#Infinite Expanse of the Universe

[epicstoriestime]

The Observer’s Report: A Cosmic Rendezvous with Ancient Puma Punku

Fresh from his exhilarating quantum leap through time and space, our extraterrestrial observer, clad in his silver, metallic uniform that shimmered under the ethereal glow of his home planet, returned from Puma Punku. He was ready to share tales of an ancient civilization and its architectural marvels. In the Great Hall of Enlightenment, a congregation of his peers, their curiosity piqued,…

[cavalier-consciousness]

+ ISLAND UNIVERSE

William H. Hays (United States)

Island Universe

reduction lino print   

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[leyiorr]

i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

[fantastic-nonsense]

An Explanation of DC's Multiple Universal Reboots and How to Navigate DCU Canon

This is an expansion of a shorter explanation I gave on my Batfam Starter Recs reading list. I figured it might be helpful to have it as a standalone explanation for new comic readers learning how to navigate DC's various attempts to deal with the concept of canon.

The Multiverse is a storytelling device within DC Comics that explains how most of the comics DC has published are tied together or are separate from each other. There exists a "main" universe, where most of DC's published comics collectively take place, and then several alternate universes where things happened differently than they did in the main universe. The multiverse allows writers to explore various concepts like "what if the Jack the Ripper murders happened in Victorian-era Gotham?" and "what if DC's women were the primary heroes of their universe and fought in World War II?" without affecting anything going on in the main universe.

DC Comics canon works in three "mainline" universes:

the pre-Crisis universe (everything published from the beginning of DC Comics until the Crisis on Infinite Earths event in 1986)

the post-Crisis universe (everything published between 1986 and 2011)

the post-Flashpoint universe (everything published from 2011-now)

In the 1980s, management at DC decided that continuity had become too outdated, convoluted, and contradictory to tell coherent stories within a shared universe as more stories were told, new characters were introduced, and new context to prior stories was added. The company had previously attempted to solve this problem in the 1960s by publishing "Flash of Two Worlds," assigning existing stories to two different universes (Earth-One and Earth-Two), and creating a smattering of other alternate universes (Earth-Three was the home of the Crime Syndicate, evil AU versions of the Justice League, for example), but found that this did not actually solve the issue.

So. They decided to do a total universal reboot. That reboot was initiated by the company-wide crossover event known as Crisis on Infinite Earths, published from 1985 to 1986.

COIE effectively rebooted the entire internal DC Universe from the dawn of time onward. A new universal history now existed: the vast majority of characters/character history, history, and events from the varying alternate timelines that existed in the previous universe were retold, retooled, condensed, and/or thrown out in favor of a new, theoretically streamlined single reality. From 1986-2011, DC Comics mainline continuity was published in this shared universe, which industry professionals and fans alike called the 'post-Crisis' universe; in-universe, we refer to this primary version of DC's continuity "New Earth" (or occasionally, Earth-0).

For a wide variety of reasons that I won't get into here, DC completely rebooted their universe again in 2011 following the Flashpoint event comic. This new primary universe—interchangeably called the New 52 universe, post-Flashpoint universe, or Prime Earth, depending on the conversation—once again drastically changed many characters’ histories, personalities, and relationships with each other (sometimes for the better, most of the time for the worse). This is the current universe for DC's main comic line.

Within these three overarching iterations of the DCU, there were several events aimed to clean up, refresh, or reorganize various continuity problems. You may hear people refer to "post-Zero Hour" continuity, for example, to describe post-Crisis events/character histories that were revamped after Zero Hour: Crisis in Time! was published in 1994. "post-Rebirth" continuity, another common descriptor, refers to the reorganization of the post-Flashpoint/Prime Earth universe that happened after the Rebirth event in 2016.

GENERALLY SPEAKING, these are the most common ones you'll hear about:

Pre-Crisis Universe (1937-1986): "Flash of Two Worlds" (1961)

Post-Crisis Universe (1986-2011): pre/post-Zero Hour (1994-2005), post-Infinite Crisis and One Year Later (2005-2008), & post-Final Crisis (2008-2011)

Post-Flashpoint Universe (2011-present): The New 52 (comics written from 2011-2015), Convergence/DCYou (the first attempt to fix New 52 continuity, lasted from 2014-2016), pre/post-Rebirth (2016-2021)—and within Rebirth continuity there were two events, Dark Knights: Metal and its sequel, Death Metal, that did some minor universal revamps (2018-2021)—and post-Death Metal continuity, also known as Infinite Frontier (2021-present). Dark Crisis (2022) also exists but didn't really change the multiversal lore status quo, just simplified the explanation.

Other important universal lore-related things to note about these events:

Prior to Crisis on Infinite Earths, the DCU was an "infinite multiverse." There were no limits on the number of alternate universes that existed and no in-depth explanation for how they were connected or unconnected to the DCU's main timeline.

COIE destroyed the infinite multiverse and condensed everything into one, single universe. Between 1986 and 2005, there were technically no acknowledged alternate universes beyond the "antimatter universe."

"Hypertime" was created by Mark Waid and Alex Ross in 1999 as a way to get around this rule and eventually became the "go-to" way of explaining and fixing various continuity errors. Hypertime is a network of alternate timeline "echoes" that branch off from the main DCU timeline and occasionally overlap with each other, causing alterations in reality.

Since there could only be one timeline, continuity discrepencies were often "fixed" by explaining that one version of events happened in a previous, now destroyed timeline (that characters may or may not remember). Characters could cross from one timeline to another if needed, but any changes resulting from time travelers messing with events caused the destruction of their orginal timeline.

The "Elseworlds" imprint was another method of writing alternate universe stories without explicitly acknowledging the multiverse existed. DC officially just called these books "non-canon" stories without trying to explain how they existed in relation to the main universe. Most if not all of these stories are now considered part of the multiverse.

The infinite multiverse was briefly restored after Infinite Crisis in 2005 and then merged into a single 52-universe multiverse the year afterwards in 52. This new, limited multiverse was explained as there being an "original" Earth (Earth-0) with each successive universe being further and further removed from that one.

The initial post-Flashpoint/New 52 explanation of the multiverse was that there was a limited 52-universe multiverse. That explanation was somewhat overwritten after Rebirth and fully retconned after Death Metal.

Death Metal introduced the concept of the "omniverse," a multiverse of infinite multiverses. Yes, this is dumb. Yes, we generally ignore it and it has now been fully retconned.

The "Dark Multiverse" (a temporary "dark negative counterpart" of each Multiverse reality created by the fears of a universe's people) is theoretically a thing that exists. No, no one else really understands it either and the concept is generally restricted to the two Metal events.

Since Dark Crisis, the DCU is once again a single infinite multiverse in the vein of late pre-Crisis continuity. Every universe and continuity exists, and some are closer to the mainline reality than others.

Right now, the main DCU is once again a singular multiverse with an infinite number of universes. Technically, every version of "mainline universe" history throughout the existence of the multiverse is now considered to have occurred and is remembered by the inhabitants of Prime Earth. In practice, this means that "everything is nebulously canon or non-canon until explicitly acknowledged by a writer to have definitively happened and/or be something that a character remembers happening to them."

Unfortunately, not a lot of writers are doing much with that concept right now outside of picking and choosing their favorite parts of mainline canon to focus on and/or re-canonize, but it at least presents a path forward where a lot of the continuity and characterization issues created by the New 52 reboot are able to be properly addressed.

I hope this explanation was helpful for people, and I'm happy to try and field any further questions as well!

[theonion]

In an effort to better comply with recent moves to abolish limits on migrant detention, ICE officials announced Thursday that they planned to open an interdimensional detention center to indefinitely imprison migrants across an infinite number of multiverses. “With our new hyperspace-based detention center, we’ll be able to adhere to new White House policies by confining migrants in an endless number of variations of possible universes where earthly concepts such as ‘time’ and ‘eternity’ cease to have any meaning,” said ICE acting director Matthew Albence from the newly built detention center, adding that bending spacetime upon itself would expand the agency’s capacity to 700 vigintillion detainment cells while allowing them to hold asylum-seekers without trial in relativistic stasis for expanses of time eclipsing any experienced in the known universe.

Full Story

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The Ninth House

☉ Sun in the Ninth House You aren’t satisfied with simply existing, you need to understand why you’re here. There’s a fire in you that refuses to settle, that keeps pushing you toward something bigger, brighter, more meaningful. You want to find yourself in faraway places, in deep conversations, in the stretch of becoming more than what you were handed. You’re chasing purpose, not applause, and you’ll keep going until you find the truth that makes you feel alive.

☽ Moon in the Ninth House You’re searching for a belief you can rest inside. For a truth that doesn’t just sound good, but feels like home. Your soul needs more than logic, it needs faith, vision, wonder. You carry your questions like prayers, hoping the sky will answer. And even when you don’t know where you’re going, you keep walking, because something in you believes there’s a place where your spirit will finally exhale and say, “This. This is where I belong.”

☿ Mercury in the Ninth House You need to understand everything. Not in a shallow way, but deeply from the inside out. You question the world like it’s a puzzle you were born to solve. You chase philosophies, languages, systems of thought, not just to be right, but to feel anchored. You want your mind to roam, to leap into unfamiliar places and come back changed. For you, knowledge isn’t a destination, it’s a journey that turns questions into doors.

♀ Venus in the Ninth House You fall in love with what expands you. With cultures, ideas, and people that open something inside you you didn’t know was closed. You long for beauty that feels eternal, love that feels like a philosophy, not a performance. You want to be inspired, not just wanted. And wherever you go, you’re hoping to find something that mirrors your own ideals, something that feels like poetry and truth at once.

♂ Mars in the Ninth House You are driven by a need to go beyond. There’s a restless spark inside you that pushes you toward experiences that shake your limits. You’d rather leap than wait. You chase intensity in the form of expansion, not chaos, but challenge. You don’t want safety, you want aliveness. You want to feel the wind against your face and the thrill of standing at the edge of what you once believed was possible.

