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raguram07-blogger · 1 year ago

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Embedded Systems Demystified: Understanding their components and Uses

Embedded systems, the cornerstone of modern technology, are specialized computer systems designed to perform dedicated functions within a larger mechanical or electrical system. These systems, ranging from simple devices like digital watches to complex ones like the control systems in automobiles, are distinguished by their combination of hardware and software, optimized for specific applications. Unlike general-purpose computers that feature versatile processing units and memory for multiple tasks, embedded systems prioritize efficiency, including low power consumption and cost-effective performance, through the integration of microcontrollers, microprocessors, and real-time operating systems (RTOS).

As the backbone of countless applications across various industries, including telecommunications, automotive, medical devices, and even the Internet of Things (IoT), embedded systems play a pivotal role in the evolution of technology. This article delves into the core components that define these systems, such as microprocessors, application software, and printed circuit boards, while exploring their architecture, design principles, and practical applications. It also addresses the challenges in designing these intricate systems, from debugging to customization, and casts a glance at recent advancements and future directions, highlighting how integrated circuits, the 8051 microcontroller, and embedded C programming continue to shape the landscape of embedded systems.

Core Components of Embedded Systems

Embedded systems are integral to numerous devices, functioning through a complex interplay of hardware, software, and real-time operational protocols. Here we break down the essential components that form the backbone of these systems.

Hardware Components

Processor Types: At the heart of every embedded system is a processor, which can be a microprocessor or a microcontroller. Microcontrollers integrate memory and peripheral interfaces, making them ideal for specific control- oriented applications. Conversely, microprocessors require separate integrated circuits for memory and peripherals, offering more flexibility but at a complexity cost.

Memory: Embedded systems utilize two primary types of memory: RAM (volatile) and ROM (non-volatile). The ROM stores permanent instructions for the system, while RAM facilitates the ongoing operations.

Power Supply: Essential for operation, the power supply can be standalone or integrated into a larger system, depending on the design requirements.

Input/Output Ports: These ports are crucial for the system’s interaction with external devices, enabling data transmission through various communication protocols like UART, SPI, and USB.

Software Components

Real-Time Operating System (RTOS): This software manages the hardware resources of embedded systems, optimized for real-time applications. It ensures tasks are completed within strict timing constraints, crucial for applications like medical systems and automotive controls.

Application Software: Tailored to the specific functionalities of the embedded device, this software directly manages device operations and user interactions.

Device Drivers: These software components allow the operating system to interact with the hardware.

Development Tools

Compilers and Assemblers: These tools translate high-level code into machine language that processors can execute. While compilers handle languages like C and C++, assemblers are used for assembly language.

Debuggers and Emulators: Essential for testing, these tools help developers debug the code and emulate hardware operations, ensuring software reliability before deployment.

Integration Technologies

System on Chip (SoC): Integrating all components onto a single microchip, SoC technology simplifies design and enhances performance while reducing power consumption and cost.

Multicore Processing: Allows parallel processing capabilities, enhancing performance and efficiency, particularly in complex applications.

By understanding these core components and their interactions, developers can design more efficient and effective embedded systems, tailored to specific needs and environments.

Design Principles and Architecture

Embedded systems are engineered with specific design principles and architectural frameworks to meet unique operational demands. This section outlines the essential design principles and architectural styles that govern the development of embedded systems.

Key Design Principles

Single-functioned Operation: Each embedded system is developed to perform a specific function, enhancing its efficiency and reliability.

Reactivity and Real-time Operation: These systems are designed to respond to changes in their environment in real- time, a critical feature for applications such as automotive airbag deployment.

Tight Integration of Hardware and Software: Hardware components and application software are closely integrated to optimize performance and reduce power consumption.

Customizability and Flexibility: The architecture allows customization, making embedded systems adaptable to varied requirements.

Low Power Consumption: Design strategies prioritize energy efficiency to extend the life of the system, especially in battery-operated devices.

Compact Size and Cost-Effectiveness: Systems are designed to be small and cost-effective, without compromising on functionality.

Architectural Styles

Embedded systems architecture can be segmented into two primary types:

Harvard Architecture: Separates data and instruction memory, allowing simultaneous data access that speeds up operations

Von Neumann Architecture: Uses a single memory for data and instructions, simplifying the design but potentially slowing the system due to the shared memory

Design Approaches and Considerations

System on Chip (SoC) and Multicore Processing: These technologies integrate multiple components into a singlechip, reducing size and improving performance

Reconfigurable Computing: Offers the flexibility to alter the configuration of the hardware as per changing requirements without halting the system

Design for Manufacturing (DFM): Focuses on designing products that are easier to manufacture, enhancing scalability and reducing costs

Challenges in Design and Architecture

Component Selection and System Integration: Selecting appropriate components that match the system's requirements and ensuring seamless integration pose significant challenges.

Software-Hardware Interface: Designing an effective interface between the software applications and the hardware components is crucial for the optimal functioning of embedded systems.

Heat Dissipation and Environmental Hazards: Special attention is given to managing heat and protecting the system from environmental damages like electrostatic discharge (ESD) and electromagnetic interference (EMI)

By adhering to these principles and considering the outlined architectural styles, designers can create robust, efficient, and reliable embedded systems tailored to specific applications and environments.

Applications Across Industries

Embedded systems have revolutionized operations across a vast array of industries by performing specialized tasks within numerous devices. These systems are integral to technologies ranging from consumer electronics to advanced industrial machinery. Below is an overview of the diverse applications of embedded systems across various sectors:

Automotive Industry

Safety Mechanisms: Embedded systems enhance vehicle safety through features like airbags and anti-lock braking systems.

Navigation and Infotainment: Manage GPS systems and multimedia functions, improving user experience and vehicle functionality.

Vehicle Performance: Control engine systems, monitor vehicle diagnostics, and optimize fuel efficiency.

Medical Devices

Diagnostic Equipment: Embedded systems are crucial in devices that monitor heart rates, glucose levels, and blood pressure.

Treatment Devices: Regulate and administer treatments through advanced drug delivery systems and therapeutic devices.

Wearable Health Monitors: Track health metrics such as physical activity, heart rate, and sleep patterns, providing insights and alerts.

Consumer Electronics

Smartphones and Tablets: Manage core functions including user interface, connectivity, and multimedia processing.

Home Automation: Control systems for lighting, security, and HVAC, enhancing comfort and energy efficiency.

Wearable Technology: Smartwatches and fitness trackers that monitor physical activities and health metrics.

Industrial Automation

Manufacturing: Automate tasks such as assembly lines, quality control, and inventory management, increasing efficiency and safety.

Process Control: Monitor and control industrial processes like chemical reactions and machine operations to ensure optimal performance.

Robotics: Embedded systems guide robotic mechanisms used in manufacturing, warehousing, and material handling.

Aerospace and Defense

Aircraft Systems: Control navigation, communication, and engine management systems in aircraft.

Surveillance and Reconnaissance: Embedded systems play a key role in unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) for surveillance and data collection.

Mission-Critical Systems: Manage life-support and operational systems in spacecraft and military equipment.

Telecommunications

Network Equipment: Embedded systems are used in routers, switches, and modems to manage data flow and connectivity.

Mobile Communication: Enable smartphones and other portable devices to connect and communicate efficiently.

Satellite Systems: Control satellite operations and data transmission, crucial for global communication networks.

Energy Sector

Smart Grid Technology: Manage the distribution and efficient use of electricity through real-time monitoring and control systems.

Renewable Energy Systems: Control operations in solar panels and wind turbines, optimizing energy production.

Utility Management: Monitor energy consumption, improve system reliability, and facilitate maintenance and repairs.

Embedded systems' adaptability allows them to be customized for specific tasks in these industries, leading to innovations that enhance functionality, safety, and efficiency. Their integration into various devices and machinery has become a cornerstone of technological advancement, influencing how industries evolve and operate.

Challenges in Embedded System Design

Embedded system design faces several challenges that impact the efficiency and security of these technologies. Understanding these challenges is crucial for developers to enhance system performance and reliability.

Debugging and Testing

Debugging Process: Debugging embedded systems typically requires attaching a separate debugging system to the target system via a serial or other port. This setup allows programmers to view and manage the source code from a general-purpose computer, which can be cumbersome and time-consuming.

Testing Protocols: Testing printed circuit boards (PCBs) is conducted at each development phase. Custom testing firmware is created to verify if the PCB functions as expected, demanding meticulous attention to detail and extensive validation procedures.

Security Enhancements

Increasing Security Measures: With the rise of connected devices, security has become a paramount concern. Embedded system designers are now integrating robust security features such as hardware-based security, secure boot procedures, and advanced encryption algorithms to safeguard against breaches.

Cybersecurity Solutions: Developing effective cybersecurity solutions is essential to address vulnerabilities in embedded systems, particularly for Internet of Things (IoT) devices and industries previously lax in security measures.

Software and Hardware Integration

Selection of Programming Language: The choice between C++ and Rust is significant in embedded device programming. Rust offers a memory safety model that enhances security, presenting a compelling alternative to the traditionally used C++ in embedded systems.

Component Selection: The technical proposal phase involves selecting components based on technical characteristics, operating environment, cost, quality, and availability. This balance between cost and performance is critical in determining the overall effectiveness of the embedded system solution.

Project Development Challenges

Requirements Gathering: Conducting thorough interviews with clients to formulate precise requirements for their products is a foundational step in project development.

Offering Alternatives: Providing feasible alternatives during the planning phase ensures that the final product meets the client's needs while adhering to technical and budgetary constraints.

By addressing these challenges through strategic planning and implementation, developers can significantly enhance the performance and security of embedded systems, ensuring they meet the rigorous demands of modern technology applications.

Recent Advances and Future Directions

Embedded systems are continuously evolving, driven by technological advancements and increasing demands across various sectors. This section explores recent innovations and the anticipated future trends in embedded system technology.

Technological Innovations and Trends

AI and Machine Learning: Integration of AI and machine learning in embedded systems has enabled devices to make intelligent decisions and adapt to their environments effectively. This trend is enhancing the capabilities of devices in real-time processing and decision-making.

Edge Computing: By processing data closer to the source of data generation, edge computing minimizes latency and reduces the reliance on constant internet connectivity, thereby enhancing the efficiency of embedded systems.

Advanced Connectivity Solutions: Developments in wireless technologies such as 5G, Wi-Fi 6 and 6E, and Bluetooth LE Audio are revolutionizing how embedded systems communicate and interact, enabling faster and more reliable connections.

Focus on Sustainability and Efficiency

Energy-Efficient Design: With sustainability as a priority, there is a significant shift towards developing low-power embedded systems using advanced power management technologies and energy harvesting techniques

Green Technology: The integration of environmentally friendly practices in the design and deployment of embedded systems is becoming increasingly important

Security and Quality Enhancements

Software Quality: Strengthening the software quality through rigorous testing and adherence to high standards is essential to ensure the reliability and performance of embedded systems

Cybersecurity Measures: As embedded systems become more interconnected, the implementation of robust cybersecurity measures to protect against potential threats and vulnerabilities is crucial

Market Growth and Economic Impact

Market Expansion: The embedded systems market is projected to grow significantly, driven by its applications in AI, mobile computing, and sophisticated processing technologies.

Economic Contributions: As a pivotal element of modern technological solutions, embedded systems are contributing substantially to economic growth and innovation across industries

Future Directions

Quantum Computing: Looking ahead, quantum computing holds the potential to exponentially increase the processing power of embedded systems, opening new avenues for data analysis and decision-making

Open-Source Collaboration: The trend towards open-source hardware and software is fostering greater innovation and collaboration within the embedded systems community

Embedded systems are set to become even more integral to technological progress, with advancements in AI, security, and sustainable practices leading the way. The continuous evolution in this field promises to bring more sophisticated, efficient, and secure embedded solutions to the forefront of technology.

Conclusion

Throughout this exploration of embedded systems, we have journeyed through the intricate balance of hardware and software components, design principles, and the architectural frameworks that underpin these fundamental technology elements.

The discussion highlighted not only the core components and their critical roles but also the current challenges in design and security, underscoring the continuous innovation required to advance in this fast-paced domain. By delving into the varied applications across multiple industries—from automotive to telecommunications and beyond—we've seen how embedded systems function as the linchpins of modern technological infrastructure, driving progress and efficiency at an unprecedented scale.

Looking forward, the future of embedded systems appears boundless, fueled by advancements in AI, machine learning, and edge computing, alongside a growing emphasis on sustainability and cybersecurity. These evolving trends not only promise to expand the capabilities of embedded systems but also underscore the significant economic and societal impact these technologies continue to wield. As we anticipate further breakthroughs, the dialogue around embedded systems will undoubtedly advance, highlighting the imperative for ongoing research, development, and collaboration to harness these powerful tools in the push towards a more innovative and interconnected world.

