#tattoo roadmap

[theflagscene]

You have bl tattoos? do you have black’s from not me? that one is pretty popular.

Some are still in the works, some are just planned, and some I just decided about today - Jokers tatt. Mostly because tattoos are expensive and I live far below the poverty line, so even when they’re small, I tend to need to do them in bits and pieces.

No I don’t have any Not Me tattoos, shocking right!? I’ve been considering Yok’s bird silhouettes from his shoulder, but those are pretty generic 🫤 I won’t be getting Black/White’s tattoo either, it’s just your basic Black Flag tatt, which is a common symbol anarchists use—fitting for Black—but it is also often connected to the 1970’s punk band The Misfits. Which isn’t really my scene, I like punk rock just fine but not enough to get a scene tattoo.

Currently for me there’s Ayan’s hoodie symbol from The Eclipse, left inner arm from under elbow to above the wrist, ongoing.

And JaeYoung’s hipster symbols, inner lower right arm, planned. Now I’ve decided to add Joke’s tattoo to my thumb, and that’ll be three QL fandom tatts.

I also have a Lion King one, finished, left wrist, in honour of my little sister. A song lyric, clavicle, finished. Then there’s a planned Super Grover one, from Sesame Street, which is going to be my only coloured tattoo. I’m thinking it’ll be on my shoulder or shoulder blade, not sure yet. It’s probably going to be the last I get because I’m wary of coloured tattoos, I prefer clean line work and basic black shading. So I usually flip flop on if I wanna get it or not, I do, but I also don’t want a blob of faded blue and red on me in a decade. My older sister has nearly 75 tattoos and most of them are coloured and tbh, they have all faded terribly which makes me kind of go: eugh😬

So yeah, anyway, that’s the tattoo journey currently. Three QL tatts, one Disney, one song lyric and one Sesame Street. Not all currently finished or even begun, but that’s the roadmap so far 👍

[arowenc]

In Loving Memory Of Tattoos

With the Life and Death Expansion pack being announced with the upcoming roadmap, I guess it's an appropriate time to share these tattoos. As someone who's gearing up to get tattoos in memory of my loved ones, once I get an actual job and the bravery to get one, I thought this would be appropriate. I plan on making some more later, but I wanted to release these ones now. For these tattoos, it's a mixture of one for pets and sims. I play a lot of family legacies in my games, and I've spent a while looking for tattoos before realizing I could make my own. I hope you all enjoy it!

🌸T.O.U🌸

🌸Do NOT claim my cc as your own

🌸You can include my cc in Sims Dumps, I just ask that you tag me when you do

🌸You can convert it to other sims games, I've been delving into trying to convert them myself, but I will not stop you.

🌸You can recolor any of the eyebrows I release and recolor the make-up for personal use only.

🌸Social Media🌸

Download Below:

Upper Chest, Right Arm, and Left Arm

Alt: Patreon

@sssvitlanz @mmfinds

[satureja13]

Lovestruck Expansion Pack Leak!

Release: July 25th /Preorder: June 27th 2024

New romantic interactions! Finally cuddling in bed! Oh my! Ah, I hope this is all for teenagers too.

And it looks like we finally get the Heartshaped Bed back!

The name of the world: Ciudad Enamorada (sounds as if it's really in Spain or Middle/South America! And: it has three neighborhoods!)

And did you notice the neck tattoo?

Found -> here on youtube

In the pic below you see the early buyer bonusses. The bed, the makeup and the cushions. A bit meh imo. And all in all it is a little thin again for an expansion pack, even so that we don't get a lot in this roadmap. Two kits and an EP for four months...

[mogsimmer]

Tarot Tattoo 🔮⭐🌙

A tattoo based on the tarot cards from the Sept-Dec 2024 Road Map <3 Includes one 'full' design and one 'partial' design for each arm and for the back.

I hope you guys like it, I've literally been thinking of this non-stop Design is obviously taken from the roadmap and is not my own! Download it here <3

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 19

"HEART OF THE MATTER"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 18 - "THE FORCE"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/759480275949486080/vagabonds-chapter-18-the-force?source=share

Word Count: 1.9K

Background: Hunter has a heart to heart convo with LOVE. LOVE has a heart to heart covo with Mad. Sweet and emotional with a reveal (No fear dear reader: Things WILL pick up in Chapter 20!)

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series "Mad". For more background on LOVE, check out the introduction and past chapters leading up to this one. LOVE'S father is also mentioned in past chapters in a flashback...giving a clue as to how and why LOVE has the power they do!

Warning: Commentary of body issues, age, relationships. Mention of body parts.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive)

Mad emerged from the refresher, toweled off, then playfully tossed it over Tiggy.  Tig rolled around inside the towel, drying her fur, then took it between her teeth and shook it.  The towel slapped the sides of her head.  She’d drop it, growl, bite and shake it again. 

From the back of her wardrobe, Mad pulled out a black linen maxi dress.  A patchwork of small multicolored fabric swatches was sewn all over it randomly.  Remnants of fabric snipped from the clothing of Nomaadi family and friends.  People who helped Mad escape Dathomir, deliver LOVE, and occasionally assist Mad to raise them during the rare moments the Nomaadi could gather together.  Some still alive...some...had perished long ago.  For the Nomaadi this was their portable family album. There was a bittersweet melancholy attached to this garment.  A nostalgia so deep with this dress Mad could NEVER part with it. 

