#Essence 2018

[majestativa]

The abyss was her eyes; the storm was her breathing.

— Tristan Corbière, Oysters, Nightingales and Cooking Pots: Selected Poetry & Prose, transl by Richard Hibbitt & Katherine Lunn-Rockliffe, (2018)

[lesdeuxmuses]

Avast - Mother Culture ( Karisma & Dark Essence Records AS, 2018)

[celebratingwomen]

Ava DuVernay, Oprah Winfrey and Storm Reid for Essence Magazine, 2018

[alebrijediscordico]

sometimes i think a lot of that one webcomic i spend Weeks reading back in 2017 called sinfest and i cant but feel- so deeply disappointed by the current heading of... whatever is going on. I dont know if you can even call it a story at this point, or a valid commentary of any kind. Is just... something that exist, i guess

Its feels so flat nowadays, it no longer has any kind of purpose or meaning other than the fact idiots extremists got the author. its so tiring

[qureshimushranabdulrauf]

Nothing

What are you curious about? Nothing. Thank You! Take Care! Smile Always! Stay Happy and Healthy! Pray!

[nicknelosn]

THE X-FILES (1993-2018) | S08E20 ‘Essence’

+ bonus

[theetherealbloom]

CLOSE TO YOU

Summary: A commute crush turned meet cute with Pedro Pascal

Paring: Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

Warnings: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Commute Crush, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Meet-Cute, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Alcohol, Club/Bar Setting

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Close To You release day! I’ve waited for this song since 2018 LMAO. Usually, I don’t write about real-life people, but I really can’t help it since this song is SO Pedro Pascal-coded. Just know that this is fictional and if this isn’t for you, you don’t have to read it! Keep scrolling :> And for those who stay to read this delusion of a fic, hey girlieeee I see you <3 

P.S. I’ll be doing a bunch of fics related to Gracie’s new album that comes out next week!

Song: Close To You by Gracie Abrams

| Main Masterlist |

It all began as a harmless crush on your morning commute. The New York subway was your daily stage, a bustling backdrop as you headed to meet a client. As a social media coordinator, your days revolved around managing high-profile partnerships, coordinating with celebrities and Instagram influencers to craft campaigns that seamlessly blended their brands with consumer appeal. 

But today was different. And of course, you recognized him. 

You noticed him immediately – Pedro Pascal, seated right in front of you. Lost in his book, with a iced quad espresso in a venti cup with extra ice and six shots cradled in his hand, he exuded an effortless charm. His dark, curly hair framed those whisky eyes that glanced up and met yours. Just for a second, you were frozen in time, captivated by his gaze. You quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude, yet feeling the familiar flutter of a crush brewing.

Did he smile? You swore he did, and your heart skipped a beat. The train doors opened, announcing your stop. Reluctantly, you stepped off, joining the throng of commuters spilling onto the platform. As you ascended the steps, the city's vibrant energy washed over you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Walking towards the restaurant for your client meeting, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way his presence ignited a spark within you, a longing that seemed almost irrational. Here you were, burning for a man who didn't even know your name. And yet, in the anonymity of the subway, a fleeting connection had stirred something deep inside you.

It had been a few weeks since that subway encounter, the memory of Pedro Pascal’s whisky eyes lingering in your mind. In the meantime, you had started managing social media for Sarah Paulson, whose busy schedule had her juggling multiple projects and interviews.

Sarah's latest project, a Broadway play titled Appropriate, was garnering critical acclaim and several award nominations. Your job was to promote her involvement, ensuring every post captured the essence of her talent and the play’s success. Though you hadn't been working with her long, you were pleasantly surprised when she invited you to watch one of her performances.

That night, you arrived early at the Belasco Theatre, adorned in your favorite long dress and practical flats, mindful of the commute back to your apartment. Ushered to a seat close to the front, you settled into the plush red velvet, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. As the audience trickled in, you busied yourself with casual texts to friends before putting your phone away, taking in the theatre's intricate architecture and the stage's grandeur.

Moments later, an usher guided someone to the seat next to you. Curiosity made you glance to your right, and there he was—Pedro Pascal, settling in beside you. Your eyes widened in recognition before you quickly looked away, a quiet panic bubbling in your stomach and tightening your chest. You fidgeted with your fingers, a nervous habit, trying to quell the flurry of emotions and resist the urge to stare.

As the house lights dimmed and the show began, you couldn’t help but steal occasional glances at him. The man who had unknowingly captured your heart was now mere inches away. The performance on stage was captivating, but you found yourself equally entranced by the man sitting next to you. In the soft glow of the theatre lights, you wondered if he remembered that brief moment on the subway, and if fate had just given you a second chance to connect.

When the show ended and the cast took their bows, the theatre erupted in applause. Pedro, sitting right next to you, cheered loudly when Sarah stood with the rest of the cast on stage. His genuine enthusiasm for his friend made you smile, and as you glanced at him, he looked down at you with a radiant grin. 

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you felt a concrete connection that was almost tangible. Both of you opened your mouths to speak, but just then, an usher cleared their throat, drawing your attention.

“Mr. Pascal, Sarah Paulson is asking for you backstage… if you would follow me, please,” the usher said, causing Pedro to hesitate, torn between staying with you and fulfilling his friend's request.

“Uh,” Pedro began, glancing between you and the usher. Seeing his dilemma, you made the decision for him. Gathering your things, you offered a polite smile to both Pedro and the starstruck usher.

As Pedro glanced back at the usher, you seized the moment to make your getaway. You might have heard him call out, "Wait!" but you didn't stop. Stepping out onto the bustling street, the city lights of Broadway twinkled around you, a stark contrast to the growing ache in your heart.

The possibility of what might have been gnawed at you, the fleeting connection slipping through your fingers. A voice in the back of your mind echoed doubts, whispering that you didn't quite belong in this world of beautiful, glamorous people. You tried to shake off the feeling, but the bittersweet sting lingered.

You begin to walk away from the theatre, weaving through the crowd lined up for autographs by the backstage door. Just as you're about to cross the street to catch your subway, your phone vibrates in your clutch. Stepping aside, you see Sarah Paulson’s name flashing on the screen.

Shit. 

You quickly answer, praying your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Sarah's voice is warm and enthusiastic. "How are you? Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yeah, I did! You were absolutely incredible," you say, offering genuine praise and shifting your weight to your other leg.

"Thank you so much! Oh, where are you right now? Are you still nearby? I had told the usher to bring you backstage with Pedro, but it seems like they forgot."

"Oh, um, yeah, I'm near the backstage door," you reply, glancing at the crowd still waiting for autographs.

"Perfect! Some of us are going out for drinks later, and you are welcome to join us!" Sarah’s excitement is infectious.

You stammer, "Uh, I..."

"It'll be great! I promise. I'll introduce you to everyone. You're my best social media manager by far."

Taking a deep breath, you muster, "Okay, yeah, I'd love to come."

"Great! I'll send you the address of where we're headed. We'll meet you there!" Sarah says, her smile practically audible.

"Alright, see you soon." You end the call with a click, clutching your phone tightly as you take another deep breath to steady your nerves and keep the world from spinning.

A ping alerts you to a new message. Glancing at the notification, you read the address and know exactly where to go. With a mixture of excitement and anxiety, you put away your phone and head towards the bar, the city's lights guiding your way.

It took you a while to figure out how to get there, but eventually, you arrive at the bar. As you step inside, a warm hum fills your body, the lights and the pulse of music thrumming through the room. The smoky, dark atmosphere feels electric, bodies moving in a rhythm that seems to make the air itself burn. 

Under the soft pink light, everything seems slightly surreal, yet oddly perfect. You spot Sarah, who immediately pulls you into a warm hug, which you happily accept. As you exchange pleasantries near their table, you feel at ease, enjoying the camaraderie. 

Then, suddenly, you sense a shift. You glance up and see Pedro looking right back at you. Your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet, and in that instant, the crowded room seems to fade away. 

There he is, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart, his gaze steady and intense. As Sarah guides you over to introduce the rest of her friends, castmates, and of course, Pedro, you feel a pull between the two of you.

You muster the courage to speak, telling him your name, and even through the loud speakers and endless chatter, you hear him say your name with a breathless relief. Finally meeting the mystery girl he saw on the subway seems to have stirred something within him.

When you shake hands, there's a lingering touch, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. You can't help but duck your head a little, feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. 

"Nice to finally meet you," Pedro says, his voice soft yet filled with warmth.

"Likewise," you reply, your own voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

In that brief exchange, you both sense something unspoken, a silent understanding that this meeting is more than just chance. And as the night unfolds, amidst the laughter and music, you find yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of fate.

As Sarah goes to mingle with the rest of the group, you both stand there, caught in a moment suspended in time. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can't shake the feeling that if you asked him to, he'd give up everything just to be close to you.

"You have a way of lighting up a room," he says, his voice low and full of sincerity as he leans in closer.

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his words, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself. "And you have a way of making me feel like I'm the only one in it," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, you find yourself completely enchanted by Pedro. His easy charm and quick wit captivate you, and it's as if the two of you are in your own little world, separate from the chaos of the club.

He tells you stories about his acting career and his passion for music. You share your dreams and aspirations, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence that you've never experienced with anyone before.

Throughout the night, there are moments where your hands brush against each other or your eyes meet in a lingering gaze. Each time it happens, a spark of electricity shoots through your body, igniting a fire within you.

