#magnify the lord

[wendymerritt-blog]

"Watch a live performance of ""Pslam 34"" by the The Brooklyn Tabernacle ChoirMusic video by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir performing Psalm 34 (Official Perf...

[marie85]

Send Down The Rain

Send Down The Rain Send down the rain (Oh glory!) Send down the rain (Alleluia!) Send down the gospel rain. Send down the rain (Oh glory!) Send down the rain (Alleluia!) Send down the gospel rain.

It’s coming down, down, down It’s coming down When the glory of the Lord is coming down Alleluia! When the saints begin to pray And the Lord shall have his way And the glory of the Lord Is coming down

[vialdovi-artstuff]

WHY. IS. HE .SO .FUCKING. CUTE

[wiirocku]

Psalm 34:2-3 (NKJV) - My soul shall make its boast in the LORD; The humble shall hear of it and be glad. Oh, magnify the LORD with me, And let us exalt His name together.

[thequeensjester]

Exploring Dutch Angles ➤ S2 • EP6: Where is He?

Dutch angles are a bit of a staple to ROP. It almost always used to show something is off or create unease in the story. Sanaa Hamri used a lot of them in this ep but I like that she paired them with other types of shots and tilts without purely relying on the Dutch angle to push the narrative.

The focus of this shot is on the wasted materials, showing us how far Celebrimbor has pushed the smiths. This sets up Sauron's visit to Khazad-dum.

We also see Mr. Mouse, our MVP of Eregion, roaming in plain sight. This sets up the illusion break in the next ep but keeping him out of focus doesn't spoil how it would happen and keeps our attention on the important part of this scene—Celebrimbor is unwell.

The ep opening fight scene with Arondir switches to a Dutch angle when he discovers this map. War is approaching Eregion but these orcs are also deserters, who disagreed with Adar's decisions. The signs are slowly pointing that the battle is a mistake for the orcs.

With Elendil, he is shown with an extreme close-up and a Dutch angle. This scene isn't about deceit. This is a no-win situation for Elendil. It's about choosing to obey Miriel and the humiliation of submitting to Pharazon, in exchange for his freedom. It betrays his values, the Faithful and Valandil, who died for their beliefs.

This shot occurs right when the sea worm pulls Miriel underwater. Pharazon needs Miriel to not return in order to maintain his rule. The eagle's presence was an unexpected opportunity that secured his rule after he entrapped Miriel at the coronation. The trial wasn't intended for her and her survival overrides his rule.

With Disa's confrontation, this shot reflects Narvi's unease with following the King's orders. In the ep5, we see Narvi uncomfortable with the King's personality changes but he's not in any position to defy the King. He doesn't want to hurt Disa here either.

The Dutch angles with Disa is a mix of style and a smooth transition between different camera angles to show the cave bats, instead of relying on too many editing cuts. It's the only use in this episode for a momentary victory, which Disa rightly expects the King to return.

This one is straightforward. Tom Bombadil presents Gandalf a trial to find his true staff but Gandalf is torn with choosing between his expected destiny/duty and saving Nori, who protected and cared for him since the moment he arrived.

I don't think it was necessary for this scene but the Dutch angle shot was only used in key parts of the sequence, similar to the Adar and Galadriel dinner.

Adar and Galadriel's dinner scene is a dance of lies. The angles of their shots point upwards, compared to s1. IMO, I think this shows the two trying to control the situation. The unease here is that they're both telling enough truths and lies to protect themselves.

The lighting is also interesting. Adar is in the shadow and Adar shouldn't be trusted. Galadriel is lit on her back. While she has yet to fully confront her darkness but in the end, she weighs her options for the greater good.

The dinner scene isn't entirely shot with a Dutch angle. There are moments where the camera is on a normal axis but it switches to a Dutch angle was when Adar reveals Morgoth's Crown. It emphasizes the evil associated with it.

