#severe weather recovery

[kathyoholloway44]

Access storm damage restoration Canton services designed to repair and rebuild properties affected by severe weather. These solutions address common issues like broken roofing, water damage, and structural instability to ensure properties are restored efficiently and safely.

[spoonfulofjesus]

PTSD in Twisters

There may be minor spoilers ahead for Twisters? Idrk what counts as a spoiler but it's not like I reveal the ending or anything. Anyway!

I saw the movie Twisters yesterday and I wanted to comment (positively) on the PTSD representation in the main character Kate. I don't have PTSD myself (though I do have trauma), so if someone who has PTSD has something to add please do so and I will reblog it.

In the first scene of the movie, we see what causes Kate's trauma. Put simply, she makes a mistake while chasing a tornado and gets too close. Three of her friends (including her boyfriend) get blown away and killed, she gets injured and almost killed herself. We see a street sign wobble and get ripped out of the ground. The windshield wipers get stuck from the wind. She leaves the car she was in and hides under a bridge to survive. One friend was in a different car, and is yelling trying to radio them as they are running away. These are important details.

The movie then jumps 5 years in the future, where Kate has gotten a desk job and given up on why she was hunting tornadoes (to try to find a way to stop them). She is reunited with the one friend who didn't die in the first scene, who she hadn't seen in years. He asks her to go help him with a similar goal to the one she had originally had (stopping tornadoes). She is very reluctant but eventually agrees (otherwise we wouldn't have a movie).

After her traumatic event, Kate almost completely cuts contact with her old life. She moves across the country from rural Oklahoma to very urban NYC and ignores calls from her mother, cuts contact with her one friend, and gets a job that is the farthest possible thing from what had caused her trauma without leaving meteorology altogether. Each of these things individually may not seem like a big deal, but right after her trauma as well as all of them at once makes it clear this was probably an attempt to distance herself from her trauma. And it makes sense why she would be so reluctant to go back into the field when her friend asked. I wanted to highlight this because PTSD is not just panic attacks and flashbacks. Trauma changes you, and it is not always obvious. And this was a very good portrayal of distancing oneself from trauma.

Next thing I want to point out is visual triggers throughout the movie. Remember the things I described about the traumatizing event. I can't remember the chronological order, but we see a sign wiggling about to be ripped out of the ground, at which Kate looks very panicked. We see the windshield wipers get stuck from the wind, and Kate watches them very nervously. The car she's in passes under a bridge and she turns around in the car to stare at it. All of these are clear visual triggers of the incident. What makes this a good portrayal is that it wasn't just the tornado that reminds her of the incident. It was things others would have found inconsequential. A wiggling sign, windshield wipers, and a bridge. Often people with PTSD get triggered by those small signs. I have heard people say things such as walking through a doorframe of a certain color, an inconsequential smell, things that nobody else would notice. Not to mention that triggers can change day to day. Someone may be able to handle something one day, and not be able to the next due to many other factors.

Of course, her biggest trigger is getting close to a tornado. Naturally, she is nervous when they are driving up to the tornado for the first time. Even without PTSD, it's a dangerous situation and anyone would be nervous. But she seems to be holding it together until she steps out of the car. Remember I said she and her friends left the car at the beginning. As soon as she does so, it takes no time for her to be triggered into a freeze response which then evolves into a flight response. Her friend also yells her name trying to snap her out of it (the same friend that had been yelling through the radio during the incident). She stands frozen for too long and the goal is missed, then she ushers her friend into the car and drives away in a panic. If you know anything about PTSD, this shouldn't be a surprise - not only her panicking, but the specific responses she has (freeze first, flight second). During the incident, she and her friends had frozen in place in the car, then aborted the mission and ran for cover. It makes sense that as she's experiencing flashbacks (be it emotional or full), she would use the same techniques that saved her the first time. Now would also be a good time to point out that the way she cut herself off from her old life could also have been considered a long-winded flight response. Often fight or flight/trauma responses manifest in other ways besides heat-of-the-moment.

After driving away and messing up the mission/goal, Kate seems extremely angry at herself and guilt-driven. She lashes out physically at the car and has a posture of self-loathing. This makes sense. People with PTSD often feel much anger and guilt with things regarding their trauma, as well as when they have trauma responses. They can be harsh on themselves, feeling like they "shouldn't have reacted the way they did" even if their response was completely in line with their trauma. In Kate's case, it had been 5 years since the incident and it clearly still affected her. Not to mention, she had failed another tornado-related mission in a way her survivor's guilt brain would absolutely have taken as entirely her fault.

While she does have other moments of panic throughout the movie (which is good, because it means they didn't just write her to have one panic attack and then be done with her trauma), they are all fairly similar and brief.

The last thing I want to mention is how, besides these brief moments and the major panic at the very triggering first attempt, Kate does very well under pressure, more so than the other characters. This can also be attributed to PTSD. Often people will work very well in stressful situations, especially those with C-PTSD (which Kate does not have, at least not from the tornado incident alone) because they had to learn to live with chronic stress and walking on eggshells. In many people's situations, panic was not an option, and during stressful/triggering situations after the fact, the panic comes once the event is over. This is true in the moment as well as broadly. I have seen that people with PTSD may be numb, dissociative, seem to have it all together, and be otherwise strong in the moment, but it isn't until they feel safe that they start to break down, and that post-traumatic stress begins to truly take hold as the brain struggles to process and put the trauma behind them. This can also somewhat be seen in Kate's case, as she runs away and tries to ignore/suppress the incident as well as her emotions toward it. She tries to act as if she's moved on, but it's clear once she's triggered 5 years later that she has not truly processed and moved past it only ignored it.

Dissociation is also very common in people with PTSD, and may be profound enough to be a separate dissociative disorder or not. In Kate's case, it doesn't seem to be, at least overtly, however there is one moment in which she does seem to be dissociating. It's subtle, and possible wasn't even intentional, but the way she had a blank expression and thousand foot stare (the rest of the movie she was quite expressive) and was in a triggering situation makes it very possible. They were in the car driving toward the tornado target. In Kate's case, this makes sense to be extremely triggering as it is reminiscent of the lead-up to the incident, and dissociating as the mind's way to prepare and protect itself for more trauma makes a lot of sense. She could also have been lost in a flashback, which would also have made sense, or a combination of the two.

One other small thing that's worth noting is the brief nightmare/flashback. After the 5 year time skip, Kate is shown asleep in bed and her late boyfriend wraps his arm around her, which startles her awake. She then checks the bed to make sure she's really alone. Flashback nightmares are very common in PTSD, and even though it didn't seem related her boyfriend did die during the incident, which could have tainted some or all of her memories of him to be triggering.

Overall, I think the PTSD representation was very good in this movie. The only thing I'd say was that they didn't come out and say that's what it was, even though the signs were clear. The description of the movie said "haunted by the memory" which shows they did in fact have the intention of the incident being traumatic and having a lasting impact on Kate. But there are many people who still think PTSD is limited to war veterans, or is very different and even makes people dangerous to others, or doesn't believe it exists at all. Of course everyone has a different experience, and it looks different for everyone. But I think a brief mention that she has PTSD would have helped get people with those misunderstandings to think more critically and broadly about their understanding of trauma and PTSD.

Anyway thanks for coming to my TED Talk. Again, if someone with PTSD wants to add, please do. Otherwise, have a blessed day and I hope this was informative!

Also, shout-out to the tall Storm Par guy with the sunglasses who had like one line. My man did NOT get enough screen time ;-; [Crying emoticon]. Can't even find his name.

[queerculus]

National coverage of the hurricane has been so heavily tilted towards the typical hurricane-affected areas that it is going almost completely unreported as of posting that the town of Chimney Rock, North Carolina has been completely leveled.

Aside from some residential areas, the entire town is gone.

I'm posting this because in the coming days and weeks there are going to be a lot of calls to help people who survived the storm and many are going to assume that this is business-as-usual hurricane season stuff, but it isn't. This storm tore through Appalachia, flooding regions that have literally never flooded like this. The hills and plants that hold soil in place have been severely damaged because this kind of weather event is so deeply unprecedented the plants that live here are completely unprepared for this to happen literally ever.

There are no undamanged highways in or out of Asheville. We can't even recover the phone and data networks until trucks can get into the area, and they can't get into the area because some of the roads are just GONE. The water was so fast and so intense it washed the dirt from underneath the pavement and chunks of road literally fell down the fucking mountains.

When you see things over the next few days asking for help, please understand that this is not typical hurricane season damage. Entire communities have been flattened. The infrastructure in much of the region is utterly destroyed and will take weeks just to begin recovery in some parts.

The phone and data grid are offline.

Power and water are out for most people.

The roads used for evacuation are undrivable.

This is an absolute nightmare scenario.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Aeternum

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: your life with Lloyd is a lot of work. Or rather, he is.

This is one of my birthday drabbles. Thanks again for your input :) Enjoy.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A birthday drabble for Carpe Noctem 

You stare at the small screen of the smart device. The smell of cinnamon fills the kitchen as you stand in wait of the baking desserts. You lean in to get a better view of the news segment. Your ears tweak at the reporter’s words. 

‘The sole survivor remains in the ICU with severe burns but healthcare personnel see a full recovery. As for those who passed, the survivor’s parents, they have been interred in the local cemetery and the service brought out hundred.’ 

They show images of the funeral; flowers, solemn faces, the front of a church.  

“Why are you watching that shit?” Lloyd, as always, knows when to barge in. 

“Alexa, stop playing,” you command the device and the screen returns to rest, showing the time and weather. “Just the news.” 

“I told you not to worry about that idiot.” He grunts as you face him. He tries to cross his arms then puts them straight, shaking out his left. He’s slick with sweat and his workout gear clings to his muscles. “I fucked up. Thought I killed him but the damn cockroach managed to drag himself out. What a pussy. Can’t even save his own parents.” 

“Lloyd. You--” 

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, mimi, your soft heart.” He leers at you and winks. “Softer body.” He sticks his tongue out and wince. He bends his elbow and rubs it. 

“What wrong with your arm?” You sigh. 

“Nothing. Old college injury. You know I was varsity, right? Coulda gone national but I made more money... doing something else.” 

“Right,” you sniff and go to the oven. You peer through the lit window at the spiral cookies. 

“What’s the point of me putting in all this work in the gym when you’re just fattening me up?” He scoffs. 

“You don’t have to eat the cookies.” You glance at the time on the small screen above the stove. 

“I have a nose and a stomach. I can’t resist.” He shuffles around the kitchen and surprises you as he comes up behind you. “Just like I can’t resist you.” 

“The cookies are for the shelter.” You stiffen as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your ass against him. “I told you several times not to touch.” 

“Mimi, you’re spending all my money.” 

You huff and look around at the spacious kitchen; stacked ovens, a hug marble island, a fridge with a glass door, a whole other fridge for just wine, and every single appliance you might need but have yet to use. You grab his wrists as he squeezes your hips. 

“I think you have more than enough. What else am I supposed to do?” 

“Have some wine, put on a thong, hop on my dick,” he purrs and rocks you with him, locking his hold on you. “You got your choice. The hot tub, the pool, sauna, hell, sit out in the sun and read one of your Austen joints. Want me to dress up like Darcy? Bit of role play?” 

“Stop,” you push on his arms and writhe. 

“What’s a matter, mimi? You weren’t so shy last night. Or yesterday afternoon. Or after lunch. Or in the morning.” 

You sneer and tear his hands away from your hips. You turn to him and poke his shoulder. He groans and rubs it. 

“Ow, you know that’s still healing.” 

“I told you to go to a real doctor,” you snip. 

“Mimi, they don’t touch me like you do.” He furls his fingers and his throat bobs. He runs his thumbs along his shorts and tugs. “Damn, just the thought—how about a cool down? I just chugged a protein shake, I gotta get it out.” 

“No.” 

“No?” He tilts his head. “Mommy, please.” 

“No, especially if you’re going to pull that.”  

You spin as the timer dings and you grab the oven mitts. You shut off the buzzer and take out the cookies. You put the pan on the counter to cool and hang the mitts again. 

“Mimi...” Lloyd drawls out as he closes in. 

You evade him. Keeping a step ahead as you scurry along the island. He pursues and you turn to face him as you round the corner. 

“I said no. I’m not in the mood.” 

