#defect cascading

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Demystifying Defect Cascading in Software Testing: Uncover the intricacies and learn how to navigate through this common challenge.

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[snail-day]

The Assistant Program

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Manipulation, Dub Con, Getting frisky (they're fucking) in the backseat of a car...Pet name: Puppy, pup. Mean sugu. Cum play? (Very brief). overstimulation.

Yan!Geto x Assistant!Reader

WC: 4k

a/n: Ahhhh, geto is rotting my brain again. There's something about him NOT being allowed to defect that has me frothing. I wrote a blurb earlier about this but was never actually able to get the idea into words until recently.

What if Geto Suguru hadn't crossed the line that night? If he hadn’t succumbed to the darkness, yet still nursed a quiet, simmering disdain for nonsorcerers—a festering grudge that earned him more than a few wary glances from the higher-ups.

Their answer to his "problem"? The Assistant Program.

It was Gojo who delivered the news, all lazy smiles and half-hearted reassurances as he clapped Suguru on the shoulder. “Think of it as a little help for that summer fatigue you’ve been dragging around,” he quipped, though Suguru caught the faint edge of caution in his friend’s gaze.

Suguru only smiled in response, his usual gentle expression betraying none of the irritation boiling beneath the surface. His dark eyes, framed by long lashes, glinted with something unreadable as he watched Gojo walk away.

And then, there was you.

A grade four sorcerer. Not someone who belonged in his orbit, freshly graduated like him with an incredibly low grade. A novice in comparison to his strength—a mere puppy forced to share missions, long car rides, and quiet evenings with him.

You were annoyingly bright, a contrast to the brooding aura he so often carried. Your cheerful demeanor and the way you fidgeted nervously around him should have grated on his nerves. At first, it did. Suguru wasn’t sure whether to laugh at your naivety or sneer at your eagerness to please.

How could you grin at him so freely, as if the thought of erasing all nonsorcerers didn’t run through his mind like a broken record?

But as time went on, he began to notice the little things. The way your gaze lingered on him, captivated by the dark cascade of his hair that framed his sharp features. The way you’d steal glances at the broad span of his shoulders, the way his uniform hugged his tall, lean, but muscular frame.

He didn’t miss how your voice softened whenever you said his name, how you leaned closer without even realizing it when he spoke. It wasn’t long before irritation twisted into something far more dangerous.

You weren’t just a puppy anymore. You were his puppy

Suguru made it a game—seeing how far he could push you, how much he could demand, and how readily you would obey. His long, calloused fingers would tug lightly at your sleeve when he called you into his apartment late at night, his dark eyes narrowing with faux vulnerability as he claimed he was having “certain thoughts.”

Bleary-eyed, still fumbling to tie your coat, you’d show up on his doorstep, tail wagging in that metaphorical way that made his chest tighten. “Is everything okay, Sugu?” you’d ask, concern dripping from your voice, as though you weren’t the one being dragged into his games.

He’d usher you in with that same gentle smile, his long hair slipping over his shoulders as he draped an arm around yours. “I just needed some company,” he’d murmur, leading you to the couch, where he’d pull you into his lap with ease that left you breathless.

At first, it was innocent—or so you told yourself. He’d hold you close, his broad chest warm against your back, his deep voice wrapping around you like a lullaby as he claimed he needed comfort. But as the nights wore on, the boundaries blurred.

This time, his lips pressed against your neck, his large hands firm on your waist as he whispered, “Aren’t you supposed to service my every need, little puppy?”

You stiffened, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, but the solid muscle beneath your touch only reminded you how much stronger he was. “Suguru, this… this isn’t part of the contract.”

His soft chuckle was like velvet, wrapping around you and pulling you under. “Contracts are flexible,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was light at first—a fleeting touch that left your breath hitching. But then his tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, coaxing you to part them. You hesitated, and he didn’t wait, slipping inside and deepening the kiss. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

Your mind grew hazy, a mix of exhaustion and the intoxicating warmth of him seeping into your senses. His fingers slid up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he feared you’d pull away.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips lingered just above yours, his warm breath fanning your flushed skin. “Good puppy,” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes as satisfaction curled his lips into a faint smirk.

You didn’t leave his lap for the rest of the night. Every time you shifted, his hands tightened on your waist, keeping you firmly nestled against him. He pressed kisses to your lips, slow and deliberate, each one leaving your mind hazier, your resistance dissolving like sugar in water.

By the time you finally stumbled home, your head spun, replaying the events of the night like a broken record. Something felt… wrong.

But Suguru didn’t seem to think so.

The next day, he acted like everything was perfectly normal, lounging in the corner of the room during a briefing, his gaze tracking your every movement. When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, he greeted you with a sly smile, as if he had been waiting.

“About last night,” you started, voice trembling slightly.

“What about it?” he interrupted smoothly, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. “We’re together now. Isn’t that obvious?”

Your breath hitched. “Together? That wasn’t—”

“Stop overthinking it,” he said, his tone soft but firm, like he was addressing a child. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face with a gentleness that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been there for me all this time. It’s natural for us to take the next step.”

You blinked at him, trying to process his words. “But I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” he asked, his voice dropping just slightly. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny me now after everything I’ve done for you. After everything we've done for each other. ”

The words hit like a slap, his tone dripping with quiet reproach. He let the silence hang heavy between you before sighing, the sound laced with disappointment.

“I see,” he said finally, leaning back with a detached expression. “I must have misread things. I thought you cared about me. But if this is how you really feel, then…” He trailed off, letting the weight of his unfinished sentence fill the air.

Your heart clenched. The idea of Suguru pulling away felt unbearable, like a void threatening to swallow you whole. Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “No, it’s not like that!”

His lips curved into a smile, slow and calculated. “Good,” he said, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. “I knew my puppy wouldn’t disappoint me.”

From that moment on, he took control of your life in ways so subtle you barely noticed at first. A comment here, a suggestion there—little nudges that steered you further into his orbit.

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” he’d say with a faint frown, slipping your phone from your hands. “Let me take care of things for you.” And just like that, he’d rearrange your schedule, leaving you dependent on him for even the smallest tasks.

When you hesitated to stay late after missions, he’d fix you with a soft look that somehow made your chest ache. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? After everything we’ve been through? What if I end up doing something...?”

That final phrase was the words that always left you at his beck and call. You didn't want him to be executed, he was a good man after all.

Every move he made was calculated, each word a thread tightening the web he had spun around you. And the worst part? No matter how much you tried to resist, you always found yourself falling back into his arms, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “Good puppy.”

Sometimes, after swallowing a particularly vile curse, Suguru’s mood was dark and volatile. It clung to him like a shadow, his sharp edges cutting deeper into those unfortunate enough to cross his path. But tonight, his frustration found its focus on you.

You barely had time to settle into the backseat when his hands pulled you onto his lap, his grip firm, almost bruising. His lips found yours immediately, kissing you with a frantic desperation that left you breathless.

“Disgusting,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. The faint bitterness of his words contrasted with the soft graze of his lips, warm and plush, leaving a shiver in their wake. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You don’t have to taste it—any of it.”

Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, trying to steady yourself. Beneath your trembling palms, his body was firm, his broad, muscular build radiating a comforting heat despite the tension that simmered just beneath the surface. But his grip tightened, his long fingers digging into your waist like a warning.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soothing as his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting, devouring, claiming. His dark eyes, framed by long, silky strands of black hair that cascaded over his shoulders, bore into yours with an intensity that left you breathless. His hand, large and calloused yet gentle, trailed up to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, leaving no room for protest.

“You understand, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and coaxing, vibrating against your lips as his breath fanned over your flushed skin. His thumb brushed lightly along your cheek, the roughness of his touch sending goosebumps down your spine.

“I need this, puppy,” he continued, his words curling around your resolve like a leash. “I need you to take it away—the taste, the filth. Make me forget.”

His words carried a vulnerability that twisted something deep inside you, sending a shivers down your body. Part of you knew you should push back, should reclaim some semblance of control, but the way his hands moved—slow, deliberate, his strong fingers tugging at the edges of your sorcerer uniform—left you pliant under his touch.

“Suguru, we shouldn’t…” you whispered weakly, your voice faltering as his lips brushed along the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath leaving your skin tingling. The way he nipped at the soft skin.

“You’re such a good puppy,” he murmured, his voice softening into something almost tender as his hands roamed lower, pulling you closer, pressing your body against his. The faint scent of his cologne—earthy and subtly sweet—lingered in the air, intoxicating you further. “Always trying so hard to please me.”

Your breath hitched as his tongue slid against yours, his kisses growing slower, deeper, impossibly intoxicating. The silky strands of his long hair tickled your cheek as he leaned closer, each movement deliberate and all-encompassing.

The tension in your body ebbed away, replaced by a warmth that seeped into your very core. You stopped resisting, your hands no longer pushing him away but clutching at his broad shoulders instead, your fingers tangling briefly in the smooth fabric of his shirt.

“There we go,” he murmured against your lips, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s it. Good puppy. Let me take care of you.”