In this reprisal scene, Adar is still shot with the Dutch angle but not Galadriel. We get different shots of her, including this cowboy shot, because she's offering a genuine alliance. However, Adar is still lying to extract information he needed.

Sauron is shown with the Dutch angle when his plans are finally coming together as the siege begins. I didn't think it was necessary here but I liked that Sanaa Hamri waited until Eregion is in full panic to use it for Sauron. It also makes me think back to the earlier Mr. Mouse shot because as triumphant as Sauron appears here, Mr. Mouse broke his illusion.

Even if ep6 could have used fewer Dutch angles, they're appropriate in tone as opposed to purely style. I don't think it takes away from the creativity and the visual storytelling that she brought to this episode.

— credit: cap-that.com

[nettleneopian]

I think that Darigan's face design/shape can be broken down into 3 main categories. Some art of Darigan will fall in-between these categories while some are outliers that are, well "one of a kind"

some notes

Versions 1 (original flavor)

The bat-ear shape gives the impression of demon horns

The actual horns are small and above the outer brow edge

Sharp pointed features and strong jaw

Version 2 (bat-thing)

The horns are vary high on the top of the head

Some features are rounded

The jaw and chin is elongated and narrowed

Version 3 (post redemption)

The bat-ear shape now gives the impression of big bat ears

The middle ground in shape but features even more rounded out

The horns are more in the middle of forehead

[missgallavjch]

imo jon is so connected to the 8th house omg!!! i'm not an astrologer but from what i know the 8th house is all about death&rebirth, transformation, power, sex, inheritance, the occult, taboos, secrets, subconscious fears and so on, themes that are all related to jon in one way or another 🥺 and the way he's very observant and introspective and deep reminds me a lot of scorpio too

[thinkingonscripture]

Prioritizing God’s Call Over Self

The Bible reveals that some things are more important than life itself. For the apostle Paul, his call to ministry was the most important thing to him. When speaking to the Elders at Ephesus, Paul said, “I do not consider my life of any account as dear to myself, so that I may finish my course and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify solemnly of the gospel of the grace of…

[scripture-pictures]

[that-catholic-shinobi]

every Christian has come to Jesus through Mary actually

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 4

Summary: after your conversion with your father, you just wanted to be in peace. Especially since your husband name day is close.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The water was warm, steaming against her pale skin as she reclined in the tub, the scent of lavender and rose oil wafting through the air. Elira’s hands worked delicately, her touch soft as she poured water over her mistress’s shoulders, letting it cascade down in rivulets. The bath chamber was silent save for the occasional splash of water and the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Elira hesitated, biting her lip as she wrung out a cloth. Her nerves were apparent, her usual timidness magnified in the face of what she wanted to ask. Y/n smirked to herself, already anticipating whatever foolish question the girl was about to utter.

“My lady… may I ask something?”

Y/n opened one eye, watching her through half-lowered lids, her expression languid and amused. “You may,” she said, her tone carrying a sharp edge of mockery, as if daring the girl to test her patience.

Elira hesitated again, then quickly stammered out, “Why… why did you choose to marry Prince Aegon? He’s just a child, my lady. If—if I were in your place… and a man like Lord Jason Lannister wanted to marry me…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing red. “I would have accepted.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Y/n laughed—a sharp, derisive sound that echoed off the stone walls. It was not a warm laugh but one laced with scorn. She turned her head slightly to look at Elira, her lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Of course you would,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “That’s the difference between us, Elira. You’re a peasant. A frightened little girl who would gladly sell herself for a crumb of comfort and a pat on the head from some bloated fool with a golden lion stitched to his chest.”

Elira’s head bowed, her hands trembling slightly as she dipped the cloth back into the water. Y/n continued, her tone growing sharper, each word a dagger aimed at the girl’s pride.

“But I am Y/n. I am a Targaryen, the blood of Old Valyria. I am the rider of Vermithor, the princess of dragon stone. I don’t need a man’s protection, nor his gold, nor his pathetic little affections. I don’t need anything from a husband save for two things: a pretty face to sit on and a hard cock to ride.”

