#lies across the alive dash

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ Visions in the Sky

Sentinel Prime x Reader - Transformers One

Darkness had never much bothered Sentinel before. Space had been dark, and though it had choked him he’d never been outright afraid of it. Not whilst stuck in space, at least. The thought of ending back up there again now? It made his spark freeze and his gears grind uncomfortably, and thus he found that he hated the darkness that winter brought.

It had snowed, not long ago. It laid thick upon the ground and all the leaves hadn’t fallen from the trees yet, but it’d been beautiful; magical, even. It had been so bright it’d made his optics hurt at first, but even at the darkest of nights the snow worked as a dim light of its own; white and clear.

Then the famed autumn storm approached, and it all vanished in a single night.

Gone was the whiteness and the light. Now, the nights were dark, and the winds sometimes so strong Sentinel feared the old barn roof would be torn off. Sometimes he managed to convince you to allow him inside your home, other times he convinced you to come and sleep by his side. The nights within your home felt safer and warmer, though the sofa in your living room would have to be his bed. The nights you shared in the barn were better if only because then he had an excuse to cuddle you. It was cold in there, after all. The woollen blanket could only do so much, and he was a living radiator, your words, not his.

Tonight, he wished he’d slept by your side for there was thunder and flashes of light outside, and the clang of metal and the rumble of engines shook through the air like a wailing beast chained to the black clouds themselves. Sentinel could not sleep. The wind howled, deep and ominous outside but whistled as it snuck between the cracks of the wooden walls. But the wind did not frighten him. No. Instead, it was the wailing of metal in the faint distance; echoed and haunted.

Unable to handle it any longer he sprung up from his bed, flinging the woollen blanket off him before dashing to the door, swinging it open and almost immediately being thrown back by a violent gust of wind. Sentinel found his footing and went outside. Wet leaves blew in the wind and the shadowed shapes of the trees waved in the darkness beyond the lone light of your farm.

Blackness penetrated by unpredictable flashes of lightning. The sky was alive, a black sea with waves moving so quickly it appeared as though the earth spun much too fast, flinging itself across space. Sentinel didn’t stall by looking at the scenery for long. He rushed across the farm towards your house, a beacon of safety and warmth and the place he knew he’d always find you. A light was on in your bedroom. You must surely have awoken by the raging storm outside, disturbed just as much as he by the terrible sounds coming from the sky above.

As if enraged to see him flee, a plethora of lightning strikes happened at once, brightening the sky and the land so much it made Sentinel stumble in shock. He stumbled and fell onto his aft, letting out a short yell as he stared at the clouds. Once so peaceful and lovely as he’d gazed upon them with you on the meadow, they now showed something he’d thought nothing about, not at the time.

A monstrosity of a ship. Otherworldly at first glance but then so terribly similar to Cybertronian in nature it made Sentinel shudder in fear. Morphing and shaped by the lightning around it, the clouds gave an image so vivid Sentinel dared not move out of fright that it might be real. It roared as thunder shook through the air, the ground beneath Sentinel trembling along with it. Grinding of metal accompanied it and it bled red as it soared towards him, akin to a starved creature which had finally found an easy prey to feast upon. And with its arrival Sentinel could see them, standing atop the ship and readying themselves to descend.

Cybertronians.

“No!�� Sentinel screamed, flinging himself onto his knees, and crawling until he found his footing to stand up and run. And the light from above seemed to drown as your front door opened, revealing golden light instead of the piercing white surrounding him and the blackness. And within the gold was you, illuminated and vivid and real.

And you were afraid.

“Sentinel?” You called, first fearful as an animal on all fours charged towards you, but then the light of your home revealed him as he neared, that faded blue and golden frame easily recognisable. But there was terror laced all over it, practically dripping from Sentinel as he hurried towards you, his faceplate set in such a state of dread it made you afraid of the unknown. The storm outside had unnerved you enough, but what could possibly have made Sentinel this frightened?

Crushing into you, arms coming around to clutch you like a lifeline, Sentinel’s cooling fans were on high gear, roaring in your ears as he took unsteady intakes; venting as if he’d run a marathon. His frame shook something terribly, and you worried he would lose pieces of himself if he didn’t calm down.

“Sentinel, hey, it’s okay.” You try to say, walking backwards into your home and closing the door behind you both, shutting the storm out and dimming the awful noises. “It’s okay, Sentinel. Breathe. You’re okay.”

Shaking his helm, Sentinel collapses against you, dragging you down with him onto the floor as he trembles and openly weeps in your arms, shocking you further. Tears trickling in endless streams, he cries as he rubs his faceplate against your chest, trying to deny the visions he’d seen, desperately wishing them to go away and leave him be, but the clang and singing of metal and engines still echo in his mind; swearing by their existence even as they are nothing but echoes fading further away by the moving storm.

Sentinel cannot speak, unable to find his voice as he gasps and cries further, trembling so badly his frame clicks and groans uncomfortably, but he cannot stop. Your warm hands desperately try to soothe him, rubbing and stroking whatever they can reach but remain close to his helm. Your voice is slowly penetrating through the fog of terror but the sound of it only fuels the dread within him. He fears losing this, losing you.

“Sentinel, please.” You now beg, devastated by your inability to calm him and endlessly worried about his current state. It’s never been this bad before. He’d never wept and panicked like this before. It’s as if the executioner is awaiting him outside your door and he knows his fate is inevitable, a looming shadow growing taller by the second.

Unable to do anything but hold around him, you cradle his helm within your arms and angle it so his audial is pressed against your chest. Hopefully, the sound of your heart may aid in grounding him, reminding him of where he is, but unless it is not enough you start to hum. There is no specific song, just gentle melodies in low tones that make your chest and throat tickle with vibrations, but it seems to work as slowly, but steadily, he stops trembling.

“Angel.” He whispers, his voice static and weak, but there. Vents shuddering, the tears cease but he still whimpers, on the edge of weeping again but slowly recovering as you continue to hum. “My angel.” He says, low and soft, laced with reverence and infatuation. His optics are closed now, his cheek slightly rubbing against your bare skin, your robe loose about your body but still keeping your dignity intact.

Hand stroking over his helm, you sigh as your humming slowly fades out, the noise outside dwindling; storm passing.

“How are you feeling?” You ask after a moment passes, allowing him to collect himself in the brief silence.

“Tired.” And he looks it too. Wings drooping, practically laying across your lap and leaning into your upper body, he is all but dead weight against you. Heavy. “I’m sorry—”

“No.” Kissing the top of his helm, you hear his vents pause. “Don’t apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“… but I have.” He mumbles so low you can hardly hear him, and the words are weighted by guilt you can’t understand, burdened by something only he knows or understands, but this is not for you to dig into.

“You’re safe, Sentinel.” You say, cradling his helm to turn it upwards, and you kiss his forehead; his cheeks and he’s taking such shuddering intakes you fear he’s spiralling again. And so, you do not see his expression as you pull him closer, embracing him. “I have you.”

His arms move, coming up to hold you better, digits digging into the fabric of your robe as he returns the embrace. There’s a slight tremor to his hold, so faint you almost miss it, and you mistake it for lingering fear which has not yet left him. How wrong you were.

“I have you, Sentinel. You’re safe, you’re safe.”

Previous / Next Music: Monasterium Imperi – Deus System + Sanguis Lux

[ultrakill-confessions]

I'm very sorry I forgot anon last time. Thank you for letting me know and for keeping this blog running. It's really helping me feel part of the community and I always love seeing it across my dash /gen :]

Anyways, not many folks dial in on V1 being an unfinished prototype, so I'd like to share some headcannons.

Dunno how much of a background in engineering everybody has, but from my (limited) experience, first few versions of any project are usually pretty rough. Half of the job early on is just trying to get it working long enough to see what breaks.

It takes a lot of repeated testing to catch all the weird problems your project has developed. It takes more testing to either fix or efficiently work around those problems. And it takes even more testing after that to iron out all the kinks.

Testing that V1 did not have. And if this community is any indication, the kinks are alive and well.

What I'm saying is that V1 is chronically ill. Weird shit with it goes wrong all the time and it has no way to fix any of it. not permanently, at any rate. And god forbid anything really important breaks because there is absolutely no way to get any replacement parts. Anymore.

(Its one collection of replacement parts made the decision to go splat on the sidewalk with the force of an suv swan-diving off a highrise. So that's a bit of a dead end. (ha))

So it has a choice of:

a) Ignoring these compounding errors and just pushing through as best it can.

b) Jurry riging some home-made solution that could break it up more if it forgets to carry a one somewhere.

or c) Dying.

Most of the time, it's just annoyed with the weakness of its lack of flesh. Warhammer 40k lied to it, and Hell needs to start handing out healthcare plans.

some fun examples:

Its joints keep locking up. Its hydrolic pistons are slightly too large for its cylinders and keep getting stuck at weird times. Its neck keeps trying to rotate to the left for some reason. The blood collection tubing from its armor is a little too low pressure and keeps letting clots form. Its flashlight is on the same grid as its visual cortex, so every time it turns the light on, it has a 50/ 50 chance of rerouting its camera's power and blinding itself. (god, it hates that fucking flashlight. bigger pain in the ass than the archangel, and that's saying something.)

-667Anon

-

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Love

(Content: fever, drug mention, bruises, discussions of past abuse, guilt)

He was in and out of sleep for a long time. He remained supervised. They didn’t trust him with as much rope as he could hang himself with. 

Vi had lied to him, essentially. Paris was a prisoner just as long as he was here. But, as she reminded him frequently, he could leave at any time. They’d give him his sword back at the door. They’d take it away at the next base they crashed into. 

Lorelai was in her element, though. She was one of them now, clear as day. There was a little medallion around her neck, the gold markings which he recognized as distinctly imperial.

“Did you scavenge that off a corpse?” he asked.

He had meant it as a joke.

He got the distinct sense that he had killed something beautiful. Like setting a butterfly on fire. Had she been changing all this time?

And yet she didn’t leave him. She changed all the time, but that didn’t. Over the border was still the goalpost. CTRL sheltered them at most stops. She’s their own now, of course she can stay. He offered what he could — intel when he had it, labor when he didn’t, when his body allowed him to. Sometimes he merely slept, looking sheepishly at the night guard for the time they were both wasting.

The border was a stone’s throw away and she wanted to make one last stop. 

He indulged her. He had to. And it was good for him too, to see the last stop before leaving Empire. Some kind of closure. One last goodbye.

It was a tundra. The frozen kind, though some stages were now in thaw. It was painfully beautiful. 

She had an eye for it more than he did. He’d have followed her up into the mountains and along the frozen stream, walked the whole length of tundra ten time over. Anything. Lorelai pulled winter weeds out from the ground to press into the journal she still carried. Small, living things dashed across the dead-land. Foxes and rabbits. Owls and swans. Living things, not so unlike them. Hot blood flowed through all of them, proof they still existed. Alive.

It was her idea to break into the cabin, which to him did not seem very altruistic, but he had no better ideas. Luckily enough, it was empty, seemingly abandoned for a time. They’d get better use of it.

Only in the middle of the night, when they were already tangled in between each other’s limbs, did he realize the fever was upon him.

A real one, this time. Not induced, not even dopesick. An honest to god fever.

Paris stood up blearily, feeling some of the heat recede when he’d detached from her body, but not much. It was still bright outside, something to do with the equinox. The sky was an odd, soft color. It was freezing out, which felt nice against his flushed skin. Lorelai groaned slightly from the bed. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself before she shuffled over to the door. At that point, he’d already stepped out.

Paris was on his knees in the snow. He pressed some of it to his face, still appreciating the contrast between the cold and the burning. It felt nice. It was strange, the things that felt nice to him now. As the last dregs of the drugs cycled out from his body, he found pleasures unmuted in their absence.

“You okay?” she called from the doorway. She was barefoot by the entrance, where the carpet was still warm.

He nodded, though he probably wasn’t. The fever was cooking his brain. 

The blanket hung off her bare shoulder. He hadn’t seen it as well in the dark, but the bruises marked her skin just as much as the love bites. She’d been busy. She’d been through a lot.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he blurted out. He’d been meaning to say it for a while. 

“What?” She blinked. “I wanted to come. This was my idea.”

“But you didn’t know what you were getting into. I didn’t tell you anything. It was taking advantage.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head

“I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

“It’s my ship,” she said, the same way she ended all her arguments. “I could leave anytime I wanted. Why are you always trying to get rid of me?”

He desperately did not want to be rid of her. 

“I don’t understand you.” he said. He couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone staying with him by choice. If he could’ve left himself behind, he would’ve. He’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What part don’t you get?” she asked. It tickled him how annoyed she sounded then. Like her clarity was being taken for granted. 

Then, as if reading his mind: “You give yourself way too much credit. I wanted this too.”

“This?” he laughed.

“Not all of it. I never wanted you to get hurt, Paris. I just wanted us to get out. I didn’t know how hard it would fight to keep you.”

A pause. She said:

“I had fun, though. Is that horrible to say? I had fun. I don’t regret it.”

He wondered if he regretted it. Really, he regretted everything.

When he didn’t answer for a while, she sat down on the wooden steps. The blanket shielded her from the cold contact. She lit up a cigarette, holding it delicately between her lips.

Another pause. He said:

“…You know I couldn’t have let him go, right?”

If she was surprised by the change in topic, she didn’t show it. He suspected she wasn’t shocked at all. Delta was on the cusp of his thoughts, all the time.  Everything lead back to him. Lorelai raised one eyebrow at the new proclamation.

“I couldn’t just let him go,” Paris said, because he had been thinking a lot about it. “He was too dangerous. Nobody would ever let that kind of power live in peace. He would have always be wanted, always somebody’s captive. He never could have had a happy life. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. But its true. There was never any hope for him. The kindest thing to do would have been to kill him.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. Because he had killed Delta — and it had not felt kind. The ice felt colder beneath him as he went on.

“I know I didn’t have to treat him the way I did. I’m not saying anything about that. But yeah. I never could’ve let him go.”

Clearly.

“I don’t know. That’s beside the point, now.”

She barely reacted. He thought she might argue. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe she saw another way out, some path that he didn’t. If he could do it all over, what would he change? Or would he always end up here — and Delta, dead on the ocean floor?

“Why did you treat him like that?” Lorelai asked, leaning forward slightly onto her knees. “…You didn’t have to.”

It felt like being stabbed. But it was a miracle he’d even avoided the question for this long. She’d been patient with him, endlessly. He could afford to be honest. The fever would make it so, regardless.

“I was so angry,” he admitted.

“All the time. At everything. I couldn’t stand it. I hated my life and I hated myself. I still hate myself. The only reason I had to live was to try to keep empire running — and I didn’t even want that. It felt like the whole place was fucking diseased. There was this rot at the center of the machine. He was just the worst of all of it, the worst thing it had ever created. It wasn’t his fault. I know that, it wasn’t his fault.”

“They told me I needed to. It’s his conditioning. He needed to feel powerless, all the time, or he would stop working. I was fucking terrified of what would happen if I lost control of him, if I lost the only edge I had. I was scared of him. And I needed him.”

“I hated needing. I hated feeling like I was losing control. And that’s all I was doing, the entire time. Just losing control, constantly. Over everything. Over myself.”

“It just became a habit, after a while. It started with just…punishment. Then it was just because he was there. Because I could.”

He was acutely aware of how cruel the word punishment sounded in his mouth. He was aware of how absurd it was, without any of the false authority he’d once put behind it. Who had he thought that he was? He’d never had the right.

He forced himself to look up at her, scared as he was of what he’d find. The scars of his body ached in the cold.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. For everything.