The praise sent a dizzying rush through you, leaving you feeling weightless and tethered all at once. The way his lips trailed along your jawline, the way his hands held you firmly yet with a gentleness that belied his strength—it left you unable to think of anything else.

By the time your uniform slipped from your shoulders, pooling in soft folds around your waist, you were pliant in his arms, melting into him like he had always wanted. His long, dark hair brushed against your skin as he leaned forward, his lips trailing along your collarbone with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

“See? Isn’t this better?” he whispered, his voice a dark lullaby as his lips pressed against a sweet spot on your neck, before sucking a mark. “This is where you belong. With me.”

And though a flicker of doubt lingered in the farthest corner of your mind, it was drowned out by the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and the way his deep voice curled around your name, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

Because, deep down, you wanted to please him.

And Suguru knew it.

He knew it in the way your body yielded to him, how your soft whimpers filled the air as he slowly eased you onto his cock, every inch stretching you to fit him perfectly. It was as if he was made for you, stuffing you full, hitting that sweet spot with practiced ease as he would gently roll his hips upwards. His large hands guided your hips with steady precision, his strong build towering over you, making you feel so small yet so protected in his hold.

“So cute,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress as he drank in every gasp and tremble, his dark eyes tracing the way your body moved with him. “You’re perfect, puppy. My perfect little thing.”

His long fingers tightened their grip on your waist as your breath hitched at his praise, the words wrapping around your mind like a leash, pulling you deeper into his control. Bringing a hand over to smack the fat of your ass just to hear that sweet whimper. His lips found your neck again, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin, each touch leaving you trembling with a need you didn’t know you had.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice laced with a sweetness that only made the possessive edge beneath it more apparent. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips moved instinctively, rolling against his in a rhythm that he controlled with the firm grip of his large hands on your waist. His fingers, calloused yet careful, dug into your skin, grounding you against the steady friction that sent jolts of heat through your body. The low, satisfied hums rumbling from his broad chest mingled with your soft moans, which he eagerly muffled with his lips.

“You’re mine,” Suguru murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, more vulnerable. His dark eyes, half-lidded beneath long, inky lashes, bore into yours with an intensity that made your heart twist. His smooth, dark hair, damp with sweat, clung to his temples as he leaned closer, brushing stray strands from your cheek with an almost gentle reverence. “Do you understand that? You belong to me.”

The way he said it made your heart stutter, a flicker of something raw and uncertain threading through his tone. It was fleeting, quickly replaced by the intoxicating confidence that had always defined him, but it was there—a crack in the armor he never let anyone see.

“And if you ever leave me…” His lips, warm and impossibly soft, brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with quiet menace. “I’ll find you. No matter where you go, no matter who you run to, I’ll bring you back. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His hips rolled against yours, punctuating each word with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping. His broad shoulders shifted beneath your trembling hands, his muscles taut as though holding back the full force of his need. “But you wouldn’t leave me, would you, puppy?” he asked, his tone softening, almost tender, as his lips found yours again. His dark eyes searched your face, his long hair framing his sharp jawline as though daring you to deny him. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

You shook your head, your thoughts too scattered to form words. His kisses deepened, his tongue sweeping over yours as he swallowed every moan, every gasp, while his hips began to move with increasing fervor.

“Good,” he whispered, his lips curling into a wicked smile against your skin. His teeth grazed your collarbone briefly before returning to your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses that left you trembling. “Because I’d ruin anyone who tried to take you from me.”

The promise in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when his hands held you so tightly, his firm grip anchoring you as though you might slip away. Not when his voice dripped with honeyed praise, rich and deep like a melody meant only for you. Not when the way he moved against you left your mind spinning with nothing but him. Not when you were this close.

He kissed away every gasp, every whimper, his words sinking into you like a mantra you couldn’t escape. “And I’m yours. Always.” Those words came out with a whole list of rambles, as his pace quickened. The angle of his hips driving into you with full force and practiced care.

His hands never faltered, guiding your hips with deliberate care at first, his strong fingers curling around your waist as though he could mold you to him completely. He let you set the rhythm briefly, watching through half-lidded eyes as your movements made you shiver and sigh in his arms. But when your legs trembled with exhaustion, when your pace faltered, he took control entirely.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his broad chest. The heat radiating from him seeped into your skin, leaving you breathless as his voice dipped lower. “Be a good puppy and let me take care of you.”

And you did. You melted against him, your cheek pressing into the firm warmth of his shoulder as his hands moved your hips for you, his pace quickening until you were left clinging to him helplessly. The shift in control left you hazy, your thoughts scattering as his low hums rumbled through your body like a steady heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Suguru cooed softly, his voice dripping with praise as his hips snapped upward to meet yours. His dark lashes fluttered briefly, framing the heated look in his eyes as his lips brushed over your temple. “So perfect, so obedient… You’re such a good puppy for me, trusting me like this.”

You felt yourself unraveling under him, the steady rhythm of his movements and the way his hands held you firmly, securely, driving you closer to the edge. His lips ghosted over your neck, pressing soft kisses that left your skin tingling, his whispers weaving through your mind like a spell. You weren't sure who was the addicted one anymore at this rate, he was just so intoxicating. You didn't even care what you were agreeing to by being his.

“You’re fucking mine,” he repeated, his voice trembling with something raw, almost desperate. His dark eyes, half-lidded and glinting with intensity, burned into yours as his hips rolled faster, his breathing growing heavier with each movement. “No one else can have you. No one else can make you feel like this. Say it, puppy. Say you’re mine.”

The plea in his voice, the sheer force of his presence, left no room for hesitation. His long, dark hair clung to his damp temples, strands brushing against your flushed cheeks as you gasped, “I’m yours,” your voice trembling, your words barely more than a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone thick with satisfaction, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as his strong hands tightened their grip on your hips. His pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate, more insistent, as though he were imprinting himself into every part of you.

Your body tensed, trembling in his hold as heat overwhelmed you, his relentless movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cried out softly, clinging to his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his taut muscles as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

Suguru groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself deeper, his release following yours in a shuddering rush. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you against him as though afraid you might slip away, his strength grounding you even as your limbs went limp in his arms.

His head dropped to your shoulder, his long lashes brushing against your skin as his breaths came in heavy, uneven pants. The heat of him radiated against you, his broad chest rising and falling as he clung to you, his fingers now stroking your back in slow, almost reverent movements.

He pressed a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing a vow. “You’ll always be mine,” he whispered, his voice low, possessive, and tinged with a vulnerability that cracked through his usual confidence. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he feared the very idea of losing you.

And as you lay against him, too worn to think, too lost in the haze of his touch to resist, you felt the weight of his words settle over you like a chain you couldn’t break—and, in some part of you, didn’t want to.

It wasn’t like Suguru was a bad partner by any means. In fact, he was perfect. Almost too perfect.

He was like a man pulled straight out of a drama, always knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to make you melt under his touch. He made you feel good, even if the acts he coaxed you into were sometimes a little embarrassing, leaving you flushed and breathless in his arms.

“Good pup,” he’d murmur with a satisfied smirk as he filled you to the brim over and over, the praises rolling off his tongue like honey. He had a way of making you crave his approval, of making you feel special—his and his alone.

And after he consumed another curse, when the bitterness lingered in his mouth, he’d find you, need you. He’d kiss you deeply, claiming your taste as his salvation, before trailing his lips down your body, leaving you trembling beneath him.

When he reached the place where he craved you most, his tongue would glide between your thighs, his movements deliberate, calculated. His firm hands gripped your hips with a strength that kept you from squirming too much, though the way you trembled beneath him only fueled his need to have his tongue buried inside you. Suguru reveled in the way you gasped and moaned, your body arching into him, surrendering to his touch. He’d drink your juices as if they were the key to getting that awful taste out of his mouth, his tongue teasing and coaxing until you fell apart, only for him to push you further, again and again.

He especially savored the moments when you gushed on his tongue, your legs quivering, your hands clutching at his hair or the sheets. He’d slow down just to torment you, letting his tongue flick against your sensitive clit in slow, lazy kitten licks, watching as your body writhed, overwhelmed by the overstimulation. Tears would pool in your eyes, your vision blurry as you looked down at him, and Suguru would grin, knowing he had reduced you to this state.

But his favorite indulgence came after, when he pushed himself back inside you, filling you completely once more. When he was spent, he’d make sure nothing went to waste. Suguru would lean down, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap up the white sticky mess he left behind. The act was as much for him as it was for you, his gaze locking onto yours as he gathered the mixture of your arousal and his release. Then, with calculated slowness, he’d spit the warm substance onto your tongue, his voice a low growl as he commanded, “Swallow it, pup. Every drop.”

But Suguru wasn’t always this intense, this insatiable. He had a sweet side, one that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold night.

He’d hold your hand as you walked together, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt almost innocent. At night, he’d pull you into his chest, his arms a protective cage as his breaths evened out, soft and peaceful. His presence was comforting, grounding, even if you sometimes caught a glimpse of something darker lurking beneath.

Your parents adored him.