Elira gasped softly, her eyes widening, but she said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.

Y/n leaned back, stretching her arms along the edge of the tub, her smirk deepening. “But if you’re so curious about my decision, I’ll enlighten you.” She tilted her head, her voice softening into a conspiratorial tone, though the mockery remained. “I choose Aegon because he’s a child. A boy with no power to tell me what to do, no authority to make demands of me.”

She let her words sink in for a moment before continuing, her eyes gleaming with cold, calculating ambition. “And more importantly, he’s the firstborn son. He is father's heir, whether my father likes it or not. I may not have a chance at the throne, but Aegon does. And I will mold him. Raise him exactly as I wish, shape him into who I want him to be. And when that day comes, when he sits the Iron Throne…” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I will be the true power behind him. I will be queen.”

Elira’s hands faltered, the cloth slipping from her fingers and sinking into the water. She stared at Y/n, her face pale, clearly unsettled by her mistress’s words. But Y/n only laughed again, throwing her head back, her voice ringing with cruel amusement.

“Now,” she said, her tone suddenly light and airy, “be a good girl and fetch me more hot water. This bath is growing cold.”

The woods were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant cries of birds. Y/n walked beside Ser Criston, her irritation growing with every step. Hours had passed, and they’d yet to find anything worth hunting. So fucking annoying. She tightened her grip on the bow in her hand, the frustration threatening to bubble over.

She was about to complain when her ears picked up something—soft footsteps, the kind that didn’t belong to animals. Her gaze narrowed, her body tensing as she held up a hand to stop Criston. Then, she heard it: her sister’s voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind.

Rhaenyra.

Y/n’s head snapped in the direction of the sound, her sharp violet eyes catching movement through the trees. She crept forward silently, motioning for Criston to follow. As they approached, the figures came into view: Rhaenyra, her silver hair gleaming even in the dappled light, and beside her, that hulking brute Harwin Strong. But it wasn’t the sight of them that made Y/n pause—it was the majestic white hart standing just a few feet ahead of her sister, its antlers rising like a crown from its head.

She grabbed Criston’s hand, holding him back before he could move. “Be quiet,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lips curved into a smirk as she watched her sister. “And don’t make a sound.”

Y/n crouched low, her eyes fixed on Rhaenyra. Come on, sister. Kill it. Her heart beat faster, anticipation coiling tightly in her chest. She waited, watching for the moment when Rhaenyra would draw her weapon, when she would finally prove herself capable of something more than riding her dragon and being a spoiled cunt. Show me you have the spine.

But Rhaenyra didn’t move. The hart stood before her, regal and unafraid, and Y/n saw her sister’s hand drop to her side. And then, Rhaenyra stepped back, letting the beast go.

Y/n’s smirk twisted into a sneer, her mind filling with sharp, cutting thoughts. Of course. Of course, you don’t, you stupid cunt. What did I expect, really? She shook her head, her contempt flaring as she silently drew an arrow from her quiver. The string of her bow stretched taut as she aimed, her eyes locking on the white hart’s elegant neck.

And then she let go.

The arrow flew true, piercing the hart’s neck with a satisfying thunk. The beast reared back, stumbling as blood gushed from the wound. Rhaenyra gasped, her shock written plainly across her face, but Y/n didn’t give her a second glance.

“Finish it,” she said coldly, tossing a glance over her shoulder at Criston.

Ser Criston moved quickly, drawing his blade and putting the hart out of its misery with a single, clean stroke. Y/n rose from her crouch, her movements smooth and graceful as she strode forward, stepping into the clearing. Her boots crunched softly against the ground as she approached Rhaenyra, whose wide eyes were still fixed on the fallen hart. Harwin stood beside her, his hand resting protectively on his sword hilt, though he didn’t move to stop Y/n.

“Well, well,” Y/n said, her voice light with mockery, “what a surprise to see you here, sister.”

