#What is Full Stack Development

[kellton]

What is Full Stack Development? Learn about this versatile web development approach, its components, and how it influences modern tech. Get insights and clarity now.

[ethanparker9692]

"Top Full Stack Developer Skills to Master in 2025  for Career Success"

"In 2025, being a Full Stack Developer isn’t just about coding—it’s about mastering a diverse skill set that sets you apart in a competitive job market. Unlock the essential skills needed for Full Stack Developer success today!"

The world of software development is rapidly evolving, and Full Stack Developers are more in demand than ever. To stand out and advance in your career, you need to have the right blend of Full Stack Developer skills that are essential for tackling modern challenges. But what exactly are the skills required for Full Stack Developer roles in 2025? Let’s break it down.

1. Proficiency in Frontend Development

As a Full Stack Developer, you need to be comfortable working on the user-facing side of applications. Mastering HTML, CSS, and JavaScript is foundational, but knowing advanced JavaScript frameworks like React, Angular, or Vue.js will give you an edge. Understanding what skills are needed for Full Stack Developer roles today means staying current with responsive design, web accessibility, and dynamic user experiences.

2. Backend Development Expertise

Beyond the frontend, technical skills required for Full Stack Developer also include proficiency in backend languages such as Node.js, Python, Ruby, and PHP. Additionally, you should have strong knowledge of server management, databases (SQL and NoSQL), and APIs, including RESTful services and GraphQL.

3. Version Control and Collaboration Tools

Git is the industry standard for version control, so familiarity with GitHub or GitLab is non-negotiable. Collaboration tools like Jira and Slack are essential in today’s agile environment, helping Full Stack Developers stay connected with team members and manage projects efficiently.

4. Cloud Computing and DevOps Skills

With cloud platforms such as AWS, Google Cloud, and Azure, cloud computing has become a critical skill. Full Stack Developers in 2025 must know how to deploy and manage applications in cloud environments. Familiarity with DevOps practices and CI/CD pipelines will also enhance your ability to deliver applications faster and more efficiently.

5. Problem-Solving and Soft Skills

Technical skills are important, but problem-solving, communication, and teamwork are just as critical. Employers are looking for developers who can collaborate effectively and think on their feet to solve complex issues.

Invest in Your Future

By mastering these Full Stack Developer skills, you position yourself for career growth, higher salaries, and exciting opportunities. Don’t wait to level up your skills for 2025—start learning today and pave the way for your success as a top-tier Full Stack Developer!

For information visit: https://www.gsdcouncil.org/blogs/full-stack-developer-skills

Contact : +41444851189

[krstseo]

The Best Career Options After Computer Science Engineering

https://krct.ac.in/blog/2024/06/04/the-best-career-options-after-computer-science-engineering/

As a graduate with a degree in Computer Science Engineering, you are stepping into a world brimming with opportunities. The rapid evolution of technology and the expanding digital landscape means that your skills are in high demand across various industries. Whether you are passionate about software development, artificial intelligence, cybersecurity, there is a career suitable to your interests and strengths. In this blog, let us explore some of the best career options after Computer Science Engineering degree.

Best Career Options After Computer Science Engineering

Software Developer/Engineer

Software developers are the architects of the digital world, creating applications that run on computers, smartphones, and other devices. As a software developer, you will be involved in writing code, testing applications, and debugging programs.

KRCT’s robust curriculum ensures you have a strong foundation in programming languages like Java, C++, and Python, making you a prime candidate for this role. You will be tasked with developing and maintaining software applications, collaborating with other developers and engineers; and ensuring that codebases are clean and efficient.

The role requires proficiency in multiple programming languages, a keen problem-solving ability, and meticulous attention to detail.

Data Scientist

Data science is one of the fastest-growing fields, combining statistical analysis, machine learning, and domain knowledge to extract insights from data. KRCT provides the analytical prowess and technical skills needed to thrive in this field.

As a data scientist, you will work with large datasets to reveal trends, build predictive models, and aid decision-making processes. Also, your responsibilities will include collecting and analysing data, constructing machine learning models, and effectively communicating your findings to stakeholders. This career path requires strong statistical and analytical skills, proficiency in tools such as R, Python, and SQL, and the ability to clearly convey complex concepts.

Cybersecurity Analyst

With the increasing number of cyber threats, the demand for cybersecurity analysts is higher than ever. As a cybersecurity analyst, you will monitor networks for suspicious activity, investigate security breaches, and implement necessary security measures to prevent future incidents. Further, this role demands a thorough understanding of security protocols and tools, sharp analytical thinking, and a high level of attention to detail.

Artificial Intelligence/Machine Learning Engineer

Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning are the currently trending and revolutionizing industries, where we can witness significant milestone from healthcare to finance. KRCT’s focus on cutting-edge technologies ensures you have the skills to build and deploy AI/ML models. As an AI/ML engineer, you will work on creating intelligent systems that can learn and adapt over time.

So, your responsibilities will include developing machine learning models, implementing AI solutions, and collaborating with data scientists and software engineers to innovate and enhance technological capabilities. A strong grasp of algorithms and data structures, coupled with programming skills, is essential for this role.

Full-Stack Developer

Full-stack developers are versatile professionals who work on both the front-end and back-end of web applications. Moreover, KRCT equips you with the knowledge of various web technologies, databases, and server management, enabling you to build comprehensive web solutions.

As a full-stack developer, you will design user-friendly interfaces, develop server-side logic, and ensure the smooth operation of web applications. Additionally, this role requires proficiency in multiple programming languages, an understanding of web development frameworks, and the ability to manage databases.

Cloud Solutions Architect

Cloud computing is transforming how businesses operate, and cloud solutions architects are at the forefront of this transformation. KRCT’s curriculum includes cloud computing technologies, preparing you to design and implement scalable, secure, and efficient cloud solutions.

Also, as a cloud solutions architect, you will develop cloud strategies, manage cloud infrastructure, and ensure data security. Furthermore, this role requires in-depth knowledge of cloud platforms like AWS, Azure, or Google Cloud, along with skills in network management and data security.

DevOps Engineer

DevOps engineers bridge the gap between software development and IT operations, ensuring continuous delivery and integration. KRCT provides a strong foundation in software development, system administration, and automation tools, making you well-suited for this role.

As a DevOps engineer, you will automate processes, manage CI/CD pipelines, and monitor system performance. This role demands proficiency in scripting languages, an understanding of automation tools, and strong problem-solving skills.

Why KRCT?

KRCT stands out as a premier institution for all of its Engineering courses due to its rigorous academic programs, state-of-the-art facilities, and strong industry connections. Our college emphasizes practical learning, ensuring that students are well-versed in current technologies and methodologies. Also, we have the best and experienced faculties in their respective fields.

KRCT’s placement cell has a remarkable track record of securing positions for graduates in top-tier companies. Regular workshops, seminars, and internships are integrated into the curriculum, providing students with valuable industry exposure. Additionally, the college’s focus on research and development encourages students to engage in cutting-edge projects, preparing them for advanced career paths or higher education.

