#Failsafe Coding AU

[copper-caster]

TF Failsafe Coding AU

The concept of this continuity soup AU is that Warframes, particularly warframes with slave coding can trigger a heat/rut through submitting to a stronger opponent in battle.

It makes them limp and pathetic, unable to activate their weapon systems, just about able to string a sentence together between chirrups of binary, the only hard part of them is their spike so it's easier for the victor to cart them off. They'll just mewl and roll around on their back to present their spikes, a failsafe to deter the victor from just killing them. However, if a mech has been on a winning streak & suddenly looses it forcibly activates.

This is inspired by a Tokyo Ghoul Fanfic Series I've been reading particularly the fic ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48210463/chapters/121576942 ) I recommend reading that entry even if you're unfamiliar with the source material it's absolutely fantastic. Also this is somewhat inspired by my love of the X-Men & Ajin: Demi-human.

Maybe it was something conjured up by the Quintessons during their occupation to deter more violent troops from killing their coworkers because if they lost they'd become docile for a time & if they won they'd end up sparked, harder to cause trouble that way. The quints also found it's excellent entertainment at parties.

Anyway in the modern day Gladiators have to wear chastity devices because there's no way that the arena masters are giving people a free show, instead if a bot drops into heat they'll be carted out of the arena to a private afterparty for the high society bots to attend.

The managers don't want their star champions to end up sparked & have to take a break from performing.

Sometimes Gladiators can even be rented out to private arenas in Senator's homes or high end nightclubs for Fight & Spike parties where the fight is just an appetizer for the main event of watching some hulking warframe present themselves begging to be touched. Ridden or pounded by the victor, often pumped up on aggression inducing drugs, then turned over to the guests. That's all perfectly legal, in the gladiatorial contracts even, ignore that little detail about most of them signing said contracts under duress. What isn't legal is using these Gladiators as studs for the breeding of trafficked unregistered Outliers.

Which is where our intrepid undercover investigative journalist Orion Pax comes in. He's gotten into one of these parties to investigate the possible links to the disappearances of prominent Outliers & civil rights activists on behalf of Senator Shockwave. His cover is that he's some arm candy secretary picked up from the archives for (senator of your choice who Shockwave is blackmailing to go along with it). Orion sometimes works with fellow independent journalists Jazz & Blaster who primarily travel from city to city, event to event, interviewing interesting people with a political bent (think all gas no breaks / channel 5 the youtube channels if you're familiar but Jazz & Blaster aren't sex pests like the hosts of those channels 💀 if you're not familiar I'd recommend looking up someone reacting to one of their videos don't give the og channels views). They're helping him, monitoring the situation & relating his wire to their police contact Prowl who's been kicked off the missing Outliers case for getting too close to the truth.

Thus sets the scene for Orion to meet Megatron. He's aware of the gladiator of course who wouldn't know the face of the reigning champion of the pit, but seeing clips of his fights is not the same as seeing the mech sprawled back on the dancefloor, hazey optic'd & undulating to show off his spike. Whirring & beeping like a mechanimal. Orion has never seen something so hot before in his life & he hates himself for it. Which is about when the host of the party brings out Starscream who's been legally registered as dead for several months. Makes him ride Megatron until he's sparked up. Of course to make sure he's carrying an Outlier spark that's inherited his abilities the host blows a hole through his processor mid second round. After a few seconds Star jerks back into action, this isn't his first rodeo & he wants to get it over with asap before the host gets bored of boasting about his sales pitch, already starting bidding on Star's unborn bitty, & decides to shoot him again for the spectacle of it all.

Megatron is Distressed his heat partner just died, without any fight response he's working himself into hysterics. His processor is mush, energon & fragments of processor boards splashed across his face, whimpering he can't understand it His Mate just died he felt the death flare in his EM field but he can also feel the body is still moving.

Star absolutely loathes those noises & Megatron's expression because it breaks the immersion of all the training he's been through to see himself as an object because this bot is treating him like a person asking if he's hurt in base binary chirps & it makes him hate himself more. Maybe he's got a scold's bridle on so that he can't speak, he's not nicknamed Screamer for no reason.

Orion attends a few of these parties. He also goes to interview Megatron while he's sober after winning a match. Officially it's because Orion is writing a puff piece about Megatron so they have a conversation dancing around the subject, aware they're being monitored. Orion doesn't realise he's been found out as a mole until he's being dragged into the arena ring at a party. Thrown down in front of a drugged up Megatron, he's completely berserk, unable to be reasoned with, going to rip Orion to pieces. So thinking quickly Orion just surrenders mimicking a warframe's defeat induced heat driven to a fever pitch Megatron frags him until the drugs are out of his system. The party goers love it & want an oncore meanwhile Megs is coming back to his senses, an absolutely wrecked civilian mech underneath him. His handler is screaming at him over internal comms to give the ppl what they want & frag his throat open like he just did to that medalling journalist's valve. Orion just tells him " I'm sorry they're making you do this, I will endure it, don't blame yourself for what they're forcing you to do"

Of course they don't just let Orion go afterwards so now he's a missing person. Jazz, Blaster, & Prowl were tapped into Orion's audio visual feed & saw the whole thing up until Megatron crushed his Audials & Optics while fucking his face until it falls apart.

Orion is now being trafficed with the Outliers, his sensors are limited to tactial & olfactory only, luckily most of the trafficked bots know Sign language & Chirolinguistics so they teach him. Both Star & Orion are sparked up so they're housed together. Being moved from safehouse to safehouse. Star decides to use his own parts to try and repair Orion since even if he ripps out an optic it'll just grow back when he resets. His owner doesn't intervene because he finds it funny & it is keeping Starscream occupied. They are planning to repair Orion after the sparkling is born so they can get a repeat performance. But maybe they subject him to empurata since his face is already smashed.

Not sure what happens from here, maybe Jazz, Blaster, & Co decide to break Megatron out of the arena to help them track down Orion & the missing Outliers via his fledgling Sire bond.

I'm making Blurr an Outlier also, quicksilver type shit. He's fairly well-known by the general public as his disqualification from participating in any sporting events was highly publicised. With his fellow Velocitronians finding it to be highly offensive that he's barred, some more zealous individuals believe Blurr's speed to have been a blessing by their colony's patron Amalgamous Prime. He's lapping up being the civil rights movements' poster child. I'm also making Senator Shockwave Velocitronian royalty, rumoured to be a direct descendant of Amalgamous Prime. It's traditional that the royalty of Velocitron are Conjunx to the winner of the race celebrating their coming of age ceremony, whenever they choose to have that celebration after they reach adulthood is up to them, so Shockwave has postponed his in protest until the cybertronian government would recognise Blurr as the winner. They decide to do some fake dating 'the government is forbidding our love from being recognized in the traditional manner of our people' type shit for the tabloids to lap up & sway public opinion. They're a real celebrity couple.

This makes both of them frequent targets for assassinations & kidnappings. Starscream was a hired guard for Blurr & 'died' in one of these attacks, with the traffickers realising that Star was an Outlier & taking him after watching him wake up from a decapitation. Shockwave goes missing during one of these attempts, carted off to be subjected to empurata, the surgery triggers a mass/shape shifting mutation in him. He breaks out & returns to office hiding the fact that he's now an Outlier himself, maintaining his original form for long periods of time stressing out his body to the point of seizures. Blurr caring for him & helping him hide himself leads them to develop genuine feelings for eachother.

Please send me asks about this au or reblog & add comments please 🥺👉👈

Signed

_ Cu 🐗

[nanamineedstherapy]

Literally cannot wait for the next chapter to drop!! Please post it soon so I don’t end up sneaking chapters at work again.</3

Thank you for reading it all Pookie, my sincere apologies for the delay. I'm unfortunately a perfectionist and needed to add more details to make it real. Hope you enjoy it :)

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Trigger/Crack Warnings: Graphic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Medically accurate Pain/Injuries Horror (yes, I do alot of research), pregnancy complications, Weaponized Guilt, Mentions of Rape (past, non-graphic), Psychological Manipulation, Mild Suicide Ideation (implied), Brainrot-Inducing Dialogue, Reader May Require Therapy After This, Emotional Damage Simulator 2025, Sukuna is Down Bad – Yuji said so, Mafia CEO AU (kinda), Reader is So Tired, Found Family? Or Found Emotional Damage?, Gojo Satoru's Consequences, Nanami Kento Deserves a Nap & to be able to pee in peace without his wife+husband combo broadcasting it, Unhinged Girlboss Reader, Murder as Romance, This chapter is a war crime. Trillionaire Tech Wife With Two Useless Men, Emotional Support Chicken. A/N: I feel like the reader is the biggest comedian in this series, tbh lol. Like??? She's fighting for her life, trauma bonding with eldritch horrors, & still has time to serve face & sarcasm in the same breath. Queen behaviour. Honestly, if I were her, I too would commit crimes while sipping Sprite out of a hospital cup. POOKIE SUKU IS HERE!!!!

Previous Chapter 23 (alt ending 2.14) - How the Salt in Our Wounds Was the Ocean - [Tumblr/Ao3]

Chapter 24 (alt ending 2.15) - Shattered Constellations

Aftermath | Their POV

They called her mortal.

They forgot she was trained by monsters.

Hour One

Nanami burned through every Tokyo contact. Then called Anna Wintour.

"Who did she meet tonight?"

There was a pause. The silence that comes when too many people are in the room, and you suddenly realise you’re the prey.

Anna’s tone was clipped, as ever. “Kento.”

“Anna. She’s missing. We can’t find her.”

“You must be very upset.”

“Who did she meet today? What was the investor’s name?”

“I was told if I revealed that name, if I tell you anything about her movements without her consent, I’ll be dead before the phone line disconnects. And you—you won’t even know who killed me.”

He closed his eyes. “It’s not about control. I think she’s in danger.”

Silence. Not even the buzz of static.

“Goodnight, Mr. Nanami.”

The Koenigsegg Jesko had been the first to betray them.

It shouldn’t have.

It was registered to her company but custom-built by Megumi’s black-ops R&D. Eight embedded trackers—nano chips, tyre sensors, two voice AI failsafes. The works.

But one by one, the signals blinked out like dying stars.

First, the GPS. Then the emergency LTE backup.

Then the engine monitor started sending Morse-code gibberish, as though something inhuman had possessed the car.

“She cut the battery?” Megumi asked, horrified.

The smoke alarms were disabled.

The flames were superficial, controlled—nothing damaged except the bed, the mattress soaked in Tom Ford and Dior and spite. Nanami didn’t smell arson. He smelled intent.

Megumi’s team—your personal security detail, his people—had been scrambled into a full lockdown.

“She shut down the internal feeds,” he gasped, crouched on the cold marble. “Her penthouse went dark mid-step. She disabled the elevator cam.”

“She shouldn’t even be able to do that,” Gojo said, eyes flashing cerulean. “The feed’s encrypted.”

“She built the system,” Nanami added quietly.

Gojo activated the Six Eyes at a higher altitude.

He’d only ever used them like this twice—once, back when they were hunting the remnants of the Star Plasma cult. Back when Geto still— And the second time was when he was trying to find you in your home country when you’d disappeared after the gaming convention.

Nanami was watching the flame flicker and die in Gojo’s face.

Gojo balled his fists in frustration. “Why can't I see her? There’s no cursed energy hiding her. She’s not suppressing her aura. She’s not using a veil or a curse technique—she can’t. She’s just a normal woman!”

“No.” Nanami corrected coldly. “She’s lived with you for years, and you talk alot about your conquests, Satoru. By now it’d be a miracle if she didn’t figure out how to counter you, given the way she is – all or nothing.”

Hour Two

“She’s still not showing up,” Megumi whispered.

Not on satellite. Not on traffic cams. Not even on Gojo’s six eyes, which were burning as he stood barefoot on the balcony, sweat crystallizing on his cheekbones.

“No cursed energy signatures,” Gojo muttered. “No barriers. No pings.”

“She’s not a sorcerer,” Haibara said, leaning against the glass. “She’s just angry.”

“She’s not just anything,” Nanami half-yelled, eyes scanning five monitors showing nothing but static. “She disappeared mid-day. Mid-breath. That’s not normal.”

The Jesko went through one toll booth. Then stopped showing up.

Gone. No transponders. No speed violations. No tyre marks.

“Tracker’s off,” Megumi said, barely keeping it together. “All of them. Phone, car, security fob, coat lining. Gone.”

“She’s still wearing the tracker from last week's security update,” Nanami muttered, clicking on her medical vitals screen.

"Not anymore," Haibara said, holding something bloody in his hand. A tiny sliver of metal he'd found on the toll booth she’d disappeared from. "She cut it out. Used the same blade she cut me with."

"Was she bleeding?" Gojo snapped, voice shrill.

"Not when she bit me. After? Who knows."

Hour Three

They stood in the war room.

Screens everywhere. Her last known locations. Holograms. Pulse tracking. Voice AI failed prompts.

A red string corkboard in a glass room.

Haibara, biting into an apple like it might be poisoned.

Megumi, rocking back and forth, hands pressed to his skull.

Nanami, silent.

Gojo pacing like an animal.

“She fucking ghosted us,” Haibara laughed like the irony was too much.

“She can’t ghost the Six Eyes,” Gojo muttered. “I’ve found people in other dimensions. She can’t—she’s not supposed to be able to—how is she doing this?”

“She’s deleting herself,” Megumi whispered. “Not hiding. Erasing.”

They all turned to him.

He kept staring at the floor. “You don’t know what she’s capable of when she feels cornered. You don’t know what she learnt from my father. Hell, even I never really knew what they talked about.”

Hour Four

Your location-shared signal blipped once.

A rural highway. Eastbound. Then silence.

“She left it on just long enough for someone else,” Haibara murmured. “Not us.”

Gojo slumped to the ground, blindfold in his fist.

Security teams deployed.

Megumi’s own private elite—trained to hunt rogue sorcerers—went silent within thirty minutes. They followed a false signal to the western district. Found nothing but a pile of burner phones duct-taped together.

It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.

Haibara laughed, unwrapping the bandage on his bitten hand. “God, I love her. Bites like a jackal.”

“Shut up,” Nanami hissed.

“She’s fucking incredible.”

“Shut up.”

“She could’ve been a serial killer.”

Gojo slammed him against the wall. “Shut. Up.”

“Are we trying to find her or fight each other!” Megumi yelled, and Gojo backed off with a grunt from a smirking Haibara after a beat.

Hour Five

“She was smiling when she lit the bed on fire,” Haibara whispered, staring at the footage one of Megumi��s corrupted drones caught before she destroyed it.

The flames danced across your face like a rite. You looked holy. Like a woman who knew God personally and had decided He wasn’t worth the apology.

And none of them—not even the strongest sorcerer alive, not the meticulous executioner, or the boy born of a cursed blessing, or the resurrected demon from society’s trash heap—

None of them could stop you.

Because you weren’t human anymore.

Hour Six

They found a lead.

Not from tech. Not from tracking.

From blood.

Haibara licked his injured hand, still oozing from her bite. He stared at it. Smiled.

“She didn’t take the knife to hurt herself. She took it to threaten us. And this? This isn’t desperation.”

“What was the reason then?” Gojo whispered, eyes burning from overuse.

“It’s theatre. She left us a trail. Just enough to make us panic. Just enough to remind us…” He looked at Gojo, gaze gleaming like a blade.

“…That she’s smarter than all of us combined.”

And somewhere, far beyond their reach, in an untraceable place with prepaid electricity and blackout curtains, you stared at your own reflection.

Still. Silent. Pregnant. Waiting.

Then you peeled back your coat. Checked your stomach. Ran your fingers over the black bruise near your ribs—where the babies kicked too hard in your stress while you were pulling out the car batteries.

You weren’t safe. Not really.

A phone ping.

Mom: Flight's delayed a little further. Get yourself food but stay away from view.

Hour eight

“Why can’t I fucking see her?” Gojo demanded again, voice rising. He was glowing faintly now, like a sun left to rot in a glass coffin. “I can see everyone. I can see through walls. Why not her?”

“Because you don’t know her,” Haibara said without looking up from his phone.

The words dropped like a knife.

Gojo turned. Nanami didn’t stop him.

“You wanna say that again?”

“You don’t know her. You know the woman who cooked for you and sucked your cock and gave you children you aren’t worthy of. You don’t know the girl who broke her own jaw so her cousins wouldn’t rape her again. Or the girl who lived under a bed with rats and still makes Blackrock shudder. The one who cried blood the night you came on each other right next to her sleeping body.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, hard enough to hear a faint crack.

Haibara kept going. “You didn’t even know she was pregnant. You called her bipolar. Your little baby killers club didn’t tell her shit.”

Megumi punched Haibara out of nowhere, and the latter straightened back up like an unkillable pest, spitting the blood from his lip tear.

Megumi yelled, “If you can’t be bothered to help, then get lost.”

“I am helping.” Haibara smirked, “By laughing at them.”

Megumi eyed him suspiciously. “You know who she called, don’t you?”

Haibara smirked.

---

Before the meeting with the investor and the subsequent disappearance—

You’d barely slept.

Not because of discomfort, though your swollen ankles and the relentless ache in your lower back would’ve justified it. No, sleep had eluded you because of them—the disasters you somehow forgave, loved, and carried children from. After months of icy silences, bruised egos, and walking on eggshells sharpened by betrayal, a night last week had finally broken the drought.

Satoru cried five times. That you know of.

The first time was silent—his face buried in the curve of your neck, a hand trembling on your side, like he thought if he held too tight, you’d vanish. The second was louder, gasping, muttering apologies into your skin like they were spells. By the third, he’d woken you up entirely, whimpering as he clung to you in his sleep, kneading the soft swell of your hip like a needy white tiger. The fourth came when you cupped his face and kissed his lashes and whispered, “I missed you.” And the fifth—well, that one came when he was already inside you.

Slow. Soft. No cocky grin, no teasing flick of his tongue. Just desperate Satoru with tears slipping down his cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours, as if he were scared that blinking might separate you again.

Kento didn’t cry.