“Why? Because that limp dick is in the hospital--” 

“Stop.” You whine and backpedal away from him as his advance continues. “Lloyd, I’m telling you to stop. I have to make a trip downtown to deliver the cookies--” 

“Really? You do? Because you don’t leave without me. Remember? Those are the rules.” He gets closer and closer.  

You peer around as you feel blindly and walk back on your heels. You pass through the doorway into the front room. You barely dodge the sofa and the little round table next to it. 

“Lloyd.” 

“Mimi.” 

“Leave me alone. I’m telling you.” 

“Keep telling me. It's making me hard.” He snickers. 

You veer through the next doorway and stumble as he lunges. He pulls back and laughs again. He’s taunting you. 

“Oh, I like this game, Mimi.” 

“I’m not playing,” you reach to grab the banister as you step towards the stairs. 

He takes a deep breath and stops. “Neither am I.” 

His smirk sends a chill through you. You freeze at the bottom step and gulp. You look up then back at him. In an instant, you’re barreling up, desperate to get to the top. As your feet slap on the stairs, his treads trail you up calmly. 

Shit. This is the last thing you need. No matter what or when, you always manage to provoke him. Every breath, every blink, every word only entices him. It’s tiring. Without a job, without your friends, it feels like your nothing more than toy. Any search for a different purpose just amuses him. 

You race down the hall. You have to make a quick decision. You burst into the bathroom and spin to swing the door shut. It bounces back as Lloyd shoves his sneaker between it and the frame. He shoves in after you with a taunting grin. 

You stagger back and search for any form of defence. You know it’s pointless. There’s no escape, no fight to be had, but you just want him to let you think for two minutes without mentioning his dick. You grab the bottle of hair spray and aim it at him. You push down and he coughs, waving his hand through the cloud of stickiness. 

He swats the aerosol from your hand and grabs your other arm. You whimper as he wrenches you toward him. He turns and pens you in against the floating counter. He tuts down at you as you push on his stomach. 

“Oh, mimi,” his eyes flick above you. “That’s a great fucking idea.” He grips your shoulder and twists you around to face the counter. “I’d love to watch.” 

He keeps you trapped as you slap a hand on the marble and try to shove him away with the other. He stretches the elastic of his shorts and they fall to his feet. You wriggle as he wraps his arm around you and leans you against the counter. 

His other hand snakes under your skirt. One of the many pieces stocked in your closet. None of them fit right. They all flutter a bit too high on your thigh. 

“Lloyd,” you beg. “Later. Not—now.” 

“Too fucking late. My dick hurts.” 

“Stop!” You throw and elbow back into his ribs. He grunts and nuzzles your hair. 

“Don’t mess around.” He warns. 

He kicks your feet apart and peels your panties down your thighs. The strip of lace strains around your legs. He bends you further as he feels around. He brings his tip down to your cunt and prods you, tapping, and rubbing. 

“Mm, I feel you shaking for me, Mommy.” 

“Please--” you gasp. 

“You don’t gotta beg,” he boats. 

“Urgh, get—off!” You bend your arm awkwardly and once more poke at his shoulder. He exclaims but persists.  

He lines up as he bares his teeth, hooking his jaw over your shoulder. The anger pulses in his forehead as he glares at your reflection. He snaps his hips and impales you with a growl. You cry out and brace the counter as your legs buckle. 

“Ow!” You plead with him in the mirror. Eyes misty, eyes pouting. 

His lips curve deeper as he thrusts, jerking your hip bones into the marble. His hand crawls up to your chest and he squeezes your chest with a snarl. He tilts his head and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He ruts as his eyes blaze back at you from the glass. 

His hand snakes down your stomach and delves beneath your skirt. You hide beneath your eyelids as he finds your clit. He flicks over your hood and you spasm. You mewl as he does it again and again. Worse than his strength is his talent at toying with you. Even as you resist, he finds your weak spot and needles away at it. 

“Mmm,” he purrs as he unlatches his teeth and kisses up your neck. 

His mustache tickles as he pounds against your ass, fingers sliding around your slickness, breath fogging around your chest. Your thighs quiver and your feet arch. You bend forward a little more and he hits just the right spot. 

You cum in a ripple of pathetic moans. You’re breathless and weak. You slump onto your elbow and he growls as you open to him completely.  

He frames your hips and pumps into you until his motion turns erratic. He groans and grunts, digging his nails through the fabric as he pulls out. He cums down your thigh as you hang off the counter.

He lets out a gurgle and snaps his knuckles against your ass. He moves rigidly as he turns and leans his bare ass on the marble beside you. He rubs your back as you gulp and catch your breath.

You stand up but he stops you from grabbing a tissue to wipe up. He’s shameless as his shorts still cling around one ankle. 

“Hey, baby cakes, get my shorts for me? Think I pulled something.” 

You scowl at him as he emphatically clutches his side. You sniff and wave him off. You grab a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. You wipe yourself off and toss the balled fabric into the sink. 

“Pull your own shorts up,” you sneer. 

“I mean it, Mimi, my back’s all sorts of locked up. You got me all bound up.” He gives a pathetic whimper. “Please, take care of me like you always do.” 

You shake your head and squat down to grab the shimmering puddle of shorts. This is ridiculous. He lifts his feet to hook it through and as you tug them up his legs, an odd weight hangs in the flimsy fabric. His dick twitches just as you cover it up and let the elastic snap him meanly. 

“You feel that, Mimi,” he catches your hand and pulls it back to him. You try to shake him off but can’t. “Am I happy to see you or is that a ring in my pocket?” He brushes your palm over his dick and to his pocket. The shape you felt is sharper than you expect. You look up at him in confusion. 

“You didn’t even give me a chance to get on one knee.” 

He guides your hand to the top of his pocket and lets go. Your heart thumps as you reach inside and pull out the heart-shaped box. The lid opens like wings from the middle. You reveal the sapphire trimmed diamond inside. Each stone bigger than the next. 

You gape at the sparkling cluster. Lloyd chuckles and strokes your cheek. He cups your chin and raises it. As you look at him, he smirks again. 

“You take care of me, I take care of you,” he traces his thumb along your lip. “Speaking of, I’m fucking serious about my back. Can I get some help?” 

[gadriezmannsgirl]

hii, i love ur ficsss! Can you do like a pedri sickfic? Like Pedri has a fever or something and he just gets taken care of? Ty!

Decided to do this one because I'm sick so what a better time to write of mucus and cough than this one😭

I'll Take Care of You -P.G8

Summary: Besides being injured, he gets sick; but oh how he loves being taken care of by you

"Vida, you're burning up" You said to your boyfriend as soon as you get to feel his naked skin when he gets home from his recovery session.

"Maybe it's because of the weather? I feel good" Your hands went up and down his neck, forehead, cheeks, back, chest and even inside his armpits

"But you aren't" You said quickly "You look sick"

"Bueno, gracias eh... Aprecio saber que mi novia cree que soy muy guapo" (Well thank you. I'm glad to know my girlfriend thinks I'm very handsome) You give him a look

"You are handsome but you know what I mean" You said pushing your hand up his mouth "blow" his eyebrows went up and down several times making you crack a smile "I'm serious, blow into my hand"

After a few seconds, you felt his breath against your palm and it was pretty hot

"Pedro, you're having a fever" You said instantly as he shook his head, his coldhands gripping your waist to bring you into him

"I'm not, I feel good. I promise you, I'll be good, it's just the heat let me take a shower and I'll be fine" He kissed your cheek thrice and before you could say something he was out of the kitchen

"¡No dejaré que me beses si estás enfermo!" (I won't let you kiss me if you're sick!)

"¡Pero que bueno que no lo estoy!" (Good thing I'm not!)

You sighed shaking your head "Who's the medicine student here, me or him?" You whispered to yourself before returning to the task of washing the dishes

Two days later you hear a raspy scream coming from the master bedroom where your two-years boyfriend was in "¡Mi amor!"

"Coming!" You replied with the soup and the medicine for him. You pushed the door open with your hip and closed it behind you with your foot.

You couldn't help but smile at the cute burrito your boyfriend had gotten turned himself to

"Are you cold?" He simply nods "We need to lower that fever, amor" He hums watching you sit besides him and move over the tray "You should have this soup, it will help you a lot"

"But I'm cold" His pout made you go over and kiss his lips quickly "Hey! I don't want you getting sick!"

"I probably already am" You shrug your shoulders "Pero venga" (But c'mon) You grabbed the spoon and lifted it to your lips to blow it before bringing it to Pedri's lips "Open up"

"I swear you're the best girlfriend in the whole world and I'm so lucky to have you" You smile softly

"Venga before this gets cold" You did the same process for a few minutes before you knew that it was safe for him to eat it right away

"Injured and sick, what else?" You heard him mumble softly, you leaned over to kiss his cheek, you didn't had nothing to say, it wasn't your fault and it wasn't his either. Those are things that happen and sadly this time it happened to him.

Time passed slowly and Pedri was barely half of the soup done when you pulled the spoon and bowl away leaving him with his mouth open "What-?"

You turned away and sneezed four times in a row into your elbow, each sneeze your could hear a small "Salud" (Bless you) from your boyfriend; after you finished sneezing you blindly left the bowl into the tray, stood up and walked away to your bathroom.

Pedri could only watch you and hear you blow your nose, after some seconds you came out, your nose red and you were trying to breathe through your nose but not being able to do so, you were sick and had nasal congestion

"I'm sick" You announced before sniffing

"Sorry" You smile shaking your head, it wasn't his fault "That means we can cuddle all the time?" You nod "And kiss?" You nod once again "Good!" He smiled widely as you give your boyfriend a weird look.

How can he be happy when both of you were sick? He opened his legs and his arms waiting for you to lay in his arms, you slowly made your way over to him and got in between his legs careful to not hurt his leg.

As soon as your back made contact with his chest he closed his legs, arms and wrapped up both of you around the blanket. You turned a bit to your side so you could see him and still feed him some soup

"Here we go"

"You know? I'm not happy with the fact we're both sick now but I absolutely love being babied by you"

"You said that as if I don't"

"You do but you baby me even more while I'm sick" You smile feeling your cheeks hot, you didn't know if you had also a fever or if his words still caused you that effect on you

"Now that I'm sick you'll have to baby me too"

"Will do in a heartbeat" He said with a smile "Will do it right now"

"Go and do me a soup then"

"But give me a few minutes until I'm not cold anymore. I feel like freezing, ¡fua tio!" You laugh leaving the soup in his nightstand before wrapping your arms around him "Te quiero" He said snuzzled into your neck

"Yo te quiero más" You said kissing his forehead "My big baby"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[sleepynoons]

To Hell and Back

Vignettes of mourning and bereavement over a period of two years.

After grieving the loss of your husband for more than a decade, is there truly hope for recovery? And if there is, what is the difference between hope and insanity?

ukitake jushiro x f!reader, angst, nsfw?

word count: ~3,600

cw: heavy manga spoilers, death, explicit descriptions of suffering from grief + mental disorders (severe depression, etc.), extreme mental deterioration, alcohol, throwing up + dry-heaving, mention of insomnia, mention of sexual content, allusions to a lack of eating + frail health, hurt/no comfort

notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings! first time writing something so heavy, so the warnings + tags may be inadequate.

“UKITAKE-SAMA, YOUR tea is here.” A shinigami you forget the name of places a steaming cup next to you. From a quick glance, you can see a stalk floating vertically in the drink. Jushiro will be pleased to hear about it.

You nod but do not touch the cup. It is rude to drink and eat before your guests, and you are still waiting on them to arrive. Quietly, you watch the snow drift from the overcast sky, flakes clumping together and forming a thick coat over the ground, surrounding roofs, and trees. How many winters has it been?

Around the bend, you hear rapid footsteps. It must be them.

“Ukitake-sama, sincere apologies for our tardiness.” 

Turning your gaze to your left, you see Rukia-san and Abarai-san coming to view, noses and ears tinged red. Smiling softly, you beckon them to relax and sit on the engawa with you. They listen obediently and wait with bated breath for your next move.

“No worries at all. I am glad to see the two of you are well.”

Rukia-san smiles cheerfully. “Yes, we are doing very well.”

“And how are you adjusting to your duties as captain?”

“I am not captain yet, Ukitake-sama.”

Abarai-san barks a quick laugh. “She’s already very busy, trust me. The appointment is in a few days, right?”

Rukia-san huffs, and you chuckle. “I am sure the 13th Division will be in good hands.”

A gust of wind passes through the corridor, and you shiver slightly at the biting chill. Jushiro should have reminded you to take a coat with you today.