The first time they met Suguru, he was the picture of charm—polite, attentive, and disarmingly sweet. He brought your mother flowers, complimented her cooking with such genuine enthusiasm that she beamed for the rest of the night. He helped your father carry groceries without being asked, engaging him in an easy conversation that left your dad chuckling over some shared joke.

“He’s wonderful,” your mother whispered to you that evening, practically glowing. “The kind of man every parent dreams their child will marry.”

And for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe it.

After all, Suguru was wonderful. He made you feel seen, wanted, cherished. He kissed away your doubts, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But beneath his sweetness, there was something possessive, something all-consuming that clung to you like a shadow.

You tried not to think about it too much—the way his smile tightened when someone got too close to you, the way his hand on your waist sometimes felt like a claim. Because when he held you at night, his voice soft and full of love as he murmured how much you meant to him, it was easy to forget the weight of the chains you wore

[fairytoge]

sick and tired ; geto suguru

notes!!

missing my husband sm :( but!! with the end of jjk being about a week ago now, i thought i'd maybs begin writing again idk

also!! this is set in an au where geto doesn't defect bc i cannot be doing that rn 😭and it was written last minute so be kindddd plsplsplspls

but yesss!! i hope you enjoy it and sorry for the millionth time for not posting much lmao

m.list

"i hate this," geto mumbled from beneath the sheer amount of blankets you had piled on top of him. "i hate that you and satoru are still going on missions while i'm still... like this."

you were busying around geto's room, half listening to your boyfriend and half focusing on tidying up the uncared-for clothes and the piles of tissues that had begun to cascade around his bin. it had been just thirty minutes since you had entered the room, and he had continued to grumble and complain about being ill.

you understood! you truly, truly did! but after ten minutes and the unintelligible grievances from your boyfriend, along with the scratchiness of his throat, you were more sympathetic to his voice than to the fact he was forced to take a break from being a sorcerer.

"suguru." you sighed, your voice having a soft but noticeable edge to it. "i love you, so, so, so much..."

with those words, you settled the stack of clothes down on geto's desk and approached his bed. there, where he was lying under the mountain of pillows, blankets, and practically anything else that had some sort of comfort value, he gazed up at you — not unappreciative of the affection but knowing that you were about to say something else.

"... but please, please just accept that you're not gonna go on missions until you're better again. being sad and holding a grudge against your own body is a tad ridiculous, honey."

the room was silent for a long moment: geto clearly trying to find a way to respond to you as his mouth opened and closed a couple of times. it was, after another pause, that he finally shut his mouth, sharply squinting at you. "you're so lucky you're you, and not satoru."

raising an eyebrow, you squatted down to geto's bedside, humming in partial agreement. kissing your boyfriend's forehead, you smirked slightly. "sometimes i think you'd prefer me to be satoru."

little to say, the pillows you had previously piled on suguru quickly weighed down on you instead.

© fairytogeㅤ ꔫㅤ please do not copy, repost, translate, etc without my permission

[metamercury]

The curse has been lifted

So anyways i'm banned from my tablet until i finish my grant proposal and have 5 participants booked

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

What are your headcanons about Gordon?

I believe i've shared most of them before, but eh whatever I wanna talk about him more

-Physically mute, and was born with a vocal cord defect that makes him unable to vocalize whatsoever. because of this, when he first started working at Black Mesa, he actually had small cards to hand out to anyone that asked about it, basically stating his disability and to be patient with him.

-Fluent in ASL and also writes very quickly for people who don't understand it. This means his handwriting is a bit sloppy

-He wasn't taken that seriously when he started working at Black Mesa, and even after a couple years of working there he was still stuck with intern work. whether it's because others see him as too young or not fit for the job doesn't matter, but occasionally it feels like Gordon is being pushed to quit by some of his co-workers.

-That being said, he is still good friends with people like Kleiner (who was the only familiar face when he first started working there), and Barney, who he befriended later. He only really communicates with them, and keeps to himself in unfamiliar groups unless necessary.

-He is autistic and you can not tell me otherwise. He masks this a lot though, cause he feels like he would be taken even less seriously if he didn't.

-He shaved his goatee once during his job at Black Mesa and most of his co-workers didn't recognize him without his ID card. Barney told him to grow it out again cause he looked weird.

-I feel like during the Resonance Cascade, he took a bunch of supplies from dead soldiers and other things. Things like gun straps and holsters to hold all the weapons he got, and even put on sound-dampening headphones to prevent too much hearing damage. just put all of it on top of the HEV suit.

-He is not a social dude. he's the guy that holds a red solo cup in the corner of the room during a party and doesn't interact with anyone. He's very unassuming, just an every-day guy, being why it was surprising that HE of all people was going through the Resonance Cascade without dying.

-Dissociates in stressful situations, just so he doesn't break down in the middle of a life-or-death battle. He barely remembers certain chunks of the Black Mesa incident. He feels extremely guilty over his actions, and hates when he is seen as a hero for it all. He's not a hero, he was just a cornered animal who bit to survive.

[whynotshaveme]

The Treatment

By whynotshaveme

Margaret stared at the imposing stone Victorian structure before her, her long red cascading down her back. The St. Dymphna Asylum promised "old-fashioned treatment for female lunatics", and she was about to enter there willingly. She had been warned about the staff, all older, cruel women who took pleasure in their work, but that only fueled her desire to enter their care. Margaret was here to submit.

The heavy iron gates closed behind her with a loud, echoing clang. Inside, the asylum was as grim as she had imagined with its dimly lit hallways and the faint scent of antiseptic in the air. She was greeted by a stern matron named Nurse Agnes, her gray hair tied in a tight bun, eyes cold and unfeeling.

"I see that you're here for the two month treatment plan," said the nurse coldly.

Margaret nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Nurse Agnes slapped her. "I wasn't asking you. I was telling you." Then she looked at Margaret's hair. “Shame about that pretty hair. Follow me. We'll take care of it."

Without another word, Nurse Agnes lead her down a hallway until they reached a small, windowless room with a single metal chair bolted to the floor.

“Strip,” she commanded.

Margaret’s hands shook as she removed her clothes. She soon stood naked, except for her hair. Nurse Agnes pulled out a pair of clippers, and motioned for her to sit in the chair. She did as she was told, her breath quickening as she felt the cold metal press against her bare skin.

Nurse Agnes said, gripping a fistful of Margaret’s hair. “No turning back now.”

The clippers buzzed to life. Margaret teared up as they began their work. She kept silent though. This was what she wanted—no, needed. The clippers did not stop until her scalp was stubble. Her eyebrows were next, the thin lines disappearing under the merciless blades. But they weren’t finished. Two other older nurses entered the room, equally cold and severe, one of them holding a straight razor and a bowl of water. They lathered up Marget's scalp and eyebrows and shaved her smooth.

Then Nurse Agnes ordered Margaret to stand with her legs spread wide. She stood up, trembling as they lathered her privates and began shaving her bare, removing the last traces of her womanhood. The humiliation was thorough.

When they were done, Nurse Agnes inspected Margaret's body, nodding approvingly. “You're now ready to begin treatment,” she said, smacking her bald head.

For the next two months, Margaret was subjected to a brutal regimen of treatments. Each morning began with an ice bath that sent shockwaves through her body. They would keep her there until her mind went blank from the shock.

Afterward came the "treatment" for hysteria, vibrator sessions meant to "calm her". Nurse Agnes and her team would strap her down on a table, spread her legs, and insert the vibrating machine inside her. They laughed as they watched her writhe.

In the seventh week, the final phase of her treatment was revealed.

Nurse Agnes approached Margaret one morning. “It’s time to make sure you don’t breed. Can’t have lunatics like you spreading your defects.”

Margaret’s stomach churned. She knew what this meant. Sterilization. Still, she allowed the nurses to bring her to the operating theater and strap her to the table. She stared at the cold, flickering light above her as the doctor, the first man that she's seen in weeks, cut into her. She would never bear children. That choice was taken from her as one final humiliation.

When the final day of her stay arrived, Margaret was shaved from head to toe one last time by the nurses. They called it her "goodbye present". Then they escorted her to the gates.

“Any return visitors are automatic candidates for lobotomization,” said Nurse Agnes, her tone implying that she'd expected to see Margaret again.

Margaret didn’t reply. Instead, she sat down on the bench in front of the asylum. As she waited for her cab, a mere shell of her former self, she thought how wonderful the sun felt on her skin. It was the only thought in her head.

[cardiacreports2]

A heart attack in a seemingly fit male begins with a disruption of blood flow to the heart muscle. This occurs when a coronary artery becomes blocked, often due to a rupture in a plaque deposit. Despite their fitness, lifestyle factors (e.g., caffeine, stress, or undiagnosed heart conditions) or genetic predispositions can exacerbate this risk.

As the blockage forms, the heart muscle is deprived of oxygen. The muscle cells begin to die within minutes, releasing chemical signals that trigger chest pain, tightness, or discomfort. The heart struggles to pump effectively, causing a cascade of systemic effects:

Electrical Instability: The lack of oxygen can cause the heart’s electrical system to malfunction, leading to arrhythmias like ventricular fibrillation.