I wish I could take it back.”

~~~~~~~

this is effectively the final chapter of Crash Out

paris and lorelai will return in Destroyer

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen @sir-fenris

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Tales of Ridire: In Which The Crown Prince Almost Initiates His Own Demise

Here's another part to Frederick's story! I really hope you guys enjoy it!

Frederick Masterlist

A dash of a root here, a sprig of an herb there. Yes, in a few minutes Frederick would have a good base for his new concoction. He leaned over the workbench, taking a pipette and letting three drops of a diluted, golden sap fall into the glass bottle. He had found it growing on a tree he didn’t recognize. The plant hadn’t looked like anything native to Ridire, or any of its bordering regions. Bright green leaves that seemed to carry the sun in their veins, and bark that inexplicably sparkled in the dappled light, almost like someone had covered the tree in gold leaf.

Frederick guessed that it would have healing properties, but there was really only one way to find out for sure. He pulled up his sleeve with his teeth, then produced his dagger. A gift from his father, it had a sapphire encrusted into the pommel, and had the Highcrest’s signet engraved just below the hilt. Such a weapon was meant to protect and defend the crown prince; it certainly wasn’t intended to be wielded against him, especially by his own hand.

This was merely an experiment to explore methods of healing, so there was no need to make a deep cut yet. Frederick would just make a shallow graze and- ah! He winced as crimson beads ran in streams down his arm. Well, so much for shallow. No matter, it would be all the better to test the full extent of the golden sap. The dagger rested on the table with a dull thud.

Frederick took a clean pipette and sucked up the completed solution. He released a few droplets of his new potion onto his arm. Setting the instrument aside, he sat on his wooden stool and waited for any type of reaction. In his dominant hand he held a quill over an open, leather-bound journal, ready to take down his observations as they came.

Nothing yet.

Frederick blew the fringe out of his face. This was taking a lot longer than he thought it would.

Still nothing.

Frederick sighed. Had he really just put a mixture containing ordinary tree sap into an open wound?

Wait.

There was something… small, but noticeable, and worth documenting. A tingling in his forearm, almost like a shudder that only rippled through the cut itself.

Frederick scribbled notes down, the quill flying across the page and ink spattering on the worktable.

Perhaps he had been writing too fast. His handwriting was usually quite neat, but now it was indecipherable. The words on the parchment blurred and twisted before his eyes.

The tingling became more pronounced, almost like a faint burning now. Frederick held a hand to his head, dropping his quill in the process. A knock came at the door.

“Your highness?”

Frederick bumped his head on the underside of his worktable. He grunted from the impact. His head pulsed with pain for a lot longer than it should have.

“Yes?” he called.

“Queen Morgana requests your presence for luncheon.”

Frederick went to stand but fell back down as his legs failed to support him.

“Ah!”

“Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing!” Frederick lied.

“Prince Frederick…”

“I’ll be there in a minute!”

The door swung open. Frederick cursed, he thought he had locked it. The servant stood in the threshold and Frederick could just register a horrified gasp.

“Surely it isn’t that bad…” Frederick mumbled.

“Guards! Fetch the doctor!” the servant shouted.

“No, you don’t have to-,” Frederick tried to call out, “mm…”

He faceplanted onto the hardwood floor, picking up the scent of herbs and tree sap before his vision blackened and the sounds of the world faded away.

…

The first clue that Frederick hadn’t died was the sound of worried voices chattering over him.

“…At it again, I told… stop… reckless…”

Frederick was only picking up a few words at a time.

“…How did he manage…”

The second indication that Frederick was alive was the feeling of something hot and vaguely damp on his forehead. From what he understood, Heaven didn’t have such an extreme temperature, and the other location was a lot more dry.

Something cold made contact with his face, and the heat abated for a few moments. Against his wishes, a small whine of relief escaped him.

“…Waking up…”

No, no, he wasn’t waking up. Please. If he woke up, he’d have to endure a lecture. Couldn’t he go back to that veil between life and death for just a half hour more?

No such luck. Frederick’s eyes fluttered open. A feverish glaze overshadowed their usually brilliant blue hue.

“Frederick Highcrest.”

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mother.”

“The doctors have been caring for you tirelessly,” Queen Morgana said, her usually gentle tone taking on a cold sternness, “how many times have we told you to practice caution with your blasted experiments!?”

“…I apologize-”

“As you should,” Morgana continued, “you are not some mere boy. You’re the crown prince of Ridire, and as such, you should be more careful with something as precious as your life!”

Morgana stood, crossing the room to speak with the head doctor. Sir Galiot strode in, arms folded across his chest.

“Why did you do it this time, Lad?” he asked.

He seemed disappointed, but not at all surprised.

“Galiot,” Frederick greeted.

He went to prop himself up, but he couldn’t feel his arm to do so. He glanced down, seeing the skin had been heavily bandaged.

“I suggest you stay down, Frederick,” Galiot huffed, “you’ve only been unconscious for two days.”

Two days!? Oh, his chances of getting out of this unscathed just dwindled to a very small number.

“…Does Father know?” Frederick asked in a small voice.

“Does he-!? Of course, he bloody knows!” Galiot shouted.

“I thought it had healing properties,” Frederick tried, “surely such a risk would be worth taking if-”

“Lad, I would advise you not to finish that sentence.”

Frederick’s mouth snapped shut.

Morgana came back to his bedside, followed by the head doctor and a couple of nurses. The doctor took hold of Frederick’s forearm, inspecting the bandages.

“What you found, your highness, seems to have been some kind of amplifier for wounds and maladies. A kind of poison, if you will. Applying to an open wound could have easily killed you.”

“I see,” Frederick said, “do you think the entire plant has the same properties, or could they be different? For instance, the leaves-”

“Frederick Highcrest!”

Frederick winced. That was the second time his full name had been used, and this time it was much worse, seeing as the speaker was his father.

“How many times must we do this song and dance?” King Hrethric fixed him with an armor-piercing stare, “why must you put the entire castle through such anguish? When are you going to learn-”

Hrethric’s voice had increased in volume until it abruptly halted into silence. He looked away, visibly composing himself. When he looked back at Frederick, his gaze softened just a bit. The king closed the distance between them and sat at his bedside.

“We thought we’d lost you this time,” he said, “don’t do this to us again.”

Frederick tried to sit up again, to at least be at somewhat eye-level with his father. Hrethric gently pushed him back down.

“We’re going to be clearing out your stores, again.”

“But-”

“There is no room for discussion. You have no need of such dangerous ingredients. Any ailment you have can be mended here, in the infirmary, by professionals.”

Arguing further would merely rekindle his father’s anger, so Frederick opted to remain silent. Hrethric sighed. He slid a hand under his son’s head, lifting it up to press his lips to his onyx-black hair. He lowered it back down against the pillows.

“You are going to be monitored for the remainder of the week,” Hrethric went on to say, “we’ll send for your books should you become bored.”

Boredom was not going to be an issue, which Frederick realized as his eyelids began to droop.

“The prince needs rest, your majesty,” the head doctor said quietly, “his ordeal is not quite over yet.”

“I understand,” Hrethric said.

He squeezed Frederick’s hand before rising. He and Morgana left the room, followed by Galiot. Frederick stared up at the ceiling and sighed. He drifted off just as the nurses started to draw the curtains shut.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad @bacillusinfection @noseyowes @whump-till-ya-jump @writinglittlepains @m4iloblu3

[foggyfrogss]

⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.

tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content, Mentions of SA

Chapter Three - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 7.3ᴋ - Discord 18+

He’d come to you like a lost puppy the first time you’d met him.

A flash of pink dashes by, catching your wandering eyes. In your chest a sudden warmth makes itself known, igniting the surrounding colors of the forest into brighter hues. It makes you jerk your head to follow the direction of the pink, only for you to find a boy running down the path you’d just walked.

The sound of cicadas grows much louder than it had before. Your small heart thumping against your chest. Why had you suddenly felt so… alive?

A gust of wind follows in the direction in which he ran, blowing your hair about. The wind smells crisp, entwined with woody notes from the surrounding trees. It’s wet and earthy.

Your mother pulls against you as your footsteps falter. With your attention being taken away, it causes you to stop walking, your mother tugging at your small arm. The sudden motion grabs your attention; feet picking up the pace.

The both of you had ventured towards the spring located in the forest; a way to catch a breath of fresh air. Cool water would surely help beat the heat of summer. It’s shaded by the trees, providing relief from the rays of harsh sun.

You could hear the faint laughter from the boy as he ran down the pathway, away from the springs. As you turn your head back towards the boy, you hear a groan, “Ryomen Sukuna!” It sounded very similar to the scolding of your own mother. The feminine voice resonated desperately as it called for the pink haired boy known as Sukuna.

He seemed to be around your age, you noticed.

Hand in hand with your mother, you feel her halt her movements. It makes you look up at her when she does, wondering what she was doing. You observe her smile which makes you glance ahead, finding a woman standing before the two of you.

Curiously, you eyed the woman from the ground to her face… discovering she had the same lively pink shade of hair that matched the boy. She must be his mother.

“He’s excited… he doesn’t get to play like this often,” the woman says tiredly. One of her hands runs over her face while she sighs and your mother chuckles. “How old is he?” Your mother asks and the woman crosses her arms, “He has just turned 5… I swear it’s like he has an infinite amount of energy.”

At the age of 4 years old, you first crossed paths with Ryomen Sukuna.

You’re sat on your knees in the icy water of the spring, venturing about the mossy rocks as you explore. You remember how lively it felt, worrying of nothing but what sat before you. The bright greens of the surrounding nature forever embed itself into your brain. Rays of glimmering sunlight break through the limbs of the trees that tower over you, causing the rushing water to glow magically.

As you grasp at a slick river rock which lies closer towards the bank, you lift it with your small hand, looking forward to uncovering what creature could be on the underside… a shrilling sound of an excited voice interrupts you, “What are you doing?” The voices asks, making you jump.

You release the rock, dropping it into the water and causing it to splash.

“Hey!” You shout just as loudly back, instantly angered by the sudden intrusion. Yet, as you look up, you find the bright deep eyes of the boy who’d run past you just moments ago. A toothy smile is splayed across his features as he sits cross-cross on a rock just a few feet away from you.

“I’m Ryomen,” he introduces himself. His voice is sweet, you remember the rich innocence of it clear as day. It matched that of any other 5 year old, laced with a sweetness that of candy.

It struck a sudden warmth in your younger self, a small smile coming to your face. You instantly forget the rock, moving onto the next best interesting thing.

You tell him your name, bursting into a fit of giggles along with him. The two of you clicked instantly, playing about in the chilled water as your mother’s watched from the bank across the stream.

They sat together, both of them chatting away, but their eyes still on the two of you.

Ever since that day, Sukuna had seemingly found a place inside of you.

Your mother’s had become quite close as well, which meant he was able to visit your home often.

From playing in the streams during summer to the fresh mounds of snow in winter, you grew along side him. Years of connecting solidifying your bond. The warmth you found in his presence had stuck within you.

It was around the age of 8 you had noticed his sudden change… his bubbly smile had been torn away from you, locked deep within him. Though he was still kind, that never faltering; he held a different atmosphere. A subtle darkness lingered over him like a storm cloud ready to spill.

It stayed. You gradually grew used to it, accepting his growing brazen personality. Though he projected his anger of the world onto everyone and everything… he never did it to you.

No matter what, you would accept Sukuna as he was.

You recall being woken up by your mother. The darkness of your room telling you what time it has been; late at night. She brought a portable lantern, setting it down to the side of her. Your mother sits on her knees next to your futon. “Darling,” she says softly, stroking the hair from your face. The iciness of her fingers sinks into your warm skin, helping rouse you from your sleep.

As your eyelids flicker open, you catch the way the lantern paints shadows on your bedroom walls.

She tells you Sukuna’s mother has been killed.

A man had broken into their home, murdering her in her sleep and attempting to murder Sukuna as well. It had caused you to sit up in a shock, staring at your mother with wide eyes.

She then tells you Sukuna killed the man himself. His efforts to save his mother turning into an attempt to avenge her.

You knew why he had shifted. He had walled up his emotions to protect himself. The only family he knew had been taken from him, leaving him to fend for himself.

At such a young age, he killed someone.

In such a large village, he was truly alone.

Sukuna had told you he had no father… his mother had been sexually assaulted during a village raid a year before you were born.

At the time, you didn’t understand what that meant. You were incredibly young and naive, but you understood that it wasn’t a good thing. Especially when you saw the way his face twisted in disgust when he talked about it.

“I can be your family,” you told him like the ignorant child you were. A bright smile projected from your face towards him, telling him you meant it.

It’s quiet as he looks at you, his back resting against the tree the two of you are sat under. The leaves from it cast a shade onto the both of you, protecting you from the harsh rays of summer sun.

“If you say so,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, lacking enthusiasm. You don’t take it to heart, understanding how hard it’s been for him recently.

Your mother had instantly sprung into action upon hearing the news, taking Sukuna in. The empty spare rooms of your estate proving there was more than enough space for a child in need.

He stayed with you for a few years, until he reached the age of 13.

On a simmering day in the middle of summer, you found him training just outside the engawa. As you venture further out, you hear the bustling sounds of the cicadas and songbirds. The sounds of summer.

His pink hair soaks in the sunlight, making it glow a rich hue. When he suddenly shifts his body, the katana he wields reflects the sunlight into your eyes, making you wince. “Hey,” you make yourself known, holding a hand to shield your eyes as you step off the elevated portion of the house. He pauses his movements, turning to face you. The katana drops to his side.

“Are you training to be a samurai?” You half joked and half seriously asked, approaching him completely. “No,” he says, his voice curt and face stoic. As you near him you notice how he’s sweating… he must’ve been pushing himself.

“You better not,” you say, putting your hands on your hips, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Now I’m thinking it’s a good idea,” he suddenly says, making you gasp. You catch the small smirk he shows and your chest tightens. The sudden cracks in his walls were something you treasured.

Later that day, all that could be heard was the shouting of your father. His deep voice boomed against the paper thin walls, making it easy to hear from any part of the estate. It was angry, intertwined with a disgust you only would hear from a man filled with hatred. Bone chilling, you recall feeling.

It had all been directed towards Sukuna.

The sudden change in feelings towards Sukuna had shocked both you and your mother. The two of you sat silently as your father lashed out on the boy, expressing his true feelings.

Like a rabid dog, your father slung insults and curses towards him.

If either of you were to speak up it wouldn’t do any good.

“You are not welcome here,” he finally spits at Sukuna as the boy sits before him. You were all in the main room, summoned there by your father. “Leave my estate at once and never return!”

It’s then quiet.

Sukuna is silent.

The atmosphere of the room had grown thick with a dark feeling, almost making it impossible to breathe. Your chest felt extremely tight as your stomach flipped anxiously, watching Sukuna clench his fists in his lap.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you glanced around the room. From your clammy hands in your lap that gripped the fabric of your kimono, to your father, and to Sukuna… the room became unbearable with tension.

It diminished when you suddenly stand, unable to take any more; you rush out of the room.

At the time, you weren’t sure what had provoked your father to do such a thing… but as a few years went by, you slowly came to realize.

Sukuna had refrained from telling you.

He grew more closeted, keeping to himself as much as he could… a defense mechanism to keep himself safe; even if it was you.

Even if you were the only person he could trust, he still distanced himself.

He’d moved into the home he lived in before, the small shack. It was gifted to his mother by the farmers when she’d arrived here all those years ago.

The village had grown weary of him. His strength, which grew fast, worried the people. He was immensely strong for his age, holding much wisdom on sorcery that a middle aged man would.

The village wanted him gone, exiled and forgotten. Perhaps even dead.

You remember the day you overheard your father talking about it. The paper thin walls proving useful as you hear him and a few other men discuss Sukuna.

The only thing keeping him here was you.

Though your father was cold and harsh, he was kind to you. You were his only child. That must have meant something to him. The ways in which he expressed his love were honest and kind at times, it often left you questioning him.