KRCT’s commitment to excellence is reflected in its alumni, who are making significant contributions in various sectors worldwide. The supportive community and extensive network of alumni also provide ongoing mentorship and career guidance to current students.

To Conclude

Graduating from KRCT opens up numerous career options after computer science engineering degree in the technology sector. Whether you choose to become a software developer, data scientist, cybersecurity analyst, AI/ML engineer, full-stack developer, cloud solutions architect, or DevOps engineer, the knowledge and skills you develop during your engineering degree will pave the way for a bright future. Thus, embrace the opportunities, continue learning, and let your passion for technology guide you towards your ideal career path.

Tags:

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[liveblack]

[digitalsvibes]

What is coding for kids

[reiding-writing]

Heyy!! i was wondering if you could perchance do a drabble with dad!spencer and mom!bau!reader where they've gotten into the rhythm of calling each other mommy and daddy in front of the kids and one of them accidentally slips up and does it work without realising. And then the team is like "hold on 🤨" (probably morgan) and they have to defend themselves. Just something i've been thinking about and i don't have the artistic ability to right it myself but you do! Thank youuuu! xxx

SLIP UP. /spencer reid/

your at-home naming habits find their way into the office.

bau!mom!reader 1.1k fluff masterlist.

a/n | this is so funny i love it.

The bullpen hums with its usual energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, conversations weaving through the space.

It’s late, and exhaustion weighs on everyone like a heavy fog. Cases have been stacking up, the paperwork never-ending, and you’re all running on caffeine and whatever sugar-laden snack Garcia has left in the breakroom.

You and Spencer, despite being used to sleepless nights—courtesy of two small children at home—are still feeling the burn.

Parenting while profiling is a delicate balance, and some days, it feels like you barely hold it together. But you've found ways to cope, to slip into a rhythm that works.

Spencer leans over his desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he scans a report. His hair is slightly disheveled—likely from running his hands through it—and his tie is loosened, his sleeves rolled up. He looks exactly how you feel, drained.

You, seated across from him, are going through another file when you sigh and reach for the next document. “Pass Mommy the file, please,”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the bullpen stills. For a brief second, no one reacts. Not even Spencer, who doesn’t hesitate to slide the file over to you, his tired brain not even registering what just happened.

But then—

“Hold on, what?”

Your head snaps up so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Across the table, Morgan is staring at you with wide eyes, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. JJ’s eyebrows are raised nearly to her hairline, and even Rossi has paused his paperwork, looking mildly amused.

Hotch looks like he’s trying very hard not to react.

You glance at Spencer, who is blinking rapidly, his brain trying to catch up with what just happened.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh my God.” Your stomach drops. Heat rushes to your face. “I didn’t mean—”

Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table, his smirk growing. “Did you just refer to yourself as Mommy?”

Spencer makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “It’s— It’s not—”

“Because I swear I just heard that,” Morgan continues, clearly enjoying himself.

JJ covers her mouth, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “It’s not what you think,”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly what I think.” Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Reid, you calling her Mommy at home?”

Spencer makes another choked noise, shaking his head furiously. “No! I mean— yes, but not like that!”

JJ snorts, and even Hotch finally cracks, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s debating whether or not to intervene.

You lift your head, groaning again. “We have two kids under four. There’s a lot of third-person referencing, okay?”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, amused.

Spencer, still red-faced, starts rambling. “It’s a psychological phenomenon, actually. When individuals—particularly parents—are frequently addressed in a particular way, their brains develop an associative response, reinforcing the use of the terms even in situations outside the expected context. It’s entirely innocent. Just an unconscious linguistic habit.”

Morgan whistles low. “Damn, Pretty Boy. You really just tried to profile your way out of calling your wife ‘Mommy’ in front of us,”

Spencer groans, burying his face in his hands.

Your face feels impossibly warm. “We’re tired, Morgan. We haven’t had a full night’s sleep in—” You glance at Spencer. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, three months, and sixteen days,” he answers automatically.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn,”

Emily places a hand over her heart. “That’s actually kind of adorable,”

Garcia practically vibrates with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I need to hear more,”

“There’s nothing more to hear,” Spencer says, shaking his head quickly. “It’s just a habit. Strictly innocent,”

“Oh, we believe you,” Rossi says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to let it go,”

“Not a chance,” Morgan agrees.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “This is never going away, is it?”

“Nope,” JJ says cheerfully.

Spencer sighs, rubbing his temples. “Great.”

And just like that, the teasing begins.

For the rest of the day—and likely for weeks to come—you hear variations of:

“Daddy, can you pass me that report?” from Emily.

“I don’t know, Mommy, what do you think?” from Morgan.

Garcia, of course, takes it the farthest, occasionally referring to you both as “Mommy and Daddy dearest,” complete with exaggerated winks.

By the time you make it home that evening, you collapse onto the couch with a groan, Spencer falling beside you.

“I’m never going to live this down,” you mumble.

“At least they think it’s funny,” Spencer says, leaning his head back against the cushions.

You sigh. “This is your fault,”

He turns his head to look at you, eyebrows raised. “My fault?”

“You didn’t even hesitate when I said it. You just handed me the file like it was totally normal,”

His lips twitch. “To be fair, it is normal,”

You nudge him with your foot. “Not at work, it isn’t,”

He chuckles, then tilts his head, considering. “Maybe if we just… pretend it never happened, they’ll drop it,”

You snort. “You really think that’s going to work?”

“…No,”

“Exactly.” You groan again, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Spencer smiles softly, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “At least we’re in it together, Mommy,”

You open your eyes just to glare at him. “You better not start doing that on purpose,”

He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a grin.

“Spencer,” you warn.

His grin widens. “Yes, Mommy?”

You grab a throw pillow and smack him with it, and his laughter fills the room, warm and familiar.

Exhausted as you both are, you wouldn’t trade this—your life, your family, the teasing from your team—for anything in the world.

[anushkarathi26]

What is A Full Stack Developer - The Only Guide You'll Need

What do you do if you get interested in a business or product or brand? Either you search for their social media presence or a website. With the increased use of technology, people tend to search for websites to get more knowledge or information about a brand. And that's why it is important to have a basic yet interesting website for every scale of business. But, have you ever wondered what goes behind creating the perfect website that you as a customer visit?

Professionals who are responsible for developing a complete website are called full-stack web developers. And, if you're curious to know about what is a full stack developer, what a full stack developer does, or even how to become a full stack developer, you're at the right place.

Gear up, this is the only guide you'll need to read to get complete information on What is full-stack web development. Let's dive into the guide, starting with the basics.

Read more: https://fingertips.co.in/blog/what-is-a-full-stack-developer-the-only-guide-youll-need

[shaker917516]

A full stack developer is a versatile tech professional proficient in both front-end and back-end web development. They possess a holistic skill set, capable of creating entire web applications from concept to implementation. A full stack developer bridges the gap between user interfaces and server-side functionalities, crafting cohesive and dynamic digital experiences.