♃ Jupiter in the Ninth House You live with your arms open to the sky. There’s a wild optimism in your bones, a belief that life is meant to be more than survival. You seek experiences that lift you, teachings that grow you, paths that widen your world. You trust in something higher, even when you don’t know its name. And wherever you go, you carry the quiet knowing that the universe is not working against you, it’s calling you forward.

♄ Saturn in the Ninth House You want to believe, but you need to build your belief from stone. You don’t trust blindly, you test every truth until it earns your loyalty. Your path to meaning is not fast or easy, but it’s real. You may carry doubt like a shadow, but that doubt carves you into someone solid. When you do find what you believe in, you hold it like a vow. Not loud, not flashy, but lifelong.

♅ Uranus in the Ninth House You were never meant to walk anyone else’s path. You don’t just question the rules, you rewire them. You search for truth in the cracks of tradition, in the sparks of rebellion, in the freedom to think and live for yourself. You don’t want a map. You want the thrill of making your own way. And if your beliefs shake others... GOOD. That means you’re still alive.

♆ Neptune in the Ninth House You’re not looking for answers, you’re looking for wonder. For the feeling of dissolving into something divine, something infinite. You want to believe in more than what you can touch. You long for dreams that stretch beyond this world, for connections that feel cosmic. Sometimes you drift, sometimes you get lost, but even in the fog, you trust that your soul knows the way.

♇ Pluto in the Ninth House You don’t just want purpose, you want to be transformed by it. You are drawn to truths that shatter, to teachings that undo what you thought you knew. You crave meaning that burns through your bones and leaves you reborn. You are not afraid of the darkness that comes with seeking, you know that real understanding often requires letting go of who you were. And you’re willing to go that deep.

🗺️ Your birth chart, decoded in my book- The Sky Within

[luetta]

hey everyone i know it's been a hot minute since my last review, but i've been cooking up a banger for you all. today i'm going to be reviewing all of the time prisons!

TIME CUBE: 7/10 - first up we have the time cube. it's what everyone thinks of first when they hear 'time prison'. there's nothing to do, time loses all meaning, and your mind eventually stops functioning. what more can you ask for? good for a low budget. TIME SPHERE: 5.5/10 - the sphere is a definite downgrade from the cube. you can't tell where the boundary is but you can feel yourself going around in circles. it's like, pick one or the other! not ideal. TIME TETRAHEDRON: 9/10 - honestly i underestimated the tetrahedron. it really hits the spot. the frozen yet rapidly passing-you-by world outside gets refracted really cool bc of the angled faces of the tetrahedron. big ups from me. TIME TESSERACT: 10/10 - the classics are classics for a reason. the tesseract is just perfect. you're in an incomprehensible but simplistic space, in leads into itself, and it's even self-similar no matter where you go. can't recommend enough. TIME CALABI-YAU MANIFOLD: 4/10 - this one has flair, and that's about it. you think it's gonna be some awesome, psychedelic space, but you get in and it's basically a cube. the extra dimensions are there, but you can't really interact with them at all. pretty disappointing. TIME 0-BRANE: 1/10 - ah, the point. 0 dimensional space. i couldn't not try it. but, really, it just sucks. with no reference for anything, nor any space for consciousness, it's essentially a timeskip. you don't feel anything. also, it seems really easy to come out of it and you've accidentally gone all the way to the heat death of the universe. i'd avoid unless you're an experienced user. TIME 1-BRANE: 2.5/10 - even though the 1-brane isn't actually infinitely long, when you're inside, it feels like it is. being stretched out to infinity is not a pleasant experience whatsoever. if you're into that though, this is probably your piece of cake! i don't judge <3 TIME 2-BRANE: 9.5/10 - unlike it's siblings, the 2-brane is actually really good! it's essentially being trapped in flatland, but without all the other shapes. just an endless expanse for you to explore, never finding anything. i'm surprised the 2-brane is so underrated! TIME RECTANGULAR PRISM: 3/10 - this one just feels wrong. you can viscerally sense that the dimensions around you aren't equal. reminds me of the slight spaghettification you get when you approach black holes. not for me and probably not for you. TIME 32-CUBE: 6/10 - this is the tessaract kicked into overdrive. utterly indecipherable. this is probably the fastest sanity destroyer on the market. TIME TORUS: 8/10 - this one was fun, because you can just go around and around and never get anywhere. plus, having 2 distinct areas, the inner and the outer, was a unique feeling for a time prison. good for a first timer i reckon. TIME GABRIEL'S HORN - 0/10 - this one is astoundingly horrible. you just fall down towards the bottom, never reaching it, getting squished smaller and smaller. but, you never actually reach that 'point' moment, so it's agonisingly unsatisfying. unfun and kinda painful, do not recommend. TIME MANDLEBROT - 9.5/10 - fractal geometry was made for this stuff. no matter where you go, how deep you go, you'll end up in the same place. it's perfect for getting that 'never ending, repeating nightmare' feeling. the only downside is sometimes you can accidentally stray from the fractal boundary and just end up in a void. TIME LORENZ SYSTEM - 8/10 - i didn't even know this was a thing, but apparently it is, and turns out it's great! you flow through it, and you can never predict where exactly you'll go next. it's sort of the opposite of a void - constant new stimuli. highway hypnosis vibes. definitely give this one a go. TIME KLEIN BOTTLE - 1.5/10 - this one is fun for a gag and that's it - you can just exit out the bottom. it's not an enclosed space. prisons aren't meant to have a way out.

and that's it! thanks for reading everyone, it was really fun trying all these out, i hope this helps people decide which time prison is best for them or their prisoners. check out my patreon for reviews of some more exotic time prison shapes, and i'll see you next time!

[epicstoriestime]

Giordano Bruno: A Visionary Beyond the Stars

Giordano Bruno’s vision of an infinite, ever-expanding universe, where the stars are not fixed but dance in the divine vastness, continues to inspire us today. Giordano Bruno, a philosopher whose name is both whispered with reverence and shouted in defiance, invites us into a world where the stars are not fixed but dance in the infinite. In an era where the heavens were considered a static…

[snowjadesilly]

If alternate universes are real, that means that's somewhere in the great expanse of infinite possibilities, your fictional crush is the one watching your show, playing your game and reading your story. They're the one listening to your voice actor talk the way you do in interviews. They're the one replaying clips of you on YouTube and analyzing every detail until they can replicate every frame in their mind. They're the one scrolling Tumblr and Twitter and every other platform they can find with fan content of you- getting uncomfortable when a fan incorrectly interprets your likeness and following any creator that truly understands you. They're the one wishing your creators had done more with you so they could pretend you fill that hole in their chest - wishing that your world existed somewhere they could reach - wishing that they had the skill they see around them to replicate you perfectly in their own creations - wishing that there wasn't a screen or a page of words keeping you from them.

Somewhere in the great expanse of infinite possibilities, they're the one wishing you were real.

[deadsetobsessions]

Summonings

Ever since Danny Phantom became the Ghost King, he’s had to deal with an endless amount of crap. An eternity of it, actually, and it was constantly causing him unending amount of existential crises and stress.

First, there was the paperwork. Pariah Dark, the incompetent asshole, had left him decades worth of bureaucracy to painfully sift through. He ended up hiring some ghosts with paperwork obsessions to sort some of that out. Who knew ruling the infinite realms would require this much paperwork? He’s lucky each section of the underworld had their own systems to report to their own rulers who, in turn, report to him.

Secondly, there were the Observers. And other ghosts, like his own rogues, but they were the main issues. Eyeball menaces. They protested his appointment, something he actually agreed with. Putting a fifteen year old on the throne is rarely a smart decision. But the Infinite Realm values strength, the only type of currency that matters in the land of the gods and the dead. Danny? Phantom? He’s got strength in spades. With only a few months of being a ghost, Danny had managed to defeat Pariah Dark, who had cowered gods and struck fear into the hearts of ghost heroes.

But Danny hasn’t quite realized the significance of that yet, too focused on the realization that he was about to be in charge of the infinite realms. The Observants, since his reluctant and extremely limited coronation, has been up his ass about doing things the “proper way.”

Danny’s main problem lies with the ridiculous amount of paperwork though. It’s fine. Tedious. But fine.

But if he gets one more fifteen page essay style complaint form about some guy named Constantine, Danny might seriously reconsider donning Dan’s ruthlessness and offing the guy himself. Perhaps grab the man by his shoulders and shake him like a rag doll and ask who the fuck told him it was a good idea to sell his soul out like that? Danny eventually just sent out Skulker to hunt down the contracts and trade minor services for them. He owns most of the soul now, and perhaps he’ll hunt this guy down and force him to do paperwork.

Regardless, paperwork was just often tedious. He’s worked out a system for himself. The halfa, true to his teenage form, had better things to be doing. His homework, for one. Hanging out with his friends and logging in hours for Doomed 2 would be another. But no, he’s here, twirling a pen as he glared down at a stack of forms for a zone expansion. What the fuck does Zeus want to expand his zone for? The current share space of the sky domain is literally a perfect balance with respect towards the other gods. For the love of- Danny slams down a red ‘REJECTED’ stamp on top of the stack. His hair flickers wildly in annoyance, the iced over Crown floating above his head emitting concerning levels of frost. To anyone else but himself, of course.

He then feels a soft tug on his core.

Right. The third most annoying thing about becoming King: the fucking summoning. Danny taps his pen against his lips, clicking it against his fangs, as he considers the summoning circle that calls him. Huh. Desperation. Mildly bloody. Fear. Resignation- ah, fuck it, it’s not like he’s too enthusiastic about staying to do work with the Observers poking around. He takes the summoning, allowing his regalia to overtake his normal hazmat-clad form, and approves the summoning.