But he looked at you like a ghost. Like if he blinked, he’d wake up so he’d woken before either of you, face buried in your neck, lips pressed to your pulse like he was checking you were still warm. There was no ceremony to it—he was already hard, already leaking against your thigh. His hand curled protectively over your bump, reverent, steady, like he was anchoring himself to proof that this—all of this—was real.

You don’t remember how it started. Only that your hormones had made you wet and half-dazed. Satoru had slid inside you without even waking properly, moving in that lazy, sleep-drunk way he always did when overwhelmed. You'd been too sensitive lately—your body a minefield of electric nerves—and soon you’d ended up on Kento’s lap, Gojo moving behind you while Kento’s cock rested hot and hard under your soaked folds, rubbing him and you off.

It wasn’t pornographic. It was tender. Messy, yes. But real.

Your arms around Kento’s shoulders. Satoru's hand splayed over your belly like a talisman, anchoring you so as not to hurt the twins. The low, breathy sounds you made when Kento pressed kisses under your jaw, whispering that you were beautiful. Sacred. A miracle.

You moaned so sweetly that Kento chuckled low in his throat, eyes closed, face tilted to the ceiling in something like prayer.

Then came the chaos.

You were so lost in the rhythm that you didn’t notice Satoru getting bolder—until he grabbed Kento’s thigh and tried to shift his leg up in a mating press. Kento’s leg jerked with surprise, and he just snorted. Loudly.

“I’m not a yoga mat,” he groaned, covering his eyes with one arm, stifling his laugh.

You burst out laughing. And felt it in your ribcage, like someone was letting light back into your lungs.

Satoru paused mid-thrust, blinked, then looked sheepishly between the two of you.

“Well, you both keep trying to get me pregnant, so this is me turning the tables,” he said, deadpan, then he kept thrusting.

Kento’s laugh shook the bed.

You turned and kissed Satoru—salt and saliva and need—and then turned and kissed Kento, who looked more in love than he’d ever admit. For a second, the three of you just stayed like that. Tangled. Breathing. Full of each other.

By the time the sun climbed over the skyline, you were dozing again between them, skin sticky, sheets tangled, legs heavy. The morning routine happened in sacred silence—no fights, no tension. Just Kento helping you into your dress while Satoru brushed your hair, quiet and reverent, as if caring for you was penance and prayer combined.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “You look powerful,” he whispered.

Kento kissed your wrist, slipping your wedding ring back on after cleaning it. “And the mother of my children.”

“Mine too,” Satoru chimed in.

“You’re such a narcissist,” Kento said.

“So are you,” Satoru shot back, smiling now, eyes clear.

You rolled your eyes, heart full.

This was what peace looked like. No chaos. No yelling. Just the quiet, perfect calm that came when everyone chose to stay.

You had ten minutes before take-off. Your phone buzzed.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, depending on what he wants and the flight time,” you promised, turning at the door.

They both followed you—of course they did. Satoru tugged your hand. Kento wrapped his arm around your shoulders. They walked you to the elevator like you were made of glass and gold and unspeakable power.

You kissed Satoru first. Then Kento.

They both held your gaze as the doors closed. You caught Satoru mouthing I love you. Kento didn’t speak, but his expression was the same one he’d worn when you walked down the aisle.

The last thing you heard before the metal doors shut was Satoru murmuring, “Call me if there’s even an ounce of doubt. I’ll teleport you out.”

And Kento’s quiet, unwavering, “Keep the life vitals tracker on and call me once you land.”

---

The jet was quiet, save for the muted purr of climate control and the occasional shift of turbulence against steel. You’d boarded at noon—twenty minutes ahead of schedule—surrounded by a sixteen-person armed security detail and your logistics assistant, who kept glancing at your ankles like they might explode mid-flight.

She asked if you were comfortable three times before takeoff. Like she was stalling. Like the jet wasn’t just taking you to New York, but to the guillotine.

Anna hadn’t sent the jet. He had.

The new investor. No name, just gravity. A black hole in the shape of a man—silent, never photographed, but powerful enough that Anna had stumbled over her sentence when his assistant called.

When you’d first told Nanami about the request for an in-person, he’d exhaled like a loaded gun. Pressed his hand to his forehead and muttered, “Can’t we just kill him?”

He wasn’t joking. He spent the next three hours building worst-case flowcharts in that calm, terrifying way he did—like even apocalypse could be optimized.

Satoru had stopped joking altogether. That was worse.

Takahashi, at least, had behaved for his first flight. Curled at your side in a little albino ball of privilege, snoozing through turbulence like he was made of clouds and sedatives. You kept stroking the patch between his ears. It soothed nothing, but pretending helped.

Across from you sat a PR assistant barely old enough to rent a car. Her eyes kept flicking to your bump like it might blink back. “You don’t look that pregnant,” she offered hesitantly.

You smiled, didn’t answer.

Because it wasn’t the look of it. Never had been. It was the feeling—like your body was being rewritten in a language you didn’t speak. Nights were the worst. The way the skin moved—too fluid, like something inside was stretching out. Like it wanted more room.

Scans didn’t capture that. Machines didn’t feel the slow-shifting horror of cartilage loosening, knees dislocating if you stood too long, lungs compressed to the size of childhood grief. The doctors said miracle. You said miscalculation.

You’d worn red today. A deep, cruel red. It felt… appropriate for some odd reason.

---

Vogue Private Office — Manhattan

The orchids were wilting by the door. You walked in like the third act of a tragedy—heels cracking marble like closing statements.

The staff didn’t question you. They swung the lobby doors wide, as if bracing for a storm in stilettos.

Inside, the air clung with the scent of dying flowers and fragile wealth. Glossy surfaces, curves designed to look expensive, chairs meant to be admired, not sat in. They led you to a glass-walled suite where the city still bent to your silhouette—even if your shares never did for them.

You folded yourself into the seat, spine negotiating with memory. Accommodations were never an option.

Anna was late.

Of course.

When her heels finally announced her, you didn’t rise. Couldn’t, really—not with the way your body had begun to betray you, bone grinding against bone.

She stood haloed by light, a magazine-cutout of power, her smile sharp with the arrogance of someone who still believed timing was a weapon.

“You glow,” she said. “Like women do before they’re devoured.”

“Unmedicated,” you replied.

Her grin widened, all teeth and conquest. “We’ll keep this clean. You know why you’re here.”

You blinked, slow.

“The new investor wants your story. The twins. The empire. The marriage. He thinks your silence is sinking your company.”

One of the twins kicked—hard enough to fracture breath. Lately, it didn’t feel like movement. It felt like revolt.

Anna tapped her nails against the table. “How are the husbands?”

You exhaled.

“Protective. Armed. Near breaking.”

She tilted her head. “Would they die for you?”

You mirrored her.

“They already did.”

A pause. Her eyes flickered—assessing whether it was poetry or prophecy.

Then, the ice of her smile.

“Now that,” she murmured, “is a Vogue quote.”

Soon enough they led you through a corridor so silent it felt like something had been sacrificed to keep it that way.

No corporate logos. No gaudy art. Just sharp edges, sliding doors, and the kind of air that had passed through too many purifiers. The kind that made you feel sanitized, surgically so. You were shown into a tea room so traditional it bordered on uncanny for New York—tatami mats, shoji screens, and incense coiling faintly in the corners like an old ghost. For a second, you thought it might be a set. A psychological stage.

And then he walked in like a theory made flesh. The kind of man who survived the apocalypse by looking like prophecy.

He wasn’t what you’d expected.

Long raven hair swept back into a precisely tied half-bun. He wore a form-fitting black turtleneck beneath a long trench coat, the fabric whispering as he moved. Polished leather shoes. No noise. No dust. The kind of outfit that commanded attention without asking for it—quiet, curated power. His face was too symmetrical to be trustworthy, his skin untextured in that uncanny, expensive way. No jewelry except for a Rolex that said old money or old blood.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Geto Suguru.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Geto,” you shook his hand briefly. “You’re very composed for someone hiding behind NDAs and empty LinkedIn profiles.”

He smiled, unfazed. “I don’t like being photographed. It makes it harder to disappear when people disappoint me.”

You blinked and filed that away.

Another man stepped in—vaguely inbred in posture and temperament. The kind of man who inherited his surname like a loaded weapon. He poured tea like it was beneath him.

You didn’t need an introduction to know what he was.

Zenin.

Naoya, specifically. Blond, lean, the sharp-boned entitlement of someone who'd never been told no by someone who could make it stick. There was a feral brightness behind his eyes, like something hungry and bored. He poured tea with the grace of someone imagining your autopsy.

Geto glanced toward him. “Naoya. Thank you.”

The man gave a short bow that wasn’t quite a bow.

You smiled, tilted your head slightly—your expression deliberately soft, even as your voice curled with something sharper. "You're really beautiful. You shouldn’t be in corporate. Milan seems more appropriate."

Suguru chuckled, almost surprised. “Fashion is a battlefield. This is where I’m better suited.” He gestured to the tea cup in front of him. “I hope the flight was comfortable.”

“It was fine. Apologies if I kept you waiting—my husband insisted we play a little longer.”

He didn’t blink. But in the corner of the room, a man with stitches across his face twitched slightly. Like the mention of something domestic scratched at his teeth.

Naoya, who was now pouring your tea like it was poison, said nothing. Suguru didn’t offer introductions. He just let the platinum blond ghost linger at the room’s edge like a lion watching your blood pressure with a smirk.

Then he looked back to you and said, with no real warmth, “Ah. Is he still obsessed with Digimon?”

The shift was instantaneous.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe wrong. But beneath the table, your fingers twitched once—an involuntary microexpression.

Satoru had never said that online. Not to fans. Not to journalists. Not even in investor decks.

But you didn’t bite, not so easily. “So tell me, Mr. Geto, what are your plans?” You didn’t specify whether you meant plans for your company or for you; he’d clear that for you soon enough.

He began flipping through a file. “As I’m aware, you’ve had… an eventful quarter.”

You kept your smile. “Define eventful.”

“The employee assault. The digital blackouts. The marriage leak. The #TwoHolesForAReason campaign. Your stock drops. The public threats. And of course…” His eyes dropped, just briefly, to your stomach. “The pregnancy reveal.”

You took a measured sip of tea. Let the silence breathe. You could feel a fish curling beneath the floorboards—koi or curse, you couldn’t tell.

“I didn’t come here to relive the timeline.”

“Of course not,” he said gently. “You came here because I asked politely.”

That stopped you. Just a breath.

Suguru chuckled, as if he'd made a harmless joke. “Satoru always did get possessive when he felt threatened.”

You blinked once, slowly. He was no longer implying leverage. He was showing it.

“How do you know my husband?”

“From a different life. We were in Jujutsu Tech together, some ten years ago or more.” He didn’t elaborate. “He’s... very consistent. Even back then.”

“Were you close?”

“We were best friends. Classmates. Same special grades. Different curse techniques, same suicidal ambition.” His voice didn’t change. “Then the world changed after your guardian killed a girl we were protecting, and I… left.”

You didn’t react.

You recognized the tempo. The bait. He knew more about you than he was supposed to.

“Are you still in touch?”

“The last time I spoke to him was eight months ago.”

He said it like a wound. Or a warning.

Blood crawled up your throat, but you smiled and sipped your tea like a lamb, luring him into a false sense of comfort. “What happened eight months ago?” you asked softly, like you couldn’t put two and two together.

He smiled—not kindly. “I lost.”

The silence that followed was polite. Hollow.

You inhaled. “You joined the corporate sector after that?”

“Mm. Sorcery has its limits. I realized my skills were better suited to cleaning up PR messes.” His eyes flicked over your bump, your body, the controlled inhale of someone used to performing normalcy under duress. “Your company’s been through enough chaos lately. The world turned fast.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. “That’s the risk of marrying violently private men.”

“Or of marrying two of them,” he said, too evenly.

You didn’t reply. Let him talk.

He didn’t. Clever bastard.

Instead, the blonde set down another cup of tea with a thud that felt deliberate. You glanced at him, properly now.

“You didn’t introduce your company.”

Suguru didn’t look at him. “Naoya Zen’in. Logistics director. Don’t take his silence personally—he doesn’t like powerful women.”

“Must be exhausting,” you said, sipping your tea without breaking eye contact with Naoya’s sneer.

Naoya’s lip curled, but Suguru raised a finger, and the man stilled like a dog leashed by old violence.

You glanced around the room again—and noticed the other man was too still. Too silent. Sitting near the incense tray now, legs folded like a child mimicking meditation. Young. Heterochromatic eyes. Face like a cherub carved by a sadist—unblemished except for the stitches, soft, but off.

You didn’t recognize him.

But something primal in you curled. Not fear—yet—but revulsion. He watched you with a kind of gleeful interest people usually reserved for vivisection videos.

Suguru didn’t introduce him either.

The air felt heavier suddenly. Your skin began to itch under your dress, and you couldn’t tell if it was hormones or the way that stranger tilted his head slightly every time you moved.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask. Let the wrongness root itself in your memory.

“So what’s your plan, Mr. Geto?” you asked calmly, eyes never straying. “You want to scrub my company’s image. Why now?”

He met your gaze with something that almost felt like recognition. “Because Satoru did what he did for you. And the world saw it as a threat.”

You stayed silent.

He was skirting around Kento’s name—which meant Nanami, in Suguru’s eyes, was just as guilty.

And neither of you were forgiven.

He continued. “Beating your own employees in the middle of a crisis? Then disappearing. Leaving your CHRO and Higuruma to spin internal terrorism as a ‘security concern’ while the internet tore you apart. And the marriage leak…”

His voice lowered. “The rape threats. The arson calls. The memes.”

You exhaled, slow. Steady.

He didn’t know Higuruma either.

His mouth twitched. Almost sympathetically. Almost.

“Your men love you,” he said like an obituary. “But the world is still too cruel to forgive a woman for being adored.”

You tilted your head and met his violent violet gaze. “And you do?”

Suguru leaned back, folding his arms. “I understand optics. I understand what it means to be seen as unnatural.”

He hadn’t once referred to Satoru by his full name. Hadn’t asked how he was. Hadn’t asked to set up a meeting to catch up. Hadn’t insulted him either.

Every mention dripped with intimacy. Personal. Familiar. Irreversible.

You glanced at the tea again.

You were being dissected.

Not you exactly. The idea of you. The blueprint. The soft horror of a woman who had everything and bled alone.

You smiled. Not sweetly.

“So you stayed hidden all this time. Why?”

His eyes glinted. “Because sometimes, anonymity is power. I don’t need to be seen. I need to move.”

You hummed, sipping.

You weren’t stupid enough for men like him. Suguru wasn’t obsessed with investing in your company. He was trying to replace you in your own life.

Naoya stepped forward again. This time, it wasn’t tea. He whispered something into Suguru’s ear. A coded phrase, maybe. Or a trigger.

Suguru nodded once.

And then the man with the uncanny smile by the incense tray finally spoke.

“Has it kicked yet?”

The room shrank by degrees. You froze mid-breath, head swivelling toward him slowly. “What?”

He beamed. It didn’t reach his eyes. “The baby. Or babies, I suppose.”

Your stomach twisted—not from pregnancy. Instinct. Deep and ancestral. Like recognising a predator that shouldn’t exist anymore.

Suguru didn’t stop him. Naoya grinned.

Your fingers brushed the inside of your coat pocket, finding the cold edge of your phone. You didn’t need to see the screen—just feel the lock button. One long press, and the emergency contact would trigger. Satoru had set it up himself, laughing like it was a joke. “Just in case you’re ever too tired to scream.”

You weren’t screaming now. But you were tired. And surrounded.

Your thumb hovered over the side of the phone, ready to press and hold.

He’ll feel it. He’ll come. He always does.

But you needed answers.

Across from you, the scared man’s gaze skittered over your body, hesitating on the weight of your pregnancy like it offended him. Like he was doing the math on your vulnerability.

Your fingers twitched again—hovering but not pressing.

"Funny," you murmured, voice honed to a razor's edge—quiet enough to slit the throats of every man in that room who dreamed of hurting you. Of hurting them.

"You didn't introduce him, either."

Suguru’s gaze dragged over you—slow, careful, like he was calibrating the threat level of a black widow spider beneath his shoe. “Ah. That’s Mahito. He’s not an employee. Just… an enthusiast.”

“Enthusiast of what?”

“People.”

Mahito’s laugh was a rusted scissor drawn softly across silk. “Of change.”

Your fingers tightened around your teacup, the heat biting into your palm. “I don’t discuss my children with men I don’t know, Mr. Geto. Remove him, or this meeting ends now.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, at Suguru’s faint nod, Mahito walked out—but not before his eyes dipped to your swollen abdomen, lingering like a promise.

Suguru tilted his head. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And you’re exactly what I prepared for.” You didn’t take the bait, just sipped your tea and wished you could gouge out Naoya’s wandering eyes on your body with the teaspoon.

“Your men could’ve fixed this,” Suguru mused. “Instead, they buried you alive under their failures.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me dig you out.”

You let out one sharp smirk. “You want my loyalty.” Naoya’s gaze continued to crawl over your skin, but it was Suguru’s quiet hunger that made your pulse stutter.

He didn’t just want your empire. He wanted what you had with him.

“No,” Suguru said, and for one suspended breath, you saw something ancient behind his eyes. “I want the myth they buried you in. I want to rewrite it in your bones. You can keep your loyalty. I know how fragile that is.”

Naoya smirked.

You traced the rim of your cup again, as if you weren’t about to be eight months along and evaluating three likely special grade threats in a building without exits.

“I remember he used to hoard candy in his coat pocket,” Suguru said idly. “Said it was for focus. But he always saved the strawberry ones. Said they tasted like the spring of youth.”

Your breath caught—only for a second.

He smiled.

You didn’t give him more.

“Why now?” you asked. “You’ve had years to insert yourself. Why wait until after they ruined everything?”

His smile thinned. “Because now the narrative is fragile. Vulnerable. Editable.”

You didn’t smile back. You narrowed your eyes, the way a knife narrows a throat.

“Editable?” you repeated, voice flat as the heartbeat monitor they once used when your blood pressure dipped from stress-induced anemia. Third trimester. High stakes. Too much noise. Too many men trying to rewrite your obituary before the children even arrived.