“My daughter is fond of the boy so removing him isn’t an option,” you hear your father say. Your heart thumps anxiously at his words.

“Keep the other kids away from him. Tell anyone else to distance themselves. Perhaps we can… persuade him to leave.”

Their way of persuasion was cruel.

It had grown darker, for you and especially for Sukuna.

Over the next few years you saw the way they shamelessly treated him like a wild animal. He was ignored by everyone. Merchants refused to sell to him, even if he had the money he worked hard to get. “Get your cursed money away!” You recall an older woman, a merchant, spitting towards Sukuna.

You stood by his side in shock, looking over from the old lady to him and watching the way he clenches his fist that held his money tight. The skin of his knuckles growing white from the pressure.

His face held the same stone-like expression, showing he wasn’t fazed.

That was the first time you noticed the dark aura radiating off of him… but it hadn’t deterred you away. The atmosphere was melancholic, thick with tension.

In silence the two of you are walking back to his home, the sounds of the village filling the background. The squeaks of moving carts and chatter among merchant stands as they packed up for the day.

The sun had began to set, emitting an orange hue among the stretch of pathway before you.

It felt serene, despite the earlier hiccups.

You realize it’d been quite a while since you last had a moment with Sukuna; especially one calm as this… being that you were 15 now, you had more duties as your father’s only child. It kept you busy.

In the midst of learning basic etiquette under your mother and other servants… be it a busy schedule, you still thought of him. Time kept its march and you constantly worried if he had enough food or supplies due to his difficulty attaining them.

Though you remember him mentioning he hunted animals in his spare time. Food was not an issue for him.

As you walk beside him, you’re glancing over, studying his side profile from the corner of your eye. Sukuna holds a sack over his shoulder which contained everything he was able to purchase. He looks the same, you notice, but as you’re looking up… you realize he has gotten taller. It makes you angle your head to get a better look.

A whole foot above your head taller.

While taking in his new height, you see the way his pink hair had grown over his ears. The length had looked unruly and you’re shocked you hadn’t noticed it when you met up with him earlier today.

Perhaps the ruthlessness of your fellow people had distracted you.

You take note of how his usual slick back look is more prominent as he attempts to tuck it behind his ears. Only to keep it out of his face.

It makes you laugh, instantly reaching a hand up to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds.

Sukuna jerks his head towards you, casting his eyes down to catch yours with his. Deep brown, which is pushing hazel now due to the sunlight, makes your breath hitch. You feel the heat rush to your face from embarrassment.

“What the hell is so funny?” He snaps, halting his steps which makes you stop as well. You take a deep breath to keep yourself from giggling, removing your hand. “Your hair,” you say in a breathy, amused tone. His eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he asks unamused, “What about it?”

“Were you growing it out?” You tease him, giving him a smile. He’s sighing, fixing the sack over his shoulder as he rolls his eyes. He’s silent but you continue on, “I think it’s cute.”

You instantly see the way his cheeks burn red, his eyes scanning over your face wide with shock. Yet, he quickly replaces his shocked demeanor with his same stone expression. He then looks away, exposing his side profile once again in an attempt to hide his flustered, red face.

You’re struck with a sudden wave of bliss as you study him. The sunset makes him glow, and your heart thumps against your rib cage in an unfamiliar way; it’s welcoming.

You feel the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, hold his face with your hands.

His skin is almost glowing gold, looking like the finest treasure in all of the land. He could be considered a treasure himself.

You wanted it for yourself.

“I have shears if you’d help me cut it,” he mumbles, cutting off your wandering thoughts. His voice is giving away his embarrassment even further, and you chuckle as you come back to your senses.

To see someone with a personality as hard and stubborn as his crack at the slightest things… it filled you with a deep feeling. Though you weren’t sure what, all you knew that seeing him able to feel anything but anger… it made you happy.

“Let’s go then,” you say, grasping onto his clothing and tugging him along. He releases a grunt as you use all your strength to move him.

Sukuna grumbles as he takes his hand to remove it from his kimono, untangling your fist to intertwine his larger fingers with yours. He lets you pull him to his home. The warmth of his hand radiated into your own.

Later on, you found yourself sitting behind him as he sat on the floor. You sat atop a small stool.

His height posed no issue but you still had to straighten your back out almost completely to comfortably reach. In your right hand held the pair of farming shears he was talking about. He must have not had shears for cosmetic use.

“How short do you want it?” You’re asking him as you take your left hand and brush his hair back. He’s silent as you touch him, your fingers digging into his scalp as you feel how soft his hair actually is. You’d never touched it before and now that you were… you didn’t want to stop.

“Your hair is so soft,” you say with a smile, hearing him grunt in response. An inner part of you buzzes when you realize he’s enjoying your hand movements. “You gonna tell me how short?” You say again, clipping the shears in the air to let him know you’re ready.

“The usual length,” Sukuna tells you. You roll yours eyes as you set the shears in your right hand down on the floor. The hand joins your left in his hair on the opposite side.

“So bald?” You joke, brushing his hair back.

He’s sighing, which makes your playful smile drop, looking ahead. You see the side of his face from behind him. His usual scowl, which plagues his features and comes off as hard as stone is gone… replaced with a softness you had not seen in many moons.

The atmosphere of the room had shifted, becoming warm.

He looks like the boy you’d met all those years ago.

“If you just wanted to play with your hair… why didn’t you just ask me?” You whisper softly, tucking the hair behind his ears. He’s still silent, almost as if he refuses to respond. You don’t mind it, so you keep on; pressing your fingertips into his scalp.

He then leans back, pressing his large back into your knees, leaning into you. You gasp, but not loud enough to where he notices.

Your heartbeat quickens when you realize how close he actually is.

“I have to head home soon, Ryomen. The sun was setting before we got here-“ he cuts you off. His voice is low as he speaks, “Just a bit longer.”

In the racing thoughts of your mind, you realize this is probably the first time he’d been shown affection since his late mother. Your heart jolts, painfully. The vision of his cheerful mother comes to life in your mind as you comb his hair with your fingers.

“Anything for you,” you whisper.

You eventually do cut his hair that night, trimming it to his preferred length.

He walks you back to your home, making sure you survive the walk across the village.

“If you need me to cut your hair again, just say so.”

Your words catch Sukuna off guard. He fully knows what you mean by your words, shifting his dark eyes towards you. He stops his steps right before the entryway to the gardens of your estate; Sukuna isn’t allowed in.

He’s staring down at you, eyebrows furrowed together once again.

A single nod; it’s all he gives you. His troubled expression dropping into a much simpler one. Not cold, like his usual self… this one reminded you of who he really was. It was soft; soft in his terms, which you understood.

You knew he was grateful, so his absence of verbal gratitude didn’t bother you. You could feel it.

From that point on, small touches like hand holding and anything in between had become common. It wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything… you looked forward to it. Though it wasn’t often, when it did happen, it was fulfilling. Each time awakened a fire within you that you hadn’t felt before.

When you’d turned 16, your father had introduced you to your first possible suitor. A man whose age doubled your own… you immediately declined. Disgust had instantly bubbled within you upon seeing the man for the first time.

It was many attempts after the first to marry you off. Your father wanted what connections he could get.

Your mother had grown distant, leaving your studies to the maids as she kept to herself. She mostly stayed in her own chambers, one separate from your father’s. At times you would visit, but even then you felt like she didn’t want you there.

In a way, you began to feel alone.

Aiko had come to you shortly after your 16th birthday, a gift from your father to help you with your path to womanhood… she was supposed to go with you to your suitor’s estate.

Sukuna had not taken the news well. He had gone silent for almost a week upon hearing you were to eventually be married off.

When he’d returned, you were waiting outside his home, expecting an explanation. He only told you it was for training purposes, which you naively fell for.

At the time, you weren’t sure why he acted the way he did… but now, you knew.

In the current time now, at the age of 25, he’d finally found it within himself to let you in. In the years between then and now, you had done your best to keep the suitors away.

Michizane Suguwara had slithered his way through the cracks in your walls, claiming his spot. Almost as if he was a parasite, latching himself to you just to benefit himself.

You hear Sukuna’s demands echoing in your mind, but another voice takes over.

“Just do as he says,” your mother tells you in a tired tone.

You’re both sat on the engawa, feeding the winter birds. They peck away at the small seeds that litter the snow.

In the corner of your eye you can see your mother toss a handful of seed out, causing the songbirds to scurry around to get as much as they can. Food was scarce for them when it snowed.

You sigh, closing your eyes in frustration. In the distance you can hear the song birds who reside in the bare trees. Their song putting at least some part of you at ease.

If only you could live like them, their only worry being when they eat their next meal.

“Usually you’re on my side when it comes to these things,” you say to her, opening your eyes to look over at her. She’s already looking at you, tired eyes reflecting into your own. She looked just like you.

Some would say she was your twin.

“He’s already spoken to me. I… I think it’s in your best interest to accept,” your mother says. Her voice is just above a whisper. You clench your teeth; annoyed and angry. “He said the same thing. I don’t really think I even have a choice… do I?” You’re asking her quietly.

“You are to marry him when the snow melts,” she says with finality, looking away from you now. The silence that follows her words is loud, even the birds had stopped for a moment.

So it is to be.

Michizane Sugawara will be your husband.

Your chest aches, twisting at the thought of it. Damn it all, you think. Your life was never your own and you’d at least tried to make it your own until now. It was fun while it lasted.

You think of Sukuna’s words, telling you that if Michizane were to touch you… he’d kill him. That surely would set your father over the edge, you think.

Though you knew Michizane was quite the strong individual… you were worried Sukuna would go through with it. Michizane’s head on a stake just for bumping into you on accident.

The thought definitely had you on edge.

“I’m sorry,” you mother says quietly. You almost didn’t catch it, but you look towards her. Her hands are clenched on top of her lap. The fabric of her kimono wrinkles from the grip she holds. “I just want you to be happy… but I fear we are cursed.”

As you study your mother’s movements, seeing the obvious distress… you’re gritting your teeth.

Cursed.

“In time you’ll know,” she suddenly says, “for now I believe you need to deal with more pressing issues.” She is looking back at you, her gaze soft. “What do you mean?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckles, “Sukuna is just a man. Don’t hurt him. It’s been hard enough for him as is.”

Your mother had always been on his side, as were you.

Her words make you smile. “Of course you knew,” you’re muttering as you feel the heat on your cheeks. “I’m your mother,” is all she replies.

As the day slowly moves towards night, you’re accompanied by Aiko as you walk down the hall towards dinner.

“It’s been a long day,” Aiko says with a sigh and you chuckle. “It has?” You’re replying, and she looks over to you. “I’ve had to “run errands” in town today and do my chores. It’s been a long day. I also still have more to do,” she tells you. You’re nodding, listening to her. “Mind you,” she adds, a sly smile on her features, “if he’s supposed to come by you will probably need my help.”

“I will not need your help,” you tell her. You hadn’t needed it before and succeeded sneaking Sukuna in after dark for years now. “It’s best if you stay out of what you can. If my father were to hear word of you aiding in that… he’d get rid of you.”

Your words make her nod, showing she understood. You were right.

When the two of you arrive to the main room, Aiko slides the door open for you. You instantly find that there are only two lap tables.

Michizane sits at one, opposite to the one that you assume is yours.

Joy, you think to yourself. Your father had been one step ahead of you after all. Deep inside you fight back the distasteful feeling swirling in your gut.

“Good evening,” he greets you with a smile. You’re entering the room, doing what you can to not to turn around walk off. “I assume it will just be us?” You ask, voice calm. Michizane nods, shifting in the spot he sits.

“Is that an issue?” He asks you, one of his eyebrows raised. You instantly feel the shift in mood, finding he may be challenging you.

“No,” you release, taking your seat on the cushion at your table. It’s quiet now, the only sounds being that of the bustling servants who begin to bring out your meal.

Even as you eat, it’s dreadfully quiet.

The room felt off, unbelievably so. If anything was bound to happen, it’d happen here.

Before you sat someone so high of rank and you wanted anything but to sit where you were now. You wanted nothing to do with the man.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until you caught his eyes with your own. His gaze rises from his food to connect with yours. The electrifying blue holding your gaze, studying you.

What you notice is the stark white of his uncovered hair. He no longer wore his head piece, which covered it before. The long strands of white were tied back into a pony-tail behind his head. White bangs framed his face.

“I’ll get to the point,” he suddenly says, looking away to the food before him. You internally thank him for that. “I know I just arrived only this morning, but I’d like for us to be friends.”

He’s taking a sip from a cup of tea as he looks back up at you. His eyes emit a faint, cerulean glow.

“Friends?” You ask skeptically, voice just above a whisper. Though your tone came off rather defensive he says nothing of it. He nods, placing the cup down to pick up his chopsticks. “Well we’d have to start somewhere… let’s be friends,” Sugawara insists with a smile. You sigh. He was persistent, you could admit. “If that’s what you wish,” you say.

“You don’t sound happy,” Michizane pushes. You almost laugh but hold it in.

He’s still staring at you, waiting for a response. Eyes locked with his, it almost feels like a staring contest.

“May I speak honestly?” You ask a few seconds later. He nods.

“If you were in my position… would you be happy?”

He is silent for a few moments, studying your features. By the look of his face, you could tell he was thinking to himself.

Suddenly the calm pattern of conversation shifts, jabbing your brain from the suddenness.

“I would say you should feel grateful that I even answered your father’s pleads for me to take you,” he lets out, “It’s sad hearing a grown men beg another just to sell off his own seed.”

You’re in utter disbelief from his words, gawking at him with your widened eyes. It makes your heart thump. Rage takes its home inside of you, swirling about in intense waves. Your fists clench.

“How dare you,” you hiss, voice low.

Michizane rests his left elbow on the table, holding his cheek against his closed fist as he smirks at you. “You’re nothing but a tool I need to give me an heir. A son preferably,” he’s moving the tea cup to his lips with his other hand to take a sip, “A daughter like you would simply not do.”

Within just a second after his words, you’re standing, refusing to hear such disrespect come from a man you barely know. Especially if you were destined to marry.

As you stand, the table you sat at is pushed back, shaking the plates which cause noise.

He stares up at you, a challenging look in his wild eyes. Almost as if he was amused; enjoying a show.

“I refuse to marry any man who sees me as such!” You release angrily, clenching your teeth you turn towards the door to leave.

You get a few footsteps away, just about to reach the handle of the sliding door… you’re then grabbed by a pair of rough hands. The largeness of them take your shoulders, slamming into the closest wall. The the air is knocked out of you almost completely.

You’re gasping, eyes wide as you come face to face with a set of devilish blue ones. The glow they hold is brighter than before.

Michizane lets go of your shoulders to find your wrists at your sides, quickly taking hold of them. He pins them to the wall above your head. His movements are too quick, leaving you powerless against him.

It frightens you.

Trembling, you shrink under him.

Your heart rate quickens.

Stomach churning, you try and steady your irregular breathing as he leans his face towards yours. His white bangs brush across the skin of your face.

You can smell the alcohol on his breath, thinking he may abuse the substance. It makes your throat constrict, pushing back the vomit that threatens to come up.

“I refuse to let a woman talk to me in such a way,” he says, recalling your last set of words thrown at him. His grip on your wrists tightens, making you wince. Was he actually trying to hurt you?

You wriggle in his grasp in an attempt to break free but he only pushes harder.

His face holds the same sick smirk he held before. Though it was darker now, letting you know he had no limits on what he could do. Not knowing what could happen next.

“You’re not talking now?” He asks you with a chuckle, pressing his body into yours. The man is heavy, pushing his chest against you. Your stomach instantly twists sickeningly. He was too close. His breath can be felt at your ear, his voice quiet but deep as he demands the words, “Say something!”

“What do you want from me?” You choke out in a sob, closing your eyes. All you can hear is him chuckle, the stubble of his face brushes against yours.

“Submission,” his breath is hot against your ear. It’s revolting.

“I want you to accept that I own you now,” he adds, pulling away from your ear. His knee separates your joined legs, pushing itself between them; molding you to his preferred position. The feeling of being completely paralyzed and powerless under him has you sick to your stomach.

