enough just to hear a voice other than his own. — He had learned a few days ago that it was autumn. That wasn’t much of a surprise to him. He lay, staring up at the drying leaves. When one shuddered in the breeze, he pointed upwards, and leaned his head into the cool stone. “That one’s gonna—

season they were in. Sometimes he’d stand at the fence when adults passed by. He’d listen in on the conversations they were having with their pocket devices. He observed the little pets in sweaters and frilly dresses. And they never much of anything that interested him— but sometimes it was—

I’m a liar I can’t shut up. Sukuna never wandered far from his mother, but he wandered through the cemetery now and then. It was the best way to figure out the world around him. The cemetery workers would give him clues every now and then of what year it was. Of what weather to expect. Of what—

LMAO PLEASE, IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE, MEGUMI NEEDS TO MAKE HIS PRECIOUS ENTRANCE

Okay actually I’ve decided I want to make this a mini story for AO3 so I’m gonna stop—

But he’d do it, against anyone. He would spend eternity doing it. 👻🎃

knew she didn’t see him. No one ever did. Every day, they passed him and had never noticed the boy that sat against his mother’s grave. They never noticed the small family plot of two. He wished it would stay that way. He never liked the way they looked at him when he defended his mother.

pulled her baby out between the fence. She knelt and checked him over— she saw the blushing scars Sukuna had left on him. And she turned her gaze away from her child. She turned her gaze away, towards the grave he had leaned against. Towards Sukuna, with bewildered, mortified eyes. And Sukuna—

he sat back against the worn stone. Then Sukuna crowded him. He knew the boy felt him there, because he shuddered. He scratched at him— tried to yank him off, and managed to at least startle the boy into a fit that made him retreat to his mother in tears. Sukuna watched as the startled mother—

they were. He wasn’t even sure how “old” he himself was now. But that didn’t matter. Whether it was a snotty teenager in the middle of the night, or an equally booger infested toddler, he didn’t appreciate /anyone/ leaning against his mother’s grave. When the boy turned to pour at his mother—