#i know that's not precisely equivalent

[sparksandspears]

So I just had a mild realization. The context:

The Latin language lacks a simple word for "yes." There are a lot of words than can be used to express affirmation, but none that don't have a more complex meaning that's more common (maybe some forms of āiō, but that's almost always used as "to say," anyway).

So when modern Latin students ask how to say "yes," there isn't an exact answer. What I learned, and what I think is most common, is ita vērō, which expresses a strong positive. Ita means "thus," "in such a way," or "so," and vērō is the adverbial form of vērus, meaning "true." Taken together, ita vērō then means "it is so indeed" or "truly it is thus," which can certainly be read as a strong form of "yes."

In another manner of thinking about it, though, this means that all around the world Latin students are learning that the most correct way to say yes is "so true," and I think that's great.

[v1nsincl4ir]

I bet You weren't expecting pony Sinclair brothers on Your dash/tags today huh.

Well that's Your own fault because You should always be prepared for the mlpification of Your favourite characters it's just a part of life. Autism demands strange crossovers and mine chose this one

Yes I will consider other slasher ponyfication requests if You have any

[bogleech]

So I clapped back at a middle aged conservative weirdo, the kind who's on here screaming at people about politics but also trying to be a softcore pornblog or unsuccessfully use tumblr like a hookup app, and when he pulled their usual "come over and fight me" routine he also very willingly provided an address when asked, which was blurred on google street view, which is something home owners can request.

Now my obvious thought is that he sent me someone else's place, but the same google search had also provided perfectly clear images of it thanks to the real estate industry.

And when I sent him one of these, he suddenly never responded again despite sending lots of vigorous threats up to that precise second, and that suggests to me that not only did he readily give out his address when asked, but he MAY have believed, somehow, that it was safe to do so as long as the house itself wasn't visible on street view. I do not know how that could have made sense to anybody, but sometimes children think they're invisible when they close their eyes, so maybe this is the internet tough guy equivalent to that level of reasoning. Obviously I'm not gonna really doxx him or use it. I mean, if I did then at most I'd send him a cute funny greeting card?

[renthony]

I have once again seen an aggressive do-not-interact banner with a long list of super-niche terms (some of which I genuinely have never seen before--I don't know what all your damn discourse acronyms mean, tumblr), followed by "and other basic DNI criteria."

"Basic DNI criteria" is a meaningless statement. What is "basic DNI" criteria to one subgroup on tumblr is complete nonsense to others. Define what the hell you actually mean by it or don't bother with a DNI at all. Be specific and precise in your language instead of relying on vague euphemism.

"Basic DNI criteria" is just about the emptiest form of virtue signalling you could engage in, because it doesn't mean anything. It stands for nothing. It's the equivalent of a sign that says, "Warning: Do Not." It's completely hollow.

If you put "basic DNI" in your posts/bio, I'm pretty much guaranteed to block you on sight, lest I get accused of violating a boundary that was never clearly expressed in the first place.

I find the efficacy and utility of DNIs to be nebulous at best, but if you are going to use them, at least make them actually communicate something. "Basic DNI" will literally never, ever mean the same thing to any two people, no matter how obvious you think it should be.

[nhtmcat]

Benedict Cumberbatch talks about Sherlock and Martin Freeman

Interviewer: Sherlock, anyone knows Sherlock? Obviously, it has been wonderful, but you had said that being in Sherlock that was magic. Why do you think that?

BC: Um… It was a lot of things. It was Martin. It was a modern era take on it. It was Steven… first of all, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss took something they were obsessive fanboys over with total respect, and they crafted a modern version of it with huge (amount) details, hugely rewarding loyalty towards the original stories, but with a very witty plot twist. And I think it was also, you know, it was the dawn of Twitter, and this guy was on the internet, and John Watson was blogging. And I think there was a synchronicity where television became, you know, it was pre streaming. It was sort of a water-cooler moment made digital. And I think that's why it went global. And I, I don't know, maybe it was the part that had just been waiting for me at the right time as well. I just loved it. It was just a heck of a thing. And again, the mental geek a bit. He had to be in the digital space the equivalent of the computers. He had to have an AI speed so that he was speaking as fast as most people think, but very quickly. And that was an acting challenge, and also to some extent having him work on this character, how that fits in society now, where you have asexuals, autists, whatever those, you know, you know, whatever theories of those kinds of wonderful superpowers are, you know. And I think that spoke to a lot of people, that he had a superpower. And socially incredible also such a lot of people take pleasure of other people being vicariously rude or straight, or direct.

Interviewer: No filters for him.

BC: Yeah, no filters for Sherlock. And I think that is a part of his appealing. He's brilliant. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant mind.

Interviewer: What was the first time you walk around the street without being unnoticed?

BC: Oh, you know, it was a particular type of hair, which I don't normally have. You know, I have dark hair and I don't usually have it that long. When I just stepped out of some, you know, pre-production, it literally was that I'd go to the hairdressers and come out, dyed and with the shade, and people literally crack it and sort of, oh, Sherlock! It’s him. It was the first time. And I remember when we were making it, Martin was already very famous from the Office. And when we kind of spent time with each other, started all sorts of, you know, people would sort of go, oh, this is Tim Canterbury! ‘Yeah, yeah, I mean, he's being younger than me, doesn't he? Yeah, yeah…’ He just joked about it.

Interviewer: He's such a fun and nice guy.

BC: Yeah, he's great. He's very funny. One of the funniest human beings I've ever met. And just so inventive and brilliant. And he filled that role with so much nuances and care. He's a precision artist, he's technically brilliant, but he's also a musician I mean, he's got jazz in there as well as every other kind of music. He's wonderful to work with, and like I said, I think that was very early in my answer, that was a huge part of it - that chemistry - that I liked to be there really well.

Red Sea International Film Festival, Q&A, 10 December 2024

[tinyowlthoughts]

The EC-Theobromine: Bluffing

There were many risks to exploring uncharted space. Unknown blackholes, near-invisible debris fields, hostile civilizations that had achieved space travel but had not yet been contacted by the Intergalactic Governing Body, pirates.

So. Many. Pirates.

Taurvin wasn't a big fan of pirates. Sure, he understood some of their motives - there were those who stole from the rich to give to the poor, or who attacked species intent on slavery and sapient experimentation to rescue the victims. But the majority were just, well.

To use a phrase from his new navigator, they were straight-up assholes.

And unfortunately, his ship was currently taken over by said assholes.

Five of them, to be precise. Normally his crew of nine could handle themself, especially with Lenzoill handling their security, but the bastards had taken them by surprise and used a blaster to Elaana's head to get them to cooperate. So there they were, eight of the best deep-space explorers the Intergalactic Exploration Committee had, kneeling (or the equivalent) before the pirates, limbs pinned behind them with cuffs, completely disarmed. 

Wait.

Ignoring the monologuing pirate captain, Taurvin glanced at his crewmates on either side and counted. Eight. Gorvan and Elaana to his left, Epitak and Dhaca to his right, Lenzoill and Quals slightly behind them, the former knocked out and leaning against the couch, while Ir'ith (who had mouthed off when they yanked out a handful of his feathers) glared daggers from the other side of the room. He'd been trussed up like a zagtul and was gagged, though that was doing little to stymie his attempts at cursing the pirates out. The one guarding him looked more amused than anything, which was likely the only reason the zad was still conscious. 

Still, that only came up to eight. Where was Max?

☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️

Az was having an absolutely stellar day. His crew was meeting expectations, his first mate was being competent for once (even if he hadn't knocked that huffing, cursing zad out yet), and the IEC ship was theirs to plunder. Not that there would be much beyond rations - these types of ships weren't the goldmines the Elite Star Cruises were, but they always had some type of laboratory equipment on board that would fetch a good price on the blackmarket. All in all, a good catch, and not a drop of bodily fluid spilt!

"Uh, did I miss an email?" 

Every head in the room swiveled towards the large doors that led to the halls, revealing a ninth crewmember they had missed. It was upright, bipedal, with two legs and two arms, and a head with fluffy hair. It was wearing standard-issue IEC sleeping garments, down to the slippers, though there was a belt loosely thrown around its waist, a blaster in the holster at its side. As they watched, it opened its mouth wide. At first Az thought it was some kind of threat display, until it stretched its arms over its head and arched its back. A yawn - had the simpleton been sleeping while they captured its crewmates? Pitiful. 

"You," Az motioned to one of his crewmates - he couldn't remember her name - "Tie it up with the others."

"Yes sir." Crewmate nodded, reaching for the extra cuffs hanging from her belt. 

The newcomer scratched at its head as she approached. "What, not going to ask me to dinner first?" It pressed its hands to its hips and leaned back, creating a horrible cracking noise that shot through the room like thunder. The pirates winced, as did some of the hostages. "I keep telling them not to do that," muttered the captured Lepidae, her antennae curling tight in annoyance. 

Crewmate hesitated, glancing back at Az. Surely a motion that produced a noise like that should have broken its back? But the creature seemed fine, now swinging one arm across their chest, caught in the bend of the other, apparently - stretching? They switched arms, seeming to bounce a bit as they moved, and Az gave her an impatient glare. He didn't know what creature this was, nor did he care - it was an obstacle, and needed to be dealt with.

In the second they had taken their gaze off it, the interloper had drawn their blaster. It was unlike anything Az had seen before, made of some kind of blue metal - perhaps cobalt? Vanadium? - with brighter markings painted along the sides. The barrel was blocked by some kind of disc - he couldn't see down it for a projectile, nor could he see any kind of energy-concentrating device for a laser. A type of deterrent ammo, perhaps? One not made to kill, but instead drive away? Little good that would do - they had already captured the ship.

"I've gotta say, I'm not really a fan of how you're treating my friends." It bounced a bit on its heels. "Then again, this gives me an opportunity to use the latest in human technology!" It waved the blaster a bit, and Az felt his internal organs shudder. Human technology? He'd never met a human himself, but he'd heard of them. Great, hulking beasts woven of dense muscle, with teeth able to tear through flesh and bone and a penchant for destroying first and never asking questions. How did this scrawny thing get its hands on a human weapon?

Before Az could demand the crewmate take care of the bipedal thing, it fired. The projectile was not particularly fast, but it was silent - no hum of energy or blast of the more primitive explosive some species favored. A near-silent click, and then Crewmate screamed and ducked away. They hadn't been shot, however - the projectile had hit Az. Right in the chest. The disc had attached to his armor, and there was a long, thin rod sticking out of it. He reached up to snatch it off, but a 'tut' sound from the interloper had him freezing.

"Don't touch it," the bipedal advised, still holding the blaster as it gesticulated. "Skin contact with the probe will make it work faster."

"Work?" His first mate asked with a strangled sound. The zad at his feet had gone silent, and was looking between Az's face and the probe attached to his chestplate with wide eyes. With so much of his beak and face covered by the gag the captain couldn't make out his expression, but he assumed it was terror - identical to his first mates. 

"Mmhmm." The interloper beamed, looking proud of itself. "The disc - the part attached to your armor there? - is reading and calculating the material makeup of your form. Then, when it's settled on what will be most painful, the foam will be atomically altered into the most effective acid for destroying you and then be injected into your torso - or whatever fleshy part is closest - and eat you from the inside." It was still bouncing on its heels, looking excited. "I've never seen it happen in person, do you mind if I take notes?"

Az didn't respond - he was frozen, staring down at the probe sticking out of his chest, terror curling in his chest. This was what the humans were up to? Creating biological acid weapons? No wonder they were so widely feared! "Crewmate, remove it!" He turned to the woman, only to find her with her backing up, hands raised, cuffs clattering to the floor.

"N-no way! I don't wanna be digested!" She gasped. Az turned to his first mate, who had lost the usual green flush to his face and backed away as well. 

"If you really want to get it off, you'll need some really strong pliers. And probably some anesthetic. It'll be painful - you can't feel it, but the probe's wires have already drilled through your chest plate and into your skin. They're made to be sneaky," it waved the blaster. Az glanced back down at the probe and grimaced. The thing sounded outlandish, but the interloper spoke with such conviction that he couldn't doubt it. And there were more of the probes - he could see them in a clip attached to the blaster.

The interloper tapped his chin with the blaster. "We don't have anything strong enough on board, but-"

"Fall back to the ship." Az snapped, all seven hearts racing in his chest. His crew didn't argue, falling in line at his side. They stared at the interloper, who took a step to the side, leaving the door open. It didn't point the blaster at them, but kept it in hand, watching them carefully as they rushed out, heading towards the docking port. 

When Az glanced behind them, he saw it following at a leisurely pace, blaster still in hand. Not wanting to get a second probe to his back, he practically threw his crewmates into their ship and set about undocking and getting as far from the cursed ship as possible. 

It was not a good day. 

☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️🏴‍☠️☠️

Ir'ith was losing his gods damned mind. He fell onto his side, cackling and wheezing, fighting against the gag to get enough air to keep up the laughter. The ship shuddered as the pirates undocked, then Max was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted. 

"Max! Are you unharmed?" Taurvin demanded, using Gorvan to lever himself to his feet. It was a bit awkward with his hands cuffed behind his back, but he managed to stumble to the human. 

