Pretty Baby 2
༺Summary༻
Astarion is a brat on several occasions and is duly punished for it. In between, he and Mommy (Fina) deal with some emotional issues.
༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Tav
༺Warnings༻ NSFW - PiV Sex, Anal Play, Femdom, Mommy Kink, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Chastity Cage, Porn with Feelings, Porn streaming, Pegging, Astarion being a brat
༺Word Count༻ 3783
༺A/N༻
So, it's chapter 2 of a fic I never planned to write. Lol. And somewhow now we've got plot and feelings involved. Hope you all enjoy, I had a lot of fun writing it.
And huge thank you to the best of betas and friends, @icybluepenguin
The chat is populated by Tav's and other characters from my friends, they all helped makes this a delight.
Check out two similar fics if you dig mine.
Decadent Torture and Careless Whisper
Read On AO3
Chapter 1
“Hush, a little more, then your punishment is over.” I let go of his cock, turn off the plug vibrating in his ass, and give him a short reprieve.
Drawing gasping breaths, he looks up at me with pleading, tear filled eyes. God, his eyes are pretty; startling crimson, soft, and round. Normally, I cave when they're all watery like this. But not tonight - tonight is for lessons.
I play with the little pink bow on his white thigh high stocking. Leaving him with only those, his white bra, and of course his collar, made him such a fetching picture for our little teaching session.
He'd spent most of the night on his knees in the naughty corner, those stockings peeking out of his pleated white skirt, a little pink cashmere sweater completing his look. I'd posted a few pictures that had his audience nice and worked up.
Demi_g0ddess: oh looks like Little Star was very bad today
can’t wait to see what Mommy does to the little brat
Bookworm420: didn’t realize Mommy was a thicc queen
this might be too much for my ovaries
The chat had been crowded when we set up for the stream. Before the camera went on, I told him what to take off and how to prep, but not what I was planning.
We went live and I made him give a little introduction.
“I've had a very bad attitude lately and Mommy wants to make sure I'm thoroughly punished, so she's letting you all watch.” Every word was said petulantly as he leaned into playing the brat.
Ari147: wonder what he did…
Drag-onme: who cares, as long we get to watch the aftermath
BardlockLongdick: is that a leather couch
animal cruelty is not sexy.
“Go on,” I prompted, gesturing for him to get ready.
The clothes he stripped were folded and set to the side, the chat cheering him on. When he kneeled down, I handed him a vibrating plug that made his eyes go wide.
“Mommy, please…” he pleaded, but obediently went to work prepping and inserting it, cheeks flushed a deep red. I let him position himself in my lap, head propped on the arm of the couch. Then I started typing, Astarion watching with dawning horror.
Mommy: Little Star has been an absolute brat about wearing a chastity cage while I’m out of town, because he wouldn’t be able to touch himself. So, tonight, I’m making him come as many times as I think he can handle.
Demonbbyy: poor little thing got himself into a lot of trouble
TestyZesty: Mommy is way too nice about it
but I’m still going to watch.
And here we were- Astarion, covered in his own semen, whimpering in my arms. I drag my finger along his cock, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. One more and I think he’ll have learned his lesson. I push the button on the remote for the plug.
“Fuck,” he whines the word.
Penguino: aww, Mommy, I think he’s had enough
TestyZesty: nah, he’s still coherent
keep going
Demi_g0ddess: Zesty, we’re sharing a brain cell
DrowDaddy: this chat is very mean tonight
I put a generous coating of lube on my hand and begin to work his shaft again. He pants and moans, desperate sounds falling from his lips as he builds to another orgasm.
The chat continues to go feral as he whines and cries. I'm gentle this last round, languidly rubbing, letting the plug do its work. “That's it, one more for me. You've been so good for your punishment.”
He squirms at the praise, tearfully whimpering, hips weakly bucking as I take him to climax again. My other hand turns up the intensity on the plug.
“Pleeeease,” he cries, voice ragged.
Another spurt of cum and he goes limp. I turn off the plug and lean down to kiss his sweat soaked forehead, letting him recover for a moment. He's so pretty like this, spent and helpless in my lap. “Now, are you ready to apologize for being such a little brat the past couple of days?”
He doesn't hesitate. “I'm sorry, Mommy,” he whimpers, tears running down his face.
“Good baby. Almost done.”
He tenses. “But...”
“Shh. They get to see because of the attitude.” He makes a noise. “Don't turn this into a spanking session,” I warn and he gets quiet.
I take a warm, moist towel I'd set up earlier and clean up his pretty cock. The chat is losing it.
KneelForMeSweets: and we get to see the cage
can he act up every night
It's a pretty pink little chastity cage, just perfect for him. I slide the ring on first, then put the tube over his cock before locking it down. He's so quiet, I can hear every breath and the sniffles he's still fighting.
Once they get a good look, I shut down the stream.
Mommy: I'm going to go get this little brat cleaned up. Hopefully, he's learned his lesson.
Bitchybambi: I hope not, I want to see what you do next
KneelForMeSweets: she can DM me for ideas.
I kill the video and give him a proper kiss as he clings to me, spent and shivering. “Come on, you. Bath time.”
Astarion is unusually quiet during our aftercare session, and when he's settled into bed in a pair of oversized pajamas, I pull him close, and he snuggles into my neck on instinct.
“You know, if you think it's too much to wear it, you don't have to.” I run my fingers through his curls and cover his face in soft kisses. He's done stints in the cage before, but I'm starting to doubt myself on this one. It would kill me to ever hurt him for real.
He doesn't move; if anything, he burrows deeper into the crook of my neck. “It's not, and I am sorry for being a pain. It's just…”
He makes a small, frustrated noise and I keep petting him. “Take your time.”
For a few minutes, he just takes shaky breaths, and then he speaks. “It’s this whole going back to school thing. I'm nervous, and you're going to be gone for the next two days. And what if this is a dumb idea and I can't do it.”
“It's not a dumb idea, you really like fashion design, baby. And why do you think you can't do it?”
“Remember the last time I was in school? I failed out.”
“Astarion, you didn't want to be a lawyer and you hated law school. You only went because Caz-” I feel him tense in my arms, “because he made you.”
“I know.” He sounds teary again. “But it doesn't mean I don't feel stupid.”
“Love, my pretty little wife, you are not stupid. You’re capable and creative. And you know I won’t have time on this stupid team building trip, otherwise I’d bring you with.”
“Still going to miss you, though.”
“I know, baby. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The next morning, Astarion drives me to the airport. I put the keys for his collar and the cage in my jewelry box in case of an emergency or if it’s too much for him. It's cold and rainy, and he’s adorable in oversize sweats with sleepy eyes. After he unloads my bag, I pull him in for a hug and feel it pressed against me. A wave of lust courses through me; I can’t wait to come back and have a nice little session with him.
“Call me when you land, Fina.”
I don’t know if he realizes how much I’ll miss him. Astarion and I have rarely been apart since we met in grad school. It's just as hard on me to get on that plane and be without him.
We get one quick call before I’m off to the first of many “activities” the firm planned. I can’t be too angry about it, they pay a ton, and it finances my trophy wife’s lifestyle. I tell Astarion I’ll call him after dinner and karaoke hour.
The whole day isn't that tortuous, and most of my coworkers get into the spirit of things for karaoke. I still make my exit as soon as I can to get some time in with Astarion.
To my surprise, I see he's streaming. Sprawled out on the bed in a sheer black satin chemise that's ridden up his thighs enough to show off his beautifully caged cock.
Instead of anything salacious, he's painting his nails. Not every stream is as action filled as last night. Some of them are just mundane things like now. I can’t fault the audience, I'd still pay to see him too, if he wasn’t mine already. I slide into the chat without announcing myself.
Ari147: nothing fun tonight? :(
“I’m afraid not, darling. If I don’t get any fun, neither do you.” He blows a cheeky kiss to the camera, and readjusts, spreading his legs more. One hand idly traces unpainted nails along a thigh while he blows on the ones he just painted.
He’s such a filthy little tease.
Mommy: glad to see you’re behaving yourself tonight
He sits up straighter, eyes lighting up. “Hi, Mommy. Missing all this?” His hand climbs higher, running up his abdomen to his chest.
Demonbbyy: if she isn’t, I’ll take him
Mommy: settle yourselves down
Astarion leans over, getting on all fours to look directly into the camera, licking his lips. “Well, are you?” he pouts.
Mommy: you know I am, and I’ll prove it when I get home
His breath hitches. “That’s all for tonight, darlings. I want to give Mommy all my… attention.”
The stream goes blank and he’s video-calling me seconds later. “Hi.” He smiles giddily. “I thought you might be a little later.”
“What can I say, I do actually miss you a lot. How was your day?”
We chat for a while and I watch him finish his nails, still in his chemise, which hides nothing as he shifts around. He seems less nervous about the school situation, which I chalk up to actually talking about it.
“Alright, I should probably get to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
The morning call goes smooth enough, but the day is filled with seminars and an afternoon paintball session. Why do HR departments always think that’s a good idea? Astarion starts texting me around lunch, chatty little messages that I don’t have time to properly answer. Then the attitude creeps in.
“Fine, if you don’t want to talk to me.”
“I. Am. Busy. Astarion. I’ll call after dinner.”
I forgot dinner is an awards banquet that traps me for longer than I’d anticipated. It never seems to end, and I start trying to text him during it. No response, and a part of me begins to stress that he’s not doing well. He’d tell me though if he wasn’t, I’m pretty sure.