Rhaenyra turned to face her, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “I let it go.”

Y/n tilted her head, her lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile. “Why? Because I needed a new cloak, of course.” Her tone was dripping with false innocence. She gestured to the hart with a casual wave of her hand. “This beautiful creature is perfect for it. Don’t you think?”

Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Y/n took a step closer, her smile widening as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, the gesture as mocking as it was intimate.

“Goodbye, dear sister,” Y/n whispered, her voice a soft purr. “Enjoy the rest of your little walk.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her crimson cloak swirling behind her as she walked back to Criston. “Bring it,” she ordered, gesturing to the hart’s body, and he obeyed without question.

As they disappeared into the woods, Y/n glanced over her shoulder one last time, catching the stunned, angry look on Rhaenyra’s face. Her smirk returned, satisfaction blooming in her chest.

Weak, little Rhaenyra, she thought. You’ll never understand. But don’t worry, sister—I’ll show you.

The ride back was slow, her mood as sour as the metallic scent of blood wafting from the stag’s severed head strapped to the back of her horse. The triumph of the kill had already faded, leaving her simmering irritation in its place. Criston walked beside her, one hand steady on the reins of her horse, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the path ahead. She barely acknowledged him, her thoughts consumed by the tedious pomp awaiting her return.

As they entered the camp, banners flapped in the wind, servants bustling about like ants beneath the royal pavilion. Y/n slid off the horse with practiced ease, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. “Take care of the stag’s body,” she ordered Criston sharply, tossing him a brief glance. “The head stays with me.”

Criston bowed slightly, his armor clinking. “As you command, princess.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Her sharp eyes scanned the camp until they landed on her brother, cradled in Alicent’s arms near the pavilion. Without a word of greeting, she strode toward them, her crimson cloak billowing behind her. Alicent looked up, startled, but before she could protest, Y/n reached out and plucked Aegon from her arms.

“Y/n,” Alicent began, her tone edged with concern, “he’s just—”

“I know,” Y/n cut her off, dismissing her with a glare. “Don’t fuss.”

Aegon, his little head still bandaged, squirmed briefly in her grasp before recognizing her. His tiny arms flung around her neck, hugging her tightly. “Si-ster!” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with excitement.

Her irritation softened for a fleeting moment as she kissed his forehead, her lips brushing against the white cloth wrapped around his head. “There you are, my little husband,” she murmured, a rare tenderness in her voice.

But the moment didn’t last. She turned, gesturing for Criston to bring the stag’s head forward. The grotesque trophy swung slightly as it was presented, blood still dripping onto the dirt below. She held Aegon up slightly so he could see, her voice lilting with mock enthusiasm.

“Look,” Y/n said, holding him slightly away from her so he could see better. “This is yours. The white hart of the Kingswood, a beast worthy of a prince.”

But instead of the reaction she anticipated—delight, awe, perhaps even pride—Aegon’s lip began to quiver. His bright eyes welled with tears, and before Y/n could react, he burst into loud, pitiful sobs, his tiny body shaking in her arms.

Y/n froze, staring down at him in disbelief. “What… What is this?” she muttered, her irritation flaring. “Why are you crying? It’s a gift, you foolish boy.” She bounced him slightly, trying to quiet him, but it only made his wails louder.

Alicent rose from her seat, her expression a mixture of concern and anger. “He’s just a child,” she said, extending her arms. “He doesn’t understand.”

“Clearly, he doesn’t,” Y/n snapped, her patience wearing thin. She thrust Aegon back into Alicent’s arms, ignoring the boy’s desperate grip as he clung to her for a moment before being transferred. “Take him. If he can’t appreciate what I’ve done for him, then let him go back to you.”

Alicent cradled the sobbing boy, soothing him with soft words and gentle strokes of her hand. Y/n turned away, brushing her hands down her cloak as if to rid herself of the inconvenience. She cast one last glance at the stag’s head, her jaw tightening.

Ungrateful brat.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴ��ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[zylusmusings]

The young dragon is still alive.