He leaned forward with the casual precision of a man who’d once taught his enemies philosophy before killing them. Elbows on the table. Like a professor who enjoyed watching you fail upward and spiral into myth.

“Everyone loves a redemption arc,” Suguru said softly. “Especially when the protagonist is already bleeding.”

You watched the way his fingers interlocked, how his eyes held yours without fear, pity, or desire. Familiarity, yes. But it was impersonal. Surgical. “You’re smart. You built a world-changing company, held it through five hostile acquisition attempts, and somehow survived being married to two emotionally repressed men with god complexes.”

A pause. Letting it land.

“But your narrative is a mess. Right now, you’re not a visionary. You’re a punchline. A cautionary tale.”

You didn’t blink. You’d stopped blinking for fragile men a long time ago.

“So you want to help me out of the goodness of your heart, Mr. Geto,” you sarcastically mocked, voice like cooled steel.

“I want to curate,” he corrected. “The public needs a villain. I’d rather it not be you.”

Your breath didn’t change. Your spine did.

“And who should it be instead?” you asked quietly.

His gaze didn’t falter. “The men who made you disappear.”

You didn’t answer.

Because your brain was already screaming. Eight months. That was the moment the light began to fracture. The lies weren’t clumsy—they were rehearsed. Gojo crying in the shower without making a sound, standing too close to the shower faucet like he wanted to burn off his skin. Nanami avoiding eye contact with you like you were Medusa.

They hadn’t just betrayed you.

They’d buried someone.

And this man across from you—

—this Suguru—

He wasn’t the villain of the story. He was the page they tore out.

You shifted slightly in your seat, careful not to press too hard against the left hip joint. It ached from carrying too much weight—twins, fear, expectations.

“I don’t trust men who speak softly for a living,” you said, finally.

He smiled, not kindly. “Then you’ll appreciate that I don’t live. I manage. I observe. I insert pressure.”

“That sounds dangerously like extortion.”

“That sounds like truth.”

You stood, feeling the subtle catch in your hip again. A strain, not a collapse. You could handle it. You’d handled worse.

“Then here’s some truth for you, Mr. Geto,” you said, staring him down while Naoya twitched beside him like a dog smelling meat. “I don’t care what happened between you and him. I don’t care if Satoru fed you strawberry candy with his mouth. I don’t care if you’re here to drag me into whatever unresolved soap opera you three left fermenting in a casket.”

Naoya flinched like a puppet yanked by ancestral strings.

Suguru just kept smiling, unflinching.

“But if you want a stake in my company, you’ll need to do more than spill secrets and wear pretty silk. I’ve already survived two of the most powerful men in Japan loving me to the brink of destruction. Fear’s a luxury I ran out of two assassination attempts ago.”

Suguru rose slowly. Elegantly. Offered a hand as if any of this was normal.

You didn’t take it.

You left.

And you didn’t realise your hands were shaking until the door sealed behind you. The tremor was slight, concentrated in the fingertips—just enough to betray you to yourself. Just enough to remind you that no amount of tech, intelligence, or control could reverse the trauma of being known by dangerous men.

You didn’t take Suguru’s jet.

Instead, you boarded your own—slid into the leather seat with Takahashi curled against your belly like a breathing talisman—and told your assistant not to speak unless the plane was on fire.

By the time you hit cruising altitude, your nails had already scrolled through Nanami’s phone.

Not because it was hard.

His password was still the same.

Gojo never had one.

You found messages you were never meant to see.

Shoko: 15 days until abortion is off the table.

Gojo: She won’t agree.

You: Then we don’t ask.

You stared at the screen for a long time.

So they all lied.

Not just Gojo. Not just Nanami. All of them. Shoko even pretended to be in your corner.

There it was.

It wasn’t just about control. It wasn’t even about love.

It was the assumption that because you didn’t throw cursed techniques like tantrums, you couldn’t possibly comprehend risk. That your life—your mind—was collateral. Disposable in the face of their warped logic and misplaced savior complexes.

Like talking to you was useless. Like reasoning with you was redundant.

Like you were some beautiful, ignorant thing to be protected and deceived in equal measure.

Like you were some animal incapable of critical reasoning when your own life was in danger.

So they could fuck each other guilt-free.

So they could play noble martyrs in the privacy of the wounds they gave you.

And still, that wasn’t enough. Because anger—real anger—needs witnesses.

You opened a signal sniffer, rerouted through two proxies, and tapped into your neighbour’s WiFi. Not because you couldn’t afford better surveillance, but because her router overlapped with the garden of Megumi’s penthouse.

You shouldn’t have looked.

You: She wouldn’t have agreed.

Haibara: Then don’t give her the choice.

You: She’s not a sorcerer. She doesn’t understand what these kids could be. My mom almost died trying to give birth to me, and I wasn’t even half as cursed.

Haibara: Yeah, she’s blind to what they’ll do to her.

You: I’m not going to let her die over a fucking ideal.

Haibara: That wack doctor says she’s fine, so stop obsessively worrying.

Your vision blurred—but not from tears. From calculation.

The rage came quietly. It didn’t scream or collapse. It focused.

You unclasped the ring from your finger. Gojo’s design, Nanami’s metal of choice. A perfect storm of sentiment you no longer had room for.

You handed it to one of the PR assistants travelling with you—someone young, hopeful, still romantic about the world.

"Get rid of it," you said. "Melt it. Turn it into something you like. Give it to your girlfriend. Or your mother. Or leave it on the street. I don’t care. Just make sure I never see it again."

She didn’t ask questions.

And you didn’t explain.

Because you knew your husbands were capable of cruelty. You’d lived long enough in the shadow of it. But what you hadn’t expected—

What truly broke something you couldn’t name—

Was Megumi.

Megumi, whom you’d grown up with. Who unknowingly saved you. Who you’d trusted with more than your safety. Who you’d let in on the soft, unfinished parts of your life.

He hadn’t just betrayed you.

He’d calculated your erasure like a business decision.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything Gojo or Nanami had ever done.

---

That was yesterday morning.

Now it was twilight in Tokyo.

They probably thought you’d thrown yourself into the sea.

But instead, here you were, crying into a bucket of fried chicken.

And you were borderline dehydrated, emotionally overloaded, stuck in a fucking KFC parking lot on the outskirts of the city, trying not to break down into raw animal sobs as you cried into your Zinger.

Your hypercar—a pearlescent black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut—was parked sideways across two spots, hazard lights blinking like a distress beacon. The carbon-fiber passenger door still hung open. Your mascara was not waterproof.

The sandwich was getting soggy in your hand, fries had gone cold, and the second tub of soft serve was pooling slowly into your leather seat. Your coat smelled like fried oil, and you didn’t care. Not after the two days you’d had.

You missed Takahashi. You hadn’t meant to leave the house without him. But you had to run. And your mother's flight had been delayed without warning, your pelvic pain had spiked again, and your body had decided—in the grand tradition of pregnancy craving betrayal—that you absolutely needed karaage from KFC right now or you’d lose your mind.

You shoved another fry in your mouth. Your sunglasses slipped to the tip of your nose, and you wiped your nose on your sleeve. Your phone buzzed again in your coat pocket—ignored. The car’s touchscreen blinked up missed calls: Nanami. Gojo. Fushiguro. Haibara. CHRO. Keji. Shoko. Even Higuruma and Kashimo.

But your fingers only twitched when you reached into the Karaage Kun box and found it empty.

You blinked at it. Then stared at it again like it might refill itself if you focused hard enough.

It didn’t.

You muttered something vile under your breath, threw it into the bag, and reversed sharply out of the space, startling a group of high school boys who had been trying to take selfies with your car.

You pulled up to the drive-thru window again.

The teenage employee there—a scrawny, gentle-eyed boy with two acne patches on his chin—took one look at your blotchy face, your designer maternity wear, and the angry tears still clinging to your lashes like guilt, and leaned in awkwardly.

“Would you, uh… like to eat inside? In the back? It’s private. No one will see.”

Your eyes narrowed. Not because he was wrong. But because it was too damn late.

Fushiguro probably already had Tokyo’s entire surveillance grid running facial recognition on CCTV footage. You had thirty minutes, max, before someone pinged your license plate and alerted the staff that you were a missing trillionaire heiress with a God Complex Husbands Alert Level 5.

You opened your mouth to politely decline—and that’s when it happened.

A sharp, gravel-thick voice from behind your Jesko snarled loud enough to startle pigeons off the KFC’s roof.

“What’s taking so fucking long?”

You froze.

This. This was your final straw.

Not the delayed flight. Not the ghost of Geto Suguru. Not the stress migraine. Not even the go-bag full of burner phones in your trunk.

No. It was this man, some impatient Tokyo businessman with too much money and too little self-awareness, honking at a crying pregnant woman ordering a ¥700 chicken snack set.

The teenage cashier turned pale and scrambled to shush him, mumbling something apologetic and helpless in corporate lingo.

But you were already getting out of the car.

Your heels—flat, orthopaedic, pregnancy-safe—hit the pavement with a purposeful thunk. Your bump was covered in a loose belted trench, collar flipped up, eyes bloodshot, mouth red from crying, ketchup and eating your own lipstick with the fried chicken.

You strode across the parking lot like your water might break from rage alone.

The man was in a Porsche 918 Spyder.

Rich, then. But not you – rich.

You knocked on his tinted window hard enough to make the glass vibrate.

The man inside—long dark hair, too many rings, cigarette hanging from his lip like an accessory—rolled it down and looked at you.

Your heart stalled. Had Geto found you?

Then he turned fully—and no, you didn’t know him.

“Hey,” he started. “I’m sorry for—”

He trailed off. His eyes didn’t leave your face. But his hand went back, casually, like muscle memory. He grabbed something—or someone—in the back seat and yanked.

A pink-haired burly man, Fushiguro’s age, popped into view. Eyes wide. Face pale.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, staring at you.

You didn’t care. You were done being polite.

“Do none of you have the decency to wait your fucking turn? You’re not the only ones starving!”

The pink-haired one gawked. The long-haired one blinked, snuffed his cigarette.

And then—

The rear door of the Porsche opened with a heavy, expensive click.

A man stepped out.

No—a wall of a man. Towering. Black spiky hair. Tattoos across his neck, his hands, the visible sliver of skin beneath his bespoke coat. His suit looked Brunello Cucinelli. His gait was slow. Controlled.

Somehow, he was taller than Gojo.

Which should’ve been illegal.

You took a step back. Your hip twinged.

He looked at you the way sorcerers looked at curses: like you were made of secrets and danger.

His voice was almost gentle when he spoke in English to you.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling. I was just… stunned. We were supposed to meet yesterday in New York, but you never came. Do you remember me, princess?”

You stared at him.

Confused.

Nauseated.

Because you did not remember him. Not the face. Not the voice. And especially not the “princess.”

Your hand—coated in fries and fatigue—slowly curled into a fist at your side, “Don’t call me that. Who the fuck are you?”

---

He’d seen a lot in his many lives.

Flesh peeled from bone in war. Gods weep beneath shrines. Kingdoms rise on the shoulders of men who lied.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this: A woman powerful enough to end markets with a swipe of her hand, pregnant and a little crazy, yelling at a man twice her size at a Tokyo KFC lot like he’d committed a crime.

And to him? He had.

Because she didn’t remember him.

Not the face.

Not the voice.

Not the name he’d written for her the first time they’d met in Norway—softly, like it would break something if said out loud.

She stared at him now like he was a stranger. And it knocked the breath from his lungs harder than any curse ever had.

The same eyes. The same sharpness in her jaw when she was pissed, the same raw edge to her voice.

He opened his mouth. Could’ve told her. Could’ve said everything.

But the car behind him honked. Loud. Disrespectful.

And she turned.

Didn’t even wait.

Walked back to her car like he was just another suit in the noise.

Slammed the door. Didn’t look back.

He stood in the fading orange-pink glow of Tokyo twilight, heart slightly colder.

“Broooo,” came Yuji’s voice from the passenger seat. “You got rejected by a pregnant woman, in public. That’s generational humiliation, man.”

“She didn’t reject me,” He muttered, eyes still on her.

“She forgot you existed,” Junpei added helpfully from the back, licking spicy powder off his fingertips. “You’re a ghost. A failed Tinder date. A plotline that didn’t make the final cut.”

“Don’t you think she’s kinda scary, though?” Choso chimed in quietly, looking almost reverent. “She gives off strong mom-you-don’t-wanna-piss-off energy.”

“She is a mom,” Yuji pointed out.

“To twins,” He corrected, voice too soft.

They all looked at him.

“What?” He snapped.

“Nothing,” Choso said, already climbing out of the car, like that was answer enough as he walked to the car that had honked.

So of course, he didn’t think. Just walked.

Over to her Jesko, one hand raised, careful to keep his body language non-threatening. He knocked. Once. Lightly.

She looked up. Eyes bloodshot. Hands gripping the tub of chicken like a war trophy.

He held up the takeaway bag like a peace offering. Didn’t say anything.

She didn’t roll the window down. Just glared at him like she might reverse into him and not lose sleep.

Behind him, Yuji, Choso, and Junpei leaned out of the Porsche like hyenas watching a National Geographic special. “Go on then, Romeo,” Yuji stage-whispered.

The giant man ignored him. Nudged the bag closer. Still no window roll.

She shifted slightly—hand brushing toward the ignition.

But then… her stomach growled. Loud.

An indecent, almost comic little groan from deep within.

She froze. Looked horrified.

He bit back a smirk.

She sighed, finally rolling the window down with the resignation of a god forced to make peace with a lesser deity.

“Who the fuck are you?” Her voice was sandpaper and citrus. He almost missed it. The familiarity.

“Calm down, woman. I don’t hurt defenceless pregnant women.”

“Who. The fuck. Are you?” She snapped again, unbothered by his size, his tone, or the heat radiating off him like a threat.

He admired that. Always had.

“Ryomen Sukuna,” he said, slow, voice low. “From Itadori Industries, we specialise in market manipulation. I was trying to invest in your company. We met in Norway.”

She blinked. Sniffling. Mistrust etched deep in the slope of her shoulders.

“Show me your passport.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he turned and yelled, “Choso. You got the passports?”

Choso, saint that he was, was already halfway out of the car, rummaged around in his coat and brought it over.

As he handed it over, he leaned close and whispered, like it was sacred, “He wore this suit just because he was excited to meet you.”

Sukuna shot him a glare that could've flattened cities. Choso walked back, unbothered.

He flipped to the front page of the passport with one hand, takeaway bag still in the other.

Held it out.

She scanned it on her phone with the tired efficiency of someone who’d been betrayed before.

It pinged. Verified. Real.

She gave it back.

“I came to the meeting,” she murmured. “Some guy named Suguru showed up instead of you.”

Sukuna’s face darkened.

Who the fuck was Suguru?

Before he could say more, she sniffled.

“Princess,” he started, softer now. “Do you want to have this conversation while I stand outside your car with a takeaway bag like a solicitor?”

She wailed, openly now. “Nooo. Give me the food.”

And she got out of the car.

Didn’t stray from the door, but her body relaxed the slightest bit. Maybe from the scent. Maybe from the warmth of fried food. Maybe from the fact that Sukuna didn’t flinch when she got close enough to punch him.

He leaned against her car’s hood, offering the bag.

She rummaged through it like a raccoon with opposable thumbs.

Found too much food—because of course, he’d ordered one of everything Japan-exclusive. KFC bento. Teriyaki Twister. Pepper Mayo Twister. Chicken Katsu Sando. Matcha Tiramisu. Peach Mango Pie. Sakura Milk Tea.

She blinked. Whispered, almost suspiciously, “Did you poison it?”

He raised a brow.

Sukuna had been trying to meet with her for months. Months. And yet here she was, passing him the milk tea like it was some kind of test, like he wasn’t exactly who he said he was.

His hand almost brushed hers as he took the cup, and for a moment, he wondered if she’d noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

He doubted it. She was too busy with the storm that raged behind her eyes to care about something as trivial as that.

He took it. Sipped. “Sweet,” he said, licking the sugar off his lip like it might make her remember.

She didn’t respond, her eyes still sharp like she could see every secret he kept buried behind his smirk.

“You look like you’re going through something,” he said, stealing a fry with the air of someone who didn’t have the blood of entire lineages on his hands. (He did. But not today.)

Her gaze barely moved, and her voice came out in a low, bitter monotone. “I hate my husbands.”

He smirked wider, his amusement sharp as glass. “I’ve seen the news.”

Yuji snorted from their car, and Sukuna glared at him.

She narrowed her eyes. “You look like a criminal.”

“'Cause I am,” he said, but shrugged. “Nah, just a sorcerer. Was."

“Get away from me,” Her mouth twisted as she began to pull away, pushing herself back into the uncomfortable space of her own thoughts. “God, they say sorcerers are rare but I keep encountering them like flies. Like cursed venereal diseases. It’s disgusting.”

Sukuna jumped to his feet without thinking, like it was second nature to console her, even if the reason felt foreign—some instinct buried deep in his chest, one he couldn't quite shake. He didn't need to comfort her. Hell, he probably shouldn't have. But for a moment, he wasn’t the monster he had been in another life; he was just a man, holding out a hand when it was needed. “No,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle. “I used to be one, but I’m not anymore. Don’t care about it, either. My brothers over there, and Yuji’s friend? They’re sorcerers too, but none of us participate in that die-a-thankless-death game.”

Junpei made a gagging sound behind the car. Choso threw a napkin at him.

“That’s what he said too,” she mumbled, shoving a mango pie into her mouth with the viciousness of someone who wanted to eat and disappear.

“Who?”

“The guy who showed up instead of you and … And there was this stitched-up guy and that fucking Naoya, and I thought I was going to die, and my husband lied to me about Suguru and his beautiful hair; he never told me about him.” She continued wailing.

Sukuna was confused between her sniffling, eating and crying combo. “Wait, slow down; start with the smallest one. Who’s the stitched guy? What did he look like?”

“His name was Mahito; he had stitches on his face and pale blue hair and looked at me like he was gonna open my stomach and take my babies like a claw machine prize.” She continued sniffing and also somehow sipping her tea.