At one point, he leans in closer to whisper in your ear over the loud music. "I have a confession to make," he says, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You turn to face him, your heart racing with anticipation.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a delightful shiver down your spine. "I can't deny that you've caught my attention since the moment I saw you on the subway."

The admission sends your heart racing, and you can't help but feel a surge of boldness. "Funny, because you've been on my mind ever since," you confess, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence.

His eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and delight, and you can't help but be drawn to the way his lips curl into a playful smirk. "Is that so?" he teases, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, feeling a rush of exhilaration coursing through your veins. "Absolutely," you reply, unable to tear your gaze away from his captivating stare.

Before you can say another word, he takes a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a dance choreographed just for the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand brushes against your neck, sending tingles of anticipation racing across your skin.

And then, in a moment that feels like it's been plucked straight from a romance film, his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss. Time seems to stand still as you melt into his embrace, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the two of you.

As you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, a sense of euphoria washes over you, like a chemical override in ultraviolet. "I just wanna be close to you," he murmurs, his words sending a thrill through your entire being. A smile dances at the corners of your lips as you revel in the electric connection between you.

"And you could be mine tonight," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tinged with a hint of playful flirtation.

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with affection as he leans in closer. "I think I could get used to being yours," he says, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, melting away any lingering doubts or fears.

He can't wait to fall in love with you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for scamming my ex out of an extremely valuable virtual pet?

🐓🥤to recognize. This might be a very long post with a lot of added context for a very niche hobby and a very small actual conflict.

I religiously play a virtual pet site called Chicken Smoothie. It's a pretty old site as far as virtual pet games go, starting back in 2008, so there is a pretty solid established site economy. Just for some context, Every pet on the site has a rarity, ranging from "OMG So Common" to "OMG So Rare", being the most common and most rare respectively. But there are rarities within those rarities, where some OMGSRs can be worth more than others based on species and demand. For example, an OMGSR dog from 2008 will be worth more than an OMGSR rat from 2008 despite being the same highest rarity and year, because people prefer the dogs over rats. These pets can get extremely valuable. You can't sell them for real money (according to site rules, but of course there's a black market), but the site has its own virtual currency you can buy (with real money) and trade for called Chicken Dollars, and you can also trade a valuable pet for other valuable pets. It gets very complicated, with the community coming up with its own set of value terms each pet can have. I'm not getting into specifics there, that's not important.

Every year, on December 18th, CS has gift boxes you can adopt from. These gift boxes can contain any rare pet from any previous year, including special "Unreleased pets" that you can only get from these Dec 18th boxes, with a very slim chance. These unreleased pets are some of the most valuable and rarest in the game.

Recently, I had seen my ex posting on the forums. I didn't know he had an account, he had made it within this year, long after I got the fuck away from him, and I only knew it was him because he uses the same username everywhere. This person had groomed me, physically abused me when we were together (we no longer live anywhere near each other, thankfully) and has always been emotionally manipulative. He does not know I play, and he wouldn't recognize my account as me. I took a note of his account and left it be for a while, until December 18th hit and I took a peek at what he had got. And what he got was one of the new Unreleased pets, which currently at the time of writing this only looks like a box of cereal. (Most pets on the site have growth stages.) And even better, all his groups were open for trade, so I took a chance and sent an extremely terrible trade. I told him that this pet would only be a recent rare, and I offered him a "Very Rare" rarity (but not very valuable) pet from 2018, telling him I was overpaying. (In the CS community, this is known as Ninjaing, and it's Not A Good Thing To Do). I didn't expect him to accept it, I at least thought he'd be smart enough to ask in the trade advice thread that is literally pinned on the home page for December 18th, but he didn't. He took my word for it and accepted the trade, and now I own an unreleased pet that will eventually end up as an OMGSR.

What I did was not a bannable offence. He will not get his unreleased pet back. The CS mods are laughable at worst, incompetent at best, and don't do anything to stop scamming. They have an "eh, sucks to be you, sorry, be smarter next time" mentality when people get scammed (Which is insane because there are literal single digit aged children allowed on this site!!!)

After taking a bit to think about it, I do feel a bit guilty because I really would not do this in any other circumstances. I hate scamming. I did what I did out of anger and contempt, and I do feel a bit guilty because in essence, I scammed a new player that didn't have much else and didn't know any better.

I'm still keeping that unreleased cereal box no matter what though

What are these acronyms?

[hrhmimieucliffe]

⚠️🔞NSFW Ramblings🔞⚠️

When I tell you that this card literally made me feral, like I was not expecting this, my mouth literally just fell open. I love Zayne so bad. I love being a Zayne girlie. The way he's just sitting there, I mean phew, I would literally pounce on him and ride him crazy, going at it like we're rabbits.

Either that, or I'd just get on my knees and start going in. Like, I'm talking grapefruit technique levels of vacuuming his cock like a rabid animal. I don't know whether I'd want to be on top of him or beneath him, he's just so... mm.. Good lawhd. I would drain him of his essence. On a pool table too? I'll play with his balls real good. We can play pool with our bodies. BALLS IN THE HOLE?! YES PLEASE‼️‼️‼️

I can just imagine being on top of him on that pool table, making him moan like crazy with how slow you ride him, every roll of your hips, making him grip your hips and guide your movements with his big strong hands, trying not to be loud so that no one else hears your little teaching session.

If Zayne has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Zayne has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Zayne has only one fan, then that is me. If Zayne has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Zayne, then I am against the world.

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream, and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carrier, against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, on the back of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce, in the pool, in the garden, bent over, in the basement, against the window, having the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, era ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffing, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan introducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, vulcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell devolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening sex ‼️‼️

"Call me strawberry because I want all his seed all over me." - Me in like 2018 or something.

[prokopetz]

The reason why we're suddenly seeing a bunch of indie video games – particularly American indie video games – using vintage music is because the US finally has a public domain in sound recordings.

For context, until 1972, there was no federal copyright regime in the US for sound recordings; intellectual property law for sound recordings was devolved to the individual states, meaning there were fifty different sets of rules that might apply to any given recording, and some states allowed sound recordings to be protected for an indefinite term – i.e., in essence, perpetual copyright without expiration.

What changed in 1972 was the Sound Recording Amendment, which established unified federal copyright on sound recordings for the first time, but which allowed any pre-existing state-level copyrights for sound recordings published prior to February 15th, 1972 to run for their full term. Since most state-level sound recording copyrights had no fixed term (see above), this was capped at the "publication plus 95 years" rule which applies to other federal copyrights – with the twist that the 95-year cap on previously perpetual sound recording copyrights would count from 1972, not from the date of publication.

This effectively meant that no sound recordings in the US would enter the public domain until February 15th, 2067 – which doesn't do anyone a whole lot of good right now!

Fast forward to 2018, when another piece of federal legislation, the Music Modernisation Act, was passed. Though this act was mainly concerned with streaming royalties and such, it also contained provisions to grandfather certain sound recordings into the public domain earlier than the Sound Recording Amendment's all-or-nothing 2067 deadline. Specifically:

On January 1st, 2022, all sound recordings published before 1923 would enter the public domain

Sound recording published from 1923 through 1946 will enter the public domain 100 years after the date of first publication

Sound recordings published from 1947 through 1956 will enter the public domain 110 years after the date of first publication

In practice, what this means is:

All sound recordings first published before 1923 entered the public domain last year, on January 1st, 2022;

This year, 2023, is a "gap year" in which no sound recordings enter the public domain (i.e., being the 100th and final year of protection for sound recordings first published in 1923); and

On January 1st of next year – that is, January 1st of 2024 – new batches of sound recordings will begin to enter the US public domain on a yearly basis for the first time in history, starting with sound recordings first published in 1923.

[cosmicdream222]

The void explained in an old Reiki book

The other day @gorgeouslypink posted about Reiki and the Void on her challenge account here. Usui Reiki is the type of reiki I learned back around 2018, although I kinda half-assed the training and never fully read the book 💀 So I found one of my old Reiki books (it’s from 1995!) and flipped to the back to see if there was an index. There wasn’t, so I proceeded to open it to a random page and what is it about? The Void.

It’s kind of flowery Buddhist language but it’s the void y’all:

Here is the text for easier reading:

Reality is created by the action of Mind from the Void. The Void is the depths of fathomless peace, purity, perfection, mystery and joy. In Wiccan terms it is Spirit, Ether or Goddess. All Be-ing comes from the Void, and it is the essence of all existence. All Be-ing (everyone) is already in a state of perfection, a part of the Buddha Nature (or Goddess Within). Reality is also the Non-Void, which is all potential, and a vast complex of worlds and shifting universes.

Mind emerging from the Void is the first Buddha source, but this source is obscured to most people by the illusion of the senses, the Non-Void. The reality created by this obscuring of Pure Mind is like the reality created in a mirror. People in incarnation do not awaken to their intrinsic purity (the Void) which exists beyond the senses. Their understanding is based upon the Non-Void's illusion. A distorted mind on Earth acts to creates a distorted reality, resulting in suffering.

"Mind, which manifests itself as wisdom, is intrinsically Void; yet everything proceeds from it and is therefore mind's creation." Everything real is created from the perfection of the Void. Yet, because of distortion and illusion, we perceive the world as imperfect and remain attached to delusion.

Wisdom=energy=creation is the Void, and participates in Nirvana. Human perception of reality is Non-Void, based upon potential, and participates in the Mind's creation of suffering in the world.