"I'm fine." The navigator waved him off with the hand still holding the blaster. Taurvin flinched back, not wanting to come into contact with one of the probes, which set Ir'ith off into another gale of muffled laughter. Max rolled their eyes and, before Taurvin could stop them, pointed the blaster at the zad and fired several rounds. The probe's bright-orange discs hit and stuck to Ir'ith's uniform, and one hit the bit of his beak that wasn't covered, giving him a blue growth in the middle of his face.

"No! Max, how could you?" Elaana cried, struggling frantically against her cuffs. "Don't worry Ir, I'll be right there! We can save you." 

"Wait, did he get hurt?" Max stuck the blaster in its holster and hurried over to Ir'ith before Taurvin could stop him. The human dropped to their knees and helped the still wheezing zad sit up before pulling off the gag. 

"I'm fine!" Ir'ith reassured the others. "The darts don't do shit, stop worrying." He turned slightly so Max could fiddle with the cuffs around his wrists. They were an older model, nice and rusty the way pirates liked it, and only required two buttons being pressed at the same time to release. It took a bit of effort, but then the zad was freely rubbing his wrists. 

"But Max said it was a new human weapon!" Epitak accused, wings fluffing up and hitting Dhaca in the face. The snallygaster, being only three feet tall, was knocked over on his tail. 

"Oh, the probe stuff?" Max reached out and plucked one of said probes from Ir'ith's chest. "This is just plastic and foam - no technology at all." They wiggled the probe in their fingers, then stuck it to Ir'ith's beak, giving him two blue horns now. Elaana made a worried squeak, but didn't protest when the cook didn't show any ill signs. 

Max moved to help Taurvin with his cuffs. Once the captain had his two arms free, he had to ask, "Max, what exactly is that weapon?"

The human grinned, pulling the blaster from their belt and wiggling it. "This? It's Nerf, or nothin'." 

EC Theobromine Character & World Building Notes

EC Theobromine: Chocolate

[beneathashadytree]

HI GUYS! LONG POST, MAKING A BIG ANNOUNCEMENT OVER HERE! I WILL BE ACCEPTING WRITING COMMISSIONS FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS, DUE TO THE FACT THAT I LIVE IN EXTREME POVERTY… PLEASE REBLOG!!

Here are my commision prices:

1$-2$ —> an SMAU (depends on length)

5$ —> a drabble (around 500 words)

10$ —> a oneshot (around 1000 words)

20$ or more—> a ficlet (2000-4000 words or more)

What fandoms I’m willing to write for (the ones in bold are the ones I’m best at and hyperfixating on):

Attack on Titan

Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

My Hero Academia

Haikyuu!!

Jujutsu Kaisen

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Moriarty the Patriot

Tokyo Revengers

One Piece

Bungou Stray Dogs

Kuroko no Basket

Ikemen Sengoku

Ikemen Vampire

Ikemen Revolution

Ikemen Prince

Love and Deepspace (my current fav)

How do I request a commission?

Either contact me via my DMs here, or on my Ko-Fi! I’ll be linking my account at the bottom of this post.

What’s the commission format?

Tell me your name or your OC’s name, their gender & pronouns, describe them to me both physically and in terms of personality, then tell me which character you want me to write them with. I’ll be writing “character x reader” or “character x OC” fics, so I need to know what I’m working with! Any extra details will help a lot. Of course, we will discuss everything concerning your commission privately.

If you want to check out my previous works to have a rough idea of how things will look like, be sure to check out my masterlist, which is my pinned post! Of course, my writing improves over time, so it may not be precisely as it is there.

How do I pay you?

You can pay me via my Ko-Fi account, which is linked to my PayPal! Here’s the link to my Ko-Fi.

Please consider helping me out, whether by requesting a commission, or by sharing this post and my links as much as possible!! I’m trying my best to do all I can now that I haven’t got many options left.

As some of you might already know, I’m a dentist, but still at uni. Sadly, studying dentistry is extremely expensive, and I can’t rely on my parents to pay my fees for me for a few reasons.

The first being that my dad is a heart patient, and can’t work anymore. The pension he receives is literally less than the equivalent of 90 dollars. Of course, that doesn’t provide anything in terms of food and living (we usually can only afford a meal or two a day) except for some of his meds—not even all of them. His health is steadily declining.

My mother is extremely narcissistic and very, very abusive. I’ve gone through hell living with her because I have to, but even she can’t even afford to take care of us because no one wants to hire her at her old age, and she’s used up all her savings on my dad.

I’m also physically disabled, and can’t move around often. I also have to have surgeries every now and then because of the chronic illness I have.

I am in serious, dire need of money, both for my tuition fees, and hopefully to be able to live. I have to keep us afloat until I can get married in a couple of years, since I can’t live alone. Besides, my dad doesn’t deserve to suffer with his heart problems.

I tried working with dentistry last year, and that worked for a while, but this year no one’s hiring due to the terrible state of our economy. I have no skills aside from my writing, so that’s what I’ll have to work with. I’m getting seriously desperate, so I hope you guys understand why I’m doing this, and hopefully feel inclined to offer any support you can—even if not financial, but just by reblogging this post!

[natalievoncatte]

On Krypton, vows had meaning. Proclamations were not made lightly, and promises were not given casually. Kara’s peers wouldn’t throw one out as a reassurance, or to settle an argument. They were a logical people. They didn’t deceive, didn’t speak words they didn’t know to be true, and didn’t give opinions that were not informed. Society was ordered and regimented, and everyone put the greater good before themselves. So if you made a promise, no matter how great or how small, you would do it.

Kara learned, later in life, that a lot of her birth culture was, to use an English word that had no equivalent in her language, bullshit. Kryptonians would, she thought, claim that they had no use for such a vulgar term for cavalier prevarication because they did not practice it. That would had been a lie.

Her parents bullshitted her. They bullshitted her about the society she was growing up in. Her world wasn’t a real of perfect logic and order, it was a hidebound, decaying ex-empire that put tradition so irrationally high on a pedestal that they let their world be destroyed and all but a handful of their people wiped out because tradition said that her uncle was wrong about the planetary core going unstable.

Nevertheless, when Kara made a promise, she meant it. When she said she’d vowed to protect her adoptive home with her life, she meant it. Those words all but signed her life away in service to the cause. She was this way in everything, from saving the world down to brining Cat Grant a precisely prepared cup of coffee. Her promises meant something.

That was why she filled herself with dread the instant a promise, given unthinkingly in the heat of the moment, tumbled out of her mouth.

I will always be your friend, and I will always protect you.

She’d dishonored herself with the promise, one broken as it was made. She held Lena tight, speaking with conviction, and promised to be a friend even as she lied, swore to protect even as she deceived. It was a promise that couldn’t be kept no matter what she did.

Kara had become human in so many ways, and it gnawed at her. Another English word that had no exact Kryptonian equivalent was freedom. A proper Kryptonian would be horrified at ideas that boiled down to “I can do what I want”; I can choose my career, my partner, my life. I can put fulfillment ahead of the role chosen for me by those who know better. Yet Kara had embraced it full throated, making choices whenever she could.

The one thing she would never give up was the value of an oath.

She was over the Pacific, thinking. She would come out here from time to time to think and clear her head when the city soundscape became overwhelming, and just let herself drift in the air. There were no texts to agonize over, no emails from Snapper, nothing but herself and the lapping of waves and the distant rumble of storms over the open ocean.

She’d been coming out here more and more of late, not to think but to avoid thinking.

Because Lena knew, and Kara knew something was wrong. She could be dense about human behavior sometimes, but she was no fool… and she had super senses. She could read Lena’s pulse and see infrared flush of her skin and spot micro-movements of her eyes. Kara wanted desperately to believe that nothing was wrong but her instincts said otherwise.

When Kara told her, Lena had gone stock still and stared at her with what Kara thought was hatred, bringing tears. She’d tried to tell her how sorry she was, but Lena had just walked right past her and only later returned to her usual self.

Almost.

Kara had thrown herself into it, going on a campaign of what Alex had called ‘peacocking’ for some reason, all but burying Lena with super-stunts like fetching fresh pastries from French patissiers. Lena had smiled and thanked her but there was something flat and distant in it, and Kara ignored it and insisted that all was well.

Out here, with just the storms and her secrets, she knew it wasn’t.

Kara fingered the crest on her chest, worrying her thumb over the crimson fabric of the El rune. This meant something. It meant both ‘hope’ and ‘stronger together’; the two ideas were inextricably linked but her cousin only understood one of the meanings, because Kryptonian pictographic language was complex, and he was not Kryptonian in any way that mattered.

That was another great failing, a promise that Kara made but didn’t keep. By her people’s standards, there was no shame in that; one did not bear the responsibility of a promise made under duress, or a promise that others demanded knowing that it couldn’t be kept.

The only one she’d kept Kryptonian was herself, deep in a secret corner of her soul that meant it if she said she’d be at your birthday party or bring you a donut. The part that treated promises like promises.

There was only one way to cleanse herself, and remove her shame. She knew what it was, but she was afraid. Kara had battled monsters and gods, faced death more than once, lost more than any person should have to lose in a dozen lifetimes, but there was one thing she feared above all others.

She feared that first honest look on Lena’s shocked face more than she feared an eternity without stars. She could live in the void between realities; a void without Lena would kill her more surely than any green poison.

Now. She had to do it now, before she lost her nerve. She flew back to the city, flew hard, slowing only to land on Lena’s balcony, softly. As she raised her hand to knock on the glass of the door, she hesitated, nearly turned back.

Lena opened it, and Kara let out a slow breath. Lena was wearing only a loose, flowing floral robe, with clearly nothing beneath it. Terror made her listen- if Lena had a guest in that state, Kara might just fling herself into the sun and be done with it.

She was alone. Lena shifted on her feet.

“Why are you all wet?”

Kara’s hair was damp with sea spray and she’d flown through a few clouds on her way back.

“I like to fly over the ocean and think.”

“Well, come in here already. Let me get you a towel. Do you want something to change into?”

Kara swallowed hard. No. She wanted the honor of her family on her chest right now. She needed it to make her brave, like her father said it would when he sent her into the void. She did take the towel.

Lena had been enjoying her tea and sad breakfast -toast with jam- before Kara arrived. She left it on the counter and sat on her couch, leaving Kara to pace.

“I can tell you’re upset,” said Lena. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” said Kara. “I have a lot to say and I don’t know how to say it. I haven’t told you the full truth and I have to. I need to. It’s eating me alive inside.”

Lena swallowed hard, her heart racing.

“Please don’t tell me you’re Batman, too.”

“Lena, this is serious.”

Kara swept across the room and knelt in front of her, and Lena’s eyes shot open wide in surprise. Kara looked at the carpet in front of her, unable to look Lena in the eye.

“A long time ago, I promised you I’d always take care of you, and I didn’t. I was lying to you when I said it and I lied to you for years after.”

“Kara…”

“Please,” desperation choked her voice, “let me finish. I owe you the full truth. I promised, and promises are sacred to Kryptonians. My soul will be stained forever unless I fulfill the oath I made.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Yes it was,” said Kara. “It was to me. It was everything to me. Please.”

Lena cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“I told you I lied to you to protect you. That was another lie. That’s not why I did it. I lied because I was weak and I put my own feelings ahead of doing what was right. I was scared. I was scared that if you knew it would change how you saw me and it would change our relationship. You were the only person I could almost be myself with and I didn’t want that to change. You were a safe person I could go to without having to be Supergirl.”

Lena was studying her, a soft hint of skepticism in her expression.

Kara stood up and paced.

“I don’t know how to do this, Lena. I may act human and look human but I’m not. I grew up on another planet with another culture and so many things about this world are just totally different from how I was raised.”

Kara took a deep breath.

“On Krypton we didn’t have queerness. People didn’t value freedom of choice. You did what society told you to do. You joined the guild you were pledge to at birth and married the person you were told to marry and had the offspring you were told to have and raised them to do the same thing. The same fucking thing.”

Lena sat up at Kara’s sudden, vehement profanity.

“I didn’t know the word freedom until I arrived here. I had no concept of it. I had no idea how fragile and precious it is. Sure, I talked about it and wrote essays about it in school, but I didn’t get it. Not until I met you.”

Kara looked at Lena.

“You are my freedom. You’re the first thing I’ve ever chosen, really chosen, in my life, besides being Supergirl. It was you that made me look Cat Grant and Alex both in the eyes and say ‘no, this is what I want, this is how it’s going to be for me and it’s my choice, not yours.’ Back home I never, ever would have even thought what I’m about to say now.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid it would change our relationship. I was afraid you’d hate me because I kept the secret too long, but I was also afraid of what has to come after confessing my identity to you, Lena. The next part is even harder.”

“Kara,” Lena began.

“I have feelings for you.”

Lena went still, her eyes wide. “What did you say?”

“I want to be myself with you. My whole self, my real self. Not the person I think I have to be to please someone else. I want to tell you everything you want to know about my home and my people and my life and I want to know everything about you. I want to hear you laugh for me and see the look in your eyes when you’re happy to see me. I want to care for you when you’re sick and hold you when you’re sad and be the person that matters to you like you matter to me.”

Kara sucked in a deep breath.

“I used to think I was happy just being Kara with you. Not being Kara Danvers or Kara Zoe-El, just me… but I’m not me without both of those pieces and being without them isn’t good enough. I want you to know the real me. The girl from Krypton who went to high school in California.”