She hadn’t worn it since being pregnant with LOVE and a few months after their birth...before losing some of the baby weight. 

Mad glanced up and caught the vision of her naked self in the mirror.   

Her breasts were getting heavier with the start of milk production...and tender.  Before that they weren’t as perky as they had been in Mad’s 20’s or 30’s... now hovering just shy of 50.   

She had a mature woman’s body before this “medical condition.”  A spare tire around her lower midsection, just under the belly button.  Leftover from carrying LOVE that never went away.  And shiny stretchmarks from the original pregnancy weight loss.   

There were some varicose and spider veins on Mad’s legs, mostly covered by extensive tattoos.  But still visible.  The occasional scar from fights, near misses, scrapes, and falls while evading enemies peppered her body. 

Mad sighed.  She wore a rough roadmap of life...with more to come. 

Memories of Hunter worshipping every inch of her body came flooding back.  The extra, marred flesh didn’t seem to bother him at all.  Sure, he had plenty of scars...from battle.  Those scarred parts of his anatomy were seen as glorification of enduring a war and surviving.  No sense of shame came with them.   

Motherhood on the other hand...not generally seen that way. 

The softening of the body, especially as an older woman...aging.  Mad sighed.  Most societies in the galaxy tended to view this as a woman past her prime, less valued, sometimes invisible, mostly a vessel to produce a younger, more useful being and nothing else. 

Would Hunter STILL find her attractive?  And see past the outer meat sack to the spirit of the person within?  Would he still want to hang around after whatever Mad carried within her grew to fruition and left it.  Maul surely didn’t. 

Men usually became suddenly fickle when the body exceeded certain...parameters of “established” body standards... 

Would her body still be in full working order after all of this was over?  Would she lose her independence?  What would happen to LOVE if Mad was rendered incapable?  Surely the Nomaadi would help care for her... 

...IF there were any of her people left after the Empire scoured and colonized the galaxy... 

She suddenly grew VERY wary and tired.  Tiggy whined pitifully, as though she could read Mad’s thoughts. 

Mad sighed and took the dress off the hangar, pulling it over her head, and let it settle over her body.   

It felt comfortable.  Like home.  Smoothed out and covered the lumps, bumps, scars, mars... 

Forgiving and embracing like a well-worn lover. 

Mad ignored the wet towel on the floor and crawled into bed, hiding under the covers.  She didn’t want to think about ANYTHING else for awhile.  Just wanting to exist in this warm peaceful place.  

Tiggy leapt up and snuggled in next to her. 

Hunter rifled through his pockets, pulling out items as he thew his clothes into the washer. 

The Marauder had a tiny machine, only large enough for the Batcher’s thin blacks.  But the Beldame had a full-sized washer/dryer with a folding counter in one of the ships alcoves.  Perfect for washing civilian clothing the Batchers had acquired since leaving the Empire. 

LOVE quietly drifted by in the shadows behind him, having grabbed snacks for Omega and Sil.  If it had been anyone else, they would have silently drifted by in levitation with no one the wiser... 

But this was Hunter. 

“That’s an interesting skill you have.” He mused as he closed the lid and watched the clothes agitate in the washer window. 

LOVE stopped and levitated in place, shocked that Hunter could sense them. 

“You HAD to know I would eventually figure it out.” Clothes agitating...” Do you eavesdrop on everyone often?” 

NO!  They Force Spoke. 

“Guess I have to believe you” Hunter turned to stare into LOVE’S eyes.  He leaned against the wall next to the washer and put his hand on his hip. 

No pressure... 

We live on this ship constantly...usually with lots of other people.  Privacy is hard to find...but...SOMETIMES...every once in a while...I do it for safety reasons. 

“Oh?” Hunter raised an eyebrow. 

I DON’T want to know other people's PERSONAL business...eww.  But...I worry about Mom.  She’s been with me my whole life.  More than anyone else... 

LOVE trailed off and Hunter guessed this comment was telling about how little this teen’s father was present in their life. 

“What are you worried about?” Hunter softened his look and tone. 

I... don’t want to lose her...  LOVE clutched the bags of snacks against their chest, a panicked look upon their face.  I’m scared. 

Hunter understood this completely.  He had seen Omega worry as a small child.  So many situations where she would stress about things she had little to no control over. 

“Ever tell your mother about this?” Hunter offered. 

No...  LOVE stared at the floor 

“Listen...I know I’m NOT your father...” Hunter fidgeted a bit.  He wasn’t sure if he was drifting into dangerous territory with Mad’s teen. 

But you COULD be!  LOVE glanced up hopefully at Hunter. 

Hunter was pleasantly surprised to find himself smiling a bit.  He initially expected LOVE to be defensive and argumentative.  However, he remembered Mad’s explanation of the Nomaadi.  Family is not specific for them.  It was NOT necessarily comprised of a closed group of familiar blood individuals.  ANYONE could be adopted into the galaxy-wide ever-growing community of the Nomaadi family experience. 

