#having pattern recognition is a curse

[akard-kiwi-ao3]

I doubt anyone cares about my insane ramblings about roblox characters like Blocktales Shedletsky. But I do them anyways because i KNOW for a fact that there are literature nerds who will perhaps SEE at least even just a TINY FRACTION of my vision

[freckliedan]

ARE you secretly dan? Or Phil? Like. How do you keep winning i cannot explain it any other way

i pretty evenly credit my predictive accuracy to autistic pattern recognition and the inexplicable precognative dreams i have about them sometimes ^_^ <3

[taviokapudding]

My dad and I were chatting before bed when he said "damn shame Republicans hate Democrats too much because you almost saved the United Healthcare ceo"

And I stared at him in confusion until I remembered I convinced Democrats to write the active shooter alert system bill in 2022 & Republicans said no. Since my Twitter is gone, the thread of me @ everyone is gone. And when Trump got re-elected, I removed the video discussing the bill concept for public comments. It fully slipped my mind because I went from pulling teeth & being reluctantly patient to full on cussing, cursing, and hexing the government by the end of 2023.

I hope that Twitter DC staffer is having a good laugh- I bet their bosses are pissed wwwwww

I don't remember the exact wording I wrote to the White House when I cussed out Biden for funding war crimes (2023) & the bill itself (2022) but I did list consequences I foresaw that are happening now, so suck to suck if nobody listened & are on the receiving end of massive hexes

I guess my dad is right, the GOP technically killed Brian Thompson in 2022

[margle]

yesterday I got the wordle in two (after not having done it for months) and thought wow thats lucky I must have good luck today!! and then immediately something very unlucky happened. then today the word was "lucky". im being fucked with I think I have a curse

[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon. I’m autistic and I //can’t// deal with injustice it really drives me mad. Even little everyday things. How do you cope with that?

This is going to sound a bit like an older person jadedly lecturing a younger person, so forgive me for however useless this is. But for me, the qualitative experience of learning to cope with injustice is that I have come to expect it through experience and pattern-recognition, and I have been able to contextualize it by developing an understanding of how the world works that leads me to predict that it will happen (and how it will).

Part of what used to keep me locked up and warring constantly with injustice was the false belief that I somehow had the power to prevent it from happening -- if I only used the correct persuasive words, advocated doggedly enough, found the right authority to make an impassioned appeal to, and never relented, I guess I felt that I might be able to make things stop.

Now I understand on an emotional level as well as an intellectual one how much larger these problems are than me, and I don't expect myself to remedy them through force of will or dedication. (A great deal of my book Unlearning Shame is about this, really).

I am far better now at choosing my battles, and more shrewd about how I wage the ones I do fight. I can mentally detach from a lot of issues that feel not strategically sound in resisting, even while mourning the unnecessary-seeming losses that so often come with them. It's possible for this kind of outlook to lead a person into complacency, I can already hear critics saying, but I think ultimately I have become a far more effective and reliable "change agent" (to the degree it's possible for a single human being to be) now that I have this understanding of the world.

Simply put, it is not enough to know what is right, or even to care about it. You have to understand strategy and power. You can't just feel the right feelings. You have to take actions that will matter.

I am also blessed and cursed with an extremely strong self-preservation instinct that predominates any instinct I might have to do the "right" thing simply for the right thing's sake. I don't believe in morality, really, or that I or anyone else must redeem themselves, I am mistrustful of virtually all ideologies (including my own, which have often changed over time), and I try not to act out the emotional urgency of a moment and rather sit back, observe, and plan my attack.

Frankly, a great many injustices in my life have been remedied by simply waiting for the opportune moment, or allowing the people preying upon me to fuck up their lives on their own. That has also taught me the benefit of patience. (Though I am, constitutionally, a really impatient person!)

A lot of my approach reflects my own personal character quirks and outlook as an empathy-less "evil Autistic" of sorts, and it may not suit your way of being in the world at all. But I do think we all can develop better skills in coping with the feelings that this stuff brings out in us with time and practice.

I often remind my highly justice-minded friends to ask themselves whether they want to be right or to win -- and in some cases, you can substitute "winning" with surviving. A lot of the important resistances against injustice that take place happen in the dark corners, unseen by the powers that be, even while unjust systems continue to operate. Think of yourself as a weed or a spore growing within the cracks rather than a lone solider standing up against Goliath.

I think it's also really important to control your exposure to upsetting information. A lot of people whip themselves up into a traumatized frenzy consuming rage porn online all day. You have to sort out what form and degree of information consumption empowers you rather than freezes you. And do not let anybody infect you with their own sense of doom by telling you that you have some obligation to be upset all of the time, that you aren't upsetting yourself enough because you don't care or you're too privileged or whatever. A bunch of people filling themselves with despair does nothing. The universe does not care how much you self-immolate.

And sometimes all you can do is just rant and bitch to a friend about the things you cannot change. Complaining is a fantastic bonding activity, it's a holy activity. It is one of the least damaging acts of rebellion against existence itself. It sure beats killing yourself or drinking yourself into illness. Accept the world as it is, and work with it strategically, please, but never deny yourself the pleasure of bitching about having to do it. As my beloved @animesickos podcast says, Complaining Kicks Ass.

Life fucking sucks. A lot of horrible things will happen to you and the people you love -- nonsensical things, irrational things, spitefully hateful things. You learn with time to expect it. And to feel capable of rolling with life anyway.

There's a grim resolve that people all over the world learn to develop, and it comes with great humor and a capacity for deep connection, too. You learn to recognize it in the strangers you see at the bus stop when the last three busses have been mysteriously delayed or the coworker who has been at your dogshit company for ten years. There's beauty in the jaded ones with the sharp tongues. Huddle around them and take in their wisdom. Some day you might be lucky enough to be one of them too.

[romaevelizz]

Back to You

James “Bucky” Barnes x exhydra!femreader

sum: Bucky finding refuge after D.C from a woman that had been next to him for several years while held in captivity by Hydra.

warnings: cursing, implied past/current relation, violence, angst, hurt-comfort, reader is black coded, bold-italics are russian, reader is kinda mutant(she’s like Vi from incredibles but instead of turning invisible she can heal and create shields).

After D.C Bucky knew he had no choice but to leave, and if there was one thing he was good at was leaving without any trace. He had no money and nowhere to go. One thing he knew he wasn’t going back to Hydra, leaving the country would be the best option.

Maybe he did have somewhere to go, but he had to make sure it was the right place. Few weeks later He’d end up in Romania if there was one thing he was good at it was finding people and he needed to find her, worse that could happen is he got shot.

The clock read 2 a.m., signaling the witching hour when shadows deepen and the world outside holds its breath. An unsettling sensation prickled at the back of her mind, snapping her from sleep. With a jolt, she sat upright in her bed, adrenaline surging as she reached for the rifle hidden beneath her mattress. The air was thick with silence, each creak of the floorboards beneath her feet resonating like a warning as she made her way through her dim, shadowy apartment. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, an icy chill settled in her veins. There, at her table, sat an enigmatic figure cloaked in darkness. Her heartbeat faltered for a moment, fear clawing at her throat, until her gaze caught the faint glimmer of moonlight reflecting off a metallic arm. Recognition gripped her, sending a wave of dread washing over her as she stood frozen.

“They finally sent you to try to kill me again huh?” She spoke keeping the rifle up to defend herself.

“No.” he answered, “I got out, did it know where else to go.”

She lowered the rifle slowly her eyes watching answering him slowly, “How did you find me.” she questioned.

“I’m good at finding things, and it’s not like you’re hiding.” he answered simply.

She scoffed, “What do you want?”

He could tell she was on edge her tone sharp and protective. “I need help, no money, no place to stay, and can’t go to hospitals for this.” he spoke his voice changing to english as he lifted the shirt up.

A large make shift bandage decorated his abdomen, the cloth bloody and the skin around it irritated. He watched her brows nit together a worried expression fall on her face “What the fuck happend.” she asked walking over to the table placing her gun down on to it.

Their eyes met a small glance being exchanged “alright… you need take that off, I’ll clean it then heal you..” she spoke softly moving from him over to her kitchen to get a rag and warm water.

He nodded quietly, his gaze fixed on her as she moved gracefully around the counter. She appeared transformed since their last encounter. Her hair cascaded down her back inis natural state, significantly longer than he remembered, adding a vibrant touch to her overall look. She radiated a newfound vitality, her skin glowing with health. Intrigued, Bucky took in the intricate tattoo artistry that adorned her left arm; delicate floral patterns twisted and intertwined, each bloom telling a story of its own. A few subtle piercings now embellished her face, glinting softly in the light and enhancing her features. The combination of her tattoos and piercings gave her an air of maturity and confidence that he found striking. He couldn’t help but admire how these changes suited her, transforming her into someone who seemed more self-assured and bold.

“James I need you to remove your shirt or else I can’t help you.” She spoke softly walking around the counter with the bowl and rag.

He did so, slipping the shirt over his head. He always took note of how she called him by his first name, a name that only seemed to be his when she said it. To her, he wasn't ‘Soldier’ or ‘Soldat’; he was James. Her eyes wandered over his figure, a few more scars on him than she remembered his shape the same still big and burly. She felt him flinch under her touch. The sound of his arm moving made her stop. “I won’t hurt you; it just hurts,” he reassured.

She gave him a look before continuing, “To be fair, that last time you showed up in my home you tried killing me gotta get why I’m a little, ya know.” She said frowning.

He pressed his lips together, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I lived. Plus you weren’t, well you.” She hummed, her eyes glancing up at him. “Why are you really here James?” She asked suddenly turning to dip and wring out the rag.

“Because I know you can deal with a bit of a beating and sneak around if you need something. You could’ve very well had this cleaned up what? Days ago when it happened, but instead you let it get infected, and came to me.” Her eyes meeting his as she faced him again.

He remained silent, the words caught in his throat. Deep down, he felt an overwhelming urge—no, a desperate necessity—to see her again. He longed to see the familiar face he had once associated with comfort and camaraderie during the grim days spent in the confines of Hydra. However, that face, once warm and welcoming, now seemed distant and cold, cloaked in shadows of their shared past. Doubt gnawed at him; perhaps this was a mistake after all. As he sat there, a sense of foreboding washed over him, mingling with a flicker of hope.

Her face carried a heavy frown as she looked at him her arms and legs crossed. He remembered when she left, a different doctor cleaning him up instead of her, he recalled asking where she was and instead of an answer he was put under and sent to kill her. He remembered her begging for him to let go of her as she fought back, how after he’d cut her skin would melt back together to heal herself. Her cries and pleas rang through his ears just like everyone else’s but here stood out, the only person in years who cared about him and talked to him like a human instead of a dog, the person who put her energy into healing him day after day, the person who quietly reassured him with a sweet smile on her face when in need, her words always gentle and kind. Then he hurt her, after putting so much trust in him he had hurt her.

He was thankful she’d got away, that she got off Hydras radar. But deep down the world ended when she left. “I don’t know.” He said avoiding her harsh gaze.

“Are you still-“

“No, I’m not in their custody anymore. They don’t know where I am.”

“How are you so sure?” She sneered.

“Because I tore it out,” he spoke up defensively. James had ripped out the chip they put in him, that made sense to the scab on his neck the chip was small and could easily be felt not a surprise it healed easily for it wasn't deep.

“I wouldn't put you in danger again, I can't ever forgive myself for hurting you before, I wont let it happen again.” he mumbled looking down.