#embedded systems #embedded systems basics #embedded system architecture

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cybereliasacademy · 1 year ago

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HyperTransformer: G Additional Tables and Figures

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#conventional-machine-learning #convolutional-neural-network #few-shot-learning #hypertransformer #parametric-model #small-target-cnn-architectures #supervised-model-generation #task-independent-embedding

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cumironi · 6 days ago

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THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO GOJO’S D$CK. g.s

feat. gojo satoru

sum. what’s the best sex position ever? loud and clear you said missionary. the result? got called slut by shoko and dared by geto to fuck the stupidest man in the group, gojo satoru. and you, also the stupidest take the bait just to prove a point only to get the best missionary you’ve ever had. which, also got called slut by your friend.

wn. college au, all characters are adults (early 20s), depictions of alcohol and weed consumption, explicit sexual content including graphic foreplay and intercourse, strong language, sexual humor, slut-shaming jokes between friends, emotionally charged intimacy, consensual rough play (e.g. scratching, hickeys), praise-kink, bit dirty talk,

gojo’s basement was a whole ecosystem of indulgence, an architectural fuck-you to minimalism. the moment you stepped off the last step, it was like descending into a pleasure den disguised as a frat boy’s fever dream and a luxury showroom had a threesome with a tokyo nightlife bar and decided to never leave.

soft, dark lighting glowed along the edges of the ceiling, hiding in strips of LED that shifted color every few minutes—right now it was a moody wine red that made everyone look flushed and half-possessed. a speaker system was embedded into the walls, not blasting but thumping low enough to feel in your molars, something beat-heavy and spacey, rhythmic enough to keep your hips rocking even if you were only sitting. the walls were textured concrete, but with art—huge framed prints, some classical, some hentai, because gojo was a pretentious bitch and also a walking disaster.

it was sectioned in loose, chaotic zones. one end had a full bar, real wood counters, glass shelves, and an overhead mirror with LED backlight that made the various alcohol bottles sparkle like gemstones. there were no mixers—just hard liquor and gojo’s “personal stash” of imported shit that tasted like burnt syrup and regret. behind the bar, nanami stood like a reluctant bartender, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, stirring something too elegant for this crowd. he’d lost rock-paper-scissors and now he was stuck mixing drinks with military precision, ignoring everyone yelling that they just wanted a whiskey coke with extra whiskey and no coke.

a few steps away, there was a billiards table, dark green felt, cue sticks leaned against the wall, and haibara trying to make a shot with his head resting on the cue, eyes squinting like a sniper but swaying like a drunk tree. geto and shoko were stretched on the oversized couch that curved around a low table cluttered with empty shot glasses, an open pizza box with one lonely crust, and the remnants of three joints passed back and forth. gojo had dragged over a bean bag chair and was currently lounging in it like royalty, shirt half unbuttoned, pale collarbones peeking out, sunglasses still on indoors, of course, because he said the lighting was “too aggressive.”

you were on the rug, thighs warm from the alcohol, back against the couch, in the exact perfect spot to feel everyone’s presence all at once—geto’s knee brushing yours every time he shifted, shoko’s lazy hand resting in your hair because she liked to play with it when she was high, gojo’s long leg stretched out so his bare foot kept nudging your ankle. the rug smelled like old perfume and weed and a little bit like someone spilled gin and didn’t clean it up, and honestly? it was perfect.

“i think,” gojo announced, gesturing with his drink, something neon blue in a martini glass, “we should all officially drop out.”

“again?” geto asked, one eyebrow raised as he exhaled smoke and passed you the blunt. “you say that every thursday,” you added, grinning as you took it, the burn sweet and sharp on your tongue.

“yeah but this time i mean it,” gojo said, rolling over onto his stomach like a bored cat, chin resting on his arms. “what’s even the point of college? knowledge? community? shared trauma?”

“you only show up to class to cheat off nanami,” shoko pointed out. “he has such neat handwriting,” gojo said with a dreamy sigh. nanami rolled his eyes. “because i don’t get high the night before a midterm and forget how pens work.”

“that was one time,” you mumbled through a cough, handing the joint off to utahime who looked scandalized but still took it.

“you cried,” geto added helpfully.

“it was a stressful exam,” you defended, but the laughter already drowned you out. even nanami cracked a tired smirk. “okay but like—” haibara missed his shot and collapsed dramatically over the pool table, face pressed into the felt “—real talk. if we all dropped out, what would we do? jobs don’t exist. go.”

“porn,” you said immediately.

gojo made a high-pitched noise like a choking dolphin. “you can’t just say that, baby.”

“i said it,” you grinned, shrugging. “onlyfans. but we make it elite. like art-house, black-and-white stuff.”

“you want to direct?” shoko asked, voice slow, eyes heavy-lidded. “or star?”

“both,” you said. “duh.”

“visionary,” geto murmured, passing you a new joint, already lit. you took it without question. “okay okay okay,” haibara said, still face-down, voice muffled into the table. “but if you had to teach one sex position. like, for beginners. what’s lesson one?”

“doggy,” nanami answered without blinking.

“perv,” gojo coughed.

“efficient,” nanami corrected.

“missionary,” geto said, tapping his ash into a tray. “eye contact, full penetration, kiss access. versatile. emotionally devastating.”

“you’re so romantic,” you teased.

he smirked. “always.”

“cowgirl,” shoko added, licking salt off her hand. “control. visuals. core workout.”

“you’re all cowards,” gojo said, sitting up now, eyes glinting. “nobody said reverse cowgirl.”

“that’s because you’re the only one who wants to get kneed in the stomach,” utahime muttered, taking another sip. “worth it,” gojo sighed, pressing his hand over his chest like he’d been touched by god. and then—he turned, sharp and sudden, and pointed directly at you, mouth curling in a smirk that was all teeth and trouble.

“what about you, pretty girl?”

your throat went dry. his voice was soft now, low, sliding under your skin like warm syrup. everyone else fell quiet. not waiting in judgment—just watching. geto leaned back. shoko raised one eyebrow. even nanami tilted his head like your answer might end a war.

“hmm,” you hummed, tilting your head, pretending to think even as your lips curled. “honestly? missionary. but only if you’re trying to ruin my life,” you add, casually, sipping whatever tragic cocktail you’d ended up with—mostly rum, mostly sugar, entirely chaos—and immediately regretted it, because the second the words left your mouth, the basement erupted. broke in a howl of laughter. shoko nearly dropped her drink. geto choked on his exhale. haibara clapped the table.

“LAME!” haibara shrieked like you’d just confessed to listening to elevator music during sex. “liar,” geto said flatly, but the smile tugging at his mouth made it impossible to take seriously.

“no fucking way,” shoko barked, already leaning over the armrest like she needed to look you directly in the soul. “no. you? miss i make eye contact while ordering food like it’s a come-on?”

you groaned, trying to disappear into your shirt. “shut uuuuup.”

“there is no way your favorite position is missionary,” she said, flicking your forehead with sharp precision. “get the fuck out of here. you’re not fooling anyone.”

“maybe i’m romantic,” you offered weakly, already bracing as the room devolved into shrieks again. gojo wheezed, flopping onto his back and kicking a throw pillow off the couch. “romantic she says. oh my god. oh my fucking god.”

“missionary my ass,” utahime added, kicking your shin lightly with her socked foot. “that’s like saying your favorite food is plain rice.”

“with butter!” you shouted defensively.

“shut the fuck up!” everyone howled in unison.

“full nelson,” shoko said immediately, stabbing her finger at you. “you’re into some demon shit. like tied up, folded in half, legs behind your ears—"

“—that’s not even anatomically possible for most people—” nanami muttered in the background, but no one was listening. “you give power bottom with a penchant for suffering,” geto added smoothly, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand like he was about to psychoanalyze your soul.

“stop profiling me,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “what if i just want soft sex? with love? with candles and eye contact and maybe a backhand to the cheek, but mostly like… romance.”

utahime gagged so hard it sounded real. “you’re disgusting.”

“i am romantic,” you insisted, chin raised, eyes defiant. “i want to be held. i want love.” shoko tossed a grape at your head. “you want to be held in a chokehold with your face pressed to the mattress.” you caught it in your mouth and chewed, flipping her off with flair. “maybe. but gently.”

gojo rolled back upright like a cartoon character, elbows resting on his knees, eyes gleaming under the dim lights. “i can do gently,” he said, voice low and syrup-sweet.

“no,” utahime said flatly.

“you don’t get to volunteer,” nanami said, not even looking up from whatever he was mixing now. gojo grinned and tilted his head toward you, his hand slowly sliding into the pocket of your hoodie, the one you were wearing. “but i wanna,” he said, and his voice dipped just enough to warm the pit of your stomach.

you elbowed him. “we’re still talking about metaphors.”

he smiled wider. “are we?”

shoko groaned. “i’m gonna throw something at both of you.”

geto passed her a half-empty beer can like a gentleman. “use this.”

“missionary,” shoko repeated again, like she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t accept it, couldn’t believe it even existed in your vocabulary as anything more than a punchline. she said it like a curse, her voice thick with smoke and judgment. “missionary. you absolute fucking liar.”

“i’m not lying!” you whined, but it came out with a stupid grin stretching your mouth because you knew—you knew—they were right to doubt you. “nah, you’re lying,” geto said, not even looking up from his delicate task of ash-flicking with the grace of a noble concubine. “you’re lying and you know it and we all know it. missionary. yeah right.”

gojo, who had been half-lying across your lap like a loyal, slutty dog, perked up at the confirmation. “she is lying,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “i’m hurt. betrayed. flabbergasted.”

utahime barked a laugh from the bean bag she’d stolen from nanami when he went to refill his drink. “missionary only if he’s choking you out and whispering dirty things about your future kids.”

“WHICH IS STILL VERY ROMANTIC,” you argued, throwing your hands up in pathetic defense. “not when it includes the words ‘breed you dumb,’” nanami said calmly from the bar. “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE,” you screamed across the basement, as if that would help.

haibara was bent over wheezing, red in the face and tears in his eyes. “you—missionary—you’re the same bitch who moaned watching that fight scene in that one show—”

“he had his veins out and a chain around his neck, i was provoked!”

shoko pointed directly at you like she was driving a stake into your coffin. “you want missionary the same way a raccoon wants tap water. not cause it’s good, cause it’s easy access before you crawl into the sewer.”

“i am not a raccoon!”

“you are the racooniest,” geto said. “fucked-up little hands and all.”

gojo, smug and now fully reclined into your lap with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs kicking up a little in rhythm with the music, looked up at you upside down with that shit-eating grin. “no shame in liking missionary,” he said sweetly. “as long as it’s not the only thing you like.”

“oh no no no,” geto said, sitting up straighter now, attention focused, looking deadly and delighted. “you don’t get to backpedal now. no retreat. you committed.”

“i did not commit—”

“you’re committed. one hundred percent. missionary ride or die. all in.”

“you’re making it sound like a cult.”

“IT IS,” shoko yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at your head that she’d stolen from god knows where. “missionary only when the moon is waxing, the candles are teal, and your playlist is all sad acoustic covers of 2000s bangers.”

“that sounds fucking dreamy actually,” you said, offended but also taking mental notes.

geto leaned over, narrowing his eyes, voice dipping low and daring, that teasing menace blooming in the corners of his mouth like sin: “then do it. with satoru. go full missionary. full eye contact. no jokes. no choking. no freaky shit. vanilla as fuck. and afterward—then tell us if it’s still your favorite.”

the room fell silent.

gojo sat up.

utahime choked on her drink.

shoko slapped her knee and screamed, “YES. YESSSS. YOU WON’T. DO IT. I DARE YOU. PUT YOUR LOVE WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS.”

“THAT IS NOT THE PHRASE,” you cried.

“IT IS NOW,” haibara shouted, fist in the air.

gojo was looking at you like you just became his favorite episode of a fucked-up reality show. slowly, slowly, he leaned in, blinking those pale lashes in mock innocence, like a predator trying to play sweet. “do you want me to hold your hand, princess?” he cooed, voice dragging over each syllable like it was rolling in honey and filth. “whisper how pretty you look while you say missionary is your favorite?”

you flailed, completely red, pressing your palm to his face and pushing him back with a groan. “shut uuuuuup, i hate you—”

“you love me,” he sang.

“you’ll love him more with his dick in you like an afterschool special,” shoko muttered, and you almost died.

“this is not how peer support groups work,” you whined.

“this is how our support group works,” geto corrected, cool as ice, brushing ash off his sleeve. “we support you… into making the worst decisions imaginable.”

“i hate this friend group.”

“you started it!” utahime yelled. “you could’ve said cowgirl and we would’ve moved on!”

“i wanted to be authentic!”

“authentic my ass,” nanami mumbled. “your idea of authentic includes handcuffs and a soundtrack.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

gojo grinned wider, tongue tucked behind his teeth, eyes narrow with mischief. “baby, you say one time, but your eyes are saying again.” you groaned, staring up at the string lights twinkling on the ceiling like they were your last remaining allies. “i hope you all choke on your weed.”

“romantic choking,” geto said.

“god is dead,” you muttered.

“he died in missionary,” shoko declared.

and the room screamed again.

the yelling hadn’t died down. it had evolved—evolved into a full-blown, unholy ritual, like you’d summoned something cursed just by saying “missionary” in this den of godless chaos. the music still thumped in the background—some bass-heavy beat vibrating low enough to shake the pool cues on the wall—but it was drowned beneath the choir of filthy voices rallying around your damnation.

“come onnnn,” haibara practically whined, dragging himself across the floor like a tragic little beast of pressure and peer influence. “just do it once. like, clinical trial shit. for science.”

“for data,” geto added solemnly, passing the joint back to you with all the pomp of a ceremonial dagger. “you know he’s down,” utahime said, gesturing lazily with her drink toward gojo. “he’s always down. satoru would do it with a smile on his face and his dick already out.”

“i’d do it with flowers,” gojo offered sweetly, chin in hand, smiling like the most deranged boy in a dating sim. “i’d put a little post-it on her hip that says you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“you are a menace,” you groaned, tossing the joint in the ashtray, flopping your head against the back of the couch. “okay, but for real,” shoko cut in, snapping her fingers like a sitcom villain. “we have to settle this. you can’t keep saying that’s your favorite and then not test it with the absolute worst candidate.”

gojo lit up. “i’m honored.”

“he’s dumb as shit,” nanami added, calmly wiping the bar down with a cocktail napkin like he wasn’t verbally assassinating his friend. “there’s no way he can make it romantic. not even ironically.”

“he’d come while trying to say something nice and end up crying,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the world’s most beautiful disappointment. “he doesn’t even know how to look romantic,” geto chimed in, now entirely leaned back and smoking like he was watching live theater. “that man sends memes after sexting.”

“he once tried to dirty talk me by saying i looked like i had good knees,” utahime added. the room died.

“they were good knees,” gojo whined.

“SEE?” shoko shrieked, pointing wildly. “this is what we’re dealing with! that’s who she wants missionary with! that’s what she calls romance!”

you covered your face, weakly laughing into your hands. “you’re all insane.”

“and yet,” nanami said smoothly, pouring himself another drink, “you’ve fucked most of us.”

your head snapped up. “WHAT—”

“you have,” shoko agreed, nodding casually like she was reading a wine label. “it’s canon now.”

“absolutely,” geto said, exhaling smoke like a sexy devil. “you’ve whored your way through 70% of this friend group. missionary with gojo would be the least slutty thing you’ve done.”

“don’t slut-shame me while calling me a slut,” you groaned, laughing despite yourself. “slut is not derogatory here,” shoko said, patting your thigh. “it’s like saying you’re talented. you’re our slut. community slut. the people’s princess.”

“i’m gonna cry.”

“oh, so now you wanna act innocent?” nanami’s voice was ice in a cocktail glass. “not when you were drunk texting me ‘wanna ruin my future?’ at 2am last weekend.”

“i was having a moment!”