Enlightenment is understanding the joy of the Void, one's perfect Buddha Nature, and leaving the attachments and delusions of the Non-Void and the senses. Once true reality is perceived, attachments and cravings no longer have meaning, and Nirvana is attained. This understanding is Enlightenment, which leads to the release of the soul from karma and incarnation. It happens by the freeing of the Mind from delusion.

- Essential Reiki by Diane Stein, 1995

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・。.。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

My tl;dr summary:

Our reality is created by the Mind, which comes from the Void. Everything comes from the Void, and its limitless potential. The 3D world (the non-void) we see is an illusion created by the senses. Unenlightened people suffer because they are stuck in the 3D’s illusion, thinking what they perceive with their senses is real.

True understanding, or Enlightenment, comes when we grasp the joy and perfection of the Void, realizing we already have it all, and can release attachments and delusions of the senses.

[majestativa]

You’re a monster artist, an artist freak.

— Tristan Corbière, Oysters, Nightingales and Cooking Pots: Selected Poetry & Prose, transl by Richard Hibbitt & Katherine Lunn-Rockliffe, (2018)

[lesdeuxmuses]

Taake - Kong Vinter (Karisma & Dark Essence Records AS, Svartekunst Produksjoner; 2018)

[sgiandubh]

Old pics

I have no idea if all these pictures have ever circulated in this fandom. If they did, please forgive my exuberance.

This one, we've seen probably a million times:

The Golden Globes party in LA, on January 4th 2018. Exactly six years ago and a couple of days after the EFH.

Right? Right!

But I wonder if the following pictures, taken immediately before, have been as widely seen and discussed as the one above.

This one, for example...

Followed by this one...

... and then this one, I can't - for the life of me - help but find very telling:

And before you whirl and hurl and shout via Anon: these are the originals from the Getty Archive. I did absolutely nothing with them, no filter, nothing. Just screencapped.

Available to just about anybody with spare time and a keyboard.

I rest my case. Time is of no essence, here. What is, however, important, is that the woman so invested in that particular embrace was supposed to be just engaged. To somebody else.

Who was just there, too. In what capacity?

Engaged, my flat foot.

[mononijikayu]

hongyeon — ryomen sukuna.

With a deranged laughter that echoed across the battlefield, Ryomen Sukuna embraced the monstrous essence within him, allowing it to surge forth with unrestrained fury. The Malevolent Shrine, a twisted monument to darkness, responded to his call, unleashing its full wrath upon the enemy ranks.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Miscarriage, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Miscarriage, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: hongyeon by ahn ye eun

note: this is the point where we see sukuna become more monster-like. and it would continue more and more in the upcoming chapters. sukuna loves, but he is cursed by it too. hiromi will be fine soon enough too. the next chapter will be a few years since this. the war would still be happening and the gojo are now involved!!! i'll see you till then!!! i love you!!! <3

IT WAS A RATHER EERIE NIGHT. As the rain poured down, quenching the flames that had engulfed Ryomen Manor and bringing an eerie calm to the battlefield, it was finally quiet.  Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen Hiromi found themselves amidst the ruins, their hearts heavy with the weight of their losses. 

The once-proud manor was now a smoldering wreck, its proud double heron banner reduced to ash and embers. The bodies of the dead were littered from left to right, crows giving themselves leave to the flesh and bones of those still edible. The attack had ceased, the Fujiwara forces seemingly satisfied with their destruction, but the threat still loomed over them like a dark cloud.

In the midst of this desolation, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the quiet grace of a seasoned warrior. Mikoto Masaomi, a loyal guard and ally, approached with an air of urgency. His dark eyes, sharp and observant, took in the scene before him with a mix of sorrow and determination. Without a word, he extended a hand to Sukuna, who was kneeling beside Hiromi, his own emotions a tumultuous storm.

You lay on the ground, exhausted and in pain, your body trembling from the loss of cursed energy and the overwhelming grief of losing their family. Sukuna's heart ached as he looked at you, her usually vibrant eyes now dull and distant. 

He gently cleaned you up, washing away the blood and grime, enough to make you clean once again, pure as the moon — as you once were. But his wife could hardly care. Nothing mattered right now. Your  breathing was shallow, your spirit broken, but Sukuna refused to let you go. He refused to let his wife be defeated.

"We need to leave, Sukuna–sama.” Masaomi said, his voice firm but laced with empathy. "The Fujiwara will return soon enough. We cannot stay here. We must find a place to regroup and plan our next move."

Sukuna nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Take my wife to safety until then." he ordered Masaomi. "Protect my wife with your life."

Masaomi placed a reassuring hand on Sukuna's shoulder. "I will. But you must come with us. We need you."

Sukuna's eyes hardened. "I can't stay here. Not with the Fujiwara still out there. But I promise, I will find you. I will come back."

With that, Sukuna gently lifted Hiromi into Masaomi's arms, trusting him to keep you safe. Mikoto Masaomi nodded solemnly, and with you secure, he began to lead them away from the ruins of Ryomen Manor. He parted from them when he led them to safety, where no more Fujiwara had lingered. 

As they moved through the rain-soaked night and as he watched them leave, Sukuna's mind was already formulating plans for revenge, his determination fueled by the sight of his shattered home and the loss of his loved ones.

For the rest of the night, Ryomen Sukuna hunted down the remaining Fujiwara soldiers with a relentless, vengeful fury. These invaders, who had defiled his home and slaughtered his kin, now found themselves the prey of a wrathful spirit. The rain did little to cool the burning rage that coursed through Sukuna’s veins.

He moved through the shadows like a specter, his movements swift and silent. The Fujiwara soldiers, some still looting the bodies of the fallen, were caught off guard by the sudden, ferocious attacks. Sukuna’s strikes were lethal, each blow delivered with precision and brutal efficiency. He took no prisoners, showing no mercy to those who had shown none to his family.

Painfully, brutally, over and over — he killed them. He made them suffer, prolonging their agony as much as possible. He relished in their terror, in the widening of their eyes as they realized death was upon them. Their screams echoed through the desolate grounds, mingling with the relentless patter of rain. Blood spilled over the dying flowers by the pond, mingling with the rainwater to form crimson pools.

Sukuna didn’t think straight. He didn’t need to. His mind was a storm of grief and anger, each killing a cathartic release of the agony that threatened to consume him. His hands, now slick with blood, moved with a mind of their own, guided by an instinct as ancient and primal as the earth itself.

He found one Fujiwara sorcerer looting a chest of treasures that had long been in his family. The sight of this desecration ignited a fresh wave of fury within him. With a snarl, he lunged at the man, his fists pummeling flesh and bone until the soldier was nothing but a lifeless, bloodied heap.

Another one of these fools tried to flee, his fear evident in his frantic movements. Sukuna caught him easily, dragging him back to the manor grounds. He took his time with this one, making sure every moment was filled with excruciating pain. The man’s screams were almost drowned out by the roar of the rain, but Sukuna could still hear them, and they fueled his vengeance.

The night wore on, and still, Sukuna did not tire. Each kill brought a brief moment of satisfaction, but it was never enough to quell the storm within him. He moved like a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding. The Fujiwara soldiers fell before him, one after another, their blood staining the ground that had once been the foundation of his home.

By the time dawn began to break, the rain had started to ease, but Sukuna’s rage had not. The manor grounds were littered with the bodies of the dead, the air heavy with the scent of blood and rain-soaked earth. Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps, his body trembling with exhaustion and unspent rage.

He looked around at the destruction he had wrought, the broken bodies of his enemies scattered like fallen leaves. For a moment, he felt a grim sense of satisfaction, knowing that he had avenged his family, that he had made the Fujiwara pay for their cruelty.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, a hollow emptiness settled over him. The sight of the manor’s ruins, the memory of your  broken form, the knowledge of all he had lost — it all came crashing down on him. He fell to his knees, the weight of his grief and anger too much to bear.

In the stillness of the dawn, Sukuna vowed to himself that this was only the beginning. He would become stronger, more ruthless. He would not stop until the Fujiwara were utterly destroyed. But for now, he allowed himself a moment to mourn, to remember the life that had been taken from him, and to let the rain wash away the blood of his enemies.

It did not take long for him to arrive in the Mikoto compound. Masaomi had been the one waiting for him, along with the many guardsmen that had gathered among the volunteers from the villages. He welcomed Sukuna in his home. He did not mind the blood in Sukuna’s clothes. He knew what happened, but there was nothing to talk about. Not after what happened. 

The Mikoto were minor vassals of the Ryomen. They were wealthy enough to own property, but modest in standing to have a manor. It wasn’t what one would expect, but it was a  secure house nestled away from prying eyes. It was far enough from Ryomen Manor that the Fujiwara wouldn't think to look there, at least not immediately. It was more than enough at this moment. 

The house was modest but sturdy, built with the same meticulous care that Masaomi applied to all aspects of his life. As they crossed the threshold, the warmth of the interior was a stark contrast to the cold, wet chaos they had left behind. Masaomi’s home was a haven, filled with the soft glow of lanterns and the comforting scents of herbs and incense.

As they entered the inner sanctum of the compound. Ryomen Sukuna felt a momentary sense of relief, knowing that Hiromi was out of immediate danger. You were here somewhere, hidden from plain sight. Masaomi led him to where his wife was, who was finally dressed in cleaner attire. Masaomi watched as Sukuna knelt beside his wife, minding the gap as to not dirty you with the sullen blood upon his body.

"I doubt we can stay around Hida for this long." Sukuna said, his voice low and urgent. "The Fujiwara will eventually search every corner of this region. We need to move quickly."

