, its worries and conflicts distant echoes in the hush of the night. Here, in the sacred space of your love, you found sanctuary from the chaos that threatened to engulf the world outside. And for a fleeting moment, all was right in the world.

As the moon cast its gentle glow upon the room, you lay beside Sukuna, his warmth a comforting presence beside you. Thoughts of the future danced through your minds, visions of a family together, of laughter and love filling the halls of your home.

As Sukuna's whispered desire lingered in the air, his voice carrying the weight of his affection and longing, you felt a blush tinge your cheeks, a telltale sign of the emotions stirring within you.

His words, filled with warmth and tenderness, ignited a spark of joy in your heart, the prospect of sharing in the joys of parenthood with him filling you with a sense of profound happiness.

“I should like a daughter.” He whispers to you in the dawn of moonlight, kissing your cheeks tenderly. “One that looks like you. With all your warmth and your beauty. I should be satisfied with spoiling a tender girl from you.”

"I would be happy with that." you confessed, your voice soft and filled with love, your heart overflowing with adoration for the man beside you. The thought of bringing a daughter into the world, a precious soul to cherish and nurture, filled you with a sense of purpose and fulfillment. “But I want her to look like you too.”

“We can have a few.”

You pouted at him. “But that shall take effort.”

He laughs, pinching your cheeks. “Who says I shan’t have the effort to make it possible?”

“Oh, you are so happy to enjoy being in bed with me so well.”

Your husband nudges his head against your head. “Is it too bad for a happy husband to indulge in his little wife?”

“No,” You can only sigh with that, letting him hold you closer. “I shall indulge my husband as he pleases.”

Sukuna had a small playful glint danced in his eyes, his smirk betraying a mischievousness that never failed to elicit a chuckle from you. “Then my little wife shall be spoiled as can be by my affections.”

“Hm…I shall let you do so.”

“Oh, you must or I shall be forceful with it.” He presses kisses across your neck, inciting giggles out of you.

"But I should like a son. One that takes after you," you admitted to him, your voice laced with affectionate teasing, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “With your sharp eyes and your impatience. Your cheeky nature. I shall like that so much.”

Sukuna's smirk widened into a playful grin as his fingers brushed against your loose locks, his touch sending a shiver of delight coursing through you. "You desire such a boy swaddling against your chest the way I do?" he teased, his voice tinged with amusement. “Oh, you shall like that won’t you?”

You couldn't help but laugh at his jest, swatting his hand playfully as a blush colored your cheeks. "Oh, you are insufferable, my love." you chided, though the fondness in your voice betrayed your true feelings. “All too much.”

In moments like these, surrounded by Sukuna's playful banter and affectionate teasing, you found yourself falling even deeper in love with the man who held your heart. The thought of starting a family together filled you with a sense of purpose, a shared dream that bound you together even more tightly.

Sukuna's playful smirk softened into a tender smile as he gazed at you, his eyes alight with affection. "Only because I love you, little wife." he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “My only night flower.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the warmth of his love enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Despite the teasing banter, there was an undeniable depth to Sukuna's affection, a steadfast devotion that anchored you to him in a bond that transcended words.

"I love you too," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of Sukuna's embrace and the soft glow of the moonlight, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you, as if all the pieces of your soul had finally found their rightful place. “More than you know.”

As the night wore on, you both drifted into a peaceful slumber, the rhythm of each other's breathing a comforting lullaby. In each other's arms, you found safety and serenity, the worries of the world fading into insignificance.

But the tranquility was short-lived. Abruptly, you were jolted awake by urgent shouts and the clamor of weapons clashing. Your uncle's voice pierced through the darkness, his words heavy with urgency.

“Rouse from your bed, make haste!”

“What has happened?” You pondered as you scrambled to your feet, with your husband’s help.

"The Fujiwara are attacking." he exclaimed clearly, with no hesitation.

Sukuna mumbles. "They never intended to keep the peace. They intended a distraction.”

Hiramu shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now. There’s a lot to be done.”

“What must we do, uncle?” You whispered to him, your brows furrowing.

“Kill.” Hiramu uttered with tension. “In the way a Ryomen knows how.“

THERE WAS NO TIME TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR PROPRIETY. Emerging from the confines of your residence, still clad in the elegant folds of your inside kimono, you stepped outside hand in hand with your husband, Sukuna. The air crackled with tension, and the acrid scent of battle hung heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of cherry blossoms that drifted on the breeze.

As chaos erupted outside, the once serene courtyard transformed into a battleground, the urgent clangor of battle reverberating through the air like a thunderous symphony. The sounds of metal meeting metal, of shouted commands and desperate pleas, filled the space around you, drowning out all other noise.

With a sense of grim determination, you and Sukuna rushed forward alongside your uncle, your footsteps quick and purposeful. The courtyard was a hive of activity, clan members standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces set in expressions of fierce resolve as they channeled their cursed energy to create a protective dome shield against the relentless onslaught of the Fujiwara attacks.

Amidst the chaos, voices rose in a cacophony of sound, some screaming encouragement and rallying cries, while others spat curses and insults at their adversaries. The air crackled with a palpable tension, each member of the clan fully immersed in the gravity of the situation, their commitment to defending their home and their loved ones unwavering.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as you took in the scene before you, the tableau of bravery and sacrifice etched into the very fabric of your being. With every beat of your heart, you felt the weight of responsibility pressing down upon you, urging you to stand tall and fight for what you believed in.

With Sukuna's hand clasped tightly in yours, you steeled yourself for the battle ahead, drawing strength from the unwavering support of your loved ones. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in your determination to protect everything you held dear.

With determination etched into your features, you turned to Sukuna, your eyes meeting him with unwavering resolve. "I'll go and release cursed energy to reinforce the shield," you declared, your voice firm despite the tremor of fear that lingered in the depths of your being.

“You go with uncle Hiramu. There’s so many sectors of the manor that remain unshielded. They need you more than I do right now.”

Sukuna's gaze softened with concern, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "And I'll go and fight in areas the shield can't reach," he vowed, his voice resolute as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. “Be safe, wife.”

You nodded in silent agreement, a silent understanding passing between you as you shared a brief, tender kiss. In that fleeting moment, you conveyed a wealth of unspoken promises and emotions, a silent vow to stand together against the tide of adversity.

With one final, lingering glance, you and Sukuna parted ways, the weight of the impending battle heavy on your shoulders. Each determined to do your part in the raging conflict that threatened to consume your home, you rushed towards your respective duties, the urgency of the moment propelling you forward.

As you sprinted towards your kin, your body thrummed with an electrifying surge of cursed energy, its power coursing through your veins like a raging torrent. Every step forward was fueled by a fierce determination to protect those you loved, to stand firm against the tide of adversity that threatened to overwhelm you.

Your kin turned to you, their eyes alight with a mixture of hope and desperation as you approached, the aura of your cursed energy pulsating around you like a halo of light. With a determined focus, you joined your palms together, the air crackling with anticipation as the energy around you intensified, thickening against the encroaching darkness.

As you unleashed the full force of your cursed energy, a blinding white light erupted from your palms, enveloping those around you in a protective barrier of pulsating energy.

With each passing moment, the barrier expanded, its formidable strength pushing back against the relentless onslaught of the Fujiwara attacks, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos that raged around you.

“Be careful, Hiromi–sama!” One of your kinsfolk says to you, his strained voice echoing across the courtyard to you.

"I will," you called back, your voice firm with resolve. With a final wave, you turned back to face the fray, your focus fully on the task at hand.

As you continued to channel your cursed energy, the strain of maintaining the protective barrier began to take its toll on your body. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as you poured every ounce of your strength into the effort, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon you like a heavy burden. You knew this cannot be kept up for too long.

You can give as much as your cursed energy as much as you can, but the other kinsfolk would not last. If you don’t have them, the barriers would fall.

As the chaos of battle unfolded around you, your voice rang out with commanding authority, cutting through the clamor like a clarion call. With a fierce determination burning in your eyes, you singled out one of the guards amidst the fray, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.

"You!" you shouted, your voice echoing across the courtyard with a commanding force. "Rally all the women and children towards the tunnels. Alert an evacuation now!"

The urgency in your tone left no room for hesitation as you issued your orders, your gaze unwavering as you met the guard's eyes. Every word was imbued with a sense of purpose, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Around you, the chaos of battle continued to rage, but amidst the turmoil, your voice served as a beacon of clarity and direction. With swift efficiency, the guard nodded in acknowledgment of your command, his movements quick and decisive as he set about carrying out your orders.

As you turned back, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination, a scene of horror unfolded before your eyes. One by one, your kinsfolk fell to the merciless onslaught, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in the air like a haunting melody of despair.

Shock and disbelief washed over you as you watched in horror, your gaze fixed on the figure responsible for the carnage. It was your own mother, Akiko, her features twisted with a madness that chilled you to the bone.

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal unfolding before you, the realization of her treachery cutting deep like a dagger to the heart.

The protective barrier you had worked so tirelessly to maintain began to falter, the cursed energy of the Fujiwara merging and multiplying with each passing moment. As the shield came crashing down, a sense of dread settled over you like a suffocating blanket, the full weight of the impending doom bearing down upon you like a relentless storm.

In the chaos and confusion that ensued, you found yourself paralyzed with shock, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before you. The once tranquil grounds of Ryomen Manor were now engulfed in a maelstrom of violence and destruction, the air thick with the stench of death and decay.

With a heavy heart, you realized that the battle was lost before it had even begun. As the cursed energy of the Fujiwara swept over the manor like a tidal wave of darkness, you knew that there was little hope of survival in the face of such overwhelming odds.

You stumbled backward, disbelief etched on your face as you locked eyes with your mother, Fujiwara Akiko, amidst the chaos. "You…... how could you?" Your voice quivered with a mixture of hurt and betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of her actions.

Akiko's gaze bore into yours, devoid of any remorse or empathy, her expression twisted into a cruel sneer. "Oh little foolish girl." she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. "You were always too weak, too sentimental. You have no place in the new order I am creating."

Tears welled in your eyes as her words cut through you like a knife, the realization of her betrayal striking you like a physical blow.

"But... why?" you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

A bitter laugh escaped Akiko's lips, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Why, you ask? Because power is all that matters, my dear. And I will stop at nothing to seize it, even if it means sacrificing everything I once held dear."

As the shock of betrayal rooted you to the spot, you watched in horror as your mother, consumed by madness and darkness, charged towards you with lethal intent. The air crackled with tension, each heartbeat echoing in your ears like a drumbeat of impending doom.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a sudden rush of movement caught your attention. With a sense of surreal relief, you saw Sukuna appear beside you, his presence a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Without hesitation, he unleashed his devastating technique, Cleave, with a swift and powerful strike aimed at your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the force of Sukuna's attack collided with your mother, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the air. You watched in awe as the sheer power of the technique tore through the darkness that had consumed her, dispersing it like a veil lifted by the wind.

As your mother staggered back, her form wavering and flickering like a candle flame on the verge of extinguishment, he sent another wave of Cleave towards her. Finally, she fell dead. She was a traitor. And he would not forgive her.

You stare at the lifeless corpse of your mother, your pupils shaking. Sukuna rushed to you and held you. You looked at him, in a state of delirium as everything burned around you in intense flame.

“S-she…”

“It’s okay.”

“Where’s father?” You asked him frantically, “Uncle Hiramu?”

“They’re on their way here, night flower. Do not worry.” He whispers to you. “They are keeping the Fujiwara at bay, so the others may leave.”

“Then….”

“We must fight here.”

As the once tranquil grounds of Ryomen Manor erupted into chaos, the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the sounds of battle. The double heron banner of the Ryomen clan, a symbol of pride and honor, burned amidst the turmoil, its flames a grim reminder of the devastation that had befallen the once-proud estate.

You and Sukuna stood side by side, your backs against each other as you faced wave after wave of attackers. With each strike of your enemies, your resolve only grew stronger, fueled by a fierce determination to defend your home and protect your loved ones.

As the battle raged on, the air thick with the stench of smoke and the cries of the wounded, you stood amidst the chaos, a beacon of power amidst the turmoil. With a fierce determination burning in your eyes, you reached out with your mind, tapping into the primal forces of nature at your command.

Eyes turning purple, your gaze turns narrow.

Hunger. Anger. Bitterness. Cruelty. Hatred.

You do not know what you were right at that moment.

But one by one, you longed for more bloody hands.

More and more until nothing was left, until nothing was there.

With a forceful command, you summoned torrents of water from nearby sources, the liquid crashing down upon the raging inferno with a deafening roar. The flames hissed and sputtered as they were doused by the relentless onslaught, steam rising into the air as the inferno was quenched.

But your control over the water was not gentle; it was a violent deluge, tearing through the flames with a ferocity that left nothing but charred remains in its wake.

Meanwhile, gusts of wind whipped through the battlefield at your command, their force amplified to hurricane-like proportions. The wind howled and shrieked as it tore through the air, sending debris and bodies hurtling through the air like ragdolls.

Your enemies were caught off guard, their movements hampered by the violent gusts that buffeted them from all sides. Limbs were torn asunder, screams of agony drowned out by the relentless roar of the wind.

The scene was gruesome, a tableau of chaos and destruction wrought by the sheer power of your manipulation. The ground beneath your feet trembled with the force of the elements, the air thick with the taste of blood and the metallic tang of fear. But amidst the carnage, you stood resolute, a force of nature in your own right, your power unchecked and untamed.

As the battle raged on, you continued to wield the elements with ruthless efficiency, your every movement a testament to the raw power at your command.

With each torrent of water and gust of wind, you pushed back against the encroaching darkness, fighting tooth and nail to defend Ryomen Manor from its relentless onslaught.

Beside you, Sukuna became a whirlwind of destruction, his every movement a lethal dance amidst the chaos of battle. With Cleave, he unleashed devastation upon the enemy ranks, each slash a precise and calculated strike that cut through flesh and bone with merciless efficiency.

The air around him seemed to crackle with the energy of his fury, his movements fluid and deadly as he carved a path of destruction through the opposing forces.

With each swing of Cleave, Sukuna left a trail of carnage in his wake, mutilated bodies falling in his shadow as he moved with unparalleled precision and ferocity. His attacks were swift and relentless, each strike finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

It was as if he was a mad man as he clubbed one man after another — as he brutalized one after another. He drowned in blood, he drowned in vengeance. He was a beast.

As the battle raged on, hand-to-hand combat merged seamlessly with the elemental onslaught, the clash of cursed energy bursts through each and every stone.

The roar of brutality, the cannibalistic nature of survival danced in vicious harmony, in a cacophony of chaos and destruction. Amidst the din of battle, Sukuna's presence was a constant, a beacon of strength and determination amidst the turmoil.

Together, you and Sukuna fought as one, your movements synchronized as you danced upon the battlefield. With each strike and each spell, you pushed back against the encroaching darkness, your combined efforts a force to be reckoned with amidst the chaos of war.

As the chaos of battle raged around you, your uncle Hiramu finally arrived, bloodied and broken, a grim expression etched upon his weary face. He threw his broken sword, grunting as he picked up another one from a mutilated corpse. From the way he looked, it did not seem promising. The whole world had turned into madness.

“You brats shouldn’t be here anymore!” Your uncle says with a voice hoarse with exhaustion. “Everyone else has fled! You both need to go, now!”

But you objected, your resolve unwavering even in the face of adversity. "A Ryomen stands his ground, no matter what, uncle." you insisted, your voice ringing with determination. “Hida cannot fall. Not in our hands.”

Hiramu's gaze softened, a mixture of pride and sadness in his eyes as he regarded you. "And what is there left to stand for if a Ryomen is dead?" he countered, his voice tinged with resignation. "Sometimes, little girl, survival is the only victory worth fighting for."

Turning to Sukuna with eyes full of emotion. “Be a good son for once, hm? Your old father here needs you to do as he asks.” Sukuna's expression wavered, torn between loyalty to his adoptive father and his desire to protect you. “Go. Now."