Cardiac Arrest: If the arrhythmia becomes severe, the heart may stop pumping entirely, leading to a sudden loss of consciousness.

Systemic Collapse: Blood stops circulating, cutting off oxygen to the brain and other vital organs. Death can occur within minutes without immediate intervention.

10 Male Profiles

Ryan Harrington

Incident: Heart attack after an intense practice.

CPR: Attempted by a teammate.

Outcome: Died.

Details: Known for his competitive edge and love of the ocean. He had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.

Elliot Myers

Incident: Cardiac arrest while gaming at home.

CPR: Not attempted; found too late.

Outcome: Died.

Details: Introverted and brilliant with technology, Elliot’s sedentary lifestyle masked his susceptibility to heart issues.

Derek Vargas

Incident: Cardiac arrest during a 100-meter sprint.

CPR: Administered immediately by his coach.

Outcome: Survived.

Details: Passionate about track and field and well-liked by peers, Derek had a rare electrical disorder in his heart.

Jason Bell

Incident: Heart attack during a rescue operation.

CPR: Given by colleagues.

Outcome: Survived.

Details: A natural leader and adrenaline junkie, Jason’s heart attack was triggered by physical exertion and chronic stress.

Marcus Lee

Incident: Cardiac arrest at a music festival.

CPR: Performed by a bystander.

Outcome: Died.

Details: An outgoing guy who loved concerts and DJing, Marcus had an undiagnosed condition causing arrhythmias.

Tyler Grant

Incident: Heart attack while hiking alone.

CPR: Not possible.

Outcome: Died.

Details: Passionate about food and nature, Tyler had a genetic predisposition to high cholesterol.

Nathan Cruz

CPR: Attempted by paramedics.

Outcome: Survived.

Details: Dedicated to his health, Nathan’s condition was triggered by a rare electrolyte imbalance.

Zachary Moore

Incident: Heart attack after consuming energy drinks and staying up for 36 hours.

CPR: Performed by a roommate.

Outcome: Died.

Details: A fun-loving, sarcastic guy, Zach underestimated the toll of his extreme gaming lifestyle.

Alex Coble

CPR: Not attempted; found the next morning.

Outcome: Died.

Details: A quiet creative with a passion for surrealism, Alex’s cardiac arrest was due to an undiagnosed arrhythmia.

Brandon Carter

Incident: Heart attack

CPR: Administered by gym staff.

Outcome: Survived.

Details: A hardworking and humble guy, Brandon lived for his job and his family. His heart attack was caused by an underlying valve issue.

[introvertllux]

Chrono Heart (Future Trunks X Black!OC)

*I DO NOT OWN/CLAIM TO OWN ANYTHING IN RELATION TO DBZ. I ONLY CLAIM THE ORIGINAL STORY IDEA AND BLACK!OC IN THIS STORY!*

Chapter 1: The Relic and the Reawakening

The remnants of Dr. Gero’s lab were a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered dreams, a monument to the hubris of a man who played god with circuits and steel. Hidden beneath this forsaken ruin, a capsule hissed open, and from its depths, a figure emerged—Axa. With skin like polished ebony, eyes that shimmered with the golden light of a thousand captured stars, and hair that cascaded down in an untamed torrent, she was a sight to behold—beauty crafted by ambition, innocence shaped by design.

:readmore:

She stood, hesitantly, in the dim light of her metallic tomb, a stark contrast to the vividness of her form. Her limbs moved with an elegance that was almost haunting, yet her expression held the innocence of a child looking out upon the world for the first time.

Unbidden, Axa's body propelled her through the labyrinth of the city, every calculation in her head leading her to an encounter she did not understand. It was as if an invisible hand guided her to a serene park, where the familiar silhouette of Android 18 stood, lost in the simplicity of feeding ducks at the pond—a moment of peace in a life so often marked by conflict.

Axa’s presence cast a shadow over the tranquility, and 18 turned, her eyes widening in shock and recognition. "Axa? Is it really you?" she gasped, the breadcrumbs slipping from her fingers.

Their reunion was explosive—a symphony of fists and flashes of shared history. As they sparred, 18, amidst parries and takedowns, called out to the essence of the girl she once knew.

"Remember when we sparred with 16 in the orchard, the cherry blossoms falling around us like snow?" she grunted, dodging a swift punch. "Or the time we snuck into the city, 17 dared us to ride the rollercoaster and you laughed until you cried?"

Each word struck Axa deeper than any physical blow could, unlocking the sealed doors of her memory. "And that night, the four of us lay in the grass, making shapes out of stars, dreaming of freedom," 18 continued, her voice laced with nostalgia, even as she blocked a kick. "But then you were gone. Gero said you were defective, but you were just... you were just Axa. You were just a little girl, and I... we, I should have done something."

Tears spilled from Axa's eyes, liquid diamonds trailing down her face, an alien sensation that stopped her cold. Her hands came up to her face, fingers trembling as she touched the moisture with wonder. "What... what is this?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"It's crying, Axa," 18 replied with a bittersweet chuckle, the fight draining from her. "It happens when you're sad... or happy... or even when you laugh so hard, you can't stop. It means you're alive."

Axa's golden gaze, now dulled by confusion and sorrow, met 18's. "I don't... I don't understand," she said, a lost child wrapped in the shell of a machine.

"I know," 18 said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her. "I forgot to search for you when I found my own life. But now I’m here, and I'll help you. Let me show you the life I've built. You’ll fit right in. Krillin, my husband, Marron, our daughter—they'll love you."

The promise of a family warmed something inside Axa, a spark of belonging that she didn't know she needed.

_____________________________________________________________

The scene shifted to the familial home, where the spark was met with a torrent of fear and misunderstanding.

The home that once held warmth and laughter was now a battlefield of words and emotions. The cozy living room, with its family photos and children's drawings, became the arena. Krillin's face was flushed with a mix of protective fear and incandescent rage. "18, how in the world could you think this was okay? Bringing her into our home without even a word to me?" His voice shook the very foundations of their sanctuary, a volume reserved for life-and-death battles, not familial disputes.

"You're not getting it, Krillin!" 18 shot back, her own voice a force to be reckoned with. "You think I can't see danger? I know danger. I've been danger. But she—" 18 jabbed a finger towards Axa, "—is just lost. We owe her this!"

Marron, with the blissful ignorance of childhood, had wandered over to Axa, offering a small stuffed dinosaur with a smile. "Do you wanna play with Mr. Dino?" she had asked, her voice a sing-song note in the dissonant symphony of the adults' conflict.

Krillin's eyes darted from Marron to Axa, and with a speed that betrayed his martial prowess, he scooped Marron into his arms. "Marron, sweetie, why don't you go play in your room, okay?" His words were gentle with his daughter, but when his gaze swung back to Axa, they were steel blades. "Stay away from her," he snapped at Axa. "We don't know you, what you're capable of—what if you're programmed to…to…"

His words trailed off, but the accusation hung heavily in the air, an invisible smog choking the room. Axa, who stood like a statue wrought from onyx, felt each word strike her. Her hands, which moments ago had explored the texture of the child's toy, now hung limply at her sides. The shine in her golden eyes dulled, a gloss of pain over the brightness.

"Krillin," 18's voice cracked like a whip, her anger transforming into something fierce and protective. "Listen to yourself! She’s not a threat! How can you judge her like this?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. Axa's soft, disbelieving sobs were the only sound, a heartbreaking melody that seemed to wrap around the room. She blinked rapidly, her human-like innocence clashing with her android perfection as she attempted to process the whirlwind of rejection and anger.

"I… I don't want to be a problem," Axa stammered out, her voice a mere whisper but slicing through the tension. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I'm sorry."

Krillin, his face softening for a moment at Axa's words, struggled with the turmoil inside him. His duty to protect his family warring with the empathy he had learned from his wife. "18, I…," he started, but the words tangled, a mess of emotion and duty.

"No," 18 interrupted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of frustration. "No, Krillin. She's not just some android. She's Axa. Remember that. She's not the past; she’s someone who needs us now."

In the quiet that followed, the trio stood, the balance of their world shifted, as they each considered the weight of what it meant to be family, to be human, or something akin to it. Axa, still caught in the eye of the storm, dared to hope for a harbor in this tempest—a place where she could anchor her heart.

The turmoil in the room reached a crescendo, a tidal wave of emotion that crashed over Axa with overwhelming force. As Krillin and Android 18's argument continued, Axa's mind began to fracture under the strain. She clutched at her temples, her golden eyes flickering erratically as memories—long suppressed—surged to the surface.

She was small again, diminutive and human, watching through the bars of a crib as giants in white coats and stern faces argued loudly above her. The cacophony of their voices was terrifying, a discordant symphony that crescendoed into an unbearable din. Words like "potential" and "failure" were thrown back and forth, volleying over her head like some high-stakes game she could not comprehend.

Her breath hitched, a robotic mimicry of a panic attack, and her body began to seize up. Her limbs locked in place, and the glow in her eyes sputtered like a dying star. "System… overload…" she managed to gasp out before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, her form going limp and unresponsive on the floor.