“Ukitake-sama, please, take this.” Rukia-san removes her shawl and places it over your shoulders. Her hands hover over your frame before she sits back down. “Forgive me for possibly overstepping, but are you eating well, Ukitake-sama?”

What did you eat this lunch? For that matter, did you even eat? How about last night? Hm, for some reason, you cannot recall. You shrug, indifferent. You have always been prone to forgetting your meals without Jushiro reminding you.

A silence falls among the three of you, and the snow picks up. You feel yourself smiling at the downpour. So white, so pure. Jushiro always longed to walk in the snow, but his illness disabled him from spending an extended amount of time outside. While you are sure many of the shinigami are groaning at the weather, you know Jushiro would have found a way to celebrate it.

Abarai-san sighs a deep, hefty breath. “Ukitake-sama, if you’d like, would you join us for dinner? We’re having shabu shabu for the first time this year. I’m sure that’ll warm you up right away.”

It has been a while since the last time you had something so homey. You suppose Jushiro would not mind you spending a dinner with someone else. “I will take on your offer. Thank you for having me, Rukia-san, Abarai-san.”

The two bow before getting up, making their leave. They bid you farewell and several reminders to take care of your health. 

Internally, you scoff. You need to be mindful of your health? Please, you are fine and have always been, aside from nasty injuries gained during training and missions. Besides, the one you all should be worried about is Jushiro.

Ah, but there is no need for that either anymore.

–

You wake up late. You only know because the incessant light of the sun is bleeding through the cracks of the shoji screens. You even got the screens filtered to reduce the morning brightness, but nothing can dim the flames of spring.

As usual, you are alone in bed, wrapped and tangled and curled in the giant blankets of your futon. Jushiro should be coming back anytime now, you think. You roll over onto his futon and blindly feel around for the book that he places by his pillow every night. It is always something different because he can never seem to finish one. You wonder what he is reading this time, but nothing is there. In fact, as sleep escapes you, you realize his futon is fully made.

Untouched.

Sobs begin to wrack your body, but you dare not let your tears and snot smear Jushiro’s bedding. You have not washed it once since, and even now, his scent has almost completely, if not already, faded. If you wash it, more traces of his aliveness will disappear and you cannot tolerate that even more.

He was living, breathing, eating, sleeping, training, laughing, loving. He was – is – more than just a stone headpiece sitting underneath a gazebo, and you feel like everyone around you is forgetting that, only speaking of him in the past tense and as a distant, fleeting spark of a memory. And that makes you deeply, profoundly remorseful.

Because you are also only able to recall him now. How did he smell? You only remember it was a combination of tea leaves, anesthesia, and soil, a poor, inadequate description you came up with when he asked you decades ago. How about his hair length? Jushiro kept it long for centuries, but he always had you trim it so that it never extended past his hip. And the sound of his voice? Not even your memories can imitate the way he pronounced your name, bantered with Kyoraku, commandeered his squad.

Moments like these are arguably the hardest. Not only are you overcome with grief, but you are also frustrated and restless, unable to do anything because there is nothing to do. There is no solution to this mourning. You would never kill these feelings for Jushiro, but that means this torment is inescapable, inevitable. You want this sadness to pass, become the silver lining to some cloud, rejoice instead in the legacy he has left behind. But leaving this phase would mean enough time has passed, and with enough time, you would forget much about him.

You should have recorded more of your moments with your late husband. But you can only sigh and harbor more resentment towards yourself in your heart.

By now, the tears have stopped. You are back in your futon, only to bury yourself under the covers.

–

“Class is dismissed!”

The shinigami disperse, heading to grab their belongings lining the walls of the garden. As you have retired from your post in the Gotei 13, you are now a kido instructor for new court guard cadets. The young ones are promising, you think. 

Surprisingly, the classes of shinigami are growing. You had thought the war with the Quincies would deter future talent, but the damages and casualties seemed to have only bolstered interest. Interest in learning kido has also increased, no doubt due to Aizen’s influence.

Jushiro was plenty good at kido, too, you think bitterly. He just never had the opportunity to demonstrate his strength.

In fact, your first encounter with your late husband was at a kido training session that he was leading. With gentle encouragement and precise guidance, he taught you how to perform the casts you know by heart, and you continued to seek him out with questions and concerns until his appointment as captain. To say you missed your one-on-ones with him was an extreme understatement. You missed his soft laughs in the face of your snarky remarks and the fleeting touches of his fingertips against your tense arms. You did not think he would forget you, but you were not sure if you would ever be able to get so close to him again. Your doubt quickly dissipated, though, when you were accepted into the Gotei 13. It seemed he had chosen you to be placed into the 13th Division under him.

You are brought back from your reminiscing when you hear an angry cry. “Ukitake-sama is our instructor! How can you say that about her?”

The crowd breaks into waves of murmuring at the outburst. You look towards the right wall, and there you see a red-haired little girl being held back by two of her classmates. Like a cartoon character, she is kicking her feet, trying to wrangle her arms free, spewing insults at two other students who only roll their eyes.

This is nothing new. To be fair, ever since Jushiro’s sacrifice, you have only done the bare minimum to contribute to Soul Society, a stark contrast to the committed soldier you once were who went above and beyond. Many were shocked by your transformation and have begun to bear annoyance towards you for being a deadweight. You still receive many benefits for your many decades of service, and you remain in Jushiro’s old quarters in the 13th Division barracks. You are, for sure, taking up more space than a veteran should. But truly, you could care less to be noble.

You appreciate Ichika-chan’s attempts to save your face, regardless. You should give her some of the candies you store in your sleeves on her way out.

“Enough.” Everyone is now looking at you. You stare directly at the two shinigami who defaced you. What should you do with them?

Or rather, what would Jushiro do with them?

The answer is too obvious. You motion them to come to you, and they trudge over with lowered heads. When they come close enough, you sigh because had you acted purely out of your own volition, you would have reacted much differently.

You point at one of the students. “You are much too weak at defense. Please pay closer attention to our lessons on bakudou, and be sure to apply it during your sparring sessions.” Onto the other. “In order to summon the full force of a hado incantation, you have to call it properly. Polish your articulation, and you will experience a stronger effect.”

With that, you dismiss them again. As soon as they leave, Ichika-chan runs up to you, face blushing red (from the heat? embarrassment? or both?).

“Ukitake-sama, thank you for today’s class!”

You chuckle, adoring the young girl’s energy and brightness, and reach to take her hand in yours. You notice small callouses and blisters blooming on her palms, no doubt from practicing with her sword. Grabbing a fistful of candies, you enclose her fingers around the pile. “For you.”

A wide grin breaks on Ichika-chan’s face and she bows. “Thank you, Ukitake-sama!”

“I shall see you in a week, then.”

When all of the students finally filter out of the garden, you sit in peace. For once, the quiet is not eerie or haunting. Rather, it is much needed, a comforting break in between your classes. You still much prefer the sound of Jushiro’s chattering, but this tranquility may not be so bad either.

–

Underneath the gazebo, you bring the sake cup to your lips and down the liquid. The alcohol stings at the back of your throat, a burning sensation that muddles your brain yet pinches you awake. Across from you, a man also takes a swig, releasing a loud, uncouth exhale. 

He holds up a bottle, gesturing towards you with it. “Want more?”

You shake your head. Eyes downcast, you hold onto the cup in your lap with your hands clasped around it, staring into the glossy bottom of the ceramic. You see a faint reflection of your face, but it is too shady underneath the gazebo for there to be a clear outline.

The man downs another large gulp, humming in contentment at the taste. He then sighs and adjusts his large bamboo hat. “Eleven years, huh?”

“Indeed.” You glance up, catching the eye of the Captain General of the Gotei 13. “How are you feeling, Kyoraku?”

“Ha, I should be asking you that.”

“Not a day goes by that I do not think of him.” 

Kyoraku says your name gingerly, as if he is testing the mood of a spoiled, unpredictable child. “I understand. But you also need to live your life. That’s what he would want.”

You cannot hold back your voice. Close by, you know some of the other captains and their respective lieutenants are waiting for their turns to pay tribute. You are also aware that Kyoraku means no harm – in fact, he empathizes with you, something no one else can do. But still. “What he wanted was to live longer and be at peace! Do not dare to speak on his behalf! You may have been his best friend, but I was his wife, and I will not stand another shoving words into his mouth! Perhaps he does want me to live a little, be happy again. But…”

Your face feels hot. Feverish from strain, humiliation, shame. You can still hear echoes of your voice ricocheting off the walls of nearby buildings.

“Kyoraku… How are you able to carry on so easily?”

A torrent of jealousy and frustration courses through you, rushing through your veins and welling up nausea at the pit of your stomach. Why are you not able to move on?  Why have you been robbed of joy and happiness, never to feel those feelings again? Are you to live such a directionless, empty life for centuries more?

Kyoraku moves from his seat to sit next to you. He pats you on the back at a slow, tempered pace. “Because I have to. Because that’s what he would want from me.”

You crumple into the commander’s side, eyes blurring and body shivering. A gust of wind blows through the gazebo, colder than normal, a sign that fall is arriving soon. Kyoraku wraps his haori over you, doing his best to shield and comfort you. 

–

“How is she doing?”

“Much better! She’s been eating more and spending time with others these past two weeks.”

Kyoraku closes his eyes. Is he relieved? Yes. Is it too good to be true? Also yes.

“Commander? Is everything alright?”

Kyoraku puts on the best smile he can manage. “Yes, don’t worry about lil’ ol’ me, Kotetsu-kun. Just keep an eye on her for me, alright?”

“Yes, of course!”

The 4th Division captain bows before leaving the captain general’s office. Kyoraku waits until the doors shut with a resounding thud before he sighs deeply, worriedly. He had just seen you days ago, and it seemed there was much that was plaguing you. The likelihood of you recovering as rapidly as Kotetsu says you are is slim.

He peeks at the stack of files that Nanao-chan handed him this afternoon. But those can really wait, especially when it comes to you. Without you, there will be very few – if not, no one else – who can as vividly and intimately remember Ukitake as he can. He cannot lose the last connecting thread to his best companion. But truly, your state of mind’s very troubling. Stuck in an abyss, you wander, a ghost piloting a frail cadaver, bound to the grounds your late husband frequented when he was live. Often forgetting to eat and bathe and venture beyond your bedroom, you are withering away in real time, little pieces of your soul dying out.

At times, he can understand. Ukitake’s death left a permanent hole in his life as well, bereaving him from anyone he has given himself wholly to. Other times, though, he can’t extend any more empathy or compassion than he already has. How is it possible for you to not have anymore love or care for anything in this world? How can the loss of one person – something everyone experiences at one point in their life – disable you so much so?

But perhaps it’s a privilege that he cannot understand such enduring grief. He still has his niece, friends, and alcohol. Now that he thinks about it, you really don’t have anyone or anything else. Always keeping to yourself, you’ve been razor sharp in words and sight since he first met you; if others hadn’t already avoided you for your intimidating glare, then they were bound to be driven away by your scathing criticism and dry, sarcastic quips. Truth be told, it also took him a while to warm up to you, let alone fathom how you captured the heart of the open-minded, warm-hearted Ukitake. Kyoraku shakes his head. That’s Ukitake for you, he thinks, able to love everyone and everything.

At the end of the day, there’s a singular fundamental difference between you and Kyoraku: he has a reason to keep living, and you don’t.

He rubs at his left eye. He hopes you find one soon.

– 

You have been having horrible dreams recently. More specifically, the dreams are so euphoric that they make you want to throw up when you wake up.

Jushiro appears in all of them. Sometimes, it is a recollection of your wedding day, from the ceremony in the morning to the love he made to you that night. There are also flashes of him bedridden, weakened by the intrinsic sickliness of his physicality. Last night, Jushiro and you were in a field, one so vast that you could not see beyond the rolling hills of low-hanging yellow camellia shrubs.

Both of you were stooping to admire the perennial flowers. You plucked one, tucking it behind his ear, and he laughed, doing the same for you. There was no well-trodden road or path, so the two of you meandered about at your own leisure. Strangely, though, neither of you spoke a word, only listening to the summer wind rustling through the field and the worker bees buzzing about. But you did not care at all. You just needed him by your side, just like this.

At one point, you were entranced by a particular shrub that grew taller than the rest, and while you were distracted, Jushiro had wandered far off. When you noticed the lack of his presence, you jolted up to your feet, eyes frantically searching all around, until you spotted him a couple hundred yards away behind you. He was waving his arm, calling out to you in his bright voice. “Come over here!”