[deminetly]

˖˙ EXTRAS TO SCRIPT INTO YOUR WAITING ROOM ᰋ

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

⋆you recieve a package with a cool trinket every day

⋆you can talk to the moon

⋆unlimited stack of your favourite snacks

⋆your pet

⋆a website where you can generate any movie/show/game by entering a prompt

⋆you have a roommate that helps you script

⋆youre really creative

⋆a zen pool/koi pond

⋆constant (relaxing) backround music

⋆your pillow is always cold

⋆a TV where you can watch edits of your dr self/fun moments you experienced in your drs

⋆your room always smells like your favourite scent(s)

⋆snow globes of your drs

⋆a really big dollhouse with talking calico critters in it

⋆a bird that sings songs you forgot you liked

⋆doors that each lead to a different activity (endless library, no gravity room, room where paintings can talk)

⋆clouds you can rest on

⋆there are always bubbles flying around so you can pop them

⋆your favourite character is your roommate/neighbour

⋆you have a fairy that grants your wishes and listens to you yap with you at all times

⋆notebook + a pen, whatever you write down, happens/spawns in

⋆a big bath

⋆3d cinema

⋆there are 4 doors, each bringing you to a different season so you can enjoy running through snow one minute, and picking flowers the next

⋆a talking crow

⋆a journal that writes back (gives advice, feedback, etc)

⋆a secret room

⋆a dreamcatcher that takes away all of your doubts and negative thoughts and gives you interesting dreams every night

⋆a website with all of your clothes from different drs so you can currate outfits

⋆a button that lets you change the colour of the sunlight

⋆a box with riddles/puzzles arrives at your door every day

⋆a remote that lets you control the weather

⋆a fashion design journal and whenever you draw any clothing item in it, it appears into any dr of your choice

⋆a rage room

⋆its always blue/golden hour

⋆the ability to have people from your drs visit you/video call you

⋆magical pets

⋆an assistant

⋆infinite amount of puzzles, legos and boardgames

⋆chocolate fountain with strawberriws

⋆books full of fanfics of your favourite characters

⋆your cr pet but they can talk

⋆your dr room/house

⋆a book of ideas for scripting (things to script + guides to scripting different drs + questions for developing drs, etc)

⋆the waiting room is a penthouse with each floor having a different s/o or dr

mirror where you can see every single one of your dr selves and change your appearance 

book that tells you what everyone in your dr thinks of you in specific detail 

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[theegoldenchild]

Chapter Three: Unholy Repentance

Warnings: Yes, warnings are needed for this chapter. 18+ | Religious Abuse | Blood | Wound cleaning You ever nut from getting your kneecap touched?

Two days passed since the incident on the porch and the sky turned the color of bruised peaches, low and wide above the trees. The land lay heavy with waiting. No wind, no birds, just the faint whisper of preparation. Somewhere beyond the wilted grass and barbed wire, men were praying to a God that skipped town for the night.

The Klan was coming tonight. And the SmokeStack Twins army was ready.

The simple barn on the north field had become a fortress, the fields laced with traps and the chapel ringed with iron and gunpowder. Men with devoted loyalty to the twins paced along the property lines with revolvers at their hips and rifles slung over their shoulders. Stack moved like a serpent through the ranks, flashing his gold tooth as he barked orders. Smoke worked quieter as he inspected every bolt, every nail, and every rifle in sight. His silence meant perfection and he would ensure no mistakes were made because perfection wasn’t a choice tonight. It was a demand.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind drifted throughout the day... Back to that prison he wanted to burn down and back to that redheaded angel he wanted to save. He hadn’t stepped foot near it since dinner two nights ago, and not seeing Sera was silently driving him half mad. Something was wrong and he could feel it like a fever under his skin. An ache started to develop behind his teeth and it wasn’t from nerves, it was because he’s been trying to keep himself from killing that false prophet. And because the last time he saw her, she was shaking in that white dress trying to plead her case like she expected to be slapped for it.

Pastor Samuel slammed the door behind her that night like she was some plague to be locked away. Called her spoiled fruit and said she needed to be cleaned and purged of her sins. Smoke barely ate that night and couldn’t think straight. He had been picturing that demon's throat beneath his boots ever since the words left his mouth.

After ensuring everything was secure out on the field, Smoke decided to check the house. The porch groaned beneath him as he stepped up onto it like it was warning him to turn back. He hadn’t told Stack where he was going, and he didn’t plan on explaining.

The screen door creaked open like it knew better than to fight him and the second he crossed the threshold the air felt different. No smell of greens or fresh apple pie. No low hum floating from the kitchen. Just dust, old wood and silence that told on itself. Two days ago this place had life but now it was sterile with no sign of her.

Smoke moved through the downstairs layout with slow and deliberate steps. The only sound that filled the air was the ticking of a grandfather clock like it was trying to tell him a secret message he couldn’t decode. The tension in his jaw spread to his fists because he wasn’t stupid and he knew what this kind of silence meant. You don’t lock away a girl like that unless you plan to break her mind, body, and soul.

His hand hovered near the pistol under his coat. He didn’t come into this house to start anything, but he would make damn sure he’d be the one to finish it without thinking twice. He passed Pastor Samuel's study, the kitchen, the parlor, and every room turned out to be the same… Empty. His jaw ticked again as Sera’s absence began to speak louder to him than a room full of drunk men on a Saturday night playing poker.

If she was bruised, if she was touched, if that preacher laid one finger on her in the name of God— Smoke’s patience was unraveling and his mind was constantly racing with images of Sera. Not because of her beauty and innocence but because she didn’t know she was drowning in a house built to keep her breathless. And he’d willingly dive to the bottom of the abyss to sacrifice his own life if it meant saving hers.

After ensuring everything was safe downstairs he made his way up to the second floor and moved down the hall, quiet as fog. But then his motions stilled when he heard a creak, then a faint shuffle and finally the splashing of water. He stopped near the bathroom door that was barely cracked open. And through the thin sliver of light, he saw her. Seraphim… His Seraphim.

With her back facing the cracked door, Smoke saw how her freckled chestnut skin glistened from the bathwater as she clutched a too-small towel tight to her damp chest and grabbed a small jar of ointment before lathering it on her face. Her long ginger hair was heavy with water, curls sticking to her skin and clinging to her neck. She moved with the slow and unsteady grace of someone running on nothing but willpower and she also looked like she hadn’t slept in days. There were bruised half-moons under her eyes. The delicate brown skin was swollen and raw from crying or praying… or both. Her lips were chapped and her arms were trembling just from holding the towel. And then Smoke’s gaze dropped to her knees… Red. Blistered. Bloodied.