“you were also wearing gojo’s hoodie with no pants and humping a pillow,” geto said, eyes glittering like he kept this memory polished for personal use. you slapped your palms over your face again. “can’t a girl be romantic in peace?”

“not in this house,” utahime deadpanned. “but like,” gojo piped up, head now resting on your thigh again, completely unbothered, probably hard, absolutely thrilled, “they’ve got a point.”

you looked down at him, exhausted. “i swear to god, satoru—”

“no no, hear me out,” he said, holding up both hands like he was offering a legal defense. “i’ve seen you horny for nanami just cause he tied his tie right. i’ve seen you get wet over geto saying the word ‘problematic.’ you let shoko suck a bruise into your thigh because she was bored.”

“and that was her fault,” you pointed to shoko. “i was drunk and passive.”

“uh huh,” she hummed, mouth twitching.

“all i’m saying is,” gojo said, sitting up now, hands on your knees, looking up at you like a dog who just learned to beg, “if you’re gonna be a slut, be an honest slut. missionary with me. prove them wrong. show them you’re a woman of taste and tragedy.”

you stared at him, mouth parted, blinking.

“this is sexual peer pressure,” you mumbled.

“this is justice,” geto corrected.

“this is foreplay,” gojo whispered with a wink.

“i hate you all,” you grumbled, cheeks hot, lips twitching despite yourself.

“but you’ll do it?” haibara asked, eyes wide and dumb and so hopeful.

“maybe.”

“HA!” gojo shouted, launching a throw pillow at shoko. “that’s a yes!”

“that’s not a yes—”

“you heard her!” geto called, standing up to stretch like a smug, half-naked giraffe. “she agreed! and now we shall bear witness to the least romantic, most catastrophic missionary session ever.”

“you’re gonna be pinned to the mattress like a frog in biology class,” shoko said, wheezing. “gojo’s gonna forget to take off his socks,” utahime muttered, disgusted. “you know i have those toe socks,” he said proudly.

you groaned again, but deep down your stomach fluttered with heat and laughter, and your thighs pressed together, and despite the chaos—despite all of it—you were already thinking about how it’d feel to have him above you, stupid, naked, sweet, mean, sloppy, and whispering something that almost sounded like love.

and stupidly, in the end, you look behind you as you walk toward the hallway with gojo—your hand clutched in his like a fucking idiot—with the bedroom door at the end blinking at you like it knew exactly how many sins were about to unfold inside it. he’s practically bouncing beside you, grinning with his arm slung around your waist like he won a prize at a fair and it was you, half-drunk, giggling, humiliated, and undeniably curious about how the stupidest fucking person in your friends group was about to missionary the everloving shit out of you.

you glance back once, just once, and of course—of course—the entire couch crew is watching, each one of them grinning like hyenas on bath salts.

shoko, drink in one hand, tongue out like she’s in a punk band photo shoot, flips you off and mouths, “TAKE THE D.”

nanami lifts his glass, deadpan as ever, and mouths, “condoms are in the drawer.”

haibara is full-on doubled over, clapping like you’re being sent off to war.

geto gives you the filthiest two-thumbs-up you’ve ever seen, followed by a pantomimed gesture that can only be described as “jackhammer pelvic annihilation.”

utahime just shrugs like “you brought this on yourself.”

you don’t know if you want to laugh or scream or combust.

you’re all stupid fucks.

and you’re the stupidest one of all.

gojo drags you through the door with a dramatic flourish, like you’re being ushered into a honeymoon suite, except it’s the spare bedroom in his overdesigned basement—dark walls, plush mattress, fairy lights clinging to the corners, a single massive bed that has held too many sleepovers, too many hangovers, too many half-naked bodies tangled under that navy comforter.

he slams the door shut behind him with an unnecessary thud and then locks it.

locks it with intent.

you look at him, raising an eyebrow.

he grins, all bright eyes and too much teeth, and says, “we don’t want anyone walking in on your emotional awakening.” you shove him in the chest, laughing despite the heat pooling low in your belly, but his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, the giddiness gone softer now, warmer.

“you really want this?” he asks, murmuring it against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting, fingers rubbing slow lazy circles against your spine. “you wanna prove ‘em all wrong?”

you tilt your head back, a little buzzed, a little high, heart thumping in your ears from the absurdity and anticipation and just… him—this dumb beautiful man who you’ve known since freshman year, who once drank a bottle of cooking wine on a dare, who calls you names that make your skin warm, who sends you memes at 2am and confesses his feelings with a smirk like it’s not real.

and now he’s asking like it’s the first time he’s ever taken anything seriously. you hum, smirk lazy, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “go on, missionary me, satoru.”

he laughs—not loud, not sharp, just this sweet, stupid, delighted sound that vibrates into your chest before he grabs your jaw, kisses you once, hard and messy and full of promise, and then gently backs you toward the bed like he’s actually going to try to make this romantic.

“i’m gonna missionary you so hard you’ll cry,” he says, completely deadpan.

“you’re such a fucking idiot,” you murmur.

“yours,” he whispers, pushing you down onto the mattress like prayer, like penance, like romance—but only if romance came with a hickey and a headboard slam.

gojo doesn’t even rush you, which is fucking weird. normally he rushes everything—his speeches, his shots, his half-baked plans that end with haibara covered in glitter and someone’s laptop in the bathtub. but now, now that you’ve willingly walked into this basement bedroom with him like some horny lamb in a thrifted hoodie, he moves slow. suspiciously slow. like he’s savoring it. like the thought of doing missionary—actual missionary, not his usual chaotic acrobatic nonsense—has turned into something sacred.

his hands are on your hips first, thumbs dipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts as he leans over you, not yet pushing you down but crowding you close enough that you feel the press of his grin against your skin.

“you sure you don’t want something more… you?” he murmurs, voice like a low vibration against your neck, smug and teasing, but softer than usual.

you blink up at him, lying back slightly on your elbows atop the bed, the fairy lights in the corners of the ceiling casting soft gold against his white hair, making him look like the dumbest, prettiest boy the devil ever handcrafted in a rush. his shirt is wrinkled, half unbuttoned from earlier when he got dramatic during your defense trial in the living room, and you can see the curve of his collarbones, the start of his chest. he’s flushed, high, and still smiling like he’s on a game show and he’s about to spin the wheel of “ruin your life.”

you smirk back. “you saying i’m not a romantic?”

he kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed and slow. “i’m saying you’re a slut with a dream.”

you groan. “fuck off.”

“i will,” he murmurs, mouthing just below your collarbone, “right after i make you fall in love with me like a virgin on prom night.”

you burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and you don’t push him far. his hands slide up your sides, dragging your shirt with them, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing bare skin. you can feel him watching your face, that infuriating way he always does, like he’s daring you to show how much you want him, how much you feel him even in these dumb, tender moments.

you let your head fall back on the mattress with a sigh, staring at the ceiling, arms up to let him pull your shirt the rest of the way off. the lights glow amber above you. the room smells like weed and gojo and leftover cologne and heat. you’re suddenly aware of how warm you are, how warm he is—kneeling one knee between your thighs now, eyes slow and greedy as they rake over your torso.

he runs his fingers up your stomach, watching the way your skin jumps under the touch. “see?” he says, voice soft but smug. “missionary’s good already. look how romantic this is. i haven’t even said the dumb shit yet.”

“say it,” you challenge, breath catching when he leans down again, kisses trailing over the swell of your breast, hands still warm and splayed along your ribs.

his mouth brushes your sternum. “you feel so pretty under my hands.”

your thighs twitch. “that’s not even a sentence.”

“shh,” he says, nuzzling the underside of your breast. “i’m practicing.”

his tongue flicks out, barely tasting your skin, not even on your nipple, just everywhere else—stupid, teasing little licks and kisses that feel more intimate than any fast-grab hookup ever did. one hand slides down to your hip, the other dragging along your arm, fingers lacing with yours, like he’s doing this half slow to spite everyone outside the door. look at us, he seems to say with every breath. look how fucking tender missionary can be.

“i swear to god if you light a candle—”

“i’m going to whisper how much i admire your work ethic.”

“satoru.”

he kisses the inside of your elbow.

“i’m gonna say i love your playlists.”

“oh my god.”

he climbs up, mouth ghosting over your jaw now, weight sinking into the mattress as he settles between your legs fully, both your hands pinned above your head with his, gaze locking onto yours with that glint—equal parts mockery and reverence. his breath is warm, lips millimeters from yours, teasing.

“i’m gonna make you come while telling you how smart you are.”

you stare, blinking, lips parting like you’re gonna come up with a good retort—and then moan when he shifts his hips, not even grinding, just pressing, enough friction to spark heat through the fabric.

he smirks.

“told you,” he whispers. “romantic’s just foreplay with better lighting.”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck like it’s trying to reach your brain and set fire to what little reason you have left. he’s too close. he’s too warm, too gojo, too smug, and the worst part is—he’s not even being his usual chaotic self. this is worse. this is soft. this is slow, deliberate, dragged-out torture disguised as affection, and it’s working way too fucking well.

your arms are stretched above you, wrists pinned by one of his big, veiny hands—so unnecessarily hot—while his other trails down your side again, fingers curling like he’s mapping you out by touch, like every new inch of bare skin is a piece of his personal love letter.

“you’re so warm,” he says, voice quiet now. a little surprised. “you always run hot?”

you groan, cheeks hot as hell. “satoru.”

“i like it,” he adds, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your wrist. “feels like you’re already worked up for me.”

you glare. “this is supposed to be romantic.”

“it is,” he grins, leaning down just enough to drag his nose along your jaw. “i’m romancing you right now. you’re being romanced. fully seduced. by my incredible personality and outstanding emotional depth.”

you burst out laughing, face turning toward the pillow to muffle the sound, and he takes the opportunity to mouth along your neck, pressing an open kiss just below your ear. not biting, not sucking, just soft and slow, his lips dragging along your pulse point like he’s trying to memorize your heartbeat.

his hand leaves your wrist, and you instinctively move to touch him, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, over your collarbone, across your shoulder, moving down with maddening patience. he pulls at your waistband gently, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s asking without words, and you nod, breath catching in your throat.

he slides your shorts down, dragging the fabric slowly past your thighs, kissing his way along your hipbone as he goes. nothing rushed. no bravado. just him and the stupid heat of his mouth on your skin, the gentle press of his hands as he settles between your thighs.

he exhales against your inner thigh like a sigh, like he’s been waiting his whole dumb life for this exact moment, and you shiver. “still think this isn’t romantic?” he asks, glancing up with a crooked smile, his breath ghosting over where you’re already embarrassingly wet.

you tug at his hair lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

“a romantic idiot,” he corrects, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “the best kind.” he kisses higher now, slow and trailing, hands rubbing soft patterns into your thighs as he settles deeper between them, anchoring you there like he’s making himself a new home.

“i’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispers, dragging his lips up toward the place you’re aching for. “gonna make you feel so fucking good… and the whole time, i’ll be looking at you like we’re married and i just made you breakfast.”

you snort. “is that your fantasy? missionary and eggs benedict?”

he hums against your skin, lips curving. “yeah, but you’re the eggs. i’m gonna ruin you.” you squeak, shoving at his head, but your legs don’t move. they can’t, not when he’s got them opened like this, not when his mouth is that close, not when your whole body’s vibrating from anticipation.

he chuckles again, smug and soft, and presses one more kiss just shy of where you want him, before leaning back up and dragging his body over yours, forearm bracing beside your head.

his mouth finds yours again, slow and coaxing, like he’s drinking from you, like every sound you make is holy. he kisses you like he’s got forever. like tonight’s the only night that matters. and even though it’s still teasing, still laced with filth and humor and all the usual gojo mess—you feel the care in it. the attention. the goddamn sweetness.

his nose brushes yours as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“missionary’s lookin’ pretty good right now, huh?”

you can’t speak. you just nod.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he murmurs, and kisses you again, deeper now, hungrier.

and somehow—stupidly, undeniably—it is romantic.

his kiss deepens and it changes something—slips out of that playful, teasing rhythm and sinks into a weightier kind of heat, slow and intentional. like he’s not just kissing you because he wants to, but because he needs to, like there’s something about your mouth he’s been thinking about every night he lay awake jerking off with his phone on silent and your face stuck in his memory.

gojo presses closer, one arm sliding beneath your back to lift you into him, like even now, he can’t stand a sliver of distance. your thighs fall open around his hips without resistance, your body pliant, high and fuzzy and ready, even as your brain’s still catching up, trying to convince you this is actually happening.

and still—still he doesn’t go for your panties yet. he’s grinding against them through his jeans, slow, careful, more like he’s testing pressure than chasing friction. he doesn’t need to rush, not with you already sighing into his mouth, your nails dragging light patterns over the back of his neck, legs wrapping around him like a question you don’t know how to ask.

he hums against your lips, low and pleased. his voice sounds deeper now, like it’s sitting low in his chest, like lust’s finally dragging it down out of his usual chirpy register and into something that sounds like intent.

“fuck,” he murmurs, breath hot against your cheek, “you feel so fuckin’ good already and i’m not even inside you.” his nose nuzzles yours as his hand ghosts down your side again, over your waist, over the soft of your hip, sliding slow between your thighs—warm and steady, pressing the heel of his palm against your center, not touching anything properly yet, just there, enough to make you buck a little without thinking.

he pulls back to watch you, eyes blown out, grin lazy and eyes focused in a way that’s almost too much—like he’s trying to memorize the way your face changes with each drag of his hand. “don’t hide your face,” he whispers, brushing hair from your forehead. “i wanna see everything. this is the romantic part, remember?”

you glare at him weakly, lip caught between your teeth. “you’re such a dick.”

he beams. “a romantic dick.”

his fingers hook into your waistband slowly, dragging your panties down your thighs, and even then he doesn’t move too fast. he stops just to kiss the crease of your thigh, to mouth the soft skin above your knee like he’s got nowhere else to be. he keeps talking under his breath, too—his filthy little monologue of worship and teasing:

“so pretty. so soft. you always smell this good? i shoulda done this years ago. god, the way you’re lookin’ at me right now—fuck. fuck. this is better than porn.”

you groan, hiding your face again. he just laughs and pulls your hands away, pinning them gently beside your head. “you’re not allowed to be shy now, babe,” he murmurs. “not after all that talk.” then, he grinds again—slow, hips rolling forward against your now-bare heat, his cock thick and hot through his jeans before he slowly push it off his legs, dragging perfectly along your slick folds, not in, not yet, just enough to make you whimper, thighs tightening around his hips.

you say his name and it breaks on your tongue, half a moan, half a warning. his mouth finds yours again, and it’s gentler this time, breathier, softer, like the kind of kiss you give someone after an argument, or a goodbye, or a promise. “this,” he whispers, between slow rolls of his hips, “is what they don’t get about missionary. it’s not boring.”

he kisses your cheek. your jaw. your throat.