Yet, before you were able to tell that you are on your way, you wake up, cold sweat seeping through your yukata.

The experience is truly nauseating, and you have had to experience it every morning for the past half-month. You would much rather become an insomniac at this point.

Regardless, you know the cause behind such dreams: the Konso Reisai ceremony is coming up.

– 

The lieutenants are late. As per custom, they are to capture a Hollow in order for the ceremony to proceed. You, along with the division captains, surround Jushiro’s tombstone and wait in silence. You notice Rukia-san, who tries to smile encouragingly at you. You nod, stone-faced, barely able to reciprocate her efforts.

You are sure you look miserable. This morning, you were caught dry-heaving into the toilet by Kotetsu-san, who called Kyoraku over when you refused to leave your bathroom. With much begging and pleading, you let the commander peel you from the toilet bowl and off the floor, carrying you over to your and Jushiro’s futons to get dressed. Without the help of Rukia-san and Kotetsu-san, you would not even be dressed properly for the occasion.

Twelve years, and the grief is no less debilitating. You are depression epitomized, the personification of sadness and anger and surrender mushed into a near-corpse. The saying goes that healing is not linear, but you are sure yours is a straight trend downwards, unrelenting and deterministic in nature, never to plateau.

Suddenly, one of the captains, Soifun-san, gasps. “What is this…?”

There are black dewdrops scattered about, hanging immobilized in the air. You jerk as one appears right in front of you. 

You catch a glimpse of Kyoraku unsheathing his sword, slicing a droplet faster than you can see, and then examining the bubbling matter staining the blade. “This is a will-o’-wisp from Hell.”

As he explains the will-o’-wisps and the superstition behind the Konso Reisai ceremony, you feel…

Adrenaline surging through you. 

Goosebumps appearing on your arms and back. 

Expectation bringing you to a dangerous high. 

Hope.

Reishi too potent cannot return to Soul Society? The ceremony is dedicated solely to deceased captains? The only other option is Hell?

Does that mean… Jushiro is in Hell?

Hope.

Hope.

Kyoraku concludes. “I just realized right now that this superstition might have been true.”

Hope.

You are giddy. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at the news.

For the first time since your husband’s death, you are feeling positively abundant. Hopeful. You never thought you would feel hope again.

At first, only your shoulders shake. But your clothes that hang so loosely on you can only hide so much of your shuddering frame, and the other captains begin to take notice. Your hands reach up to hold your face, one covering your eyes and the other failing to mute your laughs. 

You can no longer hold back.

You cackle loudly, hunched over while laughing and giggling incessantly. Someone tells you to shut it, but you simply cannot.

Of course, this is no comedic matter. This is serious – wonderful – news! Because Jushiro’s reishi cannot be deconstructed and digested by Soul Society, it has been sent down to Hell. His soul is still intact, from what you understand. That means, in essence, he is still alive. 

A miracle has occurred, you think.

Hysterical. Unrestrained. Deranged.

You can see Jushiro again. You can smell his comforting scent of tea leaves, feel the silkiness of his hair slip between your fingers, taste his lips against yours, imagine him smiling and laughing and existing in one whole piece right in front of you.

It cannot get better than this.

I am on my way, you think. I am coming over right now, Jushiro. 

My beloved, I will be right there with you. 

[pygmi-says-hi]

can you explain how to write hypothermia PLEASE I WOULD DIE FOR YOU

yes! hypothermia is very dangerous and has a range of severity, so apply what is appropriate from this list <3

There are 3 (crude) stages of hypothermia:

Stage one:

Shivering, a little disoriented, difficulty staying warm. The shivering is important because the nerves are still 'aware' so to speak. Declined mental state, clumsiness, exhaustion.

Body temp is somewhere around 95F. Depending on the scenario, this could range from an hour to more of exposure to cold weather/water or illness. If the person doesn't get treatment right now, it progresses pretty quickly.

Stage two:

Shivering has stopped. Patient will become drowsy, have difficulty speaking/coordinating limbs, blueish tint to skin, excessive peeing (gross, yeah, but the muscles have stopped working), slower breathing and heart rate.

at this point the person cannot function independently. If they don't have anybody nearby to take care of them, they likely won't make it.

Stage three:

Muscle stiffness, low blood pressure, loss of urination, unconsciousness, coma, fluid in lungs, and possibly cardiac arrest.

It's the end for our poor friend. If by the grace of god or magic they do receive help, the recovery will result in brain damage and likely tissue damage on the fingers/toes and possibly limbs.

How to treat hypothermia?

Depending on the stage, there are a few things one could do.

If the person is wet, remove wet clothes and provide heat. If they have no warm clothes, provide them and try to find boiled (not boil-ING, but water that was boiled and is still warm) water. Soak the feet as long as possible.

Severe hypothermia will likely need an IV with warm fluids and possibly an external machine to 'warm' the blood and pump it back in the body. If your universe doesn't have this tech....there better be a cool spell to save them! Otherwise, it's the pine box for them.

good luck!

[callsigns-haze]

Baby Now?!

Pairing: Cassian x reader Warning: Contains explicit scenes of intimacy and strong language. SMUT Summary: In the passionate aftermath of Solstice celebrations, Cassian and Y/N's intimate connection deepens as they embrace the prospect of parenthood together.

A second part to Say something and will become part of A Warrior and a Navigator... BUT CAN BE READ ALONE

Cassian lay in bed, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the window of their shared chamber. His fingers traced lazy patterns through Y/N's hair as she slept soundly, her head nestled against his chest. The rise and fall of her breathing, the gentle warmth of her body against his, brought a sense of peace that he had not known in weeks.

It had been a tumultuous journey since he had woken from his coma, his wings nearly shattered from the fierce battle that had nearly claimed his life. But now, after weeks of painstaking healing, they were nearly whole again, each scar a testament to his resilience.

As he lay there, Cassian couldn't help but marvel at the woman beside him. Y/N had been his rock throughout his recovery, her unwavering support and love a constant source of strength. She had been by his side every step of the way, offering comfort when the pain was unbearable and encouragement when he felt like giving up.

With a soft sigh, Cassian pressed a kiss to the top of Y/N's head, his heart swelling with love for her. He couldn't imagine his life without her, couldn't fathom how he had ever lived without her before.

But even as he reveled in the peace of the moment, a part of him couldn't shake the lingering shadows of doubt and fear that still haunted him. The memories of battle, of loss and sacrifice, weighed heavy on his mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of their sanctuary.

Yet, as he looked down at Y/N, her face serene in sleep, he knew that he would face whatever challenges lay ahead with her by his side. Together, they were unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with.

With a tender smile, Cassian brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N's face, his heart swelling with gratitude for the gift of her love. And as the first rays of sunlight bathed the room in a warm golden glow, he knew that no matter what the future held, as long as they were together, they could overcome anything.

Cassian's concentration broke as the familiar presence of Rhysand brushed against his mind, a gentle nudge in their shared mental bond. With a slight furrow of his brow, he responded, the connection effortlessly bridging the physical distance between them.

"We're still in bed," Cassian replied silently, his thoughts carrying across the bond with ease. "Y/N's asleep. I'll wake her up in a moment."

There was a brief pause, during which Cassian could almost sense Rhysand's amusement.

"Taking advantage of the rare moment of peace, I see," Rhysand teased lightly, his tone tinged with affectionate sarcasm.

Cassian chuckled inwardly, a soft rumble of amusement echoing in his mind.

"Just enjoying the quiet before the chaos of the day begins," Cassian replied, his fingers continuing to thread through Y/N's hair as he spoke. "We'll be down shortly."

He could sense Rhysand's understanding in the bond, a silent acknowledgment of the need for a moment of respite amidst the ongoing challenges they faced.

"Take your time," Rhysand responded, his voice warm with understanding. "We'll save you some breakfast."

With a mental nod of gratitude, Cassian severed the connection, returning his focus to the woman in his arms. As Y/N stirred slightly against him, a soft smile tugged at Cassian's lips. Despite the trials and tribulations that awaited them beyond the sanctuary of their chamber, he knew that as long as they faced them together, they could weather any storm.

Feeling Y/N stir against him, Cassian's heart swelled with warmth. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment to breathe in the scent of her hair. His lips trailed a path of gentle affection, leaving a trail of tender kisses along her temple and down to her cheek.

As Y/N began to awaken, her lashes fluttering against her skin, Cassian's lips found hers in a tender embrace. The kiss was soft and sweet, a silent reassurance of his love and devotion. He poured all of his emotions into that simple gesture, a silent promise to always be there for her, to protect her and cherish her for all eternity.

When they finally parted, Y/N's eyes met his, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her fingers reached up to brush against his cheek, a silent caress that spoke volumes of the love they shared.

"Good morning, my love," Cassian murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "I hope you slept well."

Y/N's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with affection as she snuggled closer against him.

"Every moment with you is a dream," she whispered, her words a soft melody that warmed Cassian's soul.

With a contented sigh, Cassian wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they savored the simple pleasure of being together. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and love of their embrace, the outside world faded away, leaving only the two of them and the promise of a new day filled with endless possibilities.

Cassian chuckled softly, his breath warm against Y/N's cheek as he spoke. "I'm afraid we may have overslept," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Rhysand reached out through the bond. They're waiting for us downstairs for breakfast."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly in surprise, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she realized they had lost track of time in each other's embrace. "Oh, I didn't realize it was so late," she murmured, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Cassian brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead, his fingers tangling affectionately in her hair. "It's alright," he reassured her, his tone warm and reassuring. "We can take our time getting ready. They'll understand."

With a soft sigh of contentment, Y/N nestled closer against him, her fingers tracing lazy circles against his chest. "I could stay like this forever," she confessed softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian's heart swelled with love at her words, a tender smile curving his lips. "As much as I would love that," he replied, his tone gentle, "we should probably get up before they send someone to check on us."

Y/N chuckled softly, a playful glint dancing in her eyes. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, pressing a lingering kiss against Cassian's lips before reluctantly untangling herself from his embrace.

As they rose from the bed and began to prepare for the day ahead, Cassian couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude that filled him. In Y/N's arms, he had found a love that was beyond measure, a love that filled his days with light and warmth. And as they made their way downstairs to join their friends for breakfast, he knew that no matter what challenges they faced, as long as they faced them together, they could overcome anything.

As Cassian and Y/N descended the stairs hand in hand, they were greeted by the warm embrace of their friends gathered in the grand hall. Azriel, ever silent and stoic, offered them a nod of acknowledgment, his eyes twinkling with hidden mirth as he observed the couple's disheveled appearance.

Feyre, radiant as ever, greeted them with a bright smile, her eyes alight with warmth and affection. "Good morning, you two," she said cheerfully, her voice carrying the promise of a day filled with celebration and joy.

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, stood at the head of the table, his regal presence commanding the attention of all who gathered. "You're just in time," he said with a grin, gesturing for them to take their seats. "We were starting to wonder if we'd have to send out a search party."

Mor, the vivacious and fearless cousin of the High Lord, winked playfully at Cassian and Y/N as they approached. "I hope you two weren't up to anything too scandalous," she teased, her laughter ringing through the hall.

Amren, the enigmatic and otherworldly member of their group, regarded them with a curious tilt of her head. "You seem rather... disheveled," she observed dryly, a hint of amusement coloring her words.

Cassian chuckled good-naturedly, exchanging a knowing glance with Y/N. "Just enjoying a quiet morning together," he replied with a grin, his gaze lingering affectionately on his beloved.

As they took their seats at the table, the air was filled with the anticipation of the coming Solstice celebrations. Around them, laughter and conversation flowed freely, the bonds of friendship and love that bound them all together stronger than ever.

And as they shared a meal in the company of those they held most dear, Cassian couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over him. In this moment, surrounded by love and laughter, he knew that there was nowhere else he would rather be.

As breakfast came to an end on Solstice morning, a mischievous gleam lit up the eyes of Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand. It was a tradition that had been upheld for years – a playful snowball fight in the crisp winter air, a chance for the brothers-in-arms to embrace the childlike joy of the season.

Excusing themselves with barely-contained excitement, the trio slipped away from the table, leaving Feyre with a puzzled expression and Mor and Y/N exchanging knowing glances.

"What do you think they're up to?" Feyre asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice as she watched the three men make their way towards the door.