“Uncle—”

After a moment of internal struggle, Sukuna took your hand, his decision made. You looked at him, your face shattered into grief at what he intended to do.

With a heavy heart, he looked to his adoptive father “Don’t you die yet, you old geezer. I swear, if you die—”

Hiramu snickered at Sukuna's words, a bitter smile playing upon his lips. “Have trust in your father, brat. I’ll live to see my first grandchild!" he admitted, his tone laced with grim determination. He smacks his son’s head. "But for now, escape. Go! Take her! I’ll hold them off!”

As you scream for Sukuna to put you down. Over and over as you fight against him, as your throat grows weary and pained, he will not relent. Not as the sounds of battle continued to echo behind you, a cacophony of clashing steel and crackling magic filling the air. With each step, the weight of your uncle's sacrifice hung heavy upon your heart as you screamed for him.

You caught a glimpse of Ryomen Hiramu, standing tall amidst the chaos once more. He grins at you, waving his sword. Tears fell as easily as his enemies did. His sword was all you could see through the flames, flashing in the dim light against the belly of a Fujiwara one after another. But as one fell, another came and they surrounded your uncle soon enough. Until it was all disappearing, until he was gone from your reach. Until there was nothing.

With a heavy heart, you tore your gaze away from the battlefield, focusing instead on the path ahead. Beside you, Sukuna remained silent, his hand tight around yours as you navigated the maze-like corridors of Ryomen Manor.

You thought of your father, you wondered where he was. You wondered about Masaomi, who had gone missing as the attack went through the compound. You could not fight back the tears as they came. Not even if you wanted to.

The air around you crackled with tension as you pressed forward, each step bringing you closer to safety and yet further from the home you had always known.

Though the way ahead was uncertain, you clung to the hope that your uncle Hiramu's sacrifice had bought you—the chance to live to fight another day. Even if you didn’t want to. Even if you didn’t think to.

As you and Sukuna finally emerged from the chaos of battle, the cool night air washed over you like a balm, a stark contrast to the heat and violence you had left behind. With one last glance back at the manor, now engulfed in flames and shadows, you and Sukuna turned away, leaving behind the echoes of a life once lived as you set out on a new path, together.

It was then from the bitter dusk did the first drops of rain begin to fall. From afar, it had cast a somber veil over the charred remnants of Ryomen Manor. The cool droplets mingled with the tears that streamed down your cheeks, their gentle patter against the scorched earth a mournful lament for all that had been lost.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his expression one of uncertainty and helplessness as he watched you wrap your weary arms around your shaking legs. He didn't know what to say, nor did he know how to dry your tears. All he could do was offer his silent presence, a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

The rain continued to pour, harsher and harsher — a relentless downpour that mirrored the torrent of grief and sorrow that threatened to consume you. With each passing moment, Sukuna felt the weight of your pain pressing down upon him, a burden he couldn't bear but refused to abandon.

In that eve of the year 953, in Hida Province,

The proud Ryomen Clan of old, ancient blood;

Had all but fallen to the hands of Fujiwara's cruelty.

Of the Ryomen’s main bloodline remained two.

Husband and wife, Ryomen Hiromi and Sukuna.

facts about this chapter

this was entirely a chapter i saw from the beginning happening. the destruction of the ryomen is something i believe is the reason sukuna is the only ryomen we know.

this chapter took me the longest to write than any other of the series thus far. this was also the most emotionally taxing to write. so i had to come back and write some fluff and then drink matcha to calm down.

hiromi and sukuna's marriage was a last minute addition after my beta reading friend suggested that the idea of their marriage have consequence. but since it was never announce, only the ryomen know.

the fujiwara planned that they were going to destroy the ryomen the moment sukuna defeated koku. they think that koku being humiliated was the whole clan being humiliated. moreover, there's bitterness with the 'lowly' marriage of fujiwara akiko. this was a correction to the fujiwara.

masaomi is just the same age as koku, akimu and suzaku. masaomi was akimu's childhood playmate. and by extention, hiromi's own playmate. upon the death of akimu, hiromi became the focus his loyalty. hiromi considers him a friend.

heian culture doesn't really have a strict conduct of marriage, except in the in the nature of the noble's blood. if the marriage was ever announced, people would view hiromi to have married down even if sukuna took the ryomen name. because hiromi has noble blood and sukuna does not.

isamu and hiramu already knew that hiromi and sukuna would end up getting together because they knew too well that they were too in love to let go of each other. they already had contingency plans, if that happened. they knew that the kids being happy mattered more.

akiko is obsessed with power. and it was her end. i always wondered what i could do with her and her wanting. but its quite easy to see too that she's a victim of her family's own culture. if she had broken free from that, she would have ended up not dying.

hiromi's power introduced here is called 'heaven's bounty' which allows hiromi control of the surrounding and nature itself for a limited amount of time. she combines this with hand to hand because she doesn't know how long her cursed energy could last.

hiramu doesn't have that strong of a cursed energy, but he makes up for it with his strength. which has been noted since 'the night we met' when they first met sukuna.

fujiwara ankoku in a way is inspired by zenin naobito but worse. he'd commit to the destruction of his own family. blood and innocents to have satisfaction and revenge. i think he'd get even worse with time passing by.

with ryomen manor burned to the ground, the whole of hida is under occupation by the fujiwara. hiromi and sukuna are wanted alive by the fujiwara, the rest of the ryomen and their retainers have bounty in their heads, but to death

the ryomen family tree looks like this

lord ryomen - his wife

isamu hiramu

m. | (adoptive)

akiko sukuna

akimu hiromi

the fujiwara family goes like this

fujiwara ankoku - his wife

lord fujiwara akiko

| |

koku akimu hiromi (married) sukuna

160 notes · View notes

pearlessance · 2 months

Text

Her Love Endures - Idle Threats [vi]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel steals a morning with an angel he doesn't deserve. She confesses all.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, added backstory to progress the plot, loss, canon typical violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The first two days go smoothly, though you’re uncharacteristically quiet. You follow the map southeast, sticking to the forest and away from the interstate as much as possible. You only stumble across a handful of infected—most of which you take down silently with your bow, leaving Joel impressed with your unshakeable aim. Once, when you notice a stalker long before it notices you, Joel raises his rifle as you dismount and creep up behind it. He trains his scope on its head, ready to pull the trigger the moment he thinks you may be in danger.

But he never has to. And he watches, filled to the brim with reverence, as you scramble silently through the brush, take the stalker by the throat, and sink your serrated sawback knife deep into its skull.

As you return to your horse, threat averted, Joel feels something warm stir inside him. Because your shoulders are pulled back, and there’s a cruel and death-like shimmer in your eyes and blood splattered across your cheek, making you look like some sort of divine creature of slaughter…but then you look up at him. And your eyes soften, and your smile lights up your face as you say, “There’s a piece of your hair sticking out by your ear. Like, straight out. How’s it doing that? Defying gravity.”

It’s the innocence in your voice that does it to him, he thinks. You may be the best runner Jackson has, may have a sniper’s eye and a knife-sharp tongue, but beneath it all you’re just a little girl. Amused by the smallest, most childish of things. Untainted but deadly, lethal but pure. And he wants you to hold onto that softness for as long you can. He can see it’s been diminished, parts of it snuffed out by loss and grief and disappointment, but Joel vows to protect the parts he can for as long as he’s able. He hopes he never has to miss the sound of your laughter.

He doesn’t even try to fix his hair.

The winter snow has become nothing but slush and mud, and you’ve used your jacket more as a pillow at night than for warmth. The two of you take watch in rotation. The first night Joel insisted you sleep first, but then you’d fixed him with a dark stare and reminded him of your agreement; your run, your rules.

He complies, but he doesn’t sleep much. It’s far more fascinating to him to watch you on the other side of the fire, bow in hand, arrow half-knocked. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel wants so badly to hold you but knows to keep his distance. Knows that you still harbor some of that anger you have towards him for not respecting your wishes of solitude, knows to give you space, to wait until you approach him.

You don’t sleep much, either. Half of the night you’re writing in that leatherbound journal while he keeps watch. Sometimes you don’t write at all and read over old entries instead. His curiosity gets the better of him once, and Joel asks, “You writin’ about the clickers we killed today?”

Without even looking up from the journal propped against your knees, you say, “Nope. I’m writing hardcore sex scenes.” It makes him chuckle. “Nothing funny about it, Joel. You’re the star of the show.”

And for a second he wonders if you might be telling the truth, until you burst into a fit of girlish laughter at the look on his face. Joel thinks it’s his favorite sound, those giggles of yours. Still, he shakes his head with a smile on his face and says, “Brat.”

He doesn’t press for more after that. He’s given you the chance to talk about it, and you evaded him completely, so he decides he can live with the mystery for now.

On the fourth night it rains. It’s dark by the time you find shelter, and it comes in the form of a barn out in the middle of nowhere. Joel hasn’t seen an old vehicle or a stoplight in miles, and part of him knows a watch rotation is a little unnecessary but you insist anyway. He tries to find comfort in the stale and brittle hay that blankets the cold floor but fails to. He spends most of the night thinking of you, thinking of God. Joel can’t shake the feeling of filth that covers him, a grime that has nothing to do with the lack of soap he’s had access to since leaving Jackson, and everything to do with his morals.

Because even now, several days later, Joel is so angry with Maria that he could kill her. She should never have sent you out here. The thought shouldn’t have ever crossed her mind. Putting you in the watchtowers, on the walls, hell—even on patrol…that’s one thing. Sending you this far out, though? And alone? Joel would die before he ever let Ellie out here alone. But even though Maria is good at putting on a concerned front…Joel sees right fucking through her. Knows it was a planned conversation she had with you. He knows, too, without ever being there that Maria told you all about Miley and her operable tumor before she ever broached the subject of this run.

It’s calculated. Cold. Cruel.

Maria might not think of it that way. You might not think of it that way. But Joel sees it for what it is. Sees that she ‘loves you like you’re her own’ not for who you are but instead for what you’re capable of. Maria recognizes your potential and your selflessness and uses it to her own advantage.

Joel only wishes you could see it, too. And he thinks maybe you did at one point when you stormed into the dining hall and screamed in her face. But it must’ve been for only a moment, because here you are again…doing whatever Maria needs you to. No questions asked.

A part of him hates her, but how truly different are the two? Maybe Joel sees Maria for what she is because they’re both doing the same things to you. He might not be sending you on suicide missions for pregnancy cravings or medical supplies…but he does take advantage of you.

And the worst part, the part he hates to admit…is that he enjoys it. Never in all his life has Joel found pleasure in anything the way he has in you. In your soft skin, your soft sounds…it does something to him spiritually. The way you fight him so hard only to give in and do as he says inevitably…it makes him weak in the knees just to think about it. The way you trust him so wholly, trust him to keep you safe, to make you feel good, to take care of you …it fills him with this deep, dark desire.

He’s long since given up trying to resist you, forbidden fruit tasted and swallowed and consumed. There’s no going back from that. And he knew it at the first bite. What he didn’t expect, though, was to be offered seconds, thirds, a fucking feast of you…if only he’d convince himself to sit at the table.

But doing so will damn him, he knows. And though Joel’s got little faith in God left in him, he worries that the moment he ravaged you was the moment he became undeserving of you.

For the first time, you fall asleep moments after Joel takes watch. Maybe it’s the sound of the rain or maybe it’s just exhaustion. You use his coat as a blanket and yours as a pillow, and he watches in awe and admiration as you finally rest. Your hands are beneath your head, and a piece of your hair has fallen into your face, and you’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache.

As if he ever deserved you in the first place, Joel thinks.

It stops raining an hour before sunrise. And he notices there’s a glass pane in the ceiling that he hadn’t seen in the dark. The sun’s rays leak through it, highlighting the dust particles in the air, illuminating the space on the ground where you lay on your side.

He doesn’t believe in God, Joel tells himself.

And if he did, he would scream and shout and try to strike him down for punishing you like this. For surrounding you with people who are supposed to love you who don’t know how to love you, for embodying Judas in the form of a bratty twenty year old little girl, for making your greatest sin the sin of disobedience. For cursing you with his presence, for cursing you with this looming, haunted old man who you will never be rid of. For giving Joel this perfect gift he’ll never deserve but now can never surrender.

He doesn’t believe in God, and if he did he knows he should be crawling to the altar and begging on his knees for forgiveness for all he’s done. Begging mercy not for his sake but for yours. Pleading to give you peace, solace, safety. To give you warmth like sunlight and love like absolution and to give you someone who feels like home. To give you everything you’ve given him.

But Joel doesn’t believe in God. He sets his rifle down and crawls to you instead.

Space. He knows you need space. But he needs you and he’s such a selfish man. Joel swipes the hair from your face, watches you stir in your sleep, sighs in tandem with you when he presses a kiss to your forehead. He inhales deeply, lying on his side, letting his thumb stroke your cheekbone languidly.

Your eyes open slowly, blinking once, twice. And he half expects you to make some snarky remark about how bad a job he’s doing keeping watch, but all you do is rest your hand on top of his and scoot closer, pressing your body to his.

Joel kisses your cheek, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. By the time he makes it to your lips, they’re pulled up into a sleepy smile, and he can’t resist the urge to drink you in. Your mouth is warm and soft and fits perfectly against his. His hand on the side of your face slips to the back of your neck, thumb caressing your pulse. You feel more alive right now than Joel has ever felt himself, and he has the sudden, striking thought that belief in God has nothing to do with what he’s been taught and everything to do with the sanctity he holds in his hands in this very moment.

His fingertips wander down your back, between your shoulder blades, over each disc of your spine, the divot in the small of your back, over the denim of your jeans, down between your legs. Joel lifts you slightly, crushes your center hard against his, and feels himself unravel at your closeness.

You start to rut against him, hips canting over his erection, the friction of your jeans on his the only sound apart from the breaths you breathe into his mouth, breathing life, sweet, golden life, into his aching bones. Your tongue is slow in its pursuit of memorization, lazy and perfect but still so unbearably needy.

Joel won’t make you suffer. Not today. He wedges his hand between your bodies, unbuttons your jeans with a single, swift movement of his thumb, and reaches beneath the fabric. He finds home in a second, movements rehearsed and ritualistic. Your clit throbs beneath the pads of his fingers as he circles it slowly, pointedly.

The smallest noise, like a moan at the back of your throat, invades his mouth. Joel smiles to himself, knowing that if he reached just a little lower he’d find that telling wetness, knowing that you’ve needed this but just too stubborn to ask for it.

So stuck in your own head, your own ways. Never letting anyone else take care of you, because you know they can’t.

Until now. Until Joel.

He pulls his mouth away from yours long enough to catch his breath, to admire the art of your face as he strums faster between your legs. You say his name a little like a prayer, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, his name in your mouth. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of it for as long as he lives. He presses a wet kiss just beneath your ear, delighting in the rush of goosebumps left in the wake of his lips.

He finally shifts his fingers down through your slit and pushes his middle finger in deep. You let out a pretty sounding gasp, and Joel runs the tip of his nose up your throat with a quiet laugh.

“Shh,” he says. “S’alright, little girl. I’ve got you.” Joel pushes you onto your back, allowing him easier access. He adds another, his ring finger this time, and even though your jeans constrict movement and dig into the back of his wrist, the sounds you make as he begins to pump them slowly in and out of you are worth it.

Pretty, sweet sounding moans that he wants to swallow up. So he does—kisses you deep, licks into your mouth, bites your bottom lip between his teeth. The heel of his palm puts pressure on your swollen clit, and he can feel you squeezing around his fingers already, legs trembling with each slow, punishing thrust of his hand.