You ONLY had to be genuine and committed to belong.   

“Don’t you think she should know?”  Hunter advocated. 

LOVE heavily considered his words. 

“Talk to her, LOVE.  She NEEDS to hear from you right now.  She needs your support.”  Hunter urged.  “I think you need hers too.” 

I... don’t want to be a burden.  Mom has enough to worry about. 

“You aren’t.  Would NEVER think that.”  Hunter emoted “She loves you so much.” 

LOVE nodded and turned to levitate away towards Mad’s stateroom.  Then stopped and glanced over their shoulder. 

Hunter? 

“Yeah?” 

I mean it...you COULD be my father. 

“Heh...thanks Kid.  That means A LOT coming from you.” Hunter beamed. 

Mom?  LOVE reached out with The Force while standing outside of Mad’s stateroom door.   

Come in. The door slid open to reveal Mad curled up in bed with Tiggy leaning against her. 

Mad had rolled over to greet Love...as they WALKED into the room... 

LOVE barely EVER walked anywhere.  Usually, levitating was the default to avoid the tactile feeling of anything against their feet, hands, body.  They even shunned touch from everyone around them, including loved ones.  LOVE slowly wandered into the room, looking small, lost...a bit unsure. 

Hey?  Mad probed LOVE’S mind gently. Speaking in the intimate way they both have since LOVE'S birth.  What’s bothering you? 

LOVE slowly crawled onto the bed then asked a question Mad hadn’t heard since LOVE was a toddler... 

Can I hug you? 

Oh...OF COURSE!  With outstretched arms, Mad beckoning her child. 

LOVE slid in and embraced Mad, gently closing Tiggy in between them.  The dog rolled onto her back and let all four legs dangle down like a person resting on the mattress.  A contented groan escaped her snout. 

Mad warmly wrapped her arms around LOVE, closed her eyes, and drank in the sensation of how her child felt in her arms.  It had been SO LONG since she felt this.  Mad held back strong emotional tears. 

It felt WONDERFUL! 

Mad waited patiently for LOVE to speak. 

Finally...  I’m...scared. 

You heard the conversation earlier, didn’t you?  With your “Force Ears?” 

LOVE nodded silently. 

I know you can do that.  Don’t always know when you do it... 

Not often.  Promise. 

Hmm.  Hunter and I were going to tell you, Omega and Sil soon.  We just needed to process...EVERYTHING.  

Hunter told me to come clean and talk to you.  Sooner than later. 

He did, did he? Mad grinned 

Can we adopt him?  And Omega...and their brothers? 

I’ll think about it. Mad smirked, then sighed.  About the... Mad motioned to her very swollen belly.  Symbiont...or WHATEVER is in THERE...I think I’m going to live.  Don’t think the doctor...intentionally...implanted anything evil or dangerous.  But I wasn’t prepared for what Hunter had to say.  We're going to get this straightened away tomorrow at the extraction point.  I CAN’T wait though...it’s sitting on my bladder!  Sorry... 

Mad extracted herself from Love, Tiggy, and the bed quickly.  Got up and hurried to the bathroom. 

LOVE waited for Mad’s return and glanced down at Tiggy, who continued to lay on her back.   

You KNOW something.  You sense it.  That’s why you’re cuddling with Mom so much. 

Tiggy glanced up at LOVE, wagging her tail in the affirmative. 

What do YOU know that we don’t??? 

Tiggy smiled in the way dogs do, still wagging her tail, but giving up NONE of her secrets. 

Mad returned to her bed and snuggled in with LOVE.  They lay there for quite a while, each in their own headspace and silent. 

Hey... Mad whispered with the Force. 

Huh? LOVE murmured back. 

I love you with everything I’ve got.  And, I’ve NEVER regretted having you.  No matter what happens...don’t you EVER forget it. Mad squeezed LOVE. 

LOVE was extremely touched and emotionally unable to speak...even with the Force.  However, Mad could FEEL the depth of their emotions.  No words needed to be spoken; the feelings were enough. 

Eventually, both LOVE and Mad drifted off to sleep...with Tiggy sandwiched between them. 

 

While Mad slept.... 

LOVE dreamed. 

A shapeless, formless darkness.  Nothing concerning or terrifying.  On the contrary, a peaceful, watery darkness...with the constant sound of a warm heartbeat.  There were others with them in the darkness.  Small forms fluttering around LOVE.  Sliding by and acknowledging their presence like it was as natural as belonging to this place.  This watery, salty home...like the dark, warm depths of an ocean.  They communicated wordlessly, soundlessly in kinship.  No malice or otherness.  They belonged here for the time being, while LOVE was just visiting temporarily.  They accepted LOVE occupying space among them in these depths.  Swimming up to them in greeting.  Regarding LOVE with interest... 

LOVE startled awake with their head resting against Mad’s swollen belly.  During the nap, LOVE had slid down and curled around their mother.  Mad continued to snore softly. 

LOVE glanced down at Tiggy.  My brothers and sisters are in there...you were trying to tell us... 

Tiggy wiggled in excitement. 