Mor grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Oh, you'll see," she replied cryptically, her lips quirking into a smirk.

Y/N laughed softly, her gaze following the retreating figures of Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand. "Let's just say, it's a Solstice tradition," she explained, a fond smile playing at the corners of her lips.

As the three friends made their way out into the snow-covered landscape, the air filled with the sound of laughter and the echoing of snowballs being thrown. For a brief moment, they were transported back to simpler times, when their only care was the next snowball to dodge or the next target to hit.

And as they laughed and played amidst the falling snow, the bonds of brotherhood that bound them together grew stronger than ever, a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the joy of the season.

---

As the snow continued to fall gently outside, Y/N and Mor exchanged a knowing glance, a shared smirk dancing across their lips. With a conspiratorial wink, they both nodded towards Feyre, their eyes alight with mischief.

"Feyre," Y/N said, her voice filled with excitement, "we have a little surprise for you."

Feyre raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her gaze as she watched her friends with interest. "Oh? What kind of surprise?" she asked, her tone laced with intrigue.

Mor's grin widened as she took Feyre's hand, leading her towards the door. "You'll see," she replied cryptically, her voice tinged with excitement. "It's a Solstice tradition."

With a flicker of power, they vanished from the room, reappearing in a flurry of snowflakes outside the cabin. Feyre blinked in surprise as she took in her surroundings, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

On the snowy hillside, Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand were engaged in a fierce snowball fight, their laughter ringing out through the crisp winter air. Despite their age and power, they moved with the grace and agility of young warriors, their faces alight with joy as they embraced the simple pleasure of the moment.

Feyre couldn't help but laugh as she watched the three Illyrians play like children, her heart swelling with affection for the men she loved as she joined Y/N and Mor on the porch.

"They never change, do they?" Feyre remarked, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Y/N shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. "No, they don't," she agreed, her gaze warm with affection. "But that's what makes them so endearing."

Mor nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "While the boys are busy with their snowball fight, how about we go inside and warm up with some drinks?" she suggested, a playful glint in her eye.

Feyre grinned, nodding eagerly as she followed her friends into the cozy warmth of the cabin. As they settled by the fire with mugs of steaming hot chocolate, Feyre couldn't help but feel grateful for the bonds of friendship that surrounded her, and the simple joys of the season that brought them together.

As the laughter from outside began to die down, Y/N and Mor exchanged a knowing glance, their lips quirking into mischievous smiles. With a shared nod, they turned their attention back to Feyre, who looked at them expectantly.

"So, what's next in the Solstice tradition?" Feyre asked, her curiosity piqued.

Y/N and Mor shared a secretive grin before Y/N leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, after the snowball fight, the boys have another tradition," she explained, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Mor nodded in agreement, her gaze dancing with amusement. "They head into the sauna to warm up," she added, her tone playful.

Feyre's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "Oh," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N and Mor burst into laughter at Feyre's reaction, their mirth filling the cabin with warmth. "Don't worry," Y/N reassured her between giggles, "it's nothing scandalous. They just like to relax and unwind after their snowball fight."

Mor nodded in agreement, her laughter subsiding into a fond smile. "Besides," she added with a playful wink, "it's not like we haven't seen it before."

Feyre's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red at Mor's teasing remark, but she couldn't help but laugh along with her friends. Despite the embarrassment, there was a sense of camaraderie and friendship that filled her heart, a reminder of the deep bond that they shared.

As they settled back into the warmth of the cabin, Feyre couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and laughter of her friends, and the joyous traditions that brought them together on this special day. And as the sounds of the boys' laughter echoed through the snowy landscape outside, she knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be than surrounded by the warmth and love of those she held most dear.

-----

As the evening after the Solstice celebration unfolded, the air was still charged with the lingering magic of the festivities. Y/N and Cassian made their way back to their chamber, their steps filled with a quiet intensity, the anticipation of the night ahead palpable between them.

As they reached the door, Cassian's demeanor shifted suddenly, his gaze darkening with desire as he pinned Y/N against the sturdy wood. With a swift, decisive movement, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both fierce and consuming.

Y/N gasped in surprise at the suddenness of his actions, but any protest was quickly swallowed by the heat of his kiss. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she responded with equal fervor, her heart pounding in her chest with a heady rush of desire.

Their bodies pressed together, every touch igniting a fire that burned hot and bright between them. Cassian's hands roamed eagerly over Y/N's curves, his touch leaving a trail of searing heat in its wake as he explored every inch of her with a hunger that matched her own.

In that moment, there was no past, no future – only the fierce intensity of their desire, the raw passion that consumed them both. And as they surrendered to the pleasure of each other's touch, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in a whirlwind of sensation and longing.

Wrapped in each other's embrace, they lost themselves in the heat of the moment, their bodies moving together in a dance as old as time itself. And as they finally stumbled into their chamber, the air thick with the scent of desire, they knew that this night would be one they would never forget, a celebration of love and passion that would burn bright long after the Solstice fires had faded.

With a low growl of desire, Cassian urged Y/N to jump, his arms ready to catch her as she wrapped herself around his hips. With practiced ease, he swiftly opened the door, the cool air of their chamber rushing to meet them. Their lips remained locked in a passionate embrace as they stumbled inside, the world outside forgotten in the intensity of their desire.

Closing the door behind them with a firm push, Cassian wasted no time in carrying Y/N towards the bed, their lips still fused together in a feverish kiss. With a deft movement, he lowered her onto the soft mattress, his hands roaming hungrily over her body as he claimed her with a primal hunger.

Y/N moaned softly against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, her body arching beneath his touch. The heat between them intensified with every kiss, every caress, until they were both consumed by the flames of their passion.

As they surrendered to the pleasure of each other's touch, the room filled with the sounds of their shared desire, a symphony of moans and whispers that echoed through the night. And as they moved together in a dance as old as time itself, they knew that in each other's arms, they had found a love that burned brighter than any flame, a love that would endure for eternity.

With a hunger that could not be quenched, Cassian's hands eagerly sought out the fabric that separated him from Y/N's bare skin. With each piece of clothing he discarded, he uttered words of admiration and desire, his voice husky with longing.

As he peeled away the layers, his fingers traced the curves of her body, his touch igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing moment. With each garment that fell away, he marveled at the beauty before him, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her exposed form.

"You're stunning," he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he gazed upon her with awe. "More beautiful than I could ever put into words."

His words were like music to Y/N's ears, her heart swelling with love and desire at the adoration in his eyes. With trembling hands, she reached out to him, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscled chest as she pulled him closer, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace.

In that moment, there were no words that could adequately express the depth of their desire, no gestures that could capture the intensity of their love. There was only the raw, primal connection between them, a bond that transcended time and space.

And as they surrendered to the passion that consumed them, their bodies moving together in a dance as old as time itself, they knew that in each other's arms, they had found a love that was truly eternal.

As Cassian's hands caressed her skin and his lips sought hers with a fervent hunger, Y/N's breath caught in her throat. In the midst of their passionate embrace, she found herself overcome with a longing that went beyond mere desire—a longing for something more, something that would bind them together in a way that nothing else could.

With a soft whimper, she pressed her lips against his ear, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke the words that had been weighing on her heart for so long. "Cassian," she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion, "it's time. I want to have a baby with you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of their shared dreams and desires. Y/N's heart raced with anticipation as she awaited Cassian's response, her fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders as she searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But there was none to be found. In that moment, Cassian's gaze softened with an overwhelming tenderness, his heart swelling with love for the woman who stood before him. Without a word, he gathered her into his arms, holding her close as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "With you, Y/N, I want everything."

As Cassian shed his clothing with an urgency fueled by desire, Y/N's heart raced in anticipation of the intimate moment they were about to share. With each piece of fabric that fell away, the air crackled with electricity, the anticipation building with every passing second.

With a hungry glint in his eyes, Cassian closed the distance between them, his hands trailing over Y/N's trembling form as he pressed her gently back against the bed. With a low growl of desire, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss, his touch igniting a fire that burned hot and bright between them.

And then, with a whispered promise of love and devotion, he entered her, his length stretching her in a way that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N gasped in surprise at the sensation, her fingers digging into Cassian's shoulders as she arched beneath him, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their connection.

As Cassian's movements became more urgent, more intense, Y/N's cries of pleasure echoed through the room, her voice ringing out with a raw, primal need that seemed to fill the very air around them. "Cassian!" she cried out, her voice a desperate plea for more.

Cassian's lips curved into a teasing smile as he continued to move within her, his touch driving her to the brink of ecstasy. "Louder, my love," he teased, his voice husky with desire. "I want the whole castle to hear you."

Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his playful taunt, but she couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her at the thought of being heard. With a breathless laugh, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer as she surrendered herself completely to the intoxicating pleasure of their shared desire.

In that moment, as they moved together in a dance as old as time itself, Y/N knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be than in the arms of the man she loved, surrendering herself completely to the intoxicating pleasure of their shared desire. And as their passion reached its crescendo, the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in the rapture of their love.

As their passion reached its zenith, Y/N felt an overwhelming surge of ecstasy wash over her, her senses consumed by the intensity of their connection. With each thrust, each caress, she felt herself spiraling higher and higher towards the peak of pleasure, her body trembling with the sheer intensity of their desire.

"Cassian!" she cried out, her voice echoing through the chamber with a raw, primal need that seemed to reverberate off the walls. In that moment, she felt as though every fiber of her being was alight with the flames of their shared passion, her world narrowing down to the man who held her in his arms.

But as her cries rang out into the night, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging sense of awareness that settled over her—a sense that they were not alone, that their intimate moment was being witnessed by more than just the two of them.

And then, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized the truth. Everyone could hear her. Every member of the court, every servant, every guard—everyone knew what was happening behind closed doors.

The realization sent a flush of embarrassment rushing to her cheeks, but even as she blushed with shame, she couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her at the thought of being heard. It was reckless, it was daring, but in that moment, it was also undeniably exhilarating.

As Cassian's movements grew more urgent, more intense, Y/N surrendered herself completely to the intoxicating pleasure of their shared desire, her cries of ecstasy ringing out into the night with a fervour that seemed to set the very air around them ablaze.

And in that moment, as they reached the peak of their passion together, Y/N knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be than in the arms of the man she loved, surrendering herself completely to the intoxicating pleasure of their shared desire, consequences be damned.

As the intensity of their passion began to ebb, Cassian gently guided Y/N into the curve of his strong, protective embrace. With a tender touch, he brushed away the stray strands of hair that clung to her damp forehead, his lips trailing soft kisses along her temple as he held her close.

"Did you enjoy yourself, my love?" he teased, his voice husky with lingering desire as he pressed his lips against her ear.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at his playful tone, her heart swelling with love for the man who held her in his arms. "You know I did," she replied, her voice tinged with affection as she nuzzled closer against him.

Cassian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin as he held her tight. "You were quite vocal," he teased, his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the reminder of her earlier outburst, but even as she blushed, she couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "I couldn't help it," she admitted sheepishly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You just... you make me feel things I never knew were possible."

Cassian's smile softened at her words, his heart swelling with love for the woman who lay nestled against him. "And you make me feel the same way," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

In that moment, as they lay together in the quiet aftermath of their passion, surrounded by the warmth and love of their shared embrace, Y/N knew that there was nowhere else she would rather be than in the arms of the man she loved.

Cassian's playful tone shifted, his voice lowering to a husky whisper as he spoke. "You better get used to this, my love," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "Because I don't plan on leaving this bedroom until I've filled you with my little Illyrian baby."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat at his words, a surge of desire coursing through her veins at the thought of carrying his child. She pressed herself closer against him, her heart pounding with anticipation as she whispered back, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

With a tender kiss, Cassian sealed their pact, his arms wrapping protectively around her as they settled into the warmth of their shared embrace. In that moment, as they basked in the afterglow of their passion, they knew that their love was not just a fleeting flame, but a bond that would endure for eternity—a bond that would be strengthened by the new life they would create together. And as they drifted off to sleep, their hearts beating as one, they embraced the promise of the future that lay ahead, filled with endless possibilities and boundless love.

-----

Bonus scene

As the intimate moment between Cassian and Y/N unfolded, a familiar presence brushed against Cassian's mind, a teasing voice echoing through their shared mental bond.

"Well, well, well," Rhysand's voice resonated in Cassian's thoughts, filled with amusement and playful banter. "I always thought Feyre and I were bad, but it seems like you and Y/N are giving us a run for our money. You two are like a pair of wild animals."