“Joel,” you whimper. “I..I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “S’okay, go ahead.” All it takes is one more deep press against that sweet spot inside you before you’re gripping his flannel, knuckles blanched. It’s fast and needy and desperate but somehow one of the softest most gentle moments he’s had with you. And Joel knows he’ll always hold this close, knows just how remarkable and holy this time with you is.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as you come down, trying to catch your breath. And when you look up at him, he recognizes the longing in your eyes, knows that this religious moment has only scratched the surface of your desire, knows just how hungry you are because he is, too.

And so Joel crawls between your legs. He unlaces your boots and sets them aside, peels the too-tight denim down, takes the pretty lilac panties with them, and gets rid of those, too. He sits there on his knees for you, calloused fingers stroking lazy patterns up and down your bare thighs. You watch him in silence as he admires you. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says.

Your breathing picks up a little as he shifts backward, just enough so he can lean over and kiss your clit. You taste heady and sweet and delicious, and he thinks he could live off of just the essence of you and be satisfied for all eternity.

His tongue moves intentionally, savoringly, because this is a selfish act. Joel supposes everything he does with you is selfish in one way or another, but this is purely for him. His cock throbs painfully behind the metal of his zipper as he palms the inside of your thighs and spreads your legs wide. He licks up your wet slit, smearing the taste of you over his lips, down his chin.

A cracked, sleep-addled moan leaves you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against his mouth. Your hands find their way to his hair, holding him in place right where you want him. And Joel lets you without protest, lets you lose yourself in this moment in the same way he has.

Joel slides two fingers back into you easily, encountering no resistance thanks to the mixture of your slick and his spit. He twists and curls them up, pumping hard against that spot again, sucking your throbbing clit between his lips and circling it with a pointed tongue.

“Ohh, fuck, fuck— Joel.”

A little faster, a little harder. You’re squeezing tight around his fingers, needy little girl sucking him in deep, and Joel shows no signs of stopping even as you start to shake. He wants it, wants to taste you in his mouth, wants to push you over the edge so you can be here, here, with him, where you have cast him forever. Wants you to know what it is to want, to hunger, to be ravenous with a singular source of relief.

You’re about to come, and he knows it, but he pulls away. You let out a soft whimper at the loss of contact but then he’s unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his hips just enough to pull his cock out. He squeezes it once in his fist and a blinding wave of pleasure shoots through him. Joel lines himself up between your legs and pushes in with a long, contented sigh.

Here, inside you, is the only place he’s ever felt adored, cherished, loved, divine.

Because your eyes are wide and sleepy and beautiful. You look at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you and not some God-given curse. And it’s this he craves, the intimacy you share at this exact moment, where he knows he could ask anything of you—anything—and you’d give it willingly, freely. And fuck he just wants to keep you safe but maybe that means from him, too.

The thought is awful and comes to him unbidden. Your brows furrow as he rocks into you, cock reaching depths you’d never known existed. You place your hand on his jaw, lean up, and press your lips to his. You breathe his name and say, “I’m sorry I was mad. I forgive you. I’m yours.”

His. His, his, his, his. All his. His table, his fruit, his fault.

But his all the same.

He fucks into you deep, hips grinding against yours, his dark pubic hair rubbing against your sensitive clit. Joel takes your face in his hand, cradling your chin, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. His breath is labored and sweat beads at the back of his neck. He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that, not when you look at him like you love him.

He reaches between your bodies with his free hand and circles your clit. Sinks his thumb into your sweet mouth when you let out a salacious moan. He can feel your pussy flutter around him, knows you’re nearly there, knows he’s destined to follow you. “Come with me, baby, come with me,” he says softly.

Your breathing stills for a moment, and then you’re trembling, shaking in his hands, sucking his thumb deeper into your mouth.

His own release trickles in slowly at first, building in his spine, and then it slams into him with no remorse as he fills you up, cock pulsing inside you. “Oh, fuck, yeahhh—that’s it. That’s it, little girl—mmm—you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Such a good girl for me, huh? Pretty little baby…there we go.”

He fucks you through it, thrusting into you real slow even when you’re breathing has slowed and he’s spilled every drop he has to offer. His thumb is coated in your saliva when he pulls it out of your mouth to kiss you, leaving a wet smear on your cheek. And when he leans back, wincing as he pulls out of you, you look up at him with straw tangled in your hair and say with a pretty smile, “Good morning to you, too.”

It is, he thinks. Joel can feel the good day ahead, can feel the weight of your irritation lift from his shoulders at the sight of your grin. “C’mon,” he says. He holds a hand out for you, pulling you up with him.

While you dress and stretch and run your fingers through your hair, Joel feeds the horses and gathers your things. He picks up your bow and your backpack and brings it to you, and in ten minutes you’re both saddled and on your way.

The storm has passed and the sun is shining brightly, and Joel forces his mare to trot just a little slower than yours so he can appreciate the view. He thinks you’re beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with your age; elegant, graceful, timeless. Even before the world ended he would have noticed you, would have felt that same magnetic pull.

You glance briefly over your shoulder at him and ask, “What do you think could be in there?”

He has no idea. Can’t even wrap his head around the thought, really. “Hard to say. Twenty-five years is a long time for something to go untouched.”

“I’ve never been inside of a hospital,” you say. “I’ve seen pictures in those medical books in the library back in Jackson, but this will be the first I’ll ever actually see in person. What’s it like?”

“Confusing,” Joel answers. “They’re usually pretty big. Lots of floors and rooms, all set up differently.”

“Tommy told me they had special rooms for surgeries and stuff.”

“Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were away from everything else so they could be kept sterile. Doctors had to wash their hands in a specific way before doing a surgery, used all new tools every time, left them unopened until it was time to use them.”

“That seems excessive.”

He chuckles at that. “Was a different time back then,” he says. “We were more afraid of germs than fungus.”

You remain silent for several seconds, and Joel wonders if he’s somehow said something to upset you. But then you ask, “Do you think things would be different if they were afraid of fungus back then? Maybe they would’ve found a cure before it got too bad or something.”

There’s something like longing in your voice, and it makes Joel’s chest constrict. He wishes you would’ve been able to experience the world before it went bad, wishes you’d gotten a single day to not live in fear. “I don’t know,” he tells you. “Maybe.”

“If you could go back to before the outbreak, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Joel sighs as he contemplates his answer. It doesn’t come to him very easily—because all he’d want is to find Sarah and be with her. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter what they’d do. He would just want to be together, to hear her laugh one more time, to see her smile or roll her eyes or blink.

It’s still foreign to speak about it, still painful, but it’s you and so Joel decides to tell the truth.

“I, uhm…I had a daughter,” he says slowly, testing the waters. He half expects you to turn and look at him, sporting some kind of surprise on your face. But he’s thankful when you don’t because it makes the words flow a little easier. “She loved soccer,” Joel continues. “Played in a little league team at her school, called themselves the Defenders. Her jersey number was fourteen, and she was the best player they had—and I’m not just sayin’ that. She loved it.”

Pressure builds behind his eyes. Joel swallows hard.

“One day, Tommy and I were shopping for her birthday at Scheels —you don’t…uhm, it was this big sports store up by Dallas. Had all kinds of stuff. Anyway, I couldn’t afford much at the time. Tommy and I were gonna go half and half on a new skateboard for her—she liked doin’ that too. We were heading up to check out and saw this set of soccer goals that’d been marked down all because the box had been open. Never been used, never put together, nothin’ at all wrong with ‘em. We were able to get the goals and the skateboard, and Tommy an’ I spent all afternoon setting them up in the backyard while she was at school.”

It’s a fond memory. One he sometimes dreams about. They’d bought a case of beer on the way home, played music through the speakers of Tommy’s truck, and sung along to every song that played and laughed at the stupidest things. It was just a few short months before the outbreak. The last birthday Sarah would ever have.

“She loved them,” he tells you. “I knew she would. We spent all day in the backyard, the three of us. Played with that goddamn soccer ball until it was so dark out you couldn’t see a foot in front of your face. Even grilled out for dinner, so we didn’t have to go inside. It’s all she wanted to do for the rest of the summer. She was out there for so long I had to…to make her start wearing sunscreen every day,” he says with a low chuckle. “And when school started up again I had to limit it to soccer practice on weekends only.”

Joel knows he has yet to answer your question, but it’s so nice to talk about her that it just pours out of him unchecked. You don’t seem to mind. There’s a small smile on your face and a misty look in your eye as if he’s painting a mental picture for you.

“Anyway,” he says. “I guess…I guess if I could go back to before, I’d just want to go back there. To hear her laugh and see her smile, to cook burgers for everyone and eat them on the deck. I’d go back and relive that day so I can appreciate it a little more.”

“It sounds nice,” you say. “I bet I would’ve liked her.”

He thinks you would’ve, too. Thinks Sarah would’ve loved you, would’ve picked up on that bratty tone of voice you sometimes have, and adopted it into her vernacular. The two of you have the same sarcastic tendencies, and Joel wonders why it’s taken this long to recognize it. “Yeah. You would’ve,” he says quietly.

“What happened to her mom?”

The question is phrased so bluntly that it gives him pause. But it’s not malicious in any capacity, and so Joel doesn’t mind answering this one, either. “Just…saw things a little differently, I guess,” he says. “We became parents real young. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. “You had Tommy though, right? You two seem really close.”

“Yeah, we are. I mean, he’s my brother. Family. Been through everything together.” He watches your jaw feather. He wonders what he said to make you clench your teeth. Joel gives you a moment of silence to say something, to spill your guts even half as much as he has today. But you say nothing, and so Joel asks, “Are you and Maria close?”

It makes you roll your eyes, a sound of irritation slipping past your lips. There’s something cruel on the tip of your tongue. He can see it as you fight the urge to let it free. Joel wishes you would if for nothing else than to give him a clue as to what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours. Instead, you say, “We’ve known each other a long time. A lot of history.”

He nods at the open expanse of land before you. “Ain’t got nothin’ but time to fill, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks flush, and Joel thinks it’s even prettier than the sight of you bathed in sunlight. “I met Maria before Jackson was like it is today,” you explain. “It was just a handful of people and a couple of abandoned houses back then. But she saw it for what it could be, ya know? Saw how much potential there was. Maria’s real good at that…seeing things that aren’t there.”

Joel wonders what that means. Wonders if you’re talking about Maria seeing things in you that aren’t there. But before he has the chance to formulate the question in his mind, you’ve moved past it.

“Me and my…group—we were in bad shape. I was born in the Detroit QZ, but things started getting really bad between Fedra and the Fireflies when I was twelve. We left when the bombings started.”

It makes his chest ache. Twelve. Younger than Ellie.

“We didn’t really have anywhere to go, we were just sort of… wandering, I guess. She, uhm…one of my group members…she got hurt pretty bad. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, she just tripped and fell and ended up with a pretty nasty gash across her face. The wound wasn’t the problem but the infection…”

Joel watches you shake your head, clearing memories best left behind.

“It was a good thing we stumbled across Maria when we did. She helped us. Gave us food and water, a place to stay. But it was the medicine that made the difference. I owed her my life with no way to repay her. Maria didn’t ask for anything but I was old enough by then to know nothing comes for free. She suggested we stay a while, help them fortify the town, help build the greenhouse they were working on. Said we could leave whenever I felt we’d earned it. So, we stayed for a few more days. And when it was time to leave, my…group and I didn’t see eye to eye.”

He can hear the lie in your words, can sense there’s something you’re not telling him. It’s hard for him to imagine a twelve year old girl at the head of a group at the end of the world. But if anyone could do it, he supposed it would be you. And, really—it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you’ll tell him when you’re ready. “Some of them wanted to stay?”

You nod in answer. “We came to a compromise. Said we’d just stay a couple more days. But then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before I knew it, I’d become Maria’s go-to runner. And my group, they’d made a home in Jackson. They saw what Maria did, knew it had the potential to be…well, to be what it is now, I guess. I don’t know. Things just…evolved from there. I started picking up things I didn’t need on my runs. Decorations, books. Started getting to know people, to remember their names. To grab stuff I knew they’d like. And the runs became more and more frequent, too—once we opened the bakery, the grocers, the bar. Eventually my runs became less about essentials and more about comfort as Jackson became more and more self-sufficient.”

“And Maria?”

“I…I trust her,” you say. “She’s looked after me a long time. She lost a son a year or two before she found us and one of my group members…I think she used them to—to fill that hole. Someone she and I were both really close to.”

It’s not lost on him that he’s done something similar with Ellie. It’s also not lost on him that you used the word were. He hates that he can read between the lines. Hates even more that you know loss as intimately as he does.

But none of it hurts Joel half as much as when you say, “I think Maria tries to do the same with me sometimes, but I’m not as easy to love.”

Silence fills the air between you and there’s so much Joel wants to say but he’s never been good with words.

Up ahead, there’s a wilting billboard advertising a church. It reads, ‘God speaks through angels. Will you speak to an angel today? Left at exit 34,’ and Joel thinks God might be laughing at him.

It doesn’t make sense to him. He’s spent all his time grappling with his morality because Joel shouldn’t want you as bad as he does but he just can’t help himself. You’re too tempting, too irresistible. And all the while you’ve spent your time believing you’re hard to love? His stomach turns.

Will you speak to an angel today?

“I…” Joel pauses, tries to formulate his thoughts. To his relief, you give him as much time as he needs. “You’re not…that ain’t true.” He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Doesn’t know how to explain that you are, undoubtedly, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Doesn’t know how to explain that the best thing in his life is something he would’ve killed a man for, were you his daughter. Even before the outbreak, he would’ve seen red, would’ve spilled blood if a man his age ever looked twice at Sarah. And even though this isn’t that, even though he knows it’s different…old habits die hard.

But he tries his best and doesn’t think too much about how it comes out stumbling and wrong. “I used to own a construction company,” he says. “Had a coupla’ guys on my crew I worked with all the time. Tommy had a friend in need of a job, and I didn’t know much about him but I trusted Tommy and so I hired him.”

You slow your horse just enough that the two of you are side by side. You’re listening intently, though your eyes are turned straight ahead.

Joel swallows hard and continues. “Name was Mike or Michael or something. Anyway, We had had a pretty hard day and Tommy and I had decided to split the check and buy everyone on our crew a beer after work. Mike said he couldn’t go cause his girlfriend was waiting for him outside to give him a ride home. And he seemed like a good guy, always showin’ up on time, never complained about anything, just did the job. So we told him to have her meet us at the bar so we could all get to know each other. But, uh...problem was his girlfriend wasn’t old enough to drink. Which should’ve been the first warning, considering Mike was a couple of years older than me at the time and an age difference like that wasn’t normal…’specially back then.”

It makes the corners of your mouth turn up. And Joel knows you’re holding back your laughter, can almost hear the smart remark you’d make. But to your credit, you remain silent.

“But I gave him the benefit of the doubt, told him to bring her along anyway. Offered to buy her some bar food instead. ‘Cause they used to let you in the bar if you were under twenty one, they just wouldn’t serve you—” He waves a hand in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. Mike, he…he had to dumb it down for me. Had to explain it like I was a toddler because I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. He told me…he told me she couldn’t come because she was sixteen.”

A crease forms between your brows.

“Tommy didn’t know. No one knew. But I told him…told him he’d have to find a new job. Told him he couldn’t work for me, because all I could see at the time was my own daughter, ten years into the future, just got a driver's license and going to pick a grown fuckin’ man up from work because he’d manipulated her into…” He swallows, shakes his head to clear the image his words produce.

“This isn’t the same,” you say quietly.

“No,” he answers. “It’s not. But, look, I didn’t even know that sixteen year old girl and I had only known Mike for a week. But I wanted to kill him. Because he knew better. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he did it anyway.”

“Joel…”

“Just—just listen to me for a minute, okay? Kids born after the outbreak, I know it’s different for you. I know you have no concept of…of what’s acceptable when it comes to stuff like this. But I do. I know it’s wrong, and it makes me no better than he was.”

You shake your head. “Stop it,” you say, voice stern. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not a kid, Joel. And you’re not a bad man.”