Masaomi nodded in agreement, his expression grim but resolute. "I'll make arrangements. We have allies who can help us and are waiting for their response. Until then, we can gather our strength and plan our next move, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s gaze was sharp as he considered their dwindling options. “Have you informed the Gojo-clan?” he asked. Despite his personal disdain for the Gojo, he couldn’t deny their longstanding alliance with the Ryomen. Gojo Suzaku’s fondness for you and your late brother made it almost certain that they would take this betrayal personally.

“We have, Sukuna—sama,” Masaomi replied cordially. “But we wait for their reply. There is no doubt that they will side with us upon this betrayal.”

Sukuna's reddish eyes darkened with determination. "We will take back what is ours. And we will make them pay for what they've done."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken resolve. The flickering candlelight in the small room cast long shadows on the walls, mirroring the darkness that had settled over their lives. Masaomi’s shoulders were tense with the weight of responsibility, and Sukuna could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Masaomi,” Sukuna whispers. breaking the silence. “I don’t know if I trust you with my life. But your loyalty is noted. Your loyalty to my wife, beyond measure.  Ensure my wife’s safety above all else.”

Masaomi met Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering loyalty. “I will protect my lady with my life, Sukuna-sama. You have my word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a rare moment of gratitude for the steadfast sorcerer. “Good. Now, let’s ensure we are prepared for whatever comes next. But we ought to rest for now.”

Masaomi bowed slightly before taking his leave to begin the necessary preparations. Sukuna watched him go, his mind already racing with strategies and plans for their inevitable confrontation with the Fujiwara. Too much was in his mind. 

The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him, to be a protector. To be your right hand man, now that his…his own father…. He swallowed the bile down his throat. Everything now, it was tempered by a burning resolve. The Fujiwara clan had taken much from him and his wife—their home, their family, their sense of peace. But they had also ignited a fire within him, a relentless drive to reclaim what was his and to exact vengeance on those who had wronged him.

“It took you long enough to return.” Your low voice echoed through the dim room, piercing the heavy silence. “Come closer.”

Sukuna hesitated, looking down at his bloodstained clothes and hands. “I am full of blood,” he said, his voice strained with the weight of the night’s violence.

“It does not matter.” You replied, tone firm yet gentle. “Come to me.”

Obeying your request as he always has, Sukuna moved closer and sat beside you on the futon. The sight of you, pale and fragile, tore at his heart. He took your hand in his cleaner hand, feeling the coldness of your skin seep into his own warmth. 

“I’m sorry, night flower,” he whispered, his voice trembling with guilt and sorrow. “If I could have done much more…..our fathers wouldn’t have….”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your gaze to meet his. Despite your weakened state, there was a fierce determination in your eyes. “You did everything you could,” you whispered weakly, but with conviction. “But we can’t give up. We have to keep fighting.”

Sukuna nodded, your words igniting a spark of resolve within him. “I will become stronger, my night flower.” he vowed, his voice steadying with newfound determination. “We will not endure this again, you must trust me. They will all regret it, what they have done to us.”

You do not speak, but your eyes pooling with emotions he could not understand spoke enough. He leaned slowly down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, feeling the softness of his kiss upon your skin.

“Rest now, night flower.” he whispered, his voice filled with both love and resolve. “I will protect you. I promise.”

As you closed your eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, there was quiet. Ryomen Sukuna sat by your side, keeping watch. His mind was a whirlwind of plans and strategies, fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. One way or another, there was going to be an end. He was going to see to it.

The image of the destroyed Ryomen Manor and the memory of the bloodshed they had endured were etched into his mind. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and darkness, but he was determined to walk it, for you, and for the honor of the Ryomen clan.

With you resting beside him, Sukuna allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. He had always prided himself on his strength, but tonight had shown him the depths of his own limitations. But he knew that there was not a time for weakness.  It was death waiting on the other side.

He couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not ever again. He had to rise above his humanity and embrace the monster within, for only then could he protect what remained of his family and reclaim what had been taken from them. 

As the night wore on, Sukuna remained vigilant, his mind working tirelessly to devise a plan. The Fujiwara would pay for their treachery, and he would ensure that no more innocent lives were lost to their cruelty. He would become the nightmare that haunted their dreams, the force they could not escape. And in the end, he would restore peace and honor to the Ryomen name, no matter the cost.

In the quiet of Mikoto’s home, the weight of their situation settled upon them. The rain continued to fall outside, a mournful melody that seemed to echo their sorrow. But within these walls, there was a flicker of hope—a promise that they would endure.

THE WEEKS PASSED WITHOUT CHANGE. You continued to lay on the futon, your slender form wrapped in the folds of a once-vibrant kimono, now stained with tears and the remnants of the night's chaos. Your body trembled with exhaustion and grief, the weight of recent events pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Every fiber of you being ached with the residual effects of your cursed energy, a relentless torment that seemed to sears through your very soul.

The overwhelming strain of channeling your cursed energy had taken its toll, leaving every inch of your limbs heavy and by effect, your movements sluggish. Each breath was a struggle, the air feeling thick and suffocating in your lungs. Pain lanced through your body like a cruel reminder of their vulnerability, each throb a poignant echo of the devastation that had befallen them.

But it was not just the physical pain that tormented you. The emotional toll of witnessing their home's destruction and the loss of so many loved ones weighed heavily on your heart. Your mind was a whirlwind of memories and regrets, each thought a jagged shard of anguish that pierced your fragile resolve. Tears streamed down your pale cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime that clung to your skin, as you clutched at your chest, seeking solace in the futile hope of easing your inner turmoil.

In the dim light of the room, your grief-stricken form seemed to fade into the shadows, a ghostly silhouette of despair against the backdrop of their shattered lives. The futon beneath you felt cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth she had once known within the walls of Ryomen Manor. But even in the depths of her despair, there remained a flicker of determination, a stubborn refusal to succumb to the despair that threatened to consume you.

With each sob that wracked your body and each tear that fell, you clung to the fragile thread of hope that still lingered within your heart. You knew that their journey was far from over, that there were battles yet to be fought and sacrifices yet to be made. And though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty and peril, you drew strength from the love and resilience that bound you to Sukuna, knowing that together, they would weather the storm and emerge stronger than before.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his heart aching for his wife. Gently, he began to clean your body bit by bit, skin by skin, his touch tender and careful. He wiped away the tears from your cheeks and brushed the stray strands of hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze meeting him with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude.

Sukuna's voice, tender and reassuring, cut through the cacophony of your inner turmoil like a beacon of light in the darkness. With a gentle touch, he guided you through the tattered echoes of your current kimono, the fabric worn and frayed since your arrival previously. You had refused any form of water, having triggered you in grief from the nights before. 

But it was Sukuna helping you. You trusted him. You trusted him with everything. In its place, he draped a clean garment around you, the softness of the material a comforting embrace against your weary skin.

As Sukuna tucked the edges of the kimono around you, his movements were careful and deliberate, each touch a silent promise of his unwavering devotion. The warmth of the fabric enveloped you like a protective cocoon, offering a brief respite from the harsh reality of their circumstances.

Once you were settled, Sukuna draped a warm blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he smoothed out the wrinkles with a gentle caress. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent vow to shield you from the storm that raged outside their fragile sanctuary.

"Rest now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I'll be here, watching over you. We'll face this together, night flower. You're not alone."

His words were a soothing melody in the chaos, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, they still had each other. With a final reassurance, Sukuna stepped back, his gaze lingering on you with every inch of devotion. Every echo of affection that he could muster in him. You were all he has in the world to live for, after all. 

Your eyelids fluttered closed, with your breaths gradually slowing into a rhythmic pattern as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep. Sukuna lingered by your  side for a moment longer, his gaze soft with concern as he ensured you were in comfort. 

Satisfied that you were resting peacefully, he rose from his kneeling position and turned to find Masaomi standing vigilantly near the window, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond for any potential threats.

Approaching Mikoto Masaomi, Sukuna's expression was grave, weighted by the events that had transpired. He was curious about what had happened. From beginning to end, it was Masaomi who was there. Sukuna wonders if it was wrong of him to wish it was Masaomi who had died instead. Because you would tell him that. You wished no death upon anyone. 

But he knew he couldn't help it. Your father and uncle were more valuable to you than Masaomi was. And to Sukuna, he couldn’t help but agree too.  He grew up with your uncle as his own adoptive father. Though it was not the most common of relationships, it was Ryomen Hiramu who had taught him how to be a man. And to see a stranger alive, more than his own father — it didn’t sit well with him.

"What happened, Masaomi? How did it come to this?" he inquired, his voice heavy with both sorrow and determination. “How are you alive?”

Mikoto Masaomi turned to face him, his features drawn with fatigue over the matter. Sukuna thinks he could see guilt too. But he does not consider it enough. Enough to make up for the failures of living instead of the lord and his brother.

"Many perished in the attack," he began, his voice tinged with sadness. "The Fujiwara showed no mercy. But some of us managed to escape. Isamu-sama... he sacrificed himself to buy us time to flee."

Sukuna's jaw clenched at the mention of Isamu's sacrifice, his heart heavy with the weight of loss. That must have been the sprayed bodies he had found near the inner chambers. Bloody bodies were so mangled that Sukuna had not recognized them. They had perhaps drowned in their own blood and fluids. But that would have taken Isamu–sama’s body too. 

"Isamu–sama should have left." he murmured softly, a pang of sorrow coursing through him as he remembered Isamu's selflessness in the face of danger. But now, with Isamu gone, the burden fell upon Hiromi. “Along with my father.”