Oh hey, Danny thinks he recognizes that ugly ass trenchcoat.

—-

John Constantine has had more than enough practice summoning things that would give people nightmares. But there are things he normally refuses to touch, refuses to even entertain the idea of trying. As usual, desperation made John its bitch and the Justice League’s battered and bruised faces tugged on his shriveled heart.

He’s going to summon something from the Infinite Realms. Oh, but he wasn’t just summoning any old ghost. No, he thought, I’m just going to summon the one being that’s guaranteed to be able to crush our universe without breaking a sweat. Bollocks.

“Is it ready?”

“Untwist your pants, spooky,” John snaps, wishing he had a crate of whiskey he could down. “We’re trying to summon the Ghost King, not your average demon.”

“What do we know about him?” Batman’s gravelly voice demanded.

“Powerful enough to take us all out without even breaking a sweat. Defeated the bloody tyrant who ruled over the Realms last I heard.”

“That’s it?”

“You could ask Deadman, but I heard he’s on the outs with the Infinite Realms on the fact that he’s made of pure magic, not ectoplasm.”

“There’s no guarantee the king will work with us.” Zatanna says, pressing her fingertips together tiredly. She had been at the forefront of the battle and had paid the price for it. “But he’s supposedly more benevolent than his predecessor… and we’re out of options.”

“Hm.”

“Just make sure to shut up and let me do the talking.”

“Hn.”

John rolls his eyes and takes a fortifying breath, something that does not go unnoticed by the League. They all tense up, preparing themselves for a battle. Another one, seeing as they all got their ass kicked by a ghost only ten hours ago. The League is spread thin, running interference to distract the ghost in question and evacuating civilians.

John Constantine started chanting, the glow of his magic lighting up the circle as he spills his blood into the circle.

He waits, heart in his throat, for the summoning to work.

“Is it supposed to take-” Red Robin asks, only to cut himself off as the circle flares once more. Power pulsates outwards from the circle. Frost crackles on the frost resistant floors, spreading outwards as a green portal rips open the fabric of time and space. Long, spindly imitations of a hand grabs the edges of space and pulls, heaving the rest of his celestial body out of the tear in reality. John does not look away. He can not look away, not from the eerie green pallor of the King, not from his torrential white wisps of hair, not from the black-hole like material of his outfit, not from the nebulas and beginnings and endings tailored onto the King’s cape. John could not look away from the ice crown that floated like a bastion of power above the king’s head.

His mouth is dry. What price will he have to pay to save the world? What price will this being demand of him, of the Justice League, to save the world?

John desperately needs that drink.

—-

Oh! He’s in his home dimension! His core purrs at coming home, at the close proximity to his first haunt.

He was expecting cultists, or even the Winchesters again, but this is nice.

The Justice League- summoning him. Sam and Tucker are going to flip when they hear about this.

They’ve been staring at him in silence for a bit now. It was getting awkward.

“Why have you summoned me?” He asks, softening his tone. By their winces, he didn’t get it as well as he thought. Danny grimaces. At the first sign of discomfort though, the man in the trenchcoat- is that fucking Constantine?!- launches into a nerve filled tirade.

“Your, uh, Majesty.” He starts. “One of… One of your subjects is wreaking havoc on the world. We would be extremely grateful if… if you could reign him in?”

Danny’s face sours, only to quickly clear his expression as he realized how much even a small hint of displeasure causes the jumpiness in Constantine and the others.

“To do that, I will have to make a contract with you, seeing as you’ve summoned me.” Danny drawls, letting his overly long digits wave at the summoning circle in question. He could break it, of course, but Danny’s bored and trying to draw this out. He’s not saying he’d take a batch of cookies as payment but that’s exactly what he’s saying.

“The price… you could always have my soul?”

Danny pauses. “Your… soul?”

Oh, he did not say what he just said.

“Yes. My soul.”

Oh, he did.

Fuck it. Danny’s flashbacks of suffering through the reports pushes green into his irises and urgency to his action.

He breaks out of the circle, hands lunging and gripping Constantine’s jaw tightly. Danny ignores the shouts of alarm as he allows the thrown weapons to pass through him.

John Constantine is panicking now, struggling in the air as Danny lifts him an inch off the floor in agitation.

Good.

“Your soul, little wizard? The one you’ve split eight ways till the thirtieth of February? The one that caused,” he tightens his grip, no doubt bruising the man. “An insane amount of paperwork that I’ve had to suffer through. Your soul, John Constantine?”

Danny hisses his name. The man makes a warbling noise that Danny takes as acknowledgement. Danny bats away the weak spell Zatanna sends at him with a hand.

“You’ll find that I am in the possession of most of your soul contracts. To simply put,” he grins, teeth made of dying stars on display. “I own your soul. My soul, now.”

He drops the wizard who collapses onto his knees to stare up at him in horror, eyes flicking between the circle that was meant to contain him and Danny, who is very much not contained. He crouches down- something necessary but disjointed as he’s not used to this taller form- and speaks to Constantine in a slow, dead serious, drawl.

“If you ever sell your soul again, you and I are going to have issues. Is that clear, John Constantine?”

“Uh- yeah, yes, yes, your majesty.”

Patting his cheek condescendingly, Danny gets up and sighs, stress relieved. He’s starting to feel bad, though, so he allows his form to ripple back to his normal teenage Phantom self.

“Well, it’s not like anyone will buy it, since they know they’ll have to go against me.” He chirps, flipping 180 from his terror inducing eldritch voice. “So, what’ll you pay me to get rid of whatever ghost you’ve got?”

“…. Nothing?”

Red Robin holds out a bag, eyebags betraying his exhaustion. “I’ve got fifty dollars and a bag of cookies.”

Phantom beams at him. “Throw in a couple of autographs and you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s- yeah, okay.” Red Robin says, inching forward cautiously to hand him the bag.

“Great. I’ll be back for them later. You can call me Phantom. ‘Your Majesty’ gets annoying after a while.”

“Thank- thank you for your mercy, Your- Phantom.” Wonder Woman says.

“Sure. Make sure this idiot doesn’t make any more deals with demons while I’m out, yeah?”

With that, Danny Phantom grabs the bag of cookies and fifty dollars and flies through the wall to do his job.

John slams his head onto the space station floor.

“Fuck.”

—-

Danny: lol I’ll do it for the shits and giggles

Constantine and the League: he’s terrifying, a bastion of pure power and authority

Red Robin, Young “we commit war crimes bc it gets shit done” Justice leader and fellow gremlin: he’d probably do it for cookies. I would.

[dezertvideogames]

The Subnautica of other fears

Subnautica is a game infamous for it's almost all ocean planet, underwater worldbuilding, and deep sea gameplay. It's also the bane of all thalassaphobia peeps.

So here's the subnautica of other phobias

Claustrophobia Fear of Tight/Cramped Spaces - The Forest Series : After a plane crash leaves you stranded in a strange forests, something increasingly becomes... wrong. The caves around don't help.

Scopophobia Fear of being watched or the center of attention - Brighter Day : A weirdcore horror game where something is definitely watching you and definitely following you.

Entomophobia/Arachnophobia - Grounded : You play a group of kids who are stuck in a "honey I shrunk the kids" incident. They are forced to venture across their yard, and survive the various common insects around.

Megalophobia Fear of very very very big things - The Utility Room : An experience. More of an experience then a game and fever dreamish, worth it, and mysterious all the way. It's almost as if the universe accidentally left one strange dev room behind.

Nyctophobia Fear of darkness - Amnesia: The Bunker (from the Amnesia series) : It's a first-person survival horror. You play a French man trapped in a bunker during WW1, while being hunted by something inside its darkness.

Autophobia Fear of being/feeling alone - Firewatch : You work in a national park in order to watch out for fires. Traveling across the Wyoming wilderness takes a complicated turn.

Hemophobia Fear of blood or bleeding - Iron Lung : What awaits you in the deep of a strange moon. Trapped in a submarine you have no choice but to find out.

Amaxophobia Fear of car accidents or being run over - Decimate Drive : After freeing yourself from a kidnapping, the world you wake up to is full of hostile cars.

Final Boss Games:

Lethal Company

Fun with friends :D

Genre: Indie Comedy Horror

Takes place on alien planets in outerspace

It's multiplayer, and very fun, but as soon as it hits the fan the sound design works hard to immerse you in the sudden loneliness. The games sound design is one the major players of Lethal Company's fear. As soon as a friend walks away the proximity chat teaches you just how separated you now are.

Before you know it you have had something unfriendly following behind you, and finally finding the silhouette of a friend in the dark you are betrayed by the creatures of the Lethal Company universe.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Being Watched

Fear of Outerspace

The Metro Series

Genre: Survival Horror Shooter

You play the beautiful and amazing Artyom Chynornyj in the post-apocalyptic world of Metro. Developed by Ukrainians and based off the Russian book series + Polish fanon writing community.

The world of Metro is unfair and unforgiving, full of mutated creatures, and the leftover souls that the destruction of humanity left in it's wake. Crawl across the underground of Russian cities, or panic across the even more dangerous world of the destroyed above.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Wild Animals

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Ghost/The Supernatural

Fear of Insects/Spider

Fear of Heights

Fear of Dead Bodies

Fear of the Cold

No Man's Sky

The scariest game I've ever played. I don't know why, but this game freaks me out. I know the picture I chose was harmless, but I did that on purpose.

This game is beautiful, but don't let that fool ya. This world will leave you no hesitation lost in the unpredictable randomly generated horrors of space. From planet that are all water, to colossus creatures you see for only a split second, to the infinite colorless expanse of space.