The red he sees on his hands is possibly even redder than the crimson of his own eyes - God, it’s so much blood… and Sylus isn’t even a stranger to violence and blood but he swears he has never seen this much blood. Perhaps, everything is magnified now since it was her that was bleeding. She could get a paper cut, and he’d wage a war against the trees in the Amazon for causing such a grievance against his beloved. 

But this.. this is too much blood, still. Calm and collected Sylus, one has never witnessed him shaken, is now found trembling as he stares at the carmine pool surrounding them both. The smell of iron is nauseating, even for him and he feels the taste of bile threatening the back of his throat. He heaves, mouth agape in small pants while he scrambles to make sense of the situation. 

“Sw..Sweetie.. This is not right, c’mon. You have to… stop this.” He feels small, suddenly. Useless, as shaking hands continue to practically beg the wound on her chest to stop bleeding. The most powerful man of N109 zone deemed completely inadequate at this current moment. There was nothing he could do to stop the profuse bleeding, nothing he could do to save her - and he knew this deep down. 

The same young dragon who was so confused and vulnerable, whose frustration only grew as his horns continued to do the same. So shameful of his fate and destiny, yet knowing there was simply nothing he could do to change it. The same sentiments of ignominy - this time however, he feels like he’s deserving of the humiliation. Waited years upon years for her return, only for her to be dying in his arms. His beloved was going to leave him, and prayers of desperation for their roles to be reversed escapes his cracked lips.. For her to drill the claymore into the depths of his chest, again and again. Then, again and again. The only fathomable passage was for him to die and her to live for thousands and millions more years before she dies a natural painless death, after a fulfilling and happy long life - not this. 

“I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry. I am sorry, I don’t know what to do.” He apologises repeatedly, his tears dampening the hair at the top of her head as his body curls atop hers, his last desperate attempt to shield and protect her, but it’s no use. Nothing can save her. He knows that, too. This dragon is afraid and desperate.

A silent sob escapes his agape mouth, the sight of her choking on her own blood as she fights for her final breaths has him begging the Lord to shower him with mercy. He’d bear the punishment and atone for all of the sins both him and all of mankind has ever committed, if it meant that this world that his beloved would walk on was free of any atom of darkness. Let it be a safe place for her to roam and live unreservedly - because that would have been what she deserved, not this. “It should’ve been me. I’m sorry, it should’ve been me.”

And as her hand falls limp, this dragon roars in pain. 

[wiirocku]

Luke 1:46-48 (CSB) - And Mary said:

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, because He has looked with favor on the humble condition of His servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed,

[berrypass-de-murdler]

IT'S IN THE TAG IT'S IN THE TAG <3 <3

I made these while sleep deprived. Not even that funny (they were peak hilarity when I made them tho). Enjoy them. Or don’t.

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH. 5

synopsis: Amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/)[1] is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae (tribe Amaryllideae). A vibrant bloom that symbolizes new beginnings and fresh starts. They are often associated with winter and the holiday season.

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, angst, slowburn

⚝wc: 3k

⚝a/n: I've been really slacking on updating this series, gonna try harder I swear.

Sorry.

Even the thought of the word sounded wrong to him. He was a king–ruthless and commanding. His subjects kissed the ground he walked on. There was never a choice he made, that was up for debate. Every criticizing eye was swiftly plucked out, questioning tongue severed.

 But, you—seemed to be a point of contention. Ever since your arrival that was the trend you followed. It was vexing, sure and yet he wouldn’t dream of changing the dynamic.

Why did the sight of you crying so affect him? Why was it that you, a mere servant, could disturb his centuries of carefully maintained control? It wasn’t just your fear that unsettled him; it was the realization that you had managed to penetrate his defenses in a way no one else had.

With a frustrated growl, Sukuna stopped pacing and stared at the reflection in his ornate mirror. The king he saw there was every bit as formidable as he’d always been, but the reflection now held a hint of something else—something vulnerable that he could barely recognize.