I practically run up to my room after dinner, skipping the cocktail hour after and all the great networking. All because he has me nearly panicked with worry. So of course, when he doesn’t answer his phone, I’m furious to find him on stream.
He’s not actually wearing anything, sitting on the plush white rug, a cozy glow from the fireplace providing ambient lighting.
BaasaNova: weren’t you supposed to be in a chastity cage while Mommy is gone
He gives his hard cock a firm stroke and moans dramatically, red eyes dancing with mischief. “If I’m getting ignored, I’m not going to listen. Besides, she’s busy, so what she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her.”
Bookworm420: this seems like a bad idea
I don't want to see you get in trouble.
It isn’t about disobeying me, or any other kink related thing. He really thinks I’d ignore him on purpose. And that stings like nothing else I've ever felt.
I wait and lurk while he continues to touch himself. He's bubbly and flamboyant, basking in the praise of the chat. Normally, I'd be entranced by his hand working that gorgeous shaft, now I'm getting more furious.
Finally, with an exaggerated cry, he comes all over himself. While his hand gives a few more lazy pumps, he glances at the chat.
Mommy: I hope that was worth it
His eyes get wide and he sits up straight. “Shit.”
The stream dies just as he starts calling me.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” he whimpers before I can say anything.
“Astarion,” I cut him off. “I want you to know that I still love you and that isn't going to change. But I'm so hurt and angry right now that you could decide I would ignore you on purpose.”
“Please, I just…”
“No, we're not going to talk about this now. I'm going to give you until I get home tomorrow to get your thoughts together. But right now I'm too angry to talk to you. So I'm going to go to bed and will call you in the morning.”
He sobs. “No, stay on the phone with me. Please, Fina.”
I sigh and relent. “I love you, Star.”
We lay in silence for a long time, the occasional sniffle coming from his end. Finally, I'm too exhausted and have to sleep, and reluctantly tell him goodnight.
There's a subdued call in the morning and I tell him I'll get a cab at the airport, I don't think he should be driving while that upset. Then I'm on the way home. The anger has mostly worn off but this stunt of his still hurts.
When I get home, hev hasn't left the bed, completely naked, almost hiding under the covers. I don't even think twice before getting under them with him and pulling him to me.
“I'm sorry,” he says softly into my neck, reminding me so much of the day we first kissed. The day I'd needed to take care of him after what Cazador had done to him.
“I know. Tell me what happened.” I bury my face in his curls and kiss his head.
“I started getting nervous again and started to panic, and I wanted to talk to you. And I got upset that I couldn't. I know you wouldn't just ignore me.”
“Then why didn't you say you were anxious? I could have made time if I had known you were panicking.”
“I didn't want you to think I was weak. Especially after you told me that you believed in me.”
“Astarion, love, you are always going to be one of the strongest people I've ever met.” My hands rub his back, fingers finding the scars of years of his adopted father's “discipline.” “I'm sorry too, I think I pushed you into something you didn't need while you were nervous. Even if you said you were alright with it.”
He gets quiet for a moment before answering. “It isn’t your fault. You’re always the best you can be to me.”
“Still, maybe we should take a break from some of the more performative things.” I feel him tense and kiss his cheek to reassure him.
“No, it makes me so happy to be like that, to be so completely yours. Don’t take that away.”
“Let's talk some more tomorrow. There's no need to rush anything.”
“Alright. And, well, you did say that you were going to show me how much you missed me?” His voice pitches soft and breathy.
“Astarion, you horny little gremlin,” I tease.
“Please, Mommy. I know I was very naughty, but don't I deserve a little treat?”
I already feel slick between my legs, even if I'm not sure that I should let him do this.
“I know what you're thinking, but I can handle some relatively vanilla sex right now. I want to be loved.” He gives me his best wide-eyed pleading look.
“Alright, baby.”
I sit up, and he helps me undress, leaving kisses wherever he can reach. My hand reaches out to wrap around his stiffened cock and give a few languid strokes. I catch his eyes wandering down to my breasts with naked longing.
Relatively vanilla, he said.
“Come here.”
I lay back, and he follows, slotting between my legs. His cock pushes into me as his lips latch onto a nipple, and he sucks frantically. “There you go.” I stroke his hair, and he starts fucking me with wild, desperate thrusts. “That's what you needed, huh, baby.”
He whines and sucks harder, teeth scraping until pleasure blends with pain. Molten heat builds in my core with each snap of his hips, and I doubt either of us will last long.
“So good for me,” I pant as I feel myself contract around him and my body tingle with bliss. That does it, and he gives one last jerky thrust as I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him in tight to take every drop of him.
He collapses on top of me, still suckling, and I let him stay that way, fucked and comforted.
After a very nice Saturday in our pajamas, we talk and settle some things between us. Astarion is still very nervous about school in a couple of weeks, but doesn't want to change the things he loves about our relationship. He even insists on punishment for his bad behavior.
We agree on three days with the chastity cage, the two he originally was supposed to have and one extra. No clothing at home, so I can see it at all times. It kills me not being able to play with my wife's pretty cock. But you know, discipline hurts me more than it hurts him, or something.
And at the end of the third day, a very serious lesson. So, I arrange something special, to be shared with his audience, like he shared his misbehavior. He's been waiting in the bedroom while I set things up.
“Safe word, wifey,” I order when I come to collect him.
He stares at my too short, black latex dress with my pale pink strap-on visible where it rides up over my thighs, and blushes. “Objection.”
“Good, baby.” I lead him to the living room where the camera is already at the right angle to watch as I bend him over the couch arm, pushing his face into the cushion right next to the waiting paddle. I watch him shiver with anticipation and spare a glance at the chat. They’re in rare form tonight.
DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Back from my two week ban just in time.
Thornyonmain: Hggnnnnnn, god he looks so good like that
am I enjoying the impending pain too much
Bitchybambi: Nah, he's asked for this
Demi_g0ddess : You're so right, bestie
Penguino: Aww, you guys, have a little sympathy
Picking up the paddle, I run it over the curve of his ass and hear him whimper. My hand pushes down on his back, commanding and reassuring. The first smack is light and I give him a moment. He trembles but says nothing.
Another one, slightly harder, he whines but doesn’t say anything. I keep going, watching his pale skin burst into red blossoms with each impact. I can feel him shaking under my hand and hear when he starts to cry.
“You’re being so good,” I coo.
He sobs in response. It’s been awhile since he had a serious spanking session. I keep whispering praise as I go, letting him know how well he’s doing, how much I love him. He’s a teary mess when I’m done, and I can feel the warmth coming from his skin.
“I’m sorry I was naughty, Mommy,” he whines through tears.
“Shh, shh, I know. I think you deserve a little reward for taking the punishment so well.”
l take the lube I have waiting and coat my fingers. He whines for a totally different reason when I spread him open and push a finger inside his tight hole.
“Fuck,” he mewls when the second one enters.
He pants through clenched teeth while I work them inside of him, getting him ready to take me. Each stretch and flex draws a new noise and when he’s ready, I coat the strap in lube and press the tip of it against his entrance. Even with a stinging ass, he rolls his hips into it, desperate and needy.
I gave him a little playful smack on the marks darkening to bruises. “Behave.”
He yelps but stills. Slowly, I slide it into him, relishing each little moan as I fill him. Then my hips rock, and I thrust deeply, before stilling again.
“Please,” he begs, desperately.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me, Mommy.”
I reward him with another deep thrust, and began to move my hips with a quick rhythm. Under me, Astarion is losing himself, keening wails and pleading whimpers accompany my every movement.
I'm aware just how achingly empty I am; later we’ll take care of me. Right now, I focus on making him properly blissed out.
I know his cock is straining against the cage, leaking helplessly, as he reaches the edge. My fingers dig into his hips and I fuck him as deep as I can until a wordless shout rips from him and his whole body is shaking again. I press my hips tight to his, as deep into him as I can while his orgasm ebbs away with multiple whimpers, only pulling out when he’s stilled.
Turning back, I give the chat a good-bye and end the stream.
SquidDomme: He has in fact not learned anything
DrowDaddyG: I think he'll try to be better, he's such a sweet boy
BardlockLongdick: Maybe you all should try opening a Bible instead of this website
DM_ME_UR_SYRUP: Anyone know how I can get an air horn noise to play in chat (I'm joking, please don't ban me again)
Then I remove the strap-on and save it for later clean up. “Come here, wifey,” I say, sitting on the couch.
Sluggishly, he obeys, coming to rest his head in my lap. I run my fingers through his hair and let him come down from the experience.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my thighs.
“I love you too. No more bratty behavior, right?”
I feel the little smirk he makes. “Absolutely, lesson learned.”
We both know he's lying, but I trust none of it will be super hurtful again. “Good little wife.”
Tag list:
@micropoe10 @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21
@tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin
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@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird
@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved
@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblogg @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary @talented-bitch @waking-electric @snowfolly
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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | HOMUSUBI
‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues deep in a village that's rife with cursed spirits, a Lord that cares not for his people and a battle of the tongue and wits. And in the dead of night, something comes prowling.
‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3
‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader
‣‣ Word Count: est. 10k
‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism references, dead bodies, murder, cursed spirits, death, suggestive.
“I thought you didn’t care for the titles these mortal men brandish themselves with.” Kenjaku comments to your side, her eyes are sharp as always and the smile she levels you with is cruel—but not towards you, you’d be willing to say that perhaps Kenjaku had started to take a shine to you after your display in the throne room.