The skin was torn and pink from where she’d been forced to kneel for two days straight. Her father had locked her in her bedroom with nothing but a jug of water, her Bible, and strict instruction to purify her spirit. He’d made her read until her throat cracked and he made her write until her fingers cramped. She’d disobeyed him just now sneaking into the bathroom for a wash when she should’ve been on her knees still repenting. She assumed no one was home but she didn’t know that Smoke stood like a phantom protector in the hall silently watching her.

She didn't hear him breathe. And she didn't feel the air shift as he stepped forward slightly, drawn by the tragedy and resilience dripping off her body like the water she just cleansed herself with. But when she finally opened the bathroom door their eyes met and she gasped with surprise. Her chest rose and fell while she clutched her towel tighter and shyly looked away. “Mr. Smoke,” she whispered, voice like a breath across broken glass. “I… I didn’t know anyone was home.. I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop. I was checkin’ the house,” he said quietly, voice low and deep enough to ground the storm brewing in her. “Didn’t know you were up.”

Sera felt anchored in her spot and her cheeks started to burn. Her lips parted like she might speak, but no sound came. Just a soft exhale.

Instead she lowered her eyes to the floor and Smoke noticed her trembling fingers. It was like she was more frightened with the idea of him telling her father she stopped her punishment opposed to being practically naked in front of a man she just met. “My daddy said I needed more than a bath…” she whispered with her voice shaking. “Said I needed to cleanse my soul.”

Sera let out a hollow laugh that sounded like something fragile barely holding shape. “But I couldn’t take the stink anymore,” she admitted as her shame came rushing out faster than she could catch it. “My knees hurt. I… I just needed a minute…” At that her legs wobbled slightly and she reached instinctively for the wall next to her, causing her towel to slip just a little on one side.

Smoke moved before he realized he was putting one foot forward and his hand twitched like it meant to catch her. But he didn’t touch her. He stopped just shy of her bare shoulder. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him in waves and close enough that her breath caught in her throat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice softer now, but still deep enough to settle into her spine.

She lied and nodded too fast, then winced. Her body jolted slightly as she tugged the towel back into place, her arms tightening across her chest, face turning redder by the second. “I will be,” she said quietly. “Just need rest. And maybe… maybe somethin’ cold for my knees.”

Smoke didn’t speak right away. He just stared intensely with his eyes pinned to her face, not her body. Not the flushed skin of her collarbone, or the droplets sliding down her thighs, or the chocolate pebbles where the towel hugged her too tight.

His want for her burned hot in his soul, curling low and slow like a fuse that refused to die out. But it wasn’t lust that made his jaw clench… it was pain. Her pain. Because behind the heat he saw the bruises, the cracks, and the places where her spirit had been pressed thin by a man who was supposed to protect her.

Smoke swallowed hard as images from his past flickered sharp in his mind. Flashbacks of his own father’s shadow towering over Stack with his fist clenched and mouth foaming with scripture. Same shit, just a different Devil. He exhaled through his nose and steadied himself, grounding the fury before it reached the surface. “You did what you needed,” he said finally, tone gentle but firm. “Ain’t no sin in wantin’ to feel clean.”

Sera blinked, shook by the kindness in his voice. She looked up, eyes catching his for the first time since she opened the bathroom door and her breath hitched. There was something in his gaze she couldn’t pinpoint. Something that was hotter and caused her to drop her eyes again as her skin prickled with excitement.

“I didn’t mean for you to see me like this…” she said, her voice barely more than a low breath. “I thought… I thought no one was home.”

Sera’s legs buckled beneath her as her posture faltered despite how desperately she clung to her dignity with that towel. She was a woman full-grown, twenty-five and already hollowed out from years of obedience. Not to God, but to a man who wore his name like armor.

And still, she said nothing cruel. She didn’t curse, didn’t complain, didn’t cry out about what had been done to her. She just… endured it. That kind of quiet killed something in Smoke. Her innocence wasn’t just naivety, it was punishment. A sentence she didn’t even know she was serving. A life measured in silence and sermons, in her father’s idea of godliness, not her own.

“I won’t tell your daddy,” Smoke murmured, voice husky and steady. “Ain’t nobody’s business but yours.”

Sera looked up, startled again by his gentleness. Her big mesmerizing honey-warm eyes that always seemed to plead for mercy she never physically asked for stared at Smoke's impassive expression. And he couldn’t help but to hold her gaze for too long. Long enough for something unsaid to pass between them.

He took another slow step forward, close enough that she had to tilt her chin just a bit to keep eye contact.“You ain’t gonna make it down that hall,” he said gently. “Not on them knees.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but her legs wobbled once more and betrayed her before she could find the words.

Smoke held up his hand to stop any excuse she had ready to spit out. “Let me help. I’ll carry you.”

Her eyes went wide and she nervously stammered glancing down at the thin towel wrapped around her. “I can’t… I mean, I’m not… I ain’t dressed proper, Mr. Smoke! And… and a man ain’t supposed to stare at a woman, let alone touch her if they aren’t married...”

Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smokeee… If anyone else called Smoke “Mr. Smoke” he wouldn’t think twice about it. But the way Sera said his name all breathy and flustered, stirred something primal in him and he finally understood what Stack was blabbering about the last two days.

Hearing his name in her mouth felt like a match against his skin. And he began to wonder what it would sound like if she said his real name… the one he keeps close to his heart. But instead he smothered the feeling down and buried it beneath something colder. Right now, this wasn’t about his desires. “I ain’t lookin’ at you that way,” he said, quiet and firm. “Ain’t gonna touch what ain’t offered.”

She hesitated and let his words play in her mind as she tried to figure out how long she would have to repent after this. Then slowly—too slowly—she nodded.

Careful to not startle her, Smoke slipped his calloused hands beneath her tender knees and shoulders and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her body tensed instantly but he didn’t take any offense to it.

Smoke was a man that had been to hell and back. A man that had seen the highest highs of the world and the lowest lows of the world… but he never thought not looking down at the broken angel in his arms would be one of the hardest missions he’d ever have to endure. He didn’t let himself think about how soft she felt in his arms. Didn’t let his breath stick in his throat when her damp hair brushed against his jaw. And he definitely didn’t let himself imagine what her skin might taste like beneath that towel.

He just carried her down the hall like he was hauling something sacred. But when he nudged open the door to her bedroom with the toe of his boot his stomach turned.

The walls were stripped clean with no photos or warmth. Just a thin lumpy mattress on the floor and a single oil lamp in the corner that barely lit the room. And of course her Bible sat open right next to it. This was like a prison cell dressed up in false holiness. Smoke kept his face neutral, but it took everything he had not to spit on the floor and curse that bastard preacher by name. Instead he set her down carefully at the edge of her mattress, making sure she was comfortable before giving her some much needed space.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her once angelic voice had shame laced through every syllable. She reached for a nightgown lying near the mattress and clutched it to her chest before fumbling to pull it over her head. The towel that was being held together by a prayer finally dropped away in the process, and for one small fumbling moment Smoke saw more of her than any man had ever been allowed.