“it’s close.”

he cups your breast with one hand, thumb brushing over your nipple until your back arches. “it’s eye contact.” he pushes the tip of his cock just barely against your entrance, just a tease, not even enough to press in, just the heat and pressure and promise, and it’s maddening. “it’s feelin’ every twitch you make.” his other hand cradles your face now, thumb brushing over your cheek, his eyes locked on yours.

“and when i finally fuck you—”

you tremble beneath him, fingers gripping his shoulders like you’re drowning.

“—you’re not gonna be able to look away.”

your breath catches. your lips part. your thighs shake.

and he’s still smiling, so slow, so patient, hips rocking against yours in a way that’s somehow sweeter than anything you’ve done with him before. “see?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “romance. just with more lube.”

his cockhead slides slick and hot along your folds—slow, teasing passes up and down the length of your pussy like he’s learning you by feel, like he’s savoring every tremble you can’t suppress. he doesn’t push in yet, just drags the tip lazily, catching your clit on the upstroke, smearing your slick over the flushed head with every patient, maddening grind. it’s warm and messy and obscene, his hips rolling slow, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, arms braced on either side of your head, body coiled but unhurried.

you’re breathing through your mouth now, lips parted, chest rising fast. his forehead’s still resting against yours, breath hot, both of you in this sticky, perfect moment suspended just before the fall. you lift one hand, threading your fingers into his hair—so soft, even now—and the other slips to the buttons of his shirt.

“i need—” you start, but don’t finish. he just nods.

you work the buttons open one by one, trembling fingers moving slow at first, then faster, frantic for skin. every button undone reveals more of him—long lines of lean muscle under smooth skin, flushed now, glowing in the golden halo of the fairy lights. his collarbones, his sternum, the subtle dip down the center of his chest, the way he moves above you with every breath—it’s fucking perfect. stupidly, unreasonably perfect.

your palms flatten against his chest, dragging down over the flex of his abs, feeling him shudder under your touch. he’s warm, a little sticky with sweat, skin like silk over steel. your nails graze his ribs and he gasps into your neck.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

“shut up and fuck me,” you breathe back, and it’s not even desperate—it’s reverent. his cock nudges against your entrance, hips rolling forward, and then he pushes. slow. impossibly slow. inch by inch, your pussy stretching around him, swallowing him, your breath caught in your throat as the fullness builds, thick and unbearable and perfect.

his forehead presses back to yours. his mouth drops open, eyes squeezed shut, groaning soft and hoarse like the pleasure hurts. you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him in deeper, your hands sliding up his back. your nails dig in—deep—carving red lines into the flex of his shoulder blades and down along his spine. he hisses against your lips, a sound that’s more pleasure than pain, hips stuttering.

“shit—baby—fuck—”

he bottoms out with a shaky grind of his hips, buried so deep inside you that you feel like you’ve been marked from the inside out. every twitch of him against your walls sends sparks up your spine. and he just stays there for a moment, not moving, breathing you in.

“you feel—” he tries, but then laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. “—i don’t have the words. you feel like heaven and punishment and fucking home.” your hands curl tighter into his back, your lips brushing his cheek as you whisper back, “i told you i was romantic.”

“you’re a fucking dream,” he whispers.

then his hips start to move.

his hips begin to move with the kind of slow, reverent rhythm that makes your throat tighten. like every inch he draws back is a silent apology, and every inch he pushes back in is a promise he’ll never leave. it’s not just sex—it's the ache of something bigger pressing down on both of you, thick in the air like incense, like heat, like the way his mouth brushes yours with every shallow thrust, not always kissing, just there, sharing breath, the smallest space between you charged and crackling.

you’re wrapped around him fully now—legs looped over his waist, hands tangled in the open cotton of his shirt that’s slipped halfway off his shoulders, your nails still painting invisible trails down his back. you can feel the burn where you scratched him raw, and he’s still groaning every time your nails dig a little deeper, like it feeds him, like he likes the proof of you on his body.

but it’s slow. fucking unbearably slow.

he’s not slamming into you like some desperate teenage fantasy. no—gojo is making love to you with the body of a sinner and the mouth of a man who knows every joke will hit harder with your cunt squeezing around his cock.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning through a groan, forehead still pressed to yours. “like—fuck, like you’re trying to keep me forever.” you whimper softly, one hand sliding into his hair, tugging at the roots just to feel him react. and he does, hips hitching slightly deeper, eyes fluttering shut as he pants against your cheek.

“that what this is?” he breathes. “romance as entrapment? mm—baby, if that’s what you’re after, you’ve got me.” he pulls out almost to the tip, dragging the ridge of his cockhead against your soaked entrance, then sinks back in slowly—too slowly—and you arch into him, breath catching with a soft, gasping moan.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice cracked. “listen to you.”

his hand slips between you now, palm flat against your stomach first, then lower, his fingers finding your clit like second nature, rubbing soft circles that match the slow grind of his hips. the pressure makes your thighs tighten around him, your hips canting upward, breath stuttering.

“so good,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “satoru—fuck—don’t stop.”

“never,” he promises, eyes locked on yours now, wide and bright and open, not cocky this time, not laughing—just full of that stupid, terrifying sincerity he hides under every joke. “fuck, you feel so good. so soft. warm. like your pussy’s in love with me even if your mouth won’t say it yet.”

you let out a broken laugh, hands clutching his shoulders, your body moving with his now, rolling into every thrust, every tender rub of his fingers over your clit. “i hate you,” you whisper, dazed, overwhelmed, completely gone.

he grins, mouth brushing yours again. “no, you don’t.”

“i really do—”

“then why’s your cunt fluttering every time i say something romantic?”

you choke on a laugh that dissolves into a moan, and he kisses it off your lips, his thrusts picking up just barely—still slow, still deep, but with a heat that builds under your skin, spreading outward like a wave you know you won’t survive. “missionary,” he breathes, like he’s blessing you with the word. “best position in the world.”

“fuck you—”

“you are,” he laughs, cock twitching inside you. “you’re so fucking mine right now.”

you grab his face, pull him down into another kiss—sloppy, wet, real, all tongue and teeth and heat. he’s moaning into your mouth now, every roll of his hips drawing a whine out of your throat, every filthy little circle of his fingers making your stomach twist tight. “you’re not allowed to be good at this,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “oh, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed back to yours, cock grinding deeper, his voice dropping low and filthy. “you haven’t even seen me try yet.”

his hips drag deep and slow like he’s sculpting the inside of you with his cock, and you’re shaking beneath him—sweat-damp skin sliding against his, toes curled, fingers sunk into his back so hard you know you’ll leave scratches he’s going to brag about for weeks. gojo’s face is buried against your throat, his breath coming out in broken little groans, every sound pitched high and wrecked like he’s unraveling with you, held together by nothing but the rhythm of his thrusts and the heat blooming in your core.

you’re soaked around him, clenching every time he rolls his hips into you with that slow, relentless grind that drags the thick head of his cock across your sweetest spot just right, again and again. the slick sound of him fucking you fills the room, obscene and wet, echoing off the walls like music behind the ragged whimpering of your breath and his deep, shuddering groans.

your thighs twitch around his waist, your head thrown back against the pillows, mouth open, voice cracking as you moan, “fuck—fuck—satoru—i’m gonna—i can’t—fuck—”

“yes, baby,” he pants, voice completely shot, wrecked and desperate, every word punctuated by a thrust that goes just a little harder, a little deeper. “come on, i feel you—shit, you’re squeezing me so—fuck, come for me, baby, come on me, i wanna feel you break—”

your back arches and you scream—loud, raw, real—hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, pussy fluttering around him, tight and hot and soaked. your entire body locks up, toes curling, thighs shaking violently as pleasure rips through you in sharp, electric pulses that have you gasping his name again and again—“satoru—satoru—fuckfuckfuck—oh my god—”

he’s losing it above you, losing his fucking mind, his cock twitching hard inside you as your walls milk him with every spasm. his forehead’s pressed to yours, mouth hanging open, breath coming in short, wrecked little moans—“f-fuck—oh fuck, baby, oh my god—your pussy’s choking me—gonna—gonna—i’m gonna—”

he slams into you one last time, hips jerking as he moans so loud right in your ear, deep and guttural and shaking with how hard he comes, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, filling you up, his whole body shuddering as he gasps, "oh fuck, yes—yesyesyes—oh my fucking god—yes."

you’re both panting, legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms pulling him down, needing him close even as your bodies tremble against each other. his cock is still twitching inside you, your walls still fluttering with aftershocks, and he’s breathing your name like he’s worshipping it, forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “that was—fuck—baby—i felt everything. you—you killed me.”

you laugh, hoarse and fucked-out, body buzzing like live wire. “missionary?” he pants, lips brushing yours. “best fucking position,” you gasp, still clenching around him, making him groan all over again.

he smiles. “god, i love being right.”

his body is still trembling against yours, muscles twitching under your hands as he slowly, reluctantly, starts to move again—like he’s not ready to let go of the feeling, like being buried in you with your legs locked around his waist is something he’d live inside if the world would just let him.

he’s panting into your neck, soft little exhales against your damp skin, and you can feel the shape of every breath, the way his chest stutters against yours like he’s still trying to come back to earth. and inside you, he’s still thick, still sensitive, every subtle squeeze of your cunt making him whimper.

you grin, dazed, half-dead, fully fucked out, dragging your nails up his back with gentle pressure now, tracing along the red welts you carved earlier like a painter admiring their masterpiece. “you’re leaking inside me,” you murmur, voice rough and slurred, hips shifting just enough to feel the warm, wet spill of him dripping down your thighs.

he groans, long and low, and lifts his head to look at you. his bangs are plastered to his forehead, eyes glassy and blown wide, lips swollen and parted as he breathes. there’s sweat at his temple, a flush high in his cheeks, and the expression on his face is somewhere between holy shit and i could marry you right now and cry doing it.

“you keep squeezing me like that, baby,” he says, voice shredded, “and i’ll give you another load without even moving.”

you laugh breathlessly, biting your lip, and he kisses you—messy, slow, full of tongue and heat and that unbearable sweetness that he only ever shows you in quiet moments like this. his hips roll forward just a little, and even though you’re both sensitive, you both moan, gasping against each other’s mouths.

“fuck,” you breathe, nails digging gently into his shoulder blades again. “you came so much, satoru.”

“‘course i did,” he pants, pulling back just enough to look down at where your bodies are still joined. he moves his hips in the slightest circle, still buried inside you, cock twitching, and watches your cunt flutter around him like it’s still begging for more.

“how could i not?” he continues, eyes wide, voice soft with shock. “you—you milked me. i didn’t even get to fuck you hard. you came and just took it from me. you robbed me. you’re a criminal.” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him back down into your chest. “you liked it.”

“i loved it,” he groans, pressing kisses to your collarbone, mouthing against your skin like he can’t stop. “missionary’s never gonna be the same. i’m gonna be useless. this pussy’s got emotional consequences.”

you snort, and he keeps talking like he’s possessed, rambling sweet and filthy things against your skin. “gonna write about this in my journal. not even a sex diary. just regular journal. ‘dear diary, the love of my life fucked me dumb in my own basement. i cried a little.’”

“you didn’t cry,” you say, even as you’re laughing again.

“not yet.”

you’re still full of him, and he’s still twitching inside you like he’s thinking about round two, and honestly—you are too. the room’s still glowing soft with the fairy lights. your bodies are stuck together with sweat and come and the kind of heat that doesn’t cool easy. your thighs are sticky around his hips. his fingers haven’t stopped stroking your side. you can hear your friends still laughing distantly from the living room, and none of it matters.

he presses his forehead to yours again, noses brushing. “you wanna go again?” he asks, voice soft now, full of a wicked little smile. “slow this time. slower than this.”

you blink at him.

“that was slow.”

he grins. “i can go slower.”

your breath catches, your body already aching in the best way.

“what, you gonna put on music and cry while you fuck me?”

“only if you want me to,” he whispers, and then kisses you again, tender and deep.

and god help you—you might.

after a few moments of so-called dramatic silence—it’s not, because gojo’s incapable of shutting up even post-orgasm—you finally sigh, drop your head back with a groan, and sit up on the edge of the bed, still dazed, still soaked, still trying to remember how to be a functioning human being. your thighs stick together when you shift. the air is thick with sex and sweat and that particular smugness that only gojo satoru can radiate like body heat.

meanwhile, he’s half-dressed and strutting around like a peacock that just won a dance battle. his jeans are back on—sloppily buttoned, zipper half-down, belt missing—and his shirt is absolutely not on because it’s somewhere across the room where he tossed it like a used napkin. he’s humming to himself as he pokes through the wreckage of the bed’s surroundings, eyes sparkling like he just found religion.

“where the hell did your bra go?” he mutters, pulling a sock off the lampshade and examining it like it might transform. “jesus, did i eat it?—oh, nope. got it. it was under my back.”

you groan again, arms folded across your chest, hair a tangled halo around your face, watching him with your chin tucked against your knees. “can you just—bring me my shirt before you go on another satoru soliloquy?”

“no can do, miss missionary evangelist,” he says, holding your crumpled shirt in one hand and dramatically placing your bra over his shoulder like a sash. “not until you publicly acknowledge that you were wrong and i, gojo satoru, bringer of orgasmic truth, proved—beyond reasonable doubt—that missionary is the best position known to mankind.”

you throw a pillow at him.

it hits his face, bounces off, and he keeps smiling.

“fine,” you mutter, reaching out as he steps in close. “yes. missionary with you, the stupidest man in our group, was good. amazing. disgustingly good.”

“romantic,” he corrects, kneeling in front of you now, the shirt falling from his hand onto your lap, the bra dangling from two fingers as he smirks up at you. “romantically stupid,” you clarify, grinning despite the embarrassment curling under your skin.

“they’re gonna die when they hear you let me make love to you like a Jane Austen adaptation,” he says, gently nudging your thighs apart so he can help you step into your underwear. “haibara’s gonna combust. shoko’s gonna stage an intervention.”