"18, we need to do something!" Krillin's voice was now tinged with fear for Axa, the protective instinct he felt for all living beings—especially those under his roof—kicking in.

18 knelt beside Axa, her fingers hovering over the android's inert body. Her heart, though not flesh and blood, ached with a mix of fear and protectiveness. "Dammit," she cursed softly, her usual composure fraying at the edges.

Krillin ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting from his wife to the still figure on the floor. "Maybe… we should take her to see Bulma. She's dealt with… this kind of thing before."

Android 18's eyes narrowed at the suggestion. "Bulma has a good heart, but she's got that scientist's curiosity. She'll want to dissect every part of Axa's programming," she said, her voice a growl of resistance. "And Vegeta…" she trailed off, a scowl creasing her features at the thought of the Saiyan prince's unpredictable nature.

Krillin nodded slowly, understanding his wife's concerns. "We don't have to tell everyone, just Bulma. She'll know what to do," he insisted, his tone imploring. "Vegeta won't lay a finger on her—I'll deal with him if I have to."

The two locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a gamble, but Axa needed help that they couldn't give. With a heavy heart, 18 agreed. "Fine. But we're not leaving her side. Not for a second."

Carefully, they gathered Axa's motionless form, her weight a testament to the gravity of their situation. Together, they stepped into the cool evening air, the weight of Axa's fate a heavy shroud upon their shoulders as they made their way to Capsule Corporation, and into the uncertain future that awaited them.

______________________________________________________________

More on Axa (Pronounced: Axe-e-ah or Ahh-x-ah)

*Apologies for inconsistent art styles. I utilized Art breeder. Unfortunately I don't see many resources to help create black!Ocs in consistent styles and diverse poses out there. If you know of any please let me know! As you continue reading the story imagine her in the DBZ art style. Thank you!*

____________________________________________________________

Taglist!

@thejadetrios @shytothemaxx @variousfandom @konekomews @physicallyherementallysomewhere @ikittybakugou345 @jasxnoamii @enderempresss16 @elliethewitch @carzychameleon @feitanii @hollownight @dragonloverdrawer @moonlight445sblog @yelan-butterpeatea @ringsofpersonti @weeb-boy261 @jkr820 @somehowexist @scrumptiouss007 @emajohn40 @justicetheghost @thirstyhoebutbetteryehsjsg @rasaberrygray @etherialblackrose @random-insomnia15 @deviousmunchkin @galaxys-stuff @bluehibiscusgarden @kunoichis-world @x-bakudeku-x @spectoralstrudel @i-wanna-fuck-monsters @interobanginyourmom @twdhtgawm @kkeidawrites

[myreia]

Seeing Red

Rating: Teen Pairings: Wolmeric Characters: Aymeric, Aureia (WoL) Word Count: 2,469 Summary: As battle rages across Ala Mhigo, Aymeric faces a new enemy with his lover’s weapon in hand. Prompt: iii. swap jobs Notes: Set during the 4.0 finale. Spoilers for Stormblood. Read on AO3

Blood pounds in his ears, breath in his lungs.

As the battle rages around him, the thrill of the fight rises within, yearning to be released. He grits his teeth and shoves it down, hefting Naegling in both hands. For the first time in centuries or more, the blue blade is stained with human, not dragon, blood. Rivulets cascade down the edge, pooling in the small grooves and ruts of the greatsword’s filigree only to drip drip drip down to the polished floor below.

He blinks, flinching back as light flares in his eyes and his ears split with a thunderous roar. What would the Borel ancestors think of him, turning their hereditary blade upon mankind? The siege has been ugly—streets in shambles, homes ruined, the city streets running red with the blood of Eorzeans and Garleans alike. Here in the vanguard, it is impossible to tell Highlander rebels from Garlean supporters, and even harder to distinguish those who have chosen this moment to defect from those who remain loyal. Despite their every effort, innocents have died today, and he may have taken some of those lives himself.

It is the bloody cost of war.

He shakes his head, ears deafened to the chaos and ringing to their own tune. The Garlean forces are pressing back against the unleashed Alliance soldiers with everything they have. They’re desperate now, losing ground with every passing bell, and their backs are against the wall.

It is something he once learned fighting Dravanians in his youth. There is nothing more dangerous than a wounded enemy on their own territory.

“Aymeric!”  

The voice calls his name, distorted and distant as if yelling through water. 

“AYMERIC!”

He turns, Naegling a dead weight in his hands, blinking in confusion. A shadow rises before him, metal helmet glinting in the too bright sun, a razor-sharp length of serrated teeth growing from his body as if it were a second arm. It descends, jaws reaching for his throat—

Something hooks into his aether, its overwhelming presence sending an electric pulse running down his spine. A whirl of dark hair and blue leather bursts out of nowhere and hits the monstrosity in the chest. She bounces off the heavy armour and backflips in the air, landing neatly on her feet with the grace of a trained dragoon. Her weapon whirs, cackling with lightning as aether surges through its tip, then all the force of a black mage’s spell surges out, overloading the soldier’s grafted circuitry and paralyzing the arm.

Then she lunges forward and stabs it through the gap in the soldier’s helmet.

With a coarse yell, she wrenches it free, blood spraying from her weapon, and her enemy falls dead to the ground.  

“Aymeric!” Aureia shouts, spinning back around. She flies to his side, hand gripping his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Are you all right?”

He pauses, lost for words, too stunned at how quickly events have unfolded. How long has he been standing here dazed, his thoughts somehow quickened but his mind slowed? It’s not like him to freeze in battle. If she hadn’t come…

“Why are you here?” He sweeps the area, searching above and below for her team. Already he can feel the pull of her aether diminishing as it releases him, retreating back to where it belongs. He has never been used as a black mage’s target before and the sensation is quite odd. “Where did you come from? I thought—”

“I was higher up when I saw you were in trouble.”

“But your strike team—”

“Lyse and Raubahn can handle themselves.”

She retracts her staff and steps towards him, raising her chin to meet his eyes.

In the heat of battle, she is somehow both more herself and less. Her dark hair is pulled back in a high bun, sharpening the angles of her face. Smoke and ash cling to her cheeks, smudged across her cheekbones. Beneath the grey veneer, her skin is painfully pale and the pallor only serves to make the bruise blooming across her jaw and the angry red scratch on her temple all the more stark. Still, she thrums with energy, every move calculated and intentional. This is someone who lives and breathes combat, someone who revels in the thrill of the fight, someone so intensely trained she is four steps ahead of her enemies.

Gone is any hint of her warmth and humour, excised from her soul with the precision of a surgeon’s knife. In its place is a stern and arrogant solider, confident that every action she has taken since the siege began has gone exactly the way she wanted it to. There is no room for error because she is not someone who makes errors.

He has fought beside her before, but never like this. In this moment—when the Garlean Empire looms large, when they are facing her enemies, not his—it’s as if he is seeing her for the first time.

“They’re going to send more hypertuned bastards out,” Aureia continues, glancing across the plaza. The vast doors at the end swing wide, feeding into the giant maw of the boulevard beyond. “Their last line of defense. Have your mages and machinists hit them with thunder and lightning, anything to cause a spark. Kill the machine and you kill the man—”

“Aureia…” He steps in front of her, closing the distance between them. “Never mind the hypertuned. What of you?”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She’s lying. He can see it in the speed of her reply, the sharpness of her tongue. “Because the longer this battle rages, the more at risk you are. It may not be possible to take the whole of Ala Mhigo in a day and you know this. You cannot fight forever, no matter how much you wish to—”

“The hypertuned. Please. Focus on that, not on me—”

“Halone above, would you listen for once?” He grips her by the shoulder and pulls her close. “The thrill of battle is a dangerous thing. Do not allow it to rule your head or your heart.”

Her eyes darken. “It’s not a thrill, it’s finality. I’m doing what needs to be done to end this once and for all. Besides, I thought the Alliance leaders wanted this finished quickly. A longer siege means more casualties on both sides, doesn’t it?”

“Aureia—”

“Do you want me to take Zenos or not?”

An explosion rips across the plaza.

Aymeric turns just in time to see her vanish in a pillar of light and smoke. He tumbles back, Naegling ripped from his grip by the blast, and falls to his knees. Coughing, he presses a hand over his mouth and nose, watching in horror as stone from the walkways above crash to the ground, shattering the tiles on impact. Clouds balloon outwards from the debris, engulfing the plaza in a dust storm. He squints—eyes streaming from the grime and grit, cheek stinging from a fresh cut—and watches in horror as lights pierce the clouds, flashing like lightning.

The sound of the dying echoes through the plaza. Alliance soldiers falls, their bodies hitting the ground one by one as his troops are engulfed by a barrage of artillery.

“Aureia!” he shouts, turning about as he peers through the clouds of dust. “Aureia!”

There is no sign of her. Only her staff remains, abandoned on the ground.

