sparkles sparkles✨

im 25

[beomsrax]

Welcome to my humble aboard! The names Reyes/Hessa,you can call me two of these and my pronouns are they/them

Im also 25 years old

Please be respectful around here,any type of hate is never welcome and i don't usually know how to handle a certain situations,so if an anon send hate comments i just usually delete them

Feel free to ask anything💃

[justabratsworld]

Echoes of the Emperor's Moon

Part One: The Emperor's Loathed Concubine Chapter Four: The Dying Moon [Masterlist] Prev. Chapter Next: The Ghost Returns

Snow sifted down in lazy spirals long before dawn, drifting over roof tiles and sleeping courtyards until the palace resembled a single, breathless exhale of winter. By the hour of the Rat, the harem was silent...no whispers, no laughter, only the faint creak of frozen bamboo brushing one another like restless fingers.

In Concubine (y/n)'s  quarters, the brazier glowed weakly, embers collapsing into ash. Your breath fogged the cold air as you lay propped against silken cushions, the quilts around you, thin from years of careful patching. Eleanor hovered beside your bed, rubbing warmth into your numb fingers.

“You should have woken me,” Eleanor whispered, voice trembling with a fear she tried to hide. “You’re like ice. Did you sleep at all?”

“I tried.” Your smile was faint, fragile as the frost on the window. “But the moon was too bright.” Your gaze drifted toward the open lattice. The snowfall blurred the world into muted whites and greys, but above it all, the moon still shone, thin, distant, as if hanging by a thread of its own dwindling light.

It had watched you all night. It was still watching you now.

You lifted a shaky hand to your chest, pressing gently as if to soothe an ache that no herb or physician could reach. Eleanor followed the motion, worry tightening her features. “I’ll fetch the physician.”

“No.” Your voice, though soft, carried a strange firmness. “He will only say what we already know.”

Eleanor's eyes glistened. “But you—”

“I am not afraid,” You said, even though your smile trembled. “The snow is gentle today. And I think… the moon will be full tonight.” You closed your eyes for a moment, your lashes damp. “I would like to see it. Just once more.”

---

By midmorning, the palace stirred reluctantly into motion. News traveled quickly within these walls...long before imperial censors or ministers heard anything, concubines already traded whispers like gleaming weapons.

“Concubine (y/n) coughed blood again.” “I heard she fainted in the bath.” “Does His Majesty even remember she exists?” “She’s fading. I saw her maid buy white incense.”

White...for mourning.

You heard none of it. Or perhaps you did, and simply no longer cared. You spent the morning seated by the window, your hands wrapped around a porcelain cup that no longer held warmth. Snowflakes clung to the wooden frame, melting slowly, leaving small dark trails like tears. Your embroidery lay untouched on the table beside you...a moon half-finished over a pond of silk-blue thread. You had meant to complete it. You knew now you never would. Eleanor brought you thin rice porridge, but you could stomach only a few sips. Your chest burned. Each breath felt caught between ribs that refused to expand.

“Will you… read to me?” You whispered. Eleanor immediately fetched a small book of poetry, but as she sat beside her mistress and began reciting the first lines, you stopped her with a touch to the wrist. “No poems. The sound of your voice is enough.” They sat in silence together, the snow falling in soft sheets, the palace distant in its grandeur and indifference.

Elsewhere in the palace, Emperor Sukuna strode through the Hall of Radiant Virtue with the sharp, clipped steps of a man who had not slept well. He rarely did these days. The past weeks had pressed heavily upon him, rebellions at the border, fractious ministers, and increasingly blatant power plays from factions he once controlled with ease. But it wasn’t politics that disturbed him.

It was a song. A faint, fragile melody he couldn’t name...one he sometimes heard when passing certain courtyards. A woman’s voice. Soft as snow, hollow with longing. He had dismissed it at first as memory, perhaps imagination. He hadn’t listened closely. Until one night, the music had drawn him from sleep...clear as though sung beside his bed. He’d followed it across icy corridors, lantern in hand, his breath clouding the air.

But when he reached the courtyard from which it came, the singing had stopped.

Only the moon remained, cold and distant above the roof tiles. And a single set of footprints in the snow...small, delicate, fading.

He had stood there far longer than he liked to admit, staring at the empty space where the voice had been.

He never asked whose courtyard it was. He never allowed himself to.

Not until today.

In the council hall, a minister droned on about grain shortages. Sukuna's attention snagged on a white plum petal stuck to his sleeve. White plums did not bloom in deep winter. He brushed it off with a faint frown. Another hallucination? Or a sign of something he had long ignored? His thoughts drifted, against his will, to the girl with the quiet eyes he had once passed in the corridor, to the small cough muffled behind her sleeve, to the way she had bowed with such sincerity despite his cold indifference.

What was her name again?

(y/n)… (y/n) something.

She had not crossed his mind in months. Her existence in the harem mattered little politically. And yet…Why did that phantom song echo in his dreams? When the meeting ended, Sukuna found himself walking...not to his favored consort’s quarters, not to the training grounds, not even to the council chambers. His feet carried him to the Snowfall Courtyard.

To her courtyard.

To you. 

----

Your illness worsened as the day progressed.

Your skin grew translucent; the blue of your veins showed faintly beneath. You could barely lift your head, and each cough left you trembling. Eleanor bathed your face with warm cloths, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry,” You whispered. “Please.”

“How can I not?” Eleanor choked. “You’re— you’re—”

“Still here,” You finished gently. But even as you said it, the room swam. You felt untethered, as though the cold wind slipping between the window slats might lift you away. Outside, footsteps approached. Eleanor's head snapped up. A guard’s voice echoed beyond the door.

“Announcing His Majesty—” The door slid open and you, in your haze, did not hear it. Eleanor gasped, bowing so low her forehead touched the floor. The guards knelt.

But the Emperor did not step inside. Sukuna stood at the threshold, his expression unreadable, the cold wind tugging at his sleeves. The chamber smelled of herbs, and something else...sweet and faint. Jasmine.

He knew that scent. He had smelled it in his dream.