His eyes drifted to the door, hoping for any sign of your arrival. He replayed the conversation from earlier, the way you had looked at him, shrunk under his yelling.

As night fell, the emptiness of his bed became a stark reminder of your absence. The usual solace of his grand chambers turned oppressive, and no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him. The silence was deafening, only filled with thoughts of you.

He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration mounting. For the first time in hundreds of years–the king of curses could not sleep.

Every creak of the palace, every distant sound seemed magnified in the quiet of his chambers. His usual patience frayed, replaced by an unsettling anxiety. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.

The minutes turned to hours.

As the hours dragged on and the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains, Sukuna finally acknowledged the truth he had been fighting: your presence—or the lack of it—affected him more than he was willing to admit. He needed to find you.

 Throwing off the covers, he rose from bed with a determined stride.

He navigated through the labyrinth of his palace. Looking through every room, his irritation growing each second he failed to locate you.

Finally, he encountered Uraume, who was in the midst of their morning duties. Sukuna’s usual composure was replaced by a rare edge of desperation. “Uraume.” he barked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Where is she?”

Uraume’s eyes widened in surprise. “My lord, I—”

“Do not play games with me,” Sukuna interrupted, his frustration palpable. “I demand to know where she is.”

Uraume, taken aback by the king’s sudden intensity, struggled to maintain their usual calm demeanor. “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her this morning.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Find her.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Inform me immediately when you do.”

After what felt like hours of searching, Sukuna’s relentless pursuit led him to the library—a place he rarely visited.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his gaze swept over the vast array of bookshelves and reading nooks. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of hope and irritation.

There, nestled in a quiet corner of the library, he finally found you. You were lying on a velvet sofa, the soft light filtering through the high windows casting a gentle glow over you. Your breathing was steady, but the sight of you so unexpectedly calm, yet so isolated, struck him with a fresh wave of frustration.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, the weight of his anger still mingling in his chest. He had expected to find you hiding, but the sight of you resting so peacefully, despite the turmoil from the previous day, left him momentarily speechless.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp. He tried to suppress the concern in his tone, but it seeped through nonetheless.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly opening your eyes. Seeing him standing over you, the mixture of his commanding presence and the faint softness in his gaze was almost disorienting.

“I... slept here.” you murmured, as you sat up.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained evident. “Do not think that you can simply evade me. I was looking for you.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words to explain. “I..needed a moment away.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. Away? Away… from him?

His anger seemed ready to boil over. He clenched his fists at his sides, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

He started to say something more, but the words choked in his throat. He paused, his face contorting as he wrestled with his emotions. “Come with me.” he said abruptly, his voice strained. 

Without waiting for a response, Sukuna turned on his heel, and you watched as his broad shoulders shifted, tension coiling beneath his skin. The silence that followed felt like an unspoken command, so you rose quietly, trailing behind him as he led the way out of the library and through the grand halls of the palace.

Each turn felt more hidden, the winding path narrowing until the towering palace walls faded behind you. Sukuna moved with purpose, leading you through a barely visible trail as if he had walked it countless times before. The air grew cooler, more secluded, and with every step, the tension between you deepened, thickening the silence.

When the path opened into the garden, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen this place before—none of the servants had even whispered of its existence. A private sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the palace. The delicate rustling of leaves, the vibrant flowers, and the gentle trickle of a fountain made it feel like stepping into a dream, so unlike the cold, imposing grandeur of the palace.

You glanced around in awe, but Sukuna remained still, his back to you, as if the beauty of the garden was inconsequential to him. He stopped near the center, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, barely holding back the storm of emotions that brewed within. You hesitated, waiting for him to break the silence.

"This place..." He paused, as if the words were unfamiliar to him, his jaw tightening with the effort to continue. "No one but Uraume knows of it." His crimson gaze finally meets yours, studying your reaction. You look up at him, caution etched on your face.

“My Lord… why did you bring me here?” You finally find your voice.