Shaking off the blast, he scoops up the staff and ducks behind the fallen rubble. Where has she gone? Knowing her, she isn’t so easily caught off guard. She likely pulled herself out of the way at the last second…

Aymeric grits his teeth, mind whirling as he weighs his options. He can himself a moment of reprieve, but he cannot hide nor can he retreat. With Naegling gone, Aureia’s staff is the only weapon he has to continue the fight. But what can he do with it? He is no mage. He can channel no aether, lightning or otherwise—at least not the way she can. 

He turns it over in his hands. The metal shaft is cool to the touch, blue and gold lines running up and down the sides in an intricate design. An Ironworks creation forged from Allagan schematics, crafted by Cid Garlond himself to Aureia’s specifications. She requested a weapon more substantial than the typical black mage affair, something that could act as both a staff and a lance depending on her needs.

Something heavy slams into the ground behind him.

Both a staff and a lance…

The earth shakes, more debris falling from the shattered walkway above.

It has been years, but he recalls the basic training. He is lord commander of the Temple Knights, after all.

Turning the weapon in his hands, Aymeric pushes himself to his feet and dives around the fallen rubble.

A horrifying combination of magitek and living flesh crouches in the centre of the plaza, clouds of smoke and dust roiling at its feet. Heavy plates cover its body, linked together like the scales of dragon. The dulled metal is spattered with blood and gore, the remains of several soldiers—Alliance and Garlean alike—crushed beneath its weight. It swings around when it hears him, drawn to him like iron to a lodestone, and snaps its muzzle like a feral dog.

Its eyes burn red.

He falls into a defensive stance and raises Aureia’s staff before him, thumbing the switch on the side. The extension unfurls with a click and makes the transition, revealing the sharp edge of a blade.   

The beast growls and lunges, heading straight for him.

He inhales a sharp breath and stares the stampeding creature down. Whatever man or beast it was before mad Garlean engineers turned it into this, it must have weaknesses. And while he may not have lightning to aid him, he will stand his ground.

A giant claw swipes at him. Aymeric dances back, narrowly dodging out of the way, and ducks beneath its arm. With a single, sharp blow, he rams the tip of Aureia’s lance upwards and between the plates. A deafening screech pierces his ears as metal scrapes against metal, and he feels something snap. Steam and sparks flood the fissure, leaking out between the plates. The beast howls in pain and he pulls the weapon free, dropping low as it leaps away. It hits the wall above him and scuttles across the shattered windows, vanishing into a cloud of dust and smoke.

He spins around, eager to keep moving, certain that it cannot have gone far.

Red eyes swim into view, gleaming through the clouds.

It pounces.

Pain spirals up his side as its claws shred his chainmail, slicing deep. He rolls out of the way, thrusting the lance through another gap in the plates. Machinery whirrs and stutters as it fails, and another gush of steam billows out of the gap. He grins, laughing to himself as he skips backwards and ducks a blow from its tail. If he can keep this up for a few more passes, then…  

The smoke clears. A claw descends.

A flash of blue, a clash of metal on metal.

He staggers back, fingers tight around Aureia’s lance as she appears in front of him, catching the beast’s blow with the bulk of his greatsword. Dark hair flies wildly about her face, torn from its bun, and her cheek is bleeding from a fresh cut. She grits her teeth and snarls, gripping Naegling as she strains to push back the scrabbling claws.

“Aymeric!” she shouts. A purple glow forms between her fingers, crackling with energy. “The heart—now!” 

He nods.

Diving ahead, he ducks beneath the beast’s failing arms and sidesteps the sweep of its tail, lunging beneath its bulk. Here, the plates continue beneath its massive torso, protecting the machinery that keeps it alive. Unlike the armour on its arms, most of the plates here overlap each other, creating an impenetrable shield. But there is one small gap, right above its sternum. Right where the heart should be.

A chink in the armour.

A ball of lightning-aspected aether zips by him and hits the lance, rushing down the length of the weapon.

He rams the lance upward and into the creature’s heart.

Energy bursts through its system, destroying it from the inside. He wrenches the lance free and dives out of the way as the beast collapses. It crashes into the ground, its limbs jerking and shaking, until finally it moves no more.

Silence engulfs the plaza, broken only by the distant sounds of fighting. In this section of the city, the siege is over.

Aymeric lowers her lance and wipes sweat and blood from his face, squinting in the dull sunlight as he searches the plaza for her. Aureia emerges from a cloud of dust, scrambling over rubble and dragging Naegling along behind her. The greatsword is nearly as tall as she is.

Heart pounding in his chest, he leaps over a crushed half-wall and sweeps her into his arms, crushing his mouth to hers. She drops Naegling and links her hands behind his neck, pulling him down. She kisses him back again and again, his name a soft murmur against his lips. Tears prickle in his eyes, smudging the ash and dust clinging to his cheeks, and he cradles her against him, holding her as if he will never let go. 

For a moment, the battle is forgotten.

For a moment, nothing else matters.

“Aymeric,” Aureia murmurs. She presses a hand to his cheek and rests her forehead against his. “I need to go.”

He kisses her again. “I know.”

“I need to face Zenos.”

One more kiss. “I know.”

She draws back, disentangling herself from his grasp, and takes her weapon from him. “I am going to the throne room,” she says, snapping it back into its staff form. Her eyes glint red. “I am going to kill him and I am going to take his head.”

Cold, cool, matter-of-fact. Not all vengeance burns with fire and brimstone.

“Aureia,” he says quietly. “It does not need to come to that. Please reconsider—”

“Goodbye, Aymeric. I’ll see you when this is over.”

Without waiting for another word, she adjusts her grip on her weapon and darts across the plaza, vanishing into the roiling dust. He watches her go, his heart aching with every beat, somehow more uncertain now than he was before this siege began. She saved his life twice this day, and yet he cannot save her in return. This is a path she is determined to go down, no matter the cost.

Exhausted and spent, he stoops and collects Naegling from where she discarded it on the ground and sets about finding the nearest Alliance officer.   

There is work to do. 

[iamnmbr3]

i love your taste in hp fics. what have you been reading lately?

why thank you! :) here you go!

Heart of Emeralds by Phantomato (words: 10,200 | rating: T | Regulus Black/Tom Riddle | Major Character Death)

The locket horcrux has his own agenda: reunite the soul, rejoin the main body. When Regulus’ defection gives him an opportunity to set this in motion, he finds himself relying on Regulus’ questionable loyalty.

The customer is always right by Metalomagnetic (words: 7,200 | gen | unrated)

In the summer of 1945, Caractacus Burke hires a new assistant to help with the shop. His son doesn't know what to make of Tom Riddle, the young charismatic man that doesn't seem to mind working hard for just a handful of coins.

Inhuman Resources by Asenora (words: 4,210 | rating: G | gen)

Speaking from the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, Sirius Black will assure his godson that Dolores Umbridge is definitely not a Death Eater. How does he know? Well, he's seen the paper trail...

of all my demon spirits by basketofnovas (slashmarks) (words: 1,730 | rating: T | Gen)

After the end of term, Ginny gets a new diary and struggles with the events of her first year.

The Shack at the End of the Lane by Asenora (words: 4,156 | rating: G | gen)

It was an unconventional choice, on the part of the universe, to make Tom Riddle's victims meet his mother the moment they arrived in the afterlife.

Gilderoy Lockhart: Dabbling with Dark Lords by Math_and_Lunacy (words: 1,826 | unrated | gen)

He didn’t know who this Harry Potter person was, but surely Potter wasn’t half as brave and heroic as Gilderoy. Where, after all, were the series of books detailing Harry Potter’s adventures? Where were Potter’s fans?

Amulette d'amour by The_Carnivorous_Muffin, Vinelle (words: 97,035 | Tom Riddle/Alphard Black | unrated)

Tom is commissioned to repair a magical amulet.

Escape by SofiaDragon (words: 50,231 | rating: M | Gen)

Harry Potter reacts much differently to the Dementor attack on his cousin and it causes a cascade of changes in the lives of everyone he knows. He runs away to France to escape the English Ministry's bias and gets a solicitor (lawyer) to deal with his legal issues. Part one of a book 5 and on re-write that can be read stand-alone. Featuring: Snape's POV. People making decisions for Harry without talking to him about it first. The Horcrux in his head influencing Harry's mind. Professional psychologists/mind healers doing good work. Snape using cannibus. He would not go back to Privet Drive without bringing the law. He’d lose his temper and end up in Azkaban. Even with aurors at his back, he was likely to hex dear old Tuney into next week if he had to interact with her again. The fines would be worth it.

[bpod-bpod]

Stressed Start

The force of running water shapes mountains and valleys over time, and it appears similar pressures sculpt your heart. Researchers investigating how valves form in the heart focussed on a signalling pathway called Notch, known to be key to how the heart chamber lining reforms during valve formation. They observed patterns of Notch expression (activity) (green in the mouse embryo heart section pictured) in heart lining cells (red), and found it unevenly distributed, concentrated where valves would ultimately form. They found that shear stress – the mechanical force of blood flowing – was sufficient to trigger a cascade of signals that activate the Notch pathway (and hence guide valve formation) even in the absence of other chemical signals. Understanding how mechanical signalling and the force of flowing blood write the blueprint for a healthy heart could help explain, or even prevent, congenital heart defects that often arise in these early moments of development.