There’s so much certainty in your words, and Joel begins to wonder just how well you know him. Better than anyone else in Jackson aside from Tommy and Ellie, but you still don’t know. You don’t know about the raids he was a part of, the dealings and the killings he did in the Boston QZ, or about the way he left Tess in that Capitol Building, you don’t know about his blatant eradication of the fireflies, or the selfish decision he made that put an end to all hope of ever finding a cure when he pulled that trigger.

But that isn’t the point he’s trying to get across.

So, he shakes off the tenderness in your voice and the way it makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest and says, “What I’m tryin’ to say is this: I know it’s wrong and I know this will be the thing that condemns me but I can’t stop. None of it matters when I’m with you. An’ I’ve tried to keep my distance, believe me. But, uh…here I am. So…don’t give me any of that shit about how you’re hard to love. I’m the last person who’d ever believe it. ”

He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, can feel the strain his near confession has created, but Joel can’t bring himself to look at you. Because he knows, he knows the moment he does and is smothered in that warmth you bring, the words will come spilling out and then there really won’t be any going back from this. There will be nothing left uncomplicated, nothing to unspool or untangle.

You ride in silence for several miles. It’s not an uncomfortable thing. As long as he can see you, as long as you’re within arms reach, he doesn’t panic. There’s no reason to, Joel thinks.

An hour before sunset you come upon the Casper city limits. The hospital is less than a mile away when you steer your horse down a residential street and say, “We’ll rest for the night. Hole up in one of these houses. We’ll find a way inside in the morning.”

It’s a good plan, a solid one. One Joel would make himself. The two of you work together to ensure the abandoned house you chose is safe enough, and even though the night air has a bitter chill to it, you decide against a fire.

You feed the horses while Joel prepares food for the two of you, and by now you’ve got a routine so he prepares a makeshift bed while he waits for you to finish up.

The two of you eat together, and you’re nibbling on a piece of the apple he cut into chunks for you when you say, “I lied to you. Earlier, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. And then again, “Yeah, I know.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean you know?”

Joel shrugs casually. “Not gonna force you to talk about anything you’re not ready to talk about.”

It seems to give you pause. You stare intently at the ripped spot in your tight jeans, right over your knee, and take a slow, contemplative bite of your apple.

And then you tell the truth.

“It wasn’t a group,” you say quietly. “It was just me and my little sister.”

It makes his heart clench. Because he doesn’t need to ask why he’s never met her. The words linger for a moment, and Joel lets them. Questions form behind his teeth that he doesn’t allow himself to ask.

“She used to…uhm—she used to carry this book around. Had all kinds of stuff about flora and fauna. Mostly, though, it was stuff about bugs and moss. She loved stuff like that. Could tell the difference between butterflies at a glance, could tell you all about the migrating cycles of moths and where they would be at any given time of the year, knew what kinda moss you could eat and what would just taste like dirt.”

A small, sad smile pulls at your mouth, and Joel wonders if you’ve talked about her with anyone else. With the affectionate tone that flows from you, he doubts it.

“The book, it was this massive thing. Like that big encyclopedia we have back in Jackson, you know the one?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I know it.”

“Well, sometimes she’d find a bug she didn’t recognize. Maybe a type of beetle or caterpillar or something or other. And she couldn’t just…she couldn’t wait. So a lot of times she’d be walking and reading at the same time.” Your face falls just slightly. “That’s how she tripped.”

“She was the one with the infection?”

You nod. “We used to laugh about it. You know, after we got to Jackson and had access to antibiotics. It was no one’s fault just…an accident. Still, she was my little sister, and I…I think I blamed myself for a while. Sounds silly now, but I don’t know. I was young.”

“Was?”

It makes you laugh, that carefree demeanor peaking through the gloom. He savors it. “You know what I mean.”

He does. Joel knows all too well what it’s like to be an older sibling. Knows that no matter how old he gets, he’ll always feel a sort of responsibility for his little brother.

“Anyway, she loved Jackson. Loved Maria, too. She was so personable. Sweet and kind and just… good. Ellie reminds me of her. And Jackson was so new back then it was just a handful of people, all curious to meet the newcomers. And they all took a liking to her right away. Not like…not like me. I was weary which made them weary. I didn’t want to stay.”

Joel’s glad you did. Glad he was able to meet you, to experience this.

“She talked me into it, though,” you say with a sigh. “But we spent a lot of time on runs. Especially in the beginning. I think I missed it being just the two of us sometimes and even though she wanted to stay and help the town she never complained. It’s like she just knew what I needed without me ever having to ask.”

The look on your face grows somber. Your eyes lose focus. And Joel knows what’s coming next before you even say it.

“We were out on a run for copper. Trying to get the dam fixed up. I dont…I—uhm. I don’t know. I didn’t look. I just…”

Your voice breaks, and Joel abandons his post near the door. Abandons his rifle, too, to hold you instead. Your hands are trembling, something he didn’t notice before. But he sits beside you, places his warm hand on the small of your back, and waits for you to muster up the courage to speak again.

“There was a stalker. In the brush. She was talking to me about this bug called a death's-head hawkmoth. And it felt like…it felt how it used to be. I was distracted, you know? Just listening to her ramble on and on about this fucking moth and then…and then she was screaming.” You wipe furiously at your cheeks. “I killed it quick but she was bitten either way and I had to…after. I had to…”

He pulls you close. Wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you into his lap. You’re cold and small and nothing like damnation in his hands. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, he wants to say. But he knows it’s not okay and it never will be. So instead, Joel just kisses your face and your hair and your knuckles and he promises to never let anything else hurt you.

You’re still in his lap, head against his shoulder, when you find enough of yourself within your cloud of grief to speak again. “That’s why I don’t go on runs with other people,” you say. “I don’t want to be the reason for anyone else dying.”

Joel takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up so you’ll look at him. The sun has set and it’s dark but he can still see you, thinks that perhaps he’s always been able to. Even before knowing your something. “Hey,” he says. “No. Look at me. That ain’t true.”

“But I should’ve seen it,” you say. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—!”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says. And Joel knows it’s hypocritical, knows he’s telling you not to do what he’s done every day for the last twenty years. But he doesn’t want that for you, doesn’t want you to suffer if he can help it. So he tells you what no one’s ever told him. What he’s always wanted to hear but never had the courage to ask for. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could—I know you did. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t go with me,” you say with a sniffle. “Tomorrow. Joel, you can’t. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t lose you.”

Pride swells inside his chest because even though he hadn’t had the guts to admit his need for you to Tommy, you have the guts to admit it to Joel. You set the truth right out in the open for all eyes to see. And even though it’s just the two of you, the horses, and the moon—Joel Miller thinks you might be the bravest person he’s ever met.

He loves that about you.

Wants to say it. Doesn’t have the guts to. He’s not the one with an abundance of bravery.

“You don’t get to do things alone anymore,” he says instead. “It’s too dangerous. I’m going.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice but you find yourself doing it anyway. “Joel, just listen to me, okay? When I had to tell everyone at Jackson what had happened to her I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me. Because I could fucking see what everyone was thinking. It should’ve been me.”

He shakes his head, feels panic climbing up his throat at the very idea. “No. No, you—”

“They knew it, I knew it—God, Maria never lets me forget it. It should’ve been me, Joel. And I can’t fucking do that shit again, do you hear me? I cannot face them. Maria, Tommy, fuck— Ellie. If I have to look them in the eye and explain how I made it and you didn’t?” You scoff. “Joel, I’d rather die. I can’t do that again. I won’t survive it.”

He holds your face in his hands. “Look at me, baby. Stop. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“But you don’t know—!”

“I do know,” he says. Because I’m cursed to live forever, to endure my sins, he doesn’t. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Alright? I swear.”

And he means it. He really, truly means it.

You press your mouth to his, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair, and though you don’t say it Joel can taste the desperation, the love, on your tongue.

It was never supposed to go this far. Was never supposed to turn into this. All he’d wanted was to teach you a lesson, to scratch the itch of discipline your bratty ways bring out in him.

Yet he finds himself eternally grateful to have been born in a time where you exist. For the first time, he doesn’t think he was born thirty years too early and he doesn’t think you were born thirty years too late. For the first time, he accepts what is and what isn’t. For the first time, Joel Miller holds divinity in his hands and doesn’t think about how undeserving of it he is, he just pulls it closer.

He thinks about how precious this is instead. About how extraordinary you are. About how he may never get to experience heaven but what is heaven compared to the way you look at him? What’s heaven compared to the way you feel?

What’s heaven compared to home?

You drift off in his lap, and even in your sleep you cling to him like he’s something holy.

Joel loves you, he knows.

And if the two of you survive tomorrow, he just might tell you so.

[part five] [part seven]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #idle threats #pearlessance #joel miller fanfic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #age difference #brat taming #the last of us #tlou

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mentalmeles · 3 days

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Well. While the brain rot has me, I wanna talk about some lines in ‘Trust Love’ that have been bothering me lately. Mostly how they blatantly reference Penny and how she just might return once more.

Yes, it’s that kind of Penny posting. If you don’t subscribe to the Penny 3.0 theory or think she should stay dead, please carry on and let me have my silly little thoughts in peace. Also this is 100% Nuts and Dolts propaganda. I will not apologize.

ANYWAY! Onto the lyrics!

Right now, your hopes are shattered / Just pointless ever after

This line obviously talks about the loss of hope. Penny, time and again, has been the character to symbolize hope. The most obvious time this has been done was during Jinxy’s auction in Volume 9.

Ruby is inexplicably drawn to the jade marionette, which we all know turns out to be one of Penny’s swords. (And ofc let’s not forget that weapons are considered an extension of their owners in this world.)

Without knowing why, Ruby wants it and tries to wager for it. But Jinxy asks for something in particular—something Ruby has lost.

“Enough hope to fill [a] jar.”

I also want to point out that the pov making it look like the jade marionette is fitting inside the jar as well as the star charm tied around the top are not at all coincidences. This is the show telling us point blank that Penny is the personification of hope. Or at least Ruby’s hope.

But Ruby just lost her. She has no hope left.

But in time, you'll find / Through love, your power just shines

(I felt the need to put this gif here since it is exactly what plays during these lines in the Volume 7 intro, so let’s just sit and think about the implications of that for a moment. Cool? Cool.)

When you don't know where to turn to / And you're sure all hope is gone / When the day you waited for won't come / And dark won't yield to dawn / Trust love and open up your eyes

Now these lines are what get me. They talk about Ruby losing hope and direction, caught in darkness. Now, while this is the intro song for Volume 7, it’s clear that Ruby has not lost her hope yet. If anything, she just got a big chunk of it back.

And I’d argue that even In Volume 8 when shit has hit the fan and it just keeps coming and coming, Ruby hasn’t lost her resolve yet. There are definitely moments when she comes very, very close to it and she falters, but she does end up maintaining it for the most part.

(I can't find it, but imagine the gif where Ruby is looking down at Penny's unconscious body and is tearing up while saying "It's all...too much." Wow. Such a pretty gif.)

(It's also funny how these moments where Ruby's doubts are the strongest are taking place when Penny is seriously wounded and incapacitated, now isn't it? Surely that's just a funny coincidence...)

But then she and the rest of team RWBY fall into the Ever After and, after learning about Penny's second death, Ruby's mental state just falls deeper and deeper.

But then the lyrics tell Ruby that all she has to do during this dark and harrowing moment is to 'trust love.' Who's love is she supposed to trust? The song has been relating to keeping hope up till now, so it's not a stretch to say that she's supposed to trust the love she had for Penny, platonic or otherwise.

Trust love, the truth is there, but sometimes in disguise

These lines are certainly interesting when put into the context that they're also related to Penny somehow. Personally, all I can think of is when Penny transferred the Winter Maiden powers to Winter. I'm definitely not the first to mention this, but it's awfully suspicious that the aura glow was yellow and not green, isn't it? Sure, there were motes of green, but that isn't what happened when Fria gave Penny the powers previously. So why the change? Unless the truth, while there, is disguised. The truth is that Penny is dying and giving up her power, but it's disguised somehow...

The way's uncertain but we're together / Movin' toward the light / When we trust in love and open up our eyes

Mention of Ruby being together with someone. Obviously, this could just be referring to team RWBY or the whole group being together, united under the mission of saving Remnant from Salem. But, again, when mostly every other line has been tied to hope--and by extension Penny--, it's hard to believe it's talking about that. So, maybe a reunion with a certain someone that hasn't happened yet? A reunion that will bring Ruby back towards the light--towards regaining her hope--once and for all? I mean, if Ruby's character arc in the second Justice League crossover movie is where her arc will go in the show proper, it's not too far of a stretch.

(The reason I mention the Justice League crossover movies is because Ruby's arc in the first movie was very reminiscent to the arc she had about her leadership role in Volumes 7 and 8. So, since she became very self sacrificing in that movie, diving headfirst into mission after mission with no regard to her safety, maybe that's what will happen in Volume 10 too? Maybe having the potential of getting Penny back will be the thing to make her stop?)

Anyways... I don't know if any of this really made any sense and I might just be rambling nonsense, but yeah. Some things that I noticed and felt the need to shout out into the ether.

Thanks for reading!

#rwby #greenlight volume 10 #penny polendina #ruby rose #nuts and dolts #nuts n dolts #mechanical rose #penny 3.0 #the star child speaks #long post

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meelkiewee · 1 month

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Hello!

As a first post i wanted to share my favourite bubbies and since tumblr seems more text oriented than the other socials I have, I'd like to explain what was going on in my head while doing their character redesigns~ [BOOKS SPOILERS MENTIONED]

INTRODUCTION

These character designs were made back in winter 2022 for a sort of animation thesis. Many things didn't go according to plan in that school year so for lack of time and motivation I've never really finished the animatic but I will include a wip at the end of this post. The animatic was about my interpretation of their story, finding a person to call home while in a crude and terrible world.

XIE LIAN

Xie Lian is the first of the two I made, his character design was very clear in my mind since the start. It's not largely distant from your official usual XL but I thought it already fitted very well.

The three main colors for XL are white, black and golden yellow. The prevalence of black and white colors was inspired by two main factors:

I personally see XL as a heavily dichotomy based character, not only in the association to the White Clothed Calamity but also in the way he's described as pretty as a flower but skillful with the sword, following a chaste path but mingling with a ghost king, all kind smiles to others but struggling with his own hope, etcetera, etcetera. He is in a constant struggle to find a third option that is better than simply bad or good, mostly in his early God's days, and also later on with ‘not knowing whether to laugh or cry’. So in here, black and white represent the reality of human nature, where you have bad and good qualities alike, a concept I think XL struggled with a lot since he was brought up as the perfect and pure prince that can do no wrong.

According to my research of the meaning behind colors in the chinese culture I discovered black and white can symbolize many things, some of which I found quite fitting for where I wanted to go with my character design. Black can stand for sadness and bad luck. White represents brightness, purity and innocence. In some instances, however, white is also associated with death and is a color commonly worn at funerals. Moreover in my own culture black and white, along with deep blue, are very elegant colors to wear. Simple and elegant is what my XL wants to look like.

Another important part of my XL character design is his bamboo hat.

Following some good old christian imagery I used his hat as an halo. Most of the time I even ignored perspective to make sure his head is always framed in this golden saintly circle In my animatic storyline specifically it represents XL perfection. Soon the hat is lost in the mud and brought back later on by HC with a new meaning of finding yourself in a safe environment with safe people.

For most of the other design choices I took decisions based on pure aesthetics such as giving him a very elegant mole under the eye, very long and lucious hair and a very very long hanfu with some very very long sleeves. Yes, I wanted him to be very very everything because I very very love him!

Here are some other very very outfits i drew him in for fun and didn’t need for the animatic:

_____________________________________

HUA CHENG

As a premise to my HC character design I want to say I am very amused at people’s different reactions to it. They are usually neatly split in two: either they hate it with a passion or just fall head over heels in love with it, no in between. I personally am in the ‘love it’ side (duh of course I am, I designed it lol) but I also understand if your first thought is “WHO TF IS THAT?”, so let me explain my thought process here.