His gaze found you lying on the bed, your eyes half-open, cheeks fever-flushed. Your breathing shallow. He froze. Not out of pity, or even guilt. Out of recognition. It was you. The woman in the song. The woman in his dreams. The voice that haunted the quiet edges of his mind. His hand tightened on the doorframe. For a brief, traitorous moment, he considered stepping forward. Sitting beside you. Saying something...anything.

But the moment passed.

A court attendant hurried up behind him, whispering, “Your Majesty, the Council awaits your approval for the afternoon decrees.” A reminder. Duty. Responsibility. Image...and what would it look like, what rumors would bloom, if the Emperor visited a dying concubine he had never once favored? He withdrew his hand. Without a word, he turned and left.

The snow swallowed his footsteps. Inside, Eleanor lifted her head, disbelief twisting her expression. “My lady… he came. He was here.” But your eyes had already closed.

You had not seen him.

----

By evening, your breathing was a thin, fraying thread. Even lifting your hands felt like hauling a thousand petals of snow. The palace lanterns flickered to life as night approached. Their warm glow cast soft gold against the falling snow outside your window.

“The moon will rise soon,” Eleanor whispered, brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead. Your lips moved soundlessly, causing Eleanor to lean closer.

“What is it, my lady?”

“…outside.”

“You cannot go outside,” Eleanor protested immediately. “It’s freezing. You can barely sit upright—”

“Please.” The word barely escaped you, but it was enough. Because Eleanor had served you for six years. She had been the only witness to your quiet heartbreaks and gentle hopes, and she knew...down to her bones that if she denied this one request, her lady’s spirit would leave incomplete.

So with shaking hands, she wrapped you in layers of silk, fur, and quilts. She lifted you carefully, cradling you as though you were made of porcelain. Step by slow step, she carried you into the courtyard. The snow had softened to a delicate fall, each flake drifting like a small confession from the sky. Eleanor set you down on a cushioned bench, shielding you from the wind. You looked up. The moon was rising...silver, pale, haloed by mist. Your breath hitched.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“It is,” Eleanor murmured, though she watched you instead of the sky.

Your eyes reflected the moonlight like a shallow pool stirred by the wind. You reached one trembling hand toward the sky, as if the moon might lower itself to your touch.

“I used to think…” You paused, coughing weakly. “…that if His Majesty ever looked my way, it would be under the moon.”

Elanor bit her lip hard. “You mustn’t speak like—”

“Do you think he ever knew I was here?” You asked softly. It wasn’t bitterness. Just curiosity. A question carried on a final breath. Eleanor swallowed, throat tight. “I… I don’t know, my lady.” You nodded, your head sagging against the bench. The moon’s light traced the contours of your face, softening the shadows beneath your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered. “I loved him quietly. He owed me nothing.”

You tilted your head back, eyes drifting shut. “I only wish… that when I leave… the moon will guide me.” Your breath stilled for a heartbeat. Then another. Eleanor's tears froze on her cheeks. “My lady—?”

You inhaled shallowly, your lips curving.

“Tell the moon…” A gasp. A pause.

“…thank you… for keeping me company.”

And then

Silence.

The wind stopped. The snow fell more slowly, as if in mourning.

A single white plum petal drifted from the rooftop.

Eleanor watched it fall onto your still hand.

Her wail split the night open.

----

Word spread quickly. Before the temple bells marked the hour of the Pig, the entire palace knew:

Concubine (Y/N)  had died. Quietly. Unremarkably. Without ever receiving the Emperor’s favor. The harem’s reactions were a mosaic of indifference, faint pity, and sharpened whispers.

“That sickly one? I’m surprised she lasted this long.” “She died last night? The Emperor didn’t visit her once.” “Well, she was practically a servant among us.” “Sad, but predictable.”

Only Eleanor wept. When the report reached the Emperor the next morning, Sukuna accepted the scroll without looking up from his desk. He broke the seal. Read the brief lines.

Paused.

A strange, hollow pressure tightened inside his chest...like a fist closing slowly. “Who?” he asked, voice too neutral. The attending eunuch bowed so low his forehead touched the floor.

“Concubine (y/n), Your Majesty. The lady who...the lady who resided in the Snowfall Courtyard.”

Sukuna's heartbeat faltered.

The snow garden. The singing. The faint scent of jasmine.

He said nothing.

The eunuch continued cautiously, “The officials request instruction regarding her burial. As she passed without producing an heir or receiving your grace, a modest—”

“Stop.” Sukuna's voice was barely above a whisper.

The hall froze. He stared at the scroll as though the characters rearranged themselves with every blink. He remembered...

The thin girl in the snow. The bowed head. The eyes that lifted toward him with hesitant hope. The song that had woken him. The footprints in the courtyard. The moon.

He had walked away.

“Your Majesty?” the eunuch murmured.

Sukuna exhaled slowly, though his chest felt tighter with each breath. “…Do as the regulations dictate,” he said quietly. “She followed the rules in life. Let her follow them in death.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The eunuch hurried away. When the hall fell silent again, Sukuna pressed a hand to his temple. Why did it hurt? Why did his throat feel tight? Why did he suddenly recall the look in her eyes, the one time she had dared meet his gaze? Like moonlight reflected in water...already slipping away. He stood slowly, pushed aside the scroll, and stepped toward the balcony overlooking the palace grounds. The snowflakes drifted like falling stars and far away, the moon still lingered in the early morning sky...pale and fading. Sukuna stared at it, his jaw clenched.

“…What was her name again?” he whispered to the empty air.

But the snow carried his words away.

----

The palace prepared your burial with efficient indifference. A few thin incense sticks. A simple wooden coffin. A short prayer spoken by a monk who had never met you. No court ladies attended. No banners were hung. Eleanor walked behind the coffin, clutching the embroidery you never finished...her hands shaking too hard to keep the moon steady.

“She wanted to see you,” she whispered to the wind. “She waited. Even at the end.” Her voice broke. “And you never came.”