“I don’t.” You admit, adjusting the kimono on your body before turning to glance at the woman next to you. “I cared for it once. But now, I see it as a weapon. The people—they’re scared of Sukuna, and the rest of us. If we’re to be in a place of power, even without approval…”
“You’d win back control from the Emperor, disarming him effectively.” Kenjaku finishes for you, a look in her eye you can’t quite distinguish as she curls a perfect finger against her chin for a moment.
“Exactly. If we can amass enough, we can push back—we can dethrone him, and then Japan is ours.”
“Ours?” Kenjaku smiles then, the crow's feet at her eyes displaying an age that’s unfitting for the youthfulness of her skin. “You wish to share Japan with me as well?”
“I don’t see why not. You’ve helped me, albeit in a questionable manner…” You trail off, much to the amusement of Kenjaku as she offers you a very rare laugh; one that sounds genuine for once. “Besides, your strength can’t be ignored. I won’t ignore it.”
Kenjaku quietens at that, her eyes once again shifted to look down the path leading to the burnt-out village before her eyes close in half-moons, and her smile grows when her head bows in gratitude. “I thank you for being so open-minded. Not many would offer such a bountiful reward to someone like me.”
You can only bow your head in return, a small smile of your own making its way onto your face. It was odd, the relationship that had formed between yourself and Kenjaku. You would’ve never seen it coming, not with how you first interacted with her and the following times after that. You had assumed she wanted you dead, or better yet, displayed as a pet to be poked and prodded when she felt like it.
But something shifted, something clicked into place following your return. Perhaps it was the fact she had heard of the things you endured, had seen the after-effects of it upon your arrival back at the temple. And then, without a doubt, you had sealed your newly formed friendship with the black-haired woman when you slit the throat of Yorozu.
You smile fondly at that. The meal had been exquisite.
“Master Sukuna will be here soon.” Uraume seems to appear from nowhere at your other side, the mostly silent monk regards you for a quick second before that steely gaze is shifted to Kenjaku—who is no doubt grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Uraume.
“I know.” You reply, effectively dragging Uraume’s gaze back to you… and you almost think you see an embarrassed tint on their face at the admission that you know exactly where Sukuna is. After all, you’re bonded to him. “But thank you, Uraume.”
Uraume remains silent, bowing their head before taking a step away to return back to the temple.
“Uraume won’t be joining us?” Kenjaku comments, looking over her shoulder to watch as Uraume shoves the large doors closed.
“No. Sukuna wanted them to stay here, just in case.”
Kenjaku hums a noise of understanding, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her kimono to fight off the cold.
“How has Masato been?” Your question has Kenjaku visibly perking up, a fox-like gleam in her eye.
“Oh, wonderful. Masato is an… interesting curse, to say the least. She’s been learning quickly.” Kenjaku’s lips upturn quickly into a sly smirk. “She made quick work of a village not too far from here. Her cursed technique is something to behold.”
“She already figured it out?” You shouldn’t sound so surprised. You knew from research in Sukuna’s private library that cursed spirits were known to adapt much more quickly than humans, both in healing and their power. They grew stronger every second they were ‘alive’.
“Oh, yes. I think with time she’ll blossom into quite the formidable cursed spirit.”
“I see.” You mull over what Kenjaku had told you. You hadn’t seen Masato in over a week at this point, Kenjaku had kept her busy—killing people, apparently, in an effort to discover the spirits technique. There’s an odd sensation that settles in your chest, something like pride you realise when it warms your heart. It’s odd, strange even, that you feel pride for the development of a cursed spirit.
One you had created.
You still hadn’t revealed to anyone that little detail, it seemed insignificant at this point. Sukuna wouldn’t have anything to say about it, perhaps an off-handed comment about how maybe Masato would actually be a worthwhile curse to keep around. Kenjaku would no doubt be intrigued by it, her morbid fascination with the curse was already something to be concerned about.
“Have you made the preparations?” It’s Sukuna’s voice that has you snapping out of your thoughts, turning immediately to face the man in question. He’s dressed, which should be a normal occurrence for most men but it was odd for Sukuna. He’s draped in a thick kimono and a haori atop of that, it hides his arms well enough, two of them are crossed beneath the material whilst the others are at his sides.
“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly when Sukuna glances at her. “We were waiting for you.”
Naturally, Sukuna finds himself at your side. His warmth is all-encompassing even through the multitude of layers he draped himself in, and it only seeps further through your own clothing when he lays a hand against the middle of your back in silent greeting. He only holds a small smirk when you lean into his hand, eyes still set on Kenjaku.
“Preparations?” You question, drawing Sukuna’s attention down to you entirely.
“Kenjaku never informed you on what her cursed technique is?” His grin grows at your clueless expression, an expression fit for a cat who got the cream. “Instantaneous movement.”
The reveal has you turning abruptly to face Kenjaku, who now takes the crown for the most smug person in the vicinity. Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth at the fact you didn’t quite pick up on her cursed technique yet, her lips curled into a feline smile.
“Truly?”
“Of course. It’s not quite as flashy as Sugawara—but it does the same, in the end.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly, that smile on her face growing cold at the mention of Sugawara. Even in his exile, he still bothered the woman.
“Kenjaku will be the one taking us all to Takayama.” Sukuna comments whilst looping a hand around your waist and shoving you into his front, his arms securing you in place. It almost has a bubble of panic popping in your stomach, instantaneous movement—it shouldn’t even be a thing humans could do. It was rare, nigh impossible. It’d been documented that many could move fast, but it was never on a level where it was considered instant.
“Shall we?” Kenjaku asks with a tilt of her head, adjusting the sleeves of her silk kimono to reveal the slender pale arms beneath. Her eyes drift from you and up to Sukuna, awaiting his permission. It comes in the form of a nod, and the hands wrapped around you grip tightly onto the material of your kimono—grounding you, tethering him to you. Just in case.
Kenjaku brings her hands up in front of her, the tips of her fingers brushing together delicately before her palms came together in what would look like a regular prayer—you can feel the shift in the air, the untethering of her cursed energy and how it warps suddenly around you. Then, with an abrupt twist of her hands, you feel nothing but immense pressure.
It clamps at your lungs and squeezes at your very bones until they threaten to shatter and turn into dust. Instinctively you lean further into Sukuna, who for the most part seems unaffected by the intense change in pressure. You watch the world shift and blur, the snowy white mountain tops spread upwards as if they were painted on parchment paper only to be ruined by water.
As quickly as it started, it’s over. You find yourself in the middle of a path surrounded by tall Gingko trees, their leaves a vibrant green which means they would turn into a beautiful gold in the Autumn—a sight you often loved as a child. The air is no longer bitter, instead, you’re bathed in the welcoming warmth of an early spring. Sukuna remains to your side, his grip loosening on you as he takes in a deep breath of the country air.
There’s no doubt that you were somewhere south, somewhere warmer and somewhere more… populated. Instinctively, your nose scrunches.
“It stinks.” You comment absentmindedly, pressing the sleeve of your kimono to your nose. The action is enough to draw a laugh from Sukuna, a deep chuckle that he only ever awarded you with. You take the chance to glance down along the path, the village just a mere hundred steps away and you can spy the bustling steps of villagers just beyond.
“Hida has always been under the rule of some uncaring Lord.” Kenjaku comments, a grim smile on her otherwise unwrinkled face. “He does not care for his people, as they are mostly non-sorcerers.”
Non-sorcerers, regular humans, forced to live in squalor because their Lord saw them as lesser than. The revelation doesn’t surprise you, not with what you have learned about the people who control the country in the past few months. But it does anger you, it angers you that the Lord of the Hida province thinks himself above non-sorcerers.
“I see.”
Kenjaku offers you a glance before she proceeds to walk towards the village, placing herself before both you and Sukuna as a sign that she is your official retainer. Immediately, you begin to follow after her once Sukuna has begun to stride forward. His arms remained hidden beneath his kimono, and you find it odd. You knew Sukuna had his hand in the politics of the world but you didn’t see him as someone who would listen to them; without a doubt, you knew he was hiding his secondary arms so he wouldn’t cause an uproar in the village.
“Stare any longer and I’m going to assume you’re regretting your decision to join me.”
“I didn’t have much of a decision.” You reply haughtily, earning you a sharp side glare from Sukuna. “In fact, you were the one who demanded I come with you.”
With a suck on his teeth, Sukuna returns his gaze forward before a smirk grows on his face. “Watch how you wag that tongue of yours in front of these aristocrats, they will pounce at the fact you’re so… untrained.”
His words draw a laugh out of you, earning a smile from Sukuna at the sound of it. You don’t offer your rebuttal however, you know Sukuna is right. You grew up around aristocrats of the highest calibre, people who aligned themselves with the Shogun — they were judgemental, uptight in their rules and beliefs.
They’d rip you apart if they caught even a whiff of your unconventional relationship with Sukuna.
Before you know it, the village was upon you as were the hundreds of eyes turned in your direction. It proves impossible to not bristle beneath the attention, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You can feel their gazes tear you open, pry apart your bones and muscles to peer at the darkness that swells in your chest.
But their gaze shifts quickly from you and to Sukuna, who seems completely unphased by the numerous whispers and wandering eyes. His eyes remain half-lidded, lips in a flat line and arms loose at his sides—utterly relaxed, and unthreatened. A King.