“shoko’s gonna accuse me of spiritual regression,” you say, lifting your hips so he can slide the fabric back over them. “and i’m gonna prove her wrong. i’m gonna look her in the eyes and tell her: ‘even doing missionary with the dumbest man i know, it was still the best.’ and you know what? i’m gonna mean it.”

gojo grins like the devil with a heart of gold.

“now that’s the kinda testimonial i wanna hear in a courtroom,” he says, fingers dragging slowly up your thighs, hooking your shorts next. “tell the jury, sweetheart. tell ‘em what it felt like.” you swat his shoulder, cheeks flushing again. “just help me put my bra on, casanova.”

he does—surprisingly gently, fingers cool against your back, hooking the clasp with practiced ease before pulling your shirt down over your head, smoothing the fabric over your hips like he’s dressing a doll he won in a fucked-up carnival game. and when he stands up again, you reach for his bicep, eyes catching on the faint red lines blooming just under the curve of his muscle.

your fingers trace one—long, angry, scabbed slightly already. the mark from your nails. from when you came so hard you clawed him like you were drowning in him. your breath catches a little.

“does that hurt?” you ask, voice low, thumb brushing it softer now.

he looks down at your hand. then at you.

and grins.

“hurt? no, baby. it’s proof.”

“proof of what? that i mauled you like a cat in heat?”

“proof that missionary ruins lives.” you choke on a laugh, and he throws his arms out dramatically, flexing the arm with the red lines like a trophy. “i’m gonna show everyone,” he says proudly. “i’m gonna walk out there and tell them: this? this was earned through slow, passionate, eye-contact-heavy fucking.”

you blink. “you’re gonna brag about being scratched during tender sex?”

“hell yes i am. this is a scarlet letter and i’m wearing it with pride.”

you bury your face in your hands.

“i’m gonna have to move cities.”

he leans down, kisses your hair, still giddy.

“no you’re not. you’re gonna go out there, sit on that couch, and smile smugly while they cry about how you got the good shit.”

“what, missionary?”

he winks. “romantic missionary.”

you shake your head, grabbing his hand to stand up with a sigh. your legs still tremble slightly, and he catches you with an arm around your waist. “we tell them,” he whispers in your ear, “but we don’t tell them everything.”

“deal.”

you walk out first, mostly because gojo insisted on dramatically opening the door for you like some fucked-up victorian husband escorting his blushing bride after the most sacred consummation of their union—which is rich, considering there was nothing sacred about what just happened unless you count the part where you saw god for a few seconds while pinned beneath the dumbest man in your life.

the moment the door creaks open, the silence is immediate and vicious. like the eye of a hurricane. the group sprawled across the living room snaps their heads toward the hallway in unison like a pack of wild animals smelling the aftermath of debauchery—and the look on their faces?

oh yeah. they know.

you’re glowing. not figuratively. literally. your skin’s flushed and gleaming with sweat, your shirt slightly off the shoulder, your lips swollen, your hair a disaster that no dry shampoo or dignity could save. a fresh constellation of hickeys blooms across your neck like you had a one-night stand with the concept of poor decision-making. you’ve got that post-sex daze in your eyes—the kind that says your soul left your body for twenty-seven minutes and came back softer.

and gojo?

gojo looks worse. or better, depending on how deranged your standards are.

shirtless. completely unbothered. jeans slung low like gravity’s trying to preserve the last shreds of your dignity and failing. his hair’s a wild mess, fluffed and chaotic, the way it always gets when you’ve pulled it hard—and oh, you did. his face is pink and flushed, lips bitten, pupils blown, and he’s got this grin, this absolutely illegal, felony-level smug grin, like he just won a championship no one else knew they were playing.

his back and arms are fucking wrecked. scratch marks everywhere. some long and shallow, others deep and angry, crisscrossing like tally marks on a prison wall. his biceps? ruined. shoulders? decorated. lower back? absolutely mauled. he’s walking like a man who survived the trenches and wants everyone to know it. he’s not even pretending to be humble.

you both step into the room and immediately—

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—” haibara lets out a guttural scream like he’s witnessing a murder. he drops the pool cue he wasn’t even holding right and clutches his face. “you look—he looks—i didn’t even know backs could bruise like that,” utahime says, pointing, voice somewhere between horrified and hysterical.

shoko slowly sits up straighter, blinking at your neck, her eyes narrowing as she catalogues the damage. “that’s… impressive. Disgusting, but impressive.” geto whistles low, lounging on the couch with his legs crossed like he’s the judge in a porno talent show. “is that a bite on your collarbone? did you actually leave teeth marks?”

gojo throws an arm around your shoulder like a victorious war hero returning home, full of glory and sin and not a shred of guilt. “ladies,” he says, voice hoarse and soaked in self-satisfaction, “gentlemen. sluts of all genders. i am here to confirm that romantic missionary is not dead.”

you smack his chest but don’t move away.

you’re already laughing, breathless, flushed, and shameless. “even with him,” you announce to the room, lifting your chin, “missionary is still the best position. maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

dead silence.

and then the couch erupts.

haibara throws a pillow at you so hard it ricochets and hits nanami in the face. utahime screams. shoko collapses backward, legs kicking, full-body laughing like a woman betrayed. geto claps slow and dramatic, head shaking. “you’ve broken her,” shoko howls, “she’s gone, she’s converted. next she’ll say handholding’s hot!”

“it is,” gojo says, absolutely delighted. “you’re a slut,” utahime says, pointing at you, but her voice is grinning. “every position is the best for you. you could get railed in a dentist chair and you’d moan about how it’s your new favorite.”

“i’m versatile,” you say proudly, flicking your hair like it isn’t a crime scene. “you’re deranged,” nanami mutters, finally lifting his head just to sip something dangerously amber. “no, no, wait,” haibara gasps, pointing at gojo. “he still doesn’t have a shirt on. why doesn’t he have a shirt on? is that blood? IS THAT BLOOD?”

“scratches, sweetheart,” gojo coos, turning around like a model showing off his back to the judges. “proof of passion. her nails did all this. i am but a humble canvas.”

“he moaned when i did it,” you add, deadpan.

shoko screams into a cushion.

“i need bleach for my eyes,” utahime mutters. geto nods solemnly. “i knew missionary would be the one to take you down. i didn’t think it would actually work.”

gojo slumps dramatically into the couch, dragging you with him, arms still around your waist like he can’t let go now that he’s ruined you emotionally and spiritually. he kisses your temple with obnoxious affection, legs spread wide like a man proud of the ruin he left behind.

“this,” he says, motioning to his face, “is the face of a man who made love and won.” you lean back against his chest, sighing like a satisfied villain. “and this is the face of a woman who has no regrets.”

utahime flings her slipper across the room.

“take your slutty love story and get the fuck out.” and all you can do is laugh, tangled with the man who made missionary feel like a religious experience, glowing like a filthy miracle, while your friends spiral in the wake of your post-sex enlightenment.

the scene that follows is nothing short of a cinematic meltdown, a group mental collapse broadcast in full color under the low glow of gojo’s cursed mood lighting. the basement already reeked of weed and spilled cheap whiskey, but now it’s thick with the stench of defeat. your victory. his absolute, unapologetic, shirtless triumph.

gojo leans back into the couch like he owns the fucking place—well, he does, technically, but now it’s like he owns the narrative, the mythos. his arms spread over the back of the cushions, one dangling casually behind your shoulders, the other resting across your thigh like a hand claiming territory. he’s not even pretending to put his shirt back on anymore. it lies somewhere in the corner, forgotten, like decency itself. his chest gleams with sweat and scratches. his hair looks like a bird tried nesting in it during the act. and he smiles.

that dumb, cocky, post-sex smile like he just unlocked a new religion and you’re the first disciple.

you’re still glowing. cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, shirt stretched from being pulled halfway over your head at one point and now just barely covering the constellation of hickeys painted from your neck to your collarbone. you look like you just committed a crime and are so proud of the mugshot.

“it wasn’t just good,” you declare, fingers lazily adjusting your hair with all the grace of a slutty war general. “it was enlightenment. i saw god and she winked at me.”

“was she into missionary too?” geto asks, eyes squinting as he exhales smoke through his nose.

“she invented it,” you say solemnly.

shoko’s lost in the corner of the couch, one sock off, one sock on, a throw blanket over her head as she moans, “i am going to exorcise this entire night from my memory. i am going to bleach my soul.” utahime looks at you, then gojo, then you again, pointing a trembling finger as she says, “the worst part is you’re not even ashamed. you’re not even pretending.”

“what is there to be ashamed of?” gojo grins, tilting his head and stretching his legs out like a lounge chair with a heartbeat. “i made her come with eye contact and emotional intimacy. you’re welcome.”

“you did not make me cry,” you say through your teeth, blushing all over again.

he just hums and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you wanted to cry.”

“you literally told me you’d fall in love with me if i kept clenching.”

“and did you?” he raises an eyebrow.

you flick his nipple. he gasps like a scandalized housewife.

“anyway,” you sigh dramatically, like you didn’t just have your soul rearranged missionary style by a man who can’t name five vegetables, “i stand by it. even with gojo. especially with gojo. missionary is the best position ever.”

haibara’s curled up in the fetal position on the beanbag, face buried in a throw pillow, groaning loud enough to qualify as a siren. “i hate this timeline. i hate this dimension.”

“you’re all just mad it wasn’t you,” gojo chirps.

“no one wants to do missionary with you!” utahime shouts.

“she did,” he says smugly, nudging you with his knee.

“she’s a slut!” shoko yells from beneath the blanket. “every position is the best for her! she’d say reverse piledriver is romantic if you called her ‘sweetheart’ while doing it!”

you shrug unapologetically. “what can i say? i value connection.”

“you value getting railed while someone holds your hand,” nanami deadpans, not even looking up from the book he inexplicably pulled out sometime during this hellish conversation.

“yes, and?”

“honestly?” geto exhales smoke, eyes thoughtful. “it’s kind of poetic.”

“oh don’t you start,” utahime groans.

gojo tucks his chin over your shoulder now, holding you close, his voice a warm hum in your ear. “i’m gonna write a manifesto. ‘missionary for the modern man: an erotic treatise.’ subtitle: with love, and balls-deep penetration.”

you start laughing so hard you nearly fall off the couch.

“you’re insane,” you say, wheezing.

“i’m revolutionary,” he murmurs, planting a kiss just behind your ear. “i’m a pioneer. i’m the christopher columbus of tender fucking.”

“he committed genocide,” you say.

“okay,” gojo says, thoughtful, “then i’m the neil armstrong of romantic nut.”

“you didn’t discover the moon, satoru,” nanami says flatly.

“maybe she’s my moon,” gojo murmurs, dramatically clutching his chest, “and i left my footprints all over her surface.”

you grab a throw pillow and smack him in the face.

he catches it, kisses it, throws it back.

your friends are all either screaming, sobbing, or plotting your deaths.

but you?

you’re smiling.

and glowing.

and still a little sore in the best fucking way.

#jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru smut #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #anime smut #gojo fluff #jjk fic

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angelseraphines · 1 month ago

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on the aesthetics of asian erasure in star wars: obi-wan kenobi and the planet of naboo

when we talk about representation in star wars, the conversation often stops at what’s visible or credited. star wars has a long-standing problem with the lack of asian leads or asian-coded worlds, but sometimes what’s more insidious is the erasure of asian influence where it once existed, or where it was clearly intended to be.

take obi-wan kenobi. before alec guinness was cast, george lucas had reportedly wanted a japanese actor to play the role, toshirō mifune, most famously known for his work with akira kurosawa. lucas has never strayed away from citing the hidden fortress as a direct inspiration for a new hope, and the jedi, in their original conception, from eastern philosophies, particularly bushido and zen buddhism. this was not accidental. it’s embedded into the language, “obi” (the sash of a kimono), “wan” (a name component common in chinese and southeast asian names), and “kenobi,” which emulates the structure of japanese surnames. it is an asian-inspired name, heavily so.

but when mifune declined, lucas pivoted. and instead of keeping that vision intact, the jedi master archetype, the wise elder, steeped in tradition, was lifted from its asian origins and handed to a white british actor. and then later, to ewan mcgregor, whose performance, while incredible, westernized the role further. we are told obi-wan is from “stewjon,” a planet born out of a joke, a merging of jon stewart’s name, after he asked lucas where obi-wan was from. then “space scotland” became the shorthand. that change from asian inspiration to european performance was never really questioned.

it’s not about demanding obi-wan look asian. it’s that the character was rooted in an asian framework, and that framework was abandoned the moment it became inconvenient to uphold. and that sets the tone for much of star wars, aesthetic borrowing without meaningful credit.

naboo is another case where this shows up. the common narrative is that naboo was inspired by renaissance europe, with its lush italian architecture, baroque dresses, and romanticized monarchy. those elements are there. but there’s a consistent thread of asian influence that is almost never acknowledged.

the names of the monarchs are a starting point. padmé, from the sanskrit “padma,” meaning lotus. sabé and saché, echoing asian and hindi name constructions. queen jamillia, whose name stems from arabic roots, suggests influence from islamic culture. even the name “naboo” itself sounds curiously close to nebo, a mesopotamian god, or nabu, the sumerian deity of wisdom. the planets closest to naboo in the galactic grid, like sereno and ord mantell, also carry vague echoes of eurasian tone.

but most significantly, look at the costume design in the phantom menace. trisha biggar drew from a range of global influences, but some of queen amidala’s most iconic gowns were directly modeled after traditional mongolian royal attire, specifically the headdress and layered robes worn by mongolian empresses. the high collars, rich brocades, and facial makeup are unmistakable. yet, in the lore, naboo is labeled as european. not central asian. not global. and certainly not asian.

this is not to say star wars owes its worldbuilding to any one culture. it doesn’t. part of its power comes from its ability to merge and reimagine cultures. but there is a problem when the contributions of asian cultures are stripped of credit, while european aesthetics are exalted as canonical. when a jedi’s name can be asian, his values drawn from eastern philosophies, his robes loosely modeled on samurai garb, and yet his face, voice, and homeworld are made definitively western.

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immortaledd · 5 days ago

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Dark Sun, Our Solstice.

Something I did on VR!! Came out much better than I honestly thought I would.