Your body was placed in a quiet, unmarked section of the palace graveyard. As the monks finished their rites and Eleanor placed the half-finished embroidery beside the coffin, the first moon of the new snow cycle rose above them.

Bright. Whole. Watching.

Eleanor bowed deeply, tears falling onto the frozen ground. “Find peace, my lady. Even if the world never saw your gentleness, the moon did.”

The wind stirred her hair. The snow fell. The moon shone.

For a moment, it seemed to pulse...soft, sorrowful.

Then the clouds closed over it again.

----

That night, Sukuna could not sleep. He lay awake in his cold, vast chamber, staring at the ceiling carved with dragons and clouds. The candles flickered restlessly, casting shadows that swayed like branches in a storm. At last, exhaustion claimed him and, he dreamed.

He stood in a courtyard of snow...your courtyard. The moon hung low and bright. A woman stood beneath it. Her white robes fluttered like mist. Her hair fell loose around her face. She did not look at him. She looked at the moon. “Who are you?” he whispered. She turned slowly. Her eyes....soft, gentle, sorrowful, finally met his.

And he finally heard your voice.

Not singing. Not crying.

Just a single word.

“…Why?”

He reached for you.

But you faded like snow under sunlight.

He woke gasping.

For the first time in years, the Emperor trembled.

----

The next night, when he returned to the courtyard, the snow had already erased your footprints. Only the moon remained. Cold. Silent. Watching. Sukuna stared upward, the ache in his chest blooming like frost. His breath fogged the air. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, though he did not fully understand why.

The moon did not answer.

But something shifted in the wind. A faint scent...jasmine...brushed past him, lingering like a ghost’s sigh.

He opened his eyes, and for one heartbeat—

He thought he saw you.

A slim figure in white. Standing beneath the moon. Looking at him.

Waiting.

When he blinked, you were gone.

But the impression of her remained, tattooed into the darkness behind his eyes. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the slow, painful beat of his heart. The moon glowed brighter, almost accusing. Sukuna whispered to it, voice hoarse, 

“In another life… I will find you first.”

taglist: @bellethesleepypotato @tiny-mimi @catladythoughts @tedcruzumakii @tojideckmuncher @midnight-138 @beereadzzz @shycreatorreview @harru07 @ottjhe @aurorab-0-realis @rexthanatos @sssukugo

a/n: as always... likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[beomsrax]

[beomsrax]

haii hope you're alive, kicking and well 🫶🏻🌻

i am FINALLY home for semester break (sem 2 was not it ffs I'm dead meat)

HI BABYYYY IM SO SORRY TAK NOTICE AAAHHHHHHHH

Terbuntang mata i tengok inbox ada you GAHAGAHAGAHAG

Im doinhg fine! My and my hubby decided to live in a modest apartment near my uni,we didn't start on living a full blown house yet cause kami baru 2 org and rasa empty 😭 and my baby belangz have kurap around his eye cause dia selalu dok main kotor😭😭😭

Look at this fine gentleman here,still my baby patotie

And i have a newfound addiction of potatoes too,TATTER TOTSSSSE

Hope ur having a good rest,blast them free riders away with laser eyes tau✨✨✨

[izz030izumiin]

ESOK DH NAK RAYA SO SEBELUM KAMI KENA OFFLINE HAPPY EID MUBARAK TU YOUUUUUUUU

Ambillah duit raya ni,tapi dia berbentuk anak kucing HAUAHAHAHAHAHAHAH my hubby pegang milky kt sebelah sebab nak cabut kutu dia😓

MAT RI YE CHINTAAAA 🤍💕

tell your kitties i said pspspspspspsppp (with nose boops! ><)

meant to send these yesterday but i got ROASTED so bad

[beomsrax]

IH ANAK DARA SAPA YG CUMIL NIII AUSBWIABAKJAJAKSKA

And we inventing walking on two legs kitty, deserves a world record fr😻 also your kucenk are CHONKYYYYYYYY

Belang and putih started on puberty now and they don't like being cuddled anymore😓

And yes,tk sampai dua rumah onion aunty dh tanya bila nak ada anak🥰🙏

[beomsrax]

i know it's late, but ramadan mubarak, luv 🥹🤍❣️

HIIIIII i tunggu je you bila nak masuk dalam inbox i,how was uni love!!

I forgot to tell you my nikkah was a day before ramadan,you couldn't imagine the rush me and my hubby were going through😭

Hope you are doing i rindu sangat kt you MUA MUA MUA MWAHHHHHH

New sets of 🐈

[beomsrax]

Are you planning on making pinkie pie theme next?

If im not lazy ill try!

[beomsrax]

ITS SO PURPLE AAAAAHHHHHHH

PURPLEEWEEEEWWEE

[beomsrax]

Im turning this into a rarity theme blog because i felt so (binge watching mlp is the best decision ever)

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Waking Up in Vegas"

Prologue, Chapter one:, Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

ok guys! we're back and reader's hot girl summer has started! Sorry I was gonna put this chapter out earlier today but i've just been so busy today plus i'm cooking up a 3rd part for "older" I got my period AND i have a math test and english essay coming up. If some parts don't make sense, its on purpose. Reader is disoriented and drunk half the time, the days blur together for her. Lmk what yall think of readers hot girl summer and what you want/think will happen in the next chapter .Sorry for any mistakes! Comments, reblogs and ASKS make my dayyyy and encourage me.

Saint-Tropez wasn’t just a place, it was a playground, a haven for those who didn’t care about consequences or anyone else’s rules.

And you? Well, you were done with rules.

For the last two weeks, you’d been living like this, untouchable, free, and completely lying to your family.

You had told Bruce you were staying with Ariel and her father, which was true, for the first two days anyway.

Ariel's father is a busy man, he couldn't take 2 and a half months off work to babysit two 16 year olds who would do what they wanted anyway. As soon as he left, Ariel began calling your two other close friends, Claire and Rory. Together, all four of you were unstoppable at school though it was an unspoken rule that you and Ariel were the dynamic duo. All four of you stayed in Ariel's ocean front villa, relaxing, tanning, and just getting settled.