“We cannot do much about it now, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword shook his head at him, his face distraught. “Hoping for a different course of action cannot bring them back.”

He gruntled. “I suppose it would not.”

Silence passes between the two of them.

Sukuna didn’t know what else to say.

Because what must be said now, with nothing?

"Hiromi-sama is our clan leader now," Masaomi declared, his voice unwavering despite the sorrow that lingered in his eyes. "Her survival is paramount to the survival of our entire clan."

Sukuna nodded in acknowledgment, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon him. He understood the responsibility that now rested on Hiromi's shoulders, but he also knew that she was in no condition to bear such weight alone.

"We need to ensure her safety," Sukuna stated firmly, his gaze flickering with determination. "But she cannot bear this burden alone. We must stand together, Masaomi. We will protect her, no matter the cost."

Masaomi nodded. “We can stay here for a while. It’s safe enough.”

“But not safe enough to linger for long.”

“On that we agree, Sukuna–sama.” The sworn sword nodded at his master’s consort. “We need to retake Hida, but we can’t do it alone.”

Sukuna shook his head, his expression resolute. “Then we wait for the response. But as soon as we find that there is trouble, we leave. The Fujiwara will start interrogating everyone in the area. If they find out we’re here, they’ll kill everyone to get to us.”

Masaomi sighed, understanding the gravity of the situation. “You’re right. We need to keep moving, keep them off our trail. But we’ll need a plan, and we’ll need more allies.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Sukuna said firmly. “We have to. For Hiromi, for Isamu, for my father.  And for everyone we’ve lost.”

Masaomi placed a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder, offering a silent gesture of solidarity. “We’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll rebuild, and we’ll make them pay for what they’ve done.”

As the rain continued to fall outside, Sukuna and Masaomi stood together, watching the water pool together. They were not one to be close, that had been certain. But now they are united by their shared loss and their determination to fight back. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but they will do whatever it took. No matter the cost; the Ryomen name will live.

THEY BARELY SPOKE THESE DAYS. The days that followed their escape were marked by an increasing sense of isolation between Sukuna and you. You were too consumed by your grief, withdrawing further into yourself as the weight of their losses pressed down on your soul. You spent hours alone, your once bright eyes hollow and distant, barely speaking and seldom eating. The vibrant night flower Ryomen Sukuna had known seemed to wither before his eyes.

Sukuna, on the other hand, buried himself in his plans for revenge against the Fujiwara. The fire of vengeance burned within him, driving him to train relentlessly and strategize their assault. He pored over maps, studied enemy movements, and honed his jujutsu techniques until his body screamed for rest. Yet, he refused to stop, fearing that any moment of inactivity would allow the despair to consume him.

As Sukuna delved deeper into his preparations for revenge, the lines between night and day blurred into a ceaseless cycle of training and planning. His days began at the break of dawn, the first rays of sunlight finding him already immersed in rigorous training regimens, his muscles straining with each exertion. He pushed himself beyond his limits, his determination burning bright even as fatigue threatened to engulf him.

Amidst the solitude of his training grounds, Sukuna found solace in the rhythm of combat, the familiar movements of his jujutsu techniques serving as a refuge from the tumultuous storm of emotions raging within him. With each strike and parry, he channeled his grief and anger into the relentless pursuit of mastery, his resolve unyielding in the face of adversity.

Yet, even as Sukuna devoted himself wholeheartedly to his quest for vengeance, a nagging sense of emptiness gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. He longed for you. Longed to have the short joy that you both shared as man and wife return. But he found himself unable to bridge the growing chasm that separated the two of you. 

His heart ached with the knowledge that you bore your own burdens in silence, your grief a heavy burden that you carried alone. And he lets you. Rather than lose you to the words that would break you, that would break him.

Despite his best efforts to bury himself in his preparations, Ryomen Sukuna could not escape the pervasive sense of isolation that hung over him like a dark cloud. The weight of their losses pressed down on his shoulders like a leaden mantle, threatening to crush him beneath its suffocating embrace. 

The tension between husband and wife finally reached a boiling point one evening. He realized that there cannot be anything if he could not break through you. He could no longer take it anymore. To see you a shattered doll, waiting for the time to pass. He wanted his wife. He wanted you. In that afternoon, Sukuna returned to their room, finding you sitting by the window. 

You were letting time pass once again, ever so empty. Hollowed with grief. You kept staring out into the darkened gardens. You could easily see withering flowers, bitter without the luscious water that rains upon it. Sukuna hurts when he sees you like this. He feels like dying inside when he sees you without your soul.

“You’ve hardly spoken to me, all these many weeks.” Sukuna said, frustration and worry lacing his words. “I’m trying to make things right, night flower. I’m doing this for us. But I cannot do it without you. I need you. I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me in.”

You did not speak in response.

He bit at his lower lip harshly.

He wanted you to look at him.

He wanted you to say something.

Anything, whatever it may be.

He just needed you, here – with him.

You turned your gaze towards him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “For us? It feels like you’re only thinking of revenge. Can we not mourn? Can we not….We’ve lost everything, Sukuna. Our home, our family… our future.”

Sukuna’s fists clenched at his sides. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the same pain? But sitting here and mourning won’t change anything. We need to act. Or we’ll die. We’ll die like our fathers. Don’t you understand?”

You stood up, your voice trembling with emotion. “Acting won’t bring them back! Revenge won’t heal what’s been broken. You’re so consumed by your anger that you’ve forgotten about us, about me. About us!”

Sukuna's frustration boiled over, his anger simmering beneath the surface like a raging inferno. "Forgotten about you?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I've sacrificed everything for us, for our future! And I’m continuing to do so. Can’t you see that?”

You recoiled at the intensity of his words, your own anger rising to meet him. "Sacrificed? Is that what you call it?" you retorted, your voice trembling with fury. "You've sacrificed our happiness, our love, all for the sake of your precious revenge! Sukuna, I’m tired of revenge. I’m tired of losing someone. If I…if this continues, I’ll lose you too and I cannot…”

Sukuna's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, his fists tightening even further. "I'm doing what needs to be done!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of their makeshift shelter. "I won't sit idly by while those bastards get away with what they've done. To let them continue what they had done. I won't rest until they pay for their sins!"

Your lip curled in disgust, your own anger fueling your words. "And what about me? What about…." you demanded, your voice rising to match his. But you abruptly stop as you feel your lips tremble. "Does nothing else mean anything to you? Or are they just collateral damage in your quest for vengeance?"

Sukuna's chest heaved with the force of his rage, his mind clouded with fury and despair. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect us, wife." he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Even if it means becoming the cruelest of them all. Us or them. That is the choice. That is the way.”

With those words hanging in the air like a curse, Ryomen Sukuna stormed out of the room, leaving you alone in the darkness, your heart heavy with sorrow and regret. Tears poured from your eyes as you lowered your head, feeling a sob reverberate from your throat.

The training yard was cloaked in a somber atmosphere, the air heavy with the weight of Sukuna's relentless determination. MIkoto Masaomi observed from a distance as Sukuna unleashed the full force of his abilities, his movements fluid and precise as he practiced the devastating techniques that would become his arsenal in the coming battle.

"Sukuna—sama, you need to rest." Masaomi called out, his voice tinged with concern. He steps forward, his lips curled into a flat line. "This path you're on... it's tearing you apart, and it's not what Hiromi—sama needs right now."

Sukuna’s anger flared, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Rest? How can I rest when everything has been taken from us? When my wife is drowning in grief and our enemies are still out there? Nothing will change if I rest. My wife will still mourn, and it won’t bring back what we’ve lost. More so, we  could die. I will not let that happen.”

“Sukuna—sama, please—”

Sukuna paused mid-strike, his muscles tensing as he turned to face Masaomi, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Rest is a luxury we can't afford, Mikoto." he replied, his voice edged with determination. "The Fujiwara took everything from us. Our home, our family... I won't rest until they pay for their crimes. I either die trying or live doing it all.”

Masaomi shook his head, his expression grave. "I understand your anger, Sukuna. But you mustn't lose sight of what's truly important. Hiromi–sama needs you now more than ever. My lady needs you more than ever, not a vengeful sorcerer consumed by hatred. There will be time for that. But you must—”

Sukuna's jaw tightened at Masaomi's words, the conflict within him evident in the furrow of his brow. 

"I didn’t abandon her. I won't abandon her." he insisted, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. "But I can't stand by while those responsible for our suffering roam free. I have to do this, or we’ll never be free from fear. We’ll only suffer.”

“My lord! My lord Sukuna!” A servant rushes through the corner and into the practice yard. Sukuna’s face contorts as the servant dips into a hurried bow. “You must come, hurry!”

“W-what’s going on?” Sukuna stutters as he looks at the servant’s face as it turns into a pitiful mess, tears falling over. “Speak.”

“My lady…..there was so much blood.” She finally stutters towards him as she sobs freely now. His face furrows into confusion and worry. Before finally it hits him. “My lady was with child and she….”

The courtyard fell silent, the weight of the servant's words hanging heavy in the air like a shroud of sorrow. Sukuna's heart clenched with a mixture of fear and anguish as he absorbed the devastating news. Before he could even process the full extent of the tragedy, his wife’s anguished cry pierced the stillness, sending a chill down his spine.

In an instant, Sukuna was by your side, his hands trembling as he knelt beside her. The sight of you writhing in pain, your cries echoing through the courtyard, tore at his very soul. It was as if his world had been reduced to a blur of agony and despair, his own grief mirrored in the depths of your tear-filled eyes.