Firstly, hot take: official HC character is made to be your perfect cool-hot-mysterious-boyfriend™ that has it more together than you do and we don’t like that in this household, at least not always. Yes he is XL’s most devoted believer, yes he is a very powerful supreme, yes he’s always there for his Gege but in the end he’s also a very traumatized person that has had a crush for a guy for 800+ years.

What I’m saying is I wanted him to be a little more relatable and goofy than what books show us so I integrated some of his personality hidden away in E’Ming. From here I got the puffy messy hair, the big round eye and the doubtful expression.

Next up let’s talk about the palette. He also has, like XL, three main colors:

Blue. Mostly of the time he spends around XL he does it in his true form, wich is the form of a dead person (even dead more than once;;). This is pretty self explanatory, when someone dies the hue of their skin goes to blue and also ghosts in general are frequently represented pale blue or white in color. As a little side note to this, I really enjoyed the blue demons HuaLian episode in donghua S2, it made me feel less alone in my smurf choice lol.

Red. This is canonically HC’s color and rightfully so! Red is widely recognized as China's color of good fortune, and in my culture, it is frequently used as a symbol of passion and the color of blood. There is really nothing better than red for Mr. Crimson Rain!

Lilac. Although I'm not sure about my research on this color in Chinese culture, I've read that it modernly represents love or romance. However, growing up in my hometown, purple (and all its shades) was always associated with ugliness and was thought to be a bad omen if worn. Whoever had the nerve to wear it was regarded as a distasteful and ominous weirdo. I think it fitted perfectly with how every other Heaven Official other than XL sees HC; someone who makes blood rain for fun and a potential and actual threat to the Heavenly Court.

As for XL, other choices I made serve a mostly aesthetic purpose. HC’s boxy build, pointy ears and the opened robe to see tiddies(🤩) are some of the notable ones.

HC would not be complete without E’Ming, obviously. After comparing some different blades and trying to integrate a butterfly in the design, I opted for keeping it simple and I ended up with this wobbly shaped hilt made to resemble HC’s bang. The fact that now E’Ming looks like it has a big nose is just an added charm honestly.

CONCLUSION

Thanks for reading until this point I hope you enjoyed my yap and make sure to have a nice day/night! <33

I'll leave the link to my animatic wip here, please note once again that it is not finished in the slightes and there are also some funky expressions that don't really fit the mood lol enjoyyy!

-Sole

#to die for you in battle is my greatest honor #meelkiewee tgcf #meelkiewee #hualian redesign #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng tgcf #crimson rain sought flower #taizi dianxia #tgcf fanart #dianxia #e ming #eming #gege

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raayllum · 5 months

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Anyway time to talk about the 6x03 poem:

As many others have speculated judging by the map, Captain Skall made her way to Hook named after her, and then "as east she sailed into waters so deadly and cold" in the Frozen Shards, her ship eventually being stuck and meeting her doom there.

With that out of the way, I want to talk about other pieces of info, why this might be the poem for 6x03 specifically, and where I think Skall may fit timeline wise:

"From the isles without name" makes me think of the Independent Isles in between Evenere and Katolis.

"sailing north, she called herself free" makes me feel feral with Callum (and Rayla) doing the same in hopes of freeing Callum from Aaravos' grasp by destroying the prison

"Through forests and flowers, past the uneven towers" clearly symbolizes Katolis, indicating that Skall lived once most of the human kingdoms had been established, and thereby post-Exile/Exodus.

"Skall hungered for glory, she wanted a story / they’d tell it long after she died". Routinely we see a desire for glory / worthiness / power described as hunger ("Hungry for knowledge and power" / "But that small taste left some humans hungry—starved, even—for a better path. An easier path. And thus Elarion became the birthplace of a new form of magic, a shortcut to primal power: dark magic"). This also comes into seeking a legacy.

"So with winter wind’s blowing / she sailed north, forgoing / a man who’d have made her his bride". This is where we see the poem take a more negative slant in a few ways. The first is winter, wind, and north, setting up a future unfortunate turn of events. This is also the first mention of Skall having something else in her life other than adventure and something she had to subsequently abandon. While the end of the poem is much more on her side of feelings, "forgoing" does mean "renouncing; sacrificing or giving up" something that is more positive.

"Alone in the cold, yet ever so bold" again adds to the more negative feeling the poem is building, as boldness is in the contrast with "alone in the cold" that's overall negative and maintaining a bit more of an upkeep. Likewise, we see the return of the wind with an even more negative connotation in wailing in the following stanza: "And oh, winter wailed / as east she sailed / into waters so deadly and cold". We see the return of cold but also the change into things being 'deadly' (although there were still hints of danger earlier, as 'bold' indicates).

"Then came the ice, and trapped in its vise" The cold finally catches up to her, and we see ice return as a form of entrapment (2x06, 3x08, 3x09, 5x04, 5x06, 5x08). Most interestingly, "vise" is a tool with closable jaws for clamping things. Maybe the ice is magical, or the jaw of a great (the dragon we've seen in the trailer) creature?

"And while she found peace / she wished that, at least / she’d told him she loved him, always". While the poem ends on a somewhat bittersweet end (at death but at peace), we do see that Skall died with a final regret to the man she could've wed but left instead.

Or you could say, a last wish.

Either way, the poem paints a rather grim journey: going North didn't hold the same freedom and achievements that Skall hoped for, and instead led to entrapment, separation, and death.

That said: there's a few Rayllum-y things I think we can glean from this poem, for starters:

1) The episode will likely have a strong focus on Callum and Rayla sailing to and/or through the Frozen Sea on whatever ship they're planning to use to get there. This leaves 6x02 "Love, War, and Mushrooms" more open to either explore other plot lines or another pit stop in their journey (like say, the Silvergrove)

2) The poem itself has pretty clear Rayllum parallels, specifically in TDP's continual gender subversion of the women who puts other things above her romantic relationship, even if it's likewise seen as a sacrifice. Rayla left Callum in order to protect him/the world from Viren, even if that meant damaging their relationship, and Skall puts her desire for glory and adventure over presumably a more settled married life at home. (Excuse me while I scream over "forgoing a man who'd have made her his bride.")

3) The poem likewise has some parallels to Rayla's "Dear Callum" letter specifically. There are wishes expressed of the leaving party, a desire to have made feelings more plain that Callum reiterates in 5x04 when they think they're about to die ("I hope you know—" "I know"), and most notably, a parallel to the always mention:

she wished that, at least she’d told him she loved him, always.

But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me! Always. I love you. I love you so much.

4) All this bodes quite well for 6x03 being an episode with a big Rayllum moment in it — perhaps even their Big "You Finally Came Back" Talk — especially since there's not much else to (presumably) happen on a ship if they're just travelling somewhere (and not being pursued this time).

Episode Speculation (a summary / misc thoughts)

Callum and Rayla travelling to the Frozen Sea

Big Talk happens

+ potential love confession / reaffirmation?

They reach the other end of the Frozen Sea

Maybe fight the big dragon from the video game teaser we see with Rayla (like Skall, she has literal hooks = blades) whose guarding or in their way to the Starscraper? Could account for the jaws and maybe the ice

One of them is worried and/or has a moment of thinking the other person is hurt/injured bc of said dragon fight?

Maybe some Aaravos backstory in his lost love (although like I said, I don't think it's Skall exactly — I still think the likeliest names are Elara-adjacent or Kalik)

Episode Title Speculation (in about this order):

The Frozen Sea

By River and Sea

Always (this would be my personal favourite and i would never stop screaming)

#tdp #the dragon prince #analysis series #the english major strikes again #tdp meta #analysis #rayllum #s6 spoilers #tdp spoilers #6x03 #s6 speculation #predictions #+ bonus 'i love you with all of myself. i always will' & 'you know i'm always here for you right?'#it's been a long time since i've sat down to analyze a poem so this is fun

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dnpanimationstudioclone · 5 months

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Meet Husk🐈‍⬛🎰🪄

Made my own take on Husk for fun! Ngl I ended up changing alot more than I thought I would.

Made him a Tuxedo Ragamuffin cat. They’re said to look the closest to rabbits, to fit with the whole Magicians and rabbits thing, without loosing all the fun stuff with his cat theme 🐈‍⬛.

Made his coat a more dark gray with greenish tint!

Gave him a vest, a popular thing for both bartenders and magicians to wear, plus a popular 70’s fashion. Made it poker table themed. Also added stripes @a-sterling-rose pointed out it could connect him with Alastor who's also got stripes.

Added a nametag unto it!

Gave him a shirt, made the collar sharp as that was also an iconic 70’s look. It’s been said he died around the 70’s.

Went with green, @the-burd-lord helped me out here, suggesting it fits best with his personality(also can mean renewal and rebirth), plus it’s often seen as a color of fortune and luck along with red! I also added gold as it also shows fortune and can symbolize a gold heart 💛 I can totally see him and Mimzy argue over who pulls it better.

I'll admit. Garfield Def inspired me in how to design Husks body build. I really digged @skwtches style on Husk especially with the body change!

Instead of hearts I made his main symbol the Ace of Spades ♠️ with its significance to life, death and luck. Also added more clubs as they’re also revolved around that.

“The spade represents a leaf of the "cosmic" tree, and thus life. Along with its companion suit, clubs, spades represent fall and winter and the power of darkness. In the Tarot, they symbolize intellect, action, air, and death”

Made his Hat more crumpled and added an ace card into it🎩♠️

Added rolls on his pants(still has suspenders the vest just covers) and added diamond and club patches!

Gave him a watch that looks like a casino chip 🎰🪙

Made his eyes with gold with green irises! Also made his eyebrows shorter and white.

Made his hands and feet more cartoon paw like with gold claws.

Untied his bow tie. I imagine he only ties it, if Alastor tells him to or wants to make himself looks more charming and presentable..

Beer Belly!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHISKERS!!!!!!!!!!

I know the picture doesn’t show it but he def does still have a tail but it’s shorter and fluffier looking(one of Angels many favorite things about Husk)

For the suit order on his wings and vest buttons, normally the order power wise is the Spade, heart, diamonds then clubs but instead the hearts at the bottom, to show his hearts the most vulnerable, how he’s very guarded and protective about getting hurt from caring too much💔. Instead the diamond replaces the heart as he’s able to gain profit/fortune well(just has trouble keeping it due to his gambling and buying booze a lot) and then the clubs as his lucks always going back and forth♦️♣️

For his wings I missed the old suit symbols the pilot wings had so I brought them back and made them bigger. And did some research and the dots on Husks new wings are Roulette board circles which I think is cool so I kept those but reworked it to look part of a roulette wheel too.

Also made takes on other Hazbin characters, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Alastor Niffty and Baxter🍎🦋🕷️🦌🐛🐟

What do u think? How would u redesign Husk? I’d love to know💖

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel redesigns #Hazbin redesigns #hazbin redesign #Hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin fanart #husk #husk redesign #my art #husk fanart #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #Hh

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red-velvet-0w0 · 5 months

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arlight so i was thinking about the norse god heimdall, and how his death acts as a sort of canary call, the first to die in ragnarok, but with his death warning the others of what is coming. and that got me thinking about, you guessed it, canary!jimmy. And then I thought "but what if life series norse god symbolism" (or maybe even AU not sure)

So I present:

Jimmy - Hiemdall (for afformentioned reasons)

Martyn - Tyr (martin is the Hand to Rendog, Tyr loses his hand to the fenrir wolf)

Rendog - Fenrir wolf

Scar - Loki (he just is okay I cant really explain it)

Grian - Odin (eye themes, omniscience, is the most powerful, complex love hate relationship with loki/scar)

Scott - Frey (god of nature & peace, dies from not having a sword, like how scott refuses to kill)

Joel - Thor (it just fits idk)

Lizzie - Sif (Joels wife, also kinda fits)

BigB - Bragi (god of poetry, bigb is skilled manipulator)

Etho - Ullr (god of hunt, duels, and winter)

Bdubs - Narfi (tricked by odin to turn on brother (impulse))

Cleo - Jormungandr (something about dripping poison into the world feels very on brand for them) (not as an insult) (more as a compliment if anything)

Tango - Mimir (god of inteligence who (depending on the version) dies due to his own actions)

Mumbo - Kvasir (god of innovation and invention)

Skizz - Baldur (hes just a sweet guy who dies too soon)

Impulse - Vali (betrayed by an brother (bdubs) and death lead to "binding" of loki/scar)

Pearl - Hel (she just is)

Gem - Freya (goddes of love but also battle)

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arlana-likes-to-write · 1 year

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What Was I Made For? By Billie Eillish

Summary: After Yelena returns to Soyna's apartment from failing to kill Clint Barton she begins to question her place in this world. Luckly for her, you are there to lend a helping hand.

Warning: Self-doubt, Fluff, Lots of drinking, mention of Natasha's death, Yelena needs the biggest hug.

Word Count: 2.7k

The front door slammed shut and alerted you to her arrival. But you didn’t get out of bed when you heard the hushed voices of Yelena and Soyna through the door. It was when you heard one set of footsteps storm off, you climbed out of bed and opened the door. You lived with Sonya when she and Yelena exposed you to the Red Dust. She offered you a room until you decided what was next. However, that was the problem. You weren’t sure what was next. All of your life you followed orders and behaved like a good soldier to complete the orders to a man that no longer existed. He could no longer hurt you. What were you to do now? “How is she?” You asked. Soyna was resting her hands on the kitchen counter.

“She didn’t complete the mission,” that was a surprise. Yelena always completed the mission. You didn’t know anything about her newest assignment, just that the target was in New York City and she would be staying here until she finished the job. You sighed, walked over to the fridge, and took out two bottles of vodka.

“I’m guessing she’s on the roof,” you put on your sneakers and winter jacket.

“Zvezda (star),” you stopped before going up the fire escape. “I don’t think she wants to talk to anyone.” You smiled at your friend.

“Well, it’s lucky I’m someone special,” you opened the window and stepped onto the fire escape, closing it behind you. Zvezda it was a nickname Yelena gave you. The Red Room assigned you to a rising crime lord in the New York and New Jersey area. At least that was what Soyna told you. The things you did for them would come in flashes, mostly in nightmares. Once you adjusted to having your mind and body back, you got a tattoo of Saturn on your arm. The planet symbolized stubbornness, stability, and authority. It was for anyone that wished to take control of their life. That was what you needed. A gentle reminder that you were in control of your life and the end of your story. So they tried to give you the nickname of ‘planet’, ‘Saturn’ but you didn’t like any of them until Yelena came up with star. It fit you well.

You stepped onto the roof, the winter air caused goosebumps to form on your legs. “I came up here because I do not want to talk,” Yelena said, without turning around. She sat on the roof’s edge, legs dangling above the city below.

“Good thing I don’t want to talk,” you said, sitting down next to her. It was close enough that you felt the warmth radiating from her but you gave her enough space to not overcrowd her. It was a delicate dance to play with the blonde. You opened the bottle. “Drink.” You offered her it but she didn’t take her eyes off the busy city street below. You took a sip from the bottle, the burn made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You put the bottle between you and her, leaning back and looking at the city. It was beautiful this time of year. Red and white lights danced in the darkness. You wondered what it was like to celebrate Christmas. Holidays weren’t celebrated in the Red Room. Holidays were used as an easy way to get into a party to find a target. It was another day of training and another night handcuffed to your bed.

“You are going to catch a cold wearing that,” she took a generous sip from the bottle.

“And I thought you didn’t want to talk Belova,” she was wearing her black tactical suit. A smirk was on her face as she took another sip and you picked up the bottle, mirroring her. The other Widows liked to tease you that Yelena had a soft spot for you. She rarely snapped or became annoyed with you but you contributed to not bothering her. You let her exist, not forcing her to talk.