Lena stood up slowly, clearly forcing her breathing even. She adjusted her robe around herself, and looked at Kara for too long a time, silent.

“I hurt you when I promised I’d protect you and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“What do you want from me? To tell you it’s okay?” said Lena. “Is that what you want? Because it’s fucking not.”

Kara flinched. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Lena had given her this courtesy and she’d give it in return.

“It wasn’t just you, Kara. I built my whole life around you and your friends and they became my friends. You gave me a normal world. I got to be a regular girl when I was with you and the others. Do you have any idea what that means to me? What you did to me when you ripped it away? Do you have any idea how you’ve torn me to shreds?”

Kara choked a little, and tried to hold back the tears, and failed.

“I killed Lex. I killed him and I hid his body, myself. I killed my brother for you. And the worst part is I’d do it again. If it was him or you I’d kill him again.”

Cold dread flooded through her.

“That was my fault. That was exactly the kind of thing that I should have protected you from, and I failed you." Kara's breath hitched as she bit back a sob. "I should go."

Lena moved quickly and grabbed her arm tight. "Don't you fucking dare leave. You can't just say those things to me and leave."

Kara's nostrils flared as she sucked in a big breath.

"Lex told me who you were as he was dying. He showed me."

Kara looked at her. "Oh."

"I started to hate you. I started to believe the things he said about you. And what happened then? You told me! You just blurted it out!"

Lena choked down a sob of her own, and something in Kara shattered. Tentatively, carefully, Kara pulled her into a gentle hug, and Lena let her.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Lena whispered into Kara's chest. "I've lost everything."

Kara held her closer, breathing the soft scent of her shower-damp hair.

"I don't know what to do either," Kara admitted. "I just knew I couldn't bear to lie to you again, even by omission. I'll go if you want."

"You're not leaving," said Lena. "I don't want you to go. Promise you won't leave me."

Kara shivered. "Lena…"

"Promise."

"I promise," Kara whispered.

[beenbaanbuun]

cold w/ san

words - short-ish

genre - fluff

warnings - san gets a little gaslight-y but he’s joking, i promise

——————————————————————————

“san, i’m cold,” you pout at your boyfriend. he’s been hogging the blankets all night, leaving you to shiver on your side of the coach. of course, you know what his plan is since he does it every single time it’s cold outside, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to make him work for it, “just one blanket! you have so many…”

he shakes his head, tightening his grip on the fuzzy material as if you’re going to physically rip it from his grasp. you’re not. you’ve tried that a few times before and not even the element of surprise could help you overpower the sheer strength that man has. who’d have thought the man in the fuzziest hoodie known to man and the most adorable sulky pout on his face would actually be the human equivalent of the hulk?

“no chance,” he growls through his puckered lips, and you have to stifle a giggle at how adorable he is. the temptation to just give in is growing stronger by the second, but you have to stay strong, “you’d be so much warmer if you just came and cuddled with me!”

“i would, wouldn’t i,” you agree, “i’d also be warmer if you gave up your blankets!”

“not happening, princess,” you watch as he balls the blankets up in his lap, just as an extra precaution. you roll your eyes at his paranoia; even if you could somehow get hold of one, the blanket would definitely rip before you could tear it away from his gorilla grasp. you know that from experience too, “either you come over here and cuddle me, or you stay cold! you know the rules.”

there were no rules. san just likes to say there are so his illegitimate methods of getting you to cuddle could be excused by him. this is precisely why you make him work for it; if he’s going to cheat the system, he’s going to have to pay for it.

“and since when has there been a rule that states that if i don’t want hypothermia, i have to cuddle with you?”

“since forever,” he claims.

“do i not cuddle you enough on literally every other day?” he pauses at that, scowling at you. you’re trying to cheat his very legitimate system by using your favourite method - guilt tripping. san doesn’t appreciate that.

“sue me for wanting to be attached to your hip 24/7,” he rolls his eyes dramatically, “maybe i just feel stronger about this whole relationship than you do, i don’t know…”

you gasp, letting your jaw drop to the floor. the smirk on his face tells you that he knows he’s won.

“choi san, you did not just say that!” you shuffle closer - dangerously close, actually - so you can slap his shoulder as punishment for saying such a mean thing. you do it quickly, so he doesn’t have time to drop the blankets and snatch you up into his manipulative little grasp, “i know i taught you what gaslighting means, but that doesn’t mean you can start doing it to me, you bitch!”

he just shrugs, a proud smirk on his face.

“all is fair in love and war, baby!” you give him an unamused laugh, “and i love you to pieces, but i need to win this war. i did mean it when i said i want to be attached to your hip 24/7.”

you pause for a second, contemplating your options. san smirks, knowing he has you dead to right. all it’s going to take is just one more push and you’d be right where he wants you - in his arms being smothered in all the love he keeps in his body.

“just come cuddle,” he coos, “you already know you’ve lost.”

and you do know that, but the smug look on his face makes you want to hold back for just a little longer. you can’t feel your toes anymore though, and you know that if you go and cuddle san he’ll definitely hold them and warm them up with his stupid radiator hands. your fingers lack feeling too, and the thought of tucking them inside his fluffy jumper and holding them against his smooth stomach is just too tempting.

perhaps you’re ready to wave the white flag of defeat.

“fine,” you spit, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. the blankets are immediately shoved to the floor by san as he frees up space on his lap. begrudgingly you replace them, folding your arms to sulk as he wraps his own around your waist. you lean into his body, because despite your (mock) anger, you can’t deny yourself warmth in the form of your human hot water bottle for much longer, “but i’m still mad about that comment you made.”

he uses a hand to push your head under his chin.

“hush, brat,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “besides, it’s kind of your own fault for making me work so hard.”

“stop trying to gaslight me!”

[hunkledunk]

I'm seeing a number of people defending the use of a logitech controller being used in the Oceangate sub claiming it's totally normal for heavy machinery to be controlled by such devices and I feel the need to yell from the rooftops that, while it's faaaar from the worst factor at play here...

NO, IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE TO USE A BUDGET THIRD PARTY VIDEOGAME CONTROLLER TO DRIVE A SUBMARINE

Listen. I hear you. You can use a commercial videogame controller for a lot of surprising things. They're ergonomic, incredibly easy to use, highly familiar to a massive portion of the population, very adaptable to pretty much any system you can slap a usb drive to, but do you know what they're not?

Reliable

They're made with cheap parts and are NOT built to last. I've had to replace dozens of videogame controllers for multiple different systems and for a variety of reasons. Compatibility issues, degrading input accuracy, unresponsiveness, all the way down to plain old wear and tear. Shit, I had to replace a dualshock 4 controller this month because holding directly up on the left analogue stick would have the input wavering 8~ degrees left or right.

I watch a castlevania speedrunner on twitch who uses the Logitech f310. It's an extremely similar model to the one used in the Oceangate sub. He talks about having to replace it every couple of months because they wear down so quickly. These are not devices made to steer one of the single most dangerous vehicles humans have ever created. Let me reiterate, even professional videogame players and speedrunners don't trust their controllers to last longer than half a year at best. Not that Mango is going to be using the sub to practice his tech skill but it says a lot about how temperamental these things can be.

The fact that it's got those little dongers on the analogue sticks for more precise movement should tell you everything, really. They recognise that the accuracy of that thing simply isn't good enough. It's not even a digital input modifier like hitbox controllers have, it's a cheap ass 3d printer looking plastic cone on a third party video game peripheral. It's not a budget issue either. If they needed more accurate fine controls the could've gotten a steering mechanisms with more accurate fine controls.

There's so much wrong with the Oceangate sub that it's a miracle anyone thought it was a good idea. There's no seats. You're bolted in with no way to open the sub from the inside. All the controls are digital with no mechanical backups. There's no distress call system. There's no black box equivalent. The one porthole isn't rated for depths even half as deep as they're going. Communication is demonstrably unreliable. All issues way more likely to cause a catastrophic incident. I would be surprised if the logitech controller specifically was the root cause of this one incident but don't let the truly comically bad engineering of the sub in almost every other sense trick you into thinking that it's acceptable for such an expensive and dangerous vehicle to be steered by a device many wouldn't trust to control mario with a consistent level of precision.

[transmutationisms]

I have always been wary of the psychiatric industry, but its only very recently that i started to read anti-psychiatric works. Your blog is the first time i saw that the "chemical imbalances causing mental illness" is a myth, and honestly its something im having a hard time wrapping my head around.

Is it that mood regulation struggles, labelled as a mental illnesses, has more to do with outside factors instead of the person "just being that way"? Is it therefore unlikely for someone to have struggles with mood regulation if they cant identify any external causes that would cause them to be, for example, extremely agoraphobic or to have anger management issues? Im asking this for myself mainly, cause i always had intense agoraphobia no matter how i often go outside my home (in fact it was worse when i was a teen and i was outside the house in even more back then). I cant think of any reason for me to be like this than chemical imbalances in my brain.

the specific 'chemical imbalance' myth i was talking about in this post is the idea that depression is caused by low serotonin, and that therefore SSRIs—serotonin re-uptake inhibitors, ie drugs that cause a higher level of serotonin in the brain—ought to cure or at least ameliorate depression. this conjecture is belied by the fact that SSRIs don't, at a population level, reliably perform better than placebo.

although a neurobiological cause of 'mental illness' has long been the holy grail of psychiatry, the serotonin imbalance myth is far from the only hypothesis that psychiatrists and neuroscientists have proposed. so, a critique of the serotonin myth is not synonymous with, or generalisable to, a critique of every neurobiological mechanism purported to explain psychiatric diagnoses. you may be interested to know, though, that genomics and neuroscience have not identified a biological cause of any psychiatric diagnosis (p. 851).

all human experiences are biologically instantiated, including in the brain and wider nervous system. we are embodied beings. however, it is a leap to assume that such instantiation is automatically equivalent to a causal explanation or disease etiology. in other words, to deny that psychiatric diagnoses are known to be biologically caused does not mean we deny that thoughts and thought patterns express in the physical matter of neuroanatomy. this is a major philosophical sticking point to keep in mind whenever you're looking at something like, eg, a study that purports to show 'brain differences' in those assigned a certain psychiatric diagnosis. another thing to consider is whether these papers are plagued with methodological issues or financial conflicts of interest.

i can't possibly tell you why you exhibit agoraphobia. however, when i talk about social, economic, and environmental factors that may contribute to the patterns of behaviour labelled as 'mental illness', i'm talking about much more than the individual choice to leave your house. since phobias are 'anxiety disorders', i might start by probing into questions like: is the world you live in safe? do you perceive it as safe? do you or your community face existential threats that may confront you more obviously when you go outside? are you nervous around other people, and if so, might that be connected to fears (well-founded or not) about interpersonal violence and harm? do you think any of these anxieties may be connected to the hostility and inaccessible design of the social environment and economic conditions?

human behaviour and thought varies. some of those variations may be totally benign; others may be helpful or harmful to the person living with them. it would be weird if every single one of the 8 billion people on earth experienced precisely the same amount of anxiety about any situation, no? all of this is to say: yeah, it's entirely possible you have been, for one reason or another (genetic, neuroanatomical, social, &c) predisposed to experience high, even debilitating levels of anxiety when leaving your home. most human characteristics develop from a tangle of social, environmental, material causes—ie, from a combination of 'nature' and 'nurture'. what doesn't follow, though, is the claim that there is therefore a discrete, 'diseased' element of your brain or brain functioning that can simply be cured or eliminated through psychiatric intervention.

it is a critical point of anti-psychiatry to challenge psychiatric and neuroscientific claims to neurobiological determinism where psychiatric diagnoses are concerned. this is for many reasons, including: a) that these claims have not been demonstrated to actually be true [see above]; b) that they rob pathologised people of agency and self-determination [see: you're too sick to know you're sick, and the doctor will fix you now]; c) that they are often pushed by pharmaceutical companies with financial interests, or grant-funded researchers with... financial interests; d) that they are politically seductive in various eugenic, hereditarian discourses that seek to eliminate the biologically 'unfit' element from society.

[primrosebow]

Idea I had

_--> Vox x reader //

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, vox is a warning of his own right

This is so goofy ya'll.......

//

//

He watches you through the cameras, he sees your every movement: every yawn from absolutely mind-numbingly boring paperwork, every sip of whatever drink you got to try and keep yourself awake, every flick you give to a page to try and make sense of the words after they start to scramble toguether in your mind... he.. felt a familiar pride rise in him as he noticed you do that last one in particular.

Vox... tries to be confident. Were it not annoying, you'd probably commend his commitment to "the bit" (that "bit" being his dominant act). His cold and controlled demeanor carefully stringed toguether by him holds up as well as a sugar cube in tea when he tries to still somehow hold it up even when you are mixed into the situation.

He had been observing you for quite the substantial ammount of time. In your bedroom. In your house. Through your electronics, your every move was permanently etched into his mind so he could look back at it during those times where the strain in his pants got far too uncomfortable to bare- he's getting sidetracked- (probably because that is the exact situation he is in right now) what brought him pride was the way you'd watch his shows with rapt attention, the way you'd talk of him so fondly to your friends, the way he was taking sleep away from you because of how in love you are with him! (Yes, his delusions do run that deep. Whatever it takes not to crush that fragile ego he has, I suppose.) Because you were anxious to be around him because you were flustered, of course, (because he is the equivalent of a ticking bomb except you never know when it's going to explode. But, whatever helps him sleep at night) and it definetly gets to you when you're trying to sleep, and THAT'S why you're so tired (the unshakable feeling of being watched at night doesn't exactly allow for much sleeping.).