...and Hunter’s their daddy. 

Tiggy rolled over and licked LOVE’S face enthusiastically. 

LOVE was elated...but then realized that they COULDN’T part with these babies.  For SO many years Mad and LOVE ferried people...mostly children across the galaxy to safe houses and families on other planets.  Some living with other Nomaadi when there were no other viable options.  They were unable to keep any of them in their daily lives. 

But THESE children...they personally BELONGED to THEM.   

LOVE gently woke Mad up and gave her the news. 

I...DON’T understand.  HOW?  Mad rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

Tech might know.  He’ll explain the logical part.  I can do the rest.  LOVE offered. 

LOVE got up from the bed and levitated out of the stateroom to find the rest of the crew. 

To read Chapter 20 - "DIFFICULT CHOICES":

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/761407251706707968/vagabonds-chapter-20?source=share

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

[fllagellant]

a last kiss before one goes away OR sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain OR stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd forrr wyll & giilvas :333c

3/3 WE FINALLY WON !! :33

For ‘ stolen kisses while hiding away from a crowd ‘

-

“-This is your fault, just so you don’t forget.”

“You don’t sound too mad about that.”

Giilvas noses along his jaw, and Wyll can feel the smug look on his face. He can feel the huff of an exhale against this skin, the loudest the other would bother daring to laugh.

There was a muffled yell from somewhere, not closeby, definitely closeby. For two men hiding in an alley, it was closeby. For two men hiding in an alley because one of them got into a fistfight, it was closeby. For two men who were hiding from a drunken crowd, looking to- at best- drive them from the city, it was definitely closeby.

But, for The Golden Rose, it was far enough away. Far enough away to let eyelids drop, slip shut. Lips traced jaw, traced the dip of twisting scars, felt the way Wyll tenses and rubs his molars together- bad habit. Following a roadmap he had gotten to know oh so well, inch by inch by inch. Pressing firm kisses along the curve, lips trying to mimic something soft-

The Blade of Frontiers, trying with a sort of desperation to keep up this I’m disappointed act, exhales sharp through his nose. Giilvas pauses, drags himself to not quite standing straight (risk a kiss at the corner of his mouth, press like promise). Mismatched eyes (Night sky, shooting star) look from moonlit street, to lips, to Wyll’s eyes (Foggy morning, noon eclipse) and he tilts his head. Like he needs to look at this situation from another angle, just slightly skewed in the rightwrong direction.

This time, the drunken holler is… almost understandable. And that’s almost a compliment. Coloured with the self-righteous fury of getting knocked on your ass, after deciding to keep playing with fire (provoking the man thrice your size) and crying once it burned. They don’t hear any bootfalls, yet.

Giilvas hopes they’ll walk themselves in a circle and give up- or pass out. One of the two.

Wyll hopes that someone will step in and get them going back home- or that they pass out. One of the two.

“I am unbelievably disappointed in you.” Wyll risks to say, his voice swallowed in the dimness of the alley. “You need to show more restraint, you know that?” Fingers trace the edges of Giilvas’ cloak, ink black, nondescript. Blending into the background. Giilvas seems to stiffen, focusing on Wyll’s tone… for it wasn’t quite firm enough to be punishing.

Something else, something tempting.

Follow the path, the worn edges of loved cloth guiding hands up to collarbone, barely hidden under a performer's garb. He’s warm. Like candle flame under his fingertips, dancing across his almost skin. “You came to perform, not to pick fights. Not to let drink get under your skin.” Giilvas is suddenly aware of the brush of stone wall behind his back. The alley reminding him of how little space he has, he can’t dart into the street (Hunting men still hunting, hiding men still hiding.)

A hand lingers on the side of his neck, tattoo ink under skin suddenly feeling- suddenly aware- golden scripture being traced over again, and again. Like it would rub off, stain Wyll’s fingertips the colour of polished metal and golden coin.

His arteries thrum underneath, just barely deeper. Is his blood stained golden?

Wyll presses finger against pulse point, he feels the way Giilvas’ heart finally picks up from a way of adrenaline and a dizzying sort of realisation that he is not the one leading, not anymore.

He blinks, like he might bring this image into focus if he flutters his lashes enough times. Like it might change, become something slightly skewed, another angle. “You should practice patience, you know. It’ll repay you in plenty.” Foggy morning, noon eclipse eyes gaze up, daring. Searing.

A yell of find the bastards! covers the tentative question of a sound that Giilvas makes. It sticks in his throat, unable to crawl out and ask- face to face- unable to push- face to face- unable to demand- face to face-

There was a bead of sweat on The Golden Rose’s forehead, keenly aware (against his will) about how close the drunkards had stumbled along. Keenly aware, (fully cognitive) of how The Blade of Frontiers is trying to goad him (He’s doing so well. So terribly well.)

(A crowd is a living being with one mind, one perception, and many voices. It tires slowly, but this one, this one is starting to get close to dispersal. Had the quarry really vanished? How many places can they be hiding? Alleys blur into passing smears of shadow and dirty cobble, they aren’t in the first one, three, five- So they’ve gone somewhere else; Where?)