Without a word, Sukuna gathered you into his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the pain that threatened to consume them both. You could barely move as you withered into his arms. He whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos, though he knew that no words could ever mend the shattered pieces of their shattered dreams.

In the dimly lit room, amidst the echoes of his wife’s anguished cries, Sukuna's own voice trembled with sorrow and regret. Over and over again, you muttered with anguish apologies to the dead. You cry about your father, you cry about your uncle, and now you cry about your child. The child who deserved better, who deserved the world. 

He could feel the weight of his words heavy on his tongue, each syllable a painful reminder of his own failures and shortcomings. They tasted bitter in his tongue, painful in his chest. You were with child. It made sense. Why you had been so frightful. Why you had been feeling such grief, knowing you had just lost your father and outlived him. And soon to bear his child — only to lose them and outlive them too.

"My love….my night flower, I'm so sorry," Sukuna whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air like a lament, filled with the raw anguish of a heart torn apart by grief. With trembling hands, he reached out to you, pulling you close as if to shield you from the world itself. “I am so sorry.”

As you clung to him, your tears staining the fabric of his clothes, Sukuna felt a swell of helplessness wash over him, the weight of their loss pressing down on his shoulders like a suffocating weight. In that moment, all he could do was hold you close, his arms a sanctuary amidst the storm of their shattered dreams.

HE COULD NOT BRING HIMSELF TO ENTER YOUR CHAMBERS FOR DAYS. For days, Sukuna found himself unable to muster the courage to enter your chambers. It was too much guilt that ate at him, having caused you so much distress. Having belittled your grief and distaste for revenge. He could not face you. Not after that. Not after he had hurt you, when he wanted to protect you, care for you.

The weight of your shared grief hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over his every thought and action. Yet Sukuna felt like he had no right to mourn. He had no right to mourn when he had a part in this. As the days passed and the pain of your loss refused to diminish, Sukuna knew that he could no longer avoid facing the reality of their situation. 

You cannot do what he needs you to do. And he will not force you to do it. Not when you were not in the state to do it. Not when you were already in so much pain. If there are gods above that were real, he knows that this was their punishment upon him. That he had not been enough. That he has caused you must suffer. It was on him now, to get that revenge. To take that revenge. He had to let you go. 

With a heavy heart and a resolve born of necessity, Sukuna finally steeled himself to enter the dimly lit room where you lay on the futon. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the soft sound of your shallow breaths. As he approached your bedside, Sukuna's footsteps seemed to echo in the stillness, each one a testament to the weight of his burden.

Kneeling beside you, Sukuna felt a surge of emotion well up within him, threatening to overwhelm his fragile composure. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently took you in on his own. The chill of your skin sent a shiver down his spine.

"Night flower," he began, his voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. I’ve been weak. I’ve failed you. And now I have hurt you, after I had promised not to.”

Your eyes fluttered open, as though they were flowers in spring. You looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion. Sukuna's grip tightened slightly, his desperation to convey his remorse palpable.

"I thought I could protect you, that I could make things right. But I’ve only driven us further into despair. I can’t be the man you need right now. To become strong enough to avenge our family, I have to abandon the man I am and become something else. A monster. And I cannot let you be tied to loving a man who cannot be there.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you squeezed his hand weakly. "Sukuna... no...please. I can’t….I cannot… Not without you.”

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to your hand. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. And our child... I hope they can forgive me too. For being such a weak husband and a weak father to boot.”

Sukuna's voice trembled with emotion as he poured out his heart to you, his words heavy with the weight of his remorse. His confession hung in the air, a poignant admission of his perceived failures and the depth of his anguish. With each syllable, you could feel everything. Tears flowed from your eyes.

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your sorrow-filled gaze. The raw emotion in your eyes mirrored his own inner turmoil. He didn’t want to go. And you do not want to let him go. But the longer he stays, the longer he’d cause you more pain. Despite the gravity of his words, despite his resolve to cut that red string of fate between you, Ryomen Sukuna felt his heart hurt as your hand tightened around his own. As though begging him to never let go.

“Don’t leave me.” You cried to him, weakly. “Please….”

“I have to go.” He whispers back, just as lowly. He lets his hand caress the other side of your face, feeling the tears pouring slowly. “Or else I will only hurt you. I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

As Sukuna's cheek rested against your hand, a profound sense of peace enveloped him, casting aside the tumult of his inner turmoil. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, he found solace in this last moment between you two. He lets his lips echo a soft sigh, as he burns this memory deep in him.

Your touch, the warmth, the way you looked at him with all that hurt, all that love in one — it will always be a soothing balm to his wounded soul, a reminder of the enduring strength you both drew from each other amidst the chaos that surrounded you both. And he will endure. He vows to do so. 

Yet, despite the comfort he found in your presence, Sukuna knew that he could not linger in this moment of tranquility. This cannot last too long. He must steel himself for what lay ahead, for the path he had chosen demanded sacrifice and resolve. 

With a heavy heart, he looks at you. He lets his hand free from your  cheek and take your hand from his cheek. He lets his lips press a kiss upon the palm. You choked into a grievous cry as he shakes his lips a little while longer. When he stops, he smiles at you. He bids you one last look, one last longing. 

As he rose to his feet, a pang of sorrow pierced his stoic facade, threatening to shatter the mask of composure he wore. Sukuna was not one to shed tears, you knew that all too well. Yet the thought of leaving Hiromi and their departed child they had lost stirred a wellspring of emotion within him. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he took a steadying breath, steeling himself for the task that lay ahead.

Ryomen  Sukuna silently bid his beloved farewell, his heart heavy with the weight of their parting. Turning away, he left the room without another word, his resolve hardened with each resolute step he took. Outside, Masaomi awaited him, his expression a mirror of Sukuna's own inner turmoil. 

He knew what happened, being that  silent witness to the burdens they both carried. But he does not say anything. He did not need to. Everything that has been said between husband and wife has been left into the world long dead.

"You’ll need to flee very soon." Sukuna said, his tone steely. "Take Hiromi–sama and go onwards to safety. Protect our lady with your life, if necessary."

As Sukuna spoke, his words carried a weighty urgency, his tone laced with an unwavering resolve that brooked no argument. He knew that time was of the essence, that they could not afford to linger in the wake of tragedy. And more so, he would not be there to see to it that there is success. Sukuna needs to make sure that they will look after you. 

Even when he wasn’t there. Someone else has to. They have to. With every passing moment bringing them closer to danger, Sukuna knew that at whatever cost, he’d rather all had died but you. You have to live. He has to know you will live.

Masaomi, ever the steadfast guardian, met Sukuna's gaze with a solemn nod, his own demeanor reflecting the gravity of their situation. He understood the gravity of Sukuna's words and the importance of their mission. With a sense of duty ingrained deep within him, Masaomi bowed at his lord ever so elegantly.

"I will, my lord." Masaomi affirmed, his voice steady despite the weight of their circumstances. "I'll start organizing the evacuation of Mikoto immediately. Hiromi–sama safety is my utmost priority, Sukuna-sama. The Ryomen will live. You have my word."

“Go off then. Before they come.”

Sukuna watched as  the sworn sword nodded at him. He watched as Masaomi walked away, barking orders to the remaining guards and servants and soon, reverberated elsewhere in his own estate. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was leaving you in a time of such vulnerability. But there was no other choice. You both have to part. 

As the preparations for their escape continued, Sukuna stood alone, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He felt the man he once was slipping away, replaced by a relentless force driven by fury and sorrow. The world had taken everything from him, and he would stop at nothing to reclaim it.

And in the midst of it all, he prayed that one day, you and your lost child would find it in their hearts to forgive him for the monster he was about to become. For the villain he will now play. For the blood that must be shed. Revenge must be had. At all costs.

HE HAD EXPECTED THEM. It was that late night, under the shroud of darkness, that the Fujiwara launched their assault on the Mikoto household. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was broken only by the distant sounds of approaching footsteps. It was Ryomen Sukuna who stood alone in the courtyard, his figure a solitary sentinel against the coming storm.

The battlefield was a chaotic frenzy of clashing cursed energy and cursed weapons. One could hear the cries of battle from miles away.  One could feel that air thickened with the stench of blood and sweat. In the face of the Fujiwara coming towards him with their relentless advance, Ryomen Sukuna stood as a solitary figure of defiance, his resolve unyielding despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him.

As the enemy surged forward with deadly intent, their movements swift and coordinated, Sukuna braced himself for the onslaught one after another. He could feel himself bathe in blood at each turn. One after another, there was his fist that took one life in a flash. With a fierce determination burning in his darkened eyes, he met their charge head-on, his every movement calculated and precise.

With each strike he delivered, Sukuna's strength and skill were made evident to all. It was why he was so famous, why he had been the pride of the Ryomen. His blows were like thunder, each one landing with bone-crushing force and leaving devastation in its wake. Yet, for every foe he felled, it seemed that two more took their place, their numbers swelling with each passing moment.

Undeterred by the overwhelming odds, Sukuna fought on with a grim determination, he did not care what it would cost him. With his every movement a testament to his unwavering resolve, there was nothing he had to lose. Perhaps it was what was terrifying. That a man who has nothing to lose raged against the onslaught of the many who have few to lose. Sukuna refused to back down, his spirit unbroken even as fatigue threatened to drag him down.

As Sukuna fought, his thoughts were a tumult of resolve and desperation. ”I have to be strong.” he muttered to himself between breaths. ”A monster cannot fail.”