And he calls you up to his office, having planned out everything down to his tone of voice. Down to the precise words he would say. His woven persona built with love for what he thinks is what you find attractive laid in front of you as you look at him mildly shocked, but weirdly unimpressed. While of course Vox would do something like this, there is also the "what the hell? What has gotten into him?" Aspect that can't seem to answer itself in your head.

Your silence and furrowed brows as you look at him don't inspire the same confidence he started with. The words that came from you next weren't the kindest, but they made the fuzzy feeling in his brain grow further. Your expression that went from mild surprise to a sly, malicious smile had him reeling- this- isn't going as planned-

"W-Well! Do something about it!" He exclaims after some moments of bickering between the two of you. His voice is slightly glitched out and his screen shows an occasional error message, but, despite that shameful display of vulnerability and lack of control over his emotions, you quickly grabbed onto his thigh and slowly brought it further up so you could get into a more comfortable position yourself. Your willingness to do this made the screaming voices of self deprication get quickly replaced by his unchecked ego. He felt like the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

You look at him again as you reach out to touch where he needed it most- and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. It made his entire body jolt as he finally got the reward he's been desiring for ages-

But he can't ever let things just be good the way they are without interfering in it unnecessarily. His resolve was breaking but he couldn't even tell, his screen brightened noticeably as even more glitches were escaping onto it along with a vague noise like building pressure in a lightbulb that was very hard to ignore. It was in the middle of that where he decided that this was a perfectly good moment to establish his dominance (which he hadn't noticed he was barely grasping at) and degrade you.

"You slu-" his voice is suddently cut off by a seeming "system default" one which overcame your senses with the message "[Error 404: "dominance" not found]"

You wanted to laugh-

This is just too perfect.

Your grin widens as he stumbles over an attempt to make up an excuse for what you just witnessed- though he is quickly cut off by you sliding your finger over the leaking tip of his dick.

Your turn.

// //

//

Goofy recreation of the last scene WHWHEHEHE

I had so much fun with this.

//

@bigfatbimbo as you accepted being tagged in my every post... and because it's vox

I had a blast with this. Not proof read. Not proof anything I'm just word vomiting. It is nearly 4am

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 4

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

W/c:4k

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Hour 15 - Welcome to Jacksonville  

“So live your life (eh-eh-eh)

You steady chasin' that paper

Just live your life (oh, eh-eh-eh)” 

“Ain’t got no time for no haters,” You sang the lyrics to the TI and Rihanna song, as you eased the car into a parking spot with precision. Your voice filled the car's interior as you continued to hum to the music. With one hand casually resting on Natasha's passenger headrest, you backed into the first available spot. 

Natasha seemed none the wiser as she slept peacefully beside you. She had learned to tune you out three hours ago. She stirred beside you, her peaceful slumber interrupted by the cutting of the car's engine. Blinking groggily, she glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings of the parking lot.

"Why are we stopping?" Her voice held a trace of confusion as she sat up, her gaze flitting around. "Where are we? Is this a mall?"

With a casual shrug, you unbuckled your seatbelt, a playful smirk playing on your lips. "Do you always wake up this disoriented?"

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice. "I wouldn't be disoriented if you didn't keep making unnecessary stops."

You shrugged, unfazed by her annoyance. "Relax, it's just a quick pit stop. Thought we could use a little break before we hit the road again."

Natasha sighed, her frustration evident as she glanced out the window. "Fine, but make it quick. We have a schedule to keep."

“You’re coming aren’t you?” You turned to her as you slid out of the driver’s seat. 

Natasha followed suit, stepping out of the car with a grimace. This heat was atrocious. "I suppose I have no choice," she replied. 

You walked ahead of her, straight through the mall, and into the adult equivalent of a candy store; Jared's Jewelry.

Natasha frowned as she observed you eyeing the necklaces on the counter. "Jewelry shopping?" she questioned, a hint of skepticism in her voice.

"Wedding band shopping," you clarified, tapping your left ring finger for emphasis. "Married couples with no rings?"

“Right,” She mumbled. This mission hadn’t been as meticulously planned as others. The dealings mostly relied on you both to be sufficient spies that could handle things like this on your own. 

“We’ve been married two days and you’re already forgetting the important stuff,” You joked with a headshake. “Oh, I like this one.”

“$2,000?” Natasha tilted her head. She squinted her eyes at the price. This was a part of life she never had to pay much attention to. 

“You're right too cheap,” You nodded in agreement. Natasha was just about to protest when a man with an unidentifiable accent approached the both of you. 

The man, dressed in all black like a worker, approached with a friendly smile. "Can I help you ladies find something?" he asked in his accented voice.

You immediately shared a knowing gaze with Natasha. His accent was most certainly fake. Maybe as a way to keep up appearances in such a high-end store. 

“Yes, my wife and I are looking for wedding bands,” You begin to play the part of Alexis. Half ditzy and overexcited. “Can you show me a better selection or is this all you have?”

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Surprise me,” You gestured to the entirety of the store. 

The worker, Jimmy, nodded and led you to several pieces, showcasing them with pride. However, none of them seemed to be quite right. Natasha's annoyance grew evident, but you seemed to be having too much fun, trying on different pieces and admiring yourself in the mirror.

“What do you think of this one?” You looked at Natasha as you gently tapped against the glass. She inspected the jewelry piece and shrugged. She did not like it. 

“How about this one?” Natasha pointed to a wedding band set near the area she wandered off to. 

“Oh, that one is beautiful,” Jimmy praised as he opened up the glass casing for you to get a closer look. He picked up the ring, passing it over to you while watching the both of you closely. 

You eyed the wedding band set that Natasha pointed out, examining it with interest. It was simple, yet elegant and beautiful, just as she described. You reached out to touch it, feeling the smooth material against your fingertips.

“How many carats?” You asked aloud. “It’s pretty.” 

Jimmy described the wedding cushion band, "It's a 2-carat total weight round diamond set in 14-karat white gold. It's one of our finest pieces, quite exquisite, if I may say so."

Natasha's eyes widened as she realized how expensive it was, almost saying no. But before she could voice her concern, you rushed in, saying, "I'll take it."

“That’s a $4,000 ring,” Natasha pointed out. 

You shrugged casually, "Yeah, so?"

“Don’t you think that’s a little expensive considering the circumstances?”

“Let’s just say my billionaire daddy gave me his credit card,” You smirked cheekily, alluding back to Natasha’s insult a few hours ago. 

Natasha's eyebrows raised, but she didn't press further. Instead, she nodded, acknowledging your response.

“In that case, let’s look for a band that compliments you blondie,” Jimmy encouraged as he led you over to yet another ring display. He missed the death glare Natasha was sending his way as he walked ahead of you. You couldn't help but snicker at her expense. Oh, you would love this week.  “This time, I think the misses can pick one out. Since you did pick hers.” 

You grinned mischievously, your eyes scanning over rings that were far from Natasha's taste. "Sure thing, Jimmy. Let's see if we can find something that screams her." Your tone was playful, knowing full well that the rings you were considering would likely get a less-than-enthusiastic response from Natasha.

“Don’t you dare,” Natasha murmured threateningly. She caught sight of the rose gold wedding ring that looked more like a toy than real jewelry. It was tacky and not as well made as some of the other rings you’d seen. 

You chuckled softly, pretending to consider the ring for a moment before shaking your head. "Nah, too flashy for you, babe," you teased, using the nickname deliberately to provoke a reaction. "We'll keep looking." You shot her a playful wink before turning your attention back to the display. 

As you browsed through the selection, your eyes caught on a ring resting in the display. It was a delicate white gold band, adorned with a single, shimmering diamond that seemed to dance in the light. The stone was elegantly set in a simple, yet intricate design that directly matched yours. They complimented each other in the best way. 

"This one," You murmured, reaching for the ring with a sense of certainty. 

"This is it," You declared with a smile, turning to Natasha to gauge her reaction. “It compliments your eyes. I can’t describe it but it’s nice. What do you think?

“I like it,” Natasha cleared her throat, hoping to ease some of the awkwardness between you. “It’s nice.”

“We’ll take it,” You turned to give the ring to Jimmy. “How soon can we take both home?” 

“Within the next hour,” Jimmy suggested. “You said you’re paying by credit card? For you, I can have everything done within fifteen minutes. It simply takes insurance a while. I’ll give you a call when it’s ready?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” You stepped over to the register where he began to ring you up. “Oh, I think I left my credit card in the car. Babe, won’t you be a doll and swipe for me?” You looked at Natasha with a mischievous glint in your eyes.  

Natasha's eyes narrowed at your request, but she begrudgingly reached for her wallet, swiping her card without a word. As the transaction went through, you couldn't help but smirk, knowing you had just added another layer to your playful banter.

"Thanks, babe," You said with a wink, accepting the receipt from Jimmy. "I owe you one."

“Uh huh,” Natasha nodded. “We’ll be back soon.” 

Natasha followed you out of the store and down towards the food court. 

“Oh, Charley’s,” You grinned. “Come, we must feast.” You waved Natasha over to Charley's Philly Steak. 

“Thanks but no thanks,” Natraha shook her head. “This is a lot of grease and…”

“What type of health nut are you ?” You asked in disgust. You gave her body a once over before you sighed. 

Natasha gave a wry smile. "Call me crazy, but I prefer to avoid coronary artery disease."

You chuckled. "Suit yourself. More cheesesteak for me." With that, you headed into the restaurant, leaving Natasha to ponder her choices.

You ordered the best cheesesteak on the planet, practically salivating at the menu as you stood in line. When it was time to get your food, you led Natasha over to a table to sit with you. She sat with a simple lemonade in her hand as she eyed your surroundings subtly. You had to admit the girl was good. 

“You know I kind of like you,” You said to Natasha in between bites. “At first, I simply thought you were bitchy. Now I think of you as kind of hot and bitchy. It works for you. Also, the blonde does look good on you I must say.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unamused. "Thanks, I think."

You grinned, undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm. "Hey, it takes a special kind of person to rock the 'hot and bitchy' vibe. Not everyone can pull it off."

Natasha shook her head, a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Absolutely," You replied with a wink, taking another bite of your cheesesteak.

“You certainly have a way with words,” Natasha mumbled, as she watched you ogle a beautiful woman walking past the two of you. “Keep your eyes open.”

You glanced back at Natasha, a smirk playing on your lips. "Always do, especially when the view's this good."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but a hint of amusement danced in her gaze. "Just remember why we're here, okay?"

"Got it," You replied with a wink, turning your attention back to the task at hand.

“People say I’m a bit intense,” Natasha began. “They’ve never met you.”

You chuckled, acknowledging her remark. "Intense? Me? Nah, just passionate about the job."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Sure, let's go with that."

“It gets me through the day to keep my mood lifted,” You said solemnly. “I spent so much time being serious. Stone-faced and unhappy. I like this version of me. It’s neat.”

Natasha regarded you with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "So, you're saying the humor is a coping mechanism?"

You nodded a wistful smile on your face. "Something like that. Keeps me sane, you know?"

“I do,” Natasha agreed. “You’re not going to eat all of these,” Natasha said more so to herself than you as she grabbed a few fries from your plate.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," You teased, nudging the plate closer to her. 

“It’s halfway decent,” Natasha hummed as she chewed into a fry. “I’m not a stickler when it comes to eating. Just so you know.”

“I know,” You shrugged. Some things went without saying. If there was someone to truly judge her on certain habits she most likely gained from life growing up as a spy it wouldn’t be you. 

“How old were you when you joined?” Natasha asked suddenly. “Your file doesn’t say.”

You chewed slowly, debating on whether you wanted to tell her or not. 

“Fourteen,” You admitted. 

Natasha's expression softened a hint of empathy in her eyes. "That's young," she remarked quietly, her tone more gentle than usual. She tried to imagine what a younger, spy you would look like. How would you have acted then? Were you afraid? Did you make friends? Were you allowed to have friends? She wants to know so much more. Though she figured you weren’t willing to tell her too much. You were only being cordial after all. 

“It is,” You swallowed thickly. “I played basketball in school and I was recruited based on my JROTC background. I guess they saw something in me no one else did.” 

Natasha nodded, absorbing your words. "They usually do," she replied, her voice carrying a weight of understanding. "Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I am,” You nodded. Anything to keep this conversation from going any deeper. 

—------

The rest of the ride to Bay Harbor Island is done in relative silence. You and Natasha would share brief tidbits about the other, both made up and truthful, as you prepared to assume your roles. You could feel the hairs on your arms stand as you pulled into the luxurious resort parking lot. You wouldn’t even attempt to find a parking spot on your own, instead pulling up to the valet. 

As the valet took the keys and you stepped out of the car, the weight of your assumed identities settled upon you. You straightened your posture, adopting the persona of Alexis, the confident and sophisticated woman you were tasked to portray. Natasha, too, seemed to slip effortlessly into her role as Joan, her demeanor shifting subtly to embody the elegance and grace expected of her character.

The resort exuded an air of opulence and sophistication, clear from the moment you stepped through the grand entrance. Freshly waxed marble floors stretched out before you, adorned with intricate patterns that spoke of craftsmanship and luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings casting a warm glow over the lobby.