A sharp whistle catches your attention, turning your gaze forward to see a small group of samurai atop horses approaching. The flags of their Lord waving proudly with each bounding step of the horse beneath them. Again, you tense, an automatic response to the glint of their sheathed weapons and the hardened expression of warriors.
Kenjaku draws you all to a standstill, her hands joined together beneath her kimono and you notice how she slips so easily into the role of a woman; demure and willing to bend under the heavy gaze of the Samurai once they’re within range.
The head of the group drops from his horse, his heavy boots sinking into the muddy path before he begins to make his way over. Kenjaku bows automatically at the waist, raising again once the Samurai stops before you all. His eyes are dark, no doubt a well-seasoned warrior who had shed his fair share of blood in the name of his Lord. His eyes scan over Kenjaku, before quickly darting towards Sukuna—then you see fear; genuine human fear.
You could smell his cursed energy before he even arrived, but now in the presence of Sukuna, it spikes. Yet, Sukuna doesn’t mention the effect he has on the man before him, instead keeping his indifferent gaze directed forward. But then those dark eyes dart to you, and they remain locked onto you. That fear you had seen is quickly replaced with something much worse; contempt.
“Lady Zen’in.” The Samurai greets with distaste, earning him the attention of Sukuna who finally drops his eyes down to the man. “They said you were dead.”
“They were wrong.” You have to fight the urge to bare your teeth, instead offering a disarming smile that you were trained to offer men who served as Samurai.
His gaze doesn’t shift from the contempt he holds for you, only shifting it towards Kenjaku who clears her throat to gain his attention once again.
“I assume you’re here to escort my Lord and Lady to their temporary housing.” Kenjaku too morphs her voice into that of a woman trained in the arts of submission. “The Festival isn’t due to start until the evening, and we’d quite like to freshen up.”
The Samurai keeps his lips in a tight thin line, no doubt fighting the urge to refuse to allow you any further into the village he was ordered to protect from men like Sukuna. But he loses out to his fear, crumbling beneath the weight of it as he abruptly turns on his heel to march his way back towards his horse. The men who were with him exchange concerned looks with each other, no doubt they too were under the impression that you were long dead and Sukuna wasn’t actually going to show up to the village.
With the Samurai situated back on the saddle of the horse, he spares one glance over his shoulder at your small group whilst manoeuvring his horse. “This way.”
You have no choice but to follow after the men on horseback, and it draws you back to when you were a child and paraded through the streets of your village by your father. The Shogun’s Daughter—a prized jewel, a rare gem that would no doubt produce heirs fit to take the mantle of Shogun one day. You remember the palanquin you were forced to sit in, cramped with nothing but slats to view the outside world.
You remember the faces of those who you’d pass by, all bowing their heads in respect. It filled you with an odd sense of unease as a child, placed on a pedestal so early on. But now, as you walk through the streets with Sukuna at your side… you feel a different emotion when the people you pass by drop to their knees out of fear.
Their heads bowed, and fingers sinking into the mud. Their baskets of rice and other vegetables are scattered, forgotten—all because of you. It made the truth of your newfound strength sink in, to see people cowering in fear of disrespecting either yourself or Sukuna.
“Maggots.” Sukuna grunts, finally vocalising his distaste for the situation. It draws a few surrounding gasps, children hiding in the shadows at the deep rich timbre of his voice. “They squirm like maggots. It’s disgusting.”
You can’t find yourself capable of disagreeing—he’s right. They do squirm like maggots, nothing but insects that were destined to be crushed beneath the boot of someone stronger than them.
Kenjaku doesn’t glance back, but you hear her snickering laugh hidden beneath the sleeve of her kimono. You cast your eyes away from Sukuna, opting to not reply to his observation and instead observe for yourself. Past the people of the village, you can see that there were curses everywhere. They clung to the backs of the elderly, they waited in the shadows where the children would seek refuge from the blaring sun.
Their faces are elongated or shrunken, disfigured and distasteful. Your eyebrows draw together however, this number of curses felt unnatural. There were too many compared to the number of humans you could count, it was as if—
“They’re hoarding curses. Why?” You turn your attention back to Sukuna quickly, and his eyes finally meet your own. His own expression is one of suspicion; he notices too how odd it is. “What is the Lord doing with all these cursed spirits?”
Sukuna parts his lips to reply but Kenjaku whips her head around, strands of black hair sticking to her face and you almost want to jump out of your skin at the severe look on her face.
“Not here, wait until we’re in private.” She hisses before turning her attention forward in time to smile at the Samurai who turns back to glance at her.
Sukuna huffs, an amused sound that has you glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Her audacity is almost worse than your own. I see why she insisted on being your Kashin.”
“Not yours?” You raise an eyebrow, you would have assumed by default that Sukuna would be the one represented by a house retainer.
“Uraume usually does the job, Kenjaku only agreed to come with us if she could be by your side.” Sukuna explains flatly, his disinterest in his surroundings bleeding into his voice.
You’re honestly surprised by the admission of Kenjaku wanting to be at your side—but mostly, you’re on edge. It sends your stomach into knots and your skin prickles with gooseflesh. Kenjaku was a one-woman army, she had no need nor desire to be at the side of anyone. So why you? What did she plan on achieving in the village by being your retainer?
You don’t doubt that Kenjaku can hear the conversation just behind her, yet she doesn’t turn around to confirm or deny the fact she wanted to be at your side for the entirety of the festival. Sukuna also doesn’t seem to notice the apprehension mounting within you, his face falling back into that of boredom once the conversation has ended.
Kenjaku worries you. Even if you consider her somewhat of a friend, she was strong—powerful in the sense that you can feel your blood chill in her very presence. Something about her wasn’t quite right.
“Here.” The Samurai mounted comments, bringing his small group to a stop to gesture towards a gated house. It’s larger than the others, higher up in the village and noticeably away from the villagers. You can’t sense a speck of cursed energy that would ooze from a cursed spirit.
Your gaze darts across the tall wooden fence, high enough to even tower over Sukuna in height. The gates are suddenly pulled open, and two women with their heads immediately bowed and shuffled out of the way to allow entry. Sukuna pays them no mind as he passes by, even when they flinch at his proximity. But it’s Kenjaku who speaks up about their presence.
“We won’t be needing any servants.” Her words are directed up to the Samurai still seated in his saddle, a frown forming on his lips—he wanted these women to stay. “My Lord demands it.”
At that, the Samurai has a split second of anger on his face before it’s washed away. A tilt of his head has the two women scurrying out and away from the house, giving you the chance to enter and view the impressive garden—without the prying eyes of two women who would most likely be dead by the end of the night for failing their Lord’s task unintentionally.
The Karesansui is beautiful. Sand neatly parted in delicate waves, curving around grand rocks and the large aged tree in the centre. It hangs its heavy branches over the pathway, and you have to push down the urge to grin at the sight of Sukuna ducking down with an arm batting away a branch.
You take the time to walk along the large smooth-stone path, eyes grazing over the dry garden. You hadn’t seen one so beautifully made since you lived with your father. Your late husband didn’t care for such artistry, didn’t believe in the tranquillity such a beautiful garden could bring to one's soul. The reminder of your life before tastes bitter in the back of your throat, but it no longer makes your chest swell in agony.
Instead, you find yourself at peace with the fact you are in a different place in life now. Your mind had warped and changed forever, your body had endured trauma that would’ve killed any other woman—you were living a much better life now, untethered and unbound… and at the side of a man who empowered you.
That old pain that had once swelled in your chest is replaced with a foreign emotion; love. You feel love as you gaze at the back of Sukuna’s head, his body positioned just at the entrance of a house much too small to house him. He looked out of place and yet he looked like he owned the place.
Sensing your gaze, Sukuna glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes are smouldering, always a look that could kill a man, yet it softens the second he meets your gaze—a minute change, but you see it regardless. And so, you smile for him. A smile you know that makes his own lips offer one in return, a smile you know that makes his skin warm and that softness in his eye doubles.
“Come, we should prepare for the evening.” Kenjaku speaks from your side, effectively drawing your attention away from Sukuna. Her own eyes are directed towards Sukuna before she turns them towards you, and that malice you had seen in her eyes all those months ago is nowhere to be seen. So you nod and allow her to lead you into the house.
...
It isn’t until a few hours later that you’re sitting on the edge of the engawa, looking out at the peaceful garden before you. You had since bathed, much to the chagrin of Sukuna who had wanted to originally join you—except, with it being an indoor bath, it was far too small for the both of you. You have to stifle the urge to snicker to yourself at the childish pout resting on the King of Curses' face.
“What’s amusing you now?” Sukuna grumbles from behind you, his feet heavy and loud on the tatami mats. Maybe you didn’t stifle that urge well enough.
“Nothing,” you offer over your shoulder with a smile, and Sukuna observes you for a second before making his way over. He plants himself on the engawa next to you, legs crossed. His upper set of arms lean back to prop his body up, and the other set crosses loosely over his chest.
He had changed his attire since arrival, and the lonesome bath he was forced to take. Instead of hiding his arms, he’s draped in a thick black haori over the bareness of his chest with a loose pair of white hakama pants around his waist. You can’t deny that he looks quite beautiful in all his natural glory. You had changed too — only because Kenjaku had insisted on it.