Megalphobes and astrophobes, this is your subnautica

Fear of Outerspace

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Cramped Spaces

Fear of the Unknown

Fear of Very Very Very Big Things

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Caves

Fear of the Supernatural

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Mors

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

A meeting with a transcendental being.

content warning: blood, cannibalism

Sitting on your haunches, you look at the withered flower inside the ripped heart in your palms. You recalled how your chest was a gaping hole, devoid of a heart as well. Your hands trembled as you cradled the heart, wrenched straight from the chest of a god.

It was still in your hands, bathed in blood and eerily similar to a human’s. Similar to yours. If he was a god, why was he so identical to you? Why does he retain the human traits of his previous life after reaching godhood? Was it his way to be tied still to his roots? Was it his way to honor his previous life? Or was he doing this to be like the god you knew, wanting to be closer in image to the people that worshipped him, so they would feel closer to him?

You let out a small laugh at your questions. ‘God works in mysterious ways, I suppose.’

The flower within, a dianthus, was withering. You remember how that god had opened his mouth and swallowed your heart full. Was there something in your heart that he needed? Could his replace yours…?

You stilled for a moment, realizing that you couldn’t even hear your breathing. The withered flower inside his heart seemed to whisper to you, and you felt the temptation to open your mouth. Murmurs began to fill your senses, overwhelming you. The withering flower seemed to speak to you, promising a forgotten power, its decay a testament to the once-mighty deity's fall from grace. 

You opened your mouth, your mind flashing to the memories of your struggles; the raw, visceral moment when you forcibly tore the heart out of the god’s chest. You felt pure rage then and now it lingered as a hollow echo. You felt… empty. That man had once been your father -- a bad one, and you had the satisfaction of beating him to the ground and killing his image. 

What now?

With a deep breath, you lifted the heart to your mouth, the withered petals coated in blood touching your lips. 

“Will you be able to carry that power?”

You snapped, looking up in shock. The space had turned dark and when you looked up, your eyes glimmered with the sight of the universe before you, surrounding you. You felt a pull, the silent summons that drew you towards it all. Where is all?

A force pulled you to look up, and you seem to be looking into the edge of the universe. There was something that bears no form and defied mortal comprehension, an unyielding force that transcended all understanding. Whatever it was, it was an ungraspable enigma, woven into the fabric of the universe. You felt a presence, its weight palpable and its depth seemed to be pressing against your soul. You feel heavy.

Overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat and your eyes teared up. It was as if the universe had stilled and you held your breath at the weight of it all in a moment of profound reverence.

The God of Death was neither seen nor heard, but felt—an all-encompassing awareness that filled the space around a person, a shadow that danced at the edge of perception. 

He was the very essence of the end, the silence that followed the final breath each dying person takes. 

You realize how small you are, and how your erratic breathing compares to the calmness He embodied. You were a mere spark in His infinite expanse of time. You smiled through your tears. “You’re here.”

His vastness tilted, and though He had no eyes, you felt its attention fixed on you. His voice was not a voice but a cacophony of sensations: waves crashing, a fire roaring, the soft crackle of ice breaking apart.

“I am,” He said to you. His voice seemed to ring in your ears, vibrating through your very bones, carrying with it the faint echoes of all the lives He had claimed as his.

“You’re not like how I expected you to appear,” you murmured, gently lowering your hands as you looked up at the cosmos. He was everything and everywhere all around you at once. 

“Do you expect me to appear like in your little books?” He asked, His tone amused and it disturbs you to know such a great being was capable of understanding you so intimately. 

You nodded. “Yes.”

The galaxies glimmered as He laughed and you watched it all, mesmerized. “You’re… beautiful.”

This god was not like the one you knew. You knew what Death would look like through the novels, but your idea of an ethereal being that greets you in the afterlife never had a face. You imagined Him to have a figure of kindness cloaked in the despair of the end, a ferryman to guide your soul or a looming, austere angel wrapped in glowing robes. But He was none of that. He was not the gentle shepherd you knew nor was he an angel. There was no humanoid form for you to grasp, to hold for comfort at the end of your life.

He has no voice. He needed none. His presence filled the endless expanse of this space, towering like a mountain, shifting like stormy clouds of a night, the edges fraying into a blinding mix of light and shadows. His body -- can you even call it one? -- was composed of dark clouds, flashing as if a storm was brewing deep within. It swirled in front of you, like the beginning of a hurricane. 

You recalled the cold waters, the tilting ship, and the piercing ache in your chest. The stinging pain of slamming and breaking the water surface before you lost your consciousness. “Is it my time? Is that why you’re here?”

He did not reply for a moment, and you felt the universe vibrate. The heart was lifted from your palms and floated in front of you.

“A God is dying,” He said. “These petals were once radiant with celestial light. Because of you, now they are brittle and dark. His divinity is dying.”

“Is it a sin?” You asked him. “Have I sinned?”

“I am not one of your wrathful gods,” He said. “There is no sin for a child who simply wants to live.”

“Take this heart,” He said. “Eat it whole and consume the flower within. You’ll be able to come back to your family. They wait for you.”

You cupped your palms, and the heart slowly fell back to your hold. You look into the withered flower and then back to the universe. You felt the essence of Death, the profound stillness He was able to provide that calmed the storm in your head. You closed your eyes. “You feel so… peaceful. Heavy, but peaceful.”

“Because this is the edge of your existence,” He told you. However it sounded, it sounded so gentle. Forgiving. The universe warped again and an hourglass appeared, the sand being stardust. It was running out of it. This was your lifespan. “There is no judgment that awaits you here. Nothing awaits you here.”

“Will I stay here if I choose not to consume this heart?” You asked. 

The God of Death let out a sound similar to a surprised hum. “No. This is not death. It will be painful and a glorious sight to see your death. You will feel the pain. At this moment, I am being merciful to you.”

You gulped. “I… I don’t want that. Can’t I die peacefully?

“No,” He answered, quiet and still.

“Why not?” You asked, feeling a lump form on your throat. Deep down, you crave for His approval, for His attention. You wanted comfort from the being that will take your soul, and you’d never admit it, but you were devastated. “If I stay… You will be the one to take me. You take everything… At the very least, make it painless--”

The air stilled as He seemed to focus on you. “Do you think of me as a cruel god?”

“So much,” you whispered. “You take everything away and we all suffered from it.”

The dark clouds surround you and you feel the way they wrap around you close, forcing your chin up to face Death. “You mistake necessity for cruelty. My followers think I must love or hate, guide or punish. But I am neither shepherd nor tyrant. I am the ending of things, as natural as the fall of night. I owe you nothing.”

The sheer indifference in His tone—or His essence—shattered something inside you. You had hoped for solace, for answers, for meaning. Instead, you found yourself face to face with the vast, uncaring truth of mortality. You were a speck of dust in the presence of a cosmic storm. You must understand that you are nothing in front of these Gods.

“All things must end. The cycle cannot hold without me. Your grief is yours to bear. It has never been mine.”

You sat in silence, the heavy truth within His words pressing down on you like the weight of the world. For a moment, you felt like screaming your heart out. This is unfair! I did my best to be a good person and I will die a painful death at the end! 

This was callous -- the final moments of your life would be raw, scathing pain that you’ll feel until you die. Death was easy to face, but dying was not something you wanted, much less in pain. Staring at the mass of dark clouds, the fire in your chest flickered and then immediately dimmed.

Whatever you do, it will be futile. Your rage will be futile, your pleas unheard. You are mortal.

You rose to your feet slowly, panting. The God of Death said nothing, watching—or perhaps not—as you grasped for the heart.

The hourglass slowed.

“Consume the divinity,” He said. “Consume it and let it take you.”

You opened your mouth and lifted the heart to your lips. Your teeth sank onto the bloodied, lifeless flesh and a surge of a cold and ancient energy coursed through you. The taste was something you could never have tasted in your living days. It tasted of iron and stardust, horribly bitter with the remnants of a dying divinity. You gripped at the flesh with your teeth and ripped it away, swallowing the chunks whole and each swallow was a step further into the abyss, your soul intertwining with the fading essence of a dying god.

The withered dianthus crumbled in your mouth, its divine energy dissolving on your tongue and it left you with sorrow and tears.

You swallowed the final piece and your gaping chest began to close itself. Your chest burns with the dying embers of divinity that now reside in your soul. You sat there, looking up at the universe with your bloodied mouth, the weight of your action settling into your bones. 

It was slow at first. A burn on your tongue, and then around your throat that had dared to consume such a sacred thing. You gasped, grasping at your throat and then your chest. You let out a pained wail as your chest seemed to have something slithering inside it, moving inside your flesh and skin and causing you to scream in pain.

“I-I can’t--!” You stammered out through pained gasps. “I-I can’t t-take it! Please!”

“Be calm,” Death whispered to you. “Accept your end. I’m here to take you.”

You slumped to the ground, panting as you began to feel faint, the universe warping around you. 

The inevitability of His embrace filled you with a strange, bittersweet peace, a release from the burdens of mortal toil. In the overwhelming quiet, you found a deep acceptance, a surrender to the inevitable cycle of existence. The God of Death, unseen and formless, held you in a silent embrace, a guardian of the boundary between life and the infinite unknown.

And in that sacred moment, where time and space dissolved into the eternal twilight, you understood the profound peace of surrender, the quiet grace of the end, as you were gently carried into the vastness beyond.

Ron sat in the ship, looking up at the starry skies as Archie swam back to the continent. The ship’s gentle motion cradled the two people who lay unconscious on its wooden floorboards, the soft creaking of its timbers mingling with the sounds of the whales swimming. His eyes, weathered by years of witnessing death, gazed upward. Ron could never think he would seek solace within stars, but here he was.

They always felt so cold to him. They were an ancient, eternal beauty, so indifferent to the troubles that Earth and its inhabitants faced. To think something like that was a small part of a vast existence and Ron felt conflicted about whether or not he should feel glad that his sorrows were so small within that existence. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t care.