“What did Soyna tell you?” She still refused to look at you.

“You didn’t complete the job,” you shrugged. “I didn’t ask more. Not my place.” It was true. If Yelena refused to kill the man or woman then it had to be a good reason.

“Why are you here then?” Finally, she looked at you. Her green eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, and dried tears on her cheeks.

“Just to sit here and be your friend,” you took another sip. You felt her eyes on you soon it became too much and you looked at her. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I do not know,” you nodded.

“Well, when you do know I’m here,” you continued to sit in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it was empty and you opened the next one. The alcohol was making you feel warm like you were surrounded by a big hug. Yelena rubbed her eyes, suppressing a yawn. “Come on,” you stood up, wobbling slightly. You didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or your legs being asleep. You weren’t drunk, a little tipsy at best. “You should get some sleep.” The blonde groaned and you held out your hand. She sighed, took it, and grabbed the fuller bottle before standing up. She stumbled more than you did. Was she drinking before she came back to the apartment? You were a few inches taller than her and you caught the blonde when she stumbled forward. Her head fell into the crock of your neck. Her warm breath caused goosebumps to form on your skin.

“You smell good,” she mumbled. “Like euc-euc eucalyptus,” she stumbled over the word a few times which caused her to giggle. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. You walked in front of Yelena as you led her down the fire escape. Your hand lingered on her hip now and again to steady her. When you opened the window, the apartment was quiet. You weren’t sure if Soyna went to bed or went out. Yelena was eyeing the couch that had been her bed for the past few nights. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” You asked as if you could read her mind. She looked at you, her green eyes wide.

“Can I?” She whispered. It was so rare to hear such vulnerability in her voice.

“Of course, you can,” you took the bottle from her and put it back in the fridge, making a mental note to buy Soyna two new bottles. You grabbed Yelena’s hand and brought her to your room. The first time she was in her was when she dropped you off. You’ve changed it since then, added posters of bands you liked and pictures you’ve taken around the city. She sat on the edge and looked around your room. “Do you want to change?”

“Clothes are out there,” she pointed to the door. “Don’t wanna move,” you giggled. “What’s so funny?” She asked as you walked to your closet.

“Your just cute,” you saw a blush rise to her cheeks. “I have stuff you can use,” you grabbed her a long sleeve shirt and an extra pair of sleep shorts. You handed them to the blonde but knelt on the floor to take off her boots. She didn’t fight you but watched you with a curious expression. “Do you need help changing?” Yelena shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” You left your room with her boats in hand to give her some privacy. You filled two glasses with water before returning to your room. Yelena was changed and resting her back on your headboard. You placed both glasses of water on your nightstand. “Did you get hurt tonight?” She hesitated but shrugged. “Do you want me to look at it?”

“No,” she simply said. You turned on the light you had on your nightstand and turned off the overhead light before climbing into bed. She copied you, getting under the covers, and lay down to face you. Tears swelled in her eyes.

“Yelena,” you whispered. “Are you okay?” She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. You didn’t think and brought the emotionally distraught Black Widow into your arms. She tensed up at the sudden contact but you felt her hands grip onto your shirt like a lifeline. “Sh, you’re okay,” you whispered, undoing the braid in her hair and running your fingers through her blonde locks. “Your safe. Your safe.” You kept repeating it until her cries turned into hiccups and her breathing evened out. She was fast asleep in your arms. You wondered if she ever allowed herself this peace, this safety net to fall back on. Yelena always seemed so strong, barely showing any emotion. It had to be exhausting. You allowed yourself a few minutes of soothing her before falling asleep.

It took a few moments for Yelena to recognize where she was, alone, in a room she had only seen in passing but never dared to go in. Your room. It always seemed welcoming, warm, and inviting. Yelena groaned, pushing her hands to her temples. Her head was pounding. She wasn’t sure if it was from all the alcohol she drank or the crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried, especially in front of someone. It was embarrassing and threatened the way she presented herself. But last night was the best night’s sleep she’s had in a long time. Yelena saw the glass of water and medicine you left out for her. There was a part of Yelena that was curious about where you ran off to but the much louder part was dreading to face you. With a sigh, she finished the water and ventured into the apartment. You were in the kitchen, mixing something into a metal bowl. “Where is Soyna?” Yelena asked. You jumped slightly.

“She ran to the store so I’m in charge of breakfast,” you smiled. “I’m making pancakes.”

“Do you need help?” Yelena offered. She wasn’t well versed in the kitchen, surviving mostly on take-out or easy microwave dinners.

“Can you make coffee?” That was something she could do and she was grateful to do something. You turned up the music you were listening to and the kitchen was no longer quiet. When the coffee started, Yelena couldn’t help but watch you move around the kitchen. You were so different than the other Widows she’s saved from Dreykov’s claws. You were soft, caring, and like Melina said all those years ago to her and Natasha you kept your heart. Her heart was tainted, blackened with grief and a thirst for revenge. But she felt empty, lost, and without a purpose. “Your thinking too hard,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Sit. The food is done.” Yelena did what she was told and sat down. You placed a plate in front of her with syrup and coffee from the pot. Why were you doing this? Yelena wasn’t deserving of your kindness. “Yelena, stop thinking and just eat.” You smiled. Your smile made her stomach flip.

“Thank you,” she took a bite of the food. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you both ate in silence, allowing the music to fill it. But her mind started to wander and it went back to your room. Yelena had a room at Melina’s farm, she rarely used it as she slept in hotels or apartments of the Widows she’s helped. The room wasn’t decorated, and she didn’t have posters or pictures to hand up. The only picture she had was a ripped photo strip of her and Natasha.

“Yelena,” she looked at you. “Are you okay?” She forced a smile.

“I’m okay, malen’kaya zvezda (little star), no need to worry.” She wasn’t expecting you to frown.

“Your not okay,” you said. Your blunt comment surprised her. “And that’s okay. We can’t always be strong. We have to break now and again.” Yelena chuckled, shaking her head.

“Tell me, how did you keep your heart?” She asked. You didn’t mask the confusion on your face. “Your heart is good. They didn’t taint it.” Your frown deepened.

“Do you not think your heart is good?” Yelena couldn’t find an answer. How could she tell you she was hired to kill an Avenger and she believed the lie that he killed her sister? “I think your heart is good,” you continued. “You wouldn’t do what you do if your heart wasn’t good.” Yelena laughed bitterly, looking out towards the window. She wondered what Clint and Kate were doing right now. Were they celebrating Christmas?

“Do you ever wonder why we were put through the Red Room?” She asked. “Besides following Dreykov’s orders and taking down countries and starting wars. But what about now? The Red Room is gone and we are left with these kills,” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. “What was I made for? I used to know but I’m not sure now.” Yelena looked at you. You were watching her intensely, it made her feel small and foolish under your graze for opening up like this. But she couldn’t stop.

“Sometimes I don’t feel real,” she continued. “I’m just something someone paid for. I don’t know how to feel,” Quietly, you rested your hand on top of hers. Yelena was surprised she didn’t pull away.

“What was your mission?” You asked. Yelena stared at your connected hands.

“Someone put a hit on Clint Barton,” she didn’t need to loop up for you know you knew the name. “Valentina gave me the job. She said,” Yelena sighed, closing her eyes. Her throat began to burn as she felt her emotions start to overpower her. “She said he had a hand in my sister’s death.”

“Did he?” You whispered. Yelena shook her head.

“No. It’s why I didn’t kill him,” you didn’t say anything instead you ran your fingers across her hand. It was soothing. “I wonder,” Yelena continued. “If Valentina is like Dreykov. I’m blindly following orders without thinking for myself.” It was your turn to sigh and Yelena glanced up at you. You were deep in thought, staring at the now empty plate.

“You and I and every other Widow were not given a fair or easy life,” Yelena counted herself lucky for the 3 years in Ohio. She was given a family, even though it was for a mission. It was more than some of the other girls had. “We were born to be used, and abused, and controlled but I know that isn’t the end of our story.”

“What is the end?” Yelena asked. You finally began to smile.

“I don’t know but we are free, Yelena. We write our own story. No man or woman can take that from us,” you squeezed her hand. “You were made to be anything you want.” Yelena scuffed, shaking her head. You made it sound so easy.

“I don’t know what I want,” there was one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. She wanted more time with her sister. It was so unfair how little time they had together. You removed your hand as you started cleaning up the breakfast. Yelena hated to admit how much she missed it.

“Well, I would stop working with Valentina,” you loaded the dishwasher. “Go on a vacation. Swim in the ocean. Eat your weight in ice cream,” Yelena chuckled. Once you were happy with how the kitchen, you leaned back on the counter. “That’s the beautiful and scary thing about being free there is no limit to what we can do,” Yelena smiled, a real when. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she smiled.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she said. “How did you keep your heart?” You shrugged.

“They tried to break it,” you told her. Your smile was no longer happy. “But I had to believe the horror we were subjected to wasn’t our end. It gave me hope,” this time Yelena grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours.

“Will you join me?” She asked. “On my self-discovery journey.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “I’d follow you anywhere you go.” Yelena felt a warm feeling grow in her chest. She couldn’t blame the alcohol or her grief. You were to blame for this giddy feeling that she had about the future. For once, Yelena wasn’t afraid and she hoped to make her sister proud.

Might return to this little AU in the future. May add some angst in Part 2. We'll see what happens and how I'm feeling lol

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x fem!reader #yelena belova #black widow x reader #black widow one shot #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #reader insert #based on a song #barbie movie #black widow imagine #black widow

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siflshonen · 1 year

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Todoroki: The Mountain, the Hawk, and the Haunted House Part 1

Link to the Todoroki family presentation: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Bakugo presentation 2.0: Part 1 | Part 2 | 1.0: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Kirishima presentation 1.0 | 2.0

Link to the Todoroki presentation

Link to the Deku presentation

Link to the Uraraka-Bakugo-Toga presentation

Link to the Shigaraki-All for One presentation

Link to the Spinner-Shigaraki-Bakugo-Deku presentation

Link to the BNHA presentations masterpost

In the online fandom system, domestic abuse offenses are considered especially heinous. In the My Hero Academia fandom, the dedicated fans who create the discourse around these fictitious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the So (you think these) Victims (are the most special characters) Unit, or SVU.

These aren’t their stories.

Whenever a work from one culture or language is brought to another (or even if the work stays in the same culture but transitions from page to screen), the translators, localizers, and creative team handling it can only do so much to help the new audience understand what the original work communicates through subtext or cultural associations by deciding how much of the work to leave out or change. In other words, the team must choose how to fail.

In the case of the Todoroki family, I feel there is much lost in translation. Or, at least, there is much lost if the reader doesn’t share the work’s original cultural background. I’m going to try to make my point with a poem.

Four children are mine

And I love my four children:

An arrow to ward away the darkness

aimed for the light of the dawn;

The winter, who brings the night again, beautiful and longer;

Next the summer,

who returns the sun at its zenith;

And small is the leader with clear sky and dusk rain in his eyes.

Four children are mine

And with four comes death

The arrow flies too high from the bow

The arrow flies but falls to darkness

From a shrine in the mountain, he aims for me.

My son haunts the mountain near the peak

I fear the mountain I cannot climb

I fear the arrow meant for me.

Winter settles quietly

Summer turns away from me

The leader makes a mirror of my heart

I tell my son I love him

And I look in the mirror yet I cannot face it but to watch it crack

My son is my spitting image

I tell my son I love him

I tell my son

Without looking into his eyes,

I tell my son I love him

As the arrow flies.

This poem is about Enji Todoroki and his children - the four he actually fathered and the one for whom he unknowingly acted as a surrogate. The poem vaguely alludes to the meanings of the children’s names with one notable change - for Shoto Todoroki, instead of calling him “charred frozen” - which is basically how his first name is written - I called him “leader”.

When written with different characters in Japanese, “Sho” can mean “leader.” So, while “leader” isn’t the true meaning of Shoto’s name, I decided that it was thematically fitting to use since he’s also the “hero of his family” and leads the way for them to continue into the future. In changing the meaning of Shoto’s name, I chose how to fail. Yes, it’s imperfect, but by putting in the work, I can at least show you how I arrived at the destination to help you better understand what you are reading. Much of what I’m about to write about falls into this category - it’s not exactly the perfect explanation or whole, unaltered, canon truth, but is supplementary information to help you come to your own conclusions.

Anyway, now that I’ve told you the poem is about Enji and his children, it probably comes off a little differently, huh? That’s the power of writing allegories and using recurring motifs. If you have not figured it out already, you’ll learn soon enough what words symbolize each child.

Now, let’s break down this already broken family. There are so many damn Todorokis that I’m going to do something very, very rude and call them each by their first name for the sake of clarity (and also because, frankly, it’s a more honest representation of how I actually feel about these characters.)

What is the Todoroki Family?

The challenges facing the Todoroki family - such as the pressures Enji feels, the disappointment and internal crisis Toya inherits, the social and marital prison in which Rei finds herself trapped, the nature of the public’s feelings of betrayal at the reveal of Enji’s family dysfunction, the social snafus and ugly family dynamics in which Natsuo and Fuyumi are often caught - are distinctly shaped by the series’ Japanese society. There’s a special je ne sais quoi quality to their family drama that feels authentic even to me, and I’m a foreigner to these cultural tropes. It’s a little disturbing.

But, besides a fictional family, what are the Todorokis? What purpose do they serve in the story? What is their purpose within the narrative, and what is the purpose of the narrative in which they exist?

Well, on the one hand, the Todoroki household can function as an allegory for traditional Japanese families, society, and power structures (we could use the word “patriarchy”) crumbling under the pressures of modernity and a changing world, which is similar to how the Shimura household functions in Shigaraki’s backstory, or even the story of All Might’s retirement. On the other hand, they are a case study of a deeply flawed family that, if the magic-powers quirk element was not present, could exist in the real world.

They make for good drama. But every member of the household serves a purpose in the narrative, in the family, and in the meta. Usually, these three things work together for a greater purpose.

What is Enji Todoroki?

I didn’t say, “Who is Enji Todoroki?”. I said, “What is Enji Todoroki?”

If you said, “an asshole and shit father,” well, yeah, you’re sure on to something! But it’s not helpful to disengage with a major character in a work if you want to understand what the hell they’re doing in the narrative. I’m not telling anyone to like Enji, or any Todoroki, but I am asking that you entertain the concepts behind them with an open mind, if not an open heart.

What is Enji Todoroki? Much of this should be obvious in any language, but I’m still going to break it down.

The manga tells us pretty blatantly that he is a man from an older generation struggling to remain relevant in a new and changing world. He is ambitious, prideful, hardworking, hypocritical, and wholly dedicated to his job. He’s the patriarch in a household structure that is no longer relevant and coming apart at the seams. But most of all, Enji is afraid that nothing he does will ever be enough.

What is Enji Todoroki? Enji is someone who tries his hardest at anything he does even when it sends him to ruin.

Enji and Effort; Enji and Enjo

In my Bakugo and Deku presentations, I mention that the concept of talent as a fixed quality is predominantly accepted in the west while a common eastern perspective posits that talent is something developed over time. The distinctly Japanese Enji and his personal conflict over the existence of the “natural born”, western-coded All Might thrusts these implied concepts of talent from subtext (not that they were particularly hard to identify throughout the manga) into blatant text. And I’m not just talking about the moment where Enji thinks to himself, “I have always envied natural-born superheroes.”

The written characters for Enji’s given name means effort. The name also sounds like another word for “fuckin’ honkin’ bigass fire”, Enjo, but for our discussion, Enji means effort. Endeavor, his self-chosen hero name, also implies the application of effort.

Everything about this man is defined by his efforts, even when they are in vain. Everything.