No man should ever treat you this way.

As he pulls his face away, locking his eyes with yours… you see the darkness that swims within his eyes. A wave of chills down runs down your spine.

“If you submit and accept, you’d be everything a man would want. Pretty and obedient.”

On a split second decision, knowing it’ll hurt you… you’re cutting him off by slamming your head into his. Foreheads make contact, instantly sending a burst of white hot pain throughout your skull. Behind closed eyes, it’s bright from the pain.

While you hold back crying out from it, Michizane doesn’t. He’s grunting, reeling his head back to prevent you from striking again.

He was smart for that move, you think.

His grip against you doesn’t weaken, but he growls. The deep sound rips from his throat behind clenched teeth, almost shaking the walls of the room. “You bitch!” He yells, shaking his head to relieve some of the pain. His grip on your wrists tightens and you cry out, feeling his fingernails dig into your skin.

It’s when you hear the sliding of the door… Aiko enters in a flash. Head turned, you see how her eyebrows are raised above her widened eyes. Shock etches itself into her young features as she sees what’s happening.

“My lady!” She yelps, coming to your aid to help in any way she can. Her hands grasp at the man’s clothing, attempting to pull him away.

It does nothing.

Michizane scowls, finally releasing you to turn towards Aiko.

In a blur, you watch as the man takes the back of his hand and strikes her, sending her to the floor. The sound of his hand coming into contact with the flesh of her cheek echoes through the room, pulling a gasp from your throat. Aiko stumbles, the sounds of her landing mix with her grunts.

With your chest heaving from fear, you’re collecting your scattered mind; eyes jumping to Aiko’s collapsed body. She’s moving a bit, doing her best to sit up after being struck with such force.

Michizane has his back facing you. His focus on Aiko.

The three of you are still. Only the sounds of heavy breathing could be heard.

Inside, you’re boiling with anger. The bubbling of it reaching the brim. Your teeth ache from the force of you clenching them.

It’s when you feel the rush of adrenaline, probably brought on by the sudden action, that you hear ringing in your ears. You unclench your teeth to bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that you are numb.

The only thing you felt was the undeniable desire to hurt Michizane Suguwara.

Slowly, you stand straight, staring at the back of his head. His hair is falling from his hair-tie, coming loose in a fan of white.

“Stupid whore,” he mutters towards Aiko, standing straight. His height towers over you.

Your heart beats once as you suck in a quick breath, and you’re on him. From where you stand, you’re pouncing; fingers latch into his long hair, pulling harshly. It gets a grunt from the man, causing him to stumble back a bit.

Though you try to wrap your legs around him to take him to the floor, your kimono restricts the movement. It gives him the upper hand.

One of his hands finds the wrist attached to your hand in his hair, gripping around it firmly. The feeling of his fingernails in your skin makes you release. Sharp pain bursts up your right arm as he uses his other hand to take hold of the cloth on your back, throwing you off of him.

A gasp leaves your lips when you feel the sensation of falling.

You’re crashing into furniture, hearing the plates and cups break. The pain is suddenly unbearable as you realize you’re able to feel again. Pins and needles, but worse. It’s hot, white hot. The room is bright as you find you’re no longer moving, staring up at the spinning ceiling.

Aiko calls your name. Her voice echoing through your throbbing skull.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you feel your body being lifted, Aiko’s dark eyes finding yours. “You’re okay,” she coos, giving you a minute to gather yourself.

You eventually find your right mind after being thrown across the room.

“He left,” Aiko is telling you as she helps you stand. “Let me take you to the servant’s quarters… he won’t find you there. I can clean your wounds.”

Your eyes squint when you realize what she had just said, throwing her a confused gaze. Wounds?

“You’re bleeding quite a bit, let’s hurry.”

Aiko’s voice holds urgency, but comes off as calm. It’s when you finally glance down, you see the torn fabric of your kimono. Your favorite color fabric tainted with the rich hue of your own red blood. The crimson substance makes itself known.

You also find it’s the source of the excruciating pain. It’s hot; throbbing up your arm and down your back, into your legs. As if fire itself had come to life inside the gash.

As the two of you walk, you’re slumped into Aiko, letting her support you. Your left arm is draped over her shoulders and her right arm hooks around your waist. Walking proves difficult as you feel the waves of pain take hold of you.

“I’ll clean the trail of blood before morning, do not worry.”

In all honesty, you could care less on the state of your home.

Her words make you roll your head slightly to look at her. Aiko’s cheek is angry, showing evidence of Michizane’s abuse. It sends a displeasing wave of electricity through you. Anger spikes within you once again.

“He will pay for touching you,” you rasp out and she sighs. “Let’s worry about you first,” Aiko mumbles.

The two of you come to a stop, standing in front of the door to the servant’s quarters. You’d been here many times in search of Aiko in the past, your father or any one above a servant showed no interest in this area.

No one would find you in this state.

The door slides open, revealing two servant girls already inside. They immediately look towards the two of you, eyes wide and mouths open. “Leave and I’ll explain later,” Aiko demands, shuffling the both of you inside. They gather their things, standing. “Tell no one!” You hear her hiss at the two girls before they leave.

“Take a seat. I will fetch the supplies needed to dress your wounds,” she says after opening the door. You find enough strength in you to slowly walk to the center of the room on your own. An iori had already been lit, fighting off the winter cold. You sit next to it, basking in the heat.

In the moments of silence Aiko leaves you in, you’re beginning to tremble. The aftershock of what had occurred only moments ago had hit, making your fingers achingly grasp at your clothing in an attempt to ground yourself.

The door then opens again. Aiko scurries inside, dropping to your side. She brings a basin of water and a few rags, placing them beside you. Her fingers then grasp at your kimono, pulling your layers off.

“Those girls won’t talk. They are not fond of him either.”

She means Michizane. Her words make you nod, relieved. You weren’t really troubled by it anyways.

You’re slowly revealed to the fresh heat of the iori, upper body exposed. Tingles prickle your flesh, throbbing in places that you assume are bruised.

It’s when you feel the sudden wetness from a damp rag, you wince. “Shit,” you curse, jerking away. The cold water stings and the fabric of the rag is rough. Aiko apologizes, gripping your wounded arm to better inspect the cut. She’s cleaning the blood off. “It’s not terribly deep,” you hear her say quietly, “but I will need to stitch.” Her words make you sigh, dread hitting your gut.

“Let me fetch the supplies for that after I finish cleaning,” she tells you and you nod. “I didn’t get everything all at once. My thoughts are not clear,” she adds. “It’s alright. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong,” you say in a low, tired voice.

Aiko shifts in her spot, studying your face for a second. The worry she holds is obvious. She was never good at hiding her emotions.

“Thank you,” you say soon after your last words, “Your effort to protect me means more than you will ever know.”

She processes your words for a few short moments, a faint smile on her lips. All you can hear is the faint crackles of burning wood beside you as you await her response.

“I would do anything for you, my lady.”

You’re aching all over. The pain had began to make itself known in every area you were hurt. Most prominent areas were your arm and wrists… the thought makes you glance down at your left wrist that rests in your lap.

Even in the faint light emitted from the fire, you see the angry bruises begin to form around your wrists.

After a few minutes of silence passes, Aiko releases your arm. The sudden movement has you looking back to her, watching her stand. “Pardon me,” she excuses herself, leaving to fetch more supplies. Quickly, she exits the room.

It gives you a chance to glance at the damage of your right arm.

The cut stretches across your forearm, almost 4 inches in length. It’s angry, throbbing. Fresh blood had began to run again, the flow constant. You guess that’s why she was in a hurry. Perhaps stitching it would help stop the flow.

It usually stopped for Sukuna.

With all the times you’d patched up Sukuna after he’d carelessly gotten hurt… you were sure you could do this yourself. Yet, with how shaken your hands were and shallow your breathing was; it was best for Aiko to aid you.

Your mind and body freeze.

Fingertips grow cold as a feeling of dread washes over you.

Sukuna would be coming by tonight, you remember. His deep voice booming in your memories along with the line of, “if I find out he so much as touches you… I’ll kill him.”

“My lady,” you suddenly hear in real time, letting Aiko’s voice bring you back to reality.

It’s almost like slow motion, as you turn your head towards the door. Your eyes scan from the ground to where the door is, finding Aiko’s feet… yet, there are two pairs.

One much larger than the other.

You suck in a trembling breath as you slowly scan your eyes upwards… finding a set of deep ones that have already found yours.

His gaze is electrifying even now.

“Ryomen,” you whisper, confusion and fear swimming within your quiet tone.

[shintin]

The Wacky Widow's Woes

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Comedy one-shot

Summary: In a twist of fate, the most obnoxious person on Earth, Gojo Satoru, appeared by your hospital bed. Clearly, the universe had a wicked sense of humor.

Word count: 5k.

Genre: comedy, fluff, yapping (Jujutsu Kaisen au).

Warnings/Tags: humor, no angst, whipped Satoru Gojo, bitchy reader, a lot of jokes about chapter 236 of the JJK manga (my personal healing process), mention of Kitkat, prepare for Gojo's nauseating love for his wife, who's probably sick of him.

Notes: I hope you laugh your ass off while reading this.

You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.

On a very, very, very dull autumn afternoon, we find ourselves in a hospital room where its fancy ass curtains are just letting in enough sunlight to cast a gloomy, eerie glow.

There, on the bed, lies a woman who seems to have become one with the medical equipment—or, better to say, a high-tech octopus. Wires and tubes sprout from her body like overgrown vines, connecting her to an orchestra of beeping machines. It's like a twisted version of a modern art installation, where chaos and order collide in a symphony of medical mayhem.

The woman, blissfully oblivious to the cacophony surrounding her, snores away, blissfully lost in dreamland. It's almost comical how she manages to find solace amidst the tangled wires and the chorus of beeps. One might wonder if she's dreaming of a magical place where the cables turn into candy canes and the machines play cheerful tunes instead of somber heartbeats.

The lighting in the room sucks, perhaps to match the mood or new architectural ambiance design. For fuck's sake, who knows! Shadows dance across the walls, conspiring with the flickering fluorescent lights to create an atmosphere that's equal parts unsettling and strangely fascinating.

As if to bring a touch of irony to the scene, a sad excuse for a vase sits on a nearby table, barely holding onto life. Its wilted flowers, once vibrant and alive, now resemble a bouquet of autumn hues gone horribly wrong. It's a symbolic reminder that beauty is fleeting, just like the woman's health, and that even in the darkness, there's a twisted kind of beauty to be found.

The room carries the unmistakable scent of sterile cleanliness, mingled with a hint of despair. It's the kind of smell that makes you want to open a window and let in some fresh air (read jump out), but alas, in this hospital room, fresh air seems like a distant memory.

Well, hold on to your hospital gown because here's a plot twist for you! Picture this: you've been envisioning this serene hospital room, reading it in all its autumnal glory, and guess what? The woman lying on that bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes, is none other than... drumroll... you!

Yep, you're the star of the show, ready to wake up and face your second stroke. But hey, don't worry, it's not going to be as boring as your room décor. No, no, life has decided to throw you a curveball and add a dash of excitement to your hospital stay. Who needs a peaceful recovery when you can have a stroke sequel, right?

So get ready to jolt awake and embrace the chaos! Remember, even in between unexpected events, a good sense of humor can be the best medicine. Laughter might not cure your condition, but it can certainly make the hospital experience a little more bearable. So, chin up, brave stroke survivor! Your story is about to take an exciting turn!

Well, well, well.

As you wake up from your beauty sleep, feeling as if you've been smooching a cactus all night, the machines around you decide to unleash their inner DJs with a symphony of beeps. How thoughtful of them to create an auditory masterpiece that grates on your nerves like a tone-deaf choir. Ah, music to your ears, right?

But fear not, the brave warrior of hydration! You are on a noble quest to conquer the desert that has taken residence in your mouth. Summoning every ounce of strength (and probably some residual grumpiness), you muster the strength to ascend from your pillow fortress. With your hand gracefully reaching out for that tempting glass of water, victory feels within reach.

Your hand hovers mid-air as if suspended by an invisible force, frozen in a moment of pure disbelief. Just when you think the universe couldn't possibly play a more mischievous trick on you, there he was—sitting on the couch like he owns the place—the one person you would rather avoid more than a clown with a pie in hand. Seriously, is this some cosmic prank show?

Your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but let out a little groan. It's like the universe is trying to test your resilience, throwing you into this hilariously uncomfortable situation. Oh, the irony!

You: Hell no! What the fuck are you doing here?

Right in front of your very eyes sits the epitome of style and charm—a man sporting a white shirt and black pants combo that would weaken fashion gurus at the knees. No sunglasses dare cross the path of this confident fellow, for his piercing ocean-blue eyes need no protection from the sun's feeble attempts to outshine them.

But wait, there's more! Let's not forget about his head adorned with fluffy white hair that could rival the fluffiest clouds. Ugh!

Satoru: Hello to you too, love!

He strikes a pose that screams, "I'm the king of this couch!" With one leg casually crossed over the other and his arms spread wide on the back of the couch, he's claiming his throne in the most nonchalant and hilarious way possible.

Satoru: Is this how you greet your beloved husband?

You: Fuck off!

With the speed of a ninja on a caffeine high, you swiftly pull the blanket up to your chest, fully aware that the hospital gowns offer about as much coverage as a single sheet of tissue paper. Yes, those flimsy garments are the Victoria's Secret of the medical world—barely there and leaving little to the imagination! And just when you thought the situation couldn't get any more entertaining, you catch a glimpse of his famous smile. Asshole! Is he peeping on you?

Satoru: Aha! The feisty spirit lives on! Missed your sassy attitude.

He grins like a mischievous little rascal who just stumbled upon a secret stash of dad jokes, except it's a porn website!

Satoru: And, of course, your perked-up nipples!

Summoning your inner grumpy penguin, you dramatically cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a glare that could make a grizzly bear retreat in fear.

You: well, Mr. White-Haired Head with a stinky smirk and eyes bluer than a bottle of Windex, I didn't miss you AT ALL!

Satoru: Why, oh why, did you dye your hair white if you claim not to miss me, baby? Is it some secret signal to the hair gods that you're ready to experience the adventure of life without my captivating presence? Or perhaps it's your way of channeling the wisdom of Gandalf and Dumbledore, hoping that your newly snowy locks will grant you magical powers to forget all about me?

You: Hold your horses, chatterbox! My hair has turned snowy white without any meddling from me. No, I didn't secretly sprinkle it with magic hair dye while cackling like a mischievous sorcerer, you idiot!

Satoru: Whoopsie daisy! You've got a point there. Did I accidentally step on your delicate feelings, wise and experienced grandma?

In a grand display of determination, you muster every ounce of strength to grab the pillow behind your back, preparing to launch it at him. Alas, it seems the strength of a thousand paperclips has possessed your hands, rendering them feeble and incapable of fulfilling your pillow-throwing dreams. The valiant effort leaves you gasping for air as if you have just completed a marathon of pillow-tossing.

Satoru: Yowai mo!

He erupts into laughter, showcasing his undeniable talent as a professional tease.

You: Cut the crapola! Spill the beans! What on earth has brought you to this neck of the woods?

With your firm tone that could rival a drill sergeant's, the machine begins beeping faster than a sugar-rushed hummingbird on roller skates. It's as if the beeps are making their best impression of a hyperactive jazz band, matching the frantic tempo of your skyrocketing heart rates.

Satoru: I'll be rolling on the floor in laughter if you drop dead from the sheer intensity of your anger, Granny. Let's be real; finding inner peace is way more beneficial for you in the long run. Just saying!

You: Satoru!

Satoru: Yep, that's me. Breaking hearts and taking names. Can't a poor soul like me simply pay a visit to my dear wife on her deathbed?

You: Hell to the no! You can't just waltz in our life whenever you please! Sorry, but you lost that VIP visiting privilege when you—

Satoru: Oh, and on that note, could that charming chick who graced you with her presence earlier be our beloved daughter?

You sigh, exasperated, and gently rub your forehead as if trying to coax that headache into submission. Ah, the joys of a headache that seems set on conquering you before any actual sickness does. With a dramatic sweep of your hand across your face, you channel your inner drama queen and then grab your neck.

You: Oh, please, for the love of all that is awkward, just tell me that you didn't try to work your "smooth moves" on her.

Satoru: I was this close to making a move, you know? She's like a spitting image of when I was head over heels for you! It's like you've managed to clone yourself or something. Should I be worried? Did you secretly stash away all my precious genes and hoard them for your own amusement? Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep all those sperms to yourself! But seriously, she doesn't look like me at all. I am hurt!