Cassian couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at Rhysand's teasing, his lips curling into a smirk as he replied silently through the bond. "What can I say, Rhys? When you find someone who sets your soul on fire, you can't help but let the passion take over."

The mental exchange was filled with camaraderie and brotherly jest, a testament to the strong bond that existed between the two warriors. And as Cassian and Y/N continued to revel in the warmth and love of their shared embrace, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would always have each other—and the unwavering support of their friends by their side.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

[adastra-sf]

Climate change-driven heatwaves threaten millions

Extreme record-breaking heat leads to severe crises across the world.

Already in 2024, from Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria in the West; to Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam, China, and the Philippines in the East; large regions of Asia are experiencing temperatures well above 40°C (104°F) for days on end.

The heatwave has been particularly difficult for people living in refugee camps and informal housing, as well as for unhoused people and outdoor workers.

Using the Heat Index Calculator, at that temperature and a relative humidity of 50%, residents see a heat index of 55°C (131°F) - a temperature level humans cannot long survive:

In February, the southern coastal zone of West Africa also experienced abnormal early-season heat. A combination of high temperatures and humid air resulted in average heat index values of about 50°C (122°F) - the danger level, associated with a high risk of heat cramps and heat exhaustion.

Locally, temperatures entered the extreme danger level associated with high risk of heat stroke, with values up to 60°C (140°F):

Even here at Ad Astra's HQ in Kansas, last summer we saw several days with high temperatures of 102°F (39°C) at 57% humidity, resulting in a heat index of 133°F (56°C):

Of course, the major difference in survivability in Kansas versus some of the places suffering extreme heat right now is that air-conditioning abounds here. Those who live somewhere that faces extreme heat but can escape it indoors are a lot more likely to survive, but a person who lives somewhere without such life-saving gear faces not just discomfort, but heat stroke and even death.

This includes unhoused and poor people here in the wealthier parts of the world, who often do not have access to indoor refuge from the heat.

About 15% of US residents live below the poverty line. Many low-wage earners work outside in construction or landscaping, exposed to the ravages of heat. Many do not own an air conditioner, and those who do might need to budget their body's recovery from heat against cost to purchase and run cooling equipment. Because heat stress is cumulative, when they go to work the next day, they’re more likely to suffer from heat illness.

Bad as that is, for those living on the street, heatwaves are merciless killers. Around the country, heat contributes to some 1,500 deaths annually, and advocates estimate about half of those people are homeless. In general, unhoused people are 200 times more likely to die from heat-related causes than sheltered individuals.

For example, in 2022, a record 425 people died from heat in the greater Phoenix metro area. Of the 320 deaths for which the victim’s living situation is known, more than half (178) were homeless. In 2023, Texans experienced the hottest summer since 2011, with an average temperature of 85.3°F (30°C) degrees between June and the end of August. Some cities in Texas experienced more than 40 days of 100°F (38°C) or higher weather. This extreme heat led to 334 heat-related deaths, the highest number in Texas history and twice as many as in 2011.

The Pacific Northwest of Canada and the USA suffered an extreme heat event in June, 2021, during which 619 people died. Many locations broke all-time temperature records by more than 5°C, with a new record-high temperature of 49.6°C (121°F). This is a region ill-suited to such weather, and despite having relatively high wealth compared to much of the world, many homes and businesses there do not have air-conditioning due to a history of much lower temperatures.

Heatwaves are arguably the deadliest type of extreme weather event because of their wide impact. While heatwave death tolls are often underreported, hundreds of deaths from the February heatwave were reported in the affected countries, including Bangladesh, India, Thailand, Myanmar, Cambodia, and the Philippines.

Extreme heat also has a powerful impact on agriculture, causing crop damage and reduced yields. It also impacts education, with holidays having to be extended and schools closing, affecting millions of students - in Delhi, India, schools shut early this week for summer when temperatures soared to 47°C (117°F) at dangerous humidity levels:

At 70°C (157°F !), humans simply cannot function and face imminent death, especially when humidity is high. This is the notion of "heat index," a derivative of "wet-bulb temperature."

Though now mostly calculated using heat and humidity readings, wet-bulb temperature was originally measured by putting a wet cloth over a thermometer and exposing it to the air.

This allowed it to measure how quickly the water evaporated off the cloth, representing sweat evaporating off skin.

The theorized human survival limit has long been 35°C (95°F) wet-bulb temperature, based on 35°C dry heat at 100% humidity - or 46°C (115°F) at 50% humidity. To test this limit, researchers at Pennsylvania State University measured the core temperatures of young, healthy people inside a heat chamber.

They found that participants reached their "critical environmental limit" - when their body could not stop the core temperature from continuing to rise – at 30.6°C wet bulb temperature, well below what was previously theorized. That web-bulb temperature parallels a 47°C (117°F) heat index.

​The team estimates that it takes between 5-7 hours before such conditions reach "really, really dangerous core temperatures."

On March 5, 2024, Hong Kong saw temperatures of 27°C (80°F) with 100% humidity, which results in a heat index of 32.2°C (90°F) - seemingly not so bad until considering it's higher than the critical wet-bulb temperature. Also, if you watch the video, imagine the long-term effects of water accumulating in residences, such as dangerous mold.

We are witnessing the effects of climate change right now, all around the world, and rising temperatures are just the most-obvious (what we used to call "global warming"). Many, many other side-effects of climate change are beginning to plague us or headed our way soon, and will affect us all.

Unfortunately, those most affected - and those being hit the hardest right now - are people most vulnerable to heatwaves. With climate crises increasing in both intensity and frequency, and poverty at dangerous levels, we face a rapidly rising, worldwide crisis.

We must recognize the climate crisis as an international emergency and treat it as such. So much time, creative energy, resources, and life is wasted in war and the pursuit of profit or power - consider how much good could come from re-allocating those resources to ensuring a future for Earthlings, instead.

(Expect to see a "Science into Fiction" workshop on climate change coming soon - SF writers have a particular responsibility to address such important topics of change and global consequence.)

[ranticore]

does this kind of experience make you want to add natural cataclysms into your worlds more/less? or maybe, did you grow up with this type of storm every now and then, the way some south USA americans become super casual about tornadoes or whatever, so they're already embedded in your fiction in some way? or a mix of both?

we get storms all the time tbh and 90% of the time we also get powercuts for a few days. this time is worse because the storm was a bit stronger than usual, but also because it affected the whole country and not just the seaboard so the recovery is slower with the electricity workers spread thin. ultimately it's only a tiny bit out of the ordinary. annoying but what can ya do.

one of our most famous weather events was oiche na gaoithe mór (night of the big wind) which happened in the 1800s and still gets talked about. storm winds are well embedded in the culture. we act as a windbreak for the UK (scotland excluded) so if you ever hear them complain about rain or storms just know that we had it first and worst

Incorporating it into my writing - yeah already with Siren they have severe tidal events and wind funnels. Inver is located approximately where Doggerland existed irl so while they do have some bad weather (and more snow than Hibernia would), they do not have such high winds (again, Hibernia is there as a windbreak)

[kathyoholloway44]

Find trusted storm damage restoration in Canton to repair and rebuild your property effectively after severe weather. Address structural concerns and restore your home or business with expert recovery solutions crafted for long-term durability.

[south-of-heaven]

Buddy x Rhea x reader

Buddy and Rhea come home and find reader in the middle of a severe depression after buddy and Rhea where on the road

Rhea and buddy bring reader out of their depression state

Hole || Rhea Ripley x Reader x Buddy Matthews

Summary: Rhea and Buddy have been away for a few weeks. You've been digging yourself into a deep hole of depression and now you can't get out.

As Rhea and Buddy stepped through the door, a sense of foreboding settled over them. The house was unusually dark, the blinds drawn shut, casting shadows across the cluttered rooms. Concern etched on their faces, they called out your name, but the only response was the eerie silence that enveloped the house.

Their hearts sank as they surveyed the disarray—a stark contrast to the usually neat and lively home. Panic began to grip them as they searched every room, their worry growing with each passing moment. And then, a faint sound caught their attention—the unmistakable sound of quiet sobbing coming from the upstairs bedroom.

Without a moment's hesitation, Rhea and Buddy hurried up the stairs, the echoes of your cries guiding them to the closed bedroom door. Their hearts clenched in anguish at the thought of you in pain, hidden away in the darkness of the room.

"Babe, it's us," Rhea called out gently, her voice filled with concern. "We're coming in now."

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dimly lit room and a sight that shattered their hearts—a silhouette curled up on the bed, consumed by tears and sorrow. They rushed to your side, wrapping you in a comforting embrace, their presence a shield against the suffocating darkness that had consumed you.

"What happened?" Buddy's voice trembled with worry as he tried to soothe you, his heart aching to see you in such distress.

Between sobs, you recounted the overwhelming despair that had consumed you in their absence—the suffocating weight of loneliness and despair that had seemed insurmountable. You felt lost, drowning in a sea of emotions without a lifeline to hold onto.

Rhea and Buddy listened, their hearts breaking at the pain you had endured alone. Without hesitation, they held you tighter, offering words of comfort and reassurance, promising to stand by your side through the darkest of times.

"We're here now," Rhea whispered, her voice filled with unwavering determination. "You're not alone anymore."

With their arms around you, enveloped in their love and support, a glimmer of hope began to pierce through the darkness. Their presence was a beacon of light, pulling you back from the depths of despair, reminding you that you were not alone in your struggles.

In that moment, you felt the weight lift off your shoulders, the warmth of their love wrapping around you like a protective shield. Rhea and Buddy were your anchors, grounding you in a storm of emotions, reassuring you that together, you could weather any storm. And as you leaned into their embrace, the promise of healing and recovery felt within reach, knowing that you were not alone in your battle against the darkness.

[noarawriteszr]

thanks for answering my question, if you don’t mind I’d like to request some fluff and angst with Cassandra and a female s/o

Cassandra goes hunting and the weather out of nowhere changes, it gets cold and Cassandra is having a hard time swarming, suddenly a lycan appears and injures her, and because of the weather she’s not able to run so she has to fight back, the injury is fatal so and she doesn’t have enough strength to use her sickle and doesn’t have arrows so she thinks she’ll die but before the lycan kills her, her mother kills it, before Cassandra falls to the ground, her mother catches her, Cassandra then goes into like a one month coma, her injuries are slowly healing and the crystallized body parts are turning back to normal. After she wakes up the person who’s there is her lover. The lover has been taking care of her the whole time, and when the lover noticed Cassandra is awake she starts crying and scolding Cassandra for being reckless and not listening to her because the lover had told her not to leave the castle when it’s not completely warm. Cassandra apologizes with a blush. Since Cassandra can barely move, the lover does everything for her; feeding her, bathing her, changing her and so on, cassnadra feels embarrassed and complains she’s not a baby but deep down she loves it. (Hopefully this made sense and if you do decide to do the request can you do how the lover reacts to an unconscious and injured Cassandra? And how she helps Cassandra heal while she’s unconscious)

Still my baby!♡

Cassandra Dimitrescu x fem reader

plot: Cassandra is seriously injured, and during her recovery period, she gets more annoyed than ever. Luckily, she has someone to take care of her.

a/n: helloooo! how are you, nonny? <3

first of all, this was a challenge for me lmaooo it was nice writing this tho I also made some changes and I truly hope you don't mind, I tried my best to keep the essence of it ;) not proofread oops

I'm so sorry it took so long :( pls forgive me and enjoy it ♥︎

Cassandra knew she should have listened to you and she was absolutely sure she shouldn't have sneaked out of Dimistrecu Castle. The consequences of her own actions were hurting her as she ran from the very well protected humans, not even with her sisters would this battle be easy, all she could feel was the cold. She flew uncontrolled towards the castle as fast as she could and in the situation she found herself in with several crystallized parts of her body and injuries, her effort was definitely not enough. The situation gets worse when she gets close to her home swearing to be safe until a lycan appears from beyond the grave and easily bites her right leg, she falls to the ground and can only scream in pain and beg anyone who can hear her mentally that her departure wouldn't be so cold.

When she could swear she was seeing the division between the world of the living and the world of the dead, the monster on top of her was cut in half as if it were nothing, she didn't even need to make an effort to lift her head and see who it was. Before closing her eyes she only heard:

“CASSANDRA!!!!”