Ryomen Sukuna knew that he had to survive here. to cultivate all his hatred, his anguish, his grief; just so he can return to you. There was no other choice. He needs to be the monster that he'd always been, he needs to be the cruel beast. He needs to be strong. He needs to protect you. So you would never suffer again.

He could feel the edges of his sanity fraying, the need to protect Hiromi and avenge their family pushing him beyond human limits. In the midst of the chaos, an idea began to form, a desperate gamble. He didn’t yet have full control of his domain just yet, but if he didn’t try now, he might never have another chance to know where he was. He needed to push, push hard until he—

With a guttural roar, Sukuna pushed his cursed energy to its limits, summoning every ounce of his power. The air around him began to warp and twist, dark energy crackling like lightning. He envisioned the Malevolent Shrine, a twisted, mangled reflection of his own inner turmoil and rage.

“Domain expansion!” Ryomen Sukuna cried, as his hands meddled together. His eyes were redder than the scarlet blood that mellowed his body. More dangerous. More animalistic. More maddened than ever before. “Malevolent Shrine!”

It did not take long for the battlefield transformed into a nightmare realm, the air thick with an otherworldly chill that seeped into the bones of all who dared to tread upon it. In the heart of this twisted landscape stood a small, disfigured Buddhist shrine, its very presence an affront to all that was sacred.

The shrine was a grotesque mockery of its former self, its once serene façade twisted and corrupted by malevolent forces. Horns protruded from its roof like the gnarled horns of a demon, casting sinister shadows that danced across the blood-soaked ground below. Human skulls adorned its edges, their empty eye sockets staring out with an eerie, haunting gaze.

The entrances to the shrine were gaping mouths, their jagged teeth bared in a silent snarl of malevolence. Each mouth seemed to beckon, promising untold horrors to those foolish enough to venture within. And at the corners of the shrine stood four short, twisted trees, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands, grasping at the very fabric of reality itself.

As they faced down the advancing enemy forces, Ryomen Sukuna could feel how electric he felt. He could feel their fear. The way the shiver of fear ran down each and every pitiful fool’s spine. This was no ordinary battlefield; this was a realm of nightmares, where the very essence of evil itself seemed to pulse and thrum with a malevolent energy. And in the heart of it all stood the shrine, a silent sentinel of darkness, casting its shadow over all who dared to challenge its authority.

Ryomen Sukuna stood at the heart of the malevolent domain, his very presence radiating a dark and ominous energy that sent shivers down the spines of all who beheld him. The Fujiwara forces, once filled with bravado, now hesitated, their resolve crumbling in the face of such overwhelming power.

His body moved with a brutal grace, every attack a testament to his determination. The shrine's dark power amplified his abilities, making him an unstoppable force. Yet even as he fought, a part of him knew this was only the beginning. He would need to refine his control, to shape his domain with precision. But for now, raw power was enough.

With a deranged laughter that echoed across the battlefield, Ryomen Sukuna embraced the monstrous essence within him, allowing it to surge forth with unrestrained fury. The Malevolent Shrine, a twisted monument to darkness, responded to his call, unleashing its full wrath upon the enemy ranks.

The grotesque mouths that served as entrances to the shrine spat forth torrents of dark energy, swallowing up soldiers and tearing them apart with merciless each and every cut that pierced through them. Nothing would be left of them soon enough. Those who dared to approach found themselves consumed by a vortex of despair, their very souls torn asunder by the malevolent forces at play.

Meanwhile, the gnarled trees that stood sentinel at the corners of the shrine lashed out with their twisted branches, striking down foes with unnatural speed and precision. Each blow was delivered with the force of a sledgehammer, crushing bone and rending flesh with terrifying ease.

As the battlefield erupted into chaos, Sukuna stood amidst the carnage, his laughter mingling with the screams of the dying. In that moment, he was not merely a man; he was a force of nature, he was death in itself; a harbinger of destruction whose wrath knew no bounds. And as the Fujiwara fell before him, he reveled in the dark power that coursed through his veins, knowing that he had become something more than human. 

He had become a monster.

facts about this chapter

i had to reread the story again because i was off the grid from it so long, i had to follow my plot again but here we are; this took the second longest to write, maybe a whole day, but the prep time was longer than that.

i ended up changing something with regards to the way sukuna leaves hiromi. originally, i thought i was going to make him be kidnapped by the fujiwara and thrown off in desolate isolation and that's how he becomes a cursed user. but i decided against it.

sukuna doesnt have a complete domain yet like megumi but sukuna over time will be developing it. he lives longer than hiromi, so he has time.

when i was wondering how i could save hiromi and sukuna, it made sense that it owuld be masaomi. i thought about putting suzaku in it already, but it would be too early to bring him up considering he has more of a role to play later on.

sukuna meets yozuru later on, but she's from the fujiwara. so the fujiwara isn't really fully eradicated UNTIL sukuna decides to take them out later on. that's why the war with them will keep going on for a while.

in heian culture, ghosting or leaving your spouse was considered the divorce. sukuna leaving hiromi was a form of divorce. even though few knew, it was still sukuna filing for divorce.

it takes too muhc on hiromi to use her powers. but considering how she was emotionally and mentally unstable and depressed, it made her even worse. through this time, the voices were mocking her as well. hiromi was having a really hard time.

sukuna found the room where isamu died in. but he didn't really know which one he was as isamu used his water cursed technique to kill everyone including him. so there was no body left. sukuna tried to find hiramu, but he couldn't find him.

masaomi lost his father that night as well. his father was in ryomen manor too and died alongside his vassal lords. he's also lord mikoto now, clan leader, as of that happening.

sukuna's domain, though small so far, did destroy mikoto compound. it killed only fujiwara sorcerers as they were all that was there in that moment.

sukuna and hiromi's child was not on my previous draft, but i thought it was something that was profound to wake sukuna up to the fact that there was something more important to hiromi than revenge and that was him and their child.

hiromi is now the clan leader of the ryomen. this makes her the first female clan leader of the ryomen. all of her retainers are scattered all across hida in hiding or in other neighboring allies like the gojos. masaomi intends to bring her to one of these allies to help regroup. that's where we'll meet them next chapter.

the song hongyeon was such a perfect song. as its hinted at, they'll be in each other's lives until the end. i consider them tied by fate. and that's something that is just profound.

the quote in the gif is being said by gojo when he talks about how the mikoto taught him about sukuna's life. being a descendant of hiromi, he knows stuff like this.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

H and his little boy, him just wanting to copy everything Harry has and does. When Harry does a home workout, he wants to join in. When he shaves, he wants to sit on the counter and shave too. Just literally being a mini Harry 🥺

Like Father Like Son.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

word count - 2.6k

in which, in 2018, you and your fiancé harry welcomed a little baby boy into the world, and his name was sammy. him and his father were exact replicas of each other, same brown tousled curls, forest green orbs, matching dimples and bunny teeth, harry jr. loves everything to do with his father, wherever he went, he wasn’t far behind.

On August 7th, 2018, you and your fiancé welcomed a little boy into the world. He came screaming and fighting, his little lungs constricting with each cry that left his mouth.

And his name, his name was Sammy Robin Styles.

A mini replica of the man you loved, when he was cleaned off and passed back to you in the hospital bed, you noticed that his hair had little wisps on the end which would ultimately turn into full blown curls almost three years later.

It was as if he had been intricately crafted as a miniature replica of Harry himself. Every detail, from the shape of his eyes to the curve of his smile, mirrored that of his dad. It was an awe-inspiring moment, realising that nature had effortlessly bestowed upon this child the essence of Harry Styles.

Now, as the years have passed, it is clear that the similarities between father and son extend far beyond their physical appearance. It's as if the essence of Harry has seamlessly woven its way into every fibre of his son's being. Watching the young boy grow, it feels as though time has fast-forwarded, bypassing the nine months of pregnancy and directly manifesting Harry's persona in this young child.

Just like his father, the little boy exudes an air of charm and charisma that is utterly captivating. With every mischievous grin and twinkle in his eyes, he echoes the magnetism that has captivated audiences worldwide. His infectious laughter fills the room, reminiscent of Harry's own contagious joy that never fails to bring a smile to people's faces.

Even their mannerisms align harmoniously. The way the young boy tilts his head, the gestures he makes with his hands, and the way he carries himself all mirror the idiosyncrasies that make Harry so uniquely himself. It's almost as if the essence of his father has been imprinted on his very soul.

The first time you realised Sammy was like his father, was when he was a year and a half old.

You had fallen asleep on the sofa accidentally encasing yourself in an afternoon nap after being up during the night with Sammy who was teething, and it had knocked all energy out of you.

When you woke up, the house was silent which made you tilt your head to the side and wonder where your lover and angel boy had gotten to.

When you walked down the hallway to the house, that was when you heard the giggles that resembled your sons and the familiar sound of your fiancés voice had you realise that they were in the at home gym.

February 7, 2020.

The door to the at home gym creaks open, revealing a heartwarming sight that melts your heart.

There, on the treadmill, is your fiancé Harry, his toned figure in motion as he runs, sweat glistening on his forehead. But what catches your attention even more is the sight of your one-and-a-half-year-old son, Sammy, running alongside him on the floor, his little legs in a blur as he tries his best to keep up.

You can't help but smile at the adorable scene unfolding before you. Sammy, with his chubby cheeks and tufts of messy hair, is determined to emulate his dad in every way possible. It's a sight that fills you with warmth and joy, knowing that your little one looks up to Harry with such admiration.