He pouts like a baby, forever stuck in his eternal state of immaturity, but you aren't about to let that deter you. With an air of defiance, you casually lean against the hospital bed board, gazing intently at the serum making its grand entrance into your veins. Oh, and that obnoxious machine chiming away? You can't help but wish it could just shut up.

You: It's actually better for her, you know. At least she doesn't have anything that serves as a constant reminder of her absent father, who couldn't even be bothered to be present during her birth!

Your words are like a sarcasm waterfall, cascading with vicious wit. You've mastered the art of tongue-in-cheek remarks, and while you're fully aware of their potency, you couldn't care less. It's like you've got a license to sass, and you're not afraid to use it, even if it makes the world say, "Well, ain't you a delightful ray of sunshine!"

Satoru: Let's not paint the picture as if I had some glamorous options! Nope, I was bestowed with the honor of being the designated problem-solver, the one expected to handle it all while gracefully tiptoeing through—

You: Oh, pretty please! If it's not too much trouble, continue your reign as the honored one through heaven and earth, while sparing me from any additional bouts of annoyance. I must say, it's quite the talent you possess—being both honored and a master of irritation. Quite the balancing act, I must admit!

As you clench the blanket in desperation, that rebellious needle gleefully plunges itself into your hand. Fuck unexpected pain! And there, decorating your arm like a chilling masterpiece, are the bruises—trophy marks from your encounters with the needle army. Who knew injections could become an avant-garde art form? With tears welling up and the air growing thinner, it feels like the room is leaving you gasping for breath just to have a twisted sort of fun. Bravo, universe, for your fucked up sense of humor! A standing ovation for this macabre spectacle.

Satoru: Love?

You: …

Satoru: Baby?

You: …

Satoru: My Wondrous Whipped Cream Warrior, the Caramel Crusader, the Sprinkle Spritzer, the Marshmallow Maestro, the Treat Tornado, the Sugar Rush Superstar, the Jelly-filled Joy Bringer, and the Sweetness Sorceress who turns my world into a Never-ending Dessert Buffet! The Honeyed Pussy of—

You: WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT, SATORU?

You are wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic, desperately gasping for air, and his attitude is about as helpful as a wet matchstick. You and the mysteries of poor life choices! What possessed you, in that twisted moment of madness, to willingly plunge into the depths of infatuation with him? It's a dark, twisted enigma that not even the Grim Reaper could decipher.

Satoru: Are you still mad?

As you tilt your head, there he is, looking at you with those big, blue eyes, like a lost poppy desperately trying to win the "Most Heart-Melting Flower" award. What a sneaky trickster! He knows exactly what he is doing, employing his secret weapon of irresistible gazes, and darn it; it works like a charm! You can't resist the powers of those eyes, and you reluctantly surrender, cursing his effective tactics while secretly admiring his diabolical brilliance. Well played, Mr. Blue-Eyed Mother Fucker, well played.

You: I never stopped being mad at you!

Satoru: Fair, but you have to know that—

You: Spare me the creative excuses, please! You pulled off the greatest magic trick of all—knocking me up—and then poof! You disappeared into thin air, leaving me with a growing belly and a bewildered expression. Good job, Houdini!

Satoru: You're welcome, baby. But you've got to cut me some slack here! My job description practically has "Accident Enthusiast" written all over it. It's not like I wake up in the morning, rubbing my hands together, thinking, "Oh boy, I can't wait for another mishap!" So, let's blame it on my occupational hazard, shall we?

You: Oh, well, then, thank you so much for gracing us with your presence again! You chose to go down that path because, of course, you believed you were the one and only capable being in the universe. And oh, how lucky we are that you decided to leave me and our daughter behind. It's truly heartwarming to see you saunter back into our lives after years like it's just another casual stroll in the park. I mean, who needs a father figure during precious moments like birth, first words, and first steps, right? Clearly, you had more important things to attend to. Our daughter has grown up and gone through school, and I've had the pleasure of explaining why her dad couldn't be bothered to pick her up like those "normal" dads. Graduation, dating, first job—she did it all without you, and we couldn't be more grateful for your consistent absence. Now you have the audacity to—

You start coughing, and each painful gasp feels like your lungs are being ruthlessly ripped apart, leaving behind crimson stains on your once immaculate sheets and hands. And there he stands, towering tall, as handsome as the day he first stole your heart. It's just not fair that he still looks so good while sickness has mercilessly drained the life from your weary soul. He approaches you, the lingering scent of vanilla clinging to him, a bittersweet reminder of what you once cherished but now resentfully long for.

Satoru: Take a sip of water. Do you want me to help you?

Oh, he's all worried now, isn't he? But honestly, after enduring all that post-him misery, you're not about to let him off the hook just because he's offering a glass of water. Come on, you might be a little dumb, but you're not "drink-water-and-forget-all-the-pain" dumb! Nice try, buddy, but you'll need more than H2O to wash away the mess you left behind.

You: I DON'T NEED YOUR GODDAMN HELP! How about you kindly take a flying leap back to wherever you've been hiding all this time? I'm sure you've perfected your disappearing act by now. And don't forget to leave behind a trail of glittering resentment as you go, just to keep things spicy. Ta-ta, farewell, and may you step on a thousand Lego bricks on your way out!

Satoru: Listen up, partner in crime! I've had enough of leaving you to your own devices. It's been tough for me, too, and I sincerely apologize for piling on the hardship. But I learned my lesson! Starting right this very moment, I'm making a solemn vow never to ditch you again. Consider me your loyal sidekick, ready to tackle life's challenges together, even if it means enduring endless reruns of your favorite TV show or subjecting myself to your cooking experiments. We're in this for the long haul, love!

You use the sleeve of your flimsy, ridiculous gown to clumsily wipe away the blood from your mouth, all the while shooting him a perplexed look. Seriously, how on earth does he still manage to gaze at you with those doe eyes, all lovey-dovey, when you're rocking the vampire-on-a-sunlit-day aesthetic?

You: So, you decided to grace me with your presence just because I'm sick?

Satoru: Yes.

You: I see how it is! You're not here because you missed me, huh?

Satoru: Uh-oh, am I about to witness another round of your infamous anger? But hey, before you explode like a volcano, let me enlighten you that I didn't write the rulebook on how things work. Nope, not my area of expertise. Turns out, the universe didn't consult me when setting up the whole system. It seems they left me out of the committee meeting where they decided the rules of life. Classic!

You: Does it hurt?

Satoru: It hurt me badly because I snapped in half like a Kit-Kat bar. And no, there wasn't a delicious wafer filling in between, just pure pain and emotional wreckage.

You: Come on, Satoru! This is not the time for your quirky sense of humor. I mean, seriously, I saw your guts out in the open, and to top it off, ants decided to take a leisurely hike on them.

Satoru: TV producers really went all out with the graphic details, huh? Sure, I appreciate high-definition viewing, but did they need a close-up of my stuff? Talk about taking reality TV to a whole new level! I hope they provided a warning. Note to self: avoid snacking while watching shows that involve anatomical explorations!

You: SATORU!

Satoru: Alright, alright, no need to get serious! Can't a man crack a joke about his own death around here? Fine, I'll hold your hand during the whole thing. You know, I once spouted that cliché line about dying alone, but let's face it, that was a load of nonsense. Nobody goes down that final road solo. It's like a grand exit party!

You: Oh, really? So, you had some company, huh? Well, you know what they say: ignorance is bliss. I don't need the details, and my imagination can take a wild ride all on its own

Satoru: Jealousy looks good on you, love.

As he bends closer, his breath tickles your lips, making you wonder if he had onions for lunch. With a dramatic flourish, he grabs your chin as if auditioning for a cheesy romance movie. And then, like a vacuum cleaner on turbo mode, he plants a kiss that sucks the air right out of your lungs. It's like indulging in a dessert buffet filled with marshmallows, caramel, and insulin shots. Who needs a thrill ride at an amusement park when you can experience a sugar rush of epic proportions? You may be risking diabetes, but hey, at least you'll be leaving this world with a sweet tooth satisfied and an unforgettable, albeit comical, memory of that last smooch.

Unfortunately, after what feels like a fleeting eternity, he decides to break the kiss. As your eyes meet, you can't help but sneak a glance downwards, wondering if his pants harbored any surprises. Alas, it appears that either he's a master of disguise or ghosts have taught him their spectacular talent for concealment. Sneaky whores!

Satoru: Are you ready to go?

Oh, snap! Once the horniness fades away, reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Holy shit! How did you manage to forget about your daughter? Leaving her behind is definitely not the best parenting move. Time to snap back into responsible mode and give that little one the attention she deserves. Parenthood: where forgetfulness meets a reality check!

You: Will she be okay?

Satoru: She's our little munchkin. She'll be alright.

You: I want to see her for the last time.

Satoru: You can see her whenever you want.

You: WHAT?

He scratches his head, messing up his undercut, desperately trying to dodge eye contact like a game of social hide-and-seek.

Satoru: Ops! Did I just spill the beans on one of the perks of the afterlife? My bad! My master plan was to witness that priceless guilty expression on your face when we reached the pearly gates. Imagine your shock when you realized you blamed me for no reason, only to discover I had a front-row seat to all your shenanigans during all those years! Oh, the things I've seen! I know how many times you've touched yourself thinking about me! No judging, though! And yes, I know you secretly fumed when our little bundle of joy uttered "Dada" before "Mama." Don't worry, I won't tell a soul... except, you know, all the other souls up there. It's the ultimate celestial gossip!

You: WHAT? YOU KNOW EVERYTHING? THEN WHY THE FUCK YOU ASKED IF SHE'S OUR DAUGHTER?

Satoru: First, just to tickle your pickle. Second, as I cunningly planned.

You: You're still a brat!

Satoru: And you're still as beautiful as the day I lost you.

You: Smooth words, my friend, but let's not kid ourselves. I won't buy into any deceit. I'm old, wrinkled, and sick. Time and disease are killing me, just as you hated. Meanwhile, you continue to flaunt that glorious chiseled chest and those rock-hard butt cheeks.

Satoru: Thank you, ma'am, for keeping my ass in your thoughts. Speaking of which, I must confess I've made some boneheaded decisions along the way. Opting for death in the name of someone else can seem like a breeze compared to the complexity of choosing to live for them. So, kudos to you for being the badass who faced life's challenges to honor my memory.

You: I hope this is not just a dream.

Satoru: We can give it a try and see for ourselves.

As Satoru reaches out his hand, something extraordinary unfolds—the machine starts beeping. You look at the device, noticing that the time between beeps gradually increases. But then, your gaze shifts to your cherished spouse, the man whose absence has left an indelible void within you. The man with whom you would have fearlessly confronted doomsday on that fateful December 24th in 2018, had it not been for the fact that you were carrying his last trace of existence, a precious legacy nestled within your very being.

You: You feel so warm.

Satoru: Some things never change.

His hand gracefully slides towards your waist, triggering a chain reaction of chaos. Those pesky wires and tubes that were so dutifully attached to you? Well, they decide it's time for a break and go on a wild unplugging spree. It's like a rebellious dance party of freedom for those little connectors! And just when you thought things couldn't get any more exciting, your feet are about to touch the chilly floor, ready to embark on an unplanned adventure.

You: Hold up! Fetch my wheelchair for me!

Satoru: You don't need it anymore.

As you place your feet on the floor, you can't help but chuckle at the fact that your knees manage to hold up, allowing you to stand upright. The machines emit a continuous beeping sound, indicating a flat line on the monitor. Suddenly, the door swings open, and a troupe of nurses storm into the room. They swiftly gather around your motionless body lying on the bed. One nurse examines your vital signs, another administers an injection into your vein, and a third retrieves a machine to deliver cardiac shocks in an attempt to revive you. Witnessing these intense moments, you hold Satoru's hand tighter.

You: I don't want to come back.

Satoru: Are you sure?

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes and trickle down your cheeks as you gaze at him.

You: Yeah. I've spent more time living with your memory than I've had the opportunity to live alongside you.

Satoru's grip on your hand intensifies like he's determined to etch his touch into your very being. He lifts your hand delicately, planting a tender kiss upon it. Drawing you closer to him, he envelopes you in an embrace, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. With gentle affection, he presses a kiss upon the crown of your head, leaning his head upon yours.

As teardrops trickle onto your head, you find yourself clinging to him desperately, as if trying to hold onto the fragments of a shattered existence. In that agonizing moment, the harsh reality of his unfulfilled roles crashes down upon you like a relentless wave. He has endured the torment of being a husband bereft of a wife, a father denied a child, and a sensei forsaken his students.

Satoru: I will never let go of you anymore.

You: Is this just another one of those "oops, my bad" promises? You know, like when you swore to be to hold me for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health?

Satoru: Heyyy! I held you till death do us part. I even remember, the night before my, um, grand finale, I held you so good that you had spread your legs, moaning my name and begging me to hold you harder.

Just as you are ready to break free from his grasp and deliver a well-deserved bonk on his clueless head, the scene takes an unexpected turn. Your doctor rushes into the room and towards your bed, barking orders left and right, and proceeds to administer yet another mysterious injection into your poor, defenseless vein.

Deciding to redirect your attention, you avert your gaze and catch sight of your reflection in the nearby window. To your astonishment, your hair has magically reverted to its former glory, defying the clutches of time. Wrinkles? Vanished as if a skilled magician performed a grand disappearing act. You're suddenly transported back to the good ol' days of youthfulness. Bewildered, you inspect your once-bruised hands, only to find them as flawless as a newborn's.

You: Satoru? What's—

Satoru: I know, right? It turns out one of the unexpected bonuses of kicking the bucket is that you get to rock your sexiest form once again. So, brace yourself because I won't behave when you sashay around in that gorgeous drop-dead gown. I can't keep it in my pants till we arrive and I start making cream pies and babies with you!

You: Oh, my goodness! Does it actually work in the afterlife as well?

Satoru: You're referring to my... um, dick? Let me tell you, it still has the same old magic, if not a little extra pizzazz! It's like a fine wine, aging gracefully and delivering peak performance in the afterlife. Who knew there would be such perks beyond the grave?

You: No, idiot! I mean babies!

Satoru: How should I know? I made sure to wear a condom during my frisky encounters with angels.

You can't help but release an exasperated breath, causing your ears to turn as red as a tomato in a sauna. The thought of giving him a good old-fashioned strangling and sending him off to the after-afterlife has you chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

Satoru: Would it tickle your funny bone if I threw caution to the wind and played a game of "heavenly roulette" with unprotected encounters, potentially earning myself some out-of-this-world STD souvenirs?

With a masterful brow raise and a world-class eye roll, you are all set to deliver the ultimate "exit stage left" move. But he pulls off the ultimate surprise maneuver and hits you with the "Hold up, wait a minute" move. He has a secret superpower to freeze you in your snarky tracks! Goddammit! Those puppy eyes again.

Satoru: I was joking, okay? I just jerked off while watching your showering or self-exploration activities. I mean, fingering yourself while calling my name. That's it! Okay? Also, we should have a talk about that dildo you named Hollow Purple!

You: So, it seems you shamelessly watched everything, hm?

Satoru: Yes. Absolutely! I had a lot of spare time to slay, and, hey, let's not divert our attention from the Hollow Purple subject, you dirty little mouse!

You: God! Kill me already!

Satoru: Why? You're just itching to infiltrate the kingdom of my pants, aren't you?

You: You know what? I've had a change of heart. I'd rather try my chances with cosmic sickness than spend an eternity with your delightful company!

Satoru: Goodness gracious! You and your fiery temper! How on earth did you manage to cast a spell on me, making me fall for you?

You: It's common knowledge among our friends that everybody should bow down to your shameless expertise in the art of begging!

Satoru: Is that so?

He displays a smug smirk, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Satoru: Well, we can ask when we see them.

Your eyes go from their regular setting to full-on "wide-angle lens" mode, capturing the world in all its wide-eyed wonder. It is as if someone presses the "zoom" button on your peepers, revealing a comical level of astonishment.

You: They are there, too?

Satoru: Oh boy, buckle up for Nanamin's epic rage when he discovers our fashionably late entrance!

You: Well, chop-chop! Time to hit the road! We wouldn't want to unleash the wrath of the entire afterlife just because your chatty ass decided to go on such a long monologue!

He leans in and gently kisses your forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours as he guides you towards the door. As you both stand at the doorway, you cast a lingering gaze upon the nurses and doctor, who seem to have thrown in the towel on their attempts to revive you.

Satoru: I can't wait to spook everyone alongside you. You'll forever be my always.

Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this.

@enchantedforest-network 🤍

[thelibraryofemory]

Worst Bible verses (my opinion)

TW: religious (obvi), I'm atheist so ill sleep at night either way.

Deuteronomy 22:28–29

"If a man meets a virgin who is not betrothed, and seizes her and lies with her, and they are found, then the man who lay with her shall give to the father of the young woman fifty shekels of silver, and she shall be his wife."

Why it’s harmful: This verse has been interpreted to mean that a rape victim must marry her rapist, provided she was not engaged. While some scholars argue that the Hebrew word here might suggest seduction or premarital sex, many see it as legitimizing or trivializing sexual violence. It reflects a culture where women were considered property, and rape was a crime against a male guardian, not the woman herself.

Leviticus 20:13

"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."

Why it’s harmful: This verse has been used to justify violence, discrimination, and criminalization of LGBTQ+ individuals. The term "abomination" has carried tremendous weight and stigma, leading to centuries of persecution. Modern scholarship varies on interpretation, with some arguing it refers to specific ritual or temple practices rather than consensual relationships.

Ephesians 5:22–24

"Wives, submit to your own husbands as to the Lord..."

Why it’s harmful: This verse has been used to enforce rigid gender roles and justify abuse under the guise of religious submission. While the surrounding context also tells husbands to love their wives sacrificially, the emphasis on obedience has often overshadowed that message.

Numbers 31:17–18

"Now therefore kill every male among the little ones, and kill every woman who has known man intimately. But all the girls who have not known man intimately, keep alive for yourselves."

Why it’s harmful: This verse, spoken by Moses, calls for the mass killing of Midianite prisoners, including children, and the keeping of virgin girls. Critics call this genocide and condoned sexual enslavement. It is one of the most morally disturbing commands attributed to a biblical figure.

Genesis 19 (Sodom and Gomorrah)

Lot offers his daughters to a violent mob to protect guests; later, the cities are destroyed.

Why it’s harmful: Often interpreted as a condemnation of homosexuality, the story has been used to demonize LGBTQ+ individuals. Lot offering his daughters also portrays a patriarchal willingness to sacrifice women to protect men. The deeper issue in the story—inhospitality and gang rape—is often overlooked in these interpretations.

Judges 19 (The Levite's Concubine)

A man gives his concubine to a mob, they gang-rape her all night, and she dies. He then cuts her into 12 pieces and sends them across Israel.

A man gives his concubine to a mob, they gang-rape her all night, and she dies. He then cuts her into 12 pieces and sends them across Israel.

Deuteronomy 21:18–21

"If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son... then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones."

Why it’s harmful: This passage commands the death penalty for a disobedient son, which promotes excessive punishment and harsh authoritarian parenting. While not practiced today, its presence in scripture has led to debates about the ethics of biblical law.

1 Timothy 2:11–12

"Let a woman learn quietly with all submissiveness. I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet."

Why it’s harmful: This verse has been used to bar women from leadership in churches, education, and even society at large. It's seen as upholding patriarchal structures and has played a key role in institutionalized sexism within Christianity.

Psalm 137:9

"Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!"

Why it’s harmful: This disturbing verse expresses a cry for vengeance during exile in Babylon. While it reflects raw human anger and grief, it imagines infanticide as a form of justice. Taken literally, it can shock modern readers and has been criticized for its violent imagery.

Exodus 21:20–21

"When a man strikes his slave, male or female, with a rod and the slave dies under his hand, he shall be avenged. But if the slave survives a day or two, he is not to be avenged, for the slave is his money."

Why it’s harmful: This passage condones slavery and treats the life of a slave as property. It's been historically cited to justify chattel slavery, especially in the American South. The distinction between killing and merely injuring a slave reflects dehumanization and normalization of violence.

Final Thoughts

Many of these verses reflect ancient worldviews: patriarchal, tribal, hierarchical, and sometimes violent. While some believers interpret them as metaphorical, contextual, or no longer applicable under the New Covenant (through Jesus), others take them literally, leading to harmful ideologies and real-world consequences.

Modern theologians, ethicists, and scholars often grapple with these texts, working to reinterpret or challenge their application in contemporary life. Many faith communities have moved away from literal interpretations and emphasize broader principles of love, justice, and mercy.

[xxnashiraxx]

✨Ali's Birthday Bash! #14✨

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Hi everyone I'm alive I'm just super busy and I want to catch up on all my tags and I'm so behind I will try to get to them the next couple days!!! I'M SORRY THE PRESSURE IS WEIGHING ON ME 💕Anywho!! Here is my next portrait! I lied- I've got 11-ish left! Accidentally ticked a box I shouldn't have!

divider here!

Andromeda (for @andromedaancunin)

HI!!! This is my first time drawing a scar of this caliber!! I had a lot of fun with it and I think it turned out okay, I just hope Andromeda looks as lovely as she is in all your beautiful posts!!! 💗 The rose tattoo was actually a blessing because I used to endlessly practice roses in middle school so that was the easiest part!! 💕

I am so glad I've met you on here!! I love your posts so much, I look forward to all your shots of Astarion and Andromeda, not to mention how inspiring they are 😭They look adorable and I need to get into your writing so bad, every snippet I've been able to read has been so lovely, and you have such a talent for it, I'm so glad this game brought back that inspiration- it did the same for me!- and I can see the passion and dedication behind everything you share. I enjoy seeing your posts so much, and I smile every time they come across my dash. I get to follow their journey!!

I hope you have an amazing New Year and I hope you like this little portrait! 💕

Okay I really mean eleven more this time!!! Get ready everybody 😀

[sneakyswag]

Healing

Legends Reborn

Jumpscaring @absolutely-normal-about-x

Beta huffed, looking over the kitchen and noticing clumps of different types of fur, hair, and feathers scattered everywhere.

It was safe to say that the constant cleaning was getting a little annoying, but he wasn’t going to complain. Come on, he lived in the Flutter now. It was already too much for his family, dealing with him and his antics, so he figured he had to do something. Beta straightens up and ties his hair in a little ponytail, before starting to sweep.

It was… a little troubling. Normally, he’d just sweep up little clumps of hair and fur, but now, thanks to Harpuia’s feathers from a game of tag gone extreme, the broom wasn’t picking up the feathers very well. With a small sigh, Beta reached down and grabbed a few feathers, only to immediately let them go with a yelp. His hand had gotten cut in about three places. Crimson spilled out from his hand quickly, alerting the snow-haired Carbon who dashed towards the sink.

With a hiss, Beta washed the cuts out, watching the blood wash away down the drain. He sighed as the cool liquid poured over his wounds, soothing them greatly.

Now that Beta was a Carbon—no longer in his Reploid body—he didn’t have his Bassnium and plasma regulator. Also meaning, he had no way of making the side effects of his powers go away. Because of this, Beta’s arms, shoulders and hands were highly sensitive due to power usage. Any pain or strain inflicted on them hurts three times more than the average person.

Footsteps echoed across the flutter, catching the snow-haired Carbon’s attention. He glanced at the source out of the corner of his eye, tensing up as he saw his Uncle X and Cousin Volnutt approaching.

“Lighting, are you okay? We heard you scream”, Volnutt says, concerned.

Beta chuckles nervously and shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t say I screamed, but…”

Volnutt’s gaze drops to Beta’s hand, where he notices the cuts, and his expression changes to one of worry. X follows his son’s gaze and is the first to speak. “My… how did that happen?” X asks softly as he walks over, gently taking Beta’s hand and turning off the water.

Beta whimpers and pulls away. “It hurts…” he mumbles.

X’s eyes widen slightly. His neutral but kind expression shifted into a concerned frown. Volnutt moves to a nearby cabinet where he pulls out a med kit. X notices and guides Beta to the dining table. They sit across from each other as X carefully begins to patch up his wounds.

Beta averts his gaze, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do this, you know…?” Beta muttered, his cheeks painted a noticeable shade of crimson.

X sighed, a small smile forming on his face. Beta was smart, but in times like these, he was stubborn. It reminded X of himself years ago, back when Dr. Cain was alive. Whenever X suffered small injuries, he refused to let Dr. Cain patch him up even though he knew that all the old man wanted to do was help.

Beta let out a shaky sigh, followed by a quiet whine.

“Does that hurt, Beta?” Volnutt asked gently, sitting next to him.

Beta nodded, clearly embarrassed. X’s expression softened even further. “You’re sensitive? Is that why?”

The snow-haired Carbon shrugs. “I mean… you know about the dilemma with my powers, right? Well, when I woke up in my Carbon body, my regulator was gone, and… well… the pain is back.”

X pursed his lips, he knew this was probably another reason why Beta would just try to avoid using his powers in general. I mean, come on, Volnutt hasn’t even seen Beta’s powers other than that one time, and… well, Volnutt is a child. It makes sense that he’s curious and wants to see them again, but Beta refuses. His powers can be dangerous now that he doesn’t have his power regulator and isn’t a Reploid anymore, deeming him weaker.

“How bad is it?” X asks, his tone firm. “And do *not* downplay it. I don’t like being lied to.”

Beta swallows nervously, averting his eyes. “Not the worst it’s ever been, but… it really hurts.”

X nodded finishing the bandaging. He pulled away slightly, studying Beta’s expression. Everything suddenly made sense—Beta flinching at the slightest touch to his shoulder, the shaky hands, all of it. X tried to understand Beta’s reasoning behind hiding his injuries, but if he hid something as simple as this, what else would he be capable of hiding from them?

X sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Beta murmured.

“Horseshit.”

“Dad!” Volnutt exclaimed, his voice a mix of annoyance and slight shock. His father didn’t swear often, but he had his moments.

Beta shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Volnutt, who was shaking his head at his father’s swear.

X huffed and turned to Beta. His piercing emerald-green eyes met with the snow-haired Carbon’s, sending a chill through him. X’s intense stare had always been intimidating to Beta and now was no exception.

“I’m not mad, kid. I’m worried. Do you not trust us?” X asked softly.

Beta shook his head frantically. “Of course I trust you—”

“So why lie?” Volnutt interrupted.

Both pairs of eyes land on him. Beta purses his lips and averts his eyes. “My powers cause nothing but problems. Meaning I don’t cause anything but problems and—”

Volnutt grabs Beta’s shoulders, making the snow-haired Carbon gasp. “You are NOT a problem! Don’t say things like that! Why can’t you love yourself? You do so much already! Why can’t you see yourself how we see you?!” Volnutt exclaims.

X gently pried Volnutt’s hands off of Beta.

Beta sighs and runs his hands through his hair, before remembering his cuts and pulling away with a wince. “I do love myself I—”

“Then stop being an idiot, okay?” Volnutt said, his voice softening slightly.

Beta nodded, pressing his lips together. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better, okay?”

X sighed and nodded, letting Beta go. Volnutt watched him leave and turned to his father. “Just like that? You’re letting him go?”

X sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’ll take way more than one conversation to get it into his head that he’s worth it. Just… take it slow, okay? He’s still getting used to everything.”

Volnutt pouted. “But—”

“Vol, please. I get how you feel, but rushing things isn’t the way,” X said firmly but gently. “I know that well.”

Volnutt nodded and pressed his lips to form a thin line before retreating to his room. X watched him leave with a frown.

Trying to live semi-domestic lives was hard for most of them, but especially Beta. Beta never knew his purpose. On top of being woken up and getting sick due to a long hibernation, one side effect was memory loss, which unfortunately affected the snow-haired Carbon.

X fidgeted with his braid for a moment before standing up and heading to the kitchen, already expecting a mess. He doesn’t know whether to be worried, or frustrated, or both.

Instead, the kitchen was spotless, as if no one had even gotten injured in the first place. X sighs and inspects the sink. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not to be confused with the fact that he’s glad he doesn’t have to clean something else up, even though he’d do so with no problem, but the simple fact that Beta tried to lie and play off his injuries, even though they’re light, as nothing, is extremely concerning. Even so, Beta cleaned up the kitchen. Sure, his issue may seem minor, but that’s how all major problems start.

X was going to have a talk with this boy. Maybe not at this moment exactly, but soon.

[rainintheevening]

West, Part I

Maps stretched out

The day after Peter ships out, the maps start appearing on the wall of the Fifth form common room at St. Maurice’s. Europe as a whole at first, then Italy, the Mediterranean, Greece, Germany, France...

He takes them home with him at the end of the term, Edmund Pevensie does, scatters them over his (and Peter's) room, mixed up with newspapers and letters in Peter's dashing handwriting.

Too many miles to count

He tries to find closer maps, more detail, tracing his finger across mountain ranges and down coastlines. He spans the entire Allied line with his thumb. He'd never felt the world to be so big before, never felt so small. Narnia had been such a small country. How long would it take to sail around the Cape of Gibraltar? How long would it take to fly to Sicily?

Sometimes he does the math. Sometimes he doesn't.

Let's just say we're inches apart

Remember watching the stars with Oreius? How you'd sketch them with your finger so carefully? How we'd lie out in the grass with Era and Philip, in silence sometimes, for hours? There were so many stars out there in the country. Some nights I'm lucky to see stars here. But when I do I imagine you seeing the same ones, mapping your way the way to well, your way to me. Sometimes I swear I can feel you beside me in the dark, little brother.

He lies in Peter's bed, letter in his hand, falls asleep with paper between his fingers.

And even closer at heart

For we are saved by hope: but hope that is seen is not hope: for what a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it. Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.

Even as his pen moves over the paper, he finds his lips moving too, a begging murmur, mixing with the summer rain heavy on the roof.

And we'll be just fine

He laughs as Lucy places the crown of daisies on his head, and kisses her cheek. He rubs Susan's aching feet as she sits on the couch and reads aloud to them. He fingers his little silver lion against his collarbone, and smiles through the steam rising off his coffee.

Another pin pushed in

The maps on the wall grow a forest of colored heads and tiny flags, and anyone who wants war news or any better understanding of the progression of the European theatre goes to the Fifth's common room.

To remind us where we've been

He takes a map down to the stables sometimes, unrolls it on the table in the harness room, sits patiently as Master Gringham pores over it, searching for the boy who rode his horses like no one else, all of them trying to coordinate themselves.

The horses miss you, he writes to Peter. Have you had a chance to ride recently?

And evey mile adds up

He lies alone in their room, catching the faint murmurs of his parents downstairs, and he can't remember the last time he cried on Christmas, but he's doing it now, hot salt water on Peter's pillow, as Bing Crosby croons on the wireless in the girls' room down the hall.

Please, God, please let him come home safe, please let him be happy, please.

Leaving its mark on us

I was grieved to hear of your wounding, brother, but truly grateful it was not more serious. I wish I could be there, to make sure you were getting proper care and treatment. Be careful, please. But don't be a coward. I'd rather a dead brother, than a coward. But don't die. You're not allowed to die without me.

He means it, every word, that's why he doesn't cross any of it out.

And sometimes our compass breaks

Twelve of them dead, and I alive, and I don't know why, Ed, but I don't know if I can do this, I can't. Not alone. I'd forgotten how much this hurts. I only knew half their names, and I know Badger had four little kids back home, and I don't understand.

I don't understand.

And our steady true north fades

Snow lies thick on the moor, and Ed struggles to open his eyes in the morning. His feet are heavy, his mind moves slow, and he can't get warm. He sits as close to the fire in the common room as he can without setting his clothes aflame. Some mornings he sits with his hand on the black leather cover, but he doesn’t open the book.

We'll be just fine

There's a black and white photograph folded in with the thin paper, and there he is smiling up at them all, officer's cap set at a jaunty angle, shirtless with a bandage on one forearm. Peter hugs a scruffy looking mongrel dog close, hand rubbing the pointed ears, and Ed smiles back at the living shadow of his brother.

We'll be just fine

Warm spring sunshine splashes over Ed's face, and he leans on his spade, brushes mud off his hands, and surveys the dark turned earth of the school's Victory Garden, listens to the first formers laughing as they fling dirt clods at each other.

We'll be just fine

Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth.

He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire... Peter writes.

We'll be just fine

Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.

The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge, Edmund answers.

I know that we will

"I miss him so much," Lucy says, and Edmund wraps his arm around her shoulders as they walk, remembering how he closed his last letter with those three words.

I just know that we will

He kneels by Peter's bed, his bed now, and the maps hang all round on the walls, he is surrounded by everywhere his brother is and was and could be, as he bows his head and the evening prayer comes weary and steady from his lips.