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as if he were holding back words he didn’t know how to express. For a moment, he said nothing, his piercing stare taking in every detail of your face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, the usual edge softened just slightly. “Because...”

He hesitated, his expression hardening once more, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Because you needed to see this. Needed to understand that..." He stopped himself again, frustration flaring briefly in his gaze.

He tore his eyes away from yours, staring instead at the quiet garden around you, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze as if mocking his struggle. "I could not sleep." 

“You… couldn’t sleep.” you repeat.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as if he regretted saying it aloud. "No," he growled, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted his weight, clearly battling with himself. "I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t where you should be." His fists tightened briefly at his sides, and for a moment, you thought his temper might snap again, but he held back. He took a deep breath, looking back at the garden.

“Where I should be…” you echoed, the weight of the words sinking in. Bitterness filled your mouth at the thought.

You had never had a place to belong, passing from one household to the next—no family truly wanting you. Being taught to serve, be invisible, to follow orders without question. “Belonging” was a luxury that other people had, you had only known obligations, expectations, and silence.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "My Lord… I’ve never had a place where I was meant to be." Your voice quiet.  You kept your eyes low, avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in it. Afraid of what he might see in it. "I’ve only ever been where I was told… where I was needed. There’s never been a place that was… mine."

“I see,” Sukuna said softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

“Your absence… is felt.” His voice was a low murmur, almost introspective.

The admission hung in the air, delicate and uncharacteristic of him. Sukuna���s usual command was replaced with a rare, raw honesty, his battle with his own emotions evident in the tightness of his jaw and the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a moment, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The depth of his words, the way he had fought to express them, was both startling and unsettling. You had never imagined that your presence—or absence—could affect him so deeply.

“I’m… sorry,” you said finally, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “I didn’t mean to cause such distress.”

“No.” he said eventually, his tone laced with frustration and reluctance. “It’s not just… about distress.” He took a deep breath, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Yesterday, I... I lost my temper.”

The awkwardness of his apology was palpable as if each word was a battle against his own nature. The struggle was evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers clenched into fists before relaxing. He was trying to bridge a gap that his usual demeanor couldn’t easily cross.

You looked at him, your mouth agape in shock, maybe the night of no sleep had cause hallucinations. Had you heard him? Were you mistaken?

The usual commanding presence that inspired fear and respect was now tempered by an uncharacteristic hesitation and softness. It was as though you were seeing him for the first time, not just as a king, but as a man grappling with his own emotions.

You quickly caught yourself, regaining composure as you took in the full scope of his vulnerability. The stark contrast between the imposing figure of Sukuna and the genuine, albeit awkward, sincerity he had just displayed was striking. His powerful frame, usually so unyielding, seemed momentarily diminished in the garden’s serene atmosphere.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his pink hair in a rare show of agitation. He turned his back to you again, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “It is… difficult for me, to express… what I mean.”

He cast a quick, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. “You’re... you’re allowed in this garden. Whenever you want. It’s not meant to be hidden from you.”

Slowly, you took a step forward, the shock giving way to a tentative understanding. "Thank you, my Lord," you said quietly,. "For… sharing this with me. And for allowing me a place here."

“You… are welcome.”

Your gaze shifted to a nearby flower, its vibrant petals standing out against the verdant backdrop. Curious, you asked, “What’s this one?”

Sukuna’s eyes followed your gaze, and for a moment, he seemed to find solace in the change of focus. “That’s an amaryllis” he said, his voice regaining a touch of its usual authority.

“Amaryllis..” you practice, tasting the name on your tongue.

“Yes,” he continues, “It symbolizes strength and new beginnings. It thrives even in harsh conditions.” He shifted his gaze back to you, eyes tracing the lines of your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You reached out for him, your hand trembling slightly. Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his. He guided it firmly to his chest, where his robe parted to reveal the warmth of his skin,a stark contrast to the cool garden air. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your palm—a heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the depth of his emotions.