Neither of them pay mind to the sound of clambering footsteps, as Wyll finally tilts his head back (smile playing on his lips, he hasn’t been disappointed this entire time) and fingers drag along the underside of Giilvas’ jaw, pulling like promise.

“… This is a start.”

“You’re gonna kill me, one day-“

He’s already leaning back in, he’s already cutting off his own words. Curled, surrounding, kissing spelling out thank you and just one more and I love you, I love you, I love you. Wyll is grinning into every tilt and motion, and Giilvas can’t help but feel like he’s the one who truly won between them.

[gaym0m]

Something people find very interesting about me and my likes, is that I find jawline, necks and collarbones very very very attractive. Like literally makes my knees week and my— ya know.

Anyway, because if this I’m so sad no one has done this so imma do it.

Not smut. Like at all, but definitely suggestive. I don’t think I could write coherent smut.

Just Ellie for now since I owe her one.

One more not before I start, the way you can see her whole neck AND the drool im��

Okay okay sorry. Back to the one shot.

Warnings: mentions of Jay, of course suggestive stuff. Uhhh I dunno Beth being a little shit lol.

Soft lips gently pressed along the knuckles the tattoo artist, the kids with their auntie meant you two had all the time and space in the world to enjoy of each other, mind, body and soul.

Emphasis on body.

Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle at you’re actions, the kiss on certain body parts she wasn’t sure had ever been kissed. At first she found it cheesy, but after months of dating she didn’t know if she could be without it.

Just like she was no longer sure if she could live without the gentle kisses you would place on her cheekbones, or even her jaw.

She wasn’t sure she could live without your arms squeezing her waist or how you would nuzzle again the area where she shoulder and neck meet.

Ellie didn’t know what she would do without your playful kisses that started on her lips and lead down her jaw to her chest.

Or the ones that started at her knuckles and followed up her tattooed arms till giggles bursted from her lips. (Although she’s sure you had gotten that one from the Addams family).

Jay was a lot of things, he was a good husband while it lasted and a great dad but he could never compare to the next door neighbor that stepped in when she crumbled.

He would never compare to you, the one that immediately had everyone (even Beth and herself) wrapped around your finger with your kind nature and over all loving attitude towards the family.

Her ex would also never compare to you, from the way you sensually ran your fingers through her hair. The gentle tug when you wanted to break a long kiss just to aim for her jaw.

Then from her jaw, to her neck and her collarbones.

She didn’t understand your fascination with that area, but she appreciated the restraint you showed the first few times when she still had her ‘no marking’ rule. (She wasn’t ready to explain to the kids that the much you get neighbor who helped them and babysat them every once in a while was also her. . . Lover?).

Eventually they figured it out, from shy smiles and “hidden” kisses when you two were too caught up in eachother to see that Bridge had entered the kitchen for a soda. . . Poor kid didn’t get a soda but she was happy her mom seemed happy.

Of course, Ellie sometimes still got a little (not really) upset when you’d loose control. Then again those were also the more fun she had on bad days.

Those were the nights when your teeth grazed her jaw, her neck, her chest. The nights where she almost couldn’t look down at you, her body too strung up in pure white pleasure that her head was stuck thrown back.

Sometimes those where nights where she was stressed out, and you took every second to appreciate every inch of her. Your jaw sore, same as your arm but that didn’t stop you. Nothing really did stop you until Ellie unraveled beneath your touch, with a silent mantra of your name and twitching legs.

Other nights, you had a rough day. Of course you would never take it out on her, but she would still notice. And she would tell you a story of a day filled with struggles for her, because while she wasn’t a fan of lying, she knew just how relax you felt after you carried her to the edge and back.

Those nights where slightly different, with you hands gripping her hips enough to leave pretty bruises (which she sometimes wanted to outline and tattoo on herself). The same nights where you’d leave a few more marks while laying out a roadmap of the love and adoration you held for her.

Those nights, her fingers were sore from gripping the bed or at your hair while she remembered to cut her nails next time as she felt the skin of your back warm up after she raked her fingers down the soft skin.

Every night was a pleasurable ride with you, but those nights left her legs weak even the day after. And marks which lasted more than a few days.

Those were the nights that would cause her to flush as red as her hair when remembering.

She could still remember the smirk on Beth’s face the day after one of those nights, they were meeting up for lunch after Beth dropped off the kids at school. Ellie’s legs were still slightly trembling and her voice still hoarse.

“Not. A. Word. Betty-Boo.”

“Hey I wasn’t the one getting ra—“

“I said not a word!”

“Okay okay! I would ask how it was but clearly it was good.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes I’m aware.”

As much as the teasing annoyed her, she did find it slightly amusing just how much of a mess you made her (and her pants).

[feuerwizard]

@proelio-procusi asked: "∗ 4o: sender traces one of receiver’s [scars / bruises] ." // 100 nonverbal prompts;; open

Eadwulf's fingers traced gently over the faded scars that criss-crossed Caleb's forearms like a roadmap of pain and survival. The flickering firelight from the hearth danced across Caleb's pale, freckled skin, casting the raised lines of scar tissue into sharp relief.