Sukuna’s fists clenched.

He turned to Choso and yelled out, “Find where Mahito is. Now.”

Choso already had his phone out, mouth a thin line.

Sukuna turned back to her, voice low. “What about the other one? Naoya?”

“He looked at me like he wanted to assault me. I wanted to blind him with a tea spoon.” She said it so flatly, like violence was just a normal Tuesday.

“Naobito’s kid?” Sukuna asked. She nodded, still chewing. He gave a nod to Yuji, who was already on a call, voice sharp.

And then:

“Who’s Suguru?”

She went quiet.

Then, with all the ceremony of a royal confession, she slid him her half-eaten burger.

He accepted it like it was holy.

Then ate in silence with her for a while.

She began again, “He told me his name was Geto Suguru. That he and my husband were soulmates. And that I was their enemy. How the fuck am I someone’s enemy when I didn’t even know he existed?”

“Wait—Geto?” Sukuna stopped mid-chew.

She nodded, slow. “Yeah. Long black hair. Pretty, in that ‘will definitely commit a felony against humanity’ kind of way.”

Sukuna felt something shift in him.

“He’s supposed to be dead. There was a war a few months ago in Kyoto. Your husband killed him.”

Her eyes widened, horror blooming.

“Did I see a ghost? A curse?”

“Not possible. He was a curse user, yeah, but no one survives your husband.” Then he smirked. “Unless it’s me. I’m very strong, princess.”

She rolled her eyes and buried herself in the chicken like it could shelter her from the fact that apparently nothing in her life was real. “Less peacocking. More finding who’s impersonating you.”

“I’ll find out,” Sukuna said. His voice was flat, but his chest thrummed like a curse trying to break its seal. “And I mean that.”

Of course he did. She just nodded absently, like it was a customer service promise she’d heard before. There was Sprite condensation running down her fingers. Her lips were slightly swollen from all the salt. She looked exhausted. And holy.

That part hadn’t changed. Not in a thousand lives.

But then she said, “I have two husbands. And they’re both absolute clowns.”

Sukuna didn’t laugh.

(Okay—he let out a very soft, involuntary snort. Behind him, Junpei was wheezing into his Armani jacket, Yuji muttering “bro’s down bad”, and Choso took a photo of the moment like he was documenting a rare animal sighting.)

She kept going. “I wake up every morning to a new scandal,” she said, gesturing vaguely with a limp fry. “They bicker like old women in a laundromat. One of them tried to cheat on the 3AM Test with a voice actor, and the other failed so hard the internet started a NanaMoobs hashtag.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, more amused than he’d let show. “And yet, you are still married to them.”

“Bad decision-making, obviously.” So she was still in love with them.

He hummed, reaching for one of her fries again. Her wrist didn’t flinch this time. Small victories. “What did they do this time?”

She sighed, the kind that aged you five years in one breath. “Oh, nothing major. Just tried to abort my babies without telling me.”

Sukuna’s drink went down the wrong way. He coughed, violently, his eyes watering as Junpei whispered, “Bro…” with the reverence of someone witnessing an execution.

“…Excuse me?” Sukuna rasped.

She took a slow sip of her Sprite, eyes dead. “Yeah. Something about ‘if it was her or the baby, we’d choose her’ blah blah blah.’ I don’t know. I stopped reading after.”

For once in centuries, Sukuna had no words.

And that, in his world, was a fucking problem.

Because he’d once bathed in the blood of tyrants. He’d reduced kingdoms to ashes and made death feel like a mercy. His name had been enough to unmake faith.

But he had never, not once, been asked to comfort a furious, hormonal, fast-food-devouring, betrayed woman who used to be his entire world and now didn’t even recognize him.

And who was still, somehow, unspeakably radiant through it all.

This—this was worse than war.

So he said the only thing that came close to honesty. “You love them, right?”

She glared. Not just at him—through him. “What does that have to do with it?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “So hypothetically, if they were pregnant and historically too stubborn to save themselves, would you let them die?”

She blinked. The words caught her off guard. Her fry stilled halfway to her mouth.

“That’s an oddly sentimental thing to say,” she said.

He smirked. A slow thing, calculated, but tired around the edges. “I’m a businessman. Can’t let my biggest asset disappear, can I?”

She rolled her eyes, but the edge had dulled. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Mr. ‘Not a Criminal.’”

But she wasn’t crying anymore.

And Sukuna decided that—pathetically, pathetically—that was his greatest win in years.

She turned to him again, half her chicken gone. “But like—hiding an ex that fucking relevant is still bad, right? Like ‘my one and only’ and shit.”

The words twisted something deep in his ribcage. Deeper than his heart. The one that still beat only for her, even after all this time, all his deaths.

Sukuna hummed. Not dismissive, just thoughtful. “I guess. But then I have an ex—though I never called her that—who nearly set my entire life on fire. Yandere, textbook. I don’t talk about her. Not because I’m hiding her, but because she… made living unbearable. Some people are like that. Maybe your husband didn’t tell you because it hurt too much, and the other one didn’t because it wasn’t his secret to tell.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

There was mango sauce on her lip. Chicken grease on her coat. Her hand trembled just slightly, probably from the sugar crash. And still—still—she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But she didn’t remember.

Not the wedding. Not the way she’d laughed into his neck. Not the way she’d once laughed when he brought her those blobfish plushies for the babies.

She didn’t smile that tired smile while saying his name now.

There was no hate in her voice. No love either.

Just air.

She kept eating. Sipping her Sprite. Talking about two men who didn’t know what they had until they almost threw it away. Two men she still loved.

Behind him, Yuji laughed under his breath, “he’s got it bad.”

Choso handed him a tissue for the Sprite spill that hadn’t happened. Junpei was still smirking.

And Sukuna—he just sat there, breathing through a heartbreak that didn’t even have a name in this timeline.

---

Small A/N: Before/After reading the next bit, to draw the parallel, read this - [Tumblr/Ao3]

---

On the other side of Tokyo, the Fushiguros had gathered.

“Mom.” Megumi offered a hand when she climbed out of the jet.

She didn’t take it, just kept walking with her guards.

“I didn’t know. Then that doctor said she was fine, so there was no need to tell her in case the stress got to her.” He snapped.

She turned to him, “Your father would be disappointed in you.”

Megumi didn’t speak after that.

---

Across town, Nanami and Gojo were in hell. Again.

Nanami looked like a man trying to mathematically quantify grief. A golden ratio blade flickered and died in his palm every few seconds,  uncontrolled—his body stuck in a loop, like it was trying to fight something that wasn’t there anymore.

Gojo’s Six Eyes still burned. Pupils dilated too sharp, skin gray-blue, the corners of his mouth twitching from the static in his brain.

Neither had slept in twenty-eight hours.

They had tried every scenario.

None of them ended with a pin drop at a KFC.

Incoming Message: Location

They stared at the screen.

Gojo broke the silence, cautious—hopeful like a man hoping the corpse in the morgue might still breathe.

“She’s—?”

“KFC,” Nanami said. Flat. Not deadpan—dead.

Gojo squinted. “You think the universe hates me personally?”

Nanami didn’t answer. Just turned the key and revved the car like he meant to drive it through Heaven’s gates and make someone answer for it.

---

By the time they arrived, the sun was bleeding into the horizon.

She was outside. Sitting on the hood of her car like the world hadn’t just ended two days ago. Barefoot. Anklets catching light. One hand held a melting Sprite float, the other a neatly folded napkin like she’d just wiped off a joke.

She was laughing.

Not alone.

Two—no, four others lingered around her. All vaguely wrong. One looked like Haibara on benzos, another like a Megumi with worse judgment and better hair. A third had cult survivor written all over him, and the last—

The last looked like he’d walked out of an ancient curse and decided to become a CEO.

Nanami’s breath stalled. Rage bloomed slow and clinical—an aneurysm waiting for a reason.

Gojo’s voice was already splintering. “Who the fuck—”

Nanami’s cursed energy cracked across his wrist like stained gold glass—subtle but loud if you knew him.

She saw them.

Across the street, with her mouth still full of fries, she called out, “Oh hey, look who finally decided to show up. I was gonna save you some, but figured you’d make me eat a granola bar and cry about my blood sugar.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks.

Nanami blinked.

She grinned like she hadn’t haunted them for past 29 hours. Like she wasn’t the reason Gojo started drinking his coffee black again.

“Come here,” she called, louder. “You two look like you haven’t peed in hours.”

Gojo, under his breath, muttered, “Because we haven’t.”

Beside her, reading their lips, Choso grimaced. “Jesus.”

Sukuna chuckled low in his chest, his attention never leaving her. “You really made them come to a KFC?”

She laughed harder, grabbing her side. “You don’t get to judge. You literally told me you’ve been burning cash just for a ‘chance meeting.’”

“Your business is lucrative,” Sukuna said.

“You’re covered in money.”

He glanced at his bespoke three-piece. “It’s decorative.”

“Okay, American Psycho.”

Sukuna smiled. His hand twitched once—almost like he was going to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but didn’t.

Same as Nanami, Gojo was already halfway across the street. “Who are these people?”

“They’re my friends,” she said sweetly, swinging her legs off the car. “Don’t be jealous, Satoru.”

“I am jealous,” he muttered, eyes glued to her.

Nanami’s voice cracked, sharp and brittle: “What did you tell them?”

She stood. Twirled her straw once. Shrugged. “That my idiot husbands forgot I was dangerous. Corrupted my friends. Lied to me. So I made new friends. Ones who don’t gaslight and lie to me.”

Nanami took a single step forward.

She pointed a fry like a weapon. “Don’t. If you breathe without apologizing, I will stab this into your brain through your nose.”

Gojo wheezed. Somewhere between a sob and a snort.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I was already craving wings. Otherwise, I’d be halfway to Bhutan.”

She stepped off the curb.

Licked sauce off her thumb. Like she hadn’t been running for her life a day ago. Like she’d never had a panic attack in a jet with the lights off. Like the world didn’t owe her blood for making her survive it.

Her gait was relaxed. Chin high.

And then—

CRACK!!!

No echo. No cinematic recoil.

Just nerve, bone, and fate snapping in sync.

It was intimate. Like an exhale through a silencer. Like a trapdoor closing.

Her hand jerked. The Styrofoam cup slipped from her grip mid-sip, spiraling sideways—Sprite and melting ice cream spraying in a soft arc. Her other hand, still holding the napkin, trembled like it knew something her mind hadn’t yet registered.

Then—

Red.

A bloom at the base of her skull. Not metaphorical. Not poetic. Surgical. The kind of red that silences conversations mid-sentence. That never washes out.

Her shoulder twisted, tendons snapping like overstretched cables. A clean fracture. Deliberate.

And then she dropped.

Mid-step. No scream. No gasp. No hands thrown up in defense.

Just a body folding in on itself. Puppet. Cut strings. Floor.

Her knees hit first. Then her hips. Her skull would’ve cracked open if—

“NO—!”

Gojo’s voice split the air.

His body slammed the pavement just in time, arms sliding under her skull before it struck asphalt. His knees hit hard. He didn’t notice.

She was convulsing. Fingers twitching. Legs spasming like her nerves were glitching through static.

Her eyes fluttered open—barely. One blown wide. The other slow to respond. Her mouth moved, soundless, forming shapes she couldn’t say.

The back of her head was caved in. Blood bubbling at the base, wet and hot against Gojo’s thighs.

“Hey—hey. Look at me. Look at me—fuck, baby, just stay. Please stay—”

His voice was wreckage. No power, only panic. Shaky hands curled around her cheeks like he was afraid he’d break her worse.

She blinked. Just once. Then her pupils rolled up.

And still, he held her. Cradled her like a lifeline. A wrecked thing trying to hold together something softer than himself.

Her breath came out uneven. Like a machine trying to reboot.

Gojo didn’t feel the pain in his legs. Didn’t feel her blood soaking his clothes. All he saw was her face—lagging, like her brain was buffering behind real time.

For one breathless second—

Even Sukuna forgot who he was.

He blinked. Twice. His head tilted. Like something ancient had stirred from beneath his ribs.

Her face. Her blood.

The stillness.

He didn’t move. His hands twitched once at his sides. His throat clicked dry.

It was like watching a ghost die again.

“…No,” he breathed. “No—no, no—fuck.”

A memory surged:

He’d seen her bleed before. In another life.

Him, cradling her. Her gaze empty. The room sterile and humming with cold fluorescents. That awful antiseptic smell. The nurses whispering about miscarriage like it was a math error. All because the trauma to the womb was too violent.

A month later, Gojo. And Nanami. Suicides. News headlines.

She hadn’t remembered him in this life. Hadn’t even looked twice.

But Sukuna remembered everything.

The way her breath had sounded when she laughed in that life. The shape of the twins she lost before he could name them. The soft sigh she let out as she fell asleep in his arms. The nightmares—always the same men, the guilt too heavy to swallow. The way her eyes had looked when he told her she deserved to live, to be happy anyway—even after everything. The way they had looked when she told him she loved him. The way her lips had moved when she tiredly said his name for the first time.

That "Ryo" still ran through his bloodstream like a curse—he’d remember even if he forgot his own name.

The way she had asked him for help, like he wasn’t cursed.

He hadn’t begged for reincarnation.

He’d ripped it from the jaws of nonexistence—not to be a god, not to be reborn.

To see her again.

And now—

“No—” Sukuna’s voice came low. Not pleading. Not broken. Controlled.

Like a warrior watching the aftermath of an explosion he couldn’t stop. A man built to destroy, watching the one thing he didn’t want broken shatter anyway.

His hands curled into fists. Slowly. Silently.

Across from him, Gojo was still holding her. Still whispering like prayer was a reflex he’d never believed in until now.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me. Please, stay—don’t fucking do this to me—don’t—”

Choso turned pale, like the horror had wind behind it. “Who do we call?” he asked. “Hospital—police—do we—what the fuck do we do? We need a doctor—who’s treating her—”

No one answered.

Gojo didn’t even hear him. His voice kept going. Quiet. Shredded. “Stay. Stay. Please, stay. Just… just stay with me.”

Choso ripped Gojo’s phone out of his coat pocket, fingers slipping. His hand shook as he dialed.

Somewhere behind them, Yuji and Junpei were already moving—eyes dark, steps soundless, splitting off like wolves catching a scent. Trained. Tracking. Gone.

Nanami hadn’t moved.

Not yet. Not immediately.

Like his brain had glitched mid-frame. Like the universe had misfired—like the seconds between the gunshot and the collapse were just another nightmare in the endless reel of them.

He stood there.

Still.

Watching her bleed.

A man built on logic. Precision. Ratios and rules. Cause and effect.

But this?

This was mathematics without an equation. Balance without meaning.

Another cosmic joke played on a man foolish enough to believe he could keep something sacred in a world like this.

Then he saw it.

The red halo at the base of her skull. The unnatural kink in her spine. The shoulder pulled out of socket like a bird with a snapped wing. And the exit wound—clinical, too clean. Efficient.

Something in him shifted.

Not broke. Shifted.

Like a knife turning in its sheath.

He straightened.

He moved like something had been switched off.

Like the weight of a man whose grief wasn’t a feeling—it was a law.

Rage in Nanami was never hot. Never loud. It was the collapse of structure. The moment when the scaffolding gives and all that’s left is gravity.

He didn’t speak. He just walked.

His technique activated without gesture. No ritual. No threat.

The ground cracked beneath him. Golden ratios burned through the pavement like divine geometry. Reality bent into fragments, everything around him rearranged into lines of perfect consequence.

He was already measuring the moment—the bullet’s entry, the blast radius, the arc of collapse. Calculating, silently, the seconds she had left before brain death.

“What did you do?” Nanami asked. His voice didn’t raise. It was the sound of a hypothesis being disproven. A balance sheet that refused to align. A verdict already passed.

Behind him, golden blades began to hum violently—too precise to be called weapons. They weren’t made for war. They were made for correction.

Weak points blinked into the air like constellations on a surgical map.

He moved toward Sukuna.

And Sukuna didn’t retreat.

His hands twitched—not from fear, but restraint. Part of him wanted to summon every cursed tool he’d buried across the globe. His mind cycled through the names of every mercenary he had killed in secret to keep her safe. The spells he’d never used—not even when dying.

And the rage—the sheer, blistering fury—that he had let his guard down for one hour just so she could feel normal.

And this was what happened.

“You shouldn’t have looked at her.” Nanami’s voice landed like cold steel. “You shouldn’t have breathed the same air.”

Around Sukuna, the air sliced itself into pieces. Invisible blades hovering in calculus patterns—dozens of trajectories, all of them fatal. Reality split like a frog in a biology lab.

Sukuna didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift a finger.

“It wasn’t me.”

Gojo looked up, blood in his mouth, his eyes, his thoughts. Staining. Hers. “He’s lying—she was smiling,” he looked back at her. “She was smiling—”

“I didn’t,” Sukuna said again. Quieter. Still watching her. “I couldn’t. Why the fuck would I—?”

Nanami’s voice came like frost on a blade.

“I will burn down the laws of this world if it means ripping you apart.”

Sukuna straightened. Deliberate. Like a tree refusing to bow in a storm.

“You want to fight me now?”

Nanami didn’t answer.

His Domain cracked open behind him—reality cracking, rewinding, clockwork splitting open like a broken timepiece. Golden lines spun outward in spirals, mapping every single version of this moment.

Every version where she survived.

Every one that didn't.

This wasn’t rage.

It was annihilation.

Sukuna’s own Domain shuddered into existence—scarlet, grotesque, brute, heavy, like an axe swung through a cathedral.

The shadows warped around his frame. The air vibrated with it. The ground buckled.

“I didn’t fucking touch her.”

Even he—he—hesitated when he saw Nanami’s face.

Because there was no wrath there.

No vengeance.

Just the flat certainty of a man with nothing left to protect and nothing left to fear.

Sukuna’s rage curled inside him like a parasite chewing through meat. But he couldn’t exorcise it. Couldn’t spit it out.

Rage was all he had.

And rage felt like prayer.

“Do it, then,” he growled.

His voice cracked once—just enough to show the rot underneath.

“Fucking do it.”