God, let's not even start on how drastically everything changed while you were at boarding school and the family found out Tiffany's true colors. They were all so.....protective now. You got calls everyday, from each of your 'siblings' separately, dozens of texts asking you what you ate, who you were with, and what you were doing. You didn't entertain them. The only person you replied to was Bruce, and that's only because you knew if he wanted to, he could call off this whole trip.

You didn't answer Tim's random, vague questions like, "Who's that on your story? Do you know them? Are you sure they're safe to be with?" He was asking about a simple sunset dinner picture you posted with Ariel, so you blocked him. He's way too nosy.

You didn't reply to the groupchat the girls, Barbra, Steph, and Cass added you in called "The girls!!"

What a creative name!

You left after you saw 'Tiffany was removed from this conversation'. Maybe you were being petty but they obviously had this chat before and didn't bother to add you to it before Tiffany was exposed. It was your turn to ignore them.

You definitely didn't reply to Damian's outright threatening messages that he sent almost every other day, they all sounded something along the lines of "You will regret this. You cannot simply leave and run away from your family. Come home or else."

He's such a strange little boy, he spoke and acted like an angry Victorian prince. He texted you like you were close before, like it wasn't him who pushed you away. You were coming back in two months and yet he acted like ran away and changed your name.

Jason, Bruce, and Dick were the most consistent and annoying, in that order exactly.

Jason texted you every morning at 8 and every night 11, like clockwork. His texts were daily updates what he was planning on doing that day, asking you the same, and reminding you that he's sorry and that he loves you. It tugged at your heart not to answer him, and sometimes, you gave in and you could feel the joy in his response when you replied. You and Jason's conversations went like this, on the odd occasion you replied,

"Good morning." - Jason

"How are you? No trouble in paradise I hope."- Jason

"My days gonna be pretty dull today, nothing much except patrol. Might go to that bookstore you used to like." - Jason

Your cold heart would melt when he said things like that and you would reply,

"awww! jason, thats so sweet." and follow with "I'm good!! how bout you??? staying out of trouble?"

Jason was your softest spot and he knew it.

Bruce texted you three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. His messages were dry and authorative, demanding answers. He wanted to know who you were with, what you were doing, if you left the house, and if you were okay. The fatherly care and authority isn't something your used to, it was strange. You weren't sure if you felt cared for or suffocated. You answered Bruce once a day, your tone straight to the point, answering only what he asked, nothing more.

Dick is by far the worst. He texted you constantly, as if trying to make up for 11 years of not texting you at all. He texted you when he woke up, when he slept, when he ate, what he ate, and sent you pictures of everything. Once he sent you a picture of a tiny bird saying it reminded him of you. You nearly blocked him after that, the only reason you didn't was because you liked how desperate he was. Not long ago, it was you spamming him like that. Plus he can be funny most of the time. You don't even want to think of the constant selfies he sent. You only ever replied once.

Dick sent a selfie of him hanging with some of the Titans, you forgot why or what he said along with it, but you do remember seeing Connor Kent shirtless in the background. You giggled and showed Ariel how hot he is. You replied to Dick almost instantly hearting the picture, screen shotting it, and drawing a heart around Connor saying something like, "WHO DAT IN THE BACK????" and "Tell superboy to hmu".

Dick was not happy about that, that was the last group selfie he ever sent. He got more frequent with his texts after that. He must've snitched to Jason because not even five minutes after you got a text from him.

"Remember what I said. No boys, i'll kick his ass." - Jason

You ignored him of course.

The sun beat down in the south of France, but you were far from concerned with the blistering heat. Not when there was a private yacht at your disposal, a poolside filled with strangers and familiar faces alike, and the soundtrack of Drake keeping your pulse racing. You felt the vibration of your phone against your palm for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Bruce. He was becoming more insistent you answer him the longer you were gone. It's only been two weeks! Another "where are you?" or "be careful." As if you were gonna listen. Or reply to him.

Bruce. The man who'd ignored you for the better part of your life, suddenly acting like a worried father because Tiffany, the perfect sister, had betrayed them all. Tiffany, the adopted daughter who had somehow replaced you in their world. Now, she was the enemy, the traitor, the spy, and she was gone. That meant you had all the freedom you could ever want.

The more you thought about Tiffany the angrier you got. She had everything. How many summers has she spent on yatchs partying? How many times has she blown thousands of Bruce's dollars? Why were you forgiving them so easily? Why were you even listening to him?

Just because he apologized and said he'd change?

Why should you forgive Jason so easily and respect his rules, he ignored you for years and replaced you with Tiffany. The more you drank, the more you thought and the angrier you got. Who do they think they are? You've always been too nice, too obedient, and they're still taking advantage of it. You'd show them, show them what its like to be ignored and forgotten and made fun of.

For the next two months, you were going to ignore them. Bruce and jason included. You've been too nice, too good these two weeks, your friends were begging to party but you didn't want to, you were scared of disappointing them.

You were so angry nothing changed in you that you finally caved and decided to do what Claire and Rory were doing, give your phone to a worker here and have them turn the location on and send updates to Bruce. You still used the same icloud so you could read their messages and make sure they weren't suspicous.

He'd think you were always at the villa or just going into town, they won't know what hit them.

You turn to Ariel and grin, "I'm free. What are we doing tonight?" You were done obeying their rules and living your life for them. Who knows when you'd be alone in Europe with your best friends again.

Ariel hopped off her chair and squealed, her dark skin glowing from the sun, she grabbed you and twirled you around, your giggles echoing through the yacht and drawing Claire and Rory's attention.

Ariel grinned and explained to Rory and Claire, "Little Miss good girl finally came to her senses and went M.I.A with her dad. Now we can finally party! Hot girl summer starts now."

All three girls start squealing and join Ariel in her celebration.

You rolled your eyes feeling guilty, "I told you, you could've gone without me!"

Ariel wrapped her arm around you, "Nonsense, it's not a party without you. Now, come on we gotta go shopping if we're going out tonight. It's lucky that we both have daddy's black cards. It's really lucky that they have Dior, Hermes, and YSL down the street."