Caleb gazed into the glowing embers, transfixed by the shifting patterns of light, as Eadwulf mapped each mark with an almost reverent touch. Callused fingers, so used to gripping a sword or casting somatics, now caressed with the lightest pressure, as if memorizing every ridge. He did not mind Eadwulf touching him like so, it felt familiar. Comforting. "They are the same as yours… minus the tattoos, of course."

[slasheru]

Slasher U Update Roadmap: End of 2023!

Holy crap, it's been a hell of year, hasn't it?! Slasher U Act 1 came out at the end of April 2023 and there's been SO MUCH that's changed!

Things that were added in post-launch Slasher U Act 1 updates:

Sawyer's entire romance arc, storyline, and hookup/makeout games

Outfits

Bartending

The ability to talk to Dark Tate post-coitally

Butterflies and crows (fighting crows used to crash your game)

The entire good UI

Characters including Cliff, Stitcherella, Jennykind, Paisleigh, Tanya, and I'm pretty sure Kennedy was a very early addition, too

And that's not counting the tweaks, fixes, and content! In the interest of continuing to Ship of Theseus this game into the best dating sim ever (no biggie, right?), I have the following updates planned before the end of 2023 for Act 1!

Accessibility settings: A way to opt out of minigames with a random roll based on your personality stats (different stat per minigame as appropriate!)

Refining the places you can get personality points in Act 1

Customization: Cane accessories! These will run on a different band than outfits so you can mix and match them/equip them alongside outfits!

Finance: I made everything in the game on the pricey/"realistic" side and the money you get from gigs relatively low because A) college and B) i kind of thought it would both be funny/reflective of shitty college jobs AND a nice incentive to grind some minigames but. I think the economy needs a bit of a fix, right? ;) (in the meantime, try typing InfiniteMoneyVent with the caps correct in the Cheat Codes menu when you're in-game! Your wallet will be a little fuller!)

There are 27 major bugs left in the list for me to tackle as of now, most of them are routine but there are 3 or 4 harder ones to tackle (naming save files is being a beeeetch specifically because afaik Wolf wipes any additional system string variables even if you specify a larger variable count list? My engine just is like "naw actually I'm not saving that"?)

Prior Planned Quality of Life Stuff: Either a way to name your save files OR a way to make your character name appear under your save file (this used to happen but there was a bug where all names would default to your last used character name)

WHITE WHALE HOLY GRAIL I'm still trying to fix the text box bug! This actually isn't borked in the vanilla version of the WRPG engine but I can't fucking figure out how to fix it with the way I've set up the UI (I think? I THINK?!). This is realistically the last bug to get fixed due to my own ineptitude, so I'm hoping to A) make autosaves automatically turned on and B) making Data 1's save slot unusable so it's reserved for autosaves!

There's ALSO a couple content updates for Act 1 still (nothing major, except for, uh, ONE MAJOR THING, haha):

The Truth or Dare minigame/scenario is now going to be included in the Act 1 game, but take place after the Act 2 bumper (post-murder-attempt)

This is already in there but the preamble for Dark Tate's continuing storyline, and Laila's Act 2, activates after the murder attempt

I'll be adding Hex, Juno, and Sawyer's Act 2 lead-ins, plus regular Tate's lead-in, as I work on Act 2

Resolving the storylines (or, if you're being a Chaotic Evil type of player, ruining everyone's life) with story choices/quests for non-dateables: Act 2 will include more Sawyer/Horsemike story, and personal quests for Melyssa, Professor Plutonium, and partially Veronika/Archibald (theirs will continue into Act 3)

Maybe I'll let you fight crows again. MAYBE.

I'm ALSO working on Act 2, which has a lot of new features (notably permanent cosmetic upgrades like a piercing system and tattoos) as well as new content (obvi lmao), but I really want to find a way to offer early access passes to folks who didn't make it to the Crowdfundr (maybe via Patreon)?

Here are some Act 2 features that I'm excited to include/are already being worked on (you'll recognize a lot of these from fanvotes!)

Piercing/Tattoo Parlor

Headless Horsemike one-off hookup minigame

Tate's movie date (yes it's scripted and implemented, it'll be in the next Act 2 update lol. I KNOW I KNOW :D )

Being able to run the speakeasy/sex dungeon as a little moneymaking game in and of itself (well. More for the speakeasy. The sex dungeon is mostly for sex. You're welcome, Sawyer Enjoyers)

Being able to gift outfits to dateables

I'm personally super hype for Tate's storyline (which also involves some other students?? ooo????) and how that's going to mechanically shake out, PLUS, tattoos. Oh my god. TATTOOS GUYS. Plus, the piercing system works like IRL-style - you have to get pierced, then buy jewelry for your piercing if you want to replace your starter/healer gear! I'm a big fan of body mods IRL and having a more realistic piercing/tattoo system was important to me!