The night breeze, cool and salt-tinged, whispered through his silver hair, carrying with it the scent of the open sea. He inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the air, his weathered hand resting gently on your hand. Ohn was tucked under your chin, herself paranoid that in the middle of their way home, your pulse would stop beating and she’d lose you again.

Rosalyn was sitting on her haunches, your head placed on her lap as she was nodding off.

Your skin was cool beneath their touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of their love, a love that burned with the fierce intensity of a dying star.

The ship moved steadily, its course unwavering, slicing through the dark waters toward their home. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching out as if time itself were reluctant to move forward. The stars above shimmered with a light that seemed to pulse with ancient wisdom. 

He turned his gaze from the stars to you, his heart aching with a deep, primal fear. One that he had not felt in a long time.

“Stay with me,” he implored quietly as if he was praying to himself. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars flickering in silent sympathy.

Ron paused when he saw something move under the coat he had laid on your front as a blanket. Ohn’s ears twitched and she looked up groggily, only to be met with the grotesque sight of your flesh seemingly moving and writhing underneath the coat.

As if possessed, your back arched violently and dozens of thorns burst off your gaping chest, sprouting like tendrils as it moved wildly around.

Choi Han immediately stood behind Cale’s unconscious body, his sword already out as he stared at your body with a guarded gaze. “W-what the--?”

Rosalyn immediately woke up, stepping away from you and watching as your body convulsed even though you were still unconscious. “[N-name]?!”

Your body convulsed wildly, the thorns growing longer as it seemed to be reaching for the skies. Choi Han looked at them all cautiously and turned to Rosalyn. “Should we cut it down?”

“We don’t know what it will do to her if we do,” Rosalyn said. “We should try to contain her--”

Before Rosalyn could finish her sentence, the thorns slowly began to slow their convulsions and retract back to your gaping chest. Its thorns retracted and grew softer, taking the form of ordinary vines as it draped along your body similar to a tapestry, the prettiest hyacinths growing around you like the most beautiful blanket.

Rosalyn hesitantly touched the flowers, checking for any abnormalities to see if they posed any danger. Once she had confirmed that the flowers were safe, she went ahead to check your chest, trying to see if you were bleeding out from what had just happened. She separated the blankets of flowers to see your once gaping chest was now plugged with dozens of vines knotted together. They started from your flesh as if they were your veins, becoming more prominent as they reached your chest and became all knotted together to plug your wound.

“How fascinating,” Rosalyn murmured, her eyes glimmering. She leaned forward, gently running her fingertips along the green vines, seeing how they faded from red as they came from your veins to green like a typical plant.

You were peaceful within your slumber, unaware of the chaos that you had created in the world of the conscious. 

The world was hazy when Cale slowly opened his eyes, the soft glow of sunlight spilling into the room like liquid gold. The rays struck his pale face, painting him in ethereal light as the weight of sleep still clung to his limbs. The sound of the curtains being drawn filled the air, the faint rustle of fabric accompanying the light's advance. Cale winced, raising a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

A low groan escaped his lips, barely audible, but enough to make Ron turn. The ever-composed butler approached swiftly, his steps as quiet as a shadow. 

“Young Master-nim,” Ron’s voice was calm, a steady anchor in the waking haze. “You’re awake…”

Cale sat up slowly, every movement deliberate as though he was piecing himself back together. He barely had a moment to breathe before warmth crashed into him.  

“Huummannnnn! Stupid, stupid human!”  

Raon’s tear-filled cries filled the room as the dragon clung to him, his small body trembling with relief. Ohn and Hong quickly joined, their soft, furred forms pressing close to Cale, their cries mingling with Raon’s as they buried themselves against him. Their tears soaked into his clothes, their overwhelming relief a storm that engulfed him.  

Cale blinked, disoriented, his hands instinctively reaching out to comfort them. He clumsily patted Raon’s head, his fingers trembling as they ruffled the dragon’s dark mane.  

“Hey now,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak. “I’m fine. I’m here.”  

His words did little to stem their tears, but they clung to him as though they feared he might vanish again. Raon sniffled loudly, his round eyes peering up at Cale with a mix of relief and scolding.  

Ron stood nearby, watching the scene with quiet detachment, though a faint glimmer of something softer lingered in his eyes. “Five days,” he said at last, his voice cutting through the cacophony. 

Cale glanced up at him, his own exhaustion still clinging to his features. “How long…?”  

“It’s been five days since we rescued Miss [Name],” Ron replied.  

Cale’s brow furrowed, his voice dipping into concern. “Is she—?”  

Ron’s frown was subtle but heavy. He shook his head. “She’s still unconscious. We’ve done all we can, called every advanced healer there is, but nothing seems to work.”  

Hong pressed his small head to Cale’s stomach, his voice a whisper tinged with worry. “She wouldn’t wake up at all… We’ve tried so hard…”  

Cale’s hand moved to Ohn, gently stroking her soft fur. Her wide eyes shimmered with tears as she rested her head on his lap, her quiet sniffles breaking his heart.  

“I missed you…” she murmured, her voice fragile.  

“I never left,” Cale muttered in reply, his hand lingering on her head as a frown tugged at his lips.  

Ron, ever the vigilant butler, stepped forward, his sharp gaze raking over Cale’s form. “How are you feeling, Young Master-nim? Any pain?”  

“I’m fine,” Cale replied, though his voice lacked conviction.  

Ron’s hands were quick, professional as they checked his injuries, his touch brushing lightly against the faint scar over Cale’s chest—the spot where nature itself had torn into him. The wound was sealed now, but it carried the weight of the battle etched into his very being.  

“I would call that impossible,” Ron muttered, his tone flat yet pointed. “But considering it’s you, Young Master-nim, I will simply choose to believe you… and forbid you from overexerting yourself.”  

Cale arched a brow, his lips quirking faintly. “So you don’t believe me.”  

Ron’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Oh, I would never distrust your words,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with faint sarcasm as he finished inspecting the scar.  

“Everything looks good,” Ron concluded, stepping back.  

Cale sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He glanced at Raon, Ohn, and Hong, their tear-streaked faces now calmer but still clinging to him like shadows. A faint smile played on his lips, though weariness hung heavy in his eyes.  

“Looks like you all didn’t miss me at all,” he murmured softly, his words betraying the comfort he found in their presence.  

Raon’s tail flicked, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor. “Stupid human. Of course we missed you! Don’t say stupid things!”  

Cale chuckled faintly, the sound low and hoarse, but genuine. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”  

And though the room was still tinged with the weight of worry, for a brief moment, there was peace. It wasn’t long before he had to wash up and get ready for breakfast, so he reluctantly got out of bed -- the first time he was voluntarily getting up early -- and walked to the en-suite bathroom attached to his bed chambers.

The warmth of the morning lingered as Cale stood at the washbasin, splashing water onto his face. The coolness jolted his senses awake, washing away the haze of sleep and the remnants of the days spent unconscious. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him—pale, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, a silent testament to his overuse of powers.  

Behind him, the soft patter of paws and the faint swish of a tail broke the quiet. Raon, Ohn, and Hong hovered near the doorway, watching his every move as though afraid he might collapse again.  

“Are you just going to stand there?” Cale asked, his tone light but teasing as he toweled off his face.  

Raon puffed out his chest. “I’m supervising! A mighty dragon never leaves his human unattended after such a reckless stunt.”  

Cale chuckled softly, his breath fogging the mirror for a moment. “And what about you two?” He glanced at Ohn and Hong, who stood quietly behind Raon.  

Ohn shuffled her paws, her ears flicking nervously. “We’re just… making sure you’re okay.”  

Hong nodded, his tail swaying faintly. “You scared us, you know.”  

Cale sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face them. “I’m fine, see? Now, let’s go eat before Ron starts lecturing me about skipping meals.”  

Raon trotted ahead, his wings fluttering slightly as he led the way to the dining area, while Ohn and Hong stayed close to Cale’s sides, their small forms a comforting presence.  

The dining room was bathed in soft light, the table already set with a simple but hearty breakfast. Ron stood by, his ever-present smile as calm as the morning air. He stepped forward as soon as Cale sat down, pouring a cup of tea and placing it within arm’s reach.  

“Young Master-nim, the tea will help replenish your energy. Please, enjoy the meal.”  

Cale eyed the tea warily. “If this is one of your concoctions, I’ll pass.”  

Ron’s smile didn’t falter. “It is merely a blend to aid recovery. Nothing more.”  

“Hmm.” Cale picked up the cup but didn’t drink just yet, focusing instead on the plate of food in front of him.  

Raon was already settled beside him, his tail thumping against the chair as he reached for a piece of bread. “Human, eat lots! You need to get your strength back.”  

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Cale muttered as he took a bite, the warm flavors spreading across his tongue.  

Ohn and Hong sat across from him, quietly nibbling on their own portions. Every so often, Ohn would glance up at Cale, her large eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Hong, meanwhile, focused on his food but kept sneaking looks at his brother and sister, as though ensuring they were also eating properly.  

Ron moved silently around the room, refilling tea and occasionally adjusting a plate, his movements so seamless they barely registered.  

“So,” Cale began after a few bites, breaking the gentle rhythm of the meal. “What’s the plan for today?”  

Ron paused briefly, his gaze meeting Cale’s. “Today, you rest, Young Master-nim.”  

Cale raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ve rested enough.”  

“Your body would disagree,” Ron replied smoothly. “And so would those who were left worrying over you.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward the children.  

Raon, mid-chew, nodded emphatically. “You are resting, human. Don’t even think about using that scary power again. I won’t let you!”  

Hong chimed in, “We’ll make sure you don’t.”  

Cale let out a small sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll rest. But I need to go see [Name] first.”

“Of course, Young Master-nim,” Ron replied immediately, nodding his head.

“Who’s with her right now?” Cale asked, watching Raon happily stuff his mouth with another roll and Ohn and Hong share a quiet exchange.