–

So cold.. Cassandra slowly gains consciousness, and again, all she feels is cold. Mentally she grumbles while trying to pull the fabric that covers her with her legs, which was a mistake when she feels a deep pain in her right leg, her eyes open quickly and she lets out a scream that could scare anyone. In less than 10 seconds, the bedroom door opens, and she sees her mother and her beloved panting, clearly scared by the scream.

"Cassandra, my dear, what's wrong? Are you feeling bad? Have you seen any lycans? What happened?" – As expected, she was bombarded with questions by her mother, which left her even more panicked when she saw y/n crying, sobbing against the door.

“... I tried to move my leg.. it h-hurts” – The relief was clear on her mother's face, who realized that it was nothing different than expected. Alcina Dimitrescu takes a deep breath and explains everything that happened for her to be that way, Cassandra can see that she held back when scolding her daughter, she would certainly receive a severe punishment when she gets better.

In the meantime, she didn't even notice that you left and came back with a tray, silently reaching an agreement with Alcina, and she said goodbye and left you two alone. As soon as the door closed, you calmly approached your loved one even though your entire posture was the opposite of calm.

"Cassie, my love.. I want to ask you something: Do you want to kill me with a heart attack?" – And here the tears came back, Cassandra had never seen you cry as much as you did now, she couldn't do anything to comfort you and that was making her more and more disturbed, darn it. All she wanted was to give you a hug and assure you that nothing happened to her and that she was the toughest Dimitrescu besides her mom.

After long minutes of crying you manage to control yourself and place the tray on the bed where she was lying, she didn't even need to ask as you quickly showed her what was there, human flesh and a generous cup of blood.

If she could die of shame, she would right now as you help her eat and clean up the mess she made at meal time. As much as she was grateful, the shame was even greater, and she couldn't help but comment:

"I can feed myself, you know?" and you just roll your eyes and laugh at your girlfriend's predicted reaction.

"And I can help you, you know?" You jokingly answer her and notice that her cheeks turned red. You had to stop yourself from gushing over this.

“You almost scared everyone to death, I've never seen your mother as shaken as she was these last few days. Promise me you won't do this again, please promise me Cassie..” – It was visible that y/n was holding back tears, and Cassandra couldn't help but feel bad, intertwining their pinky fingers in a sincere and honest promise.

“For you, I promise.”

Days have passed since then, her recovery being one of the fastest even for being like her. Every day, she felt more like herself and hated lying in bed with all her strength. The only good thing is your company, it is, in fact, the only thing that made her stay in bed for so long without complaining... that much. Having all your attention, your affection and you close by is all she needs, even though she still almost needs to die from shame when you insist on taking care of her as if she were a child, helping her to eat, clean herself after lunch and dinner, read books for her and giving her the affection as if she were a being that needed all the care in the world, a baby. She couldn't lie. She LOVES it all, but she also knows that she is a renowned and respected vampire. You cuddling her like she was a stuffed animal wouldn't do any good for her reputation.

So she always complains to you and tries to push you away, to her luck or disgrace it literally has the opposite effect.

“Could you stop treating me like a baby? I'm a fucking vampire and I can still hurt you, baby” – Innocent Cassandra that think this scares you, it only made you look at her with more lovingly eyes.

“Awww, my grumpy vampy baby!” - You went to her and gave her loud kisses on the cheek and hugged her so tight that she squealed at it.

“I'm not a baby!!!” – She responds "mad" and tries to prove her point, which is, in fact, betting on a losing team.

“Still my baby!” – You give her the biggest kiss on the forehead and cuddle her like a small child, not missing her blushing cheeks and the bugs watching on the window.

Poor Cassie would have to deal with her sisters calling her a baby till the end of her life.

[speakergame]

Progress Update - 6/27/23

hello, my darlings! long time no see

thank you all for your patience and supportive messages during my long and unannounced radio silence. I've been a bit under the weather the last couple of months. nothing life-threatening, but severe enough to knock me on my ass for a while.

I'm getting my balance again, slowly. I've had a lot of time to write and brainstorm while I've been out, so there's that! still no ETA on the update, beyond the ever-unsatisfactory Soon™ but progress is being made! I've paused Patreon for July, but hopefully it'll be the last month I need to do that and I'll have something concrete to show by this time next month 🤞

I'd also like to get back in the habit of regular progress updates, but we'll have to see how my continued recovery goes.

thank you for reading and for waiting, I hope you all have a fantastic week, and I'll see you next time 💙💙💙

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 13: Ruiner

Content warning: Sukuna POV, violence, murder, oral sex (brief), Sukuna's two cocks

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails Something I Can Never Have (Still) - Nine Inch Nails

Chapter 12 | Chapter 14

Four years ago…

The trees stand skeletal, their long, bony branches stretching skyward like grasping fingers. A slight breeze stirs, dislodging leaves that drip to the ground, blanketing the earth in a sea of dirty golden brown. It’s all the King of Curses needs to know—it’s time to head out.

Walking down the longest corridor toward the shrine’s front entrance, he feels his impatience growing. Such an emotion is unlike him, but perhaps the impending carnage stirs it within him. Or maybe it’s something else entirely, but he pushes the thought away. Allowing it to linger would be worthless.

As he reaches the massive doors, he senses a faint presence behind him.

“Leaving, Master Sukuna?”

He turns, red gaze lowering to meet the pink eyes of his white-haired subordinate, who stands with hands tucked neatly inside their kimono.

“Yes,” he muses. “I’m heading north.”

North. It hadn’t always been an obsession—not like it claws at him now, its pull growing stronger with each passing year. It was once just an impulse, a return to forsaken lands he had tried to forget. But something changed the night he first set foot back in the northern territories. Since then, the call has only deepened, dragging him back again and again.

“This will be the second time this year,” Uraume observes. It is. “Are you targeting the territories under the snake’s rule again?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, unable to hide the hostility that twists his features with contempt.

“The snake.”

A man with a surprising amount power for someone who is nothing more than a power-hungry despot. Sukuna finds it laughable that the bastard’s people remain loyal despite his tyrannical grip over the northern region. But they do. Every time Sukuna makes his twice-yearly visit, the snake throws everything he can at him—warriors, trained men, young boys, even children. All of them meet the same fate. All of them are nothing but fodder.

The fact that the people haven’t risen against their ruler is a testament to their stupidity and blindness. They are all fools—every last one of them.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Sukuna hums before pushing open the massive doors and stepping outside.

The late October wind rushes toward him, sharp and biting, and Sukuna wonders if the northerners know he’s coming. They should by now. This marks the third consecutive year he’s launched his incursion, always in the same seasons: summer and autumn. Those are the times when the North is most vulnerable. The weather plays its part—resources dwindle, and recovery takes longer. By the time they manage to rebuild, he’s already back to tear it all down again.

He rolls his shoulders, anticipating the next miserable village he’s about to snuff out. Technically, he could go straight for the snake’s head and sever it, but that’s too easy. He wants the snake alive. He wants to toy with him, slowly strip away everything—his land, people, power.

Maybe even more than that.

Sukuna takes the first step down the shrine’s grand entrance, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the corridor.

“Master Sukuna!” His irritation spikes the moment Sayuri’s voice reaches his ears. “Where are you going?”

She brushes past Uraume, coming to stand before him. The once-tangled and dirty black hair she had when she first arrived is now sleek and well-kept. Sayuri is a different woman, born anew. But over the last year, she’s grown far too comfortable for her own good. It shows in the way she presents herself, in the way she looks at him with those stormy brown eyes, and in the way she yearns for more—something utterly worthless, something he can never give her or anyone else.

She steps closer, ignoring the expected bow, and instead places a delicate hand on his kataginu, her fingers sliding up the fabric to rest against his chest.

Sukuna’s nostrils flare.

“Please, Master, return to your chambers. I can help you forget wherever it is you think you need to be.” The sultry tone that spills from her lips is sickly sweet, making his mouth curl in disgust.

If anything, Sayuri is a poison—a parasite. He knows there may come a day when he’ll regret allowing her to worm her way into his life and shrine. But for now, she serves her purpose. She amuses him. She entertains him with the way she sucks his cocks and the way she allows him to use her body.

“I have better things to do than watch you squirm beneath me like a filthy whore.” His voice is devoid of heat as he uncurls her fingers from his clothing.

The dark-haired woman shrinks, taking a step back, face faltering. Good. She needs to be reminded of her place.

Without sparing her another glance, Sukuna tips his chin toward Uraume.

“I’ll be back in a week, maybe more,” he gruffs before descending the steps.

Mounting one of his obsidian horses, he gives the reins a tight fist and nudges the creature’s flank. With a sharp motion, the horse bounds forward, and in a heartbeat, he’s gone.

* * * * *

The ride northward takes three days.

When Sukuna arrives, he enters a region of the North he has never visited before. And it’s in shambles. Dismounting, he greets the sight with a cruel smile on his lips.

Overgrown weeds choke the withering crops beneath his wooden sandals. A thick, dank stench of putrid waste hangs in the air, clinging to his garments and lingering in his nostrils. The field, fallow and useless. Sweeping his eyes further, he notes the irrigation canals are clogged with mud and debris, while flies murmur over stagnant pools of water, long since turned swampy. Beyond the neglected crops, a decaying village looms in the distance, its rooftops sagging under the weight of neglect.

The snake makes it so easy for him. The way he disregards his own people, allowing them to weaken, while those who keep him in power gorge themselves at his table, growing fat and bloated—it’s almost too delightful to witness.

Though Sukuna isn’t much better, once he subjugates a region, he keeps it under his rule—relatively safe, if only out of fear and respect. As long as they meet his demands, they can “thrive” together, though thriving under Sukuna’s rule is a twisted thing, more survival than prosperity.

By the time he reaches the outskirts of the northern village, the autumn sun is dipping low, casting long shadows that curve along the broken roofs. The silence presses against him, a quiet that speaks of desperation, of people huddling inside their homes, praying for mercy that remains abandoned and unanswered.

Sukuna pauses, shutting his four eyes to savour the moment—the cooling air, the scent of decay, the fear seeping through the cracks of the village.

It’s intoxicating.

With grace, he brings his upper hands to the front panels of his kimono and peels it down, letting it hang at his hips, revealing the black ink that covers his chest. He left his kataginu with his mount, farther back, safe from the hell he’s about to unleash.

Opening his crimson eyes, he lets his energy rise to the surface, simmering beneath his skin. He knows it won’t take much to level everything in his surroundings.

He rolls his shoulders, takes two more steps, then lifts his upper right arm. With a flick, he extends his index and middle fingers, his voice quiet as he simply utters, “Knock, knock.”

* * * * *

Everything collapses in perfect chaos.

The homes topple like kindling in a fire, snapping and breaking apart. Soot and ash rise from the destruction that carpets the ground. Mounds of wood and debris groan and crack as they settle into the wreckage. Strewn across the earth are shattered belongings and mangled bodies, concealing much of the ruined landscape beneath.

From the edge of the village, Sukuna watches as people flee their shattered homes. He makes no effort to hunt them down, unless they stray too close. It would be a waste of effort, and that’s not his purpose here. He’s hoping the snake will send reinforcements or at least some kind of opposition, something to sink his teeth into for a real challenge. Rumours suggest the man has been forging connections with more powerful clans, potential threats that could make future encounters intriguing.

For now, Sukuna waits. And waits, and waits.

To his dissatisfaction, the bastard sends no one, abandoning the people of this shithole to their fate. At least now, Sukuna knows he'll need to target wealthier communities. Perhaps then, his efforts will provoke a more satisfying response.

He adjusts the front panels of his kimono, drawing the fabric up and threading his four arms through the sleeves. There’s no point in lingering any longer.

He takes one last look at the devastation before turning to leave, but something approaching catches his eye.

A skinny, greasy man drags a young woman by the handful of her hair. She staggers weakly, a grimace of pain on her face. When they reach Sukuna’s feet, the man roughly pushes her down.

“Please, my Lord,” the man begs, bowing with an air of false superiority that makes Sukuna sneer. “I offer you my niece in exchange for sparing what’s left of our village and aiding us in restoring it to its former state.” Still gripping her hair, he gestures to the woman.

Sukuna’s gaze falls on the girl. At a glance, she’s a pitiful sight—cowering meekly with her head bowed in submission.

“Show me her face,” Sukuna commands, stepping closer, his presence looming over them.

Without hesitation, the hand fisting the woman’s hair pulls sharply. Her head snaps back, bending uncomfortably, chin jutting upward. She lets out a muffled cry as he roughly brushes aside the strands framing her face, fingers lingering far, far too long for her comfort. The woman flinches, struggling to pull away from her uncle’s invasive touch.