He heard her hum before scooting closer to him, “Sit up James.” she said her finger tapping his chin to looks up,

“You can't stop what you can't control James.” She spoke her hands moving to his wound. A soft glow of white can from her hands a tingling sensation lurking around his wound as she heals him.

“I-” she started before closing her mouth.

“I know what you're capable of and in truth it scares me, because I can't get through to you when you're mind is clouded,” she spoke, her eyes focusing on him wound.

James felt his heart shatter into a thousand pieces at her words; the fear etched across her face pierced him deeper than any blade. She had every reason to be afraid—he was a man steeped in darkness, stained with the blood of his past. Her voice broke through the thickness of his thoughts, sharp and clear.

“But I think I understand,” she continued, her tone shifting from trepidation to something almost contemplative. “You’re all alone, just like me. If was so easy to kill Pierce would have done it himself. Instead, he sent you. It’s sickening, isn’t it?” A laugh escaped her lips, a haunting sound laced with both amusement and resignation. It echoed in the dim light, chilling him as it lingered in the air between them.

She shook her head slowly, a deep sense of weight settling over her thoughts like a heavy fog. “They sent the one person I treasured more than anyone else, the person I trusted most—on a mission to take my life.”

Pierce knew it hurt not only her but James as well, he knew she didn't fear death for she had never been close to it. And when she was about to face it flight took over, panic, crying, and screaming. Pierce got the sick satisfaction of having James who would have never laid a finger on her try and kill her, her body under his as he suffocated her his hand crushing her throat as she kicked and screamed. He remembered how her nails clawed at his face, trying to desperately pry his metal hand on of her throat, “Get off, please, please I don't wanna die. You don't have to do this.”

Looking up she saw his lip tremble, tears welding up in his eyes. “James-” she whispered sitting up her hands pulling away from his abdomen.

James hunched over, feeling the weight of his emotions press down on him, his forehead resting against his knees as he wrapped his arms around his head. The defeat in his posture was noticeable, a silent cry for solace that hung heavily in the air. She looked at him, her heart aching, and reached out instinctively, but then hesitated, her hands hovering uncertainly before retracting back to her own lap.

A frown creased her brow, and she absentmindedly began to pick at the delicate skin on her fingers, a nervous habit that surfaced in tense moments peeling the skin from her fingers. Inside, a wave of frustration crashed over her; she mentally chastised herself for bringing the painful topic into the air. Why had she opened her mouth? All she had needed to do was offer him silent support, to be there without the burden of words. She should have just kept quiet, allowing him the space to gather his thoughts without feeling the pressure of their past so obviously weighing down on her.

She took a deep breath before reaching out her hands carefully going to his wrist her body getting closer to him, “ James..” she whispered prying his hands from his head.

She was hurt her protective shield coming off and being harsh towards the broken man. He’d been through so much, his vulnerability spilling out in front of her. He felt safe here, he had no reason to harm her anymore even if he was afraid he’d hurt her again she was all he had. “James.. please look at me..” she spoke desperate for him to look at her.

James slowly picked his head up, her hands moving from his wrist to his face. The way he flinched broke her heart, causing her to pry her hands away, only for him to bring her hands to his face. He melted in the warmth of her touch, her thumbs rubbing his face. “If I could, I’d take it all back… I would’ve taken you with me…” she said, her voice filled with sadness.

She urged him closer. James allowed himself to embrace her his body leaving his chair falling on his knees his arms holding her close as her hands cradled his head. “You promised you wouldn't leave me there by myself..” he broke.

“I know… I know, I'm sorry…” she uttered.

Even after all the feeling of betrayal on both ends, they found each other again, running back to one another like before. Even with the thousands of miles between them, they'd crawl back to each other, she held his heart with such care while captive together. “Let me help you again…” she spoke up pulling his head back to meet his eyes.

James nodded his head tiredly before finding home back in her embrace. It would take both of them time to fully trust each other again but through it all this was the best things he’s done for himself. She kept his word helping him month after month, opening her home to him and helping him adjust to his new found freedom. Two years they would spend together, their fondness for each other never diminishing. Bucky came to terms that he didn’t have to be on edge all the time with her, now sleeping by her side at night.

He never realized how much he needed her till now.

a/n: messy sure maybe i’ll fix it up later but hope u enjoyed!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the blog event, how about Ruggie introducing his granny to Leona? Granny Buchi being a strong/confident women making the best of her situation (plus Leona all around attitude towards women) makes me think he’d respect her.

Leona Granny Killer Kingscholar Part II :v (Part I here!)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

“…san………… eo���na… san…… Leona-san!!”

The lion beastman released a growl as he reluctantly pulled himself up. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, his senses readjusted to his environment—the humid warmth of the Botanical Garden, the cool shade provided by a broad leaf, the colors and shapes of the surrounding plants and flowers.

A scraggly boy with a cap of dirty blonde hair stood over him, dressed in the warm yellow vest and armband of Savanaclaw. Leona would know that easygoing smile anywhere.

“You’d better have a good excuse for interrupting my nap, Ruggie,” he grumbled, laying an arm over his knee. His head still spun with distant recollections of an unfinished dream, something about a singing meerkat and a warthog.

"Nishishi, of course I do," the hyena smirked, his ears wiggling excitedly. "There's someone important I want'cha to meet!"

He stepped aside, thrusting his arms out and wiggling his fingers in fanfare. "Ta-daaah! Meet... my granny!!"

"Your... granny?!"

A stooped elderly woman shuffled into view. Fabrics of all patterns and sizes were draped on her small frame, and her sandals were greatly frayed. They told the same story: clothing chosen by necessity and practicality, not fashion.

Her face, withered by laugh lines and crow's feet, told of her legacy without words. Here was a woman who had laughed and cried, struggled and fought, since taking her first breath. She was a survivor.

The woman squinted at Leona (he vaguely recalled Ruggie lamenting that his family was not able to afford vision correction), then smiled. "You're Ruggie's friend the prince, ain't 'cha? It's an honor to meet you, sonny."

On shaking knees, she descended into a bow.

Leona blinked. Called a cursed child by the palace servants, robbed of his right to the throne, he hadn't expected an ounce of recognition from any of his people. Yet here she was, genuflecting to the scorned second born.

"... Raise your head," Leona ordered. "There's no need for that. I'm no king."

"I ain't bowin' to ya because of that! I'm payin' my respects to the man that turned our lives ‘round."

“… What’s Ruggie been running his mouth about now?”

“Just the truth! You know me, Leona-san! I’d never lie.” The impish grin on Ruggie suggested otherwise. “You tutor me and give me free stuff—like clothes you don’t want anymore. I even get to bring back extra dough while being a student thanks to babysitting… er, I mean running errands for you! It’s really upped our quality of life.”

“That it?” Leona scoffed quietly. “I don’t need praise for doing so little. This is nothing.”

Improving one family’s life isn’t worth much. Not when there’s so many others that need it too.

“No, Ruggie’s right. You don’t need to be humble,” Granny Bucchi crowed. She placed a hand on Leona’s—and he almost flinched at how small she was, how she shook from old age. "I'm a good judge of character. I don’t believe all the hooey they say about ya. When I look at you, Leona-sama… I know our country’s future is in good hands. I can only hope I live long enough to see it!!”

The elderly hyena laughed at her own dark joke. The laughs quickly devolving into coughing and wheezing, Granny Bucchi nearly folding in half.

“Oi, take it easy,” Leona muttered. He moved an arm behind her to offer support and placed his body in front of the woman, preparing to catch her if it came to that.

“What a gent,” Ruggie snickered, earning a languid look from his dorm leader.

“Only a heartless monster would stand by and let a woman keel over,” he scoffed. “… Hey, you good?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, brushing him off. “Appreciate the concern, youngster.”

“… Right.” Leona rescinded, as per her request.

“See? What’s I tell ya, Granny? Leona-san has a biiig heart after all,” Ruggie teased. “He helps out little old ladies!”

“Little old ladies?” The lion scoffed, his tail flicking. “Don’t insult your grandmother, Ruggie. This woman single handedly raised you from your diapers. She clothed you, bathed you, fed you, and loved you. She’s resourceful. A survivor. And she made you one too. You owe a lot to this ‘little old lady’—so show her more gratitude than that.”

Ruggie stared at him, jaw open. “Ehhh… You’re seriously gonna lecture me in front of my granny?! You’re so mean to your right-hand hyena!!”

Granny Bucchi hooted. “Hahahah, I like you! You put my Ruggie in his place. Nothin’ like the usual royals. You’re a man of the common folk.”

“Hah.” Leona failed to suppress a chortle. A man of the common folk, huh? “I wonder…”

[the-most-humble-blog]

Humans: The Ultimate Flex—Suck It, Animals and Aliens

Proof We’re the Crown Jewel of Evolution (and Why No One Else Even Comes Close)

Let’s not sugarcoat it: humans are the GOAT species. We’ve got opposable thumbs, complex languages, and the ability to feel existential dread at 2 a.m. over a dumb thing we said in 7th grade. No other species—or hypothetical alien race—has anything on us.

Think I’m exaggerating? Let me prove it with some brain and logic magic that’ll make you want to high-five yourself. Animals? Aliens? They can sit down and take notes.

1. Opposable Thumbs: The OG Superpower

First, let’s talk thumbs. Most animals are stuck with paws, hooves, or tentacles. But humans? We have these magical little appendages that let us write novels, build cities, and scroll endlessly through TikTok.

What Makes Us Special: Our thumbs can touch every other finger, giving us precision grip. That’s why we’re holding smartphones while chimps are still throwing poop.

Think about it: If aliens show up without thumbs, we’re dominating the handshake game.

2. Pattern Recognition: Brain Magic Level 100

Your brain is basically a biological Sherlock Holmes.

You See Faces in Clouds: That’s pareidolia—a fancy way of saying your brain loves patterns so much, it creates them even when they don’t exist.

You Predict the Future: Well, kind of. Your brain analyzes past experiences to anticipate what’s coming next. That’s why you can dodge a falling object or, more importantly, guess the next plot twist in The Bachelor.

Here's a Thought: Meanwhile, a lion can’t even tell that the waterhole is a trap until it’s too late.

3. Language: The Ultimate Mic Drop

Other animals communicate, sure. Dolphins click, bees dance, and your cat meows at you for food. But humans? We’re dropping sonnets, memes, and political debates.

Infinite Combinations: With 26 letters (or however many your language has), we can create endless words and ideas.

Aliens Could Never: If they don’t show up speaking Shakespeare, are they even worth the hype?

Humble Brag: We’re so good at language, we invented emojis to make up for not having enough ways to roast each other.

4. Memory: A Blessing and a Curse

Your brain doesn’t just store information—it rewrites and replays it like a director’s cut of your life.

No Other Animal Remembers Like This: Elephants may never forget, but they’re not lying awake at night cringing over awkward trunk waves.

Your Mind Is a Time Machine: You can travel to the past (memories) and imagine the future (dreams). Animals? They live in the moment like some kind of zen monks.

Fun Flex: Humans can create fictional worlds better than reality. Ever see a dolphin write Game of Thrones? Didn’t think so.

5. Problem-Solving: We Literally Break Physics for Fun

No other species solves problems like we do.

Fire: We didn’t just discover it; we harnessed it.

Tools: We’re the only species that looked at a stick and thought, “Let’s kill something big with this and eat it.”