The atmosphere was alive with energy, as guests and staff moved through the various rooms. Busy chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft sounds of classical music that played softly in the background. 

Natasha and you navigated through the crowd with ease, wheeling your luggage behind you as a busboy trailed dutifully after you. The occasional glance was thrown your way, but everyone was much too busy trying to check into their rooms to do much of anything. 

As you and Natasha stood side by side, it was clear to you that each of you had your own way of assessing the situation. While you scanned the room for potential exits and assessed the number of staff and guests present, Natasha's focus was on the subtle nuances of the environment. She listened intently to the conversations around you, gauging the mood of the crowd and the flow of foot traffic with practiced precision.

Despite the amount of energy in the resort lobby, both of you remained calm and composed.  

“I told you we should have gotten here earlier,” A woman’s gruff and irritated voice floated from behind you. 

“Well, how was I supposed to know there would be people checking in on a Thursday?” The man argued. 

You exchanged a glance with Natasha as the voices behind you caught your attention. It seemed like a typical couple's bickering, but something about their tone piqued your interest. They sounded tense as if there was more beneath the surface than just a disagreement over timing.

Natasha subtly shifted her position, her body language indicating that she was now paying closer attention to the conversation behind you. 

“We're already late for check-in,” the woman continued, her frustration evident in her voice. “Now we're going to have to wait in line like everyone else.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” the man retorted defensively. “It's not my fault the traffic was so bad.”

As you moved ahead in line, a couple with a restless golden retriever cut off your path to get across. Hoping to avoid them, you stepped back, slightly losing your balance only to have Natasha press her left hand against your lower back to keep you steady. 

“Sorry!” The husband called behind him as they rushed outside the front doors. 

“Jeez, they almost knocked her over,” The woman behind you whispered to her husband, their bickering long gone. 

"Thanks," You murmured to Natasha, offering her a small smile of appreciation. 

“Is this okay?” Natasha leaned over to speak closer to your ear. She was referring to her hand on your back. You’d mentioned before how physical touch made you uncomfortable. Given that physical touch would be a must to sell as a fake couple, you would have to get over it. It was kind of her to ask. You nodded in response to Natasha's question, grateful for her consideration. 

"Yeah, it's fine," You replied softly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. 

You were finally up. The front desk attendant was a kind young girl with a slight gap in her teeth. She had the sweetest smile that you couldn’t help but match. 

“Hi, my wife and I are checking in,” Natasha spoke. “It should be under the last name White.”

The receptionist nodded, typing on the keyboard in front of her. "Ah, yes, Mrs. White," she confirmed, her fingers moving deftly over the keys. "I have your reservation right here. Welcome to Shady Corners Island Resort." She smiled warmly, handing over the room keys to Natasha. "I hope you don’t mind. Seeing as you’re newlyweds we took the pleasure of upgrading your room to one of our over-the-water bungalows. Free of charge. It’s our last one for the weekend.” 

"That's very generous, thank you," Natasha replied with a gracious smile, accepting the room keys. "We appreciate it."

“If you just wait right over there near the red bell a member of our staff will be able to lead you and one of the other couples over to the bungalow area,” She gestured to the right. 

"Sounds perfect," Natasha nodded, gesturing for you to follow her toward the designated waiting area near the red bell.

As Natasha and you made your way towards the waiting area, you overheard the couple behind you whispering to each other.

"I wish we could get an upgrade like that," the woman muttered.

"Yeah, but didn't you hear? The last room got booked by that couple in front of us," the man replied, disappointment evident in his voice.

You exchanged a glance with Natasha, silently acknowledging the stroke of luck that landed you the upgraded room.

As you and Natasha settled near the red bell, the couple with the restless golden retriever approached and stood next to you. The dog, clearly still restless, tugged on its leash, occasionally letting out a low whine.

You couldn't help but wonder how the dog was allowed in such a busy and upscale hotel, but you kept your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to make any assumptions. Instead, you focused on maintaining your composure and waiting patiently for the staff member to lead you to your bungalow.

“White?” An attendant approached the two of you and you answered with an enthusiastic nod. “And, Corcoran?”

“That would be us,” The woman answered. Her hair was a dark brown, beach curled, and flowing down her back. Her features were pleasant enough, with soft curves to her face and a warm smile. 

“Follow me,” The attendant gestured. 

As the attendant led the way, Natasha eventually dropped her hand from your back. You tried to ignore the sudden absence of her touch, focusing instead on the picturesque view of the overwater bungalows ahead. The path to the accommodations wound through lush gardens and over small bridges spanning the peaceful ocean. The sound of gentle waves lapping against the wooden stilts beneath the bungalows filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere.

“302 Sunset Retreat,” The attendant offered to take hold of your key card to show you how to get in. He demonstrated how to use the key card to unlock the door, sliding it into the slot and giving it a gentle push. With a soft click, the door unlocked, and he pushed it open to reveal the luxurious interior.

Once inside, the bellboy followed behind with your bags, placing them neatly in the living area before excusing himself, leaving you and Natasha alone in the bungalow.

The interior of the bungalow exuded tropical luxury with a modern twist. 

A plush king-sized bed adorned with crisp, white linens served as the focal point of the room.  The large windows offered stunning views of the crystal-clear waters below. 

In one corner of the room, a luxurious jacuzzi tub awaited, surrounded by lush greenery for added privacy. Nearby, a sleek waterfall shower, with glass doors, stood tall. 

A top-notch mini-bar stocked with an array of beverages and snacks stood against one wall, offering indulgent treats for your enjoyment.  Outside, a small patio beckoned with comfortable chairs, providing the perfect spot to sip a refreshing drink and soak in the breathtaking views of the surrounding lagoon.

The best part of the room was the cooler filled with champagne and wine. Along with the rose petals sprinkled over the tiny kitchenette counter. 

“Nice,” Natasha sighed as she stepped into the bedroom area of the bungalow. “Bed-sharing.”

“I know so cliche,” You shook your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

Natasha rolled her eyes playfully at your comment, her lips curling into a small smirk. "Well, we're committed to selling the whole 'newlywed' vibe, aren't we?" she quipped, her tone laced with sarcasm.

You chuckled, nodding in agreement as you twisted the cap off the water bottle. "Exactly. It's all about authenticity," you replied, taking a sip before gesturing towards the inviting bed. "Shall we test it out?"

“Test it out?” Natasha raised a brow. 

“Must I be the beauty and the brains in this relationship?” You mumbled. 

Natasha chuckled softly. "Careful, or you might bruise your delicate ego," she teased. "But sure, why not? It's been a long day." She walked over to the bed and flopped down onto it, letting out a content sigh.

“You’re lying on the bed with your outside clothes?” You asked incredulously.

“What? You said test it out?” Natasha frowned. 

 "Fair enough," You conceded, walking over to the bed and gingerly sitting down beside her. "But you're still breaking all the rules of hotel etiquette."

“I think we’ll survive,” Natasha closed her eyes. She needed a few minutes to process. 

“It’s so boring already,” You groaned as you began to look through the drawers beside the bed.

Natasha sighed, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Can't you sit still for a moment?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to rummage through the drawers. "I'm just trying to find something to pass the time. Being cooped up in this room isn't exactly thrilling."

Natasha rolled her eyes, her patience wearing thin. "Well, try to contain yourself. We're here for a mission, not a vacation. Also, we’ve been here all of five minutes."

“Five minutes that I could have been in a bikini in the sun,” You said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Sun’s out bun’s out as they say.” 

“Are you sure you don’t have ADHD?” Natasha began to ask as she squinted her eyes. Was she analyzing you?

“What are you a psychiatrist? I thought that was my cover,”  You rolled your eyes. 

 "Who says I can't dabble in multiple professions? Besides, it's not exactly rocket science to see that you're a bit on edge like all the time,” Natasha pointed out. 

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Is that your professional diagnosis?"

"Consider it a layman's observation," She replied with a grin.

“Well, how about we observe someone by the pool? Come on Tasha,” You whined. 

“I thought I said no nicknames,” Natasha growled. 

“It’s not a nickname it’s just a shortening of your name,” You shrugged. “Also, you told me not to call you honey or baby. Nowhere did you say I couldn’t call you Tasha.” 

Natasha's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. "Semantics."

You grinned mischievously. "Exactly."

She shook her head. "Let's just go observe by the pool, alright?"

----> part 5

[transformers-spike]

Helloo, I'm wondering if you can do a sh comfort with any character from tfp plz :3

From the ☣️ annon

Went for Starscream because I know his brand of comfort is... questionable but entertaining to write - also (sfw)

You’re in trouble. Big fucking trouble. You can stay in your little lab all you want, fiddling with genetic samples with the grace of a high schooler dissecting a frog, lacking your usual precision. Yes, you got yourself into it. No, your past self refuses to apologize to the current you. And while you may understand what pushed the old you to make this decision a week ago, personal growth isn’t going to do shit after the stunt you’ve pulled. Starscream is your abductor, yes, but he’s also your “guardian” so to speak; the Decepticon responsible for your continued wellbeing. This has not stopped him from threatening your life back when you were being “rescued” from your old job, but there’s no use dwelling on it. The point is, there’s a degree of mutual trust between the two of you. In exchange for a wide variety of resources and access to actual alien technology, you’ve been hard at work handling projects he’s tossed your way. You pride yourself in it, because who wouldn’t after spending decades perfecting their craft? Or getting into a ludicrous amount of student debt… Your stint with the government was, admittedly, your lowest point; MK-Ultra 2.0 type experiments you only agreed to as a morally and financially bankrupt newcomer with a grudge against society as a whole after working half a decade in retail. To say you regret it is to put it lightly. At the very least the Decepticons are honest about their intentions, no “protecting the people” rhetoric; if they’re going to cyberform the Earth then you’ll be there with your bucket of popcorn watching it all unfold. Although, past you wasn’t quite as eager. Guilt racked your brain, tormented you well into the night, reminded you every waking moment you could only be an instrument in someone else’s plan, a pawn that would unquestionably follow its master even if it meant digging its own grave. Yes, you’re doing better now (you think), and you were concealing the secret just fine until you misjudged the boiling point of an experimental concoction and got a face-full of glass. It could have been worse, you had shielded yourself with your arms, earning only a couple scars on your face (and a frightening amount on your arms). That’s when Knock Out came in. Oh Knock Out. You cunt . Of course he was being too kind; it wasn’t from the chunks of glass he was removing with a pair of forceps, nor the tears of pain running down your face (you honestly expected him to go “Ew” and toss a blanket over your head so he wouldn’t have to look). It’s because he had seen the week-old cut along your arm. He didn’t make a fuss, didn’t point it out, didn’t so much as pause while treating you. Oh no – he sent you a message first thing in the morning informing you he relayed the extra detail to Starscream and sent you the Cybertronian equivalent of a shrug emoji. Your first reaction was to threaten his life through text, which he responded to with an eyeroll.

This leaves you here, waiting at your post, counting down the seconds to doomsday, hands shaking cursing yourself for spilling the (thankfully non-corrosive) substance down the beaker. You try to seem casual when the door opens up. You try to steady your breathing when you feel his footsteps. You try to put down the beaker and greet him – which drops and shatters. Staring down at your work, mouth agape, you don’t have the strength to look him in the optic after three major blunders in under 24 hours. Although it’s hard to avoid his gaze when he commands your attention with his presence alone. “Hey,” you say, sweating profusely. “Nice day we’re having. Out here in space, I mean.” His expression is one of exasperated frustration. “Oh don’t patronize me.” He scoops you up like a naughty kitten, glaring daggers at you. “Show me,” he orders. You cradle your arm to your chest. “But, Knock Out bandaged it yesterday-” “Are you trying to waste my time?” You hang your head low and undo the wrappings at a snail’s pace, desperately stalling, praying for anything to intervene and pull Starscream away so you can scramble under your desk and hyperventilate in peace. But your boss doesn’t have time to waste. He groans dramatically before plucking your arm and tearing through the bandages in one clean cut of his talon. “I swear it’s not that bad,” you say, the antithesis of convincing, cringing inside as he observes the scars in eerie silence. The expression he wears is unreadable. His optics drag from your arm to your face. You swallow. “It’s just a scratch-” “No,” he cuts you off, voice bursting with anger. “Do you take me for a fool?” “Wait I didn’t mean it that way-” “Shut up.” He glowers down at you, claws tightening around your arm. “I will remind you, human, that you are an investment . And I won’t have my investments break of their own volition. So tell me,” he drags you closer, sending a sudden burst of pain which you dare not show, “ why would you do it?”

“I… I don’t… I don’t know how to explain,” you whisper. He scoffs and rolls his optics. “Is it so difficult to collaborate? If you won’t tell me, then I can’t help you.” The words ring in your ears. You go weak in the knees. “Help me?” you echo, incredulity heavy on your tongue. He flashes you a look of utter confusion. “What? Did you think I would punish you? Oh, please , it’s not my modus operandi. I have a more refined manner of supervising my subordinates compared to… I’m sure you can guess whom. Now stop wasting my time, and tell me why .”

“Uh… it’s a long story,” you babble, still reeling from his words. “Then shorten it, I don’t have all cycle.”