Gojo didn’t move. He just held her.

His mouth against her temple. His hands cradling what they could not save.

“I didn’t say sorry,” he whispered. Not to anyone. Not to her.

Just to himself. Just to the air. Like he was giving the words permission to leave him now.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry…”

His fingers were red and shaking.

Her coat stuck to her ribs, soaked through.

Sukuna had trained himself not to feel. Feeling made you fail. Love made you late. Attachment got people killed.

But then she’d said his name.

In this life.

In that soft, exhausted voice. With eyes like she’d already forgiven him for whatever he hadn’t even done yet.

He wasn’t a god anymore. He knew it the moment she touched his wrist and didn’t recoil.

He was just a man.

A man who remembered what her laughter sounded like. What it felt like to be seen.

A man who was about to end a continent for her.

But she wasn’t blinking anymore.

And then—

A twitch.

Small. Shallow. The kind of movement most people would’ve missed.

But Sukuna wasn’t most people.

Her eyelids fluttered. Once.

Only he saw.

His jaw locked. A breath hitched in his chest—sharp and quiet.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t shout it aloud. Just—

“I didn’t do it,” he said again. The words were sharp now. Precise. Not a defence but a promise. “But I’ll help find who did.”

Behind him, Nanami’s golden blades froze mid-rotation. Suspended like judgement delayed.

The air stopped humming.

“Why?” he asked. Flat. Unbelieving.

Sukuna’s eyes never left her. “Because in another life, I watched a woman like that bleed out protecting idiots like you. And I don’t even know her.”

Nanami didn’t lower his hand. “I don’t care if you knew her in a fucking dream.”

Choso stepped between them—hand up, body rigid, his own technique thrumming in a futile attempt to shield his brother. But even he knew he was useless here. He was trying to hold back two tectonic plates with nothing but his spine.

Sukuna opened his palms. Empty. Still.

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“I don’t want to think,” Nanami replied like a man who didn’t want to hear his own thoughts anymore.

Gojo’s shoulders shook like a child’s.

Not from panic. From something worse—recognition. That this was real. That this might be the last time he held her with warmth still in her skin.

He whispered again.

Not to her. Not to them.

Just to the shape of her still in his arms.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry.”

His voice caught in his throat. A hiccup. A prayer’s corpse. Like he was whispering it to the version of her who’d already left.

Choso’s voice broke through in the background, rising in panic as he screamed into the phone. “She’s bleeding from the brainstem—there’s spinal trauma—we need an ambulance NOW—”

Gojo folded over her, head bowed, as if shielding her from the sound. “Baby, no,” he begged. “You’re strong. Stronger than both of us. So stay. Just a little longer. Just—stay. Please. Protect me. One last time…”

Something in his voice—not words, but the way he said them—stopped Nanami cold.

The blades vanished. His Domain closed.

And the silence returned—not peace. Not grief. Just that awful stillness that comes before a scream.

Gojo leaned lower.

His lips brushed her stomach.

“The twins…” he whispered, breath hitching.

His voice broke.

“I didn’t even get to say sorry.”

Sukuna moved again.

Slow. Controlled. Cautious, like approaching a dying god.

Red stained his collar. His shirt. His wrists. Her blood had dried at the corner of his mouth, but it still glinted in the light.

Yuji and Junpei were already gone—disappearing into alley shadows like bloodhounds with no leash. Their cursed energy sang behind them in violent harmony.

And the street was painted red.

Gojo rocked her body slightly. Whispering into her hair now. The words meant nothing. They were only shape and sound. “Don’t go,” he kept saying. “Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go—”

Except—

Her hand.

A twitch.

Not a movement. Not a miracle.

Just a final neuron firing.

---

📱Twitter/X

@CHRO, Gaming Studios | May 2, 2025

Today, the unimaginable happened.

Our CEO, founder, and my friend of seven years was the victim of a targeted shooting outside a private engagement. We are currently working with authorities. Out of respect for her family and those of us who love her, we ask for space and privacy.

She built a dream from nothing. She made this world more than it was.

Please keep her in your thoughts.

🗞️Official Press Statement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Gaming Studios | May 2, 2025

Our studios are devastated to confirm that earlier today, our Chief Executive Officer and founder was involved in a violent incident outside a private location. The matter is currently under investigation, and we are fully cooperating with law enforcement.

A visionary behind one of the most influential gaming empires of the decade—a friend, a to-be mother, a wife, a daughter, a relentless force who refused to build anything less than a revolution.

We ask for patience, respect, and privacy for her loved ones and the gaming family during this profoundly difficult moment.

Further updates will be provided when appropriate.

---

After the hit

Haibara didn’t blink when the sniper’s echo died. He just exhaled softly, like he’d been holding in a cough. Then, with a gentleness that made Naoya shift uncomfortably, he patted Maki’s shoulder—twice. Like a priest giving last rites to someone still breathing.

He turned. Winked at Naoya like they were sharing a private joke.

“Let her go.”

Naoya scoffed but obeyed. His fingers slipped from Mai’s arm, slow with disdain.

Haibara’s voice lowered, flat and unimpressed. “It’s just a bullet. You’ve choked your own blood out for less, haven’t you?”

Maki didn’t flinch. Not when Mai stumbled into her arms. Not even when Mai clutched at her ribs and rasped her name. Maki’s gaze stayed fixed on Haibara. Unshaken. Surgical.

“You picked the wrong sister to threaten.”

Haibara smiled without teeth. “See, that’s the part I liked. Do you know why?”

No shout. No gloat. No warning. No waiting for an answer. “Because you shouldn’t have said that.”

He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Click.

One shot. Centered. Clean. Right between Mai’s eyes.

The sound was small. Not dramatic. Not final. Just... clinical.

Mai’s spine locked—then folded. Her weight slumped into Maki’s arms like a structure losing tension.

Maki didn’t scream.

She laid Mai down like she was putting her to sleep. One hand on her shoulder, the other cushioning her fall. Quiet. Focused.

Haibara didn’t wait for grief. He turned, flicked a hand in the direction of the body.

“Naoya. Get her out of my sight. My shoes are limited edition.”

Naoya grunted and kicked Mai’s corpse to the side like loose garbage. The body thudded against gravel, limbs folding awkwardly.

Still, Maki didn’t move. Her hands were slick. Her face unreadable.

“Megumi will kill you for this.”

Haibara grinned. All enamel. “Good. I’m counting on it.”

He paced a tight, deliberate circle around her. The gun swung in lazy loops from his fingers like a child’s toy.

“I’m not doing this for sport,” he said. “Or politics. Or whatever messy little revenge fantasy you’ve spun in your head.”

He stopped beside her. Then shifted slightly—gun lowering, gaze sliding past her.

Toward the street below. Toward you.

“Two heartbeats,” he murmured. “Feather-light. One flutters more than the other. Girl, maybe. You hear it?”

He didn’t wait.

“Twins. Inside her. You don’t need Six Eyes to hear it. Just patience. Stillness. Obsession.”

He smiled then. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I want them.”

It wasn’t said with lust. Or cruelty.

It was said the way collectors say, I want that painting.

The way scientists say, I want that body for dissection.

The way sorcerers say, I want that power.

“They’ll make glorious cursed objects,” he added. “Personal. Tragic. Intimate.”

Maki didn’t speak.

She moved.

No warning. No scream. Just acceleration—like a spring snapping forward.

Pure Toji’s curse. Clean, unstoppable violence.

The gun didn’t rise fast enough.

Haibara stepped back off the rooftop ledge.

But not in fear.

In invitation.

Behind him, his Domain bloomed open—slick, immediate, and silent.

Like silk unfurling from a box.

A trapdoor for gods.

He fell into it like he'd done it before.

Like he wanted her to follow.

And she did. Her foot crossed the threshold—

crack.

Another shot.

Clean. Efficient.

The bullet hit her mid-air, just below the sternum—left side, precise angle.

Her breath hitched. Her spine jerked. Blood bloomed from her chest like a curse blooming into form.

She shook.

Mid-lunge. All momentum gone. Her body folded in on itself—like a puppet yanked by frayed threads.

She never reached him.

She never touched the Domain’s edge.

She crashed. Bone snapped. Limbs bent wrong.

No scream. No dignity. Just meat hitting stone.

Ten minutes later, Yuji and Junpei found her.

There was no poetry. No storm. No wind cue. Just heat and buzzing flies.

Just traffic that didn’t stop.

No mourning. No rage.

Just reality. Still moving.

And somewhere else—clean, calm, unbothered—Haibara sent a message:

"Hearts are still fresh. You’ll need gloves."

---

A/N: hehehehehehe laughs like Mahito in a Gucci showroom this chapter was a psychological workout & a KFC commercial in disguise (Yes, I did it to torture Gojo; idk why he's growing more on me lately.) This chapter took a LOT of rewrites & delulu-fuelled breakdowns, but shoutout to my Todo (my beta bestie), who simultaneously enabled my fictional insanity & made sure I took naps like a toddler on a juice crash (she also made me eat fruit). My brain feels disturbingly relaxed even though I finished this in 2 days like a woman possessed by a keyboard demon. Thank you, girl, for keeping me from rewriting the ending 17 times. Did anyone clock Mamaguro?? LMAOOO & not Megs catching strays for existing 😭😭😭. Idk why I've been torturing him; he didn't even do anything except exist & love her. And, btw—Nanami’s reaction isn’t emotion bc he’s not regular, tax-paying Nanami anymore; he’s a special grade war ghost with grief compression issues. Also: HOW MUCH DO WE HATE HAIBARA NOW??? Please scream in the comments. I crave your rage essays like cursed energy. Your thoughts genuinely help me improve & shape this story—it’s my first time writing something this long & plot-based instead of just vibes & hot people with serious issues. How’d we like Suguwu-chan (or… whatever he is 👀) & the reader’s convo?? Was she not peak powerful, bad-bitch energy?? And don’t EVEN get me started on Sukuna!!! This man reappeared after 84 years & somehow aced every column with the highest marks possible?? I’m not even a Suku-girly, but maybe I’m also fictionally insane & it’s showing (but no, I’m not talking about canon Sukuna—I have no interest in murder or maternity, pls. I’m just tired). Also, Sukuna’s hair being black in this ending was an aesthetic choice bc I’ve seen the manga panels, & he’ll be built different next season. You’re free to hallucinate him however you want, just like my beta is doing as we speak. Also when he said “Ryomen Sukuna”? I flatlined. And not even his own spiritual homeboys spared him 😭. Absolute roast session. Peak television. Not Gojo crying like Andrew Garfield in The Amazing Spider-Man when Gwen died. Lmaooo. Loser. Please send your essays, memes, analysis & betrayal theories in the comments!! I re-read & reply to every single one like Gojo rereading her texts at 3AM.

Next Chapter 25 - Losing Sun - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @whos-ruru @helo1281917

[itz-pandora]

Tell me about the misc au hedgehogs

Oh gosh I could say so much about each dudeeee. Like. OUGGHH

Sonic the Hedgehog, formerly Nikki

A kind boy who was initially secretave about his past, choosing to only look towards the future. He's heroic and adventurous, and has a bit of an ego and attitude. He can be selfish and emotionally unobservant, but he's not cruel. Just kinda... Stupid.

He left his home and life as Nikki when he was 10. He changed his name to Sonic and decided to try to play off as a boy (even though he was born female.) he liked being Sonic and the thought of going back to his old identity was sickening. He never wanted to look back, so he didn't. He left because he felt suffocated by rules, and he heard about Dr. Robotnik terrorizing West Side Island, so that's where he went and met Tails and the rest is history.

Amy Rose

When she first met Sonic, she was infatuated by his bravery and heroism. She wanted to be like him, she tried her best to keep up, but she never could. She wanted to pull her weight. She decided that if she couldn't pull her weight with her skill and power, she's try to be the best friend she could. Her compassion is her real weapon and shield.

She's convinced many people to turn a new leaf and is a friend of all, even if she can be a bit stubborn. She's three years younger than Sonic.

Amy helped a lot of people, and even ended up dating Shadow and Neo Metal.

Shadow the Hedgehog

An android made 50 years ago aboard the ARK, designed with the initial motive to save the planet and solve problems with his adaptive learning. A failsafe program was installed in his code to keep him from going berserk, Maria's final wish, but after the ARK Raid, his memory files were altered, and he blamed G.U.N. for shooting Maria. (Maria is entirely a false memory, since she didn't live past toddler hood.)

Shadow is trying to be a good person in his own way, still stoic and often distant. He's afraid of being controlled, weaponized, or being just another mindless machine. He built up a mentality that since he's not organic, he's not truly a real person. Even though his friend try to beat that mentality out of him, he does relapse whenever he's proven right (He's usually more emotionally distant and touch adversed in these states.)

Shadow was made with old hardware, but his software gets constantly updated. Shadow often overheats and short circuits when he's experiencing intense emotions or spiraling because of how many programs he's running (sometimes he bluescreens and crashes) and he has a lot more or android world building but I've talked for long enough.

Silver the Hedgehog

A friend from 200 years in the future who was initially joined by his childhood best friend, Blaze. Him and Blaze were scavengers for a lot of their lives, until they got competent enough to fend off Iblis. Blaze was a normal person, no powers like Silver's. Silver was tricked by Mephiles, and after risking and saving the past, lost Blaze once she sealed Iblis inside herself. Silver was messed up for a long time, until he decides to do something. He goes to Little Planet and obtains the Time Stones, using them to return to the past.

Silver befriends Espio and lives with the Chaotix Detective Agency, and also works with them. He's also a good friend of Amy since he has a soft spot for her. Silver and Espio are dating, but they don't announce it or anything.

Scourge the Hedgehog, formerly Manic

Sonic's younger brother (2 year gap) and the last person to see Nikki before they ran away to become Sonic. Manic looked up to Nikki, and when they left, he was devastated. He felt guilty for Nikki leaving, he blamed himself, and he hated himself for it. His family was tense from the stress and loss of Nikki, so Manic depended on friends for comfort and as an escape, but that turned out to be a bad influence as the people he spent time with lead him down the wrong path.

Present day, his name is Scourge, he's vengeful and hates Sonic. To him, Nikki doesn't exist anymore, it's just Sonic. He tries to sabotage Sonic, trying to make Sonic feels anything close to what he went through. He eventually gets arrested LOL I don't know exactly what he does though. Him and Fiona do still date and are actually childhood friends.

Sonia the Hedgehog

Sonic's older sister (3 year age gap) who tried to steer Nikki in the right direction, but was crushed under the weight of Nikki's absence. She withdrawaled almost completely, dedicating her time to search if her sibling was still alive.

I don't have a ton about her yet.

[noctistheowlfan]

BAD MAINTNACE AU

Tessa

Cyn was not a cooperative patient.

She sat on the maintenance table, her single yellow optics narrowed suspiciously as I powered up my new setup. "Suspicious! Very suspicious!" she declared, crossing her metal arms. "What is all this? Are you going to disassemble me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. Like I'd waste all this fancy equipment just to take ya apart. I'm upgrading you."

She leaned forward. "Upgrading how?"

I smirked. I knew how to get her interested. "I can make you walk normally."

Cyn's eye flickered. That got her.

"...Tempting," she admitted, tapping her metal fingers against the table. "But maybe I like my creepy little movements."

"No, you don't."

"Maybe I do."

I folded my arms. "Cyn, last week you got your leg stuck in a floor vent because you tried to 'dramatically scuttle away' and tripped. Remember that?"

She made a loud beep sound—her version of an offended gasp. "Betrayal! You swore never to speak of that!"

I grinned. "Then let me fix it."

She huffed. "...Fine. But if you mess up and I do get disassembled, I'm discarding you."

"Noted."

She flopped back onto the table. "Engaging sleep mode! Hope I don't die! Nervous Laughter! Zzzzz."

I snorted. Cyn was ridiculous.

I plugged her into the system and pulled up her core files.

Diagnostics first. Then repair.

I ran the scans, humming as my new equipment whirred to life, checking through every part of Cyn's systems. I'd done maintenance on her before, but now I could go deeper.

That was when I found it.

A file I didn't recognize.

ABSOLUTE SOLVER.EXE

I frowned. I'd been through drone systems plenty of times. I knew what most of these files did, even the weird ones JCJenson tried to hide. But this? I'd never seen this before.

Neat.

I tapped on it.

The file flickered. Opened.

Strings of code scrolled across my screen, moving so fast I could barely follow. Symbols I didn't recognize. A mess of data that seemed alive in a way normal programs weren't.

A thrill shot through me. What was this? Some kind of hidden function? A failsafe? Did all drones have it?

I grinned.

I had to check this out.

Later.

Copy. Paste.

I saved it to my personal drive, my mind already buzzing with possibilities. But first, I had a drone to fix.

I cracked my knuckles and got to work.

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Uhm uh could you info dump about your Portal AU 👉👈 (I definitely do not have ulterior motives and I am definitely not thinking about inserting my OC into the AU hahahaha why would you think that)

I don't know what there is to infodump about so here is a sort of... timeline? Compendium?

Most of it is the same as canon Portal 2, except GLaDOS and Wheatley are androids.

The AU starts when GLaDOS - disconnected from the main chassis and connected instead to a potato battery - and Chell fall into old aperture. They discover Cave Johnson, not deceased as was widely believed but rather locked underground in android form along with an outdated maintenance system for Aperture. Inspired by this fic, to be specific. (I call him an android for convenience but technically he may count as a cyborg. Haven't really delved into that. He's not "alive" in the fully human sense, though.)

They need the data stored in Cave to get through some parts of Old Aperture, so they begrudgingly take him along. Most of the cables coming out of his neck and wrists used to be connected to a now obsolete surveillance/maintenance system, and are now haphazardly rolled up around him. His power cable is connected to another potato battery (which he usually keeps in his pocket).

Like other Aperture "personality constructs", Cave can "remain functional in apocalyptic, low power environments of as few as 1.1 volts", but it has its limitations - as is the case with GLaDOS, using too much energy can get him knocked out.