He didn’t move and made sure he didn’t blink as he let the image of her burn into his memory. Her nightgown fell soft over her shoulders and clung tight to her still-damp skin. Its material became thin as gauze in some places and turned damn near translucent in the lamplight. The now sheer material clung across her stomach, thighs, and the delicate curve of her hips. Smoke’s throat tightened and a reflexive growl tried to crawl up before he crushed it down with a clenched jaw. If he didn’t get out of this house soon he knew he would crack a molar.

Sera sat on the edge of her mattress with her legs clamped tightly shut and her arms folded tight across her chest as though she could shield herself from God’s watchful eye. With her mahogany freckled face red as hot coals, she kept her eyes focused on the floor. “I didn’t mean to tempt you,” she mumbled. The words fell out like they hurt. “I didn’t mean to—”

Smoke cut her off with a breath. He wouldn’t allow her to wallow in her ignominy like any of this was her fault. “That ain’t on you.”

She looked up with a puzzled expression.

“You ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong,” he said with his voice as rough as a warning shot. “You took a bath. That’s it. Man’s got no business bein’ tempted by that.”

“But…”

“But nothing.”

Something tight and ugly that could no longer be contained started to bubble over in his chest. Anger. But not at her. He could never be mad at her. She could curse him to the high heavens and he would still figure out how to give her the world. “You did nothin’ wrong,” he said sharply, with more growl than whisper. He took a cautious step forward before catching himself and his hands formed into fists at his sides as he thought about Samuel.

Sera flinched, just barely. And that told him another ugly unspoken truth.

Now wasn’t the time to lecture Sera about her father. Instead Smoke took a deep breath and tried to soften his voice again as he closed the distance between the two of them and kneeled near her without touching. “I can help with your knees,” he said. “Properly. If you’ll let me.”

She looked down at them and frowned. Even though she tried to clean them during her bath they were still raw, red, and seeping in some places.

Smoke watched the hesitation in Sera’s eyes. The way she wavered between fear and trust, shame and want. “I’m just cleanin’ ‘em, Sera,” he added. “Nothin’ else.”

Sera nodded slowly, letting her legs stretch toward him. Her thighs pressed together modestly, and she kept the hem of her nightgown tugged low over them even though the wetness made it cling to every contour of her body anyway.

Initially Smoke didn’t let his eyes wander and he didn’t want to let himself indulge. Keeping a stoic expression he reached into his coat and pulled out a clean cloth he always kept tucked inside, and a small silver flask full of his favorite liquor. The whiskey inside would sting, but it would clean her wounds until he could get her proper care.

“This’ll hurt,” he warned.

Without saying anything else Smoke dipped the cloth in whiskey with his fingers coiled tightly around the flask. He steadied her knee with one hand and the second his skin made contact with hers, she twitched like she’d been shocked. Her breath hitched high and delicate and she let out a sound that wasn’t quite a gasp or a moan. It was something in between and made him stop for a second.

Don’t react. Don’t you dare react, nigga.

“This shouldn’t take long. Grab onto my shoulders if it hurts too much,” he commanded gently, causing goosebumps to appear on her skin.

Sera nodded and closely watched his every movement before unintentionally shifting and pulling her legs apart just enough for Smoke to be reminded that there was nothing underneath her nightgown. He shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have seen, but it was right there in his face. That soft, aching swell between her thighs pulsing and winking at him in a language he’s fluent in… oh so very fluent... He quickly looked away and grinded his teeth so hard he could’ve sworn he popped a blood vessel.

Sera's fingers hesitantly reached out to rest on Smoke’s shoulder when the alcohol dripping cloth touched her torn knee and she whimpered. “Ah—it stings,” she breathed, voice breaking, and then, without meaning to… “M-M-Mr. Smoke…”

She said it like a confession. Like a prayer. Like his name alone was something dangerous curled on her tongue. And his blood turned molten.

He wasn’t a praying man but he started reciting scriptures in his mind over and over again to calm his growing lust. His eyes to stay on her wound, ignoring the high flush painting her exposed neck, the heave of her plump chest, and the way her thick thighs flexed as her muscles tried to keep still. Every movement of hers made the gown ride higher, and every breath she took drew it tighter to her skin.

“I know it stings… my love,” he muttered, voice thick and gravel-rough as his thumb steadied the curve of her knee. “I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”

It had been years since Smoke addressed a woman like that and the words slipped out like it was second nature to address Sera that way. The moment he said them, he regretted it. He froze and inhaled a sharp breath then kept silently working and dabbing the cloth gently over the raw and torn skin as though nothing had happened. But Sera heard it and the nickname wrapped around her like a warm hug. Unfamiliar yet alluring as if a switch was turned on inside her brain. She whimpered again but this time quieter and more uncertain.

Smoke kept his gaze down and pretended not to notice the way her shoulders tensed or the way she bit down on her bottom lip like she was trying to calm whatever storm just bloomed inside her.

Her skin flushed a deeper hue, making her chocolate skin look deliciously sun kissed under the low light. “Mr. Smoke…” she whispered. Her voice was timid but clear. “You called me somethin’ just now.”

He didn’t answer.

Sera shifted slightly, the nightgown sliding across her thighs, the wet fabric clinging to her in places it had no business clinging. Smoke focused on the edge of the wound and not on the way her legs moved. Not on the softness of her inner thighs. Not on the curve of her ankle hooked ever so slightly toward him.

“You… called me… my love,” she continued gently. “Why’d you say that?”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Just a slip,” he muttered, voice clipped and rougher now. “Don’t think on it.”

Sera’s mouth opened slightly, like she might press the matter again but instead she let the moment pass. Her lashes dipped low and she gave a small nod of understanding.

She was raised not to question men… especially men like Smoke who spoke as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The kind of weight her daddy respected. The kind of weight that broke bones or bore secrets. So she folded the curiosity up inside herself, tucked it away like she’d done with all her other questions. The ones about God. About sin. About why life’s enjoyments always came wrapped in warning.

Smoke didn’t look at her again. He poured a final bit of whiskey onto the cloth, the scent curling in the warm air between them. His hand moved quicker now, more business than tenderness even though the care didn’t leave him… Just the softness. He no longer lingered where her skin trembled under his fingers and no longer paused at the sounds she made.

He wiped the blood clean from the last scrape on her shin and didn’t say a word when she flinched. When he finally pulled back, the cloth was stained with red and grit. He stood in one slow, deliberate motion, slipping the flask and rag back into the inside pocket of his coat as if nothing transpired between them.