Heh…lowkey summoned my inner @/nightyelean …which is an artist you should DEFINITELY check out. One o’ my favorite artists in this fandom fr fr!!!

I redesigned his necklace and gave him an original symbol to match! A lot of people kept referencing it to an SCP that looked coincidentally similar… wasn’t intentional unfortunately.

Both are references from the architecture in Solstice’s “Pocket Dimension” where he caught Eclipse in.

- The three red circles are the embedded jewels on the walls, capable of being a medium for star power

- a Star Symbol is drawn behind the “gems”. Though, drawn as if from one’s mind, as clear as a goal, but not yet physical.

Is it giving UltraKill? Yes. Is it giving Pressure Achievements? Yes. WAS IT INTENTIONAL? NOT AT ALL…BUT I AM DIGGING IT SO HARD.

About his name - for those who don’t know. Dark Sun, Solstice, and “Sun” (not tsams sun) are all the same person.

Dark Sun - Referred to be strangers and rivals in the show. He doesn’t like it.

Sun - His real name, the name which he wishes to be called by (and I always will in any future comics, writing, etc…)

Solstice - A show name he got while being a Drifter in the In-Between. He doesn’t like it, but it seems to follow him everywhere.

For information on the In-Between and Drifters, see this post: blap!

Solstice is a fanon name my bestie and I pushed into the fandom as far as it could reach - and since it got into the show THREE SEPARATE TIMES, it’s totally canon fr fr. /JJJ

Naw, but you all know my job if you know me. Fixing plot holes and creating background lore completely mix-and-matchable to support the story without directly interfering.

YAHOO! I LOVE MY MONEYLESS JOB!

#Edd’s Lore #Edd’s Science #my art #tsams dark sun #dark sun tsams #tsams solstice #solstice tsams #dark sun fanart #solstice fanart #tsams #tsams art #tsams fanart #sun and moon show #sams art #sams fanart #the sun and moon show #art #fanart #vr art

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solspina · 5 months ago

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Hope in Small Places

malum caedo ⋆˙⟡

a short story that's not my proudest work. i just want to get this posted i am so sorry its not proofread and probably horribly written amen.

a poor chaos sacrifice, bent to be perfect and compliant, meets a very questionable space marine with unclear intentions and an even more unclear identity. taken to a safe space and left to ponder her thoughts, she remembers she has more faith than anticipated.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: blood, mentions/implications of sexual assault, religious guilt probably, malum fucking caedo

Her body had sat folded in on itself since the moment she had last been placed down, the only two things that prevented her knees from resting flush against her chest were the sharp, knife-like pain of her broken leg bones poking into her muscles as they threatened to break skin the moment she put pressure upon them, and the presence of a quietly vibrating servo-skull that was being held within her clammy hands, clutched close to her body in a feeble attempt to muffle the almost ambient noise coming from it.

The technology embedded in the skull had made it warm. At the very least, she could feel and somewhat move her fingers, and that alone had been a small but welcome mercy against the freezing cold floors of whatever ship or building her heretical and deformed captors had dragged her into. Regardless of the type of architecture, what mattered was their intention - their screaming voices and bloodied knuckles as they spent day by day and night by night molding her to be the perfect little sacrifice to an unknown chaos god. One who was, without a doubt, not the emperor.

Her pounding head remained bowed, and her breath only came from her lips in sharp, trembling gasps. Whether her labored intake of air came from a punctured lung or from raw fear, she could no longer discern. Her forehead had long stayed against the servo-skull in her arms as she waited for hours at a time. She occasionally took a moment to try and quell her boredom by messaging at the rope burns that lined nearly every limb that clung onto her fragile body. Arms, neck, legs - any inch of exposed skin that had not been covered by the filthy and tattered fabric an eerily bloodstained and unfamiliar looking astartes had torn from the loincloth around his waist.

Some of the heretics had been kinder than others, of course. She had decided that she much preferred the company of the Slaaneshi over the Khornites, for at least the bruises caused by their hands were from the violence of desire and not that of hatred.

Tucked behind a small cargo barrel, she waited for a sign of safety - either from the servo-skull in her hands or from the lack of gunshots and raging of chainswords that came from the next rooms over. A mere few minutes, maybe even hours earlier, they had been right outside the door, but now they had moved to directly above her head. She did not move a muscle as incredibly apparent slaughter circled the rooms around her, never once entering the room she had been placed in with more care than she had experienced in months of captivity. She had simply been placed down in a utility closet-like room and told to stay put, not to move. She was incredibly good at following orders by now, especially the ones that entailed sitting still and letting whatever was going to happen to her body simply happen. She could do nothing to stop her daemon captors from doing what they desired, whether that be to her mind, body, or soul.

This time, it had to have been one of Tzeentch’s men, she was halfway certain. Bright blue armor and the bird-like helmet he wore would not have been out of character for someone like the changer of ways, but she had encountered rubric marines before and not a single one of them had the look or presence of a soul that this one had. Many wouldn’t have even had the vocal cords to tell her to stay put in place.

The possibility of one of the emperor’s angels had crossed her mind, but that hope faded near immediately. Greater daemons and champions of chaos wandered this building, constantly taunting her with their strengths and feats. They mutilated her flesh and made it whole again. They violated her fragile body time and time again. They preached the power of their gods and smiled when she teared up in fear of what she was doomed to become part of. She was reminded day in and day out, through endless nights of sleep deprivation only sated when she fainted from exhaustion or pain, that a single angel of the emperor stood no chance alone. And so, she had swallowed the prayer of the man in blue armor coming to save her as soon as it rose to the front of her prayers.

She had become so lost in her thoughts, in her doubts, that she had failed to realize that prayers had started falling from her lips. Her words, still accompanied by her shallow and shaking breaths, were barely coherent whispers - aside from the occasional "emperor" and "protect me" that came audibly from within her chest. She knew her cries for help would go unanswered. If they had not been answered by now, it was clear to both her and the chaos that surrounded her that the emperor was not listening. Her unwavering faith meant absolutely nothing.

She only managed to break away from those thoughts as the closet door hissed in response to being opened and revealed the white helmet peeking from behind it. She lifted her forehead from the servo-skull and allowed herself to stare into the glowing red eyes of the bloodied astartes that stepped into the room and closed the door tightly behind him as he approached, either to trap her or prevent being ambushed. She felt the tension in the air rise as he walked toward her, his boots pounding against the metal floor in perfect sync with her head before they stopped mere inches from her legs. One slight kick from him would mean immediate death. Quick and painless, at least.

Alas, the kick never came.

Instead, he knelt, tilting his bird-like helm left and right slightly and repetitively. He seemed to be assessing her closely, checking for any further signs of injury or chaos-taint before bowing his head, leveling it with hers and allowing her to place her hand upon the top of the beak.

"Are you hurt?" He asked through his still-bowed head, watching her shake her own head as she stared into his eyes through the distortion of his helmet.

"Where are... they..." She asked in return. Her voice trembled almost as much as her irises did, and trailed off all the same. She was exhausted, truthfully, and he seemed to realize it far more than even she did. Her gaze, however, even against her voice, was suffocatingly afraid. He backed away, careful not to move too quickly as to not scare her any further, even despite the blood and vitae covering his armor in absolutely every area it could reach.

"The heretics?" He said, looking for assurance he had read her question correctly. "Dead. Every last one of them."

He was incredibly careful to read the baseline's body language, wanting to ensure he had done the right thing leaving her alive. Would she attack him for killing her people? Smile at the death of heretics? The sigh of relief that fell from her lips and the slack of her tense shoulders told him all he needed to know.

She would cry, jump into his arms in joy if she had the energy to. That, he did not need to know. What he did know was that he needed to leave, and he needed to do so urgently if the baseline he had rescued would have absolutely any chance of survival.

"You need not walk." He replied to her obvious dilemma, his tone leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he had already moved to cradle her with practiced ease that made the blood and carnage on his armor seem to be a hallucination. She winced as her shattered bones in her legs shifted, but her pain faded just as quickly as it had began now that they were off the ground and away from any applied pressure.

The servo-skull she once had seemed to attach itself to the air around the astartes without hesitation. Perhaps it was his all along, and she had just stumbled across it by chance. Regardless, she hoped that it's good intentions had matched his, and that he would prove to be just as comforting in the end.

"Stay with me," The marine murmured, repeating the phrase as he opened the door and carried her into the corridors that smelled putrid of fresh blood. She was used to the scent, desensitized, and yet she inhaled its lack of comfort one last time. "Stay with me."

"The emperor protects." She whispered, pressing her face against his bloodied chestplate, no longer caring if a little heretic blood covered her skin.

They had bathed in her blood for months, she deserved a turn with theirs.

"Indeed he does, little one."

Solspina's Scribellum✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

@astrohymn @moodymisty @undeaddream

@kit-williams @lemon-russ @egrets-not-regrets

(please comment to be added/removed from my taglist !!)

#malum caedo x reader #astartes x reader #adeptus astartes #space marine x reader

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brights-place · 5 months ago

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【⋆˚࿔ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝜗𝜚˚⋆】

Read The full book on my wattpad

[Name] stared at the people below her as she bit her lip as she headed over to the platform of the quartz stage as she took a sharp breath in as she stood in front of a podium. The scene takes place under a dusky, gradient sky that transitions from deep purple at the top to lighter pink hues near the horizon as lightning stroke behind her as she held her hands close to herself as a form of comfort.

Framing the center of the large stage were ornate picture frame liked mirrors floating mid-air. These golden gilded frames are elaborately detailed with swirls and flourishes, housing portraits of [Name] in their outfit. Each portrait is identical showing [Name] standing their on the stage in front of the podium.

The central architectural feature is a large, open book structure, its curved pages forming a bridge-like stage. The book features intricate crest-like symbols and patterns along its spine and cover further enhancing its magical appearance. Flanking the book like stage are delicate arches covered with vines wrapped around the arch way. Silhouettes of figures below in the seats were staring up at the stage.

"I am [Name] Queen... Daughter of the Evil Queen" She looked around before diverting her attention to the side speaking with a solemn voice "And I pledge-" a silence rang out for a moment before she spoke once more "I uhm" A girl with snow white skin and blonde curled hair smiled with a happy expression gesturing the girl to go on "come on! do it" she said cheering the girl as y/n felt her dress to feel more uncomfortable as if the weight of the accessories held her down with the dress is fabrics clung to her skin tighter as if she couldn't breathe.

[Name] glanced over to her other side to headmaster grim a male dressed in a blue coat and light greyish blue vest with a light blue ascot with a golden decoration with a red stone on it. He has a dark grey mustache, green eyes and dark grey hair with lighter stripes. He also wears a golden ring in the shape of a mirror. He's also rather stout, at least in the stomach area, from the side who let out a huff with furrowed rows staring at her.

She stared at a floating key that summoned as she opened her hand letting it drop onto her palm as she stared at it's black and purple swirl as she looked towards the book on the podium. The Storybook of Legends laid there a hardcover book with pages containing the stories and the students taking up the roles of the characters in the fairy tale.

On it's front cover was a shiny mirror-like compartment in the center front cover of the book, along with a keyhole with a magical key required to open the book for signing. The crest of Ever After is embedded on the top, above the mirror. The magical key appears once a student pledges, and the Storybook flips itself to the page of the signer.

She paused as she twisted the key into the book as pages flipped showing her story on how she will be the next evil queen with how her life will end up as each page flipped and turned her shoulders tightened and her grip on her palms turned sweaty nails digging into her skin as she stared at the small signature box that was left on the bottom right corner of each page, for the specific student to sign. Some pages from major fairy tales are displayed by the headmaster's office, taken from the Storybook of Legends. Physically, the book is maroon-colored with golden embellishments on each corner.

[Name]'s eyes widened to see the last page of her homeless and in struggle as her face dropped biting her lip distress on her face as she shakily looked up to the mirror in front of her that showed herself. The ornate's swirling golden frame encloses a vivid and almost ethereal depiction of a character in distress.

[Name]'s appearance hued with magenta and swirls of colors of purple as she was bounded, exudes a sense of urgency and confinement. Appearing shackled with glowing magical chains encircling her wrists and neck.

Her expression is one of shock or fear, with wide pleading eyes and a slightly open mouth that conveys a sense of desperation. Wearing gothic clothing with feathery, jagged edges along with The glowing chains with purple energy that bounded her down as a small gasp came from her lips as her eyes widened as a quill also appears for the stage of signing.

Her e/c eyes diverted around the page gripping onto the podium with a feeling of angst as her eyes stared back to the book and the quill hovering before she reached out and pulling back her eyebrows furrowed as she went back to facing forward as her body loosened up as she spoke "I am [Name] Queen and I'm going to write my own destiny" she exclaimed as the mirrors that were floating shined brighter as they shook slightly as she grabbed the Story book of legends is front cover "My happily ever after starts Now" in a quick motioned her hand slammed the book shut as the bright pink mirror on the front cover glinted for a moment as the mirrors that surrounded the area vibrated before shattering.

Fragments of glass dropped to the floor below and onto the stage as she heaved gasps of shock and cheers were heard from the crowd below. [Name]'s eyes widened before she heaved and relaxed her body feeling lighter as her lips twitched up eyes widening checking her hands "I- I did it I'm still here" she quickly snapped her focused to headmaster Grim "I didn't disappear" headmaster grim eyebrows furrowed with his emerald eyes stared down at her with edge as she glared back harshly.

She couldn't help but flinch for a moment at a voice calling out "How could you be- so- So selfish" A girl with bright blue eyes with skin as pale as snow her lips coated with a red lipstick that was suppose to support her smile yet it was twisted to a harsh frown her curls blonde curls bouncing as her eyes were tearing up. A loud booing was heard from a half of the crowd below as another part was cheering at [Name].

[Name] spoke quickly "I'm sorry apple but I-" she took a sharp breath in yet the noise was too loud for her to think as if they continued to swarm around her making pressure getting added to the back of her throat as if not having the choice to speak out was withholding her back.

[Name] snapped her head to the crowd gripping her fists angrily as she let out a noise of annoyance turning around as she spoke loudly as her hands started to glow a violaceous flame "Hold everything" The purple hued flame shot out of her hands growing in size as it shot down to the crowd and people around her as she froze seeing everything freeze around her, [Name] couldn't help but be stunned staring at her palms and the flames that vanished "I didn't know I could do that..." her e/c eyes filled with sorrow as she looked back over her shoulder to Apple with a look of sadness.