You weren't sure how much you spent and the drinks kept you from feeling guilty. Bruce is like, a bajilionaire, what you spent won't make a dent.

Somehow, you ended up on an even bigger yacht filled with guys, in your brand new Dior bikini with a matching bag.

By the time night fell, the yacht was buzzing, the VIP lounge overrun by people who hadn’t even been invited. The bass was so loud you felt it in your bones. You didn’t care. You've never felt so alive.

Your new phone wasn't getting any messages except DMs, and the woman you hired confirming Bruce thought you were sound asleep in the villa.

You can practically taste the summer air as you step onto the deck of the boat, laughing with Ariel and your friends and the others you’ve met along the way. No one cares about where you’ve been, where you’re going, or who your family is.

As the DJ cranks up the volume, a cute guy with long blonde hair catches your eye. You wink at him and saunter over. This summer is all about freedom, and you’re ready for it. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you close, and suddenly you’re lost in the rhythm, spinning and laughing, his lips brushing against your ear.

The night wears on, you drink more, laugh louder, flirt harder. The yacht turns into a blur of lights, drinks, and music. As midnight rolls around, the party shows no signs of slowing. You could stay here forever, with no rules but your own.

But then it happens. You wake up in a completely different city.

London.

You’re sprawled on a plush couch in a ridiculously luxurious flat, a half-empty bottle of champagne next to you. The room smells like expensive perfume, and the decor is all sleek lines and minimalist chic. You sit up slowly, your head pounding from last night.

You sit up straighter, rubbing your eyes.You vaguely remember a private jet, but it’s all blurry. One moment, you were on the deck of the yacht, living it up, and the next, you're waking up in an entirely new country.

You look around the room in panic and spot Ariel sleeping on the couch and a random guy, butt naked on the floor next to her. You sigh in relief at Ariel being okay and the fact you weren't kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the room door, and when you answer, it's a random guy from last night, British accent, disheveled hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He grins at you sheepishly. “Hey, you good?”

You, Ariel, the naked boy named Christian, and the Brit named Thomas, have breakfast and exchange stories of what you remember from last night. It was fun, but you and Ariel flew back to St. Tropez where a jealous Claire and a worried Rory were waiting.

Last night was fun, but it couldn't happen again. It was dangerous and if anything happened Bruce wouldn't know.

Except it did happen again, and again, all summer long.

The next weeks were a blur, Venice, Monaco, and Madrid, with stops in Dubai and Los Angeles along the way. Each city more vibrant and intoxicating than the last. Every place you went, you had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. There was always a fresh crop of people, and you reveled in not having to answer to anyone. No father, no brothers, no sisters, just you and your friends against the world.

You and Ariel lived your lives like you were gonna die tomorrow. You were unstoppable, no family, no rules, no responsibility. Your abilities weren't acting up at all, everything was perfect. Bruce and the family were off your back, being made to think you were at the villa all day.

The “No Boys Rule” was completely disregarded, though. It seemed that whenever you let your guard down for just a moment, you’d end up surrounded by someone new. Whether it was a guy from a club in Monaco or a guy you met on a private yacht in Venice, you were always finding someone new

Despite all the parties, the alcohol, and the private Instagram posts, and funny Tik Toks, there was still a growing sense that you weren’t living this life for you, you were living it for the rebellion, to spite Bruce.

It wasn’t just about freedom anymore. It was about finally being seen, even if that meant drifting away from everyone you once called family.

You only had one month left of absolute freedom, and you were gonna make the most of it. With Ariel, Rory, and Claire by your side, you partied in just about every city.

The final month of your wild European escapade had arrived, and things were only getting wilder.

The clock had no meaning anymore. Days and nights blended into each other as you danced from one city to the next, your world a whirlwind of music, champagne, and endless laughter. Ariel, Rory, and Claire had become your partners in crime, literally when you got arrested, but thats not important.

Each morning you woke up in a new place, groggy and confused, only to remember the night before—flashing lights, pounding beats, and the promise of more. Cannes, Monte Carlo, Paris, or Dubai, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the freedom you’d found in them, and in yourself. You were more than the neglected, ignored girl from Gotham; now, you were the life of the party.

there was always someone waiting to whisk you away to the next nightclub, the next gala, the next beach party where the world’s richest men tried to get your attention.

First, it was Paris. You could feel the eyes on you as soon as you entered the hotel lobby. The air smelled of expensive perfume, freshly polished marble, and the faintest trace of guilt, because in some corner of your mind, you could still hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your ears. But it quickly faded as the first private yacht rolled up to the dock. The deck was crowded with Parisian socialites and half-drunk billionaires, but it wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the feeling of being wanted. Being worshipped.

It was in Paris that you really started feeling the distance between you and the life you’d left behind. The champagne flowed easily, the laughter came effortlessly, but there was an ache you hadn’t anticipated. A pang that struck at the edges of your satisfaction, the kind you couldn’t drink away.

You thought about Bruce. His pleading words, his desperation, and how, for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. You couldn’t let him win. Couldn’t let them see that you’d needed them. Because that would mean giving up everything you had now, the freedom, the endless nights, the city hopping, the boys who adored you.

You let it all sink in, just for a second, how much control you had over them now. How much they wanted you back, how much they needed you back. It felt good, knowing that you could walk away and have them chase after you, like you used to chase them.

Maybe it was the brief, fleeting moments when you thought about Gotham, about Bruce, about your family, and how none of it felt real anymore. They’d played their games, ignored you, and now it was your turn.

Meanwhile, your phone was a constant buzz of messages. Tim had sent at least five texts, each one more urgent than the last. Jason called twice, his voice sharp and filled with that annoying overprotectiveness he just developed. And Bruce… well, Bruce sent you one long, pleading message, something about understanding, about giving him another chance, and answering his calls. You didn’t even bother reading it all. You didn’t need to. You didn’t care enough to respond.

You had no intention of being tied down by anyone, but when a French prince with dark, tousled hair and eyes that burned through your soul offered you a glass of champagne and a seat next to him, you took it.