He pours his effort into becoming Japan’s greatest Hero. He pours his efforts into escaping the fate of his father. He pours his efforts into making the most terrible domestic choices possible to try to be enough for his family. He pours his efforts into atoning for his transgressions against his family, and then again for those against society. And it is not enough. He knows it is not enough, it never will be enough. Not one thing he has ever done in his life has been enough for him, enough for his family, enough for society. It is never enough. This is his burden.

You don’t have to feel bad for him about it, mind you. I’m just telling you that it is, functionally, his core struggle.

Enji poured every bit of himself into looking away from his son Toya and into running away from him. It’s going to take every bit of effort within himself to stand his ground and face his son again, and even then, he is still going to need help. Perhaps that’s pathetic, but even Enji knew he was only going to be a professional Hero, never a superhero.

Enji is a man who believes, who is basically required to believe, who likely cannot continue to exist if he does not believe, that his value and justification for being is defined by his ability to pull himself up by his bootstraps, or to just keep struggling in the endeavor.

He pours his effort into everything he does and curses his own weaknesses. Even struggling takes effort.

Japan's Burning Soul: Notes on National Pride and Flame Quirks

In my Kirishima presentation, I talk extensively about kouha and their manly aesthetic as it applies to symbols of Japan. What the presentation doesn’t talk about are flame motifs.

In Japan, flames are seen as purifying. They are also seen as manly, and not just in the way Kirishima defines it. There’s several phrases in Japan that talk about stuff like “a burning soul” or even “Japan’s burning soul” or the “blazing spirit” of a Japanese youth. Well, I think these are just about as tacky as they sound but in the same kind of boyish, tacky-cool way most shonen anime can be.

I’m talking about the flame motif on festival jackets. I’m talking about every time Galo from Promare talks about his “flaming firefighter soul”. To some extent, I’m talking about the flames on the Hokage jacket in Naruto (Minato’s and Naruto’s jackets get the flames as a nod to their shared mentor Jiraiya, who is a whole-ass conversation about masculinity in culture, theater, and mythology in and of himself.) These examples are indicative of each of these characters’ pride in their masculinity and in their nationality. Enji’s flame quirk and his constant use of flames as a brand are no exception to this trend.

Some minor characters, and later Dabi, allude to the fact that flame-based quirks are somewhat common in MHA. I’m not completely certain if the prevalence of flame quirks is also meant to indicate that these quirk holders share the same sort of “flaming spirit”, background, national pride, or even miscellaneous political views, but somehow I get the feeling that it does.

These people are, on some level, connected in that they possess the flaming soul of (masculine, old, patriarchal) Japan. The existence of Pro Hero Endeavor is a representation of the traditional, conservative Japan’s soul. All Might may wear red, white, and blue (and yellow like a yellow-haired westerner) to represent a certain set of foreign ideals, but Enji wears the red and the blue with distinctly Japanese pride.

The Colors of a Nation

Red and white, the colors of the Japanese flag, have strong cultural connotations through Japanese architecture, festivals, and shinto practices. (Please keep in mind that colors can mean a lot of things in every culture depending on context, and in Japan, different shades of the same colors can also hold distinct meanings. For example, certain shades of blue are often worn by villains in theater, but blue is not always “evil” or “villainous” by default.) But the color that I personally associate with Japan is blue - specifically, anything dyed with the aizome technique.

Aizome clothing, or clothing dyed with indigo, transitioned from being a nobility-only thing to one of the few colors that commoners could wear starting in the early 1600s - because by then, bright colors were exclusive to the nobility. The indigo dye is also popular for its antibacterial, insect repellent, and flame retardant properties. Firefighters wore it. Samurai wore it under their armor. So it’s not surprising to me that Endeavor’s Hero costume, and that of his son, would use fabric in a particular hue of dark blue.

Also? If you wanted to know? Aizome is used to dye Japanese blue jeans today. Hey, Best Jeanist!

Anyway, Enji is dressed in the color of the common Japanese man, the firefighter, the samurai, the noble laborer or honorable servant - but definitely not of high nobility.

We don’t know a ton about Enji’s background in detail, we know he wasn’t born ungodly rich. We know his father died. We know he went to UA. He made money from his Hero career, and married into a pedigree. Yes, he chose Rei because she had an ice quirk, but got the bonus of clout and old world connections.

So, uh, yes, the marriage of Enji and Rei was one of new money and big ambition married to old nobility and traditional values, and that’s true even when taking the kids out of the equation. But more on Rei and the marriage later.

Unpacking Enji's Envy of All Might

The majority of Japan’s political scene is conservative. (Look at the ideology column in that table, NOT just the name of the party. If you’re a westerner, I realize that identifying which ones are conservative is going to be particularly difficult to do given their translated names.) The Jiminto, or Liberal Democratic Party (again, look at the ideology column, NOT JUST THE NAME OF THE PARTY. Remember that “liberal” and “democratic” can hold different connotations in different countries!) was founded in 1955 and, despite having a nebulous identity beyond being “kinda to the right”, continues to hold a significant majority. Over the years, the party has commonly been seen as reliable, stable, and able to get the job done. Well, except for during those periods of time when the scandals came out.

This is not unlike how the public of MHA saw Endeavor. Well, until the scandals came out.

Now, I do not think it is correct to say that Enji = the Jiminto and leave it at that. (I would, however, call him a personification of Japan’s modern patriarchy, or at least something pretty damn close.) His dogged, openly vocalized grudge against All Might is more extreme than what the majority of the Jiminto might openly express, especially considering their consensus of policy regarding the US. I only want to give some context to the longer-standing political scene of Japan as it affects the modern day.

See, while Japan and the US have had an enduring relationship and are, uh, well, allies now, the older generations of Japan, particularly in rural areas, still hold deep grudges against the States and are bitterly, bitterly angry at the cultural imperialism and the military takeover and the government policy changes and the economic changes and the, well, the everything. Actually, the mutual cycle of envy between the Japanese and US citizens detailed in that Times article is important to remember from both perspectives. There’s old bias against each country lingering in both directions, and, while not a direct reference to how it remains in the Japanese population, understanding how it affected the creation of Japanese internment camps in the US is very illuminating in understanding the public US sentiment about the Japanese before WWII then after it.

When Enji, (or Endeavor), discusses his inferiority complex, he gives away the game and makes the subtext of the rampant western envy present in many of the characters in the work burst out into just plain text.

While Toshinori Yagi is a Japanese man, the power he inherited, or what Enji (and the world) wrongly believed was “natural-born talent” (a western concept), blatantly signals “western power” through his costume and art style (US comics!) and he represents the “band-aid” of temporary western military and socio-political power imposed upon Japan.

The US is considered a superpower, after all.

That said, I do feel that giving the western-appearance clout (and magic quirk) to the Japanese Yagi aptly communicates that there is nothing naturally special about the US or its citizens, or really anyone who has power. All of that misunderstood “special glow” or “flawless perfection” or “incontestable strength” are just appearances, presentation, circumstances, and luck - nothing more and nothing less. Yagi (who is, again, Japanese, so this is a Japanese man displaying the incredible aptitude for superheroism, to Enji’s surprise and probable chagrin) may have had a knack for using the quirk and therefore was the greatest at winning and saving, but he also destroyed himself trying to be the perfectly westernized superhero.

Also, by comparing the obviously westernized Katsuki Bakugo and pridefully Japanese Enji Todoroki, Horikoshi makes his point that a shithead is a shithead regardless of nationality, background, or philosophy.

At the same time, both characters have the ability to change.

Speaking as someone from the US, I’m conflicted, humbled, creeped out, and very emotional over the fact that Horikoshi has chosen to have a complicated, sometimes critical (early Bakugo’s westernisms are not flattering, and the westernized persona of All Might is an unsustainable, unrealistic, unfair thing that destroyed the man maintaining it), but overall kind, laudable, and compassionate portrayal of characters that stand in for the west.

I’ve heard Horikoshi has been criticized as a “freeaboo” for the open admiration of the west inherent in My Hero Academia. I’ll admit, I think he might be a little bit of one, but I’d be the cat calling the monkey a long-tailed bastard if I didn’t also admit that I’m a bit of a weeaboo. We can be mutually embarrassed about how much we like each other despite everything, I guess.

But back to Enji and Yagi. Enji bitching about All Might and expressing disgust over his “American” presentation and perceived advantage is, um. Well, I could call it an example of him making excuses because Yagi is actually Japanese, but it is true Yagi gained experiences and some training advantages in the US that Enji did not have. And, like, Yagi also got a magic quirk (from another Japanese person.) That’s something.

But I digress. The irony and realities of Enji’s envy and self-deprecation could be debated all day, but it doesn’t lessen the stink of hostility and western envy wafting off of it.

The Significance of Mountains in Japan

You know about Fuji-san, or Mt. Fuji, the largest and most iconic mountain of Japan? Awesome, because it’s Japan’s most famous cultural site and a great case study for how the Japanese view mountains as sacred. People hike Mt. Fuji and other sacred mountains for secular reasons, too, sure, but many do so as a spiritual pilgrimage. It’s a mixed bag, sort of like how, in the west, everyone is impacted by and understands Christmas despite how it’s primarily only modern Christians that have religious traditions regarding it.

Sekoto Peak, the in-story location where Enji sometimes trains and Toya burns himself, doesn’t actually exist and therefore has no real-life associated myths, but Enji’s choice to train on it indicates much about his discipline. It also provides a quiet association between honing his abilities to their pinnacle and his connecting to the understood sacred power of the mountain. There’s a mystical element to it.

Most, if not all, Japanese mountains are considered sacred in some sense no matter how tall or pretty they are. This is just understood. Many mountains are the sites of one or more Buddhist or Shinto temples.

Ah, and since many mountains are volcanoes, it shouldn’t be terribly surprising to think of them as residences for fire elementals or other kami and spirit figures. Or even demons.

Enji’s view of All Might as standing on the peak of an even higher mountain, or even perhaps BEING a mountain himself that Enji is unable to climb or conquer, is analogous to him realizing he is one insignificant human man in the face of a force of nature. All Might is not unlike a kami (god - though please remember there is a difference in attitude between those that worship and honor a god versus those that worship capital-G God) to Enji in this sense, but it is perhaps more correct to say that Enji sees All Might as someone who was able to make the pilgrimage to the highest peak and reach enlightenment, thereby becoming divine, while Enji himself is incapable (and therefore unworthy. Because he’s not working hard enough, obviously! Or at least, that’s what Enji thinks.)

If you’re a reader in the Christian-based-background west, you’re likely thinking this is like saying Enji sees himself as a filthy, nasty sinner who is going to hell forever. This isn’t NOT sorta kinda partially in the neighborhood, but that would be a much more punitive, permanent, and fixed view than a Buddhist or east Asian perspective. It’s also missing the point. Readers can want whatever they want, but they shouldn’t necessarily expect this story to absolutely intend to make Enji burn in hell forever through outside forces (because he definitely is doing it to himself, at least currently in this lifetime. Burn, asshole.)

Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths

Rather than a Judeo-Christian sensibility, Enji’s story (and Deku’s, and Bakugo’s, and Rei’s, and Shoto’s, and Uraraka’s, and Toga’s, and Shigaraki’s, and…) more closely resembles Buddhist philosophy and the journey of someone coming to understand the four noble truths - and it ties into Enji’s own discovery and understanding of these truths, which is a journey basically every damn character in this series is going through - if not for their own sakes, then for the sake of learning it on behalf of someone else. That link has a detailed writeup, but here’s the brief:

The First Noble Truth (dukkha) - everyone suffers, and suffering is part of the world. Enji knows this one intimately.

The Second Noble Truth (samudaya) - something causes suffering to happen. In Buddhism, most things that cause suffering are related to having desires for material things or status. Enji learns that he and his desires are the major source for his own suffering and for that of his family.

The Third Noble Truth (nirodha) - knowing that suffering can end. Like, in the abstract. This is acknowledging there is a way it can happen even if one doesn’t know what it is yet.

The Fourth Noble Truth (magga) - knowing there is a way to end suffering. This one is about an action plan. Enji’s action plan is to give his family a new home to live in that does not include him. Later, he realizes he must apologize to the public and continue to do the only damn thing he can to contribute meaningfully towards ending their suffering: keep being a pro Hero even if he can’t be a superhero.

Does knowing or doing any of this purify him? Well, sort of, through the fire ‘n flame of the grueling ordeal of fighting All for One notwithstanding whether or not the public and (some of) his kids still hate him afterwards, but nah, not really.

In some ways, this is a nice quality that My Hero Academia has - that characters still want things, are allowed to want things, and their desires are treated as natural. Sometimes heroic, even! The characters’ ensuing suffering is also a natural and realistic consequence, but that’s a-ok - everyone will still plug along and do their best to try and reach a collective enlightenment. A constant state of enlightened perfection is not attainable nor sustainable for the mortal, which is why the concept of enlightenment through an ongoing cycle of rebirth exists rather than in the form of an immediate reward, but that doesn’t mean we should stop in the endeavor of striving for it.

So that’s what Enji Todoroki is: an illustration of how action through atonement is always better than sending someone or pushing someone to send themselves to hell forever, thereby never allowing them the opportunity to escape the wheel of life.

What is Rei Todoroki?

Rei is a daughter of prestige and her family’s last hope to stay relevant. She’s a woman raised in and trapped by the obligations, power, money, and structure of an old society that is doing everything it can to keep from crumbling.

But she’s also complicit in helping to uphold it. Rei is definitely a victim, but she’s also definitely a perpetrator. ‘Cause that’s how it works - people under the thumb of one kind of authority or abuse often perpetuate it and continue the cycle.

Rei’s given name means, as written, cold. It’s simple, but fitting. She is often emotionally unavailable and unable to connect with Enji and her children (especially Toya, but that’s a two-way street.). It’s one of the contributing factors to why she didn’t “see” her son.

Yuki-Onna and Yamato Nadeshiko

A yuki-onna, or snow woman, is a figure from folklore. They are described as beautiful women who appear on cold and snowy nights. The Wikipedia page I linked gives a good picture of the wide variety of yuki-onna stories out there and of the nature of this figure for your reference. But Rei, while a more human character, definitely suggests a yuki-onna. I think the stories that associate the yuki-onna with children, specifically the one where she asks strangers to hold a child (and survive holding it, in which case she generously awards the holder) or associate her with mountains, are the most interesting for this discussion considering the other mythological and cultural associations present in the Todoroki family.

Rei is also a sort of yamato nadeshiko figure, or an idealized Japanese woman. TVtropes did my work for me on this one:

“Being a yamato nadeshiko revolved around the Confucian concepts of Feudal Loyalty and Filial Piety, which…meant acting for the benefit of one's family and obeying and assisting authority figures…Virtues include(d) loyalty, domestic ability, wisdom, maturity, and humility.”

A nadeshiko is, in English, a dianthus. I know it by the colloquial name Sweet William.

The white-edged flowers kinda looks like Fuyumi’s hair, no?

However, Rei is a yamato nadeshiko with a twist! Rei’s character starts out as a doormat, totally broke and unable to handle life in the Todoroki house, and then later finds the resolve and underlying “iron will” to face Enji, the family, and her mistakes again. Women aren’t naturally “perfect” in any sense of the word, ever, and they definitely don’t naturally (or even unnaturally, even through dogged effort) fit the mold of the yamato nadeshiko (at least, not every waking second of their lives.) But they can grow stronger over time, just like everyone else can. Rei becomes more like a “true” yamato nadeshiko after she stops trying so hard to be one for the sake of upholding her marriage and socially-acceptable appearances and instead approaches the situation from a place of collected, experienced resolve.

Yamato, as all these sources’ll tell ya, is an old term for Japan. “Yamato” is the name of the clan that set up the first (and only) Japanese dynasty as well as the name for the actual seat of government they created (and yeah, the Yamato seat was located on a mountain.) Today, “Yamato” is also the ethnic majority of modern Japan. Wikipedia has the most succinct brief on how Japan, despite its efforts to brand itself as one homogenized and harmonious Yamato people, definitely ain’t one.