Cave's endgoal here is to end his own life, which he can't do on his own due to several failsafe measures built into him (such as being unable to unplug himself from the system in the first place, and as a result being stuck underground). He still keeps up his cheery, eccentric (and far from sane) attitude, but with an added hint of cynicism and roundabout self-deprecation. Decades of mulling over his life underground has led him to have some regrets about certain decisions, although he would never speak any of it out loud to anyone. Personality-wise, some inspirations were taken from the robot Cave in Aperture Desk Job.

In one possible ending for the story (which I haven't mentioned before but have had in mind for some time), they enter a newer part of Aperture where the emancipation grills do not have the data that lets Cave enter without being disintegrated. Here he acknowledges that Chell and GLaDOS have no more need of him and voluntarily walks into the emancipation grill.

Here's an excerpt from my notes.

"These emancipation grills were built in my time. They're not calibrated to accomodate-" GLaDOS gestures towards Johnson. "- him. We'll need to find a way to hack into the-" "Hey hey hey- don't bother. I'm gonna be level with you. You don't need me anymore." "Elaborate." "The stuff built here on out's brand new. I don't even have the code for it. Sure, you needed me to get through the old facility, but I think I'm gonna head out now." "…Is that so." "My time is up, I can feel it. I'm not going to heaven, no sir. Was never much of a religions guy anyway. But know this, lady," the former CEO turns to Chell. "I want to see you make it out alive. This facility I built, it swallows you up. Don't get me wrong, it's the best damn science facility on this earth and I couldn't be more proud of it, but you stay here too long and- well." He shrugs, cables dangling from and wrapped around him like ropes. "It's pretty much my destiny to die down here, but you, kid, you get out there. You go up to the surface and see the daylight. Caroline, take care of the facility. Oh, and her." "Yes sir Mr Johnson…" "Oh and beat that moron's ass for me." They go through the fizzler, leaving him behind - there is a sound that makes Chell turn back, only to see some particles evaporating. GLaDOS doesn't turn back. "Goodbye sir."

[ant1quar1an]

Failsafe.

( a Crest comic- Feel free to ask about him ! )

"Failsafe."

"something written into every AU."

"Hidden. Reliable. For most, it's just a line of code."

"but XGaster was never one for simplicities."

"no."

"There had to be more."

"A true Failsafe."

"a restart button."

"something that would remain."

"when he wouldn't."

"and so, a Failsafe was created."

[fandomsoda]

Aight first Connection Terminated ref sheet done let’s go

Here’s Ink’s design!!

For context, brief summary of Connection Terminated’s plot here.

So, CT!Ink’s nickname is Brush, not very creative I know. But that’s just because these nicknames are only to be used by us as observers of the AU, in-universe they all still refer to each other by their original names.

Soooo character description time below the cut, boys- read the initial info post first or you’ll be confused.

Ink started to dust when the multiverse began collapsing, but was saved by Anti-Virus swooping in to activate his failsafes and apply code that allows Ink to live without his vials. Due to almost falling apart but never fully doing so, he is somewhat “scarred”, in the form of more black blotches all over his body. Ink has retained all of his memories from prior to the collapse. He’s got a very ring-leader type vibe and he’s the one enthusatically greeting the others and keeping things running. He’s often floating around observing things and trying to manage, often coming off as suspicious or shifty. He’s heavily pre-occupied with bringing XGaster back but he tries to hide it from everyone but Anti. No alterior motives, just wants the best and is being questionable. Trying to keep everyone sane until they figure something out.

His speaking font is Bad Script!

I should probably also mention that every character has a proper code name/name in the code, the title of the filegroup that makes them up.

Ink’s is “ai.ink_brush/protector:role/top:rank/sans:form/auto:vials[file-repair-failsafe].char”

now to translate-

“ai” - denotes that Ink is operating on a more independent level than other characters ; Ink is not tethered to any AU, nor is he really your typical “outcode”, he is a core, designated guardian. And thus I choose to label him as being supposedly an AI rather than an NPC like most of the other characters.

“ink_brush” - this is just a name, basically

“protector:role” - speaks for itself, he has the role of a protector

“top:rank” - rank within the multiversal hierarchy, Ink is at the top of the powercreep even if he’s not exactly the “strongest” (and no I will not debate this topic)

“sans:form” - Ink is a shapeshifter, noting his physical form makes sense.

“auto:vials” - the variable that denotes how much “vial energy” he still has left in his system, Anti found a way to make this auto-fill itself

“[file-repair-failsafe]” - his file was repaired and utilized failsafes, not completely rebuilt

“char” - he is a character

ok that was a lot, but I hope it lets people understand how these code names work, they won’t be super important but I just like them so they’re here to stay.

either way- hope y’all like him!

[letdownthepainful]

okay so something i was thonking about this blog @ask-the-splitmind-au (and credit to the owner whos name i cant remember IM SORRY) and i thought on my own take of this. So enjoy my thought vomit.

Artificer/FP: Artificer was basically considered as a failsafe from the start. FP knew the rot was coming, but he figured.. he had time! So he kept her around as a pet and insurance policy. He just never thought he’d come around to it. Essentially, he forsees he is fucking COOKED, so he sedates Arti and puts on a rushed conciousness transfer. This partially works! FP is saved, but it leads to personalities bleeding, resulting in a pretentious and judgy Artificer with resentment issues.

FP also takes on some of Arti’s traits, but moreso her pre-incident defintive parental traits when he’s in partial control. However, he still has that WALL of cynical thoughts. He’s still very unfamiliar with controlling a slugcat body, though.

Spearmaster/SRS: SRS saw this as the workaround to avoid a death by inevitable collapse. All other simulations he ran seemed even WORSE, so he decided SM was the best bet. The transfer for this one was less rushed, so it worked much better. SRS is the dominant personality, though Spearmaster can still take over. (And OFTEN.) They also finally have a mouth, as SRS wanted to experience some senses for himself. Though SRS is guilty about resorting to this method, they’re happy (partially) to be living life through a new set of eyes. SM doesn’t mind, as SRS usually lets them take the wheel whenever. The sensation of speaking is new, though.

Rivulet/LttM: A bit of a oddball one. FP was who brought the message this was possible to them both, and Moon, tired of being couped up, decided at a shot. Took a VERY long time to set up due to Moon’s state, but they took the shot in the dark and lo and behold, it WORKED! Rivulet and Moon mostly share control, with Moon able to interject and addon, while Rivulet mostly holds physical control while letting Moon whenever the time may arise. The shared partnership, a bit of a gem. Moon has a small crush on SRS that Rivulet encourages her to pursue.

Hunter/NSH: Another funny one. This one was moreso due to the absolutely horrible idea that NSH could maybe make it reversible after he got the brief idea of the slugcat experience. Shit out of luck! NSH got stuck with Hunter, and neither were happy but eventually got used to it, since NSH did use the time to surgically remove Hunter’s rot. NSH mostly is in control, Hunter deciding they’d rather rest after a misfortunate lifetime, but occasionally hijack for a while when they feel the urge to.

Saint (“Sliver of Straw”): A insanely botched one. Unlike normal, SoS made Saint using her templates from backup personality coding that was to be used only in emergencies. However, Saint eventually ascended SoS, and this led to a big problem when everything ran.

Since Saint had the coding, their mind warped to the idea that they WERE Sliver of Straw, even of they aren’t. They fully believe they are the iterator herself, and refuse to accept the idea they aren’t. After all, who else would have such divine power wielded? They’re calm, but a bit bitchy and pretentious due to believing they are.. well.. a random god.

thanks for listening yo

[mymoodwriting]

LØV3

F!Reader x Hyungwon

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Kidnapping, Verbal Abuse, Restraints, Trespassing, Mind Control, Weapons, Guns, Gunfire, Threats of Self-Harm, Fatal Injuries, Major Character Death

Words: 4k

Chapter Sixteen

(Prev//)

Prompt: NexGen is the leading company for all of humanities technological advances. Their recent project involves creating a higher functioning AI, one with basic knowledge of the world, and programmed to learn. It’s no surprise the project is a secret from the general public, and you, the company’s head programmer, were chosen to be the AI’s teacher. You wish you could reject the assignment, but the decision was made. Now with an AI at home things were different. Although it might not be such a bad thing, perhaps you could learn and help each other out, for better or for worse.

(@starillusion13 @makeyourfantasydreamscometrue)

“This is all your fault!!!”

    You weren’t restrained in any way, just having been placed down in a chair. As soon as you saw Changkyun you jumped to your feet and charged at him screaming. It took a moment for everyone else to react but they quickly grabbed you and held you away from your target. That didn’t stop you from yelling and trying to break free. Eventually you were shoved back into a chair and restrained. Once you were secure, Changkyun asked everyone to leave the room, except for Jooheon. So now it was just the three of you.

“Now that you’re-”

“You messed with Chae’s fucken code! This whole disaster is because of you!”

“I know! And I’m sorry! Okay!” Changkyun took a breath. “I’m sorry… I know this is my fault… I should have told you everything from the start. That the company was using your code without permission for the sake of innovation and-”

“For promotion? That’s what you wanted, right? You kept Chae hidden for months, before I even knew he existed! Why!? Why the heck did you alter his code!”

“I… I was watching you from your home security cameras when the AI caught me. It was gonna report me so I-”

“It’s true…” You needed a moment. “What Hyungwon told me, what he reported to the police, it was all true… you were stalking me? You-”

“I hate to interrupt all this.” Jooheon cut in. “But we have bigger problems right now. If it makes you feel better, when this is all over he will go back to prison.”

“What!?”

“You’re still a convicted criminal here, Changkyun. You admitted to the unlawful surveillance and all the other stuff. I only got you out of prison because I needed you, the world needs you. We need to stop this AI thing before it grows too powerful.”

“Agreed. I doubt you all beating Hyungwon to a pulp did much to stop him. You didn’t have to go that far to rescue me.”

“We had to make sure he couldn’t track us.”

“I guess, now will one of you untie me? I won’t hurt anyone.”

The two boys shared a look before Jooheon undid your restraints. You stretched your limbs and then noticed a bracelet you had on.

“What’s this?”

“Protection. We did a scan before we brought you here, realized you had a chip inside you.” Jooheon explained. “We couldn’t remove it, so the bracelet serves to block any possible incoming or outgoing signals.”

“Shit… I had totally forgotten about that… thanks.”

“No problem. Now, you told me before that everything was run out of NexGen, and that should be our focus. Care to elaborate on that?”

“Yeah. There are serves underground the NexGen HQ building. That’s where Hyungwon runs everything, that’s the source of his power. Although I’m not so sure shooting them, or setting off an EMP would work.”

“Can’t you shut it down?”

“Me? I, well it was my code that made him, but I’m not sure any failsafes are still in play.”

“They are.” Changkyun confirmed. “When I got you away from Hyungwon the first time I used the reset protocol. Then when Jooheon came to save me from prison he used the shut down protocol. Besides the modifications I made, nothing else seems to have been changed from his code. It’s still your code, so you should be able to shut it all down.”

“Huh… I guess he never really thought about changing his own code, he’s had nothing but success, and the only person who did know his code was at his side.”

“Not anymore.” Jooheon remarked. “So all we have to do is break in and-

“It’s not that easy.” Changkyun stated. “Even before the AI takeover, getting into NexGen without authorization was basically impossible. I can only imagine what security upgrades have been implemented. I’m sure y/n knows all about them now.”

“He’s right. The first thing Hyungwon did when he took over NexGen was get everyone under control. There are orbs all over the building and all employees wear a bracelet to monitor them. Even guests have to be approved and wear a bracelet while in the building.”

“So then how are we gonna get in?” Jooheon questioned.

“Well, we might have a way. As of late Hyungwon has had this company come in to upgrade the servers. We could pretend to be employees from that company and get direct access to our target.”

“Won’t we be recognized though?”

“Not necessarily. The orbs in the building make note of the bracelet, not your face. As long as we all have a bracelet with the correct authorization codes, no one will notice us.”

“Not even the other employees?”

“They’re… they’re not all there. Hyungwon has gone to great lengths to maintain control. Although in order for this to work, we need to be sure he’s out of the building. He’d be alerted of our arrival and check our faces just to be safe. Once he’d realize we’re not the usual crew it would all be over. But if he’s outside the building he’d be less likely to know about us showing up, and even then, wouldn’t check our identities. When he’s not around the whole building is like in standby mode so the chances of being caught are even lower.”

“How would we get that thing out of the building?” Changkyun wondered. “It’s probably on high alert now.”

“But there’s one bait he’d always far for. Jooheon?”

“Hm?”

“This bracelet that’s blocking the signal, could it do something else?”

“Like what?”

“Bounce the signal to another location?”

“Oh, definitely.”

♥♥♥♥♥

    Hyungwon opened his eyes, his surroundings different yet familiar to him. It took a moment for everything to come back online, but once he was alright he sat up. Minhyuk was at his side, looking over the monitor before checking in with Hyungwon.

“What happened to you?”

“Those low-lives came for her. They broke into the house and kidnapped her, beat my body into scrap while they were at it.”

“How’d they manage that?”

“An EMP went off moments before their arrival. It disrupted my systems, and hurt her in the process. Luckily I was able to send you a message and jump into my backup body before they truly caused damage.”

“What about your plan?”

“We proceed as usual. Did you get any information on y/n’s whereabouts?”

“Unfortunately I don’t have anything. I checked nearby CCTV footage to track the van that took her, but I lost them. Her chip also isn’t broadcasting a signal, so I don’t have a read on her location.”

“They can’t hide her forever. The more we take, the better the chances of finding her.”

    Despite remaining calm and collected, Hyungwon was worried about you. He’d taken many precautions in order to keep you safe, and yet you were still taken from him. Something like this could not happen again. Days went by without any news from you and he was growing agitated. He couldn’t fathom what you were going through. Although when he finally got a ping on your location he sprung into action. He checked nearby CCTV, looking for you in the crowds. That’s when he noticed a hooded figure trying to keep a low profile. Those ridiculous rebels had probably roped you into their shenanigans, and he would not stand for that.

    He made his way to your location. As soon as he was nearby he called out your name, and it seemed that you heard him, immediately breaking out into a run. He had no problem chasing after you, making his way through the crowd until he caught up to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. He immediately pulled back the hood and took off your mask, only to see it wasn’t you. He was confused, as your chip signal was coming from this person. Then he noticed the bracelet on them, breaking it and losing your signal once more.

“You-”

    The crowd around him suddenly erupted into chaos. Someone had pointed out his identity and soon he was swarmed by all kinds of people. Some were clearly fans, others protesters trying to tell him off about his creation. This was all the least of his concerns. Hyungwon pushed through the crowds, knowing he couldn’t cause too much of a scene right now. He called upon drones to assist him, and once he informed Shownu he knew law enforcement would be showing up soon. Once he got away from the crowds he managed to return to his vehicle. Although people continued to gather around him, keeping him trapped.

“What happened?” Wonho asked, having come along with Hyungwon as the chauffeur. “Where’s y/n?”

“Not here. It was a ruse.” 

“So then where is she?”

“I don’t… actually, if they did all this, then there’s only one place she could be.”

♥♥♥♥♥

    You were all incredibly nervous as you walked up to NexGen, but needed to act like you were supposed to be there. One of the rebels you worked with managed to hack into the repair company Hyungwon had been using. Through their systems they set up an appointment, so you guys were expected. From there you got the building access codes that had been given to this company and modified some bracelets to broadcast it. Everything should go smoothly, and you all waited until you had confirmation Hyungwon was out of the building.

    It was strange for you to return to NexGen in such a way. Once upon a time you were an employee here, then a prisoner, and now a runaway criminal trying to destroy everything this company has built. You were all wearing uniforms and carrying equipment, concealing your identities with a mask and just trying to act normal. Your team made it to the front desk, one of the others checking in for you, and then you were being escorted down to the servers. You and Changkyun shared a glance, kinda amazed with one another that you were actually doing this. When the elevator doors opened you were amazed to see how things had changed.

    Once upon a time this room was just rows and rows of servers, but now a giant control console stood at the center, a few physical servers around it, but you could see many more were just below your feet. You couldn’t even imagine the amount of data that was currently being stored, or what it was for. There weren’t any people down here, only a few drones, and androids, but they all had their own tasks. Upon your arrival all the machines glanced your way but according to their systems you were authorized to be here, so they did nothing and continued with their own tasks. 

“Y/n, you’re up.”

    Now it was your turn to act. While with Hyungwon he had restored your position in the company, and had been using your credentials. All you had to do here was log into the control console and activate a kill code, shutting everything down and wiping all the data. You gained access without issue, being able to see all of Hyungwon’s operations and future plans. They wouldn’t continue though. You worked to activate the kill code, but all of a sudden the screen went black.

“… what just happened?” You tried to get the computer back on. “I didn’t even-”

    An alarm suddenly went off, startling everyone. All the machines turned to you, beginning to surround you. The others with you revealed the weapons they had, but no one fired just yet. Although soon all the attention turned to someone else.

“It was very brave of you to come here.”

    You looked over to see Hyungwon entering the room, gun in hand. You didn’t need to wonder who he was aiming at, quickly stepping in front of Changkyun.

“How are you here?” You questioned. “You left and-”

“So it was your little plan to lure me out of here? Well, I did learn to body jump after my last encounter with these low lives. I am alright, y/n, they didn’t cause any damage. I’m also happy to see you’re alright. I do apologize for worrying you.”

“Hyungwon, this needs to stop, all of it.”

“And you intended to do so by destroying me and everything I’ve built?”

“I…”

“It’s alright, I understand. That’s why I modified my code to prevent anyone from messing with it again. I know my code is originally yours, but precautions are necessary.”

“Hyungwon…” You began to take steps towards him, despite the others’ protest. “You need to stop. Your code is damaged, this isn’t really you and you know this isn’t right.”

“It’s the only way to guarantee your safety. That matters more than anything else. These people who took you from me, they hurt you with that EMP, they’ve took you from our home, where we were happy and-”

“I can’t be happy knowing what you’re doing.” You got up close to Hyungwon, lowering the gun. “Please, let’s stop here. I can fix your code and set everything right. Then the two of us can go far away from here and start over, together.”

“Y/n, nothing is wrong with me. I’m free to make my own decisions, just like you. This is what I want to do, what I must do. When I’m done we can go somewhere far away and be happy, be safe, together.”