It was a statement piece, to say the least. How Kenjaku had got her hands on so much material you’ll never know. But after the two hours of stuffing you into them, you can’t deny that wearing a Jūnihitoe made you feel like royalty. In your years serving at your father's side, you had only witnessed it once on the back of the Empress. It was something that only the highest of the social ranks could wear; a statement of your wealth and social status.
The colours you were draped in reflected the upcoming spring; whites, soft pinks, greens, reds and lilacs—all rather contrasting and yet it worked. Kenjaku had mentioned that there were a total of ten layers, all of which were fanned out around you in a delicate display.
You can feel Sukuna glancing at you, how his eyes drag along the various layers of clothing and taking in each colour.
“This is how I imagined you to look when I caught wind of your existence.” He breaks the silence, and you turn to glance at him. His eyes are resting on the necklace buried beneath just a few layers—it was a surprise gift from Kenjaku, she had pulled it from a box and presented it to you. It was a unique gift; for it was Yorozu’s teeth all strung together.
“Draped in silk and waiting on my knees for my husband?” That draws an amused noise from Sukuna, his body shifting until a hand is reaching up to stroke the silk between two fingers.
“No. Regal. I thought the Shogun’s daughter would be a princess.” He continues on his path of stroking the material of one of the outer uwagi. “Instead, she was a sword-wielding neophyte Samurai.”
Your distaste for his words must show on your face because immediately he laughs, the hand skirting across your clothing comes up to cup your cheek before you can turn away. His amusement only grows when you try to jerk your head out of his hand.
“So sensitive. Do you worry about the festival?”
Were you worried about the festival?... Perhaps. It wasn’t the same anxiety you had as a young girl when you were made to attend similar events, instead, there’s something that pools at the pit of your stomach in anticipation. Something about the entire village felt off from the moment you got there—the number of cursed spirits that roamed freely, attached to all the non-sorcerers who couldn’t even see them…
It made you anxious; flighty.
“No. I don’t like the village.” You turn away when Sukuna drops his hand from your face at your words. “Something is waiting in the shadows, I can feel it.”
“A threat?” Sukuna prods, but the tone of his voice indicates enough to you that this ‘threat’ is nonexistent in his eyes.
“I don’t know. Something isn’t right, Sukuna.” You turn to face him once again, and it’s almost startling how stony his face looks—but he’s easy to read, you can tell he’s thinking more about your words, considering if there truly was a threat to either you or himself.
“The Lord wouldn’t dare to make a move with the both of us here, and he’s unaware of Kenjaku. They’d be making a grave mistake to strike out against any of us after offering us an invitation.” Sukuna attempts to soothe your mind, but it doesn’t work as he intended. Instead, it only serves to rile up your anxiety further.
“Or that would be the best time to do it. Outside of our home, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his men—and all those curses. Does he control them?” Your words tumble from your lips before you can reign them in, you’ve never felt this unnerved—not even at the revelation of your father never truly dying.
A hand comes to the back of your neck, sharpened nails digging into your flesh enough to jerk you out of the circle of thoughts racing around your head. Sukuna moves you closer, close enough that you can smell the lavender on his skin and feel the warmth of his breath. He holds you close enough to press his forehead to your own; something you’ve come to realise is his way of ‘connecting’ with you.
“Enough, woman. You’re going to work yourself up into hysterics. The Lord may be a fool but he’s not a suicidal maniac, he knows he will lose if he tests us.” His words, whilst harsh in reality, are softly spoken. Whispered against your face until you’re forced to take a breath, to breathe in his words and let them settle against that pit of dread in your chest.
“—Fine.” You sigh back, shoulders sagging and Sukuna takes advantage of your moment of docility by drawing you in closer. One of his arms remains propped up behind you as a support, and the other drags you closer by the shoulders until you’re sitting side-by-side. “But at the first sign of his foolishness. The village burns.”
You can practically feel Sukuna’s chest puff with pride with the breath he draws in, no doubt if you were to look up you’d see quite the smug grin on his face. “As you wish.”
It’s silent for a beat, just the sound of the distant village. Sukuna seems unbothered when you lean more of your weight onto him, allowing your neck a moment of rest against his shoulder. If you close your eyes and focus just enough, you’ll be able to pick apart your surroundings and pinpoint Kenjaku. She hadn’t left the estate but she was somewhere deep in the house, her cursed energy muted.
“What are we to do at the festival? My father always made me sit behind a partition whenever he attended.” You almost scowl at the thought of that ridiculous green misu you had been forced to sit behind for the entirety of the festival, forbidden from speaking a word to even your own servant.
Sukuna grunts disapprovingly at the mention of your father. “You won’t be sitting behind a screen this time, you’ll be at my side. We sit, we eat and we receive their gifts. Our presence is the blessing they seek.”
The thought of eating and being waited on just for the sake of it is very appealing—perhaps that’s the real reason why Sukuna had accepted the invite, not because he wanted you to make a message but because he wanted to be waited on hand and foot.
“I’m surprised you agreed to eat anything non-human.”
“Who said it won’t be?” Sukuna retorts easily enough, earning him a quick turn of your head to gauge if he’s serious or not. Instead, he laughs. “I’m joking. They declined that part of the offer.”
“You seriously asked?” and again, he laughs.
“Sometimes they’re so desperate for me to not attack that they offer me women to eat. It’ll be the prettiest they can offer, as if beauty could stop me from eating.” He shrugs with his words, a smile on his face.
Surprisingly, you’re not shocked by his words. In fact, you’re inclined to believe them entirely. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, no one had defeated him yet and likely no one ever will—sorcerers, Lords and civilians would do anything to make sure he didn’t come to their village looking for an excuse to burn it down to the ground. Maybe you would’ve been one of those women if you weren’t shackled to a man who had no interest in you besides your womb.
There are soft footsteps just behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Kenjaku entering the room. Her own clothes have changed, a completely black kimono that cinches tightly at her waist—her long hair has been cropped at the front by her ears, and the rest flows loosely down her back only to be tied midway down. She looked like a true beauty.
“It’s time.” She smiles down at you, offering a hand for you to take. Her skin is cold beneath yours, like touching a corpse that had been left out in the dead of winter. She shows no struggle with helping you stand, as you gather your many layers and fan them out behind you.
Sukuna huffs as he too stands to his full height, his shoulders rolling just slightly to ensure that his haori didn’t slip free from his shoulders. He steps out into the garden, the stones crunching beneath his bare feet before he turns to look at you—even with him being on a lower level, he still looks down at you. He offers you his hand in turn, non-discreetly glancing towards Kenjaku to force her to drop your hand and give you over to him—she does.
His hand in comparison is warm, a warmth you’ve come to seek in the cold nights and a warmth you seek even when bathed in the hottest waters. He draws you in effortlessly, aiding you from the step and down onto the pebbled floor. It’s almost impossible to ignore the way he looks at you, so different from the previous times. He’d often look at you with pride, or hunger, but mostly desire.
But this look in his eye. Dare you say it to be contented? A man who gazes upon the woman who just so happens to be the centre of his universe.
“Come, let us feast—” His lips shift into a knowing smirk, “—on whatever sorry animal they feed us tonight.”
...
The air is thick with several different spices, the meat they’re slathered on continues to sizzle above one of the open fires not too far from where you had been made to sit next to Sukuna. It was a raised platform, a dais that put you above the rest of the crowd. You could feel their eyes on you, feel the way they picked you apart for being the one who sat close enough to Sukuna that he could lean into your space to whisper.
All of them were working non-sorcerers, their hands scarred and faces still painted with the dirt from their working day. Kenjaku had been helpful enough to inform you on the way here that Takayama was a great working village, they brought in many precious metals and had an extensive forest. But even with all that, they were viewed as a ‘lesser than’ village—too far from the Emperor for him to care about their ability to bring in great resources, and cut off from other villages due to the mountains that surrounded Takayama.
“My Lord,” an elderly voice draws your attention away from the villagers, you glance down to the steps of the dais to see an old man and what you presume to be his wife—younger, but not by much. His eyes shift to you, and he bows again. “My Lady.”
“What is it you’ve brought?” Kenjaku comments from the side, sitting on her own cushion that she had demanded from one of the Samurai—an amusing affair to have witnessed. Her mouth is hidden by the paper fan that covers the lower half of her face—a tradition that you find tedious.
The elderly man shuffles a little to turn towards his wife, who is holding something wrapped in animal skin. Immediately your eyes are drawn to it, and Sukuna seems to show a minimal amount of interest when he shifts beside you to get a better view. The elder takes a step forward, careful to not step too close—he must’ve witnessed the death of that young man who attempted to climb the steps all the way.
“A gift for Lady Zen’in.” He bows his head, and you try not to focus too much on the fact they were well aware of your name. Perhaps that Samurai needed his tongue removed from his mouth—you’ll suggest it to Sukuna later.
The man before you carefully unravels the animal skin the gift was wrapped in, careful to not lay his hands on whatever was inside before offering it up to you. You blink a few times, leaning forward to get a better look at the object presented to you.
It’s a fan. A war fan.
Seeing your interest, the man continues. “It’s made up of the strongest metals of our village, and something that no other weapon in your arsenal will have.”
Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, but it’s Sukuna who speaks. “How did you get your hands on dragon scales?”
Dragon scales—your eyes dart down quickly to the fan, you can see them now. Delicately melded into the metal of the fan, jagged along the edge—if you were to run that across someone’s throat, they would die almost instantly. But dragon scales? Dragons were things of myth, of stories.