She sighed raising her hands facing forward to apple as the familiar coloured hue of her magic shot to the girl from her finger tips Apple is frozen stature went back to normal as she blinked her sky blue eyes at the h/cnette with various purple highlights "I'm sorry apple" [Name] uttered staring at the girl.

Her eyes diverted to the ground and back up to the girl "but I don't want anyone to tell me who I want to be. I wanna figure that out on my own" [Name] stated hands going to her chest staring at the blonde with eyes filled with determination and honesty "and don't you understand?" she muttered gesturing to the girl in front of her who was staring at her with sadness "I'm not the only one who can choose their own destiny now we all do" she gestured to everybody who was frozen and stared back to the girl hoping she'd understand her view of the situation "even you" she stated.

Apple stared at [Name] with wide eyes before speaking "I don't want to choose a new destiny" Apple rebutted as she teared up more as her eyebrows furrowed "I liked what I had and because of you" she pointed her finger towards [Name] who flinched back slightly her eyes widening "It might not happen" "It might" [Name] suggested hand to her chest as she went to reach her hand to comfort apple but pulled it back as apple sobbed quietly "I don't know... I just don't know" apple walked off as [Name] stared at her retreating figure with sadness before taking a sharp inhale and looking at the crowd her lips slightly lifting up from seeing maddie cheering her on frozen as she undid the spell on her bff.

A noise came from Maddie as she got unfrozen from the crowd before [name] grinned at her petite shorter friend who popped up right beside her "wahh! your here no poof Poof POOF! YAY!" the girl cheered hand sin the air being ecstatic and hyper as always as [name] laughed "I know! it feels good" she smiled eyes closed as she let out a sigh of relief talking to Maddie.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝

Head master grim stood in front of a window as lightning struck with rain hitting the cold glass as his hands were behind his back eyebrows furrowed "[Name] does not know the forces she has released" he spoke to himself with furrowed brows letting in a sharp inhale as he watched the rain leave it's marks on his window.

"It must be contained before the dangerous idea spreads" he shook his fist before flinching when a laugh came from a mirror to his right side as a woman's malicious laugh echoed the mirror shining and glittering with a white glow slightly with each noise of the laughter head master grim flinching back as lightning struck.

Yet it wasn't only was a Womans laugh a crow like laugh was also heard too on par with a males behind the female laugh. Headmaster Grim's eyebrows furrowed at the voice as he looked back out at the window gulping.

⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 【Time Skip after E.A.H events】❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[Name] sighed as she finished the whole ordeal with throne coming, going into wonderland, stopping her mother and reconnecting with her and the events after all that she finally could catch a break to have fresh air after all the destruction, chaos and problems.

The h/cnette was walking up the stairs of the stone tower to visit her mother to have their once a week talks with eachother that she'd give her mother yet when walking up to the top of the attic she paused "Mum?" She called put stepping up the final step boot hitting the wooden floor boards staring towards a part of the room.

A mirror that stood tall and oval-shaped, exuding an air of elegance and mystery. Its frame is a deep rich purple with a highly intricate and ornate design. The frame is adorned with swirling, vine-like patterns that intertwine gracefully, creating a sense of movement and fluidity patterns extended outwards in curling tendrils.

At the very top of the mirror the design culminates in a decorative crest, resembling a crown with two raven feathers around. The legs of the mirror are equally ornate, curving outward and continuing the flowing theme of the frame.

A sigh past her lips a puff of cold air shown as she walked over to it yet something felt off with the mirror her mother would usually be doing something in their last time she came by she was on a cycle but due to the dire weather and raining everything felt a-bit more tense the lightning on the glass didn't help either.

[ Name ] walked over hand placing onto the mirror is curves to check to see her mother who would usually greet her inside the glass yet nothing was there. A sigh past her lips as she stepped back staring at her own appearance.

The mirrors glass itself is smooth and reflective framed beautifully by the vivid patterns that seem to almost cradle it as if it were a precious artifact.

[Name] couldn't help but repeat herself while staring at her mirror "Mum? This isn't really funny" she said hand on her hip before smiling softly yet she couldn't see anything her mother didn't appear, no comments, no pampering and praises not anything.

A look of awkwardness reached her face as she looked around and back "I'll come back later" she muttered as she turned around before feeling a gust of wind hit her from the open window in the tower as she held to cover her face as the sound flames erupted from behind her.

Her head snapped to see her mothers mirror floating and shaking swirling in colours before it changed as [Name] jaw dropped stepping back with wide eyes to see the familiar mirror that was suppose to be in her legend originally her mothers.

The once purple mirror changed to a larger oval frame that was gold that curled around the mirror like tendrils the mirror your mother was trapped in was now changed and was in front of her now floating in the air.

Where your reflection should have been, was instead a large wall of green flames that engulfed half of it as her face paled staring at the Mirror confused how could her mothers mirror prison change into the one her mother had talked to before it was shattered long ago.

"Ahh..."

A deep voice began, coming straight from the mirror. [Name]'s e/c eyes widened staring at the mirror that continued speaking the flames flickering

"My cherished benefactor."

"A lovely, wicked bloom that doth nobly enthral."

The mirror moved closer to her causing her to scramble back landing on the floor as she panicked but was frozen staring at the mirror that hovered more closer.

"Truly, thou art the fairest one of all." It continued, slowly floating closer still.

The mirror kept coming closer until it stopped a few inches away from [Name]'s face where it proceeded to hover.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall."

[Name] was stuck frozen as it spoke more before pausing in its speech, almost as if it were aware that it wasn't on a wall.

"Who is the fairest one of all"

Noise was blocked in [Name] is ear as her palms shook she despised the familiar phrase that she heard too many times from Apple in their shared dorm one she hated to listen to especially when she accidentally hexed Apples mirror once and it became mean so she had to pretend to be the mirror to compliment the girls ego. This though? This was different

Out of sheer stress the girl summoned purple flames in her hands staring at the Mirror raising her hands as if she was going to shatter the mirror before freezing when she was met with the sound of the mirror speaking again

"Those who art guided by the Dark Mirror."

The green flames flicking and gripping at the glass from the other side slowly began to fade out as it continued.

"Follow the wish of thine heart, and take the hand thou seest reflected in the looking glass."

At that, the flames fully out and her breath caught in her throat as a hand came into view. It looked as if it was reaching out towards her, but it was waiting for someone to take it. There was something all too familiar about the hand as it waited, something that she just couldn't place as she bit her lip the flames in her hand died down.

She stared at the mirror eyes staring at the glint of a small ring on its finger that caught her attention and it made her bite her lip looking over her shoulder to the stairs she could just go but for some reason the hand was reaching out as if ushering her.

[Name] turned back to the mirror that floated to her still beckoning her forth as she spoke "Mum if this is a prank to get me to let you out I'm going to punch you" [Name] said pausing yet the atmosphere was still tense this was real and she couldn't help but be swayed.

She began to reach out for the hand the one shown in the glass mere centimetres away from you. The words the mirror uttered next feel deaf upon [Name] is ears as her fingertips brushed against the glass pausing before it went through as her eyes widened before shouting in shock when the hand was quick to reach out and grab onto her's, pulling her body through the glass.

The mirror broke with a large shatter and fell to the ground, glass shards scattered all over the ground and curtain the words that were left deaf upon [Name] is ears echoed a warning that was spoken around in the broken glass, never to be heard.

"For I.....And for them.....And for thee.....Little time doth remain. No matter what, take care to never let go of that hand..."

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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xenopoem · 1 month ago

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A xenopoem is a speculative, avant-garde form of poetry that transcends traditional human language and semiotics, often embodying alien, non-human, or posthuman perspectives. It functions as a linguistic or biosemiotic "glitch," disrupting conventional meaning-making through fragmented, recursive, or algorithmic structures. Drawing from experimental art and systems biology, xenopoems act like portals or mutational vectors, reconfiguring cognition, space, or even planetary ecosystems. They are not merely read but inhabited by non-human entities—like microbial intelligences or AI—as self-executing scripts or topological shifts in reality.

Key characteristics include:

Alien semiotics: Incorporates untranslatable or non-human linguistic systems, challenging human cognition.

Glitch ontology: Acts as a disruptive "virus" in bio-digital or planetary architectures, fostering adaptive mutations.

Posthuman focus: Engages with distributed cognition, cross-species communication, or technomorphosis, often bypassing human-centric narratives.

Interplanetary design: May manifest as fractalized data structures embedded in extraterrestrial habitats, rewriting environments.

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the-most-humble-blog · 2 months ago

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You Are Being Haunted — and Science Can’t Save You.

You are being haunted. And you don’t even know it.

Not by ghosts. Not by demons. But by something far worse.

Something that follows you. From inside you. From before you were conscious — and long after you think you’re dead.

I. What Follows You Without Footsteps?

In quantum physics, there’s a term:

Superposition — the idea that particles can exist in multiple states at once, until observed.

Observation collapses the wave. But what collapses you?

Answer: Your shadow.

You think it’s a trick of the light. But in quantum terms, it’s something else:

A probability field. A projection. A permanently entangled copy of your presence in spacetime.

Not metaphor. Not poetry. Physics.

II. It Comes Back. Every Time.

You can try to change.

Move cities.

Get therapy.

Shave your head and call it rebirth.

But the shadow doesn’t care.

Because the shadow isn't a symptom. It’s a recording.

A data echo of everything you’ve been. And everything you're capable of being again.

If you’ve ever tried to escape yourself — Only to circle back into old habits, old wounds, old lusts — That wasn’t weakness. It was recursion.

And recursion is physics. Not failure.

III. Quantum Haunting Is Real. Here's the Data.

Not allegory.

Literal evidence exists.

Hiroshima, 1945.

When the atomic bomb dropped, thousands vaporized in microseconds. But their shadows did not.

人影の石 (Hitokage no Ishi) — The Human Shadow Etched in Stone.

A woman sitting near the Sumitomo Bank. Vaporized by thermal radiation.

But the stone steps behind her were bleached — except where her body shielded them.

Her final shape. Frozen into reality. A dark imprint of her last moment of life.

They call it: The Human Shadow of Death. The Blast Shadow.

But let’s be precise:

It wasn’t just a stain. It was a recording. Of presence. Of heat. Of witness.

And here’s what’s worse:

You’re leaving them, too. Right now.

IV. What Science Still Won’t Admit

There is no unified theory explaining consciousness.

We can split atoms. We can map genomes. But we can’t explain:

Why you dream of your ex.

Why trauma shows up as smell.

Why some memories scream without sound.

Why the past lives in your body.

There is no consensus on how the mind locates itself inside the body.

But evidence suggests:

There’s something watching you from within the field of you. Something that records every shame, lust, betrayal, fear — not emotionally, but energetically.

Your trauma? Not stored in the body. Encoded.

In the wavelength of your biofield. In the negative space of your choices. In your shadow print.

V. The Observer Effect (and Why You’re Fucked)

Quantum mechanics says:

Observation changes the outcome.

If that’s true…

What happens when you observe yourself?

Guilt. Self-hatred. Shame. Depression.

Those aren’t emotions. They’re echoes. They're your own wave function collapsing on itself.

And the more aware you become of who you’ve been — The darker the shadow that stands behind you.

VI. No One Escapes. Not Even The Enlightened.

Go meditate. Go fast. Go run barefoot through forests chanting mantras.

It won’t matter.

Even monks report psychological possession during shadow integration.

Carl Jung, the man who coined the term “the shadow self,” wrote:

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life — and you will call it fate.”

But Jung didn’t know quantum field theory.

If he did, he would’ve known:

You’re not just fighting patterns. You’re resisting a mirrored field embedded into the architecture of time.

And here's the kicker: You destroy it — you destroy yourself.

VII. The Human Shadow is Not Just Metaphor — It's Mechanism

Remember Hiroshima.

The shadow was left behind. Because the body absorbed the light.

That’s not poetic. That’s radiological fact.

Let me rephrase it for clarity:

The body was erased. The shadow stayed.

And still we ask:

Is the soul what survives death?

What if it’s not the soul?

What if it’s the shadow?

What if what stays behind isn’t divine — but undeniable?

What if you die… And what remains is everything you couldn’t face?

VIII. Ladies and Gentlemen, Meet Your Quantum Stalker

You call it:

Guilt

Anxiety

The past

A bad habit

But science has a term for it too:

Quantum entanglement.

The particles that make you… you Are never alone.

And if they once interacted with trauma? They are forever linked to the energy of that event.

Even when you leave the place. Even when the person dies. Even when you heal.

The field doesn’t forget.

And neither does your shadow.

IX. Why You Should Be Scared

Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer told the story of the bomb.

But not the blast shadows.

Hollywood won't show you the real horror:

People permanently burned into stone — by light.

That’s not science fiction. That’s what’s left when energy remembers.

And energy always remembers.

You? You think you’re safe.

But the field has you documented.

Every word. Every orgasm. Every betrayal.

There is no deleting your shadow.

X. Final Revelation

You're haunted.

By what you've done. By what you've denied. By the part of you that watched you sin — and never blinked.

This is not metaphor. This is physics.

You are not being followed. You are being mirrored.

And the only way to kill your shadow?

Is to never cast one again. But to stop casting one…

You must destroy all light.

Including yourself.

And so it comes back.

Every time.

🧠 Call to Action

You are being watched. By a part of you that remembers what you’d rather forget.

Reblog if the idea of your own shadow now makes your skin crawl. Reblog if the physics of guilt suddenly makes sense. Reblog because maybe you’re haunted too — and you didn’t even know it.

⚠️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is psychological horror, quantum theory satire, trauma field exploration, and sociocultural commentary. It is protected under the laws of literature, symbolic science, and emotionally accurate terror. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s your shadow blinking back.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months ago

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Very unusual home. Apparently, the 1947 home was redesigned, inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, but it's hard to say. Located in Houston, TX, it has 3bds, 4ba, 3,714 sq ft, $2.475m.

Very large entrance foyer with slightly angled walls.

Very interesting ceiling and columns. I like the bright colors, though.

The dining room has a very narrow shelving inset in the wall. I wonder if the large piece of art conveys.

The kitchen is very large. The island is double sized and has a decorative metal piece embedded in it.

The kitchen kind of reminds me of a diner. I think it's the windows.

Here's one of two counters. There's exposed ductwork above the beams in the ceiling.

The formal open concept living/dining room. Can you imagine how much gray paint it took to paint this ceiling and beams?