Written by Anthony Lewis

Still from video from work by Yunfei Mu and Shijia Hu, and colleagues

Key Laboratory of Growth Regulation and Translational Research of Zhejiang Province, School of Life Sciences, Westlake University, Hangzhou, China

Video originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)

Published in eLife, February 2025

You can also follow BPoD on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Bluesky

[violetsaffron5]

In Another Life (5)

Chapter 4 • series masterlist

5 | This Life

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader and Geto x f!Reader

Satoru comes home and a decision is made

Words: 2.3k

cw: descriptions of panic attack/anxiety

AN: Thank you to everyone who has liked and reblogged this little series, the love means so much, and is really appreciated!

AN2.0: The ending was actually voted on by my twitter followers. Every once in a while I'll post an obscure poll asking something incredibly vague. In this case, I asked people to vote on 1 or 2, and then did a wheel picker to choose if Gojo or Geto was the one who won. So the choice was randomly selected because I couldn't choose.

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Suguru is the boy who said he loved you in high school. You’re the girl who kissed him and said you love him too.

He’s the boy who defected, killed a village full of people, and you’re the girl who ran to his shattered best friend seeking comfort.

He’s the man who betrayed everything he stood for, you’re the woman who betrayed her betrothed.

Those thoughts stay with you as you enter your penthouse apartment, walk to your room, and stare blankly at your bed. A place that holds so many happy memories from the past several years.

Your mind races with memories of all of the intimate moments you’ve shared with one another in this spot. The times you’ve made love, the times of jealousy or anger - no matter what it’s been, the two of you have always been brought back to one another.

Waking up each day next to Satoru, the soft morning kisses he would place on your lips, running his nose up and down the length of yours until you woke up. 

Building a little fort with your sheets to hide from the golden rays of the early morning sun, giggling about something silly he said, or swapping stories about your students and how proud you are of them.

There are so many things over the past several weeks that could have been handled differently since you received the letter. You could have chosen to ignore it, stay in your blissful life with your fiancé, and have a wonderful wedding ceremony, and life together.

But you didn’t, and now you have to face the consequences of your actions.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your eyes away from the bed and walk into the large bathroom, turning on the shower. There’s an overwhelming desire to wash away the events of what happened tonight.

What you saw.

What you didn’t stop.

The water is warm, cascading down your back as you lean your head against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Other thoughts plague your mind as well; how you’ve missed Suguru more than you’ve let yourself admit these past several years. How your heart fluttered when you went to visit him in his temple.

How he killed an innocent man tonight without a second thought.

Thoughts of how even then, you’re not afraid of Suguru like you should be. How your heart still yearns to be by his side even after tonight.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds - that’s what you’re told at least. But this is more than that.

It’s a hurt in the deepest parts of your soul that doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to go away. No matter how much time you’ve given it. No matter the new love you’ve found.

It’s clear the universe isn’t planning to give you more time to make your decision and sort out your feelings as you sense Satoru walking into your apartment after having been gone for so long.

Of course, he would come home tonight of all nights. When you need to be alone. To think.

You know the reason why he chose to come back tonight. There’s no way he doesn’t know, no way Tokyo Tech wasn’t dispatched to the scene to investigate. Your residuals would have been present, and you’ll have a myriad of questions to answer.

You’ll easily lose your job, the life you have.

Panic begins to set in again and you gasp for air, running your hands over your face and turning the water colder to help try and mitigate the anxiety coursing through your veins.

Before you’ve realized he’s undressed and joined you in the shower, you feel Satoru gently wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, pulling himself close to you.

You sniffle, taking deep shaky breaths before you’re able to speak, “Satoru, I-”

“Shhh,” He hums quietly next to your ear before pressing kisses to your shoulder, neck, and back.

Satoru turns you around, pressing his soft lips to yours, letting his fingers gently graze over the still peaks of your nipples before you pull away abruptly. He furrows his brows, looking over your features quickly.

“Satoru, I-” Your voice is shaky, hoarse from crying, “I’m a mess right now.”

“I know,” He answers quietly, thumb tracing your jaw and lips, moving hair away from your face, “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

Your heart breaks at his words, knowing he chose to come home to you despite your recent decisions and betrayals.

Because Satoru does love you. You gave him a life he never thought possible, a love he never thought possible because of who and what he is.

Several tears well in your eyes as he leans down and kisses you again. This time you let him, because this is how he’s always shown his love for you, and because you do love him too.

His hands run down your sides, squeezing your ass before lifting you, carrying you out of the shower, and laying you on the bed gently.

You leave your arms wrapped around his neck while he focuses on massaging your waist, hips, and thighs. It takes hardly anything at all for Satoru’s touch to work its magic.

No matter your mood, how upset or angry, the slightest touch of his nimble fingers always sends a shiver down your spine and straight to your core.

He kisses a few spots along your jaw before turning your head, slotting his lips between your own, tongue swiping along your bottom lip for access - you grant it, you always have.

Before long, you’re on top of him, rocking your hips as he watches you in pure awe, appreciation, and adoration.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moves his hands around your body, feeling every inch of exposed skin in his large hands before leaning up, ghosting his lips against your neck, shoulders, and chest, his thumbs gently brushing past your hardened nipples.

You gasp when he pinches them between his fingers harder than expected and he watches, drinking you in like it’s the first time all over again.

He alternates, between pinching and licking each of your breasts as you continue to leisurely rock your hips against him. The two of you have made love before, but never like this.

It’s beautiful and slow, sensual in a way you’ve never experienced with him before. Like he’s giving you a part of himself that he’s never shown before. You’re speaking with your bodies, listening to each other’s heartbeats and labored breaths each time you take each other in.

Leaning back on one arm, he grabs your hip with the other, helping you move just slightly faster as his gaze trails down to where you’re connected; butterflies form in your stomach as he drags his knuckle over your abdomen, soaking in the sight of you, encircling your clit. 

Your eyes are locked together, half-lidded, full of love, but he doesn’t dare break away, even as he tenderly presses his lips to yours, expressions drunk with desire and gratification for one another.

You press your foreheads together, sharing breaths, bodies glistening in sweat, hips flowing and ebbing into one another. You thread your fingers through his soft pale hair, as he thrusts his hips, diving deeper.

Your thighs begin to tremble, and he groans when you clench around him and he knows you're close, rolling his hips until he’s hitting the spot that has you whimpering into him with each thrust.

“Satoru,” you murmur, “I’m s-so close.”

He takes a deep breath, sharpening his movements, “Me too, baby.”

The intimate exchange is enough to push you both over the edge, unraveling into each other’s arms at the same time. He peppers your face with little kisses as he pulls out with a wince, rolling over and pulling you into his chest.

“I used to daydream about this,” Satoru admits quietly, holding you close, like he never wants to let go, “About being with you.”

“Oh,” You answer surprised, “I had no idea.”

Satoru chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours, “I never told you or anyone, really. Never thought I would need to.”

You take in his words as the two of you lay in comfortable silence, listening to each other's heartbeats and shallow breaths until you feel the twitching of Satoru’s hand, indicating he’s fallen asleep.

Satoru breaths slowly, and steadily as you watch his soft, snow-like lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You’ll always be grateful for the love you’ve shared, and the time you’ve been able to spend together.

You know what life with him will be like. Safe, committed, filled with love, laughter, and adventure. The letter told you precisely what to expect. A beautiful life anyone would dream of with a man who has done nothing but love you through all of your ups and downs.

But the letter never mentioned Suguru. What came of him, where did he go?

You swallow thickly because deep down, in the depths of your heart, you know. And the thought brings tears to the corner of your eyes that you quickly and quietly wipe away.

If you and Satoru were able to have such a beautiful life together, Suguru didn’t make it.

Did he try to bring the world to its knees, to have a world where Sorcerers are no longer living in plain sight but are the only ones remaining?

You don’t know and that hurts more than anything.

But you can.

2017 

You’re back in a place you haven’t been to or seen in years. A place that used to be a second home.

You’re watching from a distance as Suguru declares war on Kyoto and Shinjuku. A decision you tried your hardest to talk him out of, only to land on deaf ears.

Satoru stands listening, but you can feel his gaze shift to you. He’s changed his look. No longer wearing the little black sunglasses you used to love on him, but rather choosing to cover his eyes with white bandages.

You wonder what the reason for the change was but know you’ll never get the pleasure of finding out.

“You’re both going to die,” Satoru says, just loud enough for you to hear him once Suguru turns his back to the crowd that’s gathered. “You do realize that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answer quietly, pursing your lips and nodding your head, taking several steps toward him.

Satoru stays quiet, but you can feel the intensity of his eyes on you. Not with hatred, but a longing for understanding, on why you left and chose Suguru, a criminal, a murderer, over him.