Can't wait for next year AND to bring y'all more Slasher U!!!!!!!!! Making video games is literally my favorite thing to do in the whole wide world and I can't imagine doing anything else with my life :')))) (one day I'll be able to do this FULL-full time instead of on top of reviewing medical documents and drawing IP comics for Big Corpo)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE BEST FUCKIN' 6 MONTHS OF GAME DEV I COULD EVER FUCKING ASK FOR!!!!!!!!!! You guys rule :')))))))))))

xoxooxoxoxoxox, Professor Plutonium

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #221

M and J went out today sometime after J got back from a faraway place called Great Barrington. I had requested time by myself in the house so I could do the recording for the song I'm trying to make for you. I suppose, then, it was a "mandated man-date"????? Hahaha…

…Yeah, it wasn't that funny, I know. But maybe it got a small smile out of you nonetheless, and I'll count that as a victory for today!

But before J returned home, it was just M and I in the house for a while. We passed the time with J away by going to this awesome momo place for lunch. And... given that you speak Japanese, your first thought might be about peaches, but this kind of momo is not a peach - it is a dumpling!!

It was a Nepalese place, and... the food there looked kind of like a halfway point between Indian food and Chinese food. And I know you don't have places called China or India on Gaia (that's what your planet is called, right?), so... dumplings and noodles feature pretty strongly in Chinese cuisine, and then in Indian cuisine, they use yogurt and tomatoes and lots of different kinds of spices, and... I guess what you get when you mix these, at least in the place we went to, was lots of different kinds of dumplings in broths that resemble tikka masala. Here:

...I also took pictures of the menu; I wonder if maybe you've seen food like this before during your travels:

Along the way, M and I met a kindly gentleman who was wandering around with a cardboard sign, offering a song, a joke, or a bit of advice for a dollar. He says he used to be a mental health counselor, and... I can't help but wonder what happened such that he is wandering around carrying a cardboard sign. But it is no business of mine; similarly, the $20 we gave him will help him, and what he does with it is his own business; he's gotta live his life his own way, and if we can help even a little, it is good.

Given that he was a mental health counselor, he said he is good at advice, and I am always wanting to learn about others' perspectives, so I asked for his thoughts. He then proceeded to show me one of his tattoos; I took these photos and am sharing them with his permission, do not worry:

...It says, "Collect the broken things and let their jagged edges fit into yours."

...You know. I think in one of my letters to you, I might have written something like this. Something about doing our best to love the broken things, I think it was. And other things about turning our jagged pieces into something wholesome and beautiful.

It's a beautiful piece of advice. And.. it's what I try to do with my life in general. We can take the broken things by the hand and lead them to perhaps a better outcome than they might have been able to imagine before. It's part of why I write these letters; every day, I try to lead those who are lost in the dark, or caught in their pain and fear, back into the light where they belong. Every day, I try to weave part of the roadmap that works for me, in hopes that it might work for someone else.

This kindly gentleman told me a very little bit about his story. I hope he can find safety and peace. I hope that what little I was able to do for him today helps him to find whatever he's looking for.

Once M and I returned home, we played some more Grounded. I like building networks of ziplines, and so our version of The Yard has a pretty intricate zipline system; I'm really liking how it's turning out! One of the obstacles involved with planning ziplines, though, is that if your character's body brushes against a blade of grass, they fall from the zipline.

The only solution I've found is to put the ziplines in very high places, where there's no risk of colliding with grass or other plant life. And the only way to get up to the high places (like the top of the birdbath near the hedges, or the top of the little pagoda in the pond, or the top of the huge logs in the upper yard, or the picnic table benches...) is by building lots and lots and lots of stairs.

Fortunately, though, I am autistic; I am well-suited for repetitive, pattern-based work. I have lots and lots of patience for it. I can forage for the supplies for stairs and then build stairs all damn day. It's one of my better superpowers.

M and J went to go see a movie called Inside-Out 2. I stayed home to record.

...I recorded for a long time. I repeated the song many times. I am not satisfied with how any of the recordings turned out.

...I used to have so much better control over my voice than this. But the rib injury messes with the muscles of my throat, and so my voice is harder to control than it used to be. I can show you a little bit of what I used to be capable of:

...I feel like anything I do now is... kind of pale by comparison.

I have a rough draft. I'll show it to you, but only if you promise not to hate it so much that you are motivated to crush my skull into the floor just to get me to shut up:

...I have to re-do the vocals. I used to be able to do so much better than this... and I'm gonna hafta do so much better than this if I want to be able to move anyone to having compassion for you.

...If I want to move you into having compassion for yourself enough to turn around...

...Well. I guess the thing to do is try again tomorrow. Suppose we'll see what happens then...

I think I'll end today's letter here. I'm maybe a bit dysregulated from thinking about all the things I can't do as easily anymore, and I don't wanna get weird.

I love you. And I'll write again tomorrow, so please stay safe...

Your friend, Lumine

[always-coffee]

food is love

Everything I learned how to cook or bake is a spiraling tattoo of those I have loved or love. Those here and gone. Every learned skill or recipe is a love letter of a sort.

I learned how to cook from my mother. I make marinara sauce from scratch and meatballs, and when I do, it reminds me of her. Of a kitchen that smelled of garlic cooking in olive oil, of sauce that simmered all day.

Growing up, holidays were all about food and togetherness, so I carry on those traditions for my dad and two siblings. Christmas Eve is always seven different kinds of fish, spaghetti, and antipasto. It's all a roadmap, a history.