“Choi Han,” Raon answered with a cheer, smiling widely. “He said there was someone else like him now.”

Cale blinked. Right. Him, Rosalyn, and Cale himself practically walked down your memory lane after being connected by the powers within that island. Choi Han must be happy and even curious about you now that he knew you were someone from another world like he and Cale was. 

He must be eager to talk with you.

“I see,” Cale murmured between bites. “I’ll see her after breakfast.”

“I’ll go too,” Hong said with a smile. “I want to see her too.”

“We all do,” Cale replied softly, caressing Hong’s head.

For now, things were calm. And Cale would take that small mercy, even if he knew it wouldn’t last. Your room constantly haunted his mind throughout the breakfast, but he didn’t rush himself to it. He let himself rest for a moment with he children after breakfast before they all headed there together.

He figured that Choi Han must have left for breakfast when he got there, because the moment he entered your room, he saw Cage standing by your bed. He approached the woman slowly, seeing the anxious expression on her face. “Miss Cage. How are you?”

“Cale-nim!” Cage greeted, her eyes widening. “How are you? Is everything okay? I heard you woke up today but didn’t think I’d see you.”

“I’m fine,” Cale said, unconsciously placing his hand on top of his chest where his heart resides, feeling the bumps of the ugly scar there through his clothing. He looked down to where you were, seeing you lay on the bed, hair spread out on the crisp, white pillows. Your face was sunken and pale, your body hidden away by the neat sheets which proved that you hadn’t moved at all ever since you were laid down there. 

There was a dip on the foot of the bed, similar to the one he had on his where the kids would sleep. He silently wondered how many times the kids had stayed here with you instead of with him. He looked up, back to Cage. “I suppose you’re here to visit [Name]?”

Cage stared at him, her expression grim. “Y-yes… I had a vision, of some sort.”

She glanced back at you. “I saw Miss [Name] and the God of Death. He took her.”

Cale’s heart felt like it missed a beat, his stomach suddenly aching from the anxiety. “What?”

“He took her,” Cage repeated. “H-he gave her something and she took it and then she just… disappeared. She ended up with him.”

“I’m afraid you’re not being very clear,” Cale said with a frown. “Ended up with him?”

“She’s with the God of Death now, Cale-nim,” Cage said. “She’s dying.”

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound breaking the silence. Cale sat motionless, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped on his hand. Raon was curled up on his lap, his small body radiating warmth against Cale’s exhaustion. The dragon’s tail flicked occasionally, a restless movement betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.  

Cale’s gaze remained fixed on your face, pale and serene, like a marble statue. The delicate rise and fall of your chest was both a comfort and a torment—proof you were still here, yet unmoving, locked in some place Cale couldn’t reach.  

Cage’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain: “She’s with the God of Death now. She’s dying.”  

It has been a full week since then. They tried to gather priests and even the Saint, but nothing seemed to help.

His hand absently moved to Raon’s head, stroking between the dragon’s small horns. Raon let out a soft hum, pressing closer to him.

“Human,” the dragon murmured, his voice barely audible. “She will wake up. I believe it.”  

Cale didn’t respond, his fingers halting for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. Raon’s faith was unshakable, but Cage’s vision gnawed at him, a dark weight pressing against his chest.  

Ohn stirred slightly near your shoulder, her soft fur brushing against your skin as she stretched her small legs and resettled herself, her tiny breaths mingling with yours. On your stomach, Hong kneaded gently, his rhythmic purring a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence.  

‘Cage said the God of Death took her,’ Cale thought, his frown deepening. ‘What does that even mean?’

The God of Death was no stranger to him—a force that lingered on the edges of mortal comprehension, powerful and merciless. If you were truly in His hands, what could he possibly do? The thought of someone so close to him caught in the grasp of that enigmatic being churned his stomach.  

“I can’t just sit here,” he muttered, breaking the silence.  

Raon lifted his head, blinking up at him. “Then what will you do, human? You’re supposed to rest.”  

Cale didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on your face, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement, but you remained still. His hand moved from Raon’s head to his chest, pressing against the scar there, as though willing himself to focus.  

“I’ll find a way,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “There’s always a way.”  

Raon’s round eyes studied him, filled with worry but also trust. “Then I’ll help. We’ll all help. Ohn, Hong, and I—we’ll do whatever you need.”  

Cale’s lips quirked into a faint, fleeting smile. “Of course you will.”  

But even as he spoke, his mind raced. If the God of Death truly had you, he needed answers—and fast. Few beings in the world could meddle with something as enigmatic as the God of Death, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He never did.

“Human.” Raon’s voice was stronger this time, pulling Cale from his thoughts. “She will wake up. We’ll make sure of it.”  

Cale didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his hand returning to Raon’s head. “You’re right, Raon. She will.”  

“Will you wait for her?”

Cale snapped his head up, heart lurching in his chest. The voice was cold, unyielding, and familiar—one he’d never thought he would hear so close again. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the figure standing by the foot of your bed.

There He was, the God of Death.

His presence filled the room like a thick, oppressive fog. The air grew colder, and even Raon stirred on Cale’s lap, his small body suddenly rigid with unease. Cale didn’t even notice, too consumed by the figure before him. 

The God of Death stood as He always did—humanoid in form, His features barely human, his tall, shadowed silhouette more an embodiment of the unknown than a mortal being. His face, though not quite like a person’s, was lined with a calm, otherworldly beauty, a mask of serene inevitability. His eyes were voids, endless and fathomless, where time and space seemed to converge, swirling like an endless abyss. Yet His gaze was not unkind—merely detached. He was beyond any emotion Cale could comprehend. 

Cale’s chest tightened, but he refused to flinch. He had met the God of Death before, had bargained with Him, but now? Now, with you lying so still and silent on the bed, now with the knowledge that He was planning to take something precious from him? The chill of His presence felt like it was crawling under Cale’s skin, settling into his bones.

"She is not dead," Cale said, his voice low, more a statement than a question. His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair, his pulse quickening despite himself. "So why are you here?"

The God of Death tilted His head slightly, the faintest movement, but it spoke volumes. His voice came again, like the wind itself—a whisper that reverberated in the back of Cale’s mind. 

"She is dying. Whether you accept it or not, the moment I took her, it was sealed." 

Cale’s heart twisted painfully. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. "She’s not dying. I won’t let her. You can’t take her from me."

The God of Death’s gaze shifted from Cale to you, still and pale beneath the sheets. There was no pity in His expression—just an infinite calm, a certainty that made Cale feel small in comparison. 

"She has already given herself to me. She will join me and others," He said, His words floating in the air like an inevitable conclusion. "There is no changing this. She will not wake on her own."

Cale’s chest constricted, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable, but Cale’s focus never wavered from the God of Death.

"Is that it, then?" Cale’s voice cracked but he held His gaze. "You’re here to tell me there’s nothing I can do? That she’s already gone?"

The God of Death did not respond right away. He simply regarded Cale with an almost imperceptible tilt of His head, as if studying him, contemplating the answer.

"Nothing you can do," He repeated slowly, each word wrapped in finality. 

"But..." The God of Death paused, and for the first time, Cale felt an uneasy shift in the air, as if something far darker was behind those words. "Will you wait for her? Will you stand by her side as she fades from this world and into my domain?"

Cale’s hand clenched into a fist. He could feel the warmth of Raon’s scales against his skin, the steady thrum of his heart, and the weight of the room pressing in on him. 

"I’ll wait," Cale said firmly, his voice quieter now but steady. "But I will not stop looking for a way. I’ll find a way to bring her back."

The God of Death was silent for a long moment, as though considering Cale’s defiance. His eyes, though hollow, seemed to glimmer for just an instant—an unreadable emotion flickering in the depths. 

"Your persistence will not change what is inevitable. But..." His voice trailed off, the weight of His words hanging heavy in the air. "You may stand beside her if you so wish. But know this—she will never belong to you in the way you desire." 

Cale’s eyes hardened. “She belongs to no one but herself. And if she wakes... I’ll make sure of that."

The God of Death gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, His presence pulling back just a fraction, but never quite leaving. He tilted His head again, the faintest trace of something almost like curiosity in His eyes.

“Then I will leave you to your vigil. But remember, Cale Henituse—she cannot escape this.”

And with that, the God of Death faded, His figure dissolving like smoke, leaving Cale alone with the weight of the room and the heavy stillness of your slumber. 

The cold remained, lingering in the air, but something inside Cale hardened. He would wait. He would stand beside you, and even if the God of Death’s words held some truth, Cale would make sure you never felt alone. 

He would not let you fade into the void without a fight.

Suddenly, Ohn and Hong sat up, their fur bristling and tails standing stiff in shock, their wide eyes fixated on you. 

Cale’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the slight movement, the slow twitch of your fingers beneath the sheets, a faint flutter of your eyelids. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, the hope stirring within him like a flicker of light in the darkness. But then you shifted again, your breath hitching as your chest rose just a little more sharply.

Raon leaped off Cale’s lap in an instant, his wings flaring as he shot toward your bedside. 

"H-human?" Raon’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and hope, his small body quivering with excitement. "Is she...?"  

Cale’s breath caught, and without thinking, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving your form as he knelt at the side of the bed. His hand hovered over your own, as if unsure whether to touch you or let you come back to him on your terms. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seconds stretched into eternity.

Then, a soft gasp—your body stirred again, and for the first time, your eyes fluttered open. Not fully, but enough for a sliver of light to break through the veil that had enveloped you. The warmth in Cale’s chest was overwhelming, and he felt his hand tremble as he finally reached for yours, gently cupping it with his own. 

“[Name]?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the weight of his anxiety. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breath, shallow but steady. Then, you blinked, slowly focusing on him, your eyes still clouded with confusion, but they were alive. 

"…Cale?" Your voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make his heart soar.  