Sera looked up at him from where she sat, legs curled beneath her now. Her nightgown still clung to every part of her that should’ve been hidden, but her hands stayed folded in her lap and her mouth still soft with something unspoken.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry, Mr. Smoke,” she rushed, eyes wide and nervous. “I—I only asked ’cause my daddy told me how men say sweet things when they see—”

“See what?” Smoke cut in. “See a woman tryin’ to survive her own damn house?” The words came out harsher than he meant for them to be, but he didn’t take them back. And he couldn’t take them back because he was finally beyond his breaking point. Rage that had been simmering since the moment he stepped back into this cursed state. Since he watched her be belittled and punished with torn knees and a Bible-sized bruise on her soul. Since he saw the way Pastor Samuel looked through his daughter like she was nothing but a vessel for shame and sin.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. “I’m not mad at you. You ain’t done a damn thing wrong, Sera. Not one.”

She blinked, confusion pulling at her brow. She didn’t know what to say to that. She never had someone tell her that a situation wasn’t her fault . Her silence only fueled his fury.

He took a step back, needing space before the turmoil in his mind made him do something stupid. Like call off this battle with the Klan and instead let them have their way with that poor excuse of a pastor. “I oughta—” Smoke started, then cut himself off with a rough exhale and looked away. “Fuck.”

Smoke’s eyes snapped back to her, colder now. “Your daddy don’t know God. He just knows control. You don’t tempt nobody, Sera. Men just ain’t used to seein’ a woman with that kind of light still in her. Don’t know what to do with it ‘cept snuff it out… Now stay in this room and lock ya door. Don’t come out til’ I personally come back and get you.”

A tense silence filled the room and for the first time ever in her life she decided to willingly follow the instructions of a man instead of doing so because it’s what she’d been taught to do. “Yes sir… goodnight Mr. Smoke…”

Those five simple words had Smoke's body singing with a song he hadn't heard in a long time as he left her bedroom and stood outside her door. Smoke knew he should leave. Knew the longer he stood there, the more dangerous this moment would become for both of them. But he also knew the truth, he was past the point of return. He wanted to protect her. Not just from the Klan but from her own father, from this town… From everything that had ever made her believe she was less than holy.

Footsteps creaked up the stairs snapping Smoke out of his trance and he turned just in time to see Stack standing at the landing, arms crossed and a smug glint in his eye.

“Thought you was doin’ a perimeter check, twinny twin,” Stack said, with his iconic lazy grin plastered on his face. “Didn’t know that included lickin’ the preacher’s daughter.”

Smoke didn’t flinch. “I didn’t lick her, fool. That muthafucka got her knees all banged up. She was tryin’ to get to her room. And I helped her wounds. That’s all.”

“Mmhm.” Stack’s eyes flicked to the crack beneath Sera’s door, then back to his brother. “She too pretty to be locked away like a secret sin… You ain’t the only one wonderin’ how the hell she’s still breathin’ with a father like that.”

Smoke didn’t answer. He just stared past Stack. “You hate him,” Stack added, quieter now while letting his hand linger over his knife he keeps hidden on his side. “Our daddy didn’t mean it… but that fake ass preacher… We should just kill him and be done with it… Lemme’ gut him and write out Mathew 7:15 on his body so the Devil know where to place him when he get to hell.”

“I hate what he’s done to her,” Smoke said with his voice rough and full of bloodlust. “I hate that she still thinks everything that’s been done to her is her fault. I hate that she’s been kneelin’ for two days straight, beggin’ for forgiveness for bein’ born with curves and a mind of her own.”

Stack watched him, that rare flicker of seriousness surfacing. “You ever seen us both look at a woman the same way before?”

Smoke shook his head once.

“Me neither,” Stack said. “But she’s different. Real different.”

A long silence passed and Stack cleared his throat before he adjusted his belt with a grimace. “Thinkin’ about her too long gets me… restless.”

Smoke shot him a glare. “Control yourself, nigga.”

Stack grinned and raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’ll try. But you better try too.”

Smoke said nothing more as he turned and walked down the hallway, every muscle in his body tensed like a storm ready to break. He needed to fuck this tension out or drop a couple bodies. And since the only woman that had his attention right now was a virgin pure as snow on Christmas Day, the only other option was to turn this sacred land into a blood soaked battlefield.

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Everyone go blame @theethighpriestess for giving me coochie blue balls and taking it out on y’all in this chapter.

Tag list:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theethighpriestess @imagining-greatness @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @theogbadbitch @queenofklonnie22 @underated345-blog @bxrbie1 @harleycativy @hermyowney @kcundercover0 @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @gtf-o-m-d @merranerra @afroslacks @wingedpeachjudgegiant @smutattack @solarssins @xoxodaedreams @rolemodelshit @chrisevansmentee @honggihwa @softy212 @michifilmz @hon3yjaxx

[mortish-writes]

You wake in a frozen wasteland, abandoned, hungry, and with no memory of who or what you are.

Two dark and powerful men find you in the snow. They take you in and keep you warm. Try as you might to resist them, it isn't long before you lose your heart and your virtue.

As your past unravels, the mystery surrounding you only deepens. They tell you you're one of them: a darksinger, immortal and god-touched, cursed with a lust for blood and a barren womb.

If that's true, how is it that you are carrying their children?

The Bride of Shadows rework is now starting on the public build. While the story will feel familiar to players of the former version, it has gone through a comprehensive restructure. Former save games no longer apply.

Choose from a variety of physical characteristics that impact your narrative. Human skin tones or the blues and purples of a shadewalker? Slender or voluptuous? Short or tall? The love interests and the world will respond to your unique appearance. 

Craft a personality profile that grows with you. Are you bold and opinionated, or calculating and adaptable? Do you take control of your fate, or is the deck always stacked against you? No choice is wrong—each trait unlocks unique dialogue and opportunities.

Can't decide between the love interests? They don’t mind sharing. Dive into a dangerously passionate romance with all three and explore their tangled, fiery bond.

Choose your romantic dynamic with each love interest. Play hard-to-get or melt in their arms. Your love story and their behaviors will adapt to your choices.

Journey through a vast Scandinavian-inspired dark fantasy region. Discover a rich, immersive world brimming with hidden lore, moral dilemmas, and centuries-old rivalries. 

Experience pregnancy and motherhood through the perspective of your MC. What will your children be like, and can you raise them to be virtuous in a dark world?

Tailor your explicit content. Are you provocative, bold, and adventurous in the bed furs? Or is your MC demure, preferring to be shyly led as her lovers take the lead? Do you want MMF intimacy, or do you prefer to be center-stage in MFM love scenes? Same rules apply for MMFM scenes.

Bride of Shadows is a female-protagonist interactive romance novel intended for readers 18+. It is a text-based game with explicit content. It is a work-in-progress and currently playable through Night II, approximately 19,000 words. New updates on Itch will be rolling out every 1 to 2 weeks. Huge thanks to the patrons who made this possible, both with allowing me to write full-time and providing crucial feedback to improve the narrative and gameplay.

[Play the Public Build]

[Delve Deeper on Patreon]

Fated Mates Route ★ Contains everything in the classic storyline, but the MC will experience an intense mate bond with Valdricht. Serax and Valdricht will not be romantically involved. Your MC can develop a friendship or antagonistic relationship with Serax. Kerach will keep his distance. MF only. Darker than Classic. Ideal for dark fantasy aficionados who prefer monogamy. Currently playable up to Night 3.5.