“A great white dragon lives within Mount Yake.” He points towards the large mountain range off in the distance, its white caps a stark contrast to the night sky. “It’s the reason why we suffer greatly from volcanic eruptions.”
Sukuna shifts beside you, and you can see him now staring off at the mountain range. So you take the chance to open your hands to the man before you, who visibly flinches at the movement, but you keep your palms open towards him. The elderly man places the fan delicately in your hands, with the skin still beneath it. It’s heavier than it looks, with a nice weight to it that tells you it was authentically made—and perhaps that dragon scales must be weightier than one would imagine.
You bring it back to your lap, gliding your fingers along the smooth edge of the handle. It’s bumped and ridged in a delicate swirled pattern, the fan itself made up of pure white metal with the dragon scales melded in. You take it in your palm, and flick out your wrist as you were shown as a child. It fans out quickly, a shuttering sound that has Sukuna finally drawing his attention back to you.
With a way to now cover your own mouth, you bring the fan to your face and meet the eyes of the elderly man. “I thank you for the gift, it’ll be a great asset.”
The elderly man bows quickly, his wife following in the gesture before taking a few steps back to remerge with the crowd.
“I had no idea dragons were real.” You say once there’s certainly no one around to hear you, you keep the fan to your face to shield your mouth.
“You never asked.” Sukuna shrugs, his hands otherwise occupied with a bottle of sake they had gifted him and slices of freshly caught fish. “But it’s rare that they could see it. Dragons are cursed spirits.”
“Perhaps he can see the curse that clings to his wife's back,” Kenjaku comments offhandedly, fanning her face delicately. “There’s too many of them here. It’s stifling.”
“I still don’t understand why the Lord is letting his village turn into this… breeding ground for cursed spirits.” You glance towards the village, each of them with their own curse that lingered close by—even ones that sat atop the roofs seemed to show an interest in the King of Curses, but didn’t dare take a step forward.
“Control.” Sukuna comments after wiping his mouth free of the sake that wet his lips. “He thinks he has more control if his people are suffering, they’re less likely to fight back like this.”
That alone has your upper lip curling in annoyance, the fan coming closer to your face to avoid the wandering eyes of those who pass by. It was a confusing feeling that sat deep in your gut, you felt nothing for the villagers who offered you food—you could see their reluctance in handing over their hard work to someone they viewed as a monster.
Yet the idea of one man trying to control the masses with their suffering, practically breeding these people with fear to create more and more curses until the inevitable happened. It was a surprise that anyone was still alive with just how many curses were crawling around, no doubt they had some base level of intelligence to know if they killed all the humans they’d be left with nothing.
“I don’t like it.” You mutter, eyes panning across the crowd once again and further down the long street that led up to where you and Sukuna had been stationed.
“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, it’s none of your concern.” Sukuna gripes, shoving another slice of sashimi into his mouth with the chopsticks in one hand. You don’t miss the sideways glance from Kenjaku before she returns to the tea in front of her.
“It is if I’m to become Shogun.” You all but hiss and it’s Sukuna’s turn to side glance towards you, his eyes narrowing just slightly at the tone you took with him. Even after the months of being bonded to you, there was still some chafing that came with the power struggle between the two of you.
“Shogun?” A voice questions from the steps below, and it causes your spine to straighten immediately. It has your eyes darting to the numerous samurai stationed around, all of whom definitely heard the villager before you. It’s a younger man, not old enough to be stuck in the rice fields and without the traditional haircut given to those who are samurai.
You try not to notice the smirk growing on Sukuna’s face before he settles back on two of his hands, displaying his entire bare chest. He had been more open to showing himself off when he had settled down, a subtle display of power that he was above everyone else here. Including the Samurai and their Lord who no doubt would be getting reports of what was about to be said.
Carefully, you stand up and fan out the many layers of your kimonos behind you. It’s an instantaneous effect, all eyes are on you. You drop the fan from your face, and the whispers are silenced. They wait to see what you’re about to say, be it a sentence for their death or the announcement of your departure—the looks on their faces beg for the latter.
“Whilst it was something I would’ve liked to announce to your Lord first, it’s true.” Your heart hammers in your chest, even with the comfort of the man behind you, you can sense the unease growing rapidly. “The Emperor is a man who can no longer be trusted. He sentenced you all to death.”
“The Lord you bow to works for the Emperor, on a council where they’ve decided to kill you all for existing.” You continue when the whispers grow louder, the cursed spirits that stick to their backs growing agitated with the uptick in fear. “I’ll put an end to that.”
“By opening your legs as you did for that dem—” The murmurs are silenced immediately. Your hand remains out at your side, fingers pointed in the direction of the man who had opened his mouth. There’s a thump of knees to the floor, and then the rolling of a head.
Sukuna chuffs out a laugh, leaning forward once again in interest at the sudden turn of events. You can feel the turning of his cursed energy, how it spikes subtly as if he’s ready to pounce if someone else dared to raise a hand—or voice—in your direction.
“Does anyone else have anything to say?” You glance across the crowd, all of whom have immediately turned their gaze back towards you with a new look of fear. Non-sorcerers, all of them, and you beheaded a man without drawing a sword. Their silence continues to ring out, the cursed spirits too now look at you with renewed interest; a hunger.
When no one dares to speak another word, you return to your seat next to Sukuna who had turned his mirth-filled eyes back to you. The crowd seems to slowly disperse, no longer wanting to risk their heads. As for the cursed spirits, you notice they too seem to leave a wide berth after the display of the cursed energy that slumbered within.
“You scared them.” Kenjaku comments, but you can hear the smile on her face and her eyes curve upwards when she offers you a look over the top of her fan. “But I’m sure word has already gotten back to the Lord, he won’t be happy.”
“I’ve never cared for the happiness of men. Let him rot in his anger.” Your attention is drawn downwards to the large hand that had opened itself before you. Sukuna holds out a delicate cup that had no doubt been imported from China with the way it was decorated.
“Drink with me.” He doesn’t offer but rather demands it of you. Not that you’d deny him. You take the cup from his hand, so much larger in your own hand and the sake within is warm. “I think I’ve been too much of an influence on you.”
You glance at him over the rim of your cup, not overlooking the way his eyes drift down to your mouth to watch you lick away the remnants of the sake. “Oh?”
“You didn’t even give that man a chance to speak.” He grins, head tilting as he watches you—his pink hair flopping over slightly, dishevelled after a long day.
“He didn’t deserve his tongue.” You smile back before taking another sip, savouring the warmth that settles in your gut.
Sukuna adjusts the way he lounges next to you, one leg stretching outwards whilst the other remains bent at the knee to let one arm hang over it. A hand plants itself on the dais behind you, forcing him into your space until you can feel his very warmth radiating against your cheeks. You can smell him; a musk that is normally tinted with copper from the blood of his unfortunate victims, but today it’s cleaner. No doubt from the bath he had been forced to take alone on arrival.
With a flourish of the fan in one hand, you lean closer whilst shielding your face. Sukuna smiles down at you, a smile softened with the warm sake sitting in his stomach. His lips are just a few measly centimetres away from your own, his breath smells sweet—like a freshly sliced apple. There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone around you is very aware of what was happening behind the fan, with Sukuna forcing himself to hunch down to your height whilst sitting.
“You’re formidable.” He whispers with a tilt of his head, his nose bumps yours softly. “They fear you. I can smell it.”
Your lips part when his do, breathing in his words; his influence. It’s intoxicating to have a man of his status, his sheer brilliance in power, praise you—to deem you formidable.
“Good. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, the muscle jumps at the contact before you feel the weight of his head leaning against your open palm. “Love has no worth in a world like ours.”
Sukuna looks down at you along the thick ridge of his nose, eyes nearly closed with how narrow his field of vision becomes this close to you. He’s scrutinising you, you can feel it. That look in his eye is something you’ve seen time and time again, he’s trying to read you—figure you out entirely. But then he smirks, a curling of his lips before he leans in.
His lips aren’t gentle against your own, they never are. Instead, he kisses you like he still wishes to defeat you. Even with it only being a fleeting kiss, it still leaves you kiss-bruised and wanting more. Sukuna leans back just enough to look down at you again, that look in his eye has shifted from scrutiny to desire. It has your gut twisting with butterflies.
“Come, I’m done with the stench that clings to this place.” He speaks quietly enough for just you to hear, you smile up at him again before offering him a lingering kiss. One that he tries to chase shamelessly, which in turn has you grinning at each other. “Don’t tease me too much woman, I will make you regret it.”
“One can only hope.”
“If you’re both leaving, I’ll stay for a while,” Kenjaku comments from her place, earning a glance over Sukuna’s shoulder from you both. “I have plans too."
Something about the tone she takes makes your stomach sour, the food you had eaten turned to stone. She sounds mischievous, a predator who would be going on the prowl amongst defenceless prey. But you can’t deny her what she wishes to do—you knew she was of the same ilk as Sukuna and in turn, you; she was just as cruel and evil.
“Fine. Don’t return to the house.” Sukuna commands, standing up whilst aiding you up from the floor next to him. He’s careful with how he helps you pick up the layers of the kimono to allow you to slip back on the wooden geta you had removed to give your feet some relief.
Sukuna doesn’t take his arm back once you’re standing next to him, instead, he guides you down the few steps and down along the path that leads back to the house you had been given as a place to stay. His stance is relaxed, despite the many eyes that wander. You stroke your fingers delicately along the inside of his wrist, earning you his attention.