You didn’t even have to look for him, he found you. He was the one with the perfect jawline, the one who could be a model if he wasn’t already a prince. His eyes, blue locked onto yours the second you entered the VIP area. A raised brow, a subtle smirk, and you knew that for tonight, he was yours.

You didn’t speak much. He didn’t ask questions, and that was the kind of energy you craved. A few words, some flirting, fleeting touches, and then you were in his Lambo, the leather seats smooth under your skin as the city sped by. He went as fast as you wanted, loving the thrill and impressed look in your eyes.

The thrill was intoxicating, the feeling of being someone else, someone free. The kind of person who didn’t have to answer to anyone. A few hours later, you were standing on a balcony, watching the sunrise, your lips tingling from the kiss he’d stolen.

Your mind was a haze of laughter and the aftertaste of expensive whiskey. The view of the French Riviera was far too beautiful to appreciate right now, and your thoughts wandered back to Gotham, to the family you’d abandoned, the ones who had never cared for you.

But as the days wore on, it was harder to ignore the hollow feeling creeping in. The message from Dick, the one where he told you that he loved you, stayed in your mind longer than it should have. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You didn’t owe him anything. But you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, what it would have been like if things were different.

You turned away from those thoughts quickly. You couldn’t afford to get attached. Not now. Not when you were on the verge of something bigger. The freedom you had now was everything you wanted. No one could take that from you.

You couldn’t let them control you. You wouldn’t let them.

You and Ariel were inseparable now, pulling Claire and Rory into your whirlwind of recklessness. You all had your roles, Ariel was the carefree partier, Claire the quiet one who always managed to keep ya'll out of trouble, and Rory was the one always ready with a camera and a new Tik Tok idea. You were the star, the one they all gravitated toward.

Each day was a new city, a new set of challenges, a new set of eyes who wanted to be close to you. You knew the game, knew how to play it. You knew how to keep them guessing, how to make them want you more.

So, you danced. You partied. You lived in the moment and let your life spiral further from Gotham’s grasp.

From there, it was off to the next city.

Las Vegas; Sin City, there was no place like it. You couldn’t even remember how you got there, your mind fuzzy with a mix of adrenaline and whatever was in that last glass of tequila. The strip was lit up like daylight, people everywhere, the air thick with smoke and the sound of slot machines ringing through the night.

You woke up in a penthouse suite that could have been mistaken for an entire floor of the Bellagio, the morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there he was, a prince. The same French prince, draped in a robe embroidered with gold thread, a fresh glass of mimosas on the table beside him. He was smirking, lounging on the couch like this was all part of his daily routine. You couldn’t even remember how you got to the suite. What had happened between the bar and now? You didn’t care.

He didn’t seem to care either, his hand casually tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving you. You laughed, feeling the surrealness of it all wash over you, the weight of your last 48 hours in Ibiza and Monaco still fresh on your skin. One minute, you were dancing at a celebrity’s secret after-party in Monaco, and the next, you were here, on the other side of the world with some mysterious prince who had probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the night was spent taking private jet rides to exclusive clubs, partying with people whose names you couldn’t even pronounce, and waking up to the flashing lights of a casino floor. Vegas was the kind of place where everything felt fake, but that didn’t matter. You really are Brucie Wayne's daughter.

Next stop, Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s clubbing scene. Ariel and you slipped into the club, stepping past the velvet ropes like it was second nature. The security guard practically bowed as you walked by. The crowd parted for you, the clinking of champagne glasses and the hum of expensive conversations filling the air.

This was where you belonged. The heat of the island, the night that stretched into forever. You and Ariel danced on top of the table at Pacha, popping bottles like they were nothing, the music vibrating in your bones, the crowd chanting your name like you were the star of the show. It was your second night there, and you had already met a Spanish duke who was more interested in buying you a yacht than actually getting to know you. There was white powder everywhere, tempting you to try but you didn't give in. Who knows what could be in it. Your friends and most people at the club didn't share the same idea.

You just wanted to enjoy the view and keep the party going but you were worried, maybe this was too much.

“we’ve got to live for the moment,” Ariel grinned, taking a shot of something that made her eyes water. “Who cares if we’re in a foreign country surrounded by dangerous people? It’s the best kind of chaos. When else are we gonna do this?”

Somehow you ended up on a private yacht again, this time surrounded by Ibiza’s elite. You weren’t sure how many shots of tequila you’d had, but you knew that the man at your side had given you a diamond bracelet to match your dress. You accepted with a grin asking him to put it on for you, your hair wild, your makeup smudged from hours of dancing, but it didn’t matter. You were untouchable.

It was getting close to 3 AM, and the music hadn’t stopped. The drinks kept flowing, and the Duke’s yacht you somehow ended up on was finally leaving the dock. You couldn’t remember how you ended up on the boat, but you were there now, floating on a million-dollar boat with peopl you’d only seen on TV. One of the men from the night before was already making eye contact, his glass of sangria in hand.

It was hard to be shy in a setting like this. Rory, who’d never been afraid of attention, was deep in conversation with a couple of supermodels who were likely on their third or fourth drink. Claire was wrapped up in a flirtation with the duke who owned this yacht, and Arie was in her own world, laughing with a group of guys who were definitely not short on cash.

The next morning, you woke up on the yacht, the sun blazing over the Mediterranean. You stretched lazily, your body still buzzing from the night before, and found yourself face-to-face with the man from last night.

He smirked, “Care for another round?” he asked, his accent thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat providing an oddly peaceful background.

You laughed and agreed. It was all so easy, this life. This endless, carefree abandon. No rules, no family to answer to, no obligations. It was just you, your friends, and a bunch of gorgeous strangers who only saw you for the party girl you had become. And for now, that was enough.

Next, Monaco, the grandest of them all. You didn’t just go to Monaco, you ruled it. You, Ariel, Claire and Rory crashing the most exclusive gala in the world; rich industrialists, F1 drivers ,tech moguls, the faces that appeared on the front of every magazine. But to you, it was just another game to play. Every conversation was a carefully curated performance, everyone vying for your attention, for your approval.