Dark Maiden Route ★ Everything in the classic route, but darker. The choices are limited. Serax, Valdricht, and Kerach will expect the MC's complete submission. Love looks a lot like Stockholm's syndrome. MMFM only. Kerach paternity included. Not for general audiences. Ideal for veteran dark romance readers looking for a more sexual, intense submission & breeding romance. Currently playable up to Night 3.25.

All patrons receive access to both additional routes and the ability to customize the genders of their children. Darksinger and Duskweaver members receive 1 week early access to new content.

[digitalsvibes]

Web development projects with source code

[cupidstrace]

Rated PG (for potentially gut-wrenching)

Summary: Your boyfriend cries at kids’ movies, and you fall in love a little more each time. Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

The first time it happens, you think he’s messing with you.

You’re sitting in a mostly empty theater, paper bucket of popcorn between you and massively oversized soda cups balanced in the armrests. It’s Sunday afternoon, and the movie is meant to be background noise. Something soft and harmless to fill the space between brunch and bedtime.

But somewhere around the part where Miguel sings “Remember Me” to his great-grandma, you glance over and catch Satoru swiping at his eyes.

“Are you..” you whisper, leaning in.

He turns just enough for you to see his lashes, wet and catching the light. “Shut up.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re crying?” “I said shut up.”

Except his voice cracks on the last word, and now you’re laughing quietly, clutching the armrest like it’s keeping you grounded.

“Babe,” you murmur, fiddling through your purse to get him one of those compact tissues you keep on hand. “It’s rated PG.”

He sniffs. “I’m a kid at heart.”

And maybe that’s the moment. The one that melts itself beneath your ribs and attaches to your heart. Because Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, absolute menace of a man, is crying over a boy playing guitar for his great-grandmother.

And you’re not even surprised. Not really.

Not when you know the way he talks to old women like they’re royalty. The way he puts your phone on the charger when you forget, or leaves painkillers beside a glass of water when he hears you muttering about a headache. Not when he insists on holding your hand through every flight, even though he doesn’t mind turbulence, just because he knows you do.

He does plenty of grand gestures, too. Stands on the street outside your apartment window, waiting for you to look outside and see the absolutely gigantic bouquet held in both of his arms. 

But it’s more than what he does. It’s who he is.

You lean over and kiss his cheek.

He lets out a shuddering exhale. “If I die, promise me you’ll remember me. And you’ll write me a song with a guitar that people will listen and cry to so I’ll remain super popular forever and ever.”

You snort.

On the ride home, he asks you to play the song again.

You make a habit of it after that.

Once or twice a month, when the world gets too loud or his shoulders start to carry too much, you buy tickets. Always animated. Always sweet. No gritty realism, no grey areas. Just magical families and memories and robot hugs.

He plays it cool in line. Wears shades like he’s not going to stack 3d glasses on top of them in five minutes. Acts like the arm around your waist is for your protection, and not to guide you to the concession stand.

Acts like he's not going to cry. He will. He does.

Sometimes, it’s a single tear, rolling down his cheekbone like it has somewhere to be. Sometimes it’s a slow unraveling, a shaky breath, a hand that searches for yours in the dark. One time it’s full-on sobs, shoulders trembling while Bing Bong fades into the nothingness of the Memory Dump. 

You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back without a word.

But on the drive home, he’ll talk about it.

“He let himself disappear so Joy could get back,” he mutters, eyes on the road.

You glance at him. “Did you like it when he said ‘Take her to the moon for me’?”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed as if he’s processing a detrimental, life-changing development. “No. Because what kind of animated fever dream has the audacity to hit you with a cosmic metaphor for life, death, and self-sacrifice disguised as a pink elephant in a cotton candy wagon? What were the writers smoking and where can I get some so I can finally understand my feelings?”

You laugh and take his free hand, intertwining your fingers, arms resting on the center console. “You’re soft.”

“You love me.”

You do.

He hesitates, then speaks again, quieter. “You’re the Joy to my Bing Bong.”

You turn to him, eyes trailing over his expression. “..you’re Sadness, Toru.”

“Hey!”

You start to notice it after the third or fourth movie.

The way he sighs a little too long at the happy endings. The way his hand lingers on yours just a second more than usual when the lights come up. The way he stares straight ahead without a word when the credits roll. No laughing. Not even a tear. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment, the feeling, before it fades.

“Hey,” you say once, nudging him gently. “You okay?”

He blinks, smiles, and holds your hand a little tighter. “Yeah. Just.. thinking.”

“About?”

He shrugs. “Time. People. Stuff.”

You raise a brow. “Ominous.”

“You’d hate if I got specific.”

You don’t push. You figure it’s just a bad day. One of those lingering shadows from missions he never talks about.

But later, when you’re back home and he’s watching the city lights through the window instead of sleeping, you hear him whisper, like it’s not meant for you at all. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

You don’t understand what he means. Not yet. But you feel the same way.

Sometimes, when you have free time and don’t want to go to the movies, you sit on the couch with him and put on his favorite. Big Hero 6.

He tries to hold out. Really, he does.

But the moment Baymax says, in that soft, robotic voice, “Are you satisfied with your care?”, and is left in the portal, Satoru lets out a broken little hiccup that turns into a full-body sob.

You blink. “Babe–?”

He lifts a hand to cover his eyes, the other still wrapped tightly around you. “He just wanted to help.”

You bite back a smile. “I know.”

“That’s all he wanted,” he says, voice thick, and now he’s sitting up and wiping his face with the hem of his hoodie. “That’s literally the only thing he was made for, and he still– he still–”

“Died,” you finish gently.

He wails. “And he didn’t even get to finish his sentence, are you kidding me?”

You press your hand to his forehead and lie his head down on your lap, fingers threading through his hair. “You’re gonna short-circuit if you keep crying, Toru.”

He settles into your lap before responding. “That line should be illegal.”

“It should, Toru.”

A beat passes. Then he whines. “Like, am I satisfied with my care? No! I’ll never be satisfied again! He was a robot, baby! His brother made Baymax for him to help, and he just– he kept helping, he went out helping–”

You smile and pinch his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for making me watch this again.”

“You asked me to put it on.”

“Because I forgot how much it hurts.”

You laugh. “He’ll rebuild Baymax, babe.”

“..I know.”

And maybe he’s still blubbering a little, and maybe you’re still laughing. But the way he clings to you, like the ache of the world softens when you’re close, is the real ending. The quiet epilogue.

So when he mutters, all teary and trembling, “I just want to help, too,” you whisper, “I know.”

Because he does.

He always has.

And when he leaves for that Shibuya “work trip” – the one he swears won’t take too long, the one he jokes about, promising to bring back weird vending machine snacks – you still play the songs. Still buy the tickets. Still keep the tissues in your purse, even if the reason for the habit is gone.