Cale’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he should smile or cry. Instead, he simply squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur of relief. "I’m here." 

Ohn, who had been watching from the side of the bed, let out a relieved whine, nuzzling into your side. Hong, still curled on your stomach, tilted his head and purred softly, rubbing his face against yours in a quiet greeting. The children were no longer anxious, their soft breaths matching the rhythm of yours as they instinctively sought comfort in your revival.

Raon hovered just above the bed, wings flapping lightly in a tiny victory. "Told you, human! She will wake up!"

You blinked again, more clearly this time, and your gaze drifted over to the three of them—Ohn, Hong, and Raon—before finally focusing on Cale. The confusion in your eyes slowly morphed into recognition, but there was something more in them too—a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something even Cale couldn’t quite read.

"What… happened?" Your voice was still weak, barely more than a breath. "Why am I…? I thought…" 

Cale’s heart twinged at the memory of Cage’s words. He fought to steady his voice, to keep his composure as he gently stroked your hand. “You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.” 

He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting the God of Death to reappear. But there was nothing—only the quiet hum of life in the room.  

"You’re safe now," Cale continued softly, bending down slightly to be closer to you. "You don’t need to worry."  

The air was thick with unsaid things, but right now, there was no need for explanations. No need to dwell on what had been—only on the fact that you were awake, breathing, here with him.  

The children settled beside you, their presence a comforting weight on the bed, and Raon perched on the edge, eyes full of determination. "I’ll protect you, little [Name]! I won’t let anyone take you again!"  

Cale couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned his attention back to you, watching you slowly blink in and out of focus as you tried to make sense of the world around you. He was patient, as patient as he could be in that moment, his hand never leaving yours.  

"Rest," he whispered, his voice softer now. "You’re safe. You’re here."  

And for the first time in days, Cale let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. You had come back, against all odds. And as long as you were here, he would find a way to keep you from ever slipping away again.

You looked up at him, gaze tender and apologetic as tears well up in the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry… For leaving.”

“It’s okay,” Cale murmured. “You were… blindsided.”

“I was an idiot,” you murmured with a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the tears slowly fell.

“Sleep,” Cale murmured, hesitantly pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ll be here. We’re all here.”

[thoughtsroamguy]

Meet our titular Xivo, Goddess of Chaos and Life. The infinite expanse of void that she existed in was cold and lonely, so she created the universe and everything in it. Her thoughts can become reality in an instant, but it seems to never be enough for her, until one pivotal creation.

Find out why she cried in Tears of Xivo.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Why yo JJK Daddy won't fuck you in his domain

or

Questions We Were Too Afraid to Ask About Gojo's Domain Mid-Fiuck

Q.) Would a normal human suffocate in Gojo’s Infinite Void? Is it a slow death by asphyxiation, or something worse?

Ans.) Okay, picture this: you’re trapped in a space where time, reality, and the very fabric of your sanity start glitching out like a Windows XP error screen. Now ask yourself—would you be thinking about oxygen, or would your brain already be deep-fried beyond recognition? Let’s break it down:

Instant Incapacitation: The moment Infinite Void activates, your brain is force-fed an infinite stream of information. It’s like trying to read every Wikipedia article at once while someone screams quantum physics into your ear. You don’t even get the chance to feel yourself suffocate—because you’re already mentally done before your lungs even remember they exist.

Infinity’s Environmental Control: Gojo controls space at an atomic level, right? If he can stop physical objects but still let oxygen in when fighting, then he’s probably not sealing his Domain like a vacuum chamber. Your lungs might be fine, but your brain? Completely bricked.

Domain Mechanics: Domains are spiritual barriers, not physical ones. While they trap targets, they don’t inherently cut off external airflow unless the user explicitly designs them to (e.g., a water-based Domain). Gojo’s focus is on information overload, not environmental sabotage.

Verdict: You’re not suffocating. You’re getting an eternal brain freeze while Gojo stands there looking pretty. If death had a blue screen of death, this would be it.

TDLR: You die, but not from lack of air. You die because your brain is sent to the fifth dimension against its will long before suffocating can become an issue.

Q.) What if he's like having sexy times with his wife and he like you know…. arrives at the station and accidently activates it then would she suffocate????

Ans.) Picture the surreal horror of an intimate moment shattered by cosmic miscalculation. Even in this absurd scenario, suffocation remains unlikely. Here’s why:

Activation Demands Total Focus: Gojo’s Infinite Void requires hand signs and chanting. If he’s “arriving at the station” mid-sexy-time, his brain is probably focused on… other priorities. Domain Expansions demand intense concentration—hard to pull off when you’re, uh, distracted. Or, Infinite Void isn’t a button you can hit by accident. It requires precise hand signs and an unwavering focus—a mental state that’s nearly impossible to maintain when you're caught in a passionate embrace. Your mind is split between desire and duty, and the latter simply can’t be achieved halfway. Or, Infinite Void isn’t a sneeze; it’s a full-on hand-sign-chanting-mind-focus event. If he’s “arriving at the station,” his brain is, let’s just say… preoccupied. And last I checked, you need at least some mental bandwidth to activate a Domain Expansion.

Even If It Happens (Somehow, Someway)-Infinity’s Autopilot: Even if he somehow activated it, his Limitless technique subconsciously filters threats. Air molecules = allowed. Suffocation = blocked. The Domain’s true purpose is to flood the target’s consciousness with overwhelming data, not to create a suffocating prison. His wife would still get oxygen—just also get a front-row seat to the cosmos screaming into her brain. Or, Gojo’s Infinity is basically his body's automatic firewall. If it filters poison gas, it sure as hell filters air molecules. His wife isn’t suffocating—she’s just getting front-row seats to cosmic horror at 4K resolution. Imagine mid-sex and suddenly, BAM—the entire universe starts whispering forbidden knowledge into your skull.

The Real Danger-Instant Neural Shutdown: Instead of a slow demise by lack of air, the person caught in the void would experience a rapid collapse of their mental faculties. Imagine an instantaneous, existential blue-screen of death—where your brain is the system crashing, not your lungs giving out. Or, she wouldn’t be gasping for air. She’d be locked in place, her mind thrown into a spiraling existential meltdown while Gojo panics, like, “Oh shit, wrong expansion—”

Gojo Would Shut That Shit Down IMMEDIATELY: Domains burn a ton of energy—he’d collapse it within seconds, realizing his mistake (and probably screaming in horror). Then he’d spend the next 72 hours groveling with limited-edition crepes and emergency foot rubs.

Verdict: So, while the headcanon is as wild as it is darkly humorous, the outcome isn’t a suffocation scenario. It’s a catastrophic, instantaneous mental overload—a cosmic “oops” that leaves you with nothing but a shattered psyche. So just trauma and a very awkward conversation with Shoko later.

TDLR: You know how you need to focus to get the optimal velocity in bed? It’s the same for him. He’s either focusing on the sex or the Domain—he can’t do both. (I know all men do is lie. SMH. Men right.)

And for this reason alone, NONE of your JJK Dads/Moms are fucking you in their Domains.

…Except maybe Takaba. But only if you’re funny enough. And even then, you’ll never know if he’s laughing with you or at you.

PS: These deductions are based on watching everything way too closely. If you disagree, let’s argue—after all, the void is infinite, and so are our headcanons.

Double PS, read comments. There's more deep discussion going on.

[dysansohmin]

what do you think abt DT now?

(sucking down like an entire liter of water) hold on

I am not through 7.2 yet, but I suspect that's not going to effect my answer here very much! I've definitely had some time to sit and think about it, and my major takeaways are:

The format of main expansion story content has changed. I am not holding out hope for it to come back. The sidequests were crazy sparse, and Tural suffered for it. As overwhelming as it can be to get to a new area and see 50 sidequest markers, many of which are gonna feel like a chore to clear if you are rushing - every one of those is a character beat, a little nuance to the setting, a chance to pause and look around the environment. I think that there's a bit of rose-colored glasses about what I'm about to say next, and it's a sentiment I've seen expressed a lot, that previous expansions were **edgier** in that, we got allusions and direct plot-handling of lots of nitty-gritty everyday life shit. Dawntrail is the tail end of that progression, with like. The standard of living and intercultural conflicts in Tural being ironed over entirely, this sense of an absurd & universal standard of living, that Tural feels very much akin to Living Memory as being like, a perfect little facade. I am anticipating that this may be challenged, but I think it also may not be! (Much like EW's Garlemald segment, another bugbear for people with this opinion). I am frustrated that Alexandria is getting the goods when I was so excited to see what they did with Tural. There's a good chance Tural will continue to be a playground for a scavenger hunt, and Gulool Ja Ja's legacy will continue to be that of like, a beloved righteous superpacifist or whatever! We might never get Whalaqee either! I'm doing the Wachumeqimqi quests rn (I hate it I hate how they named it I hate it) and the fisher one is like. I don't want to be herrrrrre Then again, I am enjoying observing what the devs dive into and what they don't. I would love to peek at the JPN script, but my Japanese is rusty and elementary, so. I would LOVE to know if the Shock and Awe flyer in Living Memory was a localization insertion - it's one moment that comes to mind as "oh they are working with what they have to inject some interesting complexity." Woulda loved to see more of that in Tural proper and not have it all penned off in War Criminal Infinite Growth Torment Nexus Electrope Land. It made me yearn for Stormblood! I'm very excited to revisit Stormblood now! I don't think I appreciated Stormblood properly the first time through! I say this knowing that the Stormblood localization DOES make me want to claw my own eyes out every 20 minutes, and by GOD does Stormblood have its own issues about many of the same things- I think the localization HAS gotten better, and I think that there is a general move in fantasy games right now to tamp down on the colonial legacy of fantasy RPGs. I think Dawntrail is situated in that context. I feel they tried very hard to be respectful, and what we got is shallower for it. It's really hard NOT to read that next to, say, Veilguard as a State of The Industry thing. Anyway, this was the expansion with the graphical update, so it makes sense that there was less time/resources devoted to quest design and writing. But it's also a bar-set, and I understand how game studios operate.