“It was always going to be him,” You say just as Satoru opens his mouth to speak. “From the moment I saw the envelope, the moment I read what was said- I,” you take a breath, trying to find the right words, “I’m sorry. I never apologized to you for leaving, and I just want it to be known now. Before all of this comes to an end.”

The last night you spent with Satoru, you made beautiful love, telling each other how much you mean to one another and showing it in a way you never had before, but once he fell asleep, you crawled out of his grasp leaving behind the life you’ve created and everything you stood for.

After packing a bag, you left your engagement ring and the letter on your nightstand, hoping it would serve to answer his questions. On why you had been acting strangely, why things had been so difficult for you, and ultimately why you left.

Because you didn’t have the courage to tell him on your own.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Satoru chuckles, thumb scratching his eyebrow as he sighs heavily. “Do you regret leaving behind the life we were building?”

Satoru questioned if the letter was really from yourself, or if it was an elaborate plan to lead you astray until he spent some time inspecting the letter. There were traces of residual energy that looked like yours, just older, along with another sorcerer he didn’t recognize.

What he didn’t expect was to find his own.

And the realization dawned on him that despite the love the two of you shared, your hurt would never go away, no matter how hard he fought to get you back.

So he let you go.

“It was a hard adjustment at first. Having to set aside the morals and values I held so close to me- that we shared- but it got easier. I’ve laid awake at night for hours wondering this same exact thing but I can never bring myself to regret choosing Suguru.”

Taking a deep breath, you take a few steps toward Satoru. You know he won’t harm you and that he’ll have his infinity off. He watches from beneath his bandages and you find yourself wishing you could see his eyes one last time while you press a tender kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye, Satoru.”

You give him a wistful smile before walking away to join Suguru’s side, knowing the next time you see your ex-fiance, a man you once loved, it’ll be your last.

Satoru watches as you make your way back to Suguru, who offers his hand, helping you climb the back of his curse before taking off, flying high in the sky. You know Satoru can see you from the distance and you can just make out his figure below as you give him one last tender smile.

Life with Satoru would have been grand and adventurous. He wouldn’t let any moment between the two of you go dull. You’ve loved him and you still do.

After you left, you found yourself wondering what life would have been like if you stayed. Would you have found yourself writing the same letter to send to your past? Would you have moved on with less regret knowing you put your past behind you and looking to the future?

You’ll never know.

All you can do now is accept your choices and spend as much time with Suguru as possible before your inevitable demise.

You’ll spend your last remaining moments taking your girls shopping and to Takeshita Street to get crepes like they want. Order pizza, watch TV, holding the little family you chose close each and every night.

There’s only one thing you’re certain of during these times:

You would make the same choices all over again if it led you here.

@s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @saiewithakatana @yihona-san06 @shartnart1 @lilith412426 @ambersea7 @ikilledsparky2 @creolequeen11210 @ichigojamjam @simpfully-heartbroken @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @shan-nein @witchbybirth @myabae @lilacsinjuly @mshope16

[bloopybloocurse]

Character of the day

Astaroth !

Today's character is the main reason why Cascade, the OC world, even exists. I created the world after I created him first. And then I worked on both alongside eachother bit by bit.

He's changed a lot over the past year or two now, but I believe now I have lore that is a lot more set in stone as compared to the start....so. Now we can talk about Astaroth, aka Rot.

Pre-antipathy:

At his youngest years, he's always been a gentle soul. Curious, wanting to understand the world. To meet people, to talk to those around him. But his sentiment wasn't shared, for he was crafted with a defect - a demonic core, of some sort...or at least, that's all the angels could see in Astaroth's aura. They couldn't know for sure what it was but they knew that it was demonic.

Being shunned, his curiosity got directed towards Earth instead. He took interest in plants, creatures, humans...eventually he lived amongst them for periods at a time. Went to schools to learn, lived with people, learned from them. Before he knew it, he was nearing his 100s. He learned so much about elements and materials from humans that his creationism powers became the most accurate of all the angels, at such a young age compared to others.

And yet he was still shunned. And so, one day he lashed out at the council, which only resulted in him becoming imprisoned due to already being on a thin line due to his defect.

He was imprisoned for an entire century... but eventually he managed to break out. How? Well, that's a whole thing of it's own.

Current:

Both of these designs are technically canon, however, they require a few tweaks to fall in line with canon, just on different places of the timeline.

He changes so drastically not only due to his imprisonment, but due to his "defect". For it has a mind of it's own, which may or may not influence Rot's personality over time...

Either way, the unjust imprisonment is something Rot will attempt to take revenge for. However, he'll find himself striving for bigger, more important goals around that time as well....

Fallen AU:

ON A LIGHTER NOTE, there's an AU version where he accepts falling. In this case, he ends up entering a portal into another world with a bunch of different kinds of OCs, and so, they're stuck until the scientists there find a way to teleport them back (yes this is an rp server plot). There, Rot meets Ethan (who belongs to @/surfervelocity), and they find companionship in eachother due to their similar pasts.

Then gay happens and they care for eachother very much. So much so that Rot gives up on his previous goals in canon lore and instead embraces a more peaceful life, thus finally giving up his ties to Hevetta and "falling". But in the end, that's what brings him some form of peace and happiness.

In a way, this proves that he'll never be happy or at peace, never himself, never reach his true potential as long as he holds onto that revenge towards the council. It's what continues to tie him to Hevetta, and why his halo, even while unstable, is still intact.

So yeah! That's the lore about my babygirl <3 my little meow meow <3 <3 <3 you can tell he's my favorite because he's the most traumatized :>

(^ this art is by @/surfervelocity)

[delirium1217]

A World Alone

[Instinct takes over. The muscle memory of a soldier in a war that has stretched for far too long. 

By the time he’s finished, the face of Regulus Black is staring at him in disbelief. 

James had caught him off guard - but it hadn’t been enough, he’d had some sort of barrier he’d been too shell-shocked to notice. 

The cascade of deadly spells had barely gotten through. The glow of the shimmering shield glistened under the late afternoon sun. 

They stared at each other. Regulus was standing now, his eyes seemed to bug out of their sockets. Slight, on his toes, he resembled a frightened bird, James thought.

James’ hand tightened around his wand. His mind reeled.

Was this how he died? At the hands of his best friend’s baby brother? When had his life turned this melodramatic?]

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Summary:

1982. The war is a simmering pot threatening to boil over.

Regulus secretly defected to join the Order. James is losing momentum to keep going.

Their paths cross, and nothing is the same ever again.

(Updated monthly.)

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ao3 link

[owlservice]

Hemophilia (literally “love of blood”) involves a failure of the blood to clot within a normal time. The defect is caused by a missing protein in the plasma, the liquid part of the blood, which is necessary for clot formation. Normal blood may take 5 to 15 min to clot, but in persons with hemophilia (hemophiliacs) the process may take hours or even days. The danger for a person with hemophilia is that even a small wound or bruise may lead to severe and uncontrolled internal bleeding and death. Without clot formation, the blood flows freely from a wound until the circulatory system collapses—the afflicted person hemorrhages to death. Blood clotting is a complex affair involving a cascade of protein-protein interactions that converts a soluble protein of blood plasma, fibrinogen, into insoluble protein fibers of fibrin. The clotting cascade is like the Mother Goose rhyme “This is the house that Jack built”: This is the cat, that killed the rat, that ate the malt, that lay in the house that Jack built. In the clotting cascade: This is the break in the skin, so factor VIII can begin, converting prothrombin to thrombin; when thrombin converts fibrinogen to fibrin, the cross-linked result produces clottin'.

Twelve Diseases That Changed Our World by Irwin W. Sherman

[darkmaga-returns]

Hungary won’t go to war against Croatia in support of Serbia, thus de facto defecting from NATO with all the cascading consequences that this would entail, including a possible NATO invasion.

Serbian President Aleksandar Vucic drew regional attention when he praised his country’s newly signed military roadmap with Hungary for “coming closer to a Hungarian-Serbian alliance.” The immediate backdrop concerns mid-March’s joint defense declaration between Croatia, Albania, and Kosovo. All three have a recent history of conflict with Serbia, Belgrade still claims what it regards as its rogue NATO-occupied Autonomous Provine of Kosovo & Metohija, and there’s a new round of uncertainty in Bosnia.

The de facto creation of a Croatian-Albanian/”Kosovar” alliance, the latest problems in Bosnia, and Vucic’s intent to create a Hungarian-Serbian alliance have therefore raised concerns that these two alliances might go to war with one another over Kosovo and/or Bosnia. Each also counts NATO members among them, Croatia and Albania in the first and Hungary in the second, thus running the risk of an intra-bloc crisis far worse than 1974’s Greek-Turkish one over Cyprus if this scenario comes to pass.

It might not, however, or at least not in the sense of these two groups of countries fighting one another. While it’s entirely possible that Croatia might exploit a crisis in Serbian-Albanian/“Kosovar” relations to make a coordinated military move in support of its co-ethnics in Bosnia or they exploit a Croatian-Bosnian crisis to make a coordinated military move against Serbia, Hungary is unlikely to intervene. That’s because it has no pressing national security interests at stake to justify the incalculable costs.