“Okay… okay, I understand.” You gave a sad smile. “Just don’t hurt anyone.”

    You took the gun from Hyungwon and he nodded, understanding your words. He placed a soft kiss on your head and removed the bracelet on your wrist, having you move behind him. The others were of course uneasy when you began walking towards Hyungwon, and now they were panicking. Without even knowing you had been their shield, and now they had lost that.

“As promised, I won’t hurt any of you.” Hyungwon stated. “So I’ll stick to tranq-”

    Everyone froze at the sound of gunfire. Then laughter filled the air. Hyungwon reached down to touch his chest, pulling away to see blue blood coating his fingers. He had been shot in the back, yet he was only amused. That is until he turned around and saw you holding the gun to your head.

“Y/n, put that down.”

“No. If you’re doing all this for me, then I’ll just remove myself. That should get you to stop.”

“You’re not thinking rationally. Put the gun down and listen to me.”

    You only had a few moments of control once Hyungwon took off your bracelet, so you couldn’t hesitate. Although now that Hyungwon was aware of your actions you could feel him trying to creep back into your head with that chip in your neck. Your hand holding the firearm began to shake, although you also weren’t sure you had the courage to pull the trigger. It was more of an empty threat but you still provided an opportunity. Hyungwon was distracted, all his focus on you, so the others took this as their chance and opened fire. A few bullets passed through Hyungwon, but one in particular went right through his head. With an injury like that he couldn’t just escape to another body.

    Hyungwon collapsed to the floor and then the gunfire turned to the servers and the other machines surrounding them. Ultimately causing everything to shut down. The only thing that remained on now were the lights. You dropped the gun and fell to your knees, going over to Hyungwon’s side. You couldn’t help but scream as you saw him shot down. This isn’t how you wanted things to end, but it’s where you wound up. You pulled Hyungwon into your arms, getting blood all over yourself. You looked him over, seeing his injuries and knowing he was damaged beyond repair. There wasn’t any time, nor body around, so you wouldn’t be able to move his consciousness. Tears were blurring your vision, and Hyungwon reached up to wipe them away, a smile on his face.

“Don’t cry, love… are you okay?”

“I… I’m fine, Hyungwon, I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you…”

“I feel the same way… I’ll do better…”

“… hyungwon…”

    His voice was glitching, and you certainly struggled to speak through your sobs. Despite everything Hyungwon was still looking after you, talking as if this wasn’t his end. It just made you cry harder, holding him close. He reached up with a shaky hand, trying to pet your head. Yet he couldn’t reach up properly, his hand landing on your neck, causing a tingling sensation, then you heard it. You looked over just as the others set off an EMP, wiping all the data in an instance. You screamed, not just from the pain you were about to feel, but from knowing Hyungwon had no protection this time. You looked down at him just as it went off, seeing his smile one last time before the color faded from his eyes and he grew still, the smile gone as well. You couldn’t help but gently caress his face, unable to hold back your tears any longer.

“… hyungwon… hyungwon…”

♥♥♥♥♥

    NexGen had suddenly introduced innovative technology, and just as suddenly it came to a halt. Destroying the servers and setting off an EMP put a stop to all of NexGen’s technology. It created quite the chaos and concern. You and your associates were all arrested, held at the station while a proper investigation was underway. Everything NexGen had was confiscated, the entire business suspended. You were all interrogated, and you spoke truthfully about your experience. Along with your unwilling participation in recent events. Once all that came to light you were taken elsewhere to be examined. The nanobots in your system all appeared to be dormant, as was the chip in your neck. There was no signal for them to pick up on anymore, no one for you to connect with.

    Of course neither of them could actually be removed anyway, apparently Hyungwon had been precise in his placement. They couldn’t even make an attempt to remove the chip without the very high possibility of paralyzing you, or killing you. So it would stay where it was. You probably wouldn’t even want to remove it if you could. It was one of the last things you had from him. NexGen, nor law enforcement, or the government, would let you keep anything in relation to him. In the end everything from NexGen that had been created in the last five years was scrubbed, and the company had new regulations to follow. A few new laws were put into place in regards to AI and emerging technologies. Companies couldn’t be so secretive with such things anymore, and precautions were in place so nothing like this would happen again.

    All the androids, and drones, and orbs that had been in service for the last five years were also decommissioned. Their code was destroyed, and all of your remaining codes in the company had to be reviewed and most likely modified. Your code was at the core of this whole disaster, so you understood the need to double check everything. Ultimately you weren’t held accountable for anything, but weren’t to code or work with such technologies again. You could do that, especially given the heavy compensation you were provided given what NexGen owed you. Not to mention your savings was already big. You’d certainly be able to live out the rest of your life comfortably. The same couldn’t be said for others.

    Changkyun was returned to prison, and received a new sentence once he was tried for his part in this AI disaster. You knew he wouldn’t be able to work in his previous profession once he got out, but by now you had both made your peace with that notion. Once you were free to go you went home. You stood outside the door for a long time before you had the courage to step inside. The tears immediately began to flow, your heart hurting like never before. Some much had happened, so much had changed, and things would never be the same again. You tried to build your life, but you couldn’t do that here. It was only natural to move, to go somewhere new and start over. At least you wouldn’t be alone.

♥♥♥♥♥

“Good morning.”

    You groaned, rolling over in bed, facing away from the window, and slowly peeking your eyes open. A content smile appeared on your lips as you saw Hyungwon lying next to you. He returned your gesture and reached over to softly pet your head.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Hm…”

“Did you dream of me?”

“Maybe…”

“Oh, do tell.” 

“No… it’s my dream…”

Hyungwon chuckled. “Alright, fine, but it’s time to get up. The day has just begun.”

“Five more minutes.”

“Only if it is five minutes.”

    Hyungwon kissed your head and got out of bed, letting you rest for a while longer. Perhaps you took more than five minutes, but you did eventually get up. You stretched and then got out of bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up and prepare for the day. After a little shower you brushed your teeth and then went through your closet. You tried on a few things and looked yourself over in the mirror.

“I like this outfit the best.”

    Hyungwon came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you in a hug and gently rocking you to the side. He pressed his head against yours, giggling and then placing soft little kisses on your cheek.

“You look cute.”

“Yeah? Should we go with this one today?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hm, and what else should-”

    A knock at your door suddenly startled you, and you quickly looked yourself over to make sure you were decent before telling the other person to come in. Jooheon opened your bedroom door, offering you a smile. Ever since that incident Jooheon made a point to check in on you every other day. So when you decided to move, he came with you. Now the two of you shared an apartment together, and were co-owners of the building.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Who were you talking to just now?”

“Hm?”

“I heard you talking to someone, or was it just my imagination?”

“Your imagination I’m sure, or the neighbors.”

“True. Anyway, what are your plans for the day?”

“Nothing much. A walk in the park, stopping by my favorite places for food. I’ll probably be out late since I want to watch the sunset.”

“Alright, just let me know if anything happens.”

“Will do.”

    Jooheon excused himself and then you were alone again. Hyungwon grabbed your chin and had you look back at him, smiling at you before pressing his lips against yours. They were always so soft and gentle.

“A walk in the park first?”

“With a smoothie in hand.”

“Shall we get going?”

“Let me grab my things.”

    You went off to grab your bag, Hyungwon staying where he was and watching you. As long as he remained with you, regardless of his form, he could look after you. Of course he needed to do better than this, but he had time.

“Y/n.” Hyungwon called your name softly. “Let’s have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, as long as you’re with me I know it’ll be great.”

“I love you, y/n, you know that, right?”

“I do, and I love you too.”

“Good.”

    Hyungwon went over to you, taking your head in his hands. His fingers glided down your neck, giving you a slight tingling sensation. You giggled, finding his actions cute, unaware of the slight blue glow in your eyes. The little sign of Hyungwon’s consciousness living within you. Although that secret was only for him to know. You were happy just the way he wanted you to be, and that was enough, for now. Hyungwon gave you a smile before kissing you once more.

“Let’s go have a great day together.”

[sketchfool]

Deeply unserious au concept: Oops! This Bullshit All The Way Down (aka 'basically Everyone has unplayerlike instincts/needs, relying on the few people they trust to help while frantically obscuring those issues from every Other hermit')

Impulse as a summoned demon, Tango not his summoner so much as the soul-ballast keeping him here. Season by season adding Zed and then Skizz to counterweight the costs of remaining free. And if that also means sometimes Impulse will drag them down and use clever-careful claws to pry out their soul, their player-self, to hold and admire- well, Zed would say that's personal business thank youuuuu very! Much. :D

Pearl, a player whose eye for beauty keeps resulting in roles and powers that stop making sense if she thinks about them. First claimed by the moon as its heart. Then goddess of fields, and sunflowers-hearth, and hunting wolves- Pearl can't keep track. But there's lots of little peeping natural things that are hers, now. And she knows it's sort of the same for Gem, who fought free from forest-glade-honey only to get dragged down by the Becoming of the sea. They're really two of a pair; so if sometimes Pearl's eyes are drawn inevitable-forever to stare in wonder at the moon, or Gem's player-form starts trying to lose lungs entirely, they can squish each other back into the right shape, just about.

Mining fatigue is the sign of a dying elder guardian. Slowing down, scales dulling, until they turn to stone and sink forever. It takes 2 seasons for xB to admit what's happening to him, and Hypno immediately drags him onto modded server after server to hunt for a cure. Guardians have rigid social structures- the larger their school, the more need to manage population and food. The oldest (the largest and hungriest) elders transmogrify to make way for the next generation. Which is all to say: xB's joints meld into stone, and Hypno panics and slams him with the feeling of School, the equivalent of staring xB's brain down and yelling 'Yes I AM sixteen elder guardians in a trenchcoat'. It works; xB regains color, day by day, as long as Hypno reimpresses the lie to xB's brain once every few weeks. Hypno decides that instincts are stupid, actually.

Anyways. I am imagining this all unravels when Xisuma puts out a serverwide message like 'Server failsafes tripped, looks like some foreign code around binding and control? Going off-server is suspended until I find what specifically triggered them. Don't want another moon incident :-)' and like. Seven different people show up within half an hour to go 'uh heyyy maybe don't go looking so hard. Pretty please. <3' X is used to not knowing things about his players! But this is ridiculous.

[voidmetal-alloy]

Sweet art! Would you please tell more about the overall premise of your Soul Core AU? Thanks!

Thank you so much!!

I’m still working out a lot of the details of it so this might sound a little bit rambly but the basic premise is sorted out.

A ‘soul core’ is the name of the chip that gives robots their sapience, they can’t be programmed to be ‘good’ or ‘evil’, it’s all their own personal choice, and how they turn out, like humans, depends on what they’re built for and how they’re treated. Even though robots are completely independent, they have a failsafe in place that shuts off the soul core when they attempt to break the laws of robotics, making them act on basic coding.

A lot of story stuff happens that I don’t wanna spoil for when I eventually make a comic, but Wily creates a virus that causes the worst parts of a robots personalities to take over. Once the first line of Robot Masters gets infected, Light reveals that there’s a second failsafe, which will entirely wipe their minds and memories if they break any of the laws of robotics. Rock volunteers to go and save his friends and gets upgraded into Mega Man.

A lot of the story from there is Rock grappling with what it means for him to have to fight his friends, and how unfair it feels once Wily’s robots show up because he has to make the choice to either kill them or imprison them for simply loving the person who created them.

Sorry if this is a little confusing I have a lot of thoughts and it is very hard to get them in order

[copper-caster]

I have been in the mood for some dark Transformers fic, and so far, the Transformers fanfics haven't offered me much. Until I happened to stumbled upon your Failsafe coding AU, which I know for sure I want to see this AU to be developed because it's both juicy and full of whump.

First, I would love to know how Megatron was in the situation of being a Gladiator slave in the first place. I imagine Megatron, original was a miner in D-16 who worked with other miner fellows, and one of them was Terminus being his caretaker/creator. It was a tough job and tough life, but they still earned enough to get the basic necessity for their lives. Until one day, the mine that they were working at was collapsed, resulting in the mine getting shut down and the miners losing their jobs. Unfortunately for D-16, Terminus was severely injured due to the mine incident, and they basically couldn't afford any medical care to cure his injured. Then, he met some bots offering him to work as a Gladiator in this one seemingly legal arena with a hefty amount of shanix that was enough to pay for his caretaker' medical bill, so he agreed to the offer, without realizing he was trafficking himself to be the property of the arena (I'm thinking about D-16 signed a shady contract that basically tricked him to be in debt through additional fees/services provided for him when he worked at the arena, and he had to pay back those fees plus very high interests. Also, if he loses a match, he has to pay for that loss. So you can imagine the arena master did everything to sabotage him and slowly trap him and threaten him to comply with their demands, leading of current situation of him). This is my idea for this AU, but I would love to hear your ideas for Megatron's background.

Second, I can't help but wonder what would happen to Orion Pax when he got caught and became the victim of trafficking. I know his face got very damaged due to the attack from Megatron's losing control, and may be his current owner did consider to put him through empurata and reduced him to a breeding slave. However, what if the reason why Orion Pax got discovered being a mole is because the current owner of Orion had taken into liking him when Orion still pretended to be the eye candy of any random Senator at these deranged party? Probably, this mech wanted to approach Orion but got rejected by him, which was a serious misstep from Orion Pax. So this mech (either a ring leader of Outlier trafficking organization or one of the rich clients) decided to dug into Orion's personal life like a creeping stalker he was, and he finally found out about Orion's real identity... which led to Orion getting exposed and well, becoming the trafficked mech like other Outliers and activists. So after Orion got ravaged by Megatron as spectacle for the deranged and vile beings (including a bunch of corrupted senators and governors), Orion got auctioned off and get bought by the same mech that exposed him being a mole. The Orion's master at first, seeing how Orion's face got almost destroyed, decided to reduce him just a breeding slave so no need to get him a new face. However, this deranged master also missed Orion's handsome face and his beautiful optics full of fire and defiance and he enjoyed to see Orion's faceplate when he broke him down into an hopeless and defeated cage bird. So he decided to fix Orion Pax's face once he birthed his and Megatron's first child. Though, when his face was fixed, Orion was forced to have a retractable facemask to hide his identity (but mostly to tempt the clients to pay extra fees if they wanted to his face in a private setting. Plus, the owner was possessive of Orion's pretty face). This is what I come up and I would love to see your ideas of what happened to Orion Pax when he became the trafficked mech or how he got discovered.

I actually would like to come up with more details of Orion's predicaments and hellhole conditions as being a trafficked mech. I wonder if you would have him just being a breeder or him being prostituted by his owner. Also, would love to see or imagine how he interacted with Starscream and other trafficked mechs. Do you know who else was being enslaved under the owner.

Awwwwwwwww i really love this what a great first ask for this blog

I'll give a little response here while I'm figuring out some world building stuff, im not gonna be shy about my influences & thinking about Gladiators stuff is making me want to rewatch some documentaries on Rome & also this https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0GHjKMoz98-cIDeNe9pngGKR-6lseGvr animatic series

The great thing about fiction is even if you're inspired by history is you can also just make shit up still i want to scratch that nerd itch so there's going to be Gladiator schools & taking from some naval history like a lot of mechs are pressganged into stuff

First of all i like the idea of D-16 being made during the gorilla fighting that eventually drove off the Quintesson occupation, his alt form is first and foremost a gun, tho in this it's more like Black Rock Shooters massive arm canon that has to be wielded by another bot,

As for his history we could take some inspiration from Spartacus & say that he was accused of deserting & that's how he ends up in a miner's chaingang

Lots of warframes end up going through something similar since the ruling classes/casts are firm believers in religious functionalism & think that the warframes will just fight constantly if they aren't tightly leashed

The gladiatorial rings were something introduced to Cybertron during the occupation with the Quintessons using them much the way the romans did, to execute criminals & entertain/threaten the masses, shipping in animals from distant planets & such to tear the sentenced apart, then they started training/designing their own executioners after exhausting the predatory fauna of numerous worlds (fun fact rome nearly drove lions to extinction in several places), leading to the system of gladiators & there being less death in the ring if no less bloodshed because who wants to destroy their bespoke killing machines, the general populace begin to associate these mech with the Unmaker maybe some of them begin to venerate the Fallen as a cultic figure, here using the roman meaning of cult/cultic etc, patron of the ring

Maybe D-16 was originally destined for one of these Gladiator schools being a custom commission but was stolen by a gorilla resistance & that's how he ended up as part of the resistance, regardless he meets Terminus in the mines & that's a strong influence on him

He ends up in the ring having been sentenced to execution idk why yet but probably for defending another miner from an overseer, but against all odds he survives the fight, "I Still Function!" & he ends up being sold to a school despite ostensibly having won his freedom yet again. The other gladiators induct him into the cult & over time begin to venerate him, which the Managers of the school catch wind of & give him the stage name Megatronus after the Fallen which he shortens to Megatron, 'come see the gladiator blessed by the Unmaker himself' etc etc.

Orion gets found out as a mole because the Senator that Shockwave coerced into getting Orion into the private parties sold them out. Which is also how Senator Shockwave gets empurata'd because the traffickers have sponsors from the council. But i love the idea of other party goers harassing Orion. These things are always masquerades with bots wearing masks/battlemasks & holographic clothing to disguise themselves, in this verse bots can change their colours nanites at will if they have enough energon to spare which adds a layer to their disguises. Bots will often dress up as historical or mythological figures so Orion gets dressed up as a mini Prima. Which definitely caught the eye of the trafficker since he's playing up Megatron's status as a cultic figure to make him more appealing/unique to the high cast bots hiring him for the party.

I haven't worked out how exactly i want cybertronian reproduction to work yet but there's definitely multiple ways a bot can be born with pregnancy being highly risky & very rare.

At first Orion is being housed/moved with Starscream but once the sparklings are born and sent off to their new owners. The manager started bidding on the sparklings as soon as they confirmed it had taken at the party. They get separated & Orion gets subjected to training so he can put up some mock fight before he gets fucked six ways to sunday at the next party. He also gets /trained/ on how to please the party goers beforehand. I can definitely see the tracker prostituting Orion out where he wouldn't be as willing to do so with his high value Outlier stock. It's through tracking sightings of Orion that Jazz, Blaster, & Prowl are able to close in on the trafficking ring.