Space Travel: Meanwhile, most animals don’t even understand up and down.

Alien Diss: If they haven’t figured out intergalactic travel yet, are they really that advanced?

6. Humor: The Ultimate Sign of Intelligence

Here’s the big one: humans laugh.

Why It’s Special: Humor requires recognizing absurdity, connecting ideas, and delivering them with timing.

No Competition: Animals might look funny, but they’re not cracking jokes.

Weird Thought: If aliens can’t meme, do they even matter?

7. Consciousness: The Unbeatable Crown

You’re aware of yourself. You can ask questions like, “Why am I here?” and then immediately distract yourself with cat videos.

No Other Species Has This Level of Meta: Animals act on instinct. You can reflect on your actions—and cringe at them later.

We are our Brain: Sure, consciousness makes us anxious, but at least we’re not stuck chewing cud and staring at nothing.

Humanity Wins, Every Time

So, yeah. Are humans perfect? No. But are we leagues ahead of anything else on Earth—or in the universe (so far)? Hell yes. Our brains, thumbs, and ability to crack dark jokes about it all make us the species to beat.

Animals? Cute, but predictable. Aliens? Call us when they invent sarcasm. Until then, humanity reigns supreme.

Think humans are awesome? (Of course you do—you’re one of us.) Follow The Most Humble Blog for more unapologetic takes and hilariously sharp insights into why we’re the best.

[cactusringed]

My controversial opinions is that I don't mind curses when done well. I love pattern recognition and mythologizing silly Minecraft series. To me curses are a recognition of luck (or lack thereof) as well as player behavior, eg. Grian's widow curse (it's a combination of grian being reckless and thus pushing his allies to be reckless, Grian refusing to self sacrifice 90% of the time, and Grian being quick to anger and thus betray, as well as grian sometimes pre-emptively mourning his teammates before they even die) is interesting to me because of... That. Because of it being his own fault, a result of his behavior and habits, rather than an all knowing God forcefully widowing him. THAT'S boring. Similarly, I always saw Jimmy's canary curse as being a mixture of astronomically bad luck, as well as him being a common target (both for bullying and persecuting), and him being clumsy/easily panicking when overwhelmed. It's not "curse of Jimmy sucks at Minecraft" or "curse of the watchers killing Jimmy first all the time with no other player input". To me the "curse" is intangible, it isn't actually a force pushing towards a certain outcome rather it is a self fulfilling prophecy based not on any sort of magic or supernaturality but simply based on players' fatal flaws. And the canary curse, as well, was always meant to be twofold; it's not just "Jimmy is cursed to die first" but also "Jimmy dying is the death of purity and peace", hence canary, and I always thought it to be beautiful symbolism. I think it gets a bad rep because it's true a lot of people have run it to the ground and also there are people who use it to take agency away from players and meaning away from their decisions, but imo I always thought these curses to be really nice and fun symbolism

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I think I've cracked the code of why your writing is an ADHD magnet: you use leading and foreshadowing really skillfully, so it satisfies the pattern recognition part of our brains with puzzles to solve, but then pull out a completely logical and interesting answer that a) creates even MORE puzzles and b) is unexpected, so it gives that dopamine rush.

brought to you by: I, having ADHD, spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time this week rereading TTO:U and am now halfway through Curse Words.

free me, please. I have work to do.

(your work is amazing btw I am having so much fun. it ticks all my interest boxes and I can't wait to see how things turn out for everyone!!)

No freedom for you. The magical children are waiting.

[agenderduck]

so many people misunderstand red’s intentions in transport. he is not some secret genius that holds the answers to escaping, because he isn’t one. he’s terrified and at his wits end. he knows deep down that there is no escape so he pretends to drive a car that is self driving. he pretends to be in control because in his mind it’s the only thing he can do. its painfully mirrors how self awareness and pattern recognition when you’re mentally ill gets you absolutely no where without any real help. its a curse not a blessing. red is forced into a seat of awareness. awareness of something he knows nothing about, something he never wanted to know anything about. he never asked for this. truthfully he doesn’t know what he wants, nor does he know who he is and that’s ultimately what ruins him. he’s tired of feeling everything and nothing at the same time, so he runs. not necessarily physically but mentally. transport is a physical representation of red’s mental state. he isn’t constantly trying to escape the house, he’s trying to escape his own mind and circumstance without ever actually going anywhere. he knows fully well that what he’s doing will get him no where, as it always does but he needs to feel in control of something, anything. a part of him deep down truly believes that in doing this, real change may be made this time so he latches onto the idea of a community. he is running from the problem rather than facing it head on. transport is red wanting to break free from the chains that he perceives to be binding him, the problem being that he’s pulling on the wrong chains.

he spends the episode in a panicked frenzy, getting absolutely no where because ultimately red knows nothing. he doesn’t even know who he is. red lacks a sense of self, all three of them do, hence why he acts the way he does in jobs, and in family. he spends the series desperately trying to find a solution to that problem, trying to be anyone else, anywhere else. red thinks about himself first and foremost, not that he doesn’t care for duck and yellow, but because he associates them with the house, with his misery. as much as he cares for them, he can’t help but harbor resentment towards them. red fails to recognize that they likely feel similarly, because they do things so differently from himself. how could they possibly understand? he fixates solely on how trapped and powerless all this makes him feel. so when he begins to drive, he knows that he’s pretending to drive a corpse that’s going no where. he lies to his friends claiming that he’s doing it for all of them, when in reality he’s doing it for him. red tells himself that maybe just maybe there is a reality where he can live a life of his choosing, one where duck and yellow might also be there but one where he can live in a house of his own, have his own space. to be in control of something. deep down red knows that duck and yellow will always be there, partially because he cares for them but mainly because he has no choice. there was never a choice to begin with. red knows this much, and that is as far as his knowledge goes. the three of them will always be together, no matter what, but not in the way he wants them to be.

[c0smiclatt3]

SATORU GOJO: SAY DON'T GO

i said 'i love you,', you say nothing back.

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: angst no comfort, friends to lovers, reader and satoru were classmates, reader defected, post-suguru's death, not proofread yet pls be patient w me i just had this in my drafts for too long

after ten years, you meet again; only this time he's here to kill you - whether he can bear to face you or not.

wc: 4.3k (woah)

You look the same as you did the day you left, and Satoru really wishes you didn’t. Maybe this would be easier for him if your days as a curse user and Jujutsu Tech defector somehow disfigured you beyond recognition. If you’d taken advantage of some other curse user you knew and donned some glamour or disguise.

But no. You look the same as he remembered you. Your name rung in his ears when he saw you from his vantage point atop the abandoned school building, echoing just as it had haunted him since he left.

She’s here. She’s here. She’s—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“She’s gone.”

Satoru felt like he was going to choke. The door to your dorm was ajar, Shoko standing beside it somber, an unreadable expression on her face.

The door hinges squealed as it slowly slid open. Lo and behold: A half empty bottle of tea on your desk. Empty bags of your favorite chips in your desk trash bin. The curtains fluttering in the open window like they always did because you liked the breeze while you slept. Your bedsheets made, just as they were every morning when you four set off for the day’s missions and drills for the last few years.

And your uniform, folded neatly on your bed, unworn.

Satoru’s mouth went dry, his hand went slack, uncurling from the fist he’d locked it in as he stormed over moments prior. “No. She’s coming back, she left her tea—“

Shoko interrupts him, "Satoru."

“She wouldn’t just up and leave, she—“

“Satoru-”

“Did Suguru rope her into this? Shoko, you haven’t seen them talking have you? Sure I was a bit preoccupied but maybe—“

“Satoru,” Shoko said, firm but resigned. “She’s gone.”

The longer he looked the more it set in: your bag missing from its hook. Your things missing from your desk. A photo of all of you Jujutsu sorcerers beaming at the camera unpinned from your cork board and fluttered to the floor, wrinkled at the corners from drops of water.

“I see.”

Shoko slipped a hand into her coat pocket.

Satoru turned on his heel and walked off down the hallway.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Goodbye.

That’s a word he’s said so much of in the last few years that he doesn’t remember anymore how to say hello. What does he say? What does he say, knowing the reason he was here now — that he was sent to kill you for once and for all?

Satoru had tracked you all the way out here. You’d gotten sloppy after Suguru’s death. The higher ups didn’t think a dirty defector like you had the capacity to mourn like that - they were convinced it was bait. It's why they sent their silver bullet himself. But Satoru knew otherwise. He knew you were too careful, too sharp to make a mistake like that any other day, and here he found you - in an abandoned school building in a small town by the countryside.

You sat in the crumbling classroom, knees to your chest on a rickety chair covered in cobwebs, tracing patterns on the dust on the desk surface. You look up, your expression neutral. You weren't surprised to see him here, like you expected him, even knowing that meant certain death. It almost made him want to laugh.

So you were feeling nostalgic, huh?

It was sunset on a quiet late summer evening, the clouds streaking along the horizon like pink and golden brushstrokes against a violet sky. What a beautiful day to die, you think to yourself. Pink. Gold. Violet.

And there he stood, silhouetted save for his eyes.

Blue. Stunningly blue.

Perhaps this is mercy, then.

You speak first.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Hands at your side, you bow deeply and snap back up to attention. Your mother coached you extensively before you departed for Tokyo on how to be respectful to the city folk, and you rehearsed the self-introduction she taught you to a tee. Fresh-faced, thirteen and bright-eyed, from the moment the train stopped at Tokyo station you put on your brave face.

The boy standing in front of you, however, was not terribly impressed. He stared at you blankly for a few moments.

“Right,” he mumbled, before turning on his heel to walk away.

“H-hey!” you go red in the face, “I wasn’t done-“

He holds his hand up. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard enough.”

You scoff at his bluntness. Well this was no way to start off a relationship with someone she was meant to call her classmate. “You’re not going to bother telling me who you are?” You call out after him. He stops.

“… You’re being serious?” he looks at her over her shoulder. His eyes flash blue - blue enough to rival the hue of the sky above them. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes that blue before.

“… Well yeah-“

“Damn,” he turns back around, though rather than venom in his voice there's almost a sense of amusement and curiosity. “They weren’t kidding. You really are a country bumpkin.”

Regardless, you felt a burning in your chest as you clenched a fist. “I’ll show ya a country bumpkin,” you muttered.

“Huh? Couldn’t understand your accent, country girl,” he called out over his shoulder. You grit your teeth.

“Oi!” you call out after him, “At least give me your name so I know what to call ya while I kick ‘yer ass!”

There was something endearing to him about someone who actually didn’t know who he was for once. Who didn’t approach him like some god or some weapon. He mutters your surname to himself. He remembers Yaga-sensei telling him something about how you came from an insignificant family of sorcerers in the countryside. Out of your entire lineage, only you turned out with a technique that could actually be useful. Of course you wouldn’t know much about Jujutsu clan politics or the heavyweight names. Alright. He’ll bite.

“Won’t need it. I’ll have your ass in the dirt first, kid.”

“Who ‘ya callin’ kid!” Your fists clenched at your sides. He raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna punch me, kid?”

“I’m the same damn age as you, don’t act cocky!” In your twintail braids and with your tiny stature it was hard to take you as a serious threat.

“You’re a little thing. Why would I be scared of you?”

You threw a punch. You didn’t know what would be coming next - of course you didn’t. Your hand hit an invisible wall and you yelped, withdrawing your hand back and feeling the stinging pain in your knuckles. You look at him with a sense of challenge, but also a sense of amazement. Who the hell was this guy?