“I’ve been plagued with some… pretty horrendous thoughts at night, among,” you vaguely gesture at your makeshift lab, “the stress of deadlines.” He contemplates you, arching an optical ridge. It feels… strangely human compared to the apathetic stares of your old bosses. You’re a number here just the same, except it will be significantly more difficult to replace you. “I can’t change the deadlines,” he starts in an oddly soft tone, scrutinizing your reaction. “However, I can procure the proper medication to avoid another incident. .” You flash him a bewildered look. “Antidepressants?” you ask incredulously. “I was referring to something along the lines of ambien or adderall.” He releases your arm and taps his chin. “Perhaps both considering your current state.”

“Oh…” You blink. “I didn’t expect you to know this much about human pharmaceuticals.”

He scoffs again, putting an offended servo to his chassis. “Unlike us, you humans are exceptionally fragile, mentally and physiologically. I had anticipated some manner of a breakdown, although not this severe.” “So am I forgiven?” you ask, a mild attempt at sarcasm to clear the ambiance. It earns you a glare. “No,” he declares unsurprisingly. “I will be confiscating the hazardous materials.” You cock an eyebrow and point at the glass vials behind you, two of which are very obviously missing from the rack (and one whose pieces are mostly dislodged from your arm). He ex-vents loudly, slapping a servo to his face. “I was referring to the sharp instruments in your possession.” His voice is muffled. “Fair enough,” you say. “And B09F will be dispensing your medication.” “A bit excessive. But sure.” He scowls at you between his digits. He seems… terribly overworked. Cybertronians don’t have eyebags, but you swear there are dark lines under his optics. You clear your throat and avoid eye contact. “Thank you. I appreciate it quite a bit. You’re much better than my previous employer.” Said previous employer orchestrate your kidnapping and made you work towards humanity’s downfall with a blaster to your head. This, you leave out completely. He freezes for a split second. Slowly, he removes his servo to contemplate you better. “Odd,” he remarks. “I thought humanity would treat you better as one of their own.” A smile spreads across his face. “No matter. At least someone can appreciate the effort I put into running a tight ship.” You return his smile in spades. “I’m sure I’m not the only one.” “Flattery won’t work on me,” he scoffs. A moment passes by. He opens up an optic like a dog waiting to be pet. “Well?” he urges. “Uh… I’m sure others admire you just as much as I? You’re… the best commander on the ship? You’re the most competent person I know?... You’re a better father than my dad ever was?” His optics snap open. “Are you comparing me to your genetic progenitor?” “To an extent? In the sense that you’re a better mentor and guardian than mine ever was.”

He squints at you. “You humans are terrible towards your own kind. Although I suppose I should accept your compliment.” His wings flick in a show of… begrudging content. “Now, take the rest of the day off.” You beam up at him. “With the condition you’re bound to your quarters.” You look down in disappointment. “Fine, you can roam around the perimeter as long as B09F chaperons you.” “Sure thing dad,” you say in an attempt at humor. He furrows his optical ridge. “If you start calling me "daddy" I'm tossing you out the airlock.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 25: Strong, Fast & Almighty

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: words.

A/N: Sorry, I got sick and couldn't post uwu

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

“Red?!”

The night had started badly. The ball was just a few hours away, and you were already on the verge of collapse. You stared at the dress with a mix of amazement and bewilderment, unable to believe that the king had chosen that color. The corset, coated in rubies, the soft suede skirt and the sequined bodice sparkled so brightly that you had to squint to keep from going blind. It was a masterpiece, yes, but it also went against all dress codes. Part of you knew it was your fault; after all, curses hardly understood that society ball dresses were supposed to be white, simple and coquette; not flashy, alarming and, much less, sensual.

“Yes, a very deep red,” Kenjaku, who was holding the large box containing the dress, answered your hypothetical question.

“No, I can’t wear this,” you said before reluctantly closing the box.

“Why not? It’s beautiful.”

“It is, but if you want me to infiltrate the sorcerers, this will do the opposite,” you explained.

This was a mess, a crimson-tinged mess. If you dared to wear that dress, you would stand out more than a flare in the middle of winter. It was too daring, too provocative, and wearing it would be the equivalent of throwing a glass of red wine in the king’s face. Now, infiltrating the Zen’in would be much more complicated than it should be, as if that scandalous dress wasn’t already enough of a problem.

“Is there a problem?” Sukuna asked. He came closer, seeing you arguing with your master. They had drawn the attention of some curses, distracting them from unpacking the camp for the night.

“This dress is against the dress code of the ball. If you give me some gold, I can buy another one at…” 

“I know,” Sukuna interrupted you.

“You know?” You and Kenjaku asked in unison, stunned.

“It’s not the first time we spied on the sorcerers,” the king explained.

“So, did you choose a red dress on purpose?” You asked, confused.

“Our presence alone is going to make a big impression. So, if we’re going to draw attention, we might as well do it right.” Sukuna took you by the chin so you could look him in the eyes. “I want my queen to shine above all those obnoxious princesses.”

Sukuna gave you a proud smile before leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. Then, with his authoritative voice, he ordered Kenjaku to help you get ready, before retreating to personally oversee the curses keeping the camp in order. “He just wants to make my job harder,” you thought with a mix of annoyance and resignation.

The dress flowed down your long legs, further enhanced by the vibrant heels that seemed to lengthen each step. The sequins hugged your figure like a second skin, while the second suede skirt held on your waist perfectly and fell into an elegant train that followed you with every movement. This dress was unlike any Sukuna had ever gifted you; so much so, that you barely recognized yourself in it.

Kenjaku worked with meticulous precision, brushing and braiding your hair into an elaborate updo that exuded elegance. Then, he applied makeup that was more dramatic than you had imagined. Your face was sculpted with strategic shadows, dark eyeliner highlighted your eyes, and a passionate red lipstick became the finishing touch, lighting your lips like a fire that no one could ignore.

You looked at yourself in the makeshift mirror inside the small tent as Kenjaku added the last of the golden accessories to your hair. What that glass reflected was not your familiar image; It wasn't the dress, the jewelry or the complicated hairstyle that made you feel different. You were no longer the countryside girl who ran through the hills looking for the sunset with her sisters. Now, you were the fiancée of a tyrant. A question, heavy as a rock, settled in your chest: Did that make you a tyrant too?

"You look wonderful, powerful," Kenjaku whispered proudly as he placed the small gold rose-shaped necklace over your cleavage.

Powerful. Even if you didn’t feel it, you had to pretend, cling to that illusion to keep a plan built on fragile probabilities going. Now you were facing the tyrant on the immense chessboard, but blindfolded. You couldn’t see his pieces, and all you had were a handful of pawns to defend yourself. Surrendering would be the easiest thing to do. All you had to do was bow down, obey your king’s every command, and let the chains of fate hold you down completely. You still had time. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Because even if you were no longer that countryside girl running barefoot under the open sky, you knew you had to move forward. Not for yourself, but for the hundreds of girls in the commune who still were, who deserved a world where tyrants didn’t decide their destinies. You were all they had, and that responsibility was enough to harden your gaze and keep you steadfast.

“Thank you, Kenjaku.” You smiled at him through the mirror. Your teacher patted you on the shoulders, indicating he had finished his part of the job.

“Since we don’t know exactly what awaits you in the Zen’in castle. In case it is a trap, you must escape as soon as possible and get out of here. Don’t go back to camp, go back to Sukuna’s kingdom,” Kenjaku explained.

“How am I going to get there?” You arched your eyebrow.

Kenjaku pulled out of his loose sleeve a yellowish sphere that reflected a rainbow against the light. You had seen it before. It must be one of his curses.

“This is the rainbow dragon. Once it senses that you are in danger, it will come out on its own.” Kenjaku handed you the sphere.

“Where should I keep it?” You rotated the sphere, producing a beautiful change of colors on the palm of your hand.

“Swallow it.”

Your body froze at that instruction. The sphere was the size of a grapefruit. There was no power on earth that would make that go into your mouth willingly. Kenjaku had to be joking.

“I’m not joking,” Kenjaku answered you as if he could read your mind. He took the sphere from your hand. “Open your mouth.”

“He-!”

You didn’t manage to finish your complaint before Kenjaku, with relentless force, began to force the sphere into your body. You squirmed, instinctively fighting against him, but his grip was unbreakable. He mercilessly shoved the sphere down your throat, and the bitter, abrasive taste burned you as if you were swallowing poison. You coughed, trying to resist, but Kenjaku didn’t relent. With one last push, the sphere descended completely, leaving a strange, oppressive weight on your stomach that made you double over from the impact.

“Kenjaku!” You gasped, spitting out the taste of burnt oil that lingered on your lips. It was so intense that it would probably stay there all night.

“It’s for your safety, young lady.”

“Are you done?” Sukuna entered the tent.

Sukuna was wearing one of his classic black kimonos, an outfit as practical as it was imposing, designed to offer comfort and freedom of movement in case war broke out. However, his choice of clothing also blatantly defied established codes. These were much more flexible with men, allowing them to wear formal suits or military uniforms, if they hold a rank of authority. But the great king, with his characteristic disregard for convention, looked somewhat loose, flowing, even markedly feminine. It was an act that would undoubtedly ignite murmurs among the courtiers. Sukuna, as always, seemed to enjoy the provocation.

“Yes, of course.” Kenjaku said with an obedient bow.

“Get out then,” he ordered.

Kenjaku left the tent without a word, leaving the space in a silence that seemed to amplify his absence. You were now completely alone. You looked at your reflection once again, and a smile of approval appeared on your lips as you contemplated how the dress fit your figure perfectly. It was a work of art, a weapon in the form of elegance.

Sukuna approached with his imposing presence, taking one of your hands with a confidence that brooked no resistance. With a slight gesture, he indicated that you should turn on your axis. You obeyed, letting the shining fabric of the dress dance around you, while he watched you with a satisfied look that seemed to say that you were now everything he had imagined... and more.

"Who knew that a daisy could look like a rose?"

There he was again. Comparing you to a daisy. You no longer knew if he said it to mock your innocence or to flatter your beauty. Knowing him, it could be both at the same time.

"You look good, too." You smiled back at him. "Are we leaving now?"

"You just need something else."

From behind him, Sukuna handed you a small sheath. You clicked open the latch and uncovered a red dagger. It was small, the size of your hand, and had a rose engraved on the wooden handle. A subtle but lethal weapon.

“It’s cursed, it will help you in case the dance is a trap,” Sukuna explained before putting the dagger back into its sheath.

“Where am I going to put it? This dress doesn’t have pockets…” You quickly realized a possibility. “Don’t make me swallow it,” you said in fear.

“No, no, no. I wouldn’t do something like that to you.” Sukuna laughed as he saw that Kenjaku’s sphere left you with a minor trauma. “That’s what I have this for.” From his back, he pulled out a garter that was in his other hand.

“Oh, it’ll be hard to put on,” you muttered, complaining about how tedious it would be to put the garter on your thigh with such a tight dress on.

“Not if I do it,” Sukuna offered.

Sukuna made you sit back down, his low, firm voice leaving no room for protest. Then, with a calmness that belied the tension in the air, he knelt in front of you. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, before he reached for one of your legs in a gesture that took your breath away. Your breathing hitched as you realized what he was about to do.

With unexpected gentleness, he placed the tip of your foot on his knee. His rough, battle-hardened hands brushed your skin as he began to slide the garter up your leg. His thumbs moved with a slowness that seemed deliberate, almost cruel, as you bit your lower lip, struggling to hold back any sound that might betray you. The warmth of his fingers was an electrifying contrast against the cold of your skin, a fire that seemed to ignite something deeper within you.

When he reached the right height, he pulled your skirt aside with a precise movement. He pulled out the dagger that had been waiting its turn, and with almost ceremonial skill, secured it between the garter and your leg. He pulled the white ribbons firmly, tightening them in place. His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary, as if he were marking you with something more than just a weapon.

“Are you ready?” Sukuna looked up to meet your flushed face. You could only nod.

The carriage, having been destroyed in the forest of curses, had left you with fewer options. Walking was the only solution to get to the castle. Sukuna, with a mix of authority and pragmatism, carried you for much of the journey. He didn’t say anything, but his actions spoke for themselves: he wasn’t going to let the heels ruin your feet before facing what awaited them.

The path took them to the heart of the Zen’in kingdom, a place that exuded natural splendor and tradition. Leafy trees stood like ancient watchmen, while vines coiled around natural rock formations, creating a landscape that seemed straight out of a painting. The fresh air was an unexpected caress after the stuffy atmosphere of the forest. But the most disconcerting thing was the presence of humans. Elegantly dressed civilians strolled through the cobblestone streets, their suits and jewelry reflecting the opulence of the anniversary they were celebrating.

Their gazes bored into you like sharp knives. Disbelief painted their faces, some filled with fear, others with astonishment. How was it possible that a curse, the king of them all, was walking through their lands, accompanied by a human figure? You could only respond with a nervous smile while keeping a firm grip on his arm. Despite the bewilderment that hung in the air, Sukuna advanced with the same confidence with which one claims what is his.

The castle appeared before you like a colossus of stone and power. Larger and much more imposing than you had imagined, its towers seemed to touch the sky, and the shadows they cast on the drawbridge were almost intimidating. You looked up, trying to take in the full magnitude of it, but soon realized that the walls seemed more of a threat than a welcome.