The theater lights go dim. The screen glows to life. A boy strums a guitar, or a robot hugs a child, or a princess finds her way home. You watch and smile, just barely, like you're saving the moment for his hiccuped sobs. You like to imagine he's somewhere in the emptiness of the seat beside you, somewhere you can't reach or see.

Sometimes, you reach over anyway. Just in case. Hoping your hand will catch something, anything, to prove he's still right beside you.

And when the movie ends, you stay seated.

A part of you hopes that if you wait long enough, he'll turn to you again, eyes shining as he says something like "the pink elephant is a metaphor for self-sacrifice."

But he doesn't.

So you whisper it for him.

Because now, love is nothing more than a lingering echo of his voice in the dark, asking are you satisfied with your care?

And no, you don't grab a guitar. You don't write a song.

But you remember him. You always will.

And when the lights come up and no one's there to squeeze your hand, you cry. As if the grief can bring him back, somehow, somewhere in the breath between the last scene and the credits.

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) everything

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.2k

genre : extreme fluff no warnings

summary : you and quinn spend christmas eve together and it ends with a beautiful surprise

the apartment smelled like sugar and cinnamon, warm and inviting. the faint hum of a christmas playlist played in the background, filling the air with soft jingles and cheerful tunes. it was december 24, and your favorite tradition with quinn hughes was in full swing: decorating cookies.

you sat cross-legged at the kitchen island, armed with piping bags filled with brightly colored icing, sprinkles scattered across the counter. quinn stood across from you, wearing an apron he’d claimed he didn’t need—though his flour-dusted hands and icing-streaked cheek suggested otherwise.

“alright, quinn-casso,” you teased, pointing at the lopsided tree he’d just decorated. the green icing was uneven, and the star looked more like a blob.

he held it up, feigning offense. “what? this is art. you just don’t get it.”

you laughed, snapping a picture with your polaroid camera. the flash caught him mid-eye-roll, flour still smudged on his cheek.

“add it to the collection,” you said, shaking the photo and setting it on the counter to develop.

the collection was an assortment of candid photos you’d been taking all month—quinn tangled in christmas lights, the two of you picking out a tree, him wearing the santa hat you’d forced on him. the pictures were scattered on the fridge, a chaotic but charming timeline of your holiday season together.

“fine,” quinn said, grabbing another cookie. “but if you’re going to document this, i’m going to make the best-looking snowman you’ve ever seen.”

you leaned on your elbow, watching him carefully pipe white icing onto the cookie. his tongue poked out slightly in concentration, a detail that made your heart swell.

“not bad,” you admitted as he added tiny sprinkle buttons.

“‘not bad’? that’s perfection,” he said, placing it on the tray with a satisfied grin.

you shook your head, laughing softly. “i guess i’ll give you that one.”

the two of you worked through the tray of cookies, decorating everything from candy canes to reindeer. you captured moments on your polaroid as you went: quinn sticking sprinkles on his nose to make you laugh, you holding up a cookie shaped like a heart, and the tray of finished cookies, a chaotic mix of skill and whimsy.

when the cookies were done, you both collapsed onto the couch with mugs of hot chocolate. the christmas tree twinkled softly in the corner, the ornaments catching the glow of the lights.

“i think we outdid ourselves this year,” quinn said, holding up a cookie shaped like a stocking.

“speak for yourself,” you teased, holding up one of your own. “mine are way better.”

he rolled his eyes, nudging your shoulder with his. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smiled, leaning into him. “i know.”

⋆˙⟡

as the night wore on, the stack of polaroids grew. quinn had taken over the camera at some point, snapping pictures of you mid-laugh or caught off guard. one photo in particular made you laugh—a close-up of your face, icing smeared on your cheek.

“quinn! i wasn’t ready for that one!”

“that’s the point,” he said, smirking.

eventually, it was time for the part of the evening you both looked forward to the most: exchanging gifts.

“okay,” you said, hopping off the couch and grabbing a small, neatly wrapped box from under the tree. “you first.”

quinn set his mug down, his eyes lighting up as he took the box. “you know you didn’t have to get me anything, right?”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, waving him off. “just open it.”

he carefully unwrapped the box, lifting the lid to reveal a vintage hockey puck encased in glass. his jaw dropped.

“is this…”

you nodded, grinning. “it’s from your first-ever college game. i found it online, and the guy who had it was willing to sell. i thought you’d want to have it.”

he stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing the glass. “this is amazing. thank you.”

his voice was soft, and when he looked up at you, his expression was full of gratitude. he set the puck down and leaned over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering against yours.

“alright,” he said, pulling back. “your turn.”

he stood and grabbed a box from behind the tree. it was big, wrapped in shiny gold paper with a perfectly tied bow.

“wow,” you said, taking it from him. “someone went all out.”

“just open it,” he said, his grin mischievous.

you tore into the paper, lifting the lid to reveal… a polaroid camera. not just any camera, though—it was a custom design, your initials etched into the side, and the strap was embroidered with tiny snowflakes.

“quinn,” you breathed, running your fingers over the details.

“i know how much you love taking pictures,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “so i thought you’d like something a little more special.”

you set the box aside and threw your arms around him, holding him tightly. “it’s perfect. thank you.”

for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other. the night felt perfect, like something out of a storybook.

“actually…” quinn pulled back slightly, a nervous edge to his voice.

“what?” you asked, your brow furrowing.

he reached into his pocket, and he took out a neatly wrapped box. it wasn’t the biggest gift, but there was something about the way he held it, his expression a mix of nerves and excitement, that made your heart race.

“quinn…” you started, but he cut you off with a small smile.

“here.”

you unwrapped the box carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver ring. It wasn’t flashy, but it was beautiful, a small diamond set into the band, understated and perfect. your breath caught in your throat.

“it’s not what you think,” quinn said quickly, rubbing his left arm. it’s not… you know, that ring. not yet, anyway.”

you looked up at him, your heart pounding. “so it’s—”

“it’s a promise ring,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “i know we’re not there yet, but i wanted you to know how serious i am about us. that i want this—you—for the long haul. this is my way of saying i’m all in, even if we’re not at the finish line yet.”

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stared at him, at the boyish grin on his face and the sincerity in his eyes.

“quinny…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“i love you,” he said, reaching for your hand. “and i just wanted you to know that.”

you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you let him slide the ring onto your finger. “i love you too. so much.”

he let out a breath, relief washing over his face as he pulled you into his arms. for a moment, the world outside disappeared, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other.

when you finally pulled back, you held up your hand, admiring the ring. “this is perfect. you’re perfect.”

quinn smiled, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “i wouldn’t say perfect. my cookies were… mediocre.”

you laughed, swatting his arm. “hey, don’t ruin the moment.”

the night went on, filled with more moments that you knew you’d treasure forever. and as you sat there, leaning against quinn with the soft glow of the tree around you, you couldn’t help but think that this christmas was everything you’d ever wanted—and more.

© amourquinn