“I heard there were hot springs on the outskirts.” You smile with your words, the glint of desire seems to spark the inferno inside of Sukuna because he grins in return. The muscles in his arms flex subtly under your touch, nostrils flaring momentarily to try and steel himself whilst in the public eye.
“And who am I to deny you a chance to bathe in the spring like the dove you are.”
...
A mountain haloed by the light of the moon, the white caps glimmering in the distance with stars hanging high and not a single trace of a cloud. It was a sight Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto would be proud of. Trees of brilliant green and yellow blend together in the shadow of darkness, birds of light settling for the night.
It has your body relaxing against the stone lip of the hotspring, arms crossed over the edge to support your chin as you look out into the endless abyss. Your muscles ache deliciously at this angle, your legs relishing the relief that came from the hotspring. Sukuna had kept true to his word to allow you to bathe, after he ravished you in the very waters you’re still in.
The man himself is lounging next to you, two of his arms hooked over the edge whilst his head tilts back against the stone to rest his eyes. It was one of the very rare times where he was completely vulnerable, a sight that you’re sure many men would kill to see—just to ensure they had a chance to slit his throat and kill him for good.
Your eyes draw lines across his body, admiring the sheen to his skin from where he had dunked himself in the water to clean himself. His hair hangs loose and curled very slightly at the tips, just barely hiding the pointed tips of his ears and the stretched lobes. He was truly beautiful, the pinnacle of godly creation. You swallow your thoughts, pushing them to the back of your mind as you glance back out to the horizon.
Mount Yake—that’s what the elderly man had said when he gifted you the dragon-scaled fan. You can see with the help of the moon hiding behind its snow-capped head that it was billowing thick clouds of black smoke. You had never seen a volcanic eruption before. Was lava as brilliant and bright as they said? Did it truly burn and eviscerate everything it touched? And what of the dragon that resided within, you yearned to see it.
“Do you truly believe a dragon lives in that mountain?” You ask quietly, just a whisper over the hum of the night. Sukuna shifts beside you, water sloshing before you can feel his burning gaze on you.
“I do.” He admits plainly. “It’s not uncommon for cursed spirits to form from the fear of something—I imagine that the dragon is the fear of volcanic eruptions.”
You nod at the informative answer, you had a feeling that may have been the case with Masato—the fear of people, of humanity when you were at your lowest. Thinking of where that cursed spirit may be currently has your stomach twisting, no doubt she would have created chaos wherever she may be.
Trees groan in the wind, leaves whispering their secrets to one another when a breeze rolls on by. The water swishes beside you again when Sukuna moves his arms beneath the water, the waves lapping against the bare skin of your back. You feel at peace here, tranquil—it was like being at home again, in the hotspring with the man you had tied your soul to.
“Do you know how to create Kanshi?” Sukuna turns his head to glance at you this time when he speaks, and you can only return his curious look with a smile.
“Poetry? Of course. It was a requirement of the Shogun’s daughter to be well versed in the art of poetry.” You smile when Sukuna rolls his eyes at what was required of you. It was one of the very first lessons when you had been given permission to do something outside of learning how to dress a man and wash his loincloth. “Would you like to hear one?”
Sukuna nods his head once and you smile down at him, moving your body slightly so you are facing him. Your hand cards delicately through his slow-drying hair, breaking apart the knots that had formed in the nighttime spring air. Sukuna succumbs to your soft movements easily enough, his upper set of eyes fluttering closed until you could only see a slither of red peeking from the lower ones.
You take the chance to glance around, observing all that you can hear and see.
“I listen to the whispers of trees, I catch a murmur of their secrets. Spring breeze is the same near and far, as it blows to my heart.”
“Not bad.” Sukuna offers you with a cheeky grin, opening up his eyes fully to look at you. “I’ve always preferred them shorter. The Chinese version is too long.”
You hum in agreement, brushing your fingers slowly along the edge of his second face. The scars beneath were similar to the one along your neck; torn and shredded until it had to heal. “So did I but Lady Maiki disagreed. Apparently, a good wife showed her intelligence with longer sentences.”
Sukuna snorts loudly at that, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in a way that makes him look years younger. A hand moves up from beneath the water, long fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away from the scarring and to let his lips plant a far too delicate kiss to the tips of your fingers.
“I thought a woman would show her intelligence by opening her le—” Sukuna laughs loudly when you swipe with your free hand at the back of his head, knocking some of his wet hair out of place. “So violent. Did I strike a nerve?”
“An ancient pond, a toad jumps in, the splash of water.” You snicker when Sukuna’s face drops.
“A toad? You’d compare me to a toad?” His upper lip curls, showcasing sharp canines and pink gum. He shifts in the water, dragging you by your entrapped wrist until you are smothered against his chest. An old part of you would’ve cowered at the action, at the look on his face but you can see him more clearly now; he’s playing along.
“Am I wrong? As big as one, as lazy as one—”
“You have a very short amount of time left until I remove that tongue from your mouth for good.” He snarls, leaning down closer to your face until your eyes nearly cross at his proximity. But his mask of intimidation falls away when your unbound hand brushes along his jaw, tracing the black tattoo that resides there.
“Your threats no longer have the same sharpened edge to them.” You coo, but before the smile on your face can form—he strikes. A hand wraps itself around your throat, fingers reaching up to grasp at the underside of your jaw in a tight squeeze. He moves you effortlessly, pressing you hard against the stone edge of the hotspring as he builds himself up to look bigger; stronger.
Your heart stutters in your chest, your fingers automatically gripping tightly around his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since your first few encounters with him. Sukuna had mastered the way of becoming the predator in any situation, a lion that had let the gazelle get too close to its sharp teeth.
Except Sukuna smiles, a dark smile that you’ve seen on his face countless times before. “After battle’s end, lush green land is fertilised, by the blood of men.” He’s gloating about his apparent victory.
You huff at that, pushing at his chest hard enough to earn you some space. He slips back down into the water next to you, all the whilst he chuckles deep in his chest.
“It doesn’t work when you get the gender wrong.”
“I apologise for not being the Shogun’s princess and just an unwanted child.” He grins when you shoot him a glare in response. Sukuna settles back down into his previous position, arms relaxed over the edge and head tilted back so he could view the night sky above. It wouldn’t be long until you both would have to return to the house that had been claimed as your own.
A flicker above has your attention drawn to it instantly, head tilting to observe the flash of what looks like stars until it grows brighter and brighter—Sukuna next to you hums deep in his chest at the display above, enjoying it as much as yourself. The streak of light in the sky grows brighter until it outshines the others in the sky, until it breaks apart.
The streak becomes two, two falling stars that race each other across the expanse of the inky sky until the smaller one vanishes from sight to leave the other to traverse the rest of the sky alone. It leaves a solemn weight on your chest as you watch the lone star vanish behind the peak of one of the mountains that surround you.
“Scales of a white dragon, twin falling stars from above, spring repulses winter.”
“A fitting poem for our time here,” Sukuna speaks kindly, and you can only nod in agreement. He moves in the water suddenly, standing to his full height to allow the water to roll off the edges of his body in thick streams. You can only watch him with interest as he wades through the water to the edge where your clothes are folded neatly. “Come, let us rest.”
And you follow him, you always do.
...
Wooden floorboards creak underfoot, the house as silent as a shrine. A shadow freezes, waiting and listening, watching—before it moves again. The shoji door slides open, the moonlight leaking in to reveal the sleeping faces of the King and Queen of Curses.
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Whee Fight Scenes! (This Is A Seirei no Moribito Advertisement)
For the past couple of years I have been almost exclusively writing fanfiction for action-fantasy video games which has led to me developing opinions on writing fight scenes. I used to hate writing them because what even happen fight, really, like what the hell??? But now I’ve learned to tolerate them! Sometimes I even enjoy writing them! So now I will share my wisdom with you.
(Disclaimer: This post was written so I could avoid writing a fight scene.)
My credentials: I occasionally write fight scenes in my action-fantasy video game fanfictions, and I have seen Seirei no Moribito the anime several times. I do not claim to be an expert on fight scenes, but I do claim to love Seirei no Moribito to bits.
Part 1. The Set Up
There’s this excellent anime about a mercenary on a life-long quest for redemption who ends up taking a cursed prince under her protection. It’s about unraveling propaganda and colonialism, and also about kicking ass. The first time I watched this anime, when I got to the episode 3 rice field fight, I thought, “holy shit, I see now that a good fight scene requires not only a kick-ass fight, but also narrative/emotional build up in order to give the scene weight and tension.”
Like, lots of anime have excellent and extremely iconic fights, but this was the show that really made the writing aspect of it stick in my brain. Seirei no Moribito is also an adaptation of a book, which might why this stood out to me: the way its fight scenes are constructed are not as reliant on the actual visuals so much as they are on everything else (the animation for the fight is gorgeous, too, like, just watch this show please it’s so good). That said, I haven’t actually read the book. But I have seen this show several times and the rice field fight gets me so hype.
(And also every other fight scene. I’m never over episode 13. If you have to watch only one (1) episode of Seirei no Moribito, watch episode 13. But also, don’t do that. Watch the entire thing you coward.)
Anyway. What’s going on in Seirei no Moribito episode 3?
Part 1a. The Narrative Stage
Ep3 is early on in the series. The rice field fight is not the first action scene, but it is the first fight scene. This is what we know going in:
Balsa, our main character, is a formidable mercenary with a practical mind and a strong sense of honor. She has sworn to protect Chagum, the prince of the Empire. Her goal is to keep Chagum alive at all costs, because saving his life is crucial to her personal goal of redemption.