When they reached the bridge, the guards tensed instantly. There were no words of warning, no attempts at negotiation. The cursed swords glowed as they were drawn, and their wielders assumed attacking stances. “Is this how you’re going to do things…?” Sukuna thought, not even bothering to hide the cruel smile forming on his face. He was ready, more than ready, to cut them into pieces if they dared to challenge him. To him, this was nothing more than a game he had already won.

“Wait!” You stepped between your king and the guards with your arms outstretched. “We were personally invited by the Zen’in kings!” You exclaimed.

“Why would the king invite a disgusting curse?!” One of the guards yelled at you.

“Hey, have more respect for King Sukuna Ryomen!” You defended your king with equal volume.

The two guards froze, as if the surrounding air had stopped. Their eyes widened, and a thin layer of sweat began to glisten on their foreheads. It was obvious that they knew exactly who they had in front of them: Not a man, but a monster, one who could end their lives with a simple snap of his fingers. Sukuna’s aura seemed to fill the space like a crushing shadow, robbing them of every last vestige of bravery. Calmly, you pulled a neatly folded invitation from Sukuna’s pocket. You held it up to them with the friendliest smile you could muster. Not out of fear, but out of empathy, as you fully understood how the poor men felt.

As they took it and examined it, the guards’ expressions changed from terror to nervous embarrassment. It was unmistakable: the invitation was authentic. They clumsily lowered their weapons, the blades clanging against the stone floor. One of them tried to stammer out an apology, but the mere lift of Sukuna’s hand reduced him to silence. They had made the mistake of defying the king of curses, and the echo of that mistake would still haunt them.

“We just want to have a nice night,” you said.

The two guards exchanged quick glances, assessing who would dare lead the unusual guests into the castle. Finally, the guard on the left let out a deep sigh, resigned to the inevitability of the situation, and with an awkward gesture, motioned for them to follow. Sukuna offered you his arm again, and together you began to advance into the castle.

The moment had come. You had to infiltrate among the most powerful humans in the world, and you would do so to the beat of the piano, with the elegance of a piece of music that begins softly, but with each note gaining in intensity. As they crossed the threshold into the courtyard, a crowd of citizens watched them with eyes full of wonder. Surprise quickly turned to fear. Whispers spread among them, wondering if they should do something about it, although, upon seeing someone as imposing as Sukuna, it seemed that not even the air dared to move. Eyes diverted, unable to sustain the weight of his presence.

Sukuna, however, was already used to this kind of reaction. The discomfort, the rejection, the repulsion… he had experienced all of it all his life. It was nothing new to him. He remembered the rocks thrown at his head, the burn marks on his arms, the bitter taste of the poisonous berries he was given when he was still just a child. He had endured it all, like someone who gets used to wounds that never heal, like someone who learns that the world will never have mercy. He was just a child, but even in his vulnerability, he was already a force that others feared.

“My king, what kind of flowers are those?” You snapped him out of his thoughts, pointing to the large purple flowers growing on the vines.

You looked at the castle with a seemingly indifferent gaze, as if everything that happened around you was of no importance. However, deep down, this was not the case. The reality was that other people's opinions affected you more than you wanted to admit. You had grown up in the shadow of a troublesome sister, and so the disapproving glances of old ladies and the murmurs of neighbors annoyed by her ineptitude were no strangers to you. You couldn't even escape when you became a maid. You were used to being the target of criticism, to living with that constant pressure of being judged for the mistakes of others. But what really worried you at that moment, more than the judgment of others, was a simple truth: you were wearing the wrong color.

“They are Clematis. They are related to wisdom, aspiration and mischief,” Sukuna answered, distracting himself from what was happening around him.

“Mischief?” You asked curiously.

“It’s known as the ‘devil’s darning needle’ because it can be toxic to humans and animals,” Sukuna continued.

“Oh, it’s a shame they’re cute,” you commented with a pout.

“The danger doesn’t take away the cuteness,” Sukuna smiled. You could only return the gesture.

You climbed the majestic white marble stairs, the steps seeming to glow under the light of the torches and the hanging chandeliers. Each step echoed softly, like a prelude to the spectacle that awaited you. Before you, the castle entrance loomed imposingly: a gigantic door, carved with intricate details that told stories of wars, victories, and dynasties. Behind that door, you knew, were kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, the most influential figures in the world.

You had attended balls before, but never like this one. Your previous experiences had been with the middle class, or at public celebrations hosted by the kingdom, where crowds shared laughter, music and simple dancing. But tonight was different. This time, you would be surrounded by people who could truly change the course of history with a single word. And, though you tried to keep your composure, the weight of that thought made your heart beat faster.

The guard leaned toward the announcer, whispering their names in an almost reverent tone. Sukuna, at your side, barely seemed to notice the exchange. His gaze remained fixed on the door, though out of the corner of his eye he watched you with a slight expression of interest, as if he were gauging your reaction. As the announcer gave instructions to the trumpeters, preparing them for what would clearly be an important welcome, you felt the pressure of his hand on your back. With a firm, but almost imperceptible gesture, the king indicated for you to correct your posture.

“You are standing next to the most powerful king in the world, act like it.” He asked you not to be intimidated by what was on the other side of the door.

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air as if that could dissipate the tension that compressed your chest, and nodded with determination. Sukuna was right. You had no royal blood, no superhuman powers, nor the refined education necessary to compete with that elite. But you did have something that they could not take away from you: guts. And that would be more than enough to stand firm and not let anyone trample you.

The blare of the trumpets broke the air just as the huge doors of the hall swung wide open. Their sound abruptly interrupted the melody of the orchestra and the perfectly choreographed dance that filled the room. The gazes of those present immediately turned to the entrance, where two figures defied everything they expected.

“Sukuna Ryomen, the king of curses and owner of the East Coast, has arrived, along with his partner, Miss Y/n!” The announcer exclaimed to the four winds.

No one applauded. The room, a sea of ​​impeccable military uniforms and white dresses that radiated purity and tradition, was filled with expressions of shock and horror. The contrast could not be more striking: Sukuna, a colossal curse that seemed to absorb all the light in the room with his mere presence, and you, a small lady walking beside him in a red dress as intense as blood itself, as if every step you took was a statement against their norms and customs.

The murmur began to spread like a wildfire, drowning out the last echoes of the trumpets. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, unable to take their eyes off the scene unfolding before them as they moved out of his way. Aware of every gaze that was fixed on you, you clung a little tighter to Sukuna's arm. You could feel the gazes piercing you, but you stood tall, remembering the guts that had brought you here would also be the ones that would take you further.

The hardest part was about to begin: presenting yourself before the kings. You had imagined finding an elderly couple, figures covered in gold from head to toes, with faces weathered by years and responsibilities. However, the reality was completely different, and you couldn't help but feel surprised.

The Zen'in kings sat on majestic thrones, made of white gold, with intricate details of emeralds and green quartz, which shone under the light of the huge chandeliers in the hall. Their youth was disconcerting. At first glance, they seemed only a few years older than you.

The queen was the first to catch your attention. Her dark hair, elegantly cut, framed a kind, almost innocent face, which was illuminated by a calm smile. Her white dress, designed with a simplicity that contrasted with the excesses of the room, made her appear ethereal, as if she were more spirit than flesh. There was something about her that was disarming, a warmth that almost made you forget where you were.

It was the king, however, who truly dominated the space. Even seated, his figure projected an imposing presence. He was tall, his black hair falling naturally over his forehead, and his burly body was hinted at beneath a familiar military uniform. You had seen that design on Commander Naoya, but here, on the king, it seemed like a perfected version. The medals that adorned his chest were not just symbols of achievement, but trophies that spoke of undisputed authority and power. And then there was his face: handsome in an almost insulting way, as if nature itself had decided to give him everything it took to rule. “If Mrs. Inoue saw this, she would faint right here,” you thought wryly, while trying not to let your amazement be evident.

Unlike the rest of the room, they showed no fear. Not a hint of doubt was reflected on their faces as they saw you and Sukuna cross the threshold. Instead, they watched you with measured curiosity, almost as if they were sizing you up. It was a complete contrast to the palpable tension that filled the room. Here they were, the two monarchs of the Zen'in Kingdom, sitting on their thrones as if nothing in the world could touch them, not even the arrival of the King of Curses. And that, more than any murmurs or glances from the others, put you on alert to begin the real party.

"King and Queen Zen'in. It's a pleasure to meet you. We deeply appreciate your invitation," you said as you bowed respectfully to them, unlike Sukuna who only scrutinized them in the same way.

"It's about time. After years of sending the poor idiot Commander Naoya to deliver the invitations and not a clue given in return," King Toji laughed at the situation, cutting the tension in half as the rest of the party continued to watch the scene intently.

“It's a pleasure to meet you as well,” Queen Nozomi added.

“Let me tell you, you have a beautiful kingdom. It's so warm and vibrant, unlike Sukuna's kingdom,” you commented with a friendly smile.

That's how your plan began. The art of conversation. Starting a pleasant chat until you got to the information you wanted to get. You had no idea what information you wanted to get, so anything would be good.

“I'm glad you enjoy our architecture. The vast majority of our buildings are over 400 years old. A true heritage to our culture,” the queen replied elegantly.

Queen Zen'in was just as she appeared to be: charming, warm, and above all, exceptionally polite. Her voice, soft but clear, flowed with impeccable diction, as if each word was measured with precision. Her eloquence was enviable; a skill that you, despite the endless lessons Kenjaku gave you, could barely replicate without nervousness creeping into your tone.

The king, on the other hand, observed everything with a different attitude. His fixed and calculating gaze soon realized that the orchestra had stopped playing, the waiters remained in the kitchen, hesitating whether to come out or not, and the guests continued to look at the scene in disbelief. A slight snort escaped his lips, as if all that uncertainty was an unnecessary distraction.

“What are you waiting for to play?! This is a party! What?! Have you never seen a curse before?!” Toji scolded everyone. Even you felt scolded.

The orchestra, without further delay, began to play again, its notes breaking the silence that had filled the room. People returned to their conversations as if nothing was happening, even though they could now only talk about what was right in front of their noses. The first meeting of King Ryomen and King Zen'in. Something that seemed impossible after a long history of enmity.

"Seriously, I'm very glad you came. This is a historic day!" Toji said excitedly.

"Let's get to the point. Why did you invite me? What do you want?" Sukuna answered coldly, causing the Zen'in kings to become dissatisfied.

"Oh... excuse him, King Sukuna is a very direct person," you said to dispel the tension.

"There's nothing to apologize for, young lady. I'm the same," King Toji told you. "I invited him for business, obviously."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, becoming curious. That simple action, so subtle and loaded with meaning, only fueled his growing curiosity. What kind of business could King Toji be seeking with him? The very idea seemed absurd. It was unthinkable that a human being, whatever his status or power, would want to negotiate with someone like him. Sukuna, a curse of such magnitude, so distant from everything human, so imposing and destructive, could not understand what could lead a human king to even consider such a proposal. But something in the king's gaze, something in the calm with which he had made his offer, told him that there was more than met the eye. And that "more" was precisely what kept him on edge.

"Why don't we talk about it in private? The sooner we talk about it, the quicker we can get back to the party, right?" King Toji stood up from his seat. Sukuna gave you a look to be alert outside his presence.

Toji led him down a hallway, leaving the party behind. People were dancing harmoniously to the song with great elegance and joy on their faces. Under the bright chandeliers, around the soft music and on the beautiful marble floors. The piano sounded harmoniously in your ears. You smiled at the sight of the pianist, the star of the show, playing his master instrument while his body couldn't help but move to the beat. You wanted to join the dance floor already.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Nozomi offered you the king's seat when she saw you standing.

"The throne? No, I couldn't," you refused flatly.

"Oh, come on. The queen is ordering you to." Nozomi told you sweetly. Since you didn't want to offend the queen, you sat on the great throne. "Tell me, what exactly are you to King Sukuna?" She asked you curiously.

"His servant. He only invited me so he wouldn't arrive alone. What kind of king would arrive alone to a high society ball?" You said as if he had forced you to come.

"No... You're not just his servant." Nozomi smiled at you with a certain mischief in her eyes. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. "You're his lover, aren't you?"

"H-how did you realize?", you asked while you thought: "Great, I went from servant to sex object.”

"You can see it in his eyes. It's easy to notice when he has four," Nozomi joked, but then her expression turned nostalgic. "He reminds me of my Toji, he had that same look when we were dating. King Sukuna is completely in love with you."

You quickly realized that she didn't mean "lover" in the vulgar sense of the word. But in the romantic sense. You had noticed it too, that was why it was so easy to sweet-talk him with the technique Yorozu had taught you. The problem now wasn't with him, but...

"The real question is, what do you feel for him?" Nozomi inquired, thinking she would make you blush in embarrassment.

"I love him," you admitted seriously, surprising the queen suddenly. "But, I can't allow it. He's a damn tyrant," you said, holding your skirt in anger.

You had accepted, albeit silently, that you were in love with him. You had known it long before you dared to admit it. You looked for any excuse to be near him, to steal moments from him amidst his constant authority and his world of chaos. You strove to make him happy, to offer him the best of yourself, to be at his level and feel you could walk beside him with dignity. You loved him. There was no other way to describe what you felt. You had loved him even before you realized it, perhaps even before he, with his cold, but undeniable determination, had first proposed to you.