Likewise, the yamato nadeshiko was a propaganda tool to encourage women to behave “correctly” and paint the picture of a desirable Japanese woman. The unreasonable expectation of women to reach the standard of the idealized yamato nadeshiko was, and is, total bullshit.

Miai and Traditional Marriages

It’s old-fashioned, but not scandalous or inherently skeezy that Enji and Rei had an arranged marriage. Miai, or matchmaking meetings, are still a thing today in the real world and would likely continue to be a thing in the analogous-to-the-real-world’s-present future setting MHA presents, especially for someone like pro Hero Enji. He didn’t have the time or interest to date around, and he needed a marriage of business and mutual interest rather than love (and I don’t just mean “marriage of business” for the purpose of producing designer kids, though that is absolutely what he did and everyone involved even knew it.) Rei’s family are also exactly the kind of family that would desire miai to arrange the most mutually beneficial marriage possible - regardless of Enji’s involvement.

In the grand scheme of history, marriages for love being the accepted norm is exceptionally modern, and while love marriages are increasingly common in many places including Japan, they certainly are not “traditional”. Here’s a blog about Japanese marriages written in 2002 that may contain some interesting tidbits bridging the new and old traditions. Here’s a brief history of marriage in Japan.

Also, Enji and Rei were married young. Overall, the Japanese, especially women, are expected to marry young, though the mean age for women at their time of marriage has increased as time has passed. There still exists, especially for Japanese women, an expectation to marry younger, or at least marry while “in their prime”. If you watch anime, you likely already know what a “Christmas cake” is in modern slang. (That article does a fantastic job of illustrating western envy and postwar Japanese cultural shifts using the adoption of the Christmas cake as a case study.) If you don’t know, a Christmas cake is a slang term for an unmarried woman over 25. Because apparently, a day over 25 means she is past her prime for marriage and has “expired”.

Marriage fulfills certain social obligations even among middle- and lower-class Japanese citizens, but while Rei would not be alone in feeling the pressure to get married for the sake of her family, she would feel it the most acutely because of her status.

Appearances and Divorce in Japanese Society

Rei could divorce Enji, it’s true, if she had his agreement to do so or if she had sufficient evidence to prove it in a Japanese court. Which, good luck. Because while we know Enji was brutal and abusive in training, which parent actually burned Shoto and left a lasting scar? That’s right. Rei did.

So Rei’s divorce likely would have totally fucked her and the children over. For one, she’d be stripped of the Todoroki family name and likely any Todoroki assets, and since she’d be breaking the deal made between Enji and her family, her own family likely would not take her back!

Divorces are becoming more common in modern Japan, but it’s important to remember that the stinging double-standard of “divorce is okay, except if it’s ONE OF US” that the upper classes (or just the exceptionally proud or wealthy) impose on themselves is brutal. If the public knew Rei had divorced and were given no context - which they wouldn’t get because shaming one’s (ex-)husband and family by sharing those details publicly would be considered crass and unthinkable - the public would likely rip her and the children apart even if they ripped Enji apart, too.

Remember: keeping up appearances is everything in Japanese society.

Rei living outside the house in a facility for her mental health is already shameful and potentially scandalous enough, and it wouldn’t do her any favors in court regarding custody of the children, anyway. Instead, she chooses the limbo of remaining married, but separated.

The Rindo Flower

Yes, I have read meta about Rei’s favorite flower being a rindo flower. I’ve seen it in this post from @foundouthatdabiistouyatodoroki and on Reddit, as well as just, like, around the fandom. I agree that the flower’s presence is often a stand-in for Toya, but I also think it stands in for the ghost of Enji’s, well, not exactly love, but his affection and promise to Rei made via their marriage.

Remembering that Rei likes a flower and showing that he remembers is kind of, like, the bare minimum, but it’s somethin’, I guess.

The rindo, most likely the Japanese gentian in English, is, well, a gentian.

The flower’s color suggests the indigo of the aizome dye, a traditional Japanese color, and its meanings include compassion for sorrow, justice, and… victory. When held upside down like Rei presents it during the hospital scene, it implies loss. (The gladiolus, which the article mentions as another flower of victory, is named because the leaves and shape so resemble a sword. Well, to the Romans, the word for “sword”, and was also a euphemism for a dick. Gladiators, or “sword-ers”, were talked about in terms of their masculinity, victories, and how many other things they penetrated with their “swords”. Real classy. Source? All my history classes.)

Considering Rei’s status as a sort of “blue blood”, I think it’s interesting to note that gentians are the flowers that appear on the Minamoto crest (though the crest most likely uses the less-specific-than-the-rindo balloon flower from the same genus.) I don’t know if associating Rei (and her kids) directly with one of Japan’s major noble clans (and the same one that the Tale of Genji centers around) was Horikoshi’s primary intention, but I think the connection is still worth talking about.

As that Wikipedia article can tell you, the Minamoto name was once given to imperial family members who could not inherit the throne through the family line. It’s fitting for Toya, considering how his father decided he couldn’t be a Hero that surpasses All Might despite being the firstborn son who was created for that explicit purpose.

Let’s talk about that, actually.

What is Toya Todoroki | Dabi?

What is Toya? He’s the first son of a wealthy family with noble blood in him who was utterly crushed by the thought of failing to uphold the social obligations into which he was born.

Personally, I consider Toya to be the most fragile major character in the entire series, contested for the spot only by his own father, Shigaraki, and possibly early series Bakugo.

Toya, or more precisely Dabi, is Enji (and Rei) Todoroki’s very own monster. Instead of a “perfect creation” like intended, he became, well, whatever you want to call Dabi.

But let’s talk about Toya first.

The Role of Firstborn Sons in Japan

Firstborn sons are fucking important in Japan and in many other eastern cultures. Generally, they are obligated to inherit just about damn near everything and, in return, are tasked with basically all the responsibilities of honoring their parents. A Japanese family isn’t just a series of blood ties, but an institution. This system, called ie, has its own legal rules. Under the ie system, the firstborn son and his wife (who is likely doing most of the caretaking) live with the parents to continue the household. The other kids are expected to marry out or go start their own families.

Of course, not every single family follows these rules, but the social norms and pressures to uphold them exist. This academic paper written in 2007 analyzes why certain children in the birth order may live with (or near) their parents and explores several factors that impact this decision within families (usually related to whether or not the parents are providing childcare for the grandchildren.) Here’s a fun quote from page 3:

“...the first-born child generally lives with or closer to his/her parents than the second-born child, a result which is consistent with both our theoretical model and Japanese social norms. Second, there is one exception. If a first-born child is a female and she has at least one younger brother, then she locates farther away from her parents than her younger brother even though she is a first-born child.”

More on that “second” part in regards to Fuyumi later.

But, like with most cultures, the more traditional (and established and wealthy) a family is, the heavier the predetermined responsibilities of each household member weighs on them. And Enji Todoroki’s family is high-profile. So, you can imagine that the pressure placed on Toya is immense.

The pressure placed on firstborn son Tensei Iida was immense, too, but their family dynamic was totally different. The Iida family was, like, healthy and functional. Wild.

Moving on. So Toya was not only youthfully excited to impress his father and support his family as the firstborn son, but he was also, in a certain sense, socially conditioned to want to do so.

To me, this is where things get interesting. Toya’s struggle is not against his parents for crushing his dreams of a life beyond what they and their society’s established roles provide him. Instead, it is the opposite. Toya’s parents are ready to shake up the established family formula and free Toya from many of the obligations of firstborn son duties. Toya is not ready for any of that newfangled modern sensibilities nonsense. According to tradition, Toya’s role and life should be set and secure.

When Rei asks Toya if he even wants to be a Hero, she inadvertently makes him grapple with the possibility that carrying on the family business (or at least carrying on the to-be tradition of becoming the Flame Hero and surpassing All Might per his father’s wishes) is not a given. Other choices exist. Rei’s question, while well-meaning, creates a fissure in Toya’s faith in the patriarchal system from which he developed his entire identity.

If Toya, the first son, can’t use his flames, isn’t a Hero, doesn’t inherit, and won’t continue to live with the family, who is he? If he doesn’t fulfill that role and those obligations, is he worth anything to anyone, even himself?

Conventional wisdom says no. He would be a disgrace and a failure even without Enji’s dumbass “create a genetically ideal child to use the ultimate flame quirk to surpass All Might” scheme in the mix. For Toya, it was never about surpassing All Might, not really. It was about fulfilling his household role and showing his father that he was worthy of being in the family.

When Shoto was born, Toya saw that door slam shut. After that, his inability to embrace another way of life leads to his undoing. But he is also, you know. 13.

Toya, through no fault of his own, cannot handle his father’s flames - not his flames of sheer power, not of mindless effort, not of personal fear, not of burning western envy, not of national pride, not of anything. But Enji burdened Toya with them anyway.

Arrows, Hamaya, and All Might

The characters in Toya’s given name mean “lamp (or, like, a light)” and “arrow”. @skyflyinginaction and their mutuals have an early discussion about his name and its possible meanings as well as a discussion about symbolism here that’s fun to read, and I’m always happy to not have to do any more work - er, happy to give credit where it is due for research and thoughts. But I do have more to add.

Arrows and archery have particular connotations in Japan. The ones I most commonly think about are hamaya, or evil-warding arrows, used ceremonially. Hamaya can be purchased at temples to be displayed in the home as luck-bringing or evil-warding items. Of course, the bow is also a significant evil-warding symbol, and the bow and arrow are often meant to appear together as a set of evil-warding objects, but yanno. Whatever works.

Anyway, around the New Year, archery contests and traditions abound as a way to predict the coming year’s fortune or ward off evil. This blog entry details one day of tradition in Ibaraki as well as the associations with masculinity and, erm, promoting fertility.

There’s one more tradition I learned orally, so I can’t source it, though the purpose for it was different than the one I just linked. In the one I was told, the head priest opens the yabusame (horseback archery) ceremony by firing an arrow through the temple gates and off the side of the mountain to slay an invisible demon. The firing coincides with the sun’s placement and becomes, much like Toya’s name suggests, an arrow of light.

In any case, arrows are associated with luck, sons, and warding off evil. I get the sense that the “arrow” in Toya’s name brings all of these cultural associations into play. More specifically, I get the sense that Toya was meant to be the “arrow of leading light” meant to slay the “evil” of the west, All Might, and purify that uppermost and unreachable peak where All Might stands in Enji’s mind. Don’t quote that, though.

‘Course, the “guiding light” or “purifying light” implied by Toya’s name eventually becomes perverted from its original purpose.

Toya’s Cremation

According to the manchild himself, Toya died not when he burned the shit out of himself on Sekoto Peak, but when he thought his family had replaced him. That’s when he says Dabi was born.

The word Dabi means cremation. Heh. The enthusiastic @foundoutthatdabiistouyatodoroki posted about why and how it may be written as something indirect instead of something more direct for the sake of Japanese sensibilities.

I’d also like to point out that Toya’s body was not properly, ritually buried or cremated in any sense or tradition. This is important, since the failure to do so often prevents the spirit from passing on to the afterlife!

Arguably, Toya cremated himself, but not all the way and not in the way that aligns with the intentions and purpose of a kotsuage, or funerary cremation ritual. Also, his family did not pick out his bones - the authorities did when they found a piece of his jaw. That linked article talks more about the significance of the tradition, but put simply: the family didn’t properly mourn Toya, and in doing so, they did not free themselves emotionally of his specter. They also didn’t free Toya from his attachments to them.

This life-to-death stuff is a two-way street, and Toya’s soul was left hanging onto a burned, rotting corpse by the thread of his own grudge. He’s a modern horror story.

Dabi’s Horror Inspirations

That’s right, Dabi fans! It’s time to talk about the well-known Frankenstein allusions present in the character - though I’m pretty sure Horikoshi pulled from the 1931 film and not the book. Whatever.

As Toya, Enji’s creation was an ice quirk + a fire quirk instead of a (cold) corpse + a reintroduced (hot) spark of life (and later, half of his “father” Victor Frankenstein’s own brain) like Frankenstein’s monster. Frankenstein’s monster’s weakness, at least in the movie, is fire. In the book, fire is still present and double-edged.

As Dabi, Enji’s creation is a reanimated corpse (wow!) + a twisted sense of self created from Enji’s own will (wow!) who seeks revenge on his creator and family for his loneliness and creation. His weakness is, uh, yeah, it’s still fire.

While Enji is not the one who recreated and revived Toya as Dabi, it is Toya’s grudge (and desire to see and be seen by his father) that keeps him alive. In fact, Dabi is a really cool twist on a yurei or perhaps an ikiryo since he is technically still alive. Still, Dabi most closely seems to follow the patterns of an onryo, which is a more specific form of yurei. These spirits, and the story of one in particular, are the inspiration behind the Japanese Ju-on: The Grudge movies (and then their US-made counterpart.) Here’s a bit from the onryo entry from yokai.com not ‘cause it’s the most academic, but the most succinct:

“Their motive is always the same—vengeance. Onryō are easily powerful enough to kill anyone. However, they prefer letting the object of their hatred live a long life of torment and suffering, watching loved ones die in their stead. Onryō inflict a terrible curse on the people or places that they haunt. This curse can be transmitted to others like a contagious disease, creating a circle of death and destruction far more devastating than any ordinary ghost.”

You may decide that the entry for the gyoro or another yurei suits Dabi better, but surely you see the point that he’s playing the role of some kind of ghost. His eerie blue flame suggests onibi, or resentful spirits taking the form of blue flame. Wikipedia also does me a big favor by mentioning the overlap between onibi and European will o’ wisps, which usually lead people astray towards goals they can’t reach!

It really would have been better for everyone if Toya hadn’t pursued the incredibly hot blue flame, huh? Instead, he just burned out fast. Kinda dissappointing and anticlimactic - like a dragon’s head on a snake’s body.

Yeah, that’s right - Dabi seems to have renamed himself “dissappointment”. Heh. Tweens and teens really are the funniest people on the planet.

The First Son Passed Over for a Second Time

But perhaps the funniest and most horrible detail of the whole manga is the implication that All for One and the doctor took one look at Dabi’s shambling corpse escaping from the nursery and went, “Yeah, let that one go. He’s a little too pathetic to be the next vessel or organ for infinite hatred to fuel our big schemes.” Like, absolutely nobody (except the very family he thought replaced him, and boy, are they a shitshow), not even the villains that seek out pathetic people in order to use them, wanted Dabi.

Dabi is, in many ways, Doctor Garaki’s “First Son” vessel experiment for All for One, and he was passed over in favor of Shigaraki in much the way Toya’s father passed him over for Shoto due to how unsuitable a vessel he is.

When Dabi faces Geten, the ice-quirk user whom ReDestro treats almost like his own successor, who believes that a powerful quirk (and strong sense of individuality with a need to express it) is the only thing that makes someone worthy of living, who exists as his weird mirror with a more weaponized and powerful form of Rei’s ice quirk, I wonder if he thought god was laughing at him. I know his face and skin began splitting apart as if to show his true identity (a dead kid upset at his family) and show a waver in his resolve to stay alive to accomplish his goal, but I’d love to know if he has any ideology outside of his grudge towards his father and family.

If Hawks told Dabi to his stapled face his real reasons for helping Endeavor, what would Dabi say? Heh heh heh. Dabi learned not to trust Rei, Fuyumi, or his own brother Natsuo, so I’m not terribly surprised he never trusted Keigo in the first place.

Keigo, who never thought to watch Dabi. Keigo, who had to ask who Dabi is. Keigo, who also didn’t see him.

Keigo, who wants to take Toya’s place.

But let’s talk about Toya’s other siblings... in part 2!

#todoroki family #bnha meta #bnha manga spoilers #dabi #toya todoroki #enji todoroki #endeavor #shoto todoroki #shoto #rei todoroki #fuyumi todoroki #natsuo todoroki #hawks #keigo takami #todoroki presentation

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