He stared intently into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of sincerity and trepidation. “You have…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have… affected me. More than you know.” 

The air between you grew heavier, your breath catching in your throat as his hand trailed over your face, gentle and calculated. Tracing the soft skin of your cheek, to your jaw—brushing against your bottom lip. As his fingers lingered on your lips, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

“My lord—”  you began, your voice wavering with a question that never fully formed.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The garden around you seemed to quiet, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets fading into the background as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, Sukuna guided you to a softer patch of grass further within the garden, a place hidden beneath a canopy of trees, where the light filtered through the leaves in soft, fragmented patterns.

"I meditate here," he said quietly, sharing a secret. He lowered himself gracefully onto the grass, his movements deliberate, leaving just enough space beside him for you to join.

"You… meditate?" you asked, almost without thinking, your tone laced with disbelief.

He turned to look at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you think me incapable of silence and thought?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, though it didn’t sting. "That I am so detached, so unfeeling?"

The embarrassment crept up your neck, your eyes darting away as you bit your lip. "I didn’t mean—" you began, but the words felt clumsy, an apology for something you hadn't meant to assume.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet breath, his amusement fading into something more genuine. "It is…easy to believe," he murmured, "given how I appear." His hand reached out, beckoning you closer. "Come.”

Slowly, you settled beside him, the grass cool beneath your skin as the quiet of the garden enveloped you both. Sukuna reclined, two arms propped behind his head, allowing the stillness of the space to calm his unease. You glanced at him, the formidable king of curses suddenly appearing more human in the soft light of the garden.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Sukuna, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, cleared his throat and tried to make conversation. "What of your family?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, the pain of your past surfacing briefly. "My family… they died when I was young," you said quietly, your voice betraying a hint of the sorrow you felt. "I was left alone after that."

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "I see," he said awkwardly, trying to find the right words. "I didn’t mean to… to bring up something so... personal."

You looked at him, noticing his genuine discomfort and the uncharacteristic hesitation in his gaze. "It’s alright," you reassured him. "It’s been a long time."

Sukuna let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes briefly. "This…isn't exactly my strength." he admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"And here I thought you were all-powerful in every aspect." a small smirk tugs your lips as you chuckle. Sukuna’s cheeks flushed slightly, avoiding your gaze.

Before you could react, Sukuna moved with surprising swiftness, crawling on top of you and trapping you gently between the grass and his strong arms. His gaze was intense, crimson eyes piercing, boreing holes into your own.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

The sudden shift in position left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. The distance between you was minimal, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I’m not accustomed to this. It is… difficult. You make it difficult.” 

 He hovered just above you, his breath mingling with yours, “You have a way of unraveling me. It’s... unsettling.”

The warmth between you grew. Every subtle movement of his body against yours sent a shiver through you, making your skin tingle.

Sukuna’s gaze fell to your lips, the tension between you crackling with an electric anticipation. He hesitated, his expression a mix of determination and longing. “What is it you do to me?” he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The man who had always been a figure of strength and control was now entirely absorbed by you, and the realization made your heart race even faster.

His nearness was intoxicating, every touch and glance fueling the fire that had been kindling between you. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, his lips descended on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was both rough and dizzying.

His grip on you tightened, his hands framing your face with a desperate intensity. The moment felt like it stretched endlessly, the world outside forgotten as his tongue entered your mouth with an urgency that bordered on frantic. He explored every inch of you, his taste mingling with yours. The kiss was a maelstrom of sensation, his passion overwhelming in its depth.

Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his robe on your fingertips.  Sukuna’s groan vibrated through you, He pressed more of his weight into you, his two lower arms gripping your waist with a possessive force, his nails digging into your flesh as if to anchor himself to you. 

As he finally pulled away from your lips, you were met with the sight of him—his pupils dilated, breathing ragged, and his heartbeat quicker now. Sukuna’s chest heaved with every breath, his expression pure hunger.

He wanted to consume you. And you were more than ready to let him.

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