The days blurred together. Each city more beautiful, each party more decadent than the last. Monaco was wild, filled with the world’s elite and their very bored children. The private yacht parties were nothing short of a movie set, jet skis, champagne, drugs, and the sun beating down relentlessly. The thrill of it all never left, and every night you found a new billionaire, actor, or race car driver to distract you. It wasn’t about them, not really, it was about keeping the power in your hands, it was about feeling good. Taking away the pain that came with your powers, fortunately, men were jumping into your bed.

You didn’t even have to try. One wink, one smile, and suddenly you were in a Bentley, whisked away to a private after-party in a hidden corner of Monaco’s coastline. The prince of some oil-rich kingdom was at your side, and the night was long, filled with laughter and stolen kisses under the stars. You didn’t care what his name was, where he came from, or who he was, he was just another prince who could buy you anything you wanted.

You met guy, almost as rich as Bruce, who you beat at poker, he was more than happy to throw a yacht party in your honor. The invitation was clear: “Come party with us. No rules. No limits.”

Ariel had already decided to make a game of seeing how many men she could flirt before sunset, while Rory was doing her usual thing, charming people with her wit. You, on the other hand, had become the center of attention, as if the whole event was designed around you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t involve someone trying to buy you a drink, or a private island.

As the weeks stretched on, you could barely keep track of all the cities you had visited. You spent one night in Berlin, dancing until dawn in one of the city’s most infamous clubs. The next, you were in Milan, draped in designer clothing and laughing with the most influential fashion people in the world. Every day felt like a new chapter, filled with new people, new parties, and a new sense of power.

It was intoxicating. Everyone loved you here, you were the life of every party. You had so many friends, you'd never be alone again.

There was something so exhilarating about being surrounded by people who knew your last name, who were used to rubbing elbows with people like Bruce Wayne, but didn’t realize you were his daughter.

You felt it in your bones now, the distance between you and Gotham was growing wider. The weight of the past, the guilt that had once threatened to crush you, was nothing more than a distant memory. Each city, each new face, each new party was a reminder that you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

But deep down, something shifted. Maybe it was the late-night conversations with Ariel on the balcony of a villa in Santorini, the wine flowing freely as you discussed the future, her dreams, your dreams, how you’d never go back to the way things were. Maybe it was the quiet moments alone on the edge of some private infinity pool, staring out at a horizon that seemed endless and just… empty.

You didn’t know when you started to feel it, but you knew one thing for sure: when you finally did come back to Gotham, you weren’t going to be the same person who had left.

The Final Stop, St. Tropez. You did a full circle. Your last hurrah before you returned home, or where your family assumed you were all this time. The private beach parties, the yachts that lined the harbor, the whispers of billionaires in their private jets. You danced in the sand, surrounded by flashes from cameras and jealous glares from women who had no idea who you were, but wanted to be you all the same.

A private villa awaited you, and there, amidst the most extravagant décor, you found yourself facing yet another prince, yet another man eager to claim you as his own.

You turned to find a prince—probably from denmark—standing next to you. You immediately recognized his face from magazines. He was the one who was always pictured at galas with his equally famous family. He was beautiful, dark-haired and dangerous, with a body like chiseled stone. But the only thing you could think about was how long it would take before you got bored of him, before you moved on to the next.

His thick accented voice cut through your thoughts, "Well, if it isn't the infamous party girl." He smirked eyeing you up and down.

"Oh, so you've heard of me" You said smiling. You had no idea how he knew you, all your socials were private and theres no way you had mutual friends. You froze for a second, just how far has your reputation proceeded you, did Bruce hear?

You brushed the thought away as soon as it came, Bruce didn't exist. Not tonight, your last actual night of freedom. Not when you were boarding the flight to gotham after tomorrow.

"Hard not to. You've been everywhere. Paris, London, Ibiza, Monaco, Dubai, Vegas. You're practically the princess of Europe." He grinned leaning closer.

After two months you were finally starting to feel the rush of it all catching up to you. But for now? Who cared? You were a 16-year-old filled with confidence, chaos, and fun. The world was yours, and there was no one who could stop you, least of all, your father, who were still clueless about your whereabouts and secretly obsessing over your every move. You were too busy living in the moment to care about that.

You were officially the European Party Girl, the one everyone wanted to be friends with, the one they all wanted to take selfies with.

Ariel once called you a prince magnet, she wasn't wrong. You woke up next to him the next morning, his strong arms around your waist.

When you went back to Gotham, you weren’t just going to show up. You were going to treat them like they treated you all these years, you were going to laugh in their faces, ignore them like they ignored you.

As you and Ariel spent your last night together packing, you couldn't help but smile. In these two months with her, you lived more than you had in your entire life.

When you boarded the plane back to Gotham, you were different. You were someone new, someone who had tasted freedom and wasn’t sure if she could ever go back. The Waynes had no idea what was coming for them, but you were ready. The game had shifted, and you were about to play it all the way to the end.

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[beomsrax]

HAIII MY LUV 🥹🌻

YA ALLAH APA JADI SAYANGKU

[iamaslutfor3dman]

For years, you lived a life devoid of attachment—a monk who had renounced the world and all its desires. The only things you carried were the black beads in your hands and the knowledge inherited from your family, a lineage renowned for its mastery of cursed energy. Half of what the world knew of curses came from your bloodline, and you had dedicated your life to honing this knowledge in solitude.

That solitude ended the day he came.

Ryomen Sukuna was not like any man you had encountered before. He didn’t ask for your guidance—he demanded it. His presence was overwhelming, his power monstrous, and his arrogance unshakable. At first, you refused. You told him you had nothing to teach someone so consumed by his own flame.

But he wouldn’t leave. His persistence, his threats, and his sheer will to grow stronger finally broke through your resolve. You agreed to train him, but with one condition: the day he defeated or killed you, he would leave.