As Sukuna studies her face their eyes lock. She’s not afraid of him; rather, she’s more terrified of the man clutching her.

“You can remove your hand,” Sukuna chuckles, circling the pair. “She won’t be crawling away from me anytime soon.”

Reluctantly, the man lets the woman crumple to the ground and glances over his shoulder at Sukuna.

“Will you accept my offer?” he asks nervously, trying to hold the four-armed demon’s gaze.

“Perhaps,” Sukuna replies, his tone turning chillingly light as he raises an arm. “But—” he tilts his head, “—it’s a shame you won’t be around to find out.”

“Pardon? My Lor—”

Before the man can finish, Sukuna’s hand parts his flesh like sodden paper, punching through the tissue and fluids that sustain his spinal cord. His fingers curl around the fragile threads of the man’s spine, which pulses like a ribbon against his fingertips as he strokes it.

The man’s throat emits wet, gurgling sounds that quickly dissolve into a flat hiss as he collapses to his knees. Sukuna chuckles softly, nudging the nerve trunk through his neck. With a final, decisive tug, he partially dislodges it from the man’s back.

Withdrawing his hand, gaze stony, the King of Curses watches the body fall, slumping to the ground, as if it were nothing. With a flick of his wrist, he attempts to rid his hand of the blood and fluids, repeating the gesture as if the mess personally affronts him.

“What’s your name?” he drawls, attention snapping back to the woman, who remains silent and unmoving despite the gruesome scene before her.

Slowly, she rises to her feet, eyes fixed blankly on the body of her uncle.

“Ren, my Lord,” she replies quietly.

“Ren,” he laughs deep and low in his chest, “what a dreadful name for a woman. Your parents must truly despise you.”

“My parents are dead,” she hisses, the words sharp, rough like a point, prompting Sukuna to reconsider her.

“Was that my fault?” Casually, he tips his chin toward the remnants of the village he just tore to the ground.

She shakes her head.

“No. They died a long time ago. Starved. Hungry. Because no one cares about us here,” she spits the words out.

He tilts his head.

There’s something intriguing about this woman, Ren. Unlike the weak, timid creatures who scurry away like rats, she doesn’t flinch before him. She stands firm. In the face of death—in the face of him—there’s a resilience that he finds both oddly fascinating and entertaining.

What’s even more curious is the sensation wriggling inside, compelling him to bring her back with him. It’s not driven by personal sentiment but by a cold, pragmatic sense that she might prove useful for a purpose he can’t yet define.

“Come,” he says, turning away and expecting her to follow.

And she does, without hesitation.

In the years that follow, Ren settles quickly at the shrine. She proves to be a remarkably diligent subordinate—adaptable, intelligent. However, the fire Sukuna once saw in her eyes gradually fades, replaced by a rigid hardness. It seems she is waging a war known only to herself—a struggle that no one, not even Sukuna, fully comprehends.

What confounds him most is the night he discovers her waiting for him in his chambers, offering herself. Not to his surprise, she isn’t alone; Sayuri is there, too.

And this is just the beginning.

* * * * *

Three months ago…

Six heavy-lidded eyes stare into Sukuna’s four.

Each pair belongs to the three women who have ended up at his shrine under varying circumstances. Their differences are as pronounced as the paths that led them here.

Ren drapes herself over him, straddling his right tattooed thigh, while Sayuri clings to the center, her eyes filled with unspoken longing.

The third, Hina, a woman with deep copper-coloured hair, hovers to his left. About two years ago, she had arrived from a slowly dying village in the east. When her home had fallen to ruin, she had learned to survive on her own, honing her skills in hunting and killing. But sustenance was fleeting, and on the first of the month, she had come to him, offering herself in exchange for survival.

Now, they surround him with their three pliant bodies.

Each of them takes turns trying desperately to please him. Sucking and pumping his hard dual cocks.

Writhing, squirming, moaning.

The sight alone should satisfy any man, but it does nothing for him.

The situation grows increasingly intolerable the moment Sayuri looks up, his lower cock between her lips, eyes imploring not just for his attention but also his affection.

Sukuna remains impassive, his expression unreadable as he reclines on the futon, his four arms curving over a plush set of cushions. His silence, rather than deterring, seems to embolden her further.

Suddenly, Sayuri maneuvers her body, climbing up and turning around, her cunt sitting directly in his face as if expecting him to pleasure her.

His lip curls up as he looks at it.

“Off,” he grunts, voice carrying a menacing bite. His sneer begins to reveal the sharpness of his canines as his patience wears thin. “Get. The. Fuck. Off.”

When his command goes unheeded, he shoves Sayuri aside. She tumbles across the futon, forcing Ren and Hina to quickly retreat as he swings his legs over the edge and plants his feet firmly on the floor.

“Get out,” he snaps.

Gaze deliberately averted, he retrieves his discarded haori and slips it on.

Behind him, he can hear the muted sounds of clothing being smoothed, the shuffling of feet. The door slides open with a soft rustle, and they are gone.

Silence.

Sukuna exhales deeply, running a hand through his swept back pink hair.

Barefoot, he crosses his chambers toward the garden door. With a simple tug, it glides open, revealing the evening dark. The moon hangs directly overhead, lonely. Stars appear one by one, scattering the sky with pinpricks of light.

The warm breeze sweeps through, carrying a reminder. He inhales the night air, feeling its subtle nudge to head north.

Tomorrow, he decides, is when he’ll go.

The following morning, the bright, fat sun taunts Sukuna. Its harsh light pierces through the garden door of the private room and plagues his meal.

Impatience creeps in.

He should have left hours ago, mounted up, and headed north by now. But something told him to stay, to eat first. So he did, though the decision irritates him now.

From where he sits on the cushion on the floor, he notices Sayuri, sulking like a spoiled child, aware that he’s leaving today. Her pouting only puts him in a sour mood.

“Fuck.” He exhales, “Just—come here, you stupid brat.” With his lower hands, he beckons her to come to him.

Sayuri’s face beams bright, and without hesitation, she eagerly slips onto his monstrous lap.

Swivelling her hips, she attempts to get comfortable, making him grumble wordlessly.

“Better?” he grunts, though the proximity does little to quell his annoyance. She smiles up at him, dark eyes gleaming.

“Yes. Thank you, Master Sukuna,” she murmurs, leaning in and nuzzling his chest. Affectionately.

Fucking pathetic.

He’s about to toss her off when the door slides open, revealing Uraume.

“Master Sukuna,” they begin, bowing respectfully as they step inside. His four eyes shift from Sayuri to the white-haired monk. “A messenger just delivered this.”

In their hand is a piece of parchment, seemingly insignificant at first glance. Eyeing it more, he notices it's neatly folded and tied with a high-quality silk cord. But what truly catches his attention is the wooden seal holding it together.

His eyes narrow, and he stretches out an arm, palm flat. Uraume places the message there. 

Lazily, he brings it closer, holding it before Sayuri’s face.

“Tell me what you see,” he croons, placing his upper right hand against her back.

Sayuri shifts, wets her lips, and studies the paper.

“I see a seal,” she replies. Sukuna nods, urging her to continue. “I see… a snake, my Lord.”

He clicks his tongue, a smirk stretching across his face.

“Good girl,” he coos, patting her back twice like a dog.

Slowly, his lower hands begin to untie the silk cord. It unravels with a soft rustle and falls to the low table. Without bothering to read the contents, he gestures to Hina, who has been hovering nearby.

“Read it,” he commands flatly.

Hina obediently steps forward and takes the parchment from his hand. She unfurls it carefully, eyes scanning the ink blots scattered across the paper. Though the copper-haired woman isn’t fully literate, he knows Uraume has been teaching her, slowly cultivating her ability to decipher the written word. 

“To the, um, most Honour’ble and I-illust—”

Sukuna barks out a sudden, sharp laugh, not at her stumbling over the words but at the thought of the snake who penned this letter. The idea of that man being forced to address him as ‘honourable’ is a delicious irony; Sukuna knows the man despises him.

“Continue.” The smirk on his lips grows.

Hina shifts on her feet.

“To the most H-honourable and I-illust-rious Suk-un-a Ryo-men, the King of—”

“Too long,” Sukuna interupts. “Ren.”

Ren quickly steps forward. She bows before taking the parchment from Hina’s grasp.

“To the Most Honourable and Illustrious Sukuna Ryomen, the King of Curses,” she begins, voice steady. “Like two rivers, our paths have collided, flooding the northern lands with strife and destruction. Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end—”

“Sayuri,” Sukuna barks.

Ren hands the parchment to Sayuri, who squares her shoulders, straightens her posture, and smooths the paper a few times.

“Yet even rivers can find harmony when they merge, flowing stronger together than apart. Recognizing the futility of further conflict, I propose an end to this turbulence—” She pauses. “—by…”

She lifts her eyes, casting a sharp glance at Sukuna.

His eyes darken, and his grip tightens.

“By offering you—”

Another pause, a beat.

“By offering me what?” he growls.

Sayuri swallows.

“By offering you… my daughter in marriage.”

Silence descends upon the room.

An invisible string tugs at the corner of the King of Curses’ mouth.

Finally.

He dips his chin.

“Continue.”

Sayuri’s eyes begin to glimmer with unshed tears before they reluctantly drop back to the parchment.

“Through this union, our clans can finally channel our energies toward more productive pursuits. You can retain the territories you have subjugated and gain a longstanding foothold in the north without further waste of time. Let us resolve this swiftly, so that we may turn our attention to more pressing matters. Signed—”

Sukuna plucks the parchment from her fingers, crimson eyes narrowing as he scans the closing line.

“Kasai Takuma, Lord of the Kasai Clan.”

* * * * *

Present day, moments ago…

Sukuna’s going to kill you.

That decision was made long ago—when your father first proposed the marriage, when the wedding day approached, when he first laid eyes on you. The decision was simple. Final. You were the daughter of the snake, after all, and your fate was sealed from the start.

He’s going to kill you.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t done it. Each time his eyes meet yours, something stirs within him, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge, something he desperately wants to—

Fuck.

He exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his pink hair, frustrated by the persistence of this hesitation. He should have let that polearm tear you apart instead of stepping in to protect you. But he won’t allow anyone to harm you—if anyone should, it will be him.

He’s the one who's going to kill you.

Even now, as he walks away, out of the kitchen and down the shrine’s longest corridor, the irritation grows. It's an irritation he knows is tied to you, to the way you’ve started to seep into his thoughts more and more, occupying space in his mind that he doesn’t want to give.

He cannot give. He will not give.

By the time he reaches the front entrance, the irritation has grown into something darker, more unsettling, and he knows that despite his decision, despite the certainty with which he made it, you’ve become something he didn’t anticipate—a complication.

A distraction.

You are a fucking nuisance. 

He’s going to kill you. That decision was made long ago...

Opening the doors, he steps out into the cool night and heads for the stables, where the creatures offer a welcome reprieve. The familiar routine of caring for them soothes his mind, pushing his thoughts aside—if only for a moment.

But it isn’t enough.

By the time he mounts one and guides it toward the dirt-packed road, he feels it—an uncomfortable tug in his chest. An urge to turn back, to return to the shrine.

To return to you—his wife.

He ignores it.

He rides off, away from the shrine and, more importantly, away from you. Distance, he thinks, will clear his head.

Yet as the cold air lashes him, a nagging sense of regret creeps in, an unsettling awareness that he should have known better, that leaving was a mistake.

Because after all this time, he should have known what was coming.

🔗 Chapter 14

[usafphantom2]

The SR-71 had to descend to a lower altitude to be refueled . There was no radar weather information on the fastest airplane in the world so they never knew just what they might be flying into.

On April 13, 1967 during a nighttime training mission the pilot ran into a severe thunderstorm during refueling at around 30,000 feet. This caused the pilot to slow the aircraft down to the point of stalling.

This was before there was a pitch up warning installed in the airplane. After the SR went into pitch up there is no recovery so the airplane pitched up flipped over broke in half! just one minute before it broke in half the RSO and the pilot ejected over New Mexico. They both survived the ejection. The pilot never flew the SR 71 again .

The RSO was Richard “Butch” Sheffield. He continued flying as an RSO (Navigator) and instructor in the SR 71 program until 1973.

He later became the Director of the Skunk Works special projects working directly for Ben Rich.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X