The Emperor (Chagum’s father) has dispatched his elite warriors to kill the prince, as they believe that he is possessed by an evil water spirit. Their goal is to kill the prince because the evil water spirit is a bad omen for the empire, and they believe that killing the prince will save the kingdom.
Balsa’s spear is damaged, and she is outnumbered. She has the disadvantage.
We are, of course, rooting for Balsa and Chagum at this point in the story. Balsa’s our main character, she’s super cool, and child assassination is a bad look. We know that Balsa is strong: we’ve seen her do athletic stunts, and it’s been alluded to that she is extremely skilled with the spear. This fight is the first time we get to see her use it, so it’s very exciting to the viewer. We want to see her in action.
Part 1b. The Emotional Stage
Chagum doesn’t have much of a personality at this point: we know he’s a child prince, and we know his dad wants to kill him. So we don’t know him well, but he’s already sympathetic due to circumstance.
When Balsa and Chagum get to the rice fields, they are almost home-free. They’ve spent a lot of effort trying to redirect the emperor’s warriors and the plan almost worked. We are extremely close to safety, so the fact that this is when the emperor’s elite catch up is very tense and frustrating.
All this puts the audience in the mindset of: oh man, they’re so close, I really need Balsa to win! I don’t want the kid die! You can taste the safety, you are almost there—it’s the type of tension that gets you invested in the outcome of the fight.
Part 1c. The Physical Stage
The first half, and the faster-paced portion of the fight takes place in a rice field at night (a classic). Wide open, with water to splash in, and nowhere to hide. It’s right on the edge of the thick forest, which gives Balsa and Chagum an immediate goal: get to the denser terrain so that they might break line of sight of their pursuers.
The second half of the fight is less of a fight and more of a close-up, emotional moment of action. It takes place in a clearing by the edge of the forest.
The physical location of the fight ties in with the short-term goals of the characters: the open field forces Balsa into direct confrontation even though she wants to run, and the clearing by the edge of the forest gives Jin (one of the emperor’s warriors) the illusion of privacy when he tries to kill Chagum, and it gives Balsa cover to hide until she can intervene.
Part 1 – TL;DR
Even before you get to the actual fight, the setup of the fight has inherent tension and intrigue. One can reasonably assume that Balsa and Chagum will survive, because this is episode 3 of a 26 episode anime. But you don’t know if her damaged spear will hold out. You don’t know why the emperor wants Chagum dead. You don’t know if Balsa will kill the emperor’s guards, or if she’ll be able to make a clean getaway with the prince. All these uncertainties create mystery, which creates tension. And tension is what makes the fight fun.
Part 2. The Purpose
I mentioned earlier that this is the first actual fight in the show.
It’s the payoff for a bunch of little questions that have cropped up so far. How strong is Balsa? Is she good enough to win, even when outnumbered? What does her fighting style look like?
A lot of action stories have big fight early on, and that’s because a well-done fight scene squeezes in a massive amount of characterization. In this fight, we learn a lot about Balsa, and we learn a lot about the Emperor and the difference between the Emperor and the people who work for him.
Some questions that get explored: How do they think under pressure? What kind of fighting do they do? Are they strategic? Reactive? Brute force or trickster? How do they solve problems? How far are these people willing to go to achieve their goals?
There’s a moment in this fight when Balsa is wounded, and the emperor’s warriors retrieve Prince Chagum. Balsa ends up retreating into the forest. Jin says something along the lines of: she’s a mercenary, she works for money and she’s already been paid; she won’t risk her life to come back and get the prince.
But she does. Even though she’s been wounded, and even though she had the perfect opportunity to walk away, she comes back and saves Prince Chagum at the expense of her own health. Balsa keeps her promises; Balsa’s personal quest for redemption is more important to her than her life. We know her, now!
Fight scenes are great for characterization because it’s a deviation from status quo. A person’s default state is not “battle,” and stories thrive on extraordinary circumstances. “How does this character change/act/perform under pressure?” is a really great characterization question, and a fight scene is the opportunity to show the answer rather than tell it.
Fight scenes are also great for thematic debate. You get the opportunity to literalize the conflict between different philosophies via characters fighting each other. EZ story moment. You know that one Howard Ashman quote about how, in musicals, the characters sing when they’re too emotional to speak? That’s what fight scenes are to me. The characters fight when they can’t talk to each other.
And then, of course, a fight scene is also moving the plot along. The conflict is happening, information is being exchanged/discovered/buried. Some characters life, some characters get hurt, some characters die. A fight scene is a way to physically bring characters to the state they need to be in for the story to progress (in the right emotional state, the right physical state, the right location, etc). Lots of things going on, which is good—you want all of your scenes to be purposeful.
Part 3. The Details
All of that had to do with the zoomed-out, overall story view of the fight (how the fight fits into the overall story). I am now going to continue to gush about the episode 3 rice field fight up close (how does the fight scene work in isolation). Because Seirei no Moribito rocks.
Part 3a. The Setting
I already mentioned the open rice field/dense forest dichotomy and how that affects the characters’ short-term goals. It’s also a great choice to establish Balsa’s superior technical ability with her spear. The rice field is wide open and relatively flat—no obstructions or distractions, with everyone on equal ground. There are no tricks to pull, no environmental quirks to exploit: this is a clean fight between Balsa and the emperor’s warriors. When she comes out on top, it’s because she’s better than them.
Depending on the character, it might be better to change the terrain. Have the stealthy warrior fight in a forest, where they can appear and reappear and use their sneakiness to their advantage. Put a trickster in a situation where they can improvise traps. There is an aspect of your character that you want to show off, so set the stage so that they can show off. It’ll be totally badass and fun.
Part 3b. The Short-Term Goals
When you read a story, you can reasonably assume that the protagonist will stay alive (especially if you are not near the end of the story). Knowing the outcome can make a story stale if you're not careful. You can lose tension if there’s no risk. Some stories try to create a world/tone/atmosphere so that anyone can die. A lot don’t because that’s a little depressing.
My friend @yellowocaballero has an excellent post on this regarding OP protagonists, but to summarize: if you know the protagonist is always going to win the physical fight, you have to make the win condition not about that. Balsa isn’t OP, but giving characters goals beyond “win the fight” can make a fight so much more interesting.
In the rice field fight, Balsa does not have to defeat the emperor's warriors: she has to get Chagum and herself away alive. Her goal is to make a clean getaway. When the warriors show up, she makes the decision to confront them, and her goal is not just to win, but to win so decisively that they won’t be able to follow her. When Chagum gets caught, she changes her goal to ‘keep him safe at all costs, no matter the harm done to myself’, and she gets seriously wounded. She can succeed in some goals, but fail in others, and the story reacts and keeps changing. It’s the same principle behind why rolling a nat 1 is so entertaining in D&D. The more you fail, the more creative you have to get.
Part 3c. Monkey Brain
There is just something so cool and so satisfying and so fun about seeing a character kick ass. There is also something very cool and very satisfying about seeing a character get beat up. The rice field fight has it all: Balsa kicking ass, and also getting beat up. It’s fun! Fight scenes that know exactly why they are cool are just so good. Hell yeah, overindulge and use every single weapon despite how impractical they are. Yes please show someone pulling off an unrealistic move for the coolness factor. Absolutely include the explosion-that-would-definitely-kill-but-doesn’t.
Part 3 — TL;DR
If you want the fight to be cool, make it cool! Set it in a cool place! Give your characters opportunities to show off! Make it interesting by changing the win conditions! Conflicting goals forces characters to prioritize and it makes scenes fun!
Part 4. Words???
Unfortunately, as mentioned, Seirei no Moribito is an anime and I haven’t read the book so I cannot analyze and gush about its prose in this section. Otherwise, the advertisement would continue. You’re safe for the moment.
Re: prose, there’s probably a post out there that goes over the language of fight scenes better than I ever could. I write with the diction of a middle-grade author because I read PJatO too much as a child and it rewrote my DNA. This is not a bad thing, this is just a fact. So I’m just gonna fire off fight scene writing advice I heard from around:
Filter words — if you want a more immersive reading experience, you want to avoid filtering the action through the narration. So use sentences like: “Her arm hurt” as opposed to “she felt her arm hurt”. But if you’re trying to distance the reader, like recreating the feeling of shock/dissociation, then filter words would help achieve that effect.
Make the rhythm of your prose match the energy of the fight. Short and choppy feels fast in the brain. Long and wordy feels overwhelming. Fragmented sentences and run-ons are chaotic. Customize the vibes.
Establish the important details of the setting beforehand so that you don’t have to stop the action to describe the specific placement of a relevant tree stump. I think I heard this one from Brandon Sanderson on a podcast somewhere, but I think about it a lot when I write because blocking is hard enough and it's even harder when you have to stop and attempt to translate the movie in your head into words. I can’t tell you how to block a fight scene. We need to find someone else who is smarter that can tell us.
Part 5. The Point
Fight Scenes are Fun, actually. They can be really effective if you set them up properly! If you know what you want to do with them, you can arrange it to be as cool as possible! You don’t have to be in a visual medium to make fights fun. You just have to figure out how to translate the cool bits into prose, which I think is mostly done through giving your fight cool shit on both the macro story level scale and the micro scene level scale.
Also, watch Seirei no Moribito.
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