From the beginning, it was clear Sukuna possessed a cursed energy far greater than yours, yet he couldn’t touch you. Each time he thought he had you cornered, you shattered his confidence with precision and ease, as though the universe itself bent to your will. No one had ever challenged him like this—physically, mentally, or emotionally.

And that is what intrigued him most.

Sukuna would never admit it, the earth will crack before he admits it, but he had fallen in love. Not with your strength alone, though it drew him like a moth to a flame, but with everything you were. The way you walked with a serenity that seemed to transcend this world. The way you spoke, as if you held the answers to questions no one dared to ask. You were untouchable, your body grounded yet your mind and soul adrift in a divine calm he could never hope to reach.

Power was his birthright. Domination was his goal. But what you possessed—a peace so unshakable it felt otherworldly—was something even he could never dream of attaining.

One day, after defeating him yet again, you asked him a strange question.

“Is the sky immortal?”

His response was as explosive as ever. “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW, WOMAN?”

You smiled faintly, as if his anger amused you. “You should know. Don’t you want to be like the sky?”

He sneered. “No. I don’t want to be like anyone. I want to be me. I want to be Sukuna.”

You laughed softly, but from that day forward, Sukuna glanced at the sky more often.

Under your guidance, Sukuna grew stronger every day. His cursed energy became darker, hotter, more volatile. The rumors began—the whispers of a monster, a demon who could bend the world to his will. People began to call him the Disgraced One. But even as his power grew, his feelings for you became impossible for him to ignore.

One night, he stormed into your chamber while you were deep in prayer.

“Listen to me, woman,” he growled.

You didn’t look up, your fingers still counting your beads. “What is it now, my master?” you asked, your tone laced with sarcasm.

“I don’t want any other man to come here again.”

You raised an eyebrow but continued your prayer. “And why is that?”

He stepped closer, his towering frame making the small room feel suffocating. His crimson eyes burned into you. “Because I demand it. No filthy man shall look upon you. I won’t allow it.”

His audacity amused you. “Why won’t you allow it?”

He leaned down, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Because you will be my wife one day. No one else is worthy of you but me. No one.”

He turned to leave but paused at the door, his back to you.

“Whether you like it or not, even if you’re kicking and screaming, I will marry you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he stormed off.

For six years, he stayed with you. Then, in the seventh year, everything changed.

You fell ill. A blood curse, passed down through your family, one that no amount of knowledge or power could cure. It was an irony you had long accepted: your family, who had unraveled so many mysteries of cursed energy, could not escape their own fate. None of your relatives had lived past the age of 27—except those who married into the family.

You tried to keep your illness a secret, knowing how Sukuna would react. If he thought you weak, he might abandon his training. Or worse, he might lose himself entirely.

But Sukuna was no fool. He noticed the way your strength waned, the way your breaths grew heavier. One night, he confronted you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, his voice trembling with rage.

You remained calm, even as your body betrayed you. “Because it doesn’t matter. I am still your master. You are still my student. And until you defeat me, you are not free.”

His fists clenched, his cursed energy crackling in the air. For the first time, he looked powerless.

“You’re not dying,” he said through gritted teeth. “I won’t let you.”

But there was nothing he could do. You died shortly after, succumbing to the curse that had claimed everyone in your family.

Sukuna stayed with your body for a full year, refusing to leave the place where you had trained him, where you had lived, and where you had died. He spoke to no one, his rage and grief festering within him.

When he finally left, he was no longer the man you had trained. He was something else entirely—a god of destruction, a demon who would carve his name into the world.

But even as he scorched the earth beneath his feet, he often found himself looking up at the sky, remembering the woman who had once asked him if it was immortal.

<><><><><>

i have not made y'all cry in a bit. had to go back to my roots

[beomsrax]

happy new year, sweets. may this year bring you even a small piece of happiness in every moments 🌻

may Allah prolongs our life so we can experince this year's ramadhan, too 🤍🌻

HIIII OMG ADA I NAK JAWAB ASK YOU YG LAIN TAPI TUMBLR DELETE GGRRRRRRRRR

happy new year to you sayang! tak percaya kelip" dh 2025😭😭😭

I'm decided to start my degree on mass communication and the people here are so fun and kind!! (Well mostly u haven't encounter those rude people yet)

My cats are 8 months old now too,and they have a very big fat tummies

Hope you're doing fine in uni! Muah"

[disgustinggf]

[beomsrax]

salam. baru week 6 tapi dah tak tahan dengan groupmates sendiri 🥰

FAHAAAMMMMMMM,but kalau buat projek and berterusan buang je nama diorang(I did that and got new group mates yippieee)

[beomsrax]

baeeee I'm alr in segamat now 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻

HI BABYYYYY whatchu doing in Segamat bae

Don't mind his balls, he's chilling before I take him to the vet today

[izz030izumiin]

I GOT INTO COLLEGE BABYYYYY.

if you saw a trend about uitm segamat early this month, no you don't.

[beomsrax]

OMGGGGGGG literally was wondering each time I'm on Tumblr that are you still in Segamat???? Sekali kolej kat situ omg baybeh💃💃💃

Belang said hi :)

[izz030izumiin]

TELL BELANG I SAID "HAIIIIII" please kith and boop his nose for me 👉🏻👈🏻

[beomsrax]

Come to think of it when I first thought nak buat degree baru I wanna buat at setapak tapi still trauma ngan uni confession (nama pernah kene petik at my first degree era)

[beomsrax]

baeeee I'm alr in segamat now 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻

HI BABYYYYY whatchu doing in Segamat bae

Don't mind his balls, he's chilling before I take him to the vet today

[izz030izumiin]

I GOT INTO COLLEGE BABYYYYY.

if you saw a trend about uitm segamat early this month, no you don't.

[beomsrax]

OMGGGGGGG literally was wondering each time I'm on Tumblr that are you still in Segamat???? Sekali kolej kat situ omg baybeh💃💃💃

Belang said hi :)

[beomsrax]

awat tak boleh send gambar kat siniii

What u mean kennot send gambar

Bangun" dh mintak main Thomas🤚🤚