“You wanted my name? Well, here it is, kid—“

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Satoru.”

As if understanding just how his name coming from your lips made him feel, the clouds parted to allow a stream of sunlight to illuminate you like a spotlight. The doomed antiheroine of today’s tale, in all her tragic glory, looking up listless like the soul had long been drained from her eyes.

Why, oh why did you have to say his name like that?

“I think we both know why I’m here.”

You nod. You look away from him. You’re not sure if you can bear to look at him now. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred, Satoru.”

He swallows. “That it has.”

“Maybe today is the day I finally catch up to you after all these years.”

He shrugs. Somewhere in that nonchalant shrug is the unbothered kid you knew all those years ago. “You can try.”

But you both knew how this ended and somewhere deep inside you knew you deserved it anyway for your sins.

You can’t stop yourself from cracking a bitter smile. “Well, then,” you drop your satchel to the ground, laying out your knives before you, and as if pulled by strings they rise around you on guard. “One last spar. For old time’s sake.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a smirk.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“You’re on.”

You crack your knuckles. The other Jujutsu sorcerers may underestimate your technique, you remember your mother saying. Don’t let them. You put your hands on your hips and grin.

“Don’t underestimate me, though!”

“Can’t make any promises, country girl!”

You raise your fist and Satoru stands at the ready —

But your fist slams on the window behind you instead, shattering the glass. Satoru looks at you, confused —

And then the shards begin to levitate, forming a circlet around you.

“You think some stupid glass is gonna protect you?” Satoru scoffs. “You’ve got no idea what you’re up against here, squirt.”

You grit your teeth, close your eyes and concentrate. The shards go flying at Satoru. He’s got his eyes on you, his eyes on the shards —

And then your figure flickers. It flickers then it’s gone. He looks around, sensing that the cursed energy thrumming in the shards has grown stronger, almost humming with immense power. One shard passes just in front of his face, another just behind him, but rather than his own reflection in the glass he sees you.

You and a proud smile. You flicker behind him, and—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

The first punch is thrown.

His movements are fluid. Graceful. Like conducting the orchestra of life and matter itself. He’s gotten even better since you left. You didn’t even know that was possible.

Your glass knives go zinging around him just as he remembered, but your technique was no match for a man who could see everything. All you had to do to try to keep up was to be faster. Faster. Faster.

But you were fighting a hopeless battle and you knew it. This was Satoru Gojo and at the end of the day you were a curse user. You knew how this ended. At this point the back and forth was just a formality.

His punches landed like they always did, the familiar blasts of red and blue that you learned to dodge all those years ago — only something was different. Something was off. His punches just barely you, just close enough to feel the breeze around his enclosed fists. He was holding back. You knew him well enough to know that.

Your grit your teeth, “Don’t go soft on me now, Satoru.”

“Who said I was?”

What a horrible liar.

“Terrible time for you to suddenly grow a conscience,” the quips are bittersweet in your mouth, rolling over your tongue like the tooth-rotting sugar of a childhood candy. Something in this back and forth felt nostalgic. Something in this back and forth made your heart lurch. Something in this back and forth made you feel as if any minute now you would dust the dirt off your pants, sigh in defeat, and walk off with him and. the rest of your class for a popsicle at the 7-eleven nearby. But this wasn't what this was. Suguru was dead. Yuu was dead. You defected years ago. And Satoru was sent with a mission that he was going to finish, no matter how much it pained him to. You just prayed it would be over quickly.

You grit your teeth, "I thought I was fighting the strongest!" Another blast just barely misses you.

"You are," his palm extends outward, a thundering force tunnelling along the concrete to your position, stopping just there before your feet.

God, this would be easier for you if he could just kill you like a cold-blooded killer. If in the last few years since you left the Satoru you knew had been successfully replaced with the sharpened knife the higher ups spent their whole life training him to be. But the hesitation in his attacks said otherwise in the most heartbreaking way possible. The words left unsaid over the last ten years came through in every missed attack, every pulled punch. Even now, even after everything, he was protecting you.

"Then hit me like you mean it!"

Like you mean it. If Satoru did anything right now the way he meant it this would be going a lot differently. If he could do this the way he meant it he would've stopped a long time ago. He would have extended his hand, flashing that arrogant smile he knew annoyed you to no end and helped you back to your feet.

But you want a fair fight and you'll get it. It'd be an insult to the sorcerer you'd grown into for him to hold back now at this crucial moment. All those hours, all those extra missions you took on while you were peers, all those promises and challenges, if you were going out you wanted to go out right. That was the least he could give you after all, wasn't it?

And so what did it mean when his attacks began to ripple through the concrete, forcing you to jump and weave around his blasts until you could feel your legs giving out? When his attacks forced you to concentrate all your energy into whizzing around between your blades, the sheer focus of reading his attacks and focusing your cursed energy draining your mind? That he acknowledged you. That he would fight you here and now as the sorcerer he respected. As the sorcerer he admired.

Your movements are angles, refractions, jets of blinding light and flickering reflections against his tremendous power. Slivers of light streams shooting between each blade - here, then here, then here - distributing your cursed energy across them so it would be more difficult for him to detect, David against Goliath. A battle of light against matter.

Until you shattered.

You lay on the concrete and hear the crunching of Satoru's shoes as he walks toward you. He walks slowly. He's giving you more time on purpose and you can tell, as if willing you to get up and fight, if only to prolong the inevitable. So he could avoid it for just a minute longer. He could have killed you long ago. But he hasn't.

The ground seems to simmer, rumbling with the sheer intensity of Satoru's cursed energy as the dust clears. He'd shot you down to the ground and here you were again.

"Barely even a scratch and you're on the ground already?" The quip is obviously meant to get a rise out of you but his voice is tinged with sadness. Get up. Get up, please.

You cough once. Twice. You feel something warm trickle from your lips and the taste of iron. "Cut the pleasantries, Satoru. We both know how this ends."

The sun sets below the horizon as he walks over, casting a shadow on your crumpled figure. You spit blood onto the concrete and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, lip stained scarlet. You're the picture of a pathetic and battered curse user, and you hope that the sight he sees before him now would be alien enough to him, that he wouldn't prolong this torture any longer. That his muscle memory would activate seeing something cowered before him and he would lift his hand and finish you off sooner or later. You hoped this way you wouldn't need to face him in this state, wouldn't need to get a torturously close look at the man you could have known in some other life had you chosen a different life.

The man you could have had.

To your anguish, he speaks. "I didn't want it to end like this."

You look away. You can scarcely bear to look at him right now without your heart aching. "...I know."

"I always hoped you'd come back on your own."

But that was wishful thinking. A sorcerer like you, after all that you' had done, would never be allowed to waltz right back into Jujutsu society, to return to that world and it's secrets and privileges as if you had never done the things you did when you followed Suguru all those years ago. No matter how much you might have daydreamed about it on occasion, no matter how many times you found yourself stopping by those campus gates and wondering what would happen if you walked your way back inside. Whether the key you kept in your pocket, a useless memento now, would still slot into your old dorm room. If your pictures would still be up on the wall, the hung up receipts from weekends out at the mall with Ieiri and Iori, the sticky notes Satoru had thrown at you in the middle of classes, ticket stubs from past missions.

And Satoru would be lying if he didn't say the same, if he didn't spend the first few weeks you left stopping by the freezer on his 7-eleven runs to reach for your favorite ice cream before remembering there was nobody to hand it off to. If he didn't learn a new trick or technique and didn't run to the dorm building to show you before stopping himself. If he didn't watch his students sparring from the bleachers, wondering if you would have been sitting by his side watching them too.

"They'd send me straight for the execution chamber and you know that-"

"You never should've left," he speaks bitterly, regretfully, as if his voice was straining just saying the words, "You should've stayed at Jujutsu Tech, you should've been there with the rest of us, we could've-"

You cut him off before he keeps talking and makes either of you ache any longer. "It's over now, Satoru."

"It didn't have to be, I -" he looks down, his mouth fumbling for words he can't find. His mind scrambles for any idea he could possibly have for bringing you back, and just as quickly as they come they form they dissipate, like a fistful of powder.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his voice breaking. "What am I supposed to do with you now..."

Your next words are spoken with finality. "Exactly what you were told to do."

The words make your throat tighten, make your arms tremble and struggle to hold yourself up. You keep your head down.

After a few moments he finally mutters a few words. "You're making this difficult."

"I'm sorry."

"Why," he whispers, "why did you do it?" His voice breaks. "Why did you leave me?"

Your face burns. You don't have the heart to tell him that when Suguru spoke, he spoke so convincingly. That after you saw the dead eyes of Riko Amanai in her shroud, young enough to be your classmate, young enough to be your sister, then walked back out into the swarming Tokyo streets wondering what she died for you wanted to throw up.

When you saw Satoru walk around like a living corpse, when you saw him have to force himself back into his usual self, that life had to somehow go on after all that had happened, you felt sick - sick.

So in your youth you thought that Suguru had found an answer. Some way that would bring us anywhere but here. Some world where you and everyone you loved wouldn't have to live and die like this.

"I thought I was doing the right thing-"

"You were one of the few good things I had left."

A silence settles between you two. Your eyes meet his.

Once upon a time he looked at you with the twinkle of a challenge in his eye, waking up in the morning looking forward to whatever stupid shenanigans you and the rest of your classmates would get up to that day. The way he looks at you now, with ten years in between your last meeting, since the last time you saw those eyes truly full of light and hope, he looks at you with the eyes of a dead man.

You couldn't live. You shouldn't. Or those eyes would haunt you forever.

When people look into the eyes of Satoru Gojo, they practically look into the eyes of God. The man who holds the balance of life in his very sight. Jujutsu sorcerers and cursed spirits alike cowered under his icy gaze.

But just as you had all those years ago, when you looked at him you only saw a boy. A boy whose heart left with you ten years ago.

You reach your hand up, sliding your fingers between his, and before he can even process it, his hand gently squeezes yours.

Please. Please.

For a moment he is quiet. For a moment his pulse jumps in his throat. For a moment he almost believes all those delusions in his head, that there was some way for you to return to Jujutsu. Return to him.

Your fingers fold around his, sliding and twisting his hand into a point directed straight to your forehead. You close your eyes.

"Satoru."

His name sounds devastating on your lips, the way you speak his name knowing it may be one of the last things you say and, God, if there was the right final word let it be his name.

Your name passes from his lips like a whisper in return. You two refuse to say anything more. You know if you say what you want to you run the risk of cursing him, and your shadow has loomed on him for long enough. Yours and many others'.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words sit, shapeless on your tongue. You don't dare speak them - for his sake. As much as it will kill you. As much as it would kill him either way.

Those unspoken words hang in the air, and Satoru breaks the silence.

"I-"

"Don't."

"Please-"

"I said don't-"

HIs voice begins to rise. "Please just say it, say something, anything-"

"You know what would happen if I do."

"I do! And does it look like I give a damn?! Don't leave me again, God, don't leave, stay with me this time. Give me that much, just don't go-"

"No," you say firmly, and you want to crumble when you feel the way he winces at your interruption. "... Please."

Satoru's hand trembles.

He swallows.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Another win for yours truly,” Satoru grinned, his hand held out to you. “Seriously, you’d think in three years you’d learn a thing or two,” he pouts pitifully.

“I’ve learned you’re an asshole!” You cross your arms over your chest, rolling onto your side. You huffed, a puff of dirt rising as you did. You hated meeting his eyes when he was gloating, he was always so full of himself after a match.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he throws his head back laughing as he leaned over you, nudging you with his hand, “get up and let’s to already. You’re covered in dirt, country girl. I mean look at yourself,” he picks up one of your glass shards and holds it up to your face so you can see your reflection. He sticks his tongue out and mock gags. “Uuuugly.”

“Shut up, Satoru!”

He laughs again, a sound warm like the sunshine itself.

“Come on, come on. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

You turn onto your other side and huff again. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, but smiles at your stubbornness. He shrugs and lays down beside you. “Or is the dirt that comfortable?”

The two of you lay there for a moment under the setting sun, wrapped in the warm of the golden hour. His eyes meet yours and he’s stumped into a pause. It’s been three years since you arrived at Jujutsu Tech and you both have grown since then - him into a young man and you into a young lady of your own right. The light strikes your eyes just so, making them glitter like the sunlight on the sea. Had your eyes always been so beautiful? Had your hair always fallen perfectly around your eyes? Had the little sun freckles on your skin from your childhood in the fields always been so endearing to him?

His heart flutters.

His silence stuns you too. Satoru Gojo was never quiet. When you turn over you see his perpetually smug expression soften, lips parted, eyebrows relaxed, opening those famous blue eyes to you. A breeze passes, the wind rustling the trees above you, and you realize your so close that some of your hair could brush his cheek from here. His silence makes you feel compelled to whisper.

“Satoru?”

In that moment he almost feels compelled to say something stupid. So stupid. With your face this close to him his head is filled with stupid questions. Stupid thoughts.

Instead he flicks your forehead. You yelp and your hand flies to rub that spot.

“What in the world was that for?” you cry out.

“For making me lie on the dirt when it actually sucks.”

“I didn’ make you do anythin’!” There was that little accent slipping out again. He laughs to himself as he gets up and stands over you again, waiting for you to join him. You look up at him and look up at the sky.

"One day," you huff, "one day we'll settle this for once and for all. And I'm gonna win."

He smiles down at you. "I'll be waiting."

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: omg about time i got this out of my drafts. i wrote like 80% of this on the plane and then had no idea how to actually end it, so i sat on it for a few days and hopefully this ended up working out idk. this is definitely longer compared to the other stuff i've done so i really appreciate it if you did end up reading all this way. byyyye!

[definitelynotshouting]

grian's new episode being an hour long is both a blessing and a curse bc on the one hand WE FEAST and on the other hand i (autistic, chronic backseat gamer, also a tango viewer familiar with the game) had to sit there FOR AN HOUR watching him flail around in circles while setting off every single shrieker in level one like his sole mission in life was to get mauled by a vex. never have i sympathized so hard with the ghost experience than while watching someone on youtube with zero pattern-recognition attempt to navigate a deadly maze

and i havent even BEGUN scar's ep yet

[sophie0197]

Here are the girls as witches :

Nora

- enchantress witch

- crafting charms and pieces of clothing that are enchanted with protection spells

- resourceful with finding stuff all around her to makeshift any charm on the run

- quick to act and use her magic

Autumn

- the science / elemental witch

- potions and elixirs and chemistry and knowledge on things

- lots of research

- needs to carefully plan out her magic

- heavily tied into maths / numerology

Swann

- guiding/seer witch

- lots of visions

- magic ties into art, pattern recognition, nature to predict best outcomes

- hoards trinkets to channel her energy

Kat

- dark magic witch

- rituals, sacrifices, curses, always having to give something to receive back

- the cycle of life and death gives her magic

- power of worded spells, written glyphs and symbols engraved

- knows the cost of her spells, strong yet incredibly more risky

[sporesgalaxy]

Scrangle PLA postgame quest script edits with 1 major facet of canon changing: Volo seems more open to the idea of Scrangle maybe actually being an otherworldly being.

Of course, he quickly decides he hates Scrangle anyways for a variety of other reasons

•••

Volo "See these patterns modeled after Pokemon? I've come to think that they might be letters-- rather like hieroglyphs, if you will."

Volo "I've inspected ruins across the region and have concluded that they all seem to tell the same tale. The tale of a brave soul who, together with the Pokemon at his side, went on a journey to search for the fragments of an all-encompassing deity."

Scrangle [eyes widen] "Deity?"

Volo "Yes. An all-encompassing deity-- the creator of this very universe. And its name is..."

Volo "Arceus."

[Scrangle's eyes shine with recognition and excitement. Volo notices. He expected this.]

Volo "Perhaps you've already heard this name?"

Scrangle [darkly, sneering a little] "I know it."

Volo "Of course! What else could I have expected from the hero who saved the Hisui region! But now, let us discuss the fragments."

-- ... --

Volo "So what do you say, Scrangle? I think we should gather all the plates!"

[a huge, hungry grin splits across Scrangle's face and they nod enthusiastically]

--

Volo "Have a look at this, Scrangle."

[crushed statue]

Volo "This statue has been kept here, far from the statues of Dialga and Palkia...Broken and shattered, and yet it remains..."

Volo "Do you know what it is?"

Scrangle "...No."

Volo "Oh? You're the greatest wielder of Pokemon this land knows. The one who could bring low even Dialga and Palkia. But it seems certain things are beyond even your grasp..."

[Scrangle shoots him an irritated look, feeling patronized. Volo tries not to be too amused.]

Volo "This crumbling statue once was the figure of a Pokémon–one that was equal to both Dialga and Palkia, yet banished from our world...The great Pokémon Giratina! It was banished for its violence, left to dwell in a world on the reverse side of our own. It is a being that has lain in wait for the chance to bare its fangs in defiance and tear down Arceus itself."

[Scrangle reaches out and gently touches the leg of the statue, wonder in their eyes.]

Scrangle "...Could I meet it?"

Volo [eyes widen] "You want to meet it? Well then..."

Volo "If this Giratina desires more than anything else to challenge almighty Arceus... where do you think it might appear?"

Scrangle "The temple?"

Volo "Exactly! Where one is closer to the heavens than any other place in Hisui! ...And where the space-time rift first opened!"

Volo "Huhuhuh... HAHAHAHAHA! I can feel it... We are getting closer to uncovering the secrets of this world! I daresay the excitement is loosening my lips more than it should, but..."

Volo "You see, ever since I was young, whenever I met with something painful or heartbreaking... I couldn't help but wonder why life was so unfair. Why I was cursed to live through such things. [very pointedly glancing at Scrangle] Of course, I imagine we all go through something like that.

Scrangle looks at him, difficult to read

Volo "Eventually, I chose to direct all my energy into my own natural curiosity and ambition. And what tickled my curiosity more strongly than anything were the mysteries to be found in legends, in history, in ruins... You see, I fancied that by unraveling these mysteries, I could find out how the world itself came to be–and with that knowledge, maybe even forge a new, better world!"

Scrangle [squints, doesn't really get it] "..."

Volo "Now, if we can find the realm that exists on the reverse side of our world...and meet the creator's unwanted child banished therein... perhaps then we'll be able to understand the nature of almighty Sinnoh itself!"

[Scrangle's eyes light up, questions forgotten at the promise of a chance at revenge]

Volo "Don't you want to see it with your own eyes?!"

Scrangle [manic] "Yes!!!"

Volo "We must make for the Temple of Sinnoh at Mount Coronet's peak! Dialga and Palkia both appeared from within the rift that once gaped open there, didn't they? If these plates can call anything at all, it seems likely that is where it would appear!"

Scrangle "YES!!! YES, WE SHALL MEET GIRATINA!!!"

Coronet Highlands - Temple of Sinnoh

• Before battle

Volo "The temple lies in ruins now... Columns cracked and broken... Like pillars now turned into spears, stabbing into the heavens..."

Volo [suddenly less gravitas] "Well, I detect a distinct lack of Giratina."

[Scrangle stops walking, and looks at him, perplexed.]

Volo "Hmm? Is something bothering you?"

Scrangle [frowning hard] "We haven't looked yet."

Volo "Ah, I do beg your pardon. I suppose I must seem to be behaving strangely!"

Volo "I daresay you deserve to know what I'm really after by now."

[Scrangle just looks more confused]

Volo "Ever since I became convinced that Arceus really does exist, there has been one question that consumed my thoughts... How can I meet such a being myself?"

[Scrangle looks confused again.]

Volo "It was in an attempt to answer this question that I originally sought out Giratina and had it tear open that rift in space and time--"

[Scrangle's eyes widen with angry recognition. Volo opened to portal that brought Scrangle here!]

Scrangle "You--!"

Volo "--because it was Giratina who wished to stand against Arceus. But that didn't do the trick..."

[Scrangle clenches their fists]

Volo "So then I had you gather the fragments of the all-encompassing deity, just as the murals of the ruins directed."

Volo "Eighteen plates said to be the fragments of the all-encompassing deity... You hold in your hands seventeen of them."

[Scrangle possessively touches their pouch]

Volo: "So, you must be wondering: Where is the last one?"

Volo [pulls the plate out] "Why, it's right here!"

Scrangle [furious] "GIVE IT TO ME!"

Volo [shocked blink] "...Pardon?"

Scrangle "GIVE IT TO ME NOW, YOU PEON!! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!!"

Volo "Huhuhahaha!! Now, now! You're the one who scared Kamado with all that talk about monsters and tyrants."

Scrangle [REALLY pissed] "I wouldn't be in this awful place to BEGIN with if it weren't for you!!"

Volo "Ah, now I see...It is awful, isn't it?"

Volo: "But even from within this wretched place, we can sometimes catch glimpses of something greater. I know you've seen it-- the rift, the frenzied nobles, the Great Sinnoh, even artifacts like the red chain!"

Volo: "I'm not sure what you are or where you came from, but clearly you can see this world for what it is."

Volo "Those plates are our key to understanding what lies beyond everything that confines us here! The path to a better future depends on us! Now, give me the plates!"

[Volo takes a step forward. Scrangle takes a step back.]

Volo "Why are you holding us back?! Don't you understand the significance of this moment??!"

[Scrangle doesn't instantly respond, and Volo is clearly out of patience.]

V: "My desire to meet Arceus cannot be contained any longer! I need to know what it is! I MUST know what it is!"

Volo "If I can meet Arceus myself, then I may also be able to subjugate its power... And using that, I will attempt to create a new, better world--!"

Scrangle [snarling] "YOU STUPID WORM!! THAT TYRANT MUST BE ANNIHILATED!!"

Volo [eyes widen] "...Oh."

Volo [blank with shock] "The 'Tyrant' you hate so much...is Arceus itself?"

Volo "Huhu...You keep finding ways to surprise me, Scrangle."

Scrangle [gritted teeth] "YES! I will destroy Arceus at any cost!"

Volo "Hah!! As if I would ever let that happen, you ungrateful little squirt!! I'm not above taking those plates from you by force."

• Upon being defeated

Volo "Why? Why would Arceus favor a disrespectful wretch like you?!"

• After being defeated

Volo "Why? How?!"

Volo "I've devoted myself to Arceus beyond any other! I worshiped it as the creator of our entire world! I bent all of my passion and interest to its study! All the time I've spent poring over the legends... Everything that I've done—!"

Volo "You rotten brat!! It's almost as if you were spat out of the space-time rift just to get in my way!"

Scrangle [sneering] "You are the most annoying punishment the Tyrant has forced me to endure."

Scrangle "But now, Arceus has abandoned you!" [holds out their hand] "Give me the plate!"

Volo "No, this isn't finished yet!"

Volo "Can't you feel it? The chill creeping through your veins—the eldritch presence icing your heart?"

Volo "Giratina! Strike her down!"

• After Giratina is defeated

Volo "Turning tail and running? From this puny HUMAN? Pathetic--!"

Scrangle "NOT human!"

Volo [ignoring them] "--I was the one to feed you the power you needed so that you could take on Arceus! I was the one who gave you the chance to claw open that space-time rift, driving the deity of space and time mad so that you could drag the creator out from hiding!"

[Scrangle, furious at being ignored, starts approaching Volo]

Volo "How? How could this happen?! Almighty Arceus, if you have any heart within you, then--!!"

Scrangle "SHUT UP ALREADY!!"

[Scrangle begins grappling with Volo, trying to nab the last plate from him by force]

Volo "You--! You--!! Grr! You little MONSTER! Do you even understand what you're trying to do?!!"

Scrangle "I'm taking my revenge!"

Volo "No, you moron!! Without Arceus, the world will be destroyed with nothing to take its place!"

Scrangle "Liar!!!! Destroying Arceus will destroy my prison!!! I'll finally-- grr! -- get my old body back!!!"

Volo [a little genuinely distressed] "You're insane!!!"

[Volo and Scrangle have shuffled dangerously close to the cliff. Scrangle is infuriated by what Volo just said, and jumps to try and grab the final plate out of his hands. They manage to get a hand on it, but lose their footing when they land, and end up hanging over the ledge. Volo only just manages not to be dragged over with them.]

[Scrangle breathes heavily, barely hanging on to the smooth plate and beginning to slip. Volo stares at her.]

Scrangle [looking down] "Does...falling from this high...kill humans?"

[As they finish asking, Scrangle makes eye contact with Volo, and in that moment truly looks like a desperate, scared child.]

[Volo lets go of the plate.]

[He watches Scrangle fall, and then reflexively flinches away and squeezes his eyes shut when they would have hit the ground. But instead of a thud, he hears the distinctive cry of Giratina. He snaps his eyes open just in time to see a spacetime vortex closing.]

[rainforestakiie]

Yo! Follower/Stalker on Be Lonely with Me from AO3 and I have been infected by Tumblr outside of YouTube.

Was wondering if you'd ever update Vacation Away? Always wondered what happened to it.

hello! aw, i'm so happy you like my writing! it means so much to me! thank you for all the support!

yes, of course i will write another part for you! i hope you like it!

Vacation Away (Adam/Lucifer goes on vacation on Earth) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Half the week had drifted by like a lazy cloud since Adam had left Heaven, the bustling city that felt more like a gilded cage than a home. The town he now found himself in was quaint, nestled between rolling hills and kissed by the soft blush of early spring. Yet, his mind wasn’t on the picturesque charm or even the reason for his journey—the required vaccination that had dragged him here. No, his thoughts were consumed by Samuel.

The odd little man staying at the same inn had a way of commandeering Adam’s mind, unbidden and relentless. Samuel was peculiar in the most endearing way—a wiry frame that seemed too small to house the vibrant energy he carried, a goofy grin that crept up unprovoked, and eyes that gleamed with a mischievous sparkle, the colour of the clearest morning sky after a storm. Adam couldn’t help but smile faintly, a soft, wistful thing, as he thought of the way Samuel laughed—full-bodied and infectious, like music that lingered long after the song had ended.

It was strange, this pull he felt. Sweet. Unfamiliar. Adam didn’t think he’d ever looked at someone this way before, let alone a man. Not since… Eden.

His chest tightened, and his gaze drifted out the window. The world beyond blurred as his thoughts turned inward, his reflection ghosting on the glass. His eyes grew distant, soft, and shadowed with memories he couldn’t outrun.

Eden. The word alone was heavy, like honey laced with poison. Eden was where his heart had first learned to soar and where it had been shattered beyond recognition. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging the pane. How he longed for Eden—its golden skies, the gentle hum of its rivers, the animals that knew him and trusted him. He would give anything, everything, to go back.

But alone.

Always alone.

Eden, his paradise, was haunted. Each perfect bloom, each serene vista, reminded him of what he had lost, what he had endured. The ache of betrayal, the weight of his choices—it was all tied to that sacred, cursed place. Returning would be a solace, yes, but one he could only bear in solitude.

And yet, as the thought of Samuel flitted through his mind again, it jarred something loose in him. Adam frowned slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the window. Samuel’s presence, his laughter, his small kindnesses—they were all unbidden, disruptive, but… comforting in a way that Adam couldn’t explain.

What was it about that strange man with the sparky blue eyes that made the heaviness in his chest feel a little lighter? Could it be that Samuel was more than a passing curiosity? Adam wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the inn felt warmer when Samuel was near, and the nights didn’t seem as lonely.

Shaking his head, Adam turned his attention back to the view outside. The twilight was setting in, painting the town in hues of lavender and rose. A soft knock at the door startled him from his reverie.

“Adam?”

The voice was unmistakable, a bit hesitant but still carrying that distinct warmth that Samuel never seemed to lack. Adam’s heart stuttered, unprepared for the surge of emotions the sound evoked. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob before he opened it.

Samuel stood there, grinning sheepishly, his hair mussed as if he’d just rolled out of bed, though it was barely evening. He held out a steaming cup.

“Hot chocolate,” he said, a little too quickly. “I noticed you seemed… quiet at breakfast. Thought maybe you could use some.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard. “I—thank you.”

His voice softer than he intended. He took the cup, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it left his skin tingling.

Samuel lingered, rocking on his heels.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his grin faltering slightly, as though unsure of his welcome.

Adam hesitated, his instincts urging him to retreat, to guard himself. But then he looked at Samuel—truly looked—and something inside him softened. The man’s vulnerability was palpable, and Adam found himself nodding before he could think better of it.

“Sure,” he said, stepping aside to let Samuel in.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting flickering amber light across the room. Adam leaned back against the windowsill, the warmth of his cup seeping into his palms, grounding him. Samuel was sprawled on the worn-out rug near the fire, his head propped up on one hand, his other tracing absentminded patterns in the air as he spoke. He was telling a story about a mischievous duck he’d encountered during his travels, his voice animated, his blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Adam found himself watching more than listening, caught up in the way Samuel’s face lit up, the way his smile came so easily. It was magnetic, this energy Samuel carried, and Adam couldn’t help but be drawn to it, even as he tried to keep his feelings in check.

“And then, just as I thought I’d lost it for good,” Samuel said, gesturing dramatically, “The duck pops up behind me with the scarf in its mouth, looking all smug. I swear, it was laughing at me. You should’ve seen its face, Graham.”

Adam’s breath hitched. Graham. The name hung in the air like a bell, jolting him from his thoughts. He froze, the cup halfway to his lips, his heart skipping a beat as he processed the name. It wasn’t his, not really, but he’d used it so casually in this little town that hearing it felt… wrong. And yet, the way Samuel said it—with that warm, teasing lilt—made it sound right.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, Adam forced himself to move, lowering the cup slowly and plastering on a small smile.

“Oh? Did you ever get the scarf back?” he asked, his voice a touch higher than usual. He winced internally at how obvious he sounded.

Samuel chuckled, oblivious to Adam’s sudden tension. “Of course I did. I had to bribe it with half my lunch, though. Ducks are crafty little devils.”  

His gaze flicked to Adam, sharp and bright as always, and he grinned. “Why? You don’t strike me as a scarf person, Graham.”

There it was again. Graham. Adam’s stomach did a flip, and his blush deepened, creeping up his neck and to his cheeks. He cleared his throat, gripping the cup tighter to steady himself.

“I’m not, really,” he said, managing to keep his voice even. “But I think it’s nice that you made a friend, even if it was a duck.”

Samuel laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

“You’re funny, you know that?” Samuel said, shifting to sit up straighter, his eyes locking onto Adam’s. “I mean, you’re quiet most of the time, but when you talk, it’s always something that sticks with me.”

Adam’s grip on the cup tightened. He could feel the intensity of Samuel’s gaze, those piercing blue eyes seeming to strip away every wall he’d built around himself. He fought the urge to look away, to hide, but instead, he met Samuel’s eyes, his blush betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

“Thanks,” Adam murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “I guess I don’t realize I do that.”

Samuel smiled, and it was different this time—gentler, more intimate.

“You do,” he said simply. “And it’s one of the reasons I like being around you.”

Adam’s heart stuttered, and he felt the blush spread further. He opened his mouth to respond but found he had no words. The room seemed to shrink, the firelight casting a cozy glow that wrapped around the two of them, isolating them from the rest of the world.

“Graham,” Samuel said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a soft caress. It wasn’t just a name—it was the way he said it, like it meant something, like he meant something. Adam forgot, for a fleeting moment, that it wasn’t really his name.

He smiled despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a shy but genuine way.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said my name that much in one night,” he teased lightly, trying to deflect, to push away the weight of what he was feeling.

Samuel grinned, leaning forward just a bit, closing the distance between them.

“Maybe that’s because nobody else noticed how good it sounds,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, playful murmur. His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something sincere in the way he looked at Adam, something that made Adam’s breath hitch.

Laughing nervously, Adam shook his head as he tried to will the heat in his face to fade.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Impossible and charming,” Samuel replied, echoing his earlier words. His hand moved, brushing lightly against Adam’s knee, a touch so casual yet so deliberate that it made Adam’s pulse quicken.

For a moment, they just sat there, the space between them charged but comfortable. Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. There was something about Samuel’s presence that made him feel safe, like maybe it was okay to let his guard down, even if just for a little while.

“Graham,” Samuel said one last time, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Breath caught, but this time, Adam didn’t freeze. He smiled, a real smile, and for once, he let himself be in the moment, even if he wasn’t sure what it all meant.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice steady, his shyness finally melting into the warmth between them.

Grin widening, and Lucifer’s blue eyes sparkled brighter than the firelight.

“Nothing,” he said, leaning back with a playful shrug. “Just wanted to say it again.”

And Adam, despite himself, laughed. It wasn’t a name he’d chosen for permanence, but in Samuel’s voice, it felt like something he could live with—something he could cherish.

The morning air in Keukenhof was crisp and carried the faintest hint of dew, mingling with the sweet perfume of tulips in full bloom. Adam and Samuel strolled through the gardens, the vibrant sea of colours stretching endlessly before them. Tulips of every hue—vivid reds, soft pastels, sunny yellows—danced in the gentle breeze, creating a tapestry of life and beauty. Samuel walked slightly ahead, turning every so often to point out a flower that caught his eye, his enthusiasm as boundless as the fields themselves.

“Look at that one, Graham!” Samuel exclaimed, crouching down by a patch of tulips with frilled edges that looked like flames frozen mid-dance. “I didn’t even know flowers could look like this!”

Chuckling softly, Adam’s hands tucked into his pockets as he followed.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a flower before,” he teased, his voice warm with affection.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Not like this. It’s magical, don’t you think?”

Nodding, Adam’s gaze sweeping over the vibrant blooms.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “It is.”

They wandered deeper into the gardens, stopping occasionally to admire the more intricate displays. At a small stand tucked among the trees, Samuel spotted trays of truffles arranged in neat rows, each piece adorned with delicate patterns. His eyes lit up.

“We have to get some,” he said, grabbing Adam’s hand and pulling him toward the stand. Adam let himself be dragged, laughing softly at Samuel’s childlike excitement.

The vendor offered them an assortment, and Samuel picked out a small box of truffles with vibrant designs—ones shaped like tulips, tiny hearts, and even one that resembled a bumblebee. They found a bench near a quiet patch of flowers to sit and share them, Samuel popping one into his mouth and humming dramatically.

“Delicious,” he declared, holding another up to Adam. “Try this one. It’s hazelnut.”

Adam hesitated but leaned forward, taking the offered truffle. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Adam’s heart skipped a beat. The truffle melted on his tongue, sweet and rich, but the real warmth came from the way Samuel watched him, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Good, right?” Samuel asked.

Adam nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Really good.”

As they continued walking, a burst of giggles and the twang of a guitar drew their attention to a small group of children gathered under a tree. One child held a guitar, plucking at the strings with little success, while the others clapped and cheered him on. The scene was charming, and both Adam and Samuel stopped to watch.

The child strummed the guitar again, the sound clunky and awkward.

“I can’t do it!” he huffed, pouting as his friend’s offered encouragement.

Without thinking, Adam murmured, “You need to relax your grip. Otherwise, the strings won’t sound right.”

Turning to Adam, Samuel’s eyes wide with curiosity. “Wait—you play the guitar?”

Blinking, realizing what he’d just admitted. Adam let out a sheepish sound.

“I used to,” he said carefully. “A long time ago.”

Samuel’s face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds. “That’s amazing! You should show them.”

Adam held up his hands, shaking his head. “No, no. I haven’t played in years. I’m probably terrible now.”

“Oh, come on,” Samuel said, nudging him playfully. “It’ll be fun. Look at them—they’d love it.”

Before Adam could protest further, Samuel was already talking to the children, convincing them to let Adam try. They handed over the guitar eagerly, their little faces lighting up with excitement.

The weight of Samuel’s hopeful gaze leaving him little choice. He sat down on the grass, adjusting the guitar in his lap. His fingers trembled slightly as they found the strings, memories of songs he hadn’t thought about in years flooding back. With a deep breath, he began to play.

The first few notes were hesitant, but soon the melody flowed smoothly. It was a gentle, lilting tune that carried through the garden like a soft breeze. The children clapped along, their giggles and cheers filling the air. Even the flowers seemed to sway to the rhythm.

When Adam glanced up, he saw Samuel standing a few steps away, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His blue eyes were fixed on Adam, warm and unwavering, his expression a mix of awe and something deeper—something that made Adam’s heart ache in the best possible way.

Adam’s fingers faltered slightly, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks burning. His heart thudded in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Samuel could hear it. He finished the song and handed the guitar back to the children, who thanked him enthusiastically before running off to try again.

Samuel crouched down beside him, his grin softer now.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice low but full of emotion.

Adam shook his head, his gaze fixed on the grass. “I’m not. I just… remembered a few things.”

Reaching out, Samuel brushed a stray curl from Adam’s forehead. The gesture was so casual yet so intimate that Adam’s blush deepened.

“You’re too modest, Graham,” Samuel said, his voice teasing but his eyes serious. “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Breath hitching, and for a moment, Adam didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t felt like this in so long—this vulnerable, this seen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at Samuel, then quickly looked away, the intensity of his gaze too much to bear. But even as he averted his eyes, a small, shy smile crept onto his lips.

And Samuel, ever patient, stayed by his side, the warmth between them growing like the tulips blooming all around.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the floral shop's large windows, casting golden beams over the rows of tulips, roses, and lilies waiting to be arranged into beautiful bouquets. The air smelled sweet, thick with the scent of blossoms and freshly trimmed stems. Adam and Samuel worked side by side at the counter, their hands busy with ribbons, vases, and the delicate petals they handled with care.

“Well, Graham,” Samuel said, his voice lilting with mischief, “You’ve got quite the knack for this. You sure you’re not secretly a florist?”

Adam glanced at him, trying to suppress a smile. “Hardly. I’m just following your lead.”

Samuel smirked, nudging Adam’s elbow with his own. “Good answer. But I think you’re just being modest again.”

Adam rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped him. “You really love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

“It’s my favourite pastime,” Samuel said, leaning closer as he reached for a spool of ribbon.

His shoulder brushed against Adam’s, lingering just a second too long. The touch sent a jolt through Adam, and he found himself hyper-aware of how close Samuel was—how he could feel the heat of his body even in the cool air of the shop.

They fell into an easy rhythm, assembling bouquets and chatting, their laughter filling the space. Samuel was relentless in his teasing, but it was gentle, laced with affection that Adam couldn’t help but respond to. At one point, Adam reached for a sprig of baby’s breath at the same time as Samuel, their fingers colliding.

“Careful,” Samuel murmured, his voice dropping a notch. His eyes met Adam’s, bright and teasing. “Don’t want to steal my thunder.”

“Maybe you’re the one stealing mine,” Adam countered, his voice steadier than he felt.

Samuel’s grin widened. “Touché.”

The playful banter continued, their touches growing more frequent—an accidental brush of fingers here, a nudge of hips there. Adam tried to focus on the flowers, the ribbons, anything but the growing tension between them. But Samuel made it impossible, his every movement deliberate, his every word dripping with charm.

“Graham,” Samuel said, his voice soft now, almost a purr.

Adam looked up from the bouquet he was working on, startled by the sudden shift in tone. Samuel was closer than before, his blue eyes fixed on Adam’s, a hint of something deeper swirling in their depths.

“Yes?” Adam asked, his voice catching slightly.

“You’ve got a little…” Samuel reached out, brushing a petal off Adam’s shoulder. His fingers lingered, grazing the fabric of Adam’s shirt. “There. All better.”

Adam swallowed hard, his heart thudding in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as Samuel leaned in, his face inches away now. Adam’s breath hitched, his body frozen in place.

“Relax,” Samuel murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a tenderness in his gaze that made Adam’s heart ache.

And then Samuel kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—a gentle press of lips that sent a shockwave through Adam. His eyes widened, his body stiff as he processed what was happening. It was his first real kiss in over ten thousand centuries, and it felt as foreign as it did wonderful. He didn’t know what to do, how to react, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Samuel pulled back, a teasing smile on his lips, his blue eyes bright and searching. “Not bad for someone who’s rusty, huh?” he said, his tone light but his gaze warm. He reached up, his fingers brushing Adam’s cheek, his touch gentle and lingering.

Adam’s face burned, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Samuel could hear it.

“I—um—I…” He stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, before finally managing, “Excuse me, I-I need to retire for the night.”

Without waiting for a response, Adam turned and hurried toward the door, his steps quick and uneven. He felt Samuel’s gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look back. The moment he was outside, he all but ran, the cool evening air doing little to cool the fire burning in his cheeks.

He reached his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath. His face was hot, his heart still racing. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse. He had never felt this way before—so alive, so shaken, so… seen.

Sliding down to sit on the floor, Adam covered his face with his hands, a shy, disbelieving smile creeping onto his lips despite his embarrassment. Samuel had kissed him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Adam let himself wonder—just for a moment—what it would feel like to kiss him back.

Adam sat alone in his room, the walls pressing in like a suffocating reminder of his isolation. His shoulders slumped as he leaned against the windowsill, the evening sky outside painted in soft hues of gold and lavender. But he couldn’t appreciate the beauty. Not tonight. Not when his heart was a chaotic storm of memories and feelings he thought he had buried deep, never to be unearthed.

Samuel’s kiss had stirred something in him—something Adam hadn’t felt in centuries. But it wasn’t just the flutter of warmth in his chest or the way his skin tingled where Samuel had touched him. No, it was the torrent of pain that came rushing back, a tidal wave dragging him under.

Eden.

Lucifer.

The names themselves felt like wounds that had never healed.

Adam closed his eyes, and his mind betrayed him, pulling him back to a time when the world was new, and he was blissfully ignorant of how cruel love could be. Lucifer had been his everything—his guide, his angel, his first friend. And later, Adam realized, his first love. Back then, he hadn’t had the words to describe what he felt when Lucifer smiled at him, his blue eyes alight with mischief and a depth of kindness that seemed boundless. He didn’t understand why his heart quickened whenever Lucifer was near, or why he felt so crushed when their time together ended, even for a moment.

But he knew now.

Adam had been hopelessly, irrevocably in love with the archangel.

It had all seemed so perfect in the beginning. Lucifer had been there for him, teaching him, guiding him through the garden, showing him the wonders of creation. Adam remembered their laughter, the shared glances, the way Lucifer had teased him, calling him "innocent" with a grin that made Adam’s knees weak. It was a love he hadn’t dared to voice, not even to himself, until Lilith was created.

Lilith. His "other half," the angels had said. His destined partner. Adam remembered the confusion, the ache of betrayal when they told him he was to love her. He cared for her, yes, but his heart wasn’t hers to take—it was Lucifer’s. Always Lucifer’s. But even Lucifer had pushed him toward her, encouraging him to embrace his “destiny.”

Adam had tried. He had tried so hard to do what was expected of him, to silence the feelings clawing at his heart. But how could he, when every glance, every thought, every beat of his heart whispered Lucifer’s name?

And then… the betrayal.

He could still see them in his mind’s eye—Lucifer and Lilith together. The memory tore through him like it had happened yesterday. He had stumbled upon them, their laughter mingling in the air like a cruel mockery of everything he had dreamed. Adam’s heart had shattered into pieces so small, he wondered if it would ever be whole again.

"Why can’t I marry you?" Adam had asked Lucifer once, desperation trembling in his voice. He’d been so young, so naive, still clinging to the hope that what he felt might somehow be returned.

Lucifer had laughed, a soft, almost apologetic sound.

"You can’t," he’d said simply. "Because I’m an angel, and you’re human. It would never work."

But it had worked with Lilith. And later, Eve.

Adam shook his head, the tears stinging his eyes blurring the pastel streaks of the sunset. Lilith had been his first taste of heartbreak, but she hadn’t been the last. Eve came next, and Adam had tried to love her too, tried to be the man the angels said he was meant to be. But Lucifer had ruined that, too.

Lucifer always came back. Always took what wasn’t his to take.

Adam had run from them both, from Eden itself. But unlike before, no one had followed. No one had tried to bring him back. Not Lucifer. Not Lilith. Not Eve. It was in that deafening silence that Adam learned his place in the grand design: nowhere. He was an afterthought, a vessel for a plan he had no part in shaping.

And so he had vowed never to love again. He had built walls so high and so strong that even he believed no one could ever break them down. But then came Samuel.

Samuel, with his goofy grin and sparkling blue eyes—so different from Lucifer’s yet so similar in the way they made Adam’s heart flutter. Samuel, who teased him, who touched him, who kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He looked at Adam as if he wasn’t the first man, wasn’t the first human, wasn’t a pet or an insect. Samuel gazed at Adam…just Adam…

Adam’s chest tightened as he thought of Samuel. The way his lips had felt, soft and warm, lingering just long enough to make Adam’s breath catch. It had been the first time in eons that Adam had felt truly wanted.

But what was the point? Adam was dead—an angel of the Lord, his heart hollowed out and remade for duty, not love. Samuel was alive, vibrant, full of hope and dreams that belonged to the mortal realm. They were from different worlds, and their paths were never meant to cross. This couldn’t be anything more than a fleeting moment, a cruel reminder of everything Adam had lost and could never have again.

The thought broke him.

Pressing a hand to his chest, willing the ache to subside, but it only deepened. Adam had been so certain he could go through eternity without needing anyone, without wanting anyone. But now… now he wasn’t so sure. Samuel had slipped past his defences with ease, and Adam didn’t know how to stop him.

“I can’t do this,” Adam whispered to the empty room, his voice trembling.

But even as he said it, a small, traitorous part of him wondered—what if he could? What if, just this once, he let himself fall?

He was scared. So scared to fall again. After Lucifer…Adam never wanted to feel that way again.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, the room dimly lit by the flickering glow of a single candle on the windowsill. The tulip fields that had earlier brought him so much joy now felt like a distant memory. His thoughts swirled, a storm of past regrets and present confusion. He traced his fingers along the edge of the blanket, trying to focus on the soft texture instead of the ache in his chest.

The kiss. Samuel’s kiss. It had unearthed feelings Adam hadn’t allowed himself to feel for eons, and now they were unravelling him. He had locked himself away to escape them, but they lingered, like shadows clinging to the corners of the room. He tried to bury his emotions under the weight of old wounds, but Samuel’s face, his bright eyes and gentle touch, kept flashing in his mind.

Then, a knock at the door startled him. Adam froze, his heart leaping to his throat. He considered ignoring it, but after a second knock, softer this time, curiosity and a flicker of hope got the better of him. Rising from the bed, he approached the door hesitantly, his fingers hovering over the handle before he finally opened it.

There stood Samuel, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was holding a small bouquet of tulips in his hands, their colours a soft blend of pink and white, like a whisper of spring.

“Hi,” Samuel said quietly, offering the flowers with a sheepish smile. “I, uh… I’m sorry if I came on too strong earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Face flushing as Adam accepted the bouquet, his fingers brushing Samuel’s briefly. The warmth of the touch sent a shiver down his spine. “You didn’t… scare me,” Adam said softly, looking down at the tulips. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Samuel added, scratching the back of his neck. “And maybe… talk? If you’re up for it?”

Adam hesitated, glancing at the tulips again before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Samuel entered cautiously; his usual confidence subdued. Adam placed the flowers gently on the small table by the window, arranging them absentmindedly before sitting back down on the bed. Samuel settled in the chair opposite him, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel began again, his voice soft. “I didn’t realize you were carrying so much… stuff.”

Adam chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. I’ve just… had a harsh past with love and emotions. Relationships haven’t exactly been kind to me.”

Gaze softening, Samuel’s head tilting slightly. “A bad breakup?”

Laughing, though the sound was hollow. Adam grimaced painfully. “Not even a breakup. More like… a first love that turned sour.”

Leaning back, a flicker of curiosity crossing Samuel’s face. “A first love?”

Gaze fixed on the tulips; Adam smiled softly. When he spoke, his voice was distant, filled with a quiet pain. “There was someone in my life once. We were best friends—always together, attached at the hip. I… I loved him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Samuel stayed silent, his blue eyes locked on Adam, his expression unreadable.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” Adam continued, his voice trembling slightly, “but I was in love with him. He was everything to me. I thought he held the sun and moon in his hands just for me. But…” Adam’s breath hitched, and he looked down at his lap. “I wasn’t enough for him.”

Jaw tightening, Samuel’s lips pressing into a thin line as Adam spoke.

“I was told I had to marry someone else,” Adam said, his voice growing quieter. “But how could I? My heart wasn’t mine to give—it was his. Still, I tried. I tried to be what everyone wanted me to be. And then… he chose her. He picked her over me. My friend—my best friend—said I wasn’t worth the trouble. But she was.”

Adam exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “And it didn’t stop there. I was told to marry another woman, and he… he went after her too. It was like I was just some obstacle in his way. Someone to be discarded when I was no longer convenient.”

Swallowing hard, Samuel’s blue eyes glistening. “Your friend… doesn’t sound like much of a friend…”

Adam gave a pitiful smile. “In the end, I don’t think he ever really was. I think… I think I was just something to keep him entertained. Like a pet.”

Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, biting his lip. He looked at Adam with a mixture of sorrow and anger, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Laughing softly, Adam shook his head. “Why are you apologizing? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Samuel sniffed, shifting in his seat as he wiped at his eyes. “It’s just… it’s not fair. You deserve everything, Adam.”

Heart skipping a beat as Samuel reached out, his fingers brushing against Adam’s cheek. The touch was light, reverent, as if Samuel were afraid Adam might break under his hand.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Samuel said, his voice trembling. “Your friend… he ruined everything for you, didn’t he? He turned love and relationships into something… painful.”

Adam looked down, shrugging shyly. “It was so long ago. I try not to see him if I can help it.”

Leaning closer, Samuel’s gaze unwavering. “You deserve so much more. You deserve someone who’ll fight for you. Someone who sees you for the incredible person you are.”

Breath hitching, Adam’s cheeks burning as he looked away. But Samuel’s hand remained on his cheek, grounding him, offering a comfort he hadn’t felt in centuries. And for the first time in eons, Adam wondered if it was possible to open his heart again.

“Please Graham…” Samuel whispered tenderly. He inched even closer to him, pressing his body against Adam’s. “Please Graham, let me show you how good it can me…”

Gulping, Adam’s body prickled with tingles all over his skin. Adam’s breath hitched as Samuel inched closer to him, he could feel Samuel’s body warmth spreading all over. Their hips pressed together, the intense look in Samuel’s blue eyes deepen as he rolled his hips, making Adam gasp.

“Please…” he whispered, pressing his lips to Adam’s. “Please…Adam…”

Inching forward, Adam meet’s Samuel halfway. Their lips touched, pushing together in a deep kiss. Adam sighed deeply, his heart fluttering even more as Samuel immediately began to rock his hips against Adam. He hooked a hand under Adam’s thigh, pulling it over his hip.

Hands pulled at clothes, the heat increasing within the room. They moved from the windowsill to the bed. They fell onto the blankets and quilts, beginning to touch one another in a way that Adam had never experienced before.

“S-Samuel.” Adam gasped.

The other froze for a second. Tensing up for just a few seconds before he relaxed again, running his hot mouth further down Adam’s chest. His lips touching Adam’s nipples, he licks and sucks on the soft flesh. The intensity of his blue eyes made Adam feel shy. He wanted to hide himself; to roll over but Samuel wouldn’t let him.

Adam let out another crying moan as Samuel travelled further down.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never think of another man again,” Samuel growled possessively. He bites down on Adam’s thigh, marking him as his. “You’re mine, aren’t you Adam? You belong to me, don’t you?”

Rolling his head back, Adam whimpered and whined, “Yes. God yes, Samuel.”

“Good boy.”

The night had been an intoxicating blend of passion and vulnerability, leaving Adam reeling in sensations he hadn’t felt in millennia. As morning’s golden light spilled into the room, it illuminated the tulips resting on the bedside table, their vibrant hues glowing like tiny flames. Adam stirred first, his body both achingly sore and delightfully alive, a testament to the connection he had shared with Samuel.

A soft, contented groan escaped his lips as he blinked against the sunlight, his mind sluggishly catching up to his surroundings. Turning his head, he found Samuel beside him, deeply asleep, his features softened in repose. The quilt barely covered their entwined forms, and the room bore the chaotic evidence of their passion—clothes scattered like fallen leaves, shoes toppled, a chair askew.

Adam's breath hitched. He hadn't done this—felt this—in over ten thousand years. He let out a quiet laugh, equal parts disbelieving and giddy. This was so unlike him, so reckless, yet... so right. Eve had never made his heart race like this, never set his body alight with warmth and longing. But Samuel? Samuel made him feel like he was touching the divine again, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Shifting onto his side, Adam traced Samuel’s face with his eyes, his chest swelling with something he didn’t dare name. His fingers found their way to Samuel’s hair, threading through the soft strands. He twirled a lock between his fingers, noticing its shimmer in the sunlight. A curious frown tugged at his lips. Samuel’s hair had seemed more strawberry blonde before… hadn’t it? He shrugged the thought away, lowering his head onto the pillow as he inched closer, eager to snuggle against the man who had reignited his dormant heart.

But then he froze.

His mind reeled as fragments of the previous night flooded back. Samuel had called him Adam. Not Graham, the alias he’d carefully maintained since coming to Earth. No, Adam. Panic flared in his chest. How could Samuel have known? He couldn’t have.

Tentatively, Adam brushed Samuel’s hair back, his fingers trembling as they revealed a red mark on Samuel’s cheek—bright and unnatural, glowing faintly like a cherry ember. His heart began to pound violently. He stared at the mark, his breath coming in shallow gasps. No. No. No. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be.

Stirring, a soft hum breaking the silence as Lucifer stretched lazily, his muscles rippling beneath the quilt. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and Adam’s heart leapt into his throat. Samuel tilted his head, offering a warm, sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and honeyed.

Adam couldn’t respond. His throat tightened as he stared into eyes that weren’t blue anymore but a swirling, unnerving mix of red and gold. His body went cold as he realized the nose that had once given Samuel’s face its charming profile was now… gone. Just smooth skin where it had once been.

Samuel’s—no, Lucifer’s—smile widened as he cocked his head. “Adam? Are you alright?”

Adam’s body locked up. His mind screamed in denial, but he couldn’t form words. Lucifer reached for him, his touch feather light as he cupped Adam’s cheek.

“Was I too rough last night?” Lucifer teased, leaning in for a kiss. “You seem shaken—”

The realization slammed into Adam like a tidal wave, nearly drowning him. Samuel wasn’t Samuel. Samuel was Lucifer.

He’d spent the night tangled in bed with the one being who had caused him the most pain, the most heartbreak, in his existence. This wasn’t a rekindled connection; this was another manipulation, another cruel game in Lucifer’s endless repertoire.

“No!” Adam choked, shoving Lucifer away. Scrambling backward, he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor with a sharp thud. His vision swam, and his chest heaved with panicked breaths.

Gasping, Lucifer sat up abruptly. “Adam—”

“I mean, Graham—are you okay?” His brows knitted together as he knelt at Adam’s side, his concern almost convincing. “You hit your head,” he murmured, reaching for Adam’s face. “Let me—”

“Don’t touch me!” Adam slapped his hand away, his voice trembling with fury and fear. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his discarded clothing in frantic handfuls. His mind raced, a cacophony of disbelief and betrayal threatening to overwhelm him.

Lucifer frowned, his golden eyes widening in what looked like genuine confusion. “Graham, what’s wrong? Did I—did I do something? Last night, I thought—”

“Last night was a lie!” Adam hissed, yanking on his clothes. He could barely breathe, his hands shaking violently as he buttoned his shirt. “You—you deceived me. Again! Samuel, or should I say Lucifer!”

Standing slowly, Lucifer’s bare form almost radiant in the sunlight, but Adam refused to look at him.

“I didn’t—Adam, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Lucifer said softly. “Please, let me—”

“Don’t call me that!” Adam shouted, his voice breaking as tears spilled from his eyes. “You don’t get to say my name. You don’t get to… to be here.”

Lucifer’s face fell, the mask of cocky confidence he so often wore slipping away. For a moment, he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Adam,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “I’m not your enemy—”

But Adam was already gone, bolting from the room as his sobs tore through the quiet morning air. He didn’t stop, didn’t look back, even as Lucifer’s voice echoed after him.

“Adam, wait!”