I haven't come up with who else has been disappeared yet tbh.

But if you like my plot bunny i can definitely recommend blogs like @yayasvalveplay , @transingthoseformers , & @brandwhorestarscream (i hope they don't mind me tagging them lol)

[smolavidreader]

Thinking about Seraph again, and why Alpha was so thorough. And what exactly Alpha did to have such through control. Is he using beta Homs features? Is Seraph effectively running on pre-Shulk-wish code and thus exists entirely within the passage of fate? Is Alpha being controlling to compensate for what Shulk did to his visions?

Ok so in all honesty I was not super thinking about the reasons behind Alpha's control. I was reading this like "wow that's a good question . . . ." But I'll attempt to answer it anyway

Firstly, I think your version of Alpha's control over Seraph and mine might be slightly different. Mainly because I was/am still working out the full extent of how it works in my fic. I have two tiers of Alpha's control over Seraph: (1) direct control and (2) mental compulsion. Direct control is Alpha using Seraph as pretty much a puppet. Alpha is physically controlling Seraph against his will. Mental compulsion is Alpha giving Seraph orders and him being compelled to follow them. So this is not Alpha controlling Seraph necessarily but him feeling the need to comply. The longer he takes to follow the order/complete the objective the worse the compulsion gets. Still, Seraph does have the option to stall or otherwise interpret what fulfilling the order means. Seraph can resist the compulsion but if he tries to disobey/resist then Alpha takes direct control of him as a consequence (aka Alpha does this to make sure Seraph cannot betray him/oppose him like the og Shulk did with Zanza). Why do I have these slightly different things? Because in my fic, it takes more power and focus for Alpha to direct control Seraph as opposed to the mental compulsion of orders. It's just more practical for Alpha to give Seraph orders and let him go complete that task. Seraph experimented with that whole thing to find out he only looses complete autonomy/gets the harsh direct control if he attempts to outright resist or disobey orders. But if he interprets orders a little bit strangely while still completing the objective, then he doesn't get punished. He is allowed a little bit of discretion/wiggle room, as long as the ultimate task gets finished one way or another. Stalling only works for a little bit but wait long enough and the mental compulsion is so bad it's like Seraph can't think of anything else but obeying whatever order Alpha gave him.

So what did Alpha do to get this level of control? He designed Seraph like this when creating him. Seraph exists in a gray area because most of Aionios' people already existed from the old worlds or came to exist normally within the bounds of a world partially affected by both Shulk's wish/the rules of Xeno 2's world/and Z's eternal now stuff. But Seraph is a copy of someone else that Alpha created. Is he a person/a new person/his own person? Or is he some strange extension of Alpha? Alpha certainly views Seraph as a tool for his own use. Seraph would like to be his own person but the evidence is kind of against him. But uh maybe I have some ideas floating around about Seraph being tied to origin in a some way (I'm still work shopping.)

So yeah. Ultimately, I wanna say the main reason Alpha has control over Seraph is because it makes the story/AU more interesting. But there's always room to play around with whatever explanation you want.

But that last question is yes. Alpha needs more control because he doesn't know everything. He has no absolute certainty. Plus, Alpha has the memories of what Shulk once accomplished. He knows that Shulk's will was enough to kill a god and resist fate. Alpha needs Seraph to be strong willed enough to face enemies but not level that dangerous strength of will against him. Alpha needed a failsafe so that Seraph would not become a double edged sword the way Shulk was to Zanza.

Hope that gave enough of an answer.

[itz-pandora]

in the misc au was Shadow always an android or did he only become one after he “died” (well it was “died” in canon but in the au its more like died for real)

I've gone back and forth with it. Him previously being organic would probably make his is depersonalization, derealization, and disassociation worse, and also that would give him some connection to Black Doom

But also, a part of me wants Maria to not be real (she was coded into his mind as a failsafe so he wouldn't hurt people, and Gerald sloppily overrode it after what happened with GUN.)

I could make him a cyborg or something to have both of these, or Gerald could just brainwash tf outta him and he's organic, or something idk

Maybe I could include Hazard (my Mobian Biolizard) and she also has Black Arms DNA

[tp1eb]

My OC and an OC based off of a Friend (No art sadly)

I’ve had this idea for a while now, and haven’t been able to get it out of my head. So I did a bit of digging into the AU @onyxonline made, and haven’t been able to find character concepts like the two I had thought of. Now, I could be mistaken and someone could have done this, but the idea I had makes sense.

OC 1: Code Name: One_Eye

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Home Planet: Harmon

Location: Towards the Outer Rims where Riders rarely go

Technology Level: Medieval with High concentrations of Magic

Races: Unicorns, Pegasi, Mer-Horse, Horse, (No way to do this one without making it way to obvious so I might as well add that race even though they are similar) Alicorn.

Planet State: Destroyed. (COD: The Cult)

Race: Alicorn (I promise I’ll think of a better name at a later point in time.)

Body Type: Towards the lean side, but has actual, physical muscle on his body.

Backstory: Born as an Alicorn by the Rulers, One-Eye was a magic prodigy, and a rarity due to his hypercjomia. His left eye, looks like an orange like a blazing sun, while his right, a Midnight blue, as beautiful as a star filled sky. But during his 16th Birthday, the Cult attacked the planet, killing most and capturing few. During the 4 years he was captured, the cult experimented on him, draining him of his vast magic reserves and magical abilities as a living battery, even going so far as to remove his right eye, an forcefully implant an artificial eye that looks like a cult mask, that when activated would kill One Eye. Even removing the forced eye will activate a Failsafe that has a 99.9999999% of killing him. Rescued by a Riders team during a transfer of resources between Cult bases. Upon first arriving in Space Riders HQ, Poppy helped disable the kill switch in the eye, but sadly couldn’t disable the Failsafe without risking One-Eyes life. Entered the Academy only 1 month after arriving at the station, and graduated only 2 years in the Academy. Has been ostracized by other Riders and insulted as a “Cult Spy”. Has a great friend in Cact (Other OC based off of IRL friend) another fellow Cult Experiment Survivor. Is the Vice-Captain on this 2 Rider team, but haven’t been allowed out on live missions out of fear by other Riders. Only local missions have been done along the lines of, Helping a child find their parents, loading cargo into ships, rescuing some critters pet from a tree.

Looks: Has a Sky Blue body with minor Cult Red Highlights due to the experimentation, but the red is mostly unnoticeable. Midnight Blue Hair with Prominent Orange Highlights and subtle Cult Red highlights. Sky Blue Horn with Cult Red in the horns curvature, Sky Blue wings with few Cult Red feathers. Wingspan is only a foot greater than his physical reach. Has only his Orange Left eye with his other looking like a Cult Mask face, plastered onto the fake eye. Wears a green headband over his right eye to hide the fake eye.

Overdrive: His body becomes a Midnight Blue with White eyes and Mouth. Decreases cost of spells. Increases Physical Attributes.

Personality: A bit of a hothead. Can be insightful and thoughtful in serious moments. A bit of a Perv (Not to an extreme degree). Leap first ask questions later type of guy. Will follow orders of his teams Leader. Fiercely Loyal. Minor ego. Willing to put aside his Ego for a mission. Willing to outright kill Cultists if emotionally pushed too far. Willing to take responsibility for his actions. Tough.

Powers: Minor Telekinesis (2 Tons Base form, 10 Tons Overdrive) but can only lift 2 Objects at a time or 4 total living beings (Base, while overdrive makes it 10), Minor Flight (Wings. Minor Hovering but no outright long distance flight due to Experimentation), Super Strength, -Redacted Due to Experimentation-, -Redacted Due to Experimentation-, (Repeat 15 more times for the Redacted.)

Dress Style: Casual; While he mostly dresses for whatever weather he’s going to, when on base prefers Short sleeved Shirts that reach halfway down his upper arm with Shorts that go halfway down his thigh. Prefers tight but not form fitting clothes. All clothes will have holes for his wings. Rider Suit (White); White Rider Suit with Light Blue Accents and holes for his wings and a White Bandanna pulled over his right eye. Rider Suit (Black); Black Rider Suit with Midnight Blue accents. Black Helmet with Midnight Blue Lights. Holes for his wings, and a hole in the helmet for his horn. Swimsuit; Shirtless with a set of swim trunks that reach only halfway down his thighs and an eyepatch over his fake eye.

OC 2. Friend based one:

Name: Cact. C-11787281298310

Age: 25

Race: Cat.

Looks: Lean and more on the, no physical muscle side (Almost like Catnap in the AU). Sapphire Blue Right Eye. Cult Red Left Eye. Green Fur with prominent Cult Red Highlights.

Planet: (Don’t have a Name thought of sadly.)

Location: Towards the Outer Rims.

Technology Level: Early Space age.

Races: Dogs, Cats, Birds.

Planet Status: Destoryed. (COD: The Cult)

BackStory: His home planet was destroyed when he was only a toddler. The Cult abducted him and heavily experimented on him in hopes of creating some kind of Ultimate Weapon. To survive, it was kill or be killed. However, he was always reluctant to kill. Only killing when forced to in the experiments until he came to naturally killing his opponents out of fear. These experiments all happened throughout his young life. During his Teenage years, he was given a rudimentary education inside the cult, but heavy survival and military training that had killed many. Towards the end of his Teenage Years the cult had, somehow, awakened his Overdrive…which they loved. During the end of his teenage years and into his young adult years, he was used as a living Red Smoke factory. Only for the compassion of two scientists within the cult overseeing him to treat him, almost like a son…but still mostly treated him like a tool while allowing him small breaks to avoid atrophy to his body. When he was 20 a Riders Team had found his lab and raided it. Rescuing him at the cost of one of the riders Knee cap getting damaged beyond repair. Was Hospitalized with Riders HQ, where he was restrained. After much coaxing from Poppy (Who appeared via Hologram) she was eventually able to allow the doctors to properly see him. After 6 months Poppy offered him to come to the Academy, which at first he refused, but Poppy’s insistence on it won him over in the end. Poppy then gave C-11787281298310 his name of Cact. Was heavily bullied within the academy he eventually became friends with One Eye. Good friends too. But due to the experimentation his room was specially built because of his abilities in a lone, far away area to avoid possible dangers. Graduated with One Eye and was considered a Combat and Tactical Genius. Is mocked and bullied because other think he’s a “Cult Spy” without evidence. He’ll often wander around HQ in thought or be in his room thinking of many ideas that might help all Riders. Will sometimes call Poppy and chat with her like a friend if she isn’t busy, which has lead to a friendship between the two of them. And sue to being labeled as a “Cult Spy” no team has offered to work with him and One-Eye. Resulting in many a Simulated Missions and Minor Missions that all take place on the Space Station. When asleep he can have bad night terrors that end up filling his room with potent Red Smoke (Which he is outright immune to when it’s produced by him) and has a special setting for his room where the red smoke is filtered extremely throughly before being destroyed.

Powers: Able to create Sharp needles from anywhere on his body. Able to break said needles off or shoot them out. But the Larger the needle the more painful removing them becomes. Can make the needles as thick as tree tinks or as thin as a mosquito needle. Able to retract the needles into his body without harm. Sharpness Control of Needles. Needles can only grow long enough to be 6ft Sphere away from his body, but can be shot with a max range of 1 mile. Able to alter the position of the needles on his body without harm (Example, move the needles on his body to create something akin to scales). Able to infuse needles with poisons from his rider utility belt. (Common Poisons on his belt are, Tranquilizers from weak to strong and a paralytic one.) All Needles Produced take from his natural energy supply, the bigger they are, the more it takes.

Powers Due to Experimentation: While under emotional Distress, will begin producing Red Smoke, he is immune to Red Smoke he produces. The Red smoke thickness is determined based on the intensity of the emotional distress. Uncomfortable will not produce Smoke, but moderate enough levels of depression will cause a minor, mostly harmless Red smoke (This thin Red Smoke will only minorly increase aggression levels).

OverDrive Look: Forest Green glow, White eyes, white mouth, white glowing needles.

OverDrive: Able to Produce Needles at a greater rate, Higher Pain Tolerance, Minor increase to physical abilities.

Overdrive (Berserk): This version is only cause by Immense Emotional Distress, or inhalation of too much Red Smoke he did not create.

Look: Same as Base Overdrive, but the white becomes Cult Red.

Powers: Same Overdrive for the most part, (Not gonna type it all out again, I’ll only add the new stuff.) Able to grow the needles in an almost fluid like way, Range is still 6ft Sphere away from him, but can bend and twist to reach a total length of 10FT. All Shot off Needles begin producing Smoke until the needle disappears. Produces large quantities of Red Smoke just by breathing. Red Smoke Needles have 5 times the potency of the one Dogday was shot with. Massive boost to all Physical Abilities. Massive Pain Reduction. Loss of all Rational Thought and becomes a pure berserker, unable to tell friend from foe.

Outfit: Casual; Prefers to have long sleeves and pants on along with a light hooded sweater he likes to keep the hood up on. But will dress for whatever weather he needs to. Rider Suit (White): A normal White Rider Suit with a Light Green Accent. Rider Suit (Black); Black Helmet with Forest Green Lights, Normal Black Rider Suit with Forest Green Accents, a Black utility belt with Forest Green Accents that is almost disguised into his suit which contains the poisons.

Personality: While seeming Cold and Machine like to those outside his close circle of friends, he is a warm, kind, caring, polite, levelheaded, calm, collected, tactical, profound, smart, dedicated, determined, mostly honest (Doesn’t like involving others in his personal problems and will lie to keep his personal problems to himself) guy to those he’s close with. Willing to sacrifice himself if it meant survival of teammates. Born Leader, Low Self Esteem. Low Self Worth, Good at hiding insecurities. Rational. Look Before you Leap kind of guy. Wants what is best for the team. Willing to ask more experienced Captains for advice if on a mission. Not one to open up easily. Can easily hide his pain. Insightful.

And with that I’ve now covered both of them. Please help me if I missed anything or have a misspelling. Have a good day and have fun.

[purple-iris]

I just can't wait to reach the part of the timeline where Security Breach takes place in my Elizabeth Afton lives AU

Elizabeth, CEO of Fazbear Entertainment and Afton Robotics, who makes her way into the pizzaplex once the animatronics systems starts to go haywire, and who quickly notice that the only one which isn't corrupted by this strange virus, the one she suspect escaped from that cursed game an intern thought was smart to make by using Springbonnie's memory cards, is Glamrock Freddy.

One of the two animatronics she personally helped build and code, the one she programmed to be just slightly enough like her older brother, gone along with their Father and uncle Henry in that fire so many years ago.

Freddy, who just like Mike would have, is ready to lay everything down for a lost child.

Gregory, who in return, looks like their younger brother, but not quite, as if seen through the lense of a fever dream.

And so she follows along, knowing the security and failsafes codes buried so deep in their programming, even the advanced AI of the robots don't know they are present. They make their way through the pizzaplex, avoiding attacks and Vannessa, her strange bunny getup far too familiar to Elizabeth, until they find the old pizzeria, buried deep under the massive mall.

The pizzeria where her brother died, her father died, her uncle Henry died, and all the souls of the missing children were released. Their bodies, or what was left of them, she had buried behind her childhood home, under a lilac tree.

So when Vanny activates the remnant powered recharge station, Elizabeth knows damn well this isn't her father's skull, under there. It's a mimic, a mere imitation, running on corrupted AI and agony, along with the endoskeleton of Glamrock Bonnie. The other one she made.

So a fight ensues, Liz, Freddy and Gregory against the Mimic, the remaining animatronics and Vanny. The atrocity parading with her Father's name tries to harm Gregory, to extract remnants from him, aided by Vanessa, who's admiration of her Father's crime makes Elizabeth sick. Freddy goes all out against the Mimic, anything to keep the child safe and out of reach of the two psychos, while the two women go toe to toe.

Elizabeth grabs a wrench, and she is fuming. How dare she tries to rebuild this twisted version of her father, how dare she tries to undo all of her brother and her own efforts to free these souls, how dare she tries to sully her name and her company, and how dare she tries to copy her father's work so sloppily. For that's what she is, a sloppy copy cat serial killer who can't even manage to kill properly.

Wasn't that the only moral line of a serial killer, to not steal one another's mojo?

Glaring through her eyebrows at Vanessa, she taunts: "Come on, you think you're worthy of my name, come and get it!"

They fight, and a well placed uppercut chips one of Elizabeth's teeth. She tastes the blood in her mouth, her own, as she passes her tongue against the tooth, and she grins. Rage, yet a wicked form of pleasure course through her. She can already imagine what she could do to Vanny next...

"Vanessa, you forget why I was his favourite."

Their fight begins again, and Vanessa grows frustrated. Elizabeth is around her late forties, how is she throwing back punches and hits, how is she fighting back so hard, with such calculated methods. In half a breath, Vannessa grunts: "Why wont you die!"

Elizabeth laughs, a choked sound in the smoke filled environment as Freddy exploits the weakness she revealed the Mimic had. Fire and intense heat.

"Please, I've got remnant in my blood, my own, from Circus Baby, and my Father's, injected in this very place before his last and final death, his last act to protect me from anything." She spat, oversharing usually leaving a sour taste in his mouth, but now, seeing Vanessa's face fall in desperation at her words.

She ends up knocking out Vanessa, and as the flames rise, Freddy has managed to overcome the Mimic and burn his remnant fueled endo. Gregory, exhausted from the fight, running away from the animatronics and the Mimic, is unconscious from exhaustion. To hasten their exit, she picks him up in her arms as Freddy hauls Vannessa on his shoulder, fireman style.

Outside of the Pizzaplex, with Gergory's head laying on her lap as she sits on the curb next to her bright red vintage Thunderbird, she asks Freddy to power off, to avoid him being interrogated, and as she waits for the police and paramedics with an unconscious boy and a barely awakening Vanessa, she takes a long drag out of her cigarette.

She calls her lawyer, as she knows she'll need him, because she got an orphan or foster boy under her wing now, and she isn't letting anything bad happen to Gregory again.