They used to say it together.

[haplogamingchef]

Mastering Ironeye: The Ultimate Elden Ring Nightreign Guide

Introduction

Welcome to your all-in-one guide for mastering Ironeye in Elden Ring: Nightreign. If you're looking for a powerful support class that also brings serious ranged damage to the table, Ironeye is the way to go. In this detailed breakdown, you'll learn exactly how to make the most of Ironeye’s abilities—from optimal weapon use to positioning, team synergy, and boss fight tactics. Whether you're brand new to the game or refining your build, this Nightreign Ironeye guide covers everything you need to start dominating as the best support class in Elden Ring.

We’ll go over ability mechanics, gear selection, upgrade routes, and real-time combat strategies to help you maximize your impact across PvE scenarios.

Understanding Ironeye’s Strengths and Role in Your Team

Ironeye in Elden Ring: Nightreign is best defined as a ranged support class. This character shines by combining damage output with team protection. The marked ability is at the heart of Ironeye's utility—it not only revives allies quickly but also increases the enemy's vulnerability, making them take 10% more damage and suffer heavier stagger buildup.

Key strengths include:

Excellent at interrupting boss mechanics (like sleep attacks).

Effective in kiting fast-moving enemies and flyers.

Allows your frontline to focus on aggro while you control spacing and crowd pressure.

Reliable at keeping stagger pressure on enemies, especially bosses.

The gameplay loop is simple but powerful: maintain your distance, mark enemies strategically, and punish mistakes with burst damage.

Core Combat Mechanics and Movement Mastery

Getting the basics right with Ironeye is critical. The key to staying alive and doing consistent damage lies in movement and attack precision. Here’s a breakdown of essential controls and techniques:

Two-Handing Your Bow: Use Y + RB or Triangle + R1 to enter two-hand mode. This boosts your damage and allows for quicker shot cycles.

Aiming and Shooting: LT to aim, RT to fire. You'll get more accuracy and flexibility, especially in mid- to long-range duels.

Jump-Back Shot: Dodge (B or Circle) + RT triggers a backstep attack. This move lets you maintain space while still dealing damage.

Triple Shot Sprint: Sprint forward and press RT to unleash three arrows. Use this to apply pressure or chase down weakened targets.

Skill Activation: With two-handing active, use RT again to activate your weapon skill or enchantment, if available.

Pro Tip: The charged ultimate (Y + RT) can pierce through multiple enemies. Holding the input lets you aim—ideal for lining up shots in boss fights or clustered mobs.

Weapon Selection and Upgrade Strategy for Ironeye

Success with Ironeye depends heavily on your weapon choices. While any bow works early on, certain options provide significant boosts depending on your target’s weaknesses.

Early Game Tips:

Find Element-Specific Bows – If you’re up against a lightning-weak boss, prioritize finding a lightning-infused bow.

Rare/Blue Weapons Are Worthwhile – Even if they don’t match your damage type perfectly, rare weapons can be upgraded further and faster.

Smithing Stones – Aim to collect Smithing Stone [2] by Day Two, especially from mines. These are key to boosting damage for mid-game fights.

Recommended Approach:

Search early areas for churches and bosses.

Loot based on enemy weaknesses (ping areas where a lightning, fire, or holy element can give you an edge).

Don’t forget to visit your Grace points frequently for upgrades.

Top Tip: Always have a secondary ranged option (like a wand or elemental bow) to exploit boss weaknesses.

Using Ironeye’s Marked Ability Effectively

The Marked Ability is what separates Ironeye from basic ranged characters. Not only is it a dash (comparable to Bloodhound Step), but it sets enemies up for team combos.

Benefits of Marking:

Targets take +10% damage from all sources.

Significantly increases stagger susceptibility.

Helps tanks and melee DPS secure staggers or criticals faster.

When to Use It:

Dash into an enemy and apply the mark before a team burst.

Use on fast or aerial targets to control the flow of the fight.

Apply during boss attack wind-ups—this allows your team to get a major damage spike while they’re exposed.

Stack Pressure: Keep hitting marked targets to prevent stagger bars from resetting. This is crucial in prolonged boss encounters.

Exploration and Day-One Priorities

Getting started right on Day One sets the tone for your entire run as Ironeye. Your goal early on should be to secure key upgrades and elemental gear to align with upcoming boss weaknesses.

What to Focus On:

Target Elemental Weaknesses – If you know a boss is weak to lightning, explore zones with lightning weapons.

Search for Greases – These consumables let you coat your bow with elemental effects for added power.

Secure Healing and Buff Items – These items become especially important since Ironeye has low health scaling.

Do Not Overcommit Early: Mines are great for Smithing Stones but avoid deep exploration until Day Two unless you're well-equipped. Save major grinding for later when your gear and stats catch up.

Key Locations to Prioritize:

Churches for buffs.

Mines (light exploration only).

Areas with rare item drops (blue-tier bows or greases).

Day Two Strategy: Upgrades and Evergaol Runs

Day Two is where your Ironeye build really starts to scale. With access to more materials and tougher challenges, you should focus on leveling up, finding Evergaols, and refining your playstyle.

Main Goals:

Level Up Regularly – Return to Grace points often and invest in Dexterity and Mind (for faster bow use and ability usage).

Find Evergaols – These reward around 10,000 runes and often contain useful loot like rare weapons or stat-boosting relics.

Gear Synergy – Start looking for weapons or artifacts that match Ironeye’s strengths (ranged damage, mobility, stagger support).

Survivability Tips:

Prioritize dodging upgrades like improved rolls or dash boosts.

Look for Wending Grace, which lets you revive once per life—game-changing for boss fights.

Adapt Based on Elemental Zones: If you enter a lightning-heavy area, pick gear that resists or enhances that damage type.

Boss Fight Strategy and Team Synergy

Ironeye isn’t just about dealing damage—it’s about positioning, timing, and setting your team up for success. Knowing how to handle boss fights is what elevates a good Ironeye into a game-changer.

General Boss Tactics:

Stay Behind the Boss: Most enemies have frontal AoEs. Stick to the rear or sides, allowing your tank to absorb aggro.

Use Ultimate Shot to Interrupt: Your Y + RT attack can disrupt abilities like the sleep move from the Augur fight.

Track Aggro Swaps: If the boss targets you (e.g., red chest mark), kite away from your team to reduce risk.

Supporting Your Team:

Constantly mark bosses to raise team damage.

Use ranged pressure to keep stagger bars active, aiding melee teammates in triggering criticals.

When a teammate is down, prioritize picking them up. Ironeye’s revive is one of the fastest in the game.

Avoid Overextending: Ironeye is not tanky. Don’t get greedy—stay mobile and use distance to your advantage.

Dealing with Groups and Fast Enemies

Crowd control is one of Ironeye’s hidden strengths. You’ll often find yourself facing waves of enemies or highly mobile units like flyers.

Tactics for Handling Multiple Targets:

Aim for the Weakest First: Focus down the lowest-health enemies to thin out the group.

Position High: Use terrain to get a better angle and avoid being surrounded.

Use Triple Shot Smartly: Sprint-shot (forward + RT) is ideal for groups when retreating isn't an option.

Special Cases:

Flyers and fast bosses (like Augur) are where Ironeye shines. Stay locked on, keep firing, and use dodge shots to maintain pressure.

When fighting multiple enemies, mark one to reduce group pressure and allow your team to collapse on that target faster.

Use Jump-Back Shots to escape quickly if surrounded. This move gives just enough spacing to reposition without taking a hit.

Late Game Tips and Advanced Tricks

By the late game, your Ironeye should feel like a fully realized support DPS class. At this point, maximizing your contribution depends on optimizing cooldowns, refining mark timing, and adjusting your loadout for each fight.

Late Game Focus Areas:

Elemental Swaps: Carry multiple bows or enchantments tailored to specific enemy weaknesses (e.g., Holy for Albanarox).

Critical Combos: Stack marked shots with teammate ultimates for massive burst.

Situational Magic Use: If you find yourself with underused FP, equip a wand or talisman for ranged elemental damage.

Important Reminder: Some bosses are resistant to piercing. Have a magic or elemental alternative ready to avoid being stuck in a damage drop-off.

Support Mentality Wins Games: Reviving allies, applying mark frequently, and controlling field presence is often more impactful than raw DPS.

Conclusion

Ironeye is one of the most versatile and rewarding classes in Elden Ring: Nightreign. With a mix of mobility, crowd control, and team support, this build offers a strong balance between survivability and pressure.

Whether you're pinning down flyers, keeping your team alive, or marking a boss to break its posture, playing Ironeye right means knowing when to stay back, when to mark, and when to unleash damage. Mastering these rhythms transforms you from a backline shooter to a frontline enabler.

Stick to ranged positioning, prioritize utility, and keep pressure on your enemies’ stagger bar. If you follow this guide, you’ll soon see why Ironeye is considered one of the best support roles in the game.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)

Q: Is Ironeye good for beginners? A: Yes. Ironeye has straightforward mechanics and is very forgiving thanks to its ranged style and revive ability.

Q: What stats should I focus on first? A: Dexterity, Mind, and Endurance. These boost bow efficiency, ability usage, and movement.

Q: What weapon should I use? A: Look for bows that match enemy weaknesses. Elemental bows (Lightning, Holy) are especially strong.

Q: Can Ironeye deal with bosses alone? A: Yes, but it’s more effective in a team. It excels in supportive roles, softening up targets and reviving teammates.

Q: What is the best time to use the marked ability? A: Before a damage burst from your team or to interrupt dangerous boss mechanics.

Q: Is Ironeye viable in all fights? A: Mostly, yes. However, against high-resistance piercing enemies, you may need a backup magic or elemental weapon.

🎮 Meet Haplo Gaming Chef 🍳

Level 99 Kitchen Warrior here! I'm on a quest to transform your gaming sessions into epic culinary adventures. When I'm not farming rare ingredients in MMOs, I'm crafting real-world recipes inspired by your favorite video games.

Specializing in: • Game-inspired recipe creation • Cooking quest guides • Power-up snacks for gaming sessions • Achievement-worthy meal prep

Join my party as we explore the delicious intersection of pixels and plates. Whether you're a casual foodie or a hardcore gamer, there's always room at my crafting table! #Gaming #GamingGuides #GamingChef #HaploGamingChef For More Visit: https://haplogamingchef.blogspot.com/

[playzhub]

What Keeps Casual Gamers Hooked on Online Platform Games?

Online platform games have carved a special place in the hearts of casual gamers worldwide. Whether it's the rhythmic dash of Cruise Buzz, the treasure-hunting thrills of Ziggy Miner, or the precision-based tap of Flappy Shapes, these games strike the perfect balance between simplicity and excitement. But what exactly makes these free running platform games so addictive?

Let’s explore the key reasons why casual players flock to play free running games online—and why platforms like Playzhub are becoming the go-to destination for quick, thrilling gaming sessions.

1. Easy to Pick Up, Hard to Master

Casual gamers are often looking for experiences that don’t demand long tutorials or deep learning curves. Online platform games excel in delivering fast gameplay with intuitive controls—usually just a tap, swipe, or arrow key press away.

Games like Flappy Shapes exemplify this. With its simple tap-to-fly mechanic, players can jump right in. But staying alive is the challenge, and that’s where the hook lies. That perfect balance of accessibility and escalating difficulty is irresistible.

2. Short, Rewarding Gameplay Sessions

One of the biggest reasons casual gamers prefer platform games is that they’re designed for short bursts of play. You can jump into Ziggy Miner during a coffee break, or sneak in a few levels of Cruise Buzz on your commute.

These free running games offer a sense of accomplishment without a major time investment. Quick respawns, clear goals, and instant feedback keep players engaged without ever feeling overwhelmed.

3. Instant Challenge and Feedback Loop

Most running platform games are built around reflexes and timing. This creates a fast feedback loop where players get immediate responses to their actions. Whether it's dodging obstacles or grabbing coins, every move has an effect—fueling a strong sense of control and immersion.

That addictive “just one more try” feeling kicks in fast. Games like Cruise Buzz capitalize on this by constantly upping the pace, encouraging players to improve their run every time.

4. Visually Engaging and Nostalgic Design

Modern online platform games often tap into retro-inspired graphics that bring a sense of nostalgia. Bright visuals, quirky characters, and dynamic environments appeal to players across age groups. At the same time, they’re lightweight enough to run smoothly on any device.

Playzhub hosts a variety of platform titles like Ziggy Miner and Flappy Shapes, which use eye-catching animations and satisfying motion effects to keep players visually engaged as they play.

5. Free Access with No Strings Attached

One of the biggest selling points of free running platform games is—you guessed it—they’re free! Playzhub allow users to play free running platform games online with zero downloads and no hidden charges.

This low barrier to entry is perfect for casual gamers who don’t want to commit to full-length titles or expensive subscriptions. It’s all about instant fun.

6. Friendly Competition and Replayability

Leaderboard features and score tracking add a layer of friendly competition that keeps players coming back. Beating your previous score or outperforming a friend gives platformers serious replay value.

In Ziggy Miner, for example, collecting the most gems becomes a personal challenge—while also pushing you to perfect each run.

 Why Online Platform Games Are Booming?

As more people turn to browser-based and mobile gaming, the demand for online platform games continues to rise. Casual players love the low commitment, fast action, and satisfying progression these games provide.

Platforms like Playzhub have recognized this trend by curating an exciting collection of free running platform games that cater directly to this audience. With standout titles like Cruise Buzz, Flappy Shapes, and Ziggy Miner, it’s no wonder that casual gaming is thriving.

So the next time you're looking for a quick, fun challenge—remember, you don’t need a console or a download. Just visit Playzhub and play platform games for free whenever the mood strikes.

[emmy-and-the-tieflings]

Heart of the Weave: Part 2

Please only read if you've read part 1, which you can find on AO3 (click HERE)

Chapter 39

It's just Gale, Shadowheart, Jenevelle, and myself at the Elfsong patiently waiting for the others to get back, though I assume it'll be awhile. We just indulged in a delicious dinner and the stars are out, and I can tell Shadowheart is beyond worried. 

  “I know he can defend himself and he's a damn vampire, but where is Astarion? The boys?” Shadowheart takes a deep breath, fighting her next words. “Shadowheart, breathe. Don't be like this.” She tries reassuring herself, and I completely understand the frustration.  I observe her as she tries to keep her emotions bottled up, but I become worried as to why she's acting like this. Hormones? Or is there something else beneath the surface?

   “I'm sure they're close by. They know where to come when it's time to come home. Although, Astarion does need a good talking to when he gets back,” Gale mentions, passive-aggressively taking shots at our vampire friend. My head lies in Gale’s lap as we gather comfortably around the fireplace; Jenevelle is asleep by our bed on the various quilts we have laid down on the floor. 

  “Ugh… You're right. You're totally right. I'm going to lie down in bed and just wait. Emmy, you look sleepy. You two go to sleep, I'll be alright.” Gale and I nod and quietly stand up to go lie comfortably in our bed that's waiting for us, trying not to wake the baby.  He holds me tight, his face nuzzled into my neck as we are curled up together under the sheets. His lips gently touch my neck, and I'm trying to contain my hormonal urges; I can't just pin him down and fuck him in the room right now. For one, my daughter is in the room. Two, Shadowheart is across the room. Three, the others are bound to walk in the room at any moment. 

  “Gale,” I growl quietly. “You know I want to.”

 

  “Yes, I very much do. Teasing you is part of the fun.”

  “Goddamn it…” 

  “But you're right, we can wait a few more days. Though, that's very unlike us, going so long without…ahem…coitus beneath the sheets.” I snort from laughing so hard at his phrasing, though I try to contain it so the baby doesn't wake up. 

  “I can hear you guys, don't think you're so slick with your whispering,” Shadowheart intervenes and fiery gusts of embarrassment overwhelm the skin in my cheeks. Gale fights a fit of laughter. I turn to face him and drift heavily into a slumber, my body numb from exhaustion as I float away into Dream Land. 

  As I fall asleep, I visualize a field of pink flowers and bubbles, running through them with no care in the world. Petals float around my body as I'm dashing through this unknown field, traces of happiness caressing my entire mind. I'm beyond ecstatic, and I'm not sure what's causing it, but my whole body feels more alive than ever. Pink castles are in the distance, waiting for me to arrive and explore the exquisite beauty within them. I imagine Gale is waiting for me inside. 

  I wake up from a vivid and exotic dream, feeling fantastic as I lever myself from the bed. My hair is sticking up in various directions… Morning already? I notice the others gathered around at the table, and Gale has a plate of breakfast waiting for me. Fanden is holding Jenevelle, feeding her a bottle, which is a sight to see for some reason. 

  “Here’s the sleepy baby. I could just pinch your cheeks!” Therran comments, causing the others to snicker. I notice he's looking directly at me, his smile just a little cheeky and mischievous.  “You snore loudly, little lady.” 

  “Oh, you're not talking to Jenevelle. You're talking to me. Normally, I’d say shut the fuck up, but I had a wonderful dream last night and I'm in a great mood, so I'll let the baby talk slide.” 

   “Oh be quiet, you love the baby talk, don't pretend you don't,” Astarion teases, raising an eyebrow at me. “Anyway, it's weird you're the last one to be awake.” 