Here's a guest powder room.

The primary bedroom is quite fancy, but it's just decor, not architecture.

This is an extension of the primary bedroom, a very large sitting area.

The bath has some fascinating tile design.

This secondary bedroom is quite large.

Smaller, yet fashionable, standard 3pc. bath.

This space is used as a home gym, but it doesn't have to be. I think it's actually the 3rd bd.

This shower room has an exotic theme.

A large space used as a game room.

This is nice, it's a potting area that has greenhouse glass.

And, here's a guest suite. It has a separate entrance, and is one big room with sleeping and sitting areas, with a full kitchen.

This is very nice- the window and floor are attractive.

Lovely guest bath, too.

Covered patio outside.

They put a cover over the pergola and this is the barbecue/picnic area. I like the columns.

The gardens are very pretty.

0.45 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/57-Carolane-Trl-Houston-TX-77024/27797079_zpid/

#houses #house tours #home tour

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cybereliasacademy · 1 year ago

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HyperTransformer: A Example of a Self-Attention Mechanism For Supervised Learning

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silvernightabyss · 9 months ago

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“Who says the protagonist's life has to be happy?” - Chapter 1

Yandere Hero x gn!Reader

Isekai, who among us hasn't dreamed of it? Well, get it signed. Try not to throw yourself into the arms of the protagonist as soon as you see him. Remember, you may know everything about him, but he's seeing you for the first time. The thoughts of the protagonist come as a gift.

How many references do you want? Yes.

word count: 2.9k Prologue/Chapter 1

It's been two weeks since you've been in the fantasy world of the novel. Adapting has been difficult, even though you've inherited fragmentary memories of the original owner of the body. The unfamiliar people, surroundings, etiquette, and architecture were very disconcerting. To your shame, you spent your first night sobbing quietly in your room in the temple. The only thing you were probably lucky about was that you weren't a member of the church, just a hired sewist. Given the fact that the high priest was the one who raped Evan, you had no desire to see the man, whose name was Donavan. Make sure you memorize that shithead's name and if you ever summon a demon, sell his soul.

In fact, you hadn't seen him or Evan since you'd been in this world. And while the first pleased you, the second disappointed you. As you learned by asking the servants, Evan and his team were on a quest to destroy one of the demon lords living in a poisonous swamp. This happened at the beginning of the first volume, as you may recall. And what the author thought to add the location of the poison swamp, in all games it was always the most annoying part. Probably because the author was an insufferable evil bastard who drew inspiration from the most annoying things created by human hands. A sudden wave of anger almost ripped the thin fabric in your hands in half. Then you stroked it quickly, as if to comfort it, removing the creases that had formed.

Poor Evan was going to get poisoned by some nasty animal and come back to the temple with a fever for a week. Sad, of course, but nothing that with your level of power you could change. The day after the isekai, you tried a little magic. Find some chakra, mana core, nen or something. But no. All you got was to feel like an idiot for half an hour, huffing and puffing like a pissed-off hedgehog. No transmigrator buffs. No annoying system or divine companion. Nothing. That made you completely powerless to help Evan. It was frustrating, angry, and made you want to bang your head against the wall. Your modern upbringing couldn't allow you to ignore someone else's misfortune. If you worked in the kitchen, you would surely spit in the soups and drinks that are made especially for the High Priest. Unfortunately, those are the only petty thoughts of revenge you could afford.

Part of you just wanted to leave, good thing sewing skills were embedded in your subcortex, and you could find work somewhere else, not in a place where you knew one hero suffered every day. You wince. Thinking about it like that made you feel bad about yourself. It was vile to think of leaving. As the only person with knowledge of the situation, you had to stay and try to help in any way you could. Even if your attempts would be fruitless in the end.

You spent the next two hours diligently embroidering new robes and fixing old ones where the fabric was too worn. Unpleasant thoughts of varying degrees of intrusiveness kept popping into your head, but you studiously ignored them. Their content was something like “To be or not to be”, only your option was “To stay or not to stay”.

After you finished your work, you picked up a pile of robes and went to turn them in to the storekeeper. The temple was beautiful, even to your unassuming eye. The entire continent worshiped the Creator who made the world and the gods they created to help look after the people. In fact, you remembered from the book that the mythology of Evan's world was very interesting. Incredibly written and detailed lore describing events from ancient times to the present day. Some of the knowledge you had already forgotten, but for example you remembered that the Irin continent, where the main story took place, was named after the god's favorite angel.

The central temple of the capital was dedicated to the Creator. Numerous frescoes on the ceiling depicted the creation of the world and the races that inhabited it. For the first week, you walked with your head up, and more than once you were on the verge of falling. The tall, graceful steles also drew attention to the care with which the flowers and leaves were molded, as if they were real and the spell had just turned them to stone a moment ago. The garden wasn't to be forgotten, you'd only been there once, but it was already completely engraved in your heart. Score one for staying. Overall to summarize the temple was beautiful, the priests friendly. So why the hell is this place of paradise run by this goddamn pervert! The Creator's eyes are blown out of their heads to let a man like that in charge of their temple? Unbearable.

Your boots thudded loudly and angrily on the marble floor, and you continued on your way. The servants and priests you encountered preferred to avoid you in a wide arc, sensing in their gut the dark and heavy aura you gave off. With the power you put into opening the door, you could shred a mountain to pieces with a single blow. Yeah, like that bald guy, that's how powerful you were at that moment. The storekeeper didn't even lift his head from the paper he was looking at. Inwardly, you marveled a little at his restraint; you yourself would have jumped on the spot if you had been rushed in with such a bang. More calmly you approached the not-young man whose most prominent feature was his giant-hooked nose.

“I brought the robes, where should I put them?” Your voice rumbles through the room.

The man nodded vaguely toward a neighboring room filled with baskets full of robes. The servants had to wash and dry the robes before handing them back to the priests. Why the freshly sewn robes had to be washed was a big question, but not of your mind. You were about to leave when you were stopped by the storekeeper.

“Go to the infirmary and get the medicine for the hero. His chambers are in the east wing of the temple on the third floor.”

During your entire stay in the room, the storekeeper didn't even look at you, and after he gave you the order, he started acting as if you weren't even here. Well, the main thing is that he didn't yell. You shrugged your shoulders and left the room.

The stone-face test was successfully passed, the die rolled on a twenty! In fact, your heart was racing, and your palms were unpleasantly sweaty. Did all this mean you would be able to see Evan? You didn't even know he'd returned. With an effort of will, you suppressed the joyful scream that burst from your mouth. You're going to see the protagonist of this damn novel. Almost dancing, you hurried toward the infirmary.

The nurse, whose name was Ellen, gave you your medication as soon as she heard that you had come from the storekeeper. The girl explained that because of the upcoming festival dedicated to the Creator, all the servants were busy preparing for the sacred rituals. Mentally, you tsked. That no servant could spare time for the precious hero of the Church? Nonsense, of course, but nonsense that plays right into your hands. Having memorized what to give and in what dosage, you headed for the eastern wing.

The corridors became more and more empty with every turn, as if you were entering a forbidden zone. The atmosphere was oppressive and growing colder with each step. A creak sounded very close to you, made you jump on the spot and freeze. It was scary to turn around. You didn't want to see the ghost behind you. On bending legs, you turned around and ….Mmm No, that's just your overactive imagination working for the bread. There was nothing behind you. Nothing in the front, either. Cussing under your breath, you continued walking. Isekai had definitely taken a toll on your nerves. Shame they hadn't invented valerian here yet.

The doors to Evan's chambers were carved, decorated with ornaments of flowers. You knocked hesitantly, and when there was no answer, you knocked again, but louder. Maybe he was asleep? What was to be done? The nurse had said the medication had to be timed to avoid making him feel worse. The doorknob in your hand felt like a ticket to heaven or hell. Praying in your mind to who you didn't know, you pushed it down. With a quiet click, the door opened. Like a mouse about to steal cheese, you quietly slipped through the gap and closed the door behind you. You hoped Evan wasn't a cat that would eat you for entering without permission.

The main hero's chambers were green, very green, not because the walls and furniture were that color, but because of the dozens or even hundreds of pots with various plants. As a half-elf, Evan had the ability to understand and talk to plants. For a long time in the novel, they were his only friends, listening to all his sorrows. Sighing sadly, you headed for the door behind, which was presumably the bedroom.

Evan lay on the bed, resting peacefully, deep in sleep. The blanket lay in a bunched pile at the half elf's feet. His complexion was very pale with blue veins clearly visible, there were deep bruises under his eyes, and his breathing was intermittent and heavy. Despite this, he was still more handsome than the sleeping beauty herself. If you thought the comparison was inappropriate, just never mind. On tiptoe, you moved closer and leaned over the sleeping hero. Handsome. You especially liked the way his leafy green hair curled around his pointy ears. You wanted to catch one strand between your fingers and then watch it curl back. You weren't weird. Not at all.

You put the tray of medicine on the bedside table with a little more clatter than you'd like, but Evan didn't wake up, thankfully. The half elf's forehead was scalding hot, and you jerked your hand away quickly. Looking around, you spotted a basin of water on the other side of the room and quickly soaked the rag you'd grabbed from the tray before placing it on Evan's forehead. That's better. Satisfied, you smiled to yourself.

The question of how to medicate the unconscious hero was still open. You frankly didn't want to wake him up. You remembered from the book that Evan's condition was extremely serious, and he didn't come to his senses at all. Rest is the best medicine. It's better if you quietly do your business and leave, and he won't even know you're in his chambers. Shit, that sounded like some kind of thief.

Pass the cure with a kiss? You shook your head frantically as soon as the thought crossed your mind. God, you'd read too many romance novels. Conscience and morality would never allow you to violate Evan's personal boundaries like that, considering how they'd already been violated by the high priest. Besides, it would be despicable to do that to any person.

But then what were you supposed to do? You'd just have to pour the drugs into Evan's mouth and hope he didn't choke. That's about what you did, luckily without becoming a hero killer. Now comes the most difficult and embarrassing part. Ellen gave you an ointment to rub into the half elf's chest. The medical reasons behind this you almost completely missed, and you only had to take on faith the necessity of this action. Evan wouldn't like it if someone he didn't know undressed him and started performing medical procedures on him. Right? So something had to be done about it.

One of the scraps of fabric Ellen put on the tray caught your eye. It's perfect. You'll pretend to be a butler, covering your eyes with a strip of fabric so as not to embarrass your mistress. Master. You mean Evan. Quickly and tightly tying the band, you found yourself in darkness. With suddenly trembling hands you fumbled for the collar of the half elf's shirt and from it, you easily reached the buttons. Normally you would have easily done it in less than a minute, but now deprived of sight and incredibly embarrassed; each of your actions was stretched to the point of impossibility. After an eternity according to your internal clock, you finally managed this undeniably difficult task.

So it was time for the ointment, which was as green as you remembered and smelled like bumps or something else freshly herbal. Incredibly embarrassed by your own actions, you rubbed the ointment in as fast as you could without lingering on any part of Evan's skin. What's a stupid trail? A relieved exhale escaped you when this torture finally stopped. Ellen had said the ointment should absorb very quickly, literally in less than a minute, and in your head you drummed your fingers on your thigh, ticking off the seconds. When the time was up, you hoped for it towards the end you began to speed up the count, with all care you covered Evan with the blanket. The nurse had said the fever would go down very quickly, which meant the half elf could get cold.

And so it was done! Now you could leave with a clear conscience. You pulled the bandage off your eyes, blinked in the light, and hurriedly picked up the tray, leaving the room. Before you passed through the doorway, you took one last look at Evan, still sleeping peacefully. Handsome even when he's sick. Nodding affirmatively at that thought, you headed back to the infirmary to return the medication to the nurse.

***

Evan woke up when someone started undoing the buttons of his sleeping shirt. His first thought was that it was Donavan, so the only thing he could do was lie there and not fight back. Was he sick of his powerlessness? So sick that he wanted to open his chest with his hands and rip out his damn heart, which sometimes allowed itself to hope for the best. The half elf left his eyes closed, not wanting to look at the high priest's ugly face, twisted with desire. He could still visualize it all too well, anyway. A convulsion shot through his arm and he clawed his fingers into the sheets, his nails almost tearing the fabric.

Halfway through the unbuttoning, Evan suddenly realized that the fingers that sometimes grazed his skin were different from Donovan's skinny, knotted fingers, the pads of which were covered with calluses. In addition, a strange chill spread from his forehead down his body. Was it the damp cloth? It was only because of the two factors above that he actually opened his eyes and saw you. The snort that almost came out of his mouth, he held back with an incredible effort of will. A blindfold? It was ridiculous, even more ridiculous than the mix of slime deer and owl he'd met in the swamp. Ridiculous but oddly cute. The mere thought that he might be uncomfortable being stared at half-naked had never occurred to anyone. With already great interest and friendliness, he began to consider your appearance.

When you reached for the green jar, he recognized it as an antipyretic. A spark of realization lit him up, and Evan bit his lip. He was ready for the feeling of a thousand little insects crawling under his skin, but your touch didn't disgust him. Evan blinked perplexedly when he realized this. Short and medically detached, your touch was devoid of any lust. Noticing your fingers trembling, Evan concluded that at the very least you were awkward. Later his guess was confirmed by your tapping on your thigh, too uneven and often out of rhythm to be a sign of boredom or impatience. The blanket you covered him with forced him to smile slightly. A display of simple human caring that he had always been deprived of. The thought made him feel unpleasantly empty inside.

When your fingers reached for the bandage, Evan closed his eyes as quickly as possible, not even knowing why. He didn't have an answer to that question. Listening to the quiet rustling of the fabric of your clothes and the tinkling of the medicine on the tray made his heart feel lighter for some reason. It was as if you were not a randomly sent servant, but someone close to him who genuinely cared about him.

The creak of the door alerted him to your departure, but with his keen hearing, he could still hear your footsteps outside his chambers. As soon as they were gone, Evan sat up on the bed, causing the cloth on his forehead to fall down. Silently, he twirled it in his hands. His head felt strangely empty. Perhaps the only question that bothered him now was; who are you? Meeting you had irrevocably changed something in him, as if he had been a broken clock just now starting to run.

Evan rolled back over, sinking into the soft mattress, and returned the cloth to his forehead. The next time you two meet, once he's recovered enough to walk, he'll be sure to ask your name. With that thought, his exhausted mind took to its realm of Morpheus.

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