I learned how to make jalapeno ramen, because of a restaurant in Montreal that @lizleeillustration took me to. I learned how to make gumbo, from scratch, after living in the south. Every time I make it, I think of my friends there.

I make hot chocolate the way a childhood friend did. I taught myself how to make my grandmother's Italian cheesecake from barely half a recipe and years of experience. It didn't even have a pan size. Ingredients were missing. Those that were present were written as a little bit of milk or a can of ricotta. Ricotta, it should be noted, doesn't come in a can. At least, not as long as I've been alive.

But I perfected that recipe for my dad, by request, for his birthday. Because to me, food is love. And I love taking care of people. That's honestly one of the truest things about me. And I will learn how to make your favorite dish. And I have absolutely delighted in cooking for friends, and you can absolutely summon me for a weekend, if there's coffee and a couch. Because to me, the best times really aren't fancy dinners (which I love), but cozy bits of stolen time with good food and conversation. I love the intimacy of a shared meal and a bottle of wine. I often joke that I am a kitchen witch, but at this point, I genuinely mean it.

There's magick in a good meal, whether it's a winter stew or a lasanga or baked fish. I love the smell of a meal as it's progressing. The way it warms the room and the heart. I love the chaos of it, too, the timing, the feeling of getting it right. The dog being underfoot just hoping for an error.

Recently, I made meals for my best friend, who had several surgeries. For her, I taught myself how to make white chicken spinach lasagna with bechamel. And by taught, I mean found a recipe, realized I could make it better, and now I have a brilliant new meal in my rotation. I can't make the surgeries easier, but food? Food I can do.

I think good food eases a broken heart. I think good food conjures love. I think a shared meal and a long walk are two of the best joys in life, and you won't ever convince me otherwise.

If we are friends, chances are I will try to feed you. That's who I am. It's also how I show affection or care, whether it's platonic or romantic. Because love in its myriad forms means food, more than occasionally in the form of baked goods. And now that's it's turning toward winter, baked goods can easily be shipped. So, maybe I'm plotting.

And I do take requests.

[battlfofendorr]

Second

Christopher – Rio - is six foot one, so there’s never been any hiding in the crowd – no blending in – as if he ever would have had that chance, anyway with his jawline, his cheek bones?  He slinks low, hands in pockets, duck that head, minimizes himself with that trademark black-on-black-on-darkness wardrobe, the knit beanie – even as he makes sure it’s all pristine and brand name, the lot of it, because really, there isn’t any hiding.

As if the soccer moms in the neighborhood haven’t seen him often enough, haven’t already puzzled out their own reasons for him to be darkening their street corner.

And if there weren’t enough reasons for people to stare, there’s all that ink – a neck tattoo, and hands, arms, a roadmap on his body of all the places he never wanted to go. It enhances his looks – makes him not just good-looking, but slightly edgy. Slightly dangerous.

There’s scars, too, but isn’t that just a byproduct of life lived? Not that the old biddies peering around curtain panels can see the scars.

There’s something insubstantial to his attitude - the way he alternates between cocky and trying to fade into the background – as if he ever could? – that confuses them.  

It’s not the swagger of a fuck-buddy on his way to get some.

Maybe that’s what causes the old ladies to get the most gossipy – because he’s as good-looking as the mother-of-four he’s there to see, and everyone knows, beautiful people belong together.

It’s a silly notion – the kind you see on all that Hallmark crap that people pretend to buy in to.  

As if plans ever played in to it – as if he’d ever even planned to be exactly where he was: a former – and ongoing -  felon, part-time raising his kid, mostly not, and running – or at least managing – the better part of a crime empire, half his men on double payrolls, allegiances – loyalties – mutable as all hell?

His foundation’s rockier than a gravel pit, and the only part he’s absolutely sure on – besides Marcus, his boy – is her. The naïve little housewife with her foot sliding inch by inch into his world.   

Rio looks down – those cool brown eyes that make so many ladies giggle or back away, nervously skimming toward the ground, not avoiding eye contact exactly, or scrutiny, just moving out of the line of sight,  almost guilty as he cuts down the walkway to the back of the house in the too-nice neighborhood he’s spent far too much time in for his – or anyone’s – liking.

Maybe once that had been the dream. But if he’da known, then, what he knows now, how could he have even wanted it?  And maybe he wouldn’t have even gotten it, anyhow?

It’s the eternal question, though.  Would he have washed out as a boxer? Gotten his own gym, slipped into the role of coach?  Would he have his own proteges, and not just lackeys waiting to become statistics?  Would he have the house, the family?  Not just one kid, but the soccer team worth?  The naivety that let some people drift through life on a cloud of happiness?

Would it even have made him happy?

Doesn’t matter – he’s greedy as fuck, and he wants it – just for a moment – but then the bubble pops as his phone rings.

No point wanting what you ain’t got, right?

“Hey, Grams,” he says, answering the phone quickly, smoothly, prepared to dodge the many questions she’d bound to ask: how are you, where are you, are you being smart?  As if he’d ever had a choice.  “Wha’s up?”

But it’s not Grams on the phone – nah, his life ain’