I will be playing MSQ much more slowly going forward. Even with how sparse the sidequests were, completing them in time with MSQ as they unlocked left me with a MUCH more favorable impression of DT than most of the people I saw rushing through it. My full-game playthough on Evka, I am totally adjusting my approach to match how I played DT: clear every single area of quests before moving onto the next. This has helped me a lot with my FOMO about the game, and really helped me slow down and read closer. This approach is helping rekindle my appreciation for ARR. It puts me in a more receptive mindset for things like the interminable Tombstone Shaaloani bit, or the post-Titan wine fetching. And it requires patience. If I start feeling impatient, I stop playing. Believe it or not, I was like, not tremendously impressed with the post-ShB patches because I felt like MSQ was just rehashing. I remember sitting there looking at Ardbertlidibus like, "fuck man, power of friendship. we get it." I took it too fast, and I was impatient to be Caught Up. I genuinely wish I could replay ShB for the first time and NOT just mainline the primary story, because if I was close-reading I would have gone totally insane about this game like, two or three years earlier.

The on-level content's never been more fun. I loved the dungeons/raids this time around. They have really honed in. There's less though! There's less combat! There's less gameplay and more story, which is wild, considering how little story there is. This was a sparse expansion. But I'm having a blast with what was there, and did ultimately feel satisfied. Again, this is where I'm setting my bar for expectations going forward, if I'm pleasantly surprised than that rules. I like that they're getting goofy with dungeons ago. Much as I groan when I drop into Strayborough, it's fun, and it puts me in mind of things I liked about ARR dungeons. I also love how they continue to play with duty support as a diagetic tool. This is now approaching 100% on being a wonderful MMO for people who want a single-player experience, which is a weird sentence! Even though I like the social aspect, I appreciate being able to drop into a new dungeon as a healer and getting to learn the mechanics myself firsthand, instead of being obligated to spoil myself with a dungeon guide to ensure a zero-death run. Environmental design also wowed me. There is a great mix of detail and traversability. I do miss the little tiny tableaus and unused locations of HW & StB, having a multilevel space to poke around. I am not a huge fan of DT's "split the zone in half so we can use it twice" structure. I want those zones to become unsplit, at some point in the story, if that's the case, and have an available instance where a previously untraversable area becomes so. At least an interactable, like an NPC who will ferry you from one side to the other? But the zones were gorgeous, the settlements had tons of fun little details, Tuliyollal is, again, the most impressive hub city in the game. (Sorry Crystarium!!! SORRY!) There were places that could have used polish to match it - The settlements Urqopacha felt much more living than Kozama'uka, for instance.

Previous expansion content is starting to suffer. I have NO idea how they are going to manage further re-balancing. Many of the jobs are no longer any fun to play until like, 80 for me. This problem is only going to get worse, and it's going to require major overhauls more and more frequently, and those overhauls are going to simplify rotations and pare down interesting toolsets. I worry!

This game is going to be about itself for the rest of its lifespan. Shadowbringers was the thesis. Endwalker was metatext. Dawntrail is the rehash. It will be all rehash from here on out, mark my words. Unless they are willing to pull back the stakes and refrain from parallels and drop us back into something like HW or StB (which I desperately hoped DT would be!) It's going to be the Azem show forever. Which, again, means the story is now much less important to me in terms of perceived quality. I'm just hoping they get silly with it? I made a post about shark-jumping. I will be clapping like a seal as this story calcifies and crumbles under its own live-service weight. All that lives must someday die. Except our subscription based MMO, which you can play forever. The tension is impossible to reconcile, and this is the way of episodic stories. It's going to get funny. I'm ready.

I... Understand the beef with Wuk Lamat. The data doesn't lie. My girl Lamaty'i has an ASTOUNDING amount of dialogue. Record-shattering. My girl Lamaty'i cannot stop fucking talking. Hear feel think. Big bug. Oh no she's seasick again. I think Sena Bryer's been an absolute trooper, I think this is a star role she should be proud of, and I think she's settled into the character nicely. And also, I get it. Lyse didn't deliver the entirety of the StB script. If this was Alphinaud I'd be seething. But, and here's the kicker, here's why I love her: kibty.

I still hate that fucking train! THE TRAIN IS ONLY A METAPHOR FOR SOCIAL PROGRESS INSOMUCH AS COLONIZATION IS. YOUR WALKABLE CITY LIGHTRAIL IS NOT AN UNCOMPLICATED GOOD, AND ALSO NOT COMPARABLE TO A "TRANS-CONTINENTAL RAILROAD." TRAINS ARE NOT LEFTIST, WHATEVER THAT MEANS. ARE WOMEN BOURGEOIS ETC & also KOANA WAS SO HIGH ON ADOPTEE RECONNECTION HE SUDDENLY DECIDED HE LOST HIS PARENTS AS A SWADDLED BABE, WHICH. OKAY Subjecting me to the entirety of Smile for the first time during the inspirational train sequence probably didn't help me suspend my qualms long enough to huff that Spirit O' Progress. And I had source Jeryk & Train Friends ON my Dawntrail bingo card. I wanted to see it. I asked for this. (head in my hands) Actually, this is something I haven't talked about: I feel really conflicted about Smile! They tackled a lot of kinds of American music for this expansion and normally I would be really into gospel being one of those genres - but god is it a stinker. god does it suck. fuck. I really wanted Alexandria to be a little more experimental for the soundtrack. The gamer EDM thing is low-hanging fruit, imo. I wanted to step into Solution 9 and be as wowed as I was in Tuliyollal, I wanted like, avant-garde jazz or funk or blues. (Hang on I just imagined electroswing S9 and had a coughing fit.) I was even hoping for like, some disconnect between the sonic/visual environment. Haven't fought Dancing Green yet, so I'm excited to hear that track but. They could have been more textured with this. Vanguard having that dubstep breakdown over the Shaaloani music got me READY and then S9 let me down. Every time I go turn in materia clusters it's like stepping into an elevator. Snooze!

In sum: Still unhappy the game has contented itself to discard Tural as a backdrop for inter-dimensional Alexandrian drama. I think Tural was fun, and am sad it did not get more room to breathe. WRT writing about nations, peoples, colonization, technology: there is no winning, but there is trying. I felt like I could see things there that did feel like earnest attempts to engage - traditional ways of life being upended, lost knowledge & skills, indigenous ways of teaching, sharing economies, etc. And also, these themes are being evoked in ways that naturalize them in a way it's fair to file under "a bit noble savage-y" & are divorced from their relationship to colonialism. Why did all of the Hanu forget about the harvest festival that has ensured their livelihood for years on end, and had to be instructed on it by Wuk Evu? Well like, you know. That's how these stories usually go, isn't it? The lazy youth spurn their elders' knowledge, and there is no particular outside force that threatens to destroy indigenous technologies, and no purpose to those technologies being supplanted, Koana just happens to be the World's First Turali Sharlayaboo and the steam locomotive is a net good and obviously no one on the entire continent could have figured out A Balloon without the Studium's help... Hey what's this plot about a moneylender? You know, unless the Hanu were ALL play-acting for Wuk to teach a lesson, as in the quest chain that also occurs in Ok'hanu, and like the cooking contest in Yak'Tel and, well. That's not how it panned out! The Blessed thing was! like. La raza cosmica had to be on the mind, yeah? But... I can't even really articulate anything about the Mamool Ja because the logic of that story section is so alien and inarticulate itself. I think the Yok Huy were underutilized. I think blue-eyed-babyfaced Christopher Columbus in his magic avatar forest hut was weird. I FEEL LIKE I WON'T HAVE AN INFORMED OPINION ABOUT THE POLITICAL BAGGAGE OF DAWNTRAIL UNTIL I REPLAY ARR-StB! Genuinely! I need a refresher! This is a game written by a Japanese team which featured an entire expansion about occupied China! And I was, again, rushing through that! I think a lot of the people speaking about Dawntrail ALSO rushed through that! Because the playerbase EXPLODED with EW, and this is the first expansion where many people have been around for the full dev cycle. But anyway, This was a fraught setting, and it seems like they're eager to abandon it now that it's set up Azem's Weird Cup. That makes me sad, even despite all the failings, because I think they failed in interesting ways, and they were always going to fail, and they were always going to do some things right, and there is no ONE way to talk about these issues, yeah. Biggest gripe is still Xak Tural and the way it was handled, and choosing the spaghetti western vibe over like, the cultures indigenous to the American southwest, that hadn't changed. I wanted to see it. I still want to see it. Me and Erenville are going and you are all invited. But pulling away from text and into Me The Player My Experience: I'm sitting pretty tight with FFXIV. I think I'm in this longhaul style, and again, I am satisfied with it as a game. There is NO way they could have kept up those chops. We got a pretty incredible first run, and I will feel fondly about it as a piece of writing for a long time. And I don't feel like I'm settling! I'm having fun! Higher quality fights in lower quantity is FINE by me! And my favorite thing in this type of game remains the busy work & grind, and the outfits and the decorating. My gameplay experience has not suffered, I am in fact having way more fun now than I was pre-EW.

In sum in sum: I think FFXIV is still pretty good, for an MMO. The format of an MMO is at odds with nuance. The format of an MMO is at odds with a story about grief and mortality. That FFXIV has received its accolades and is being held to this standard is, frankly, insane, what a crowning achievement in narrative design within these constraints. I don't mean to sound like I'm shoveling garbage in my mouth but I don't think I could have taken another ShB/EW type deal. Now, if they would just Slow the Fuck Down and make something that is not trying to match Endwalker's pacing... & I still don't know what Solar Bahamut is. And that scares me.