There was something about him that captured you, something that made you feel alive, that lit a fire inside you that no one else could awaken. The way he managed to surprise you, how he saw something unique in you, how he treated you with a delicacy that clashed with his brutal nature, all of that made you think no one else in the world could compare to him. He had transformed you, not only into who you were now, but into someone who had learned to desire, to yearn, to need.

But there was a dark weight to that love. His actions, often cruel and vile, were a poison that ate away at the foundations of what you felt. Over and over you found yourself caught between two extremes: the man who made you feel like a precious flower and the tyrant who destroyed without mercy. That duality tore you apart inside.

And then you wondered: Was it really love? Did you love him for who he was, completely, with his virtues and his monsters? Or had you simply fallen under the spell of his attention, the way he made you feel wanted, special? Was it love or a disguised obsession, born from his ability to fill every empty corner of your heart? That doubt, always present, was the crack in your passion. Maybe, what you felt for him was not as pure as you liked to believe.

“Such a dilemma,” Nozomi whispered beside you.

“Sure it is,” you nodded.

“You remind me of myself when I first started dating Toji. I loved him, but I was too afraid to get close because he was a strong commander and the heir to the throne, while I was just selling bread.” Nozomi scratched the back of her neck, somewhat embarrassed to admit it.

She told you her love story with a warmth in her voice that seemed to envelop every word. It was simple, almost like a tale that could have been lost between the pages of a forgotten book, but in her eyes shone the intensity of something unique.

“I was just a countryside girl,” she began, with a nostalgic smile.

Nozomi worked as a delivery girl at the family bakery, bringing freshly baked breads to the castle every two days, always before breakfast. Her routine was simple, almost monotonous, but she had a secret that made those trips special. From the courtyard, she could see young Prince Toji getting ready for the day through his window. Her eyes always ended up looking for him between the huge windows. One day, driven by a mixture of nerves and bravery, she timidly waved at him. Against all odds, he returned the gesture, but not in an indifferent way, but with a flirtatious smile that made her heart beat faster.

From then on, every morning, the same scene was repeated. Week after week, Toji began to wait for her at the same window, as if the day could not begin without that brief exchange. And then, after months of silent greetings and furtive glances, the king finally took the next step. He waited for her in the kitchen, a place where the walls of royalty seemed to crumble, to meet her face to face.

In the middle of her story, Nozomi's stomach began to hurt. Quickly, you approached to try to assist her, but she gestured to you that she was fine.

"This pregnancy is really testing my patience," She joked softly.

“Are you pregnant?” You asked, surprised you didn’t notice before.

“I’m barely two months pregnant,” she commented. “Do you want to feel?”

On the opposite side of the castle, hidden in the shadows of the maze of vines, a commander and a young woman who the former only known for a few hours were in a scene that was far from anything romantic. He was kissing her aggressively, squeezing her breasts tightly and possessing her ass as if she were nothing, just another toy in his collection. The poor girl was screaming in pain, but she didn’t push him away as she was dealing with the attractive Naoya Zen’in. The brightness of Naoya’s position and his almost perfect face seemed to override any desire to defend herself, even as her moans of pain mixed with the whispers of the wind in the labyrinth.

For Naoya, this was simply an empty ritual, another distraction in the middle of a busy and frenetic life. As a commander, he rarely had moments to “relax”, and these events became the perfect excuse for his personal hunt. There were always women willing to fall into his trap, fascinated by his lineage and his looks. But to him, they were interchangeable, ephemeral toys that lost their luster in a matter of minutes.

This one, in particular, was so boring that she seemed more like a rag doll than a companion. Not even her screams or her dedication could hold his interest. With a mix of contempt and disgust, he pushed her aside as if she were a used garment, leaving her there, alone and humiliated. The young woman called out to him, her voice cracking with confusion and pain, but Naoya had already left, ignoring her pleas with devastating indifference.

With a cynical smile and the air of someone who knows he can get away with anything, Naoya appeared back in the ballroom. His superhuman speed made him stand to the epicenter of the party in the blink of an eye. He adjusted his uniform, impeccable despite his recent “amusements” and let his gaze wander around the room, looking for a new victim to pass the time. It was then that something caught his attention. Amidst a sea of ​​white dresses, a flash of crimson glowed like a living flame.

“What the fuck…?” He whispered angrily to himself.

There you were, the damned servant who had the nerve to shoot an arrow through his back, chatting calmly with Queen Nozomi. The two of you were laughing, as if you were old friends sharing a secret, with your hands holding her belly in a relaxed posture, as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And worst of all, you were sitting on the king’s throne, with a naturalness and impudence that stabbed a pain in his chest.

He strode forward, every movement emanating suppressed fury, as his teeth ground together with each step. His gaze fixed on you was all it took to make the air in the room thick, tense. When he finally stood before you, his presence was imposing, charged with a silent rage that only someone like him could possess.

“What the fuck are you doing here?! Get your stupid ass up!” Naoya grabbed your arm to pull you off the throne.

“Commander Naoya!” Nozomi scolded him. “I asked her to sit down!” She defended you.

“No, Queen Zen’in. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have agreed in the first place,” you said to calm the waters. “See you again, Commander Naoya.” You greeted him with a bow.

“And what a horrible sight you look like,” Naoya replied, crossing his arms.

“And that’s why it’s not good to see you again.” You mimicked his stance.

“There, there.” Queen Nozomi stood up from her seat to scold the two of them. “Now King Toji is making a deal with King Sukuna. If all goes well, it means we’ll see each other more often. You two should try to be friends,” she said with a friendly smile.

“Friend of this disgusting maid? I’d rather die,” Naoya muttered, to which Nozomi gave him a smack.

“Enough!”

The room erupted in applause as the last note of the song faded into the air. The musicians, after a brief sigh of rest, prepared to begin the next number: The Phantom Waltz. An ethereal and moving melody, so perfect in its complexity, it felt as if time itself vanished in its lullaby. You knew it almost by heart; It was one of the first pieces you had tried to play on the piano, though its difficulty had led you to look for something simpler to begin practicing without ever losing the desire to master it one day.

The queen, noticing your gaze fixed on the musicians and the slight glint of recognition in your eyes, smiled to herself. A flash of cunning crossed her face, as if she had just conceived an idea that could change the course of the night.

“Commander Naoya, invite the young lady to dance,” Nozomi ordered.

“What?!” They both objected.

“Do you really want to disobey the queen?” She raised her eyebrow in threat. Naoya sighed dramatically in surrender. He knew his cousin would kick his ass if he disobeyed. You felt like you no longer had a say in the situation.

“You better know the steps,” Naoya took your hand before pulling you onto the dance floor. You looked at Nozomi with pitying eyes, but she only gave you a thumbs up in good luck.

Naoya held you by the waist firmly, his fingers gripping as if claiming something that never belonged to him. His posture was rigid, clearly making it known that this dance was not a gesture of courtesy, but a display of control and superiority. Wasting no time, you adjusted yourself into position, placing your hand on his shoulder, while his other hand maintained its possessive grip. Without a word, the two of you began to move, merging with the stream of dancers who twirled to the beat of the waltz.

The steps were fluid, perfectly synchronized with the music, but there was a palpable distance between you. Each of you looked in the opposite direction, like two children caught in an awkward interaction, pretending not to notice the other's closeness. Naoya kept his expression of bored arrogance, while you tried to keep your composure despite the surrounding gazes.

The ladies in the hall watched you with a mix of jealousy and resentment, whispering behind decorated fans. For them, you were an intruder in their territory, a mere stranger, occupying a place they believed was reserved for one of them: the arm of the young commander of the Zen'in. But, despite their obvious disdain, you couldn't ignore how some envied the attention he bestowed on you, even if it was laced with barely concealed condescension.

“They really hate you,” Naoya mocked you.

“Let them keep doing it,” you said indifferently.

“Hey, just because you have a dress that stands out from the others, doesn't mean you do. You're still a useless servant of a disgusting curse.” His intentions were clear. He was trying to annoy you as much as possible, but you wouldn't let him.

“I don’t care about in the slightest what a stupid, pedantic commander thinks.” Your partner smiled with satisfaction.

“Oh, honey... I know I'm the worst,” Naoya whispered in your ear. “But I still have status, strength and a face carved by angels.”

“By demons, you mean,” you replied quickly.

“You can pretend all you want, but I know you're melting being so close to me.”

“I better go back to the damn hell where you came from,” you whispered to him so no one would hear you.

Naoya smiled, enjoying the spectacle of your frustration. For him, your emotions were a toy, something delicate and easy to manipulate, and he did it with the same ease with which a cat plays with a mouse. The song reached its last beat, marking the perfect moment to execute the final twist: a tip. An opportunity that he, of course, planned to use for his own entertainment. 

Even though he didn't consider you the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, there was something about you that intrigued him. Maybe your resilience, your stubbornness, or simply the challenge you represented. His eyes briefly lingered on your lips, tempting and painted in such a deep red that they seemed like a beacon calling to him. Yes, he had already decided.

"Wait... He wants to...?" you thought, confused, noticing the direction of his gaze. It was absurd. What kind of man enjoys irritating a woman and then pretends to kiss her like it was nothing? It was clear you had to act quickly. The music was ending, and Naoya, confident in his ability to get his way, already had the plan outlined in his mind: a smooth and controlled movement, lower your body elegantly and seal the moment with an unexpected kiss in front of the crowd. He was so sure of himself that the sparkle of triumph was already appearing in his eyes.

But you weren't willing to be part of his game. As he moved his hand down your back, preparing to execute the final twist, you took control. With a calculated move, you slid your arm behind his back and, in one swift movement, pushed him off balance. Before he could react, you lightly kicked his foot, destabilizing him. In the blink of an eye, it was him who fell towards you, caught in your arms.

The entire room held its breath, surprised by the unexpected twist. You had made the perfect tip, but with Naoya in the role he would never have imagined: vulnerable and at your mercy. His arrogance was now replaced by a mix of disbelief and a spark of irritation. But you only smiled, triumphant, making it clear that you were not a piece on his board, but a player on yours.

“Look who’s melting now,” you whispered to him as his lips were just inches away.

Naoya had never felt so humiliated, embarrassed, angry, blushing, aroused… His emerald eyes were in shock that his heart was racing as fast as him. No, this couldn’t be happening to him. He was Commander Naoya of the great Zen’in nation, he couldn’t fall under the charms of a maid. A maid who stood up to him. A maid who beat his speed. A maid in a beautiful red dress. A beautiful maid… The applause at the end of the song submerged you, but you didn’t raise it. You wanted to make him suffer a couple more seconds. Naoya parted his lips thirstily, but you weren’t going to give him a drop of yourself.

The trumpets began to sound again, just in time. Someone important had arrived. You reluctantly picked Naoya up and moved away from him to make way on the dance floor. He backed away, confused, lost in the chaos of his emotions. The people around you gasped at the sight of who was in the Zen'in Kingdom, lining up so they could reach Queen Nozomi easily. You felt like you did when you were a maid, lining up against the wall to greet Sukuna.

“Here they are, King Kento Nanami of the Nanami Kingdom and King Satoru Gojo of the Gojo Kingdom!” They announced.

You were stunned to see the kings enter the hall, their presences capturing every glance. “Why are all the kings so handsome?” you thought, almost offended by the injustice of their beauty. First there was Sukuna, with his lethal and magnetic aura; then Suguru Geto, enigmatic and imposing. Then, Toji Zen'in with his great musculature. Now, King Nanami and King Gojo seemed to raise the standard even higher.

King Nanami was a work of perfection: tall, blond, with an impeccable bearing that seemed sculpted for a royal portrait. His navy blue military uniform, adorned with medals, reflected his discipline and elegance. His perfectly coiffed hair and shiny shoes made him look like the ideal dream husband, the kind of man every mother would want for her daughter. His seriousness only amplified his attractiveness, as if every gesture of his was a poem of sobriety and strength.

And then there was King Gojo, your sister hadn’t lied. King Gojo was prettier than her.. His snow-white hair shone under the lights, and his flawless skin had a glow that defied all logic. He wore a white yukata with traditional patterns of the Gojo kingdom that made him look even more ethereal. The blindfold covering his eyes only added to an air of mystery, though it couldn’t hide his colossal presence. If Naoya was a devil made flesh, Gojo seemed to have descended straight from heaven.

Both kings advanced through the hall, their steps filled with a natural majesty. Those present fell into a collective bow, bowing deeply to their authority. Naoya, who had known both of them for years, was already ready to greet them with that friendly arrogance he reserved only for his equals. But he stopped short when he noticed that Gojo had changed direction, advancing directly towards you.

Nanami also stopped, his gaze shifting to where his colleague directed his attention. Suddenly, you felt as if the surrounding air was compressed. Halfway into your bow, you found yourself looking up, caught up in the curiosity of the moment. A shiver ran down your spine at the strange feeling of déjà vu…

Gojo, with carefree ease, pulled the blindfold up to his forehead, revealing what could only be described as a pair of divine treasures: lapis lazuli blue eyes that seemed to hold the entire night sky within them. You were instantly mesmerized, your breath catching in your chest. “Those eyes!” you thought in awe, unable to look away. It was as if a spell had been cast on you, one impossible to break.

“Yorozu?” He asked you.

“Huh?”

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(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[lightless-flame-official]

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.