  “I just woke up and everyone is taking shots at me. Is it because I'm smaller than everyone except Shadowheart? Do I need to get my bagpipes…?” Gale’s eyes widen and he clears his throat; he can't stand the bagpipes, though he wants to support me as much as he can. Last time I played them, I didn't realize he and Jenevelle were napping on the couch, and I may have scared them awake. It wasn't fun. “You all went quiet rather quickly.” Astarion leans in to kiss Shadowheart, who still seems a little upset but kisses him back anyway. I could tell it deeply bothered her not to have him with her last night, and I want to check on her to make sure there's no underlying issue. I stand up nonchalantly as I shove the last danish in my mouth. 

 “Shadowheart, I need to get your opinion on something,” I lie, nodding toward my bed to have her follow. She nods and trudges after me, probably realizing what it's about. The men look rather bewildered. “Pssst…are you alright?”

 “You noticed, huh? Am I that obvious?” I nod, giving a half smile that reflects my concerned eyes. She sighs, yet gives a fake happy expression so no one seems suspicious of what we’re talking about. “I feel like he… ugh. I feel like Astarion just doesn't want to be around me much. Am I really a nuisance to him, Emmy?”  I remember Astarion mentioning how her hormones sort of frighten him, but for him to want to stay away from her? That's not like him at all. I place my hands on her shoulders, my gaze locked on hers as I try my best to comfort her in the best way I know how. 

   “Shadowheart, he's new to this. He loves you and I know he does. Just talk to him, let him know how you feel. I promise you, there's nothing to worry about. We know Astarion. Asher was adopted, so of course he didn't know what to expect with a pregnancy. Just…go talk with him. Or go out in the city, have a little date.” She smiles, fighting tears but she seems much more relaxed. I don't want her feeling like she's alone, and I know for a fact that isn't his intention. 

  “You're right. Thank you. I'll–” Astarion approaches us from behind Shadowheart, wrapping his arms around her and touching her belly. 

 “Everything alright, my dear?” he asks her. “Judging by the way Emmy was putting her hands on your shoulders, I assume it wasn't about anything related to, well, an opinion. I wanted to check on you and ask if you wanted to…walk around the city a bit and get some fresh air. Maybe hunt a little. How does that sound, my vampire queen?” Her face lights up as she turns around to face him, placing her hands on his chest while nodding her head with excitement. 

 “You read my mind.”

 “I am good at that, you know.” 

  Helping out one of my dearest friends felt good, and seeing her happy with the love of her life feels even better. They both leave for the day, while the rest of us try and figure out what to do before we leave for Waterdeep tomorrow. 

  “Well, what better time to buy baby boy clothes than now, hmm?” Fanden suggests as he's trying to burp Jenevelle, who ends up spitting up all over his shirt. “Oh. What fun. I didn't know babies did that.”

I burst out laughing as I tossed him a cloth from the diaper bag to clean himself off with. 

 “Love, what do you say? Shall we buy our unborn son some clothes? I can hardly wait!” Gale chants, jolting out of his seat before I can say a word. “I’ll go get on some new robes! Wait, you do want to, right?” 

“Well of course I do!” I respond enthusiastically, thrilled for the day ahead.  “My hair still looks like a rat’s nest, so… I will also need to get dressed. Guys, you got the baby?”

“What does it look like? Of course we do,” Fanden says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, yet he appears to still be smiling. I can't tell if he's teasing me or genuinely irritated. Come on hormones, stop that shit. 

[yingren]

there had always been an inherent violence in him that could not be blamed on the way he was treated, the way he was raised, or even the way he had been chased across the galaxy, knife at his back, blood on the wind. it had been an instinct that dan feng kept under lock and key, allowed to manifest only in the most dire of circumstances, and excused under the noble fallacy that the imbibitor lunae did what he could to protect the people of the luofu. maybe that had passed onto dan heng ; the need to justify this churning anger, the combined frustration of so many imbibitor lunae before him, suffocating beneath years of decorum and prince-like demeanours. maybe he did miss when ren had been nothing but a target in which to bury his lance, if only because he had echoed everything dan heng had hated about those who reminded him of his past. there had been no remorse for the relief, the hysteric joy he felt breaking his bones, and draining his blood.

now dan heng didn’t tend to inflict pain carelessly, not with this unspoken bond between them, but did that make it better ? that these blows were pointed ? that at the end of the day, because of who they were, and who they had been, some words were better traded with fists and knives.

they’d been here before ; a hundred different times. on freight ships, in deserts, across wastelands, in swamps, in cities, from planet to planet, none had been spared the cutting power of their wind, the determination of their blades to reach that temporary end. it was different now, knowing that there was another resolution in sight, that this same violent dance did not end with ren’s heart falling still beneath his palm for a few blessed seconds. at no point did dan heng hold back, not from cutting blows, or from strikes with full lethal force, because this was ren and anything beneath that would be an insult. because this was ren, and – as reluctant as dan heng was to admit it – he knew what the dragon needed, what he wanted. instinctively, and no matter how much dan heng lied, some part of him understood his darkest desires even before dan heng did. he wanted this stinging pain and to be reminded of what it was to be alive, to be free, and to be unjudged.

“ yield. ” eyes bright with lashes crusted with blood, scratched up with split lips, ebon hair a tousled mess, combed through by the forest around them as he had dashed unforgivingly through bramble. cloud piercer was embedded into the ground by the hunter’s neck, dan heng’s fingers gripped so tightly into the hunter’s beautiful hair that any sudden jerk would start slicing fair skin on the blade. chest heaving, clothes torn, the dragon leant down from his perch where he straddled ren’s lap, cloudhymn breathed out in thick tendrils, betraying the way dan heng’s heart was thrumming, how warm he was where their bodies met, separated only by haphazard pieces of cloth. how serpentine fangs grew with possessive want, mouth wet with a ravenous desire to feast on this kill. again, snarled, breathy, fighting the urge to lick at beading blood -

“ yield. ”

perhaps there are some things even ren cannot outrun — chief among them, the past, which looms ever-present like an undefeated champion of all he cannot change or escape. that past takes the form of imbibitor lunae, in all his iterations. from the face of dan feng, now forever cloaked in the shadow of cruelty, to the countless whispered truths of his misdeeds — truths that ren holds onto with a bitterness unmatched by most. well, most except one. dan heng seems determined to take that crown, striving to surpass even ren in his disdain for what imbibitor lunae once represented. yet, the irony lingers. neither of them truly despises the past incarnation of imbibitor lunae — not entirely. and ren, for all his inner turmoil, does not harbor hatred for the current one either.

how could he possibly hate him when he looks like this? blood streaked across his skin, evidence of a futile attempt to wipe away the splatter with the back of his hand. his hair, disheveled and shorter than the image ren conjures when he thinks of the true imbibitor lunae, frames a face twisted with disdain, loathing, and something far more primal. desire. yes, desire, because dan heng all but reeks of it — thick, almost tangible, like a force ren could gather in his palms, feel its weight, and pour it into his own mouth. he could drink it in, savor it, with the kind of maniacal laughter only dan heng seems capable of provoking from him. dan heng brings out the worst in him, drags it to the surface, raw and unfiltered. and for that, it feels only right, almost poetic, that ren does the same to him.

a spear rests perilously close to his throat, its sharp edge buried in the ground beside him, mere inches from slicing through the vulnerable vein in his neck. how deliciously enticing it is, this moment where dan heng wields death’s instrument with such precision, extending it as though on behalf of death herself. it’s the closest ren ever comes to something resembling rest — that fleeting, electrifying instant when his nerves fail to respond, his body forgets its pain, and his very existence is momentarily suspended. for a heartbeat, he is whole, encased in a painless void, before the world comes roaring back in vivid, agonizing clarity. sinew, flesh, nerves, bone — all reforming into the shape that is him once more. but this time, death's touch is withheld. dan heng, with deliberate cruelty, keeps her hand just out of reach. the usual veneer of their encounters, wrapped in pretense and restrained civility, has been stripped away, leaving only raw, desperate intent. this cruelty is different, defiled in its intimacy, improper in ways ren feels acutely. it makes him aware of the heat radiating from his own blood and the way it pales in comparison to the feverish warmth of dan heng’s breath against his skin, his desperate demand cutting through the tension like a blade.

yield. ren does not, but he does briefly shift his hips beneath dan heng’s. 

“ make me. ” bold words, coming from someone already bested — pinned to the ground, head pounding with the kind of ache that feels ready to split his skull wide open. ren can barely manage to keep his blood where it belongs, too much of it is already leaking out, soaking into the forest floor and painting the leaves beneath him with its venomous stain. yet, even in this state, his hips shift subtly, seeking friction where none is necessary, though the desire burns fiercely. he refuses to look away. even with the metallic tang of blood sharp on his tongue, he swallows it down with the kind of pride and arrogance that will not allow him to admit defeat. his gaze remains locked, steadfast and unyielding, staring up at ashen eyes alight with a hunger so raw, so verdant, that no amount of spilled blood could ever hope to quench it. that hunger is something he clings to, savors, as if it might vanish at any moment — a fleeting mirage in the desert of years he has spent chasing dan heng down, step after agonizing step. this is the moment that gives him pause, that makes the world shift beneath him, though he doesn’t fully know why. perhaps, in another time, this would have been enough to make him yield. perhaps it would have ended here, had it not been for the simple truth: ren doesn’t want to yield. and deep down, he’s certain that dan heng doesn’t truly want him to either.

“ you’re sick. filthy. look at you. you enjoy this. are you so ashamed of what you are that you need me to die by your hand so you can feel better about wanting to fuck me ? by all means, go on. you know best how it’s done. ”

[hischariotsurplus]

"Don't look back as you brave the Black Forest!"

Verbolten is always very fun to draw. She's the expressive early teenager who's in love with adventure!

Trained and taught to fix and drive cars, passed down from family generations, Verbolten was introduced to the family tradition of the Black Forest Tours. Verbolten isn't ever afraid of what happens when she travels the Black Forest. She comes across wolves, ghost, and the spirit of the forest. Brave and strong as she can be, nothing can stop her!

Verbolten and Her Fears/Lore

During HOS, she tends to get more flashbacks of Big Bad Wolf. It also doesn’t help her that every now and then, a wolf howl can be heard throughout Germany/Octoberfest. She gets counseling from The soul of Mach Tower aka Machenzie about it since she’s a spirit herself. Verbolten is afraid of ghost but not Machenzie. Verbolten struggles to stand up for her fears(ugh Green Lantern reference) of the wolf, ghost and spirit of the forest.

I wanna talk about her up coming outfits that I will post about here soon!

Verbolten has a outfit similar to Red Riding Hood, her cousin, to scare off the wolf. But, Aura, that makes no sense. The Big Bad Wolf would want to eat her if she saw Verbolten dressed as Red Riding Hood? No! Red Riding Hood passed when the wolf ate her, so therefore if Verbolten dresses up as her she’ll scare the wolf away because wolf will think Red Riding Hood came back from the dead.

As you may know, Verbolten’s family has a history of mechanics and working on vehicles. Verbolten is only 12 years old and she knows how to make a broken down car start working again! Verbolten will go into the Black Forest with her father, Gunter, and find old broken down cars that she thinks she could fix, (depending on how damaged), and bring them back to her tour station. Verbolten’s family also made *Black Forest Tours* as a way to profit off Spiritual nature and wolves. They made the tour to have the people of Germany not fear the ghost and wolves as they are in the Black Forest to hide from humans and not to harm. Verbolten, however, still fears whatever lies in the Black Forest as she is haunted herself but hides it and never speaks of it to her family, or else the *Black Forest Tours* will be exposed. Greta and Gunter, Verbolten’s mother and Father’s voice still plays in the TV’s that are in the Queue line.

However, every Digitally active device is haunted and it may seem like dash cams and video recordings are live time, but, in reality, Greta and Gunter died years ago due to unknown reasons. The TV’s repeat the last words, conversations and camera activity that was once Gunter and Greta alive. Hansel and Gretel, Verbolten’s brother and sister, both passed when they went into the Alps to look for their mother and father in an attempt to bring their family back together. They didn’t know where they went so they checked the Alps because Gretel reported that they saw mother and father putting on winter jackets and gear. Verbolten was hoping Hansel and Gretel would return, however, they never did that night. They’re bodies were found by the *Supernatural Conspiracy Theorist* group when they were up there looking for the *Ghost of the Alps* known as Alpengeist. Hansel and Gretel got far enough up the mountain that they did manage to see Alpengeist. However, they didn’t tell if it was a ghost or yeti. Whatever they saw was too white for their eyes. Verbolten was devastated that she lost all her family members in a span of two weeks. She feared she would be next as she heard voices every night she slept. The *Spirit of the Forest* would call her name, the ghost would send shivers down her spine, and the wolf would wake her in a cold sweat…….

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Allies Alike

After OMT!Tails and SS!Amy managed to evade LM!Sonic's wrath, they emerged in the streets of Moebius's central city.

SS!Amy: Gosh... This place really is a dump.

OMT!Tails: Let's just hurry!

They got moving, though so much had happened earlier - he was devastated by the words LM had said to him, and as he flew, he could barely keep ahead of all the voices in his head.

LM!Sonic: Had you actually BEEN more competent in stopping that Malware Threat, your Sonic would still be alive today! But NO! He had to die trying to save your pathetic hide!

Wacky: Tails, I... The... The hardest thing about being a hero is... you can't always save everybody.

Sentic: You're going to pay for all you've taken from me.

OMT!Tails: I can do BOTH of those things! A hero of Mobius always-!

CR!Sonic: Not... "always".

LM!Sonic: You don’t belong in this universe. You never did.

Tails leapt out into the open first, only wanting to listen to the one voice in his head he wanted to hear.

OMT!Sally: Keep going for me, Tails.

As he kept moving, he didn't notice a truck speeding by and got hit by it, though thankfully not killed. Once in the clear, he fell to his knees, out of breath from the long run, as SS!Amy caught up.

SS!Amy: Oh, gosh... Are you alright, Tails?

OMT!Tails: I-I'll shake it off. I can't give up now, not when Cream's life is in danger.

As he prepared to dash deeper into the building they were at, Amy caught his hand as he turned back in surprise.

SS!Amy: Y... You're still upset over LM calling you an anomaly... right?

OMT!Tails: *sigh* I am, yeah... It's just awful to have to see one Sonic amongst the many heroic ones treat you as if you should n-never have existed. It... It gives me bad m-memories of when I used to be bullied a lot for my abnormality...

SS!Amy: Honestly, Tails? I've been through that same treatment when I joined the Quill Society. Not from the majority, mind you, but from LM specifically. It must've started after my universe was erased by Finitevus the other day...

OMT!Tails: You got treated as an anomaly, too?

SS!Amy: Yeah...

They sat down on the floor.

SS!Amy: Ever since I joined, LM's always been the one to act like I'm not doing good enough on the job. It's always been "you didn't stop Crimtake when you had the opening back then" or "you think your friends would be proud of you?". He left a sour taste in my mouth, honestly. I scoffed it off, but... I still feel like I don't belong, much less due to my "colour scheme" breaking the boundaries.

OMT!Tails: Guess we're both stuck having to be force-fed LM's lies, huh? For me... I'm just scared that, since time is of the essence, we might not stop Sentic in time.

SS!Amy: Hey.

She smiled softly to him as she held his hand.

SS!Amy: If I could fight Sentic in my first crossover incident, and you could easily beat him at his weakest, I'm sure we can both pull it off together.

Tails teared up a bit as she hugged him, which he reciprocated as Anti-Miles and Alicia watched close by.

Anti-Miles: Hey, you two?

They broke the hug when they heard Anti-Miles behind them.

OMT!Tails: Guh-! You again?!

Anti-Miles: We couldn't help overhearing what you were discussing about this "Sentic" individual.

SS!Amy: You heard all that?

Alicia: Yeah. We saw this strange Sonic figure in the depths of the factory, though he got burned out and is bound for the Emerald reactor in the middle.

OMT!Tails: Right. Thanks for that knowledge. We'll go and deal with him!

SS!Amy: Actually, hold on a moment. We might need a hand to ensure he doesn't escape while we're fighting him. Are you two okay with it?

Alicia: If it's for this Tails's sake, I'm more than happy to help!

She smiled to OMT!Tails, proving her word about feeling sorry for his losses was indeed genuine.

OMT!Tails: What about you, Miles?

Anti-Miles: Dude, don't act like I'm in it for your heroics. This ain't a place where heroics define people-.

Alicia: Miles, just this once, alright? That Quill Society I saw would really appreciate having one less thing on their plate.

Miles sighed in frustration, reluctant to agree.

Anti-Miles: Fine.

OMT!Tails: You'll help out?

SS!Amy: Sweet!

Miles whipped out a cigar as he looked at OMT!Tails.

Anti-Miles: Just don't expect me to help you in stuff like this often. Once you're done here, I want you outta here. This city ain't one for the unprepared.

OMT!Tails: You got it. Once we've neutralised and apprehended Sentic, we'll be gone in a flash!

Anti-Miles: Good. Now, let's get inside this joint!

The four headed inside to find Sentic, who was inside the Emerald chamber and awaiting their arrival.

Sentic: So, you four now wish to play the fine game of nil, even with the odds stacked against you? Hehehehe... See you all soon!