"What's going on here?" you ask, unable to hide your amusement. Your voice startles both Harry and Sammy, and they turn to face you, their faces lighting up with love and happiness.

"Mama!" Sammy squeals, his baby voice barely forming words, but the excitement in his voice is unmistakable. He holds up his tiny hands, fingers splayed wide, as if mimicking his dad's intense workout. “wike, dada!”

Harry, a grin stretching across his face, glances your way but doesn't stop running. "Hey, m”love. Sammy wanted to join m’on the treadmill, so we're having a little running session together."

You chuckle, admiring the dedication Harry has to his workout routine. "Looks like our angel is eager to keep up with you."

Harry nods, his eyes gleaming with pride. "He's got the spirit of an athlete, that's f’sure. And besides, it's good f’both of us to stay active, right, Sammy?"

Sammy babbles in agreement, clapping his hands as if understanding every word. He tries to match Harry's pace from where he’s running on the floor, his tiny legs working double time as the speed of the treadmill Harry’s on increases in speed slightly.. But the treadmill's speed proves too fast for him, and he stumbles, landing on his diaper-padded bottom with a soft thud.

Harry immediately stops the treadmill, not liking the fact his son fell over and steps off of the machine and reaches out to scoop him up.

“Careful, buddy," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to Sammy's forehead. "You’ve got to slow down, we don’t want you getting an ouchie do we?."

Sammy giggles, hugging his dad tightly, his eyes sparkling with joy. You join them, enveloping both Harry and Sammy in a warm embrace, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for your little family.

Another time that you realised that Sammy was like his father in both appearance and personality, was when he was when the three of you were on a family holiday to Italy.

After a chilled day of just sitting around the pool, catching some rays, the three of you retired to the bedroom at around half four, seeing as you had dinner reservations in the old town for half six. For a nice family meal.

Over the course of the holiday, which you were only four days into, you noticed that your fiancé was starting to complain about the stubble resting on his face.

Harry’s stubble was starting to get to him in the heat, making him always have an itchy face, and when the three of you were chilling in the main bedroom of the villa, he told you that he was going to go ahead and shave.

July 19th, 2020.

You sit on the plush bed in the stunning villa you and your fiancé Harry are staying in, overlooking the picturesque landscape of Italy. Sammy, your one-and-a-half-year-old son, is nestled against your chest, his eyes drooping with exhaustion after a day of splashing around in the pool with his doting father.

As the gentle breeze rustles the curtains, you gaze down at Sammy, his tiny hand gripping onto your shirt. His cheeks are flushed from the sun, and his little body radiates warmth against you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicates that he's slowly succumbing to sleep.

Just as Sammy is about to succumb to dream land, you notice Harry absentmindedly scratching his face. You raise an eyebrow, concern etching your features.

"What's the matter, baby?" you inquire, your voice soft and soothing.

Harry pauses, his eyes meeting yours. "I think it's time for a shave," he responds, his fingertips still grazing his stubbled chin.

Sammy, who seemed to be on the verge of slumber, stirs against you at the mention of shaving. His eyes flutter open, now wide with curiosity. "Shave?" he mumbles, his voice sleepy yet filled with intrigue.

Harry chuckles, turning his attention to his little boy. "Yes, buddy. Daddy needs to shave. It's like a special grown-up thing."

Sammy's eyes light up, his drowsiness momentarily forgotten. "Shave!" he exclaims, sitting up against your chest, his tiny hands reaching for Harry.

"Y’were falling asleep, mister. What're y’doing awake?" Harry says with a playful grin, kneeling down to be at Sammy's eye level.

Sammy giggles, his small voice carrying a sense of determination. "Be like you, daddy."

"All right, champ," Harry speaks, his voice filled with tenderness. "We'll do it together. You can watch and maybe we'll pretend to shave your baby fuzz too."

Sammy's face lights up with sheer delight, a wide grin stretching across his tired features. He nuzzles into the safety of Harry's embrace, knowing that he is loved and cherished.

And so, with Sammy in his arms and love in his eyes, Harry leads the way to the bathroom, flicking in the light and you silently follow behind, wanting to see the memory as it was being made.

You stand against the door frame, observing the scene unfolding before you with an adoring smile. Harry carefully lifts Sammy onto the bathroom counter, ensuring he stands securely in front of him to prevent any mishaps. The soft lighting casts a warm glow, highlighting the bond between father and son.

Harry takes a shaving brush and begins to lather his face with thick shaving foam. Sammy's eyes widen with fascination as he watches the process, his little hands fidgeting with excitement.

"Dada, me shave too!" Sammy exclaims, his voice filled with an adorable mix of eagerness and innocence.

Harry's eyes crinkle with amusement, his love for his son shining through.

"Alright, buddy. We can make y’look like a little gentleman," he says, his voice infused with playful encouragement.

Harry reaches for a dollop of shaving foam and gently applies it to Sammy's tiny face. Sammy bursts into giggles as the cool foam tickles his skin, the sensation new and delightful.

You capture the precious moment with your camera, eager to immortalize the memory of father and son sharing this special experience. The sound of their laughter fills the room, a harmonious melody that warms your heart.

As Sammy giggles, his face adorned with the foam, Harry reaches into the drawer and retrieves a cotton bud. He holds it up for Sammy to see.

"Now, this is what y’need to use, little man," Harry explains, his voice gentle and reassuring. "You're t’young for a razor, but y’can pretend with this."

Sammy's eyes widen with wonder as he takes the cotton bud in his small hand, mimicking his father's movements. He touches the foam on his face, his laughter bubbling up once more.

You lean against the door frame, overcome with love and admiration for the beautiful connection unfolding before you. The trust and joy shared between Harry and Sammy create a bond that transcends words.

Harry then retrieves his razor and begins to carefully shave his own face. The rhythmic sound of the blade gliding across his skin fills the air, intermingling with their shared laughter. You capture every precious moment, preserving this extraordinary bond for eternity.

As you watch from the doorway, snapping pictures, you realize the depth of Sammy's admiration for his father. In his innocent eyes, Harry is a superhero, a role model worth emulating. And Harry, with his patient guidance and boundless love, shows Sammy the way.

Another time that you noticed the resemblance and fatherly bond between the two Styles boys was when Sammy was one years old and Harry was twenty five.

With much persuasion you had gone out for the evening with the girls, Harry insisting that you go out and have fun seeing as you hadn’t had a proper night out since Sammy was born.

Harry had been on a few nights out, and insisted that he have the night in with his mini me so you could have the night off and have so well deserved fun.

So, you dolled yourself up to the nines and hit the town with a few of your friends, you didn’t drink much seeding as you were still exclusively breastfeeding, towards the end of the night you ended up drinking a few mock tails.

When you walked into the bedroom that night, that was when you saw Sammy and Harry fast asleep in the super king bed, and like the twins that they were, were both lying in the exact same position.

Laying on their stomachs, one hand above their head, Harry had one hand holding onto his son's waist so he didn’t roll off of the bed, and Sammy had his free hand grasped onto his stuffed bunny teddy named ‘Eddie’ that was gifted to him by his Nana Anne.

September 14th, 2019.

After a long-awaited night out, you quietly enter your bedroom, the tiredness seeping through every inch of your being. Your heels are in your hand, and you clutch your chest, feeling the familiar ache as your breasts need to be pumped. The evening was a well-deserved break from the responsibilities of parenthood, but now you're ready to be back in your sanctuary.

As you step into the room, you're greeted by the heartwarming sight of Harry and your one-year-old son, both lying on their stomachs on the bed. Their arms are stretched above their heads, mirroring each other in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Harry's hand rests protectively on Sammy's waist, ensuring he doesn't roll off the bed, while Sammy clings tightly to his beloved stuffed bunny teddy, "Eddie."

In that tender moment, you can't help but feel a surge of love and contentment. The exhaustion of the night fades away as you witness the undeniable bond between father and son. It's a sight that fills you with a profound sense of gratitude for the beautiful family you have created.

Reaching for your phone, you quietly snap a picture of the two of them, their peaceful expressions and shared embrace forever preserved in the frame. With a smirk on your face, you send the picture to the family group chat, knowing it will bring a smile to their faces.

But then, as you glance at the photo once more, you can't help but notice that Harry is wearing only his boxers, and Sammy is content in his diaper. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you realize that their fashion choices are similar even when they snoozing.

In that moment, it hits you: the similarities between Harry and Sammy go far beyond physical appearances. Their quirks and habits, their shared moments of vulnerability and tenderness, all paint a picture of an unbreakable connection.

You tiptoe closer to Sammy's side of the bed, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

Leaning down, you whisper softly, "I love you, my sweet boy," pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Sammy stirs slightly, but his peaceful sleep remains undisturbed.

Next, you turn your attention to Harry, his cheek invitingly close.

With a smile, you press your lips to his cheek, whispering, "I love you," the words laden with the depth of your emotions.

July 17th, 2023.

You snapped out of your daze, thinking about how similar the two loves of your lives were to see the two of them sitting on the sofa next to you.

You were sitting in the corner, blanket around your waist as you watched Sammy and Harry sit next to each other on the sofa, your fiancé had his arm wrapped around his son's shoulders, as the four year old munched on some crisps.

You grew Sammy for just over nine months, and it didn’t look like you had anything to do with it, since the way that Sammy came out looking appearance wise.

It seemed like Harry had a baby with himself.

Sammy adored his father, there was no doubt about it.

You could only hope that your next baby came out looking more like you, but the Styles had strong genes.

Anywho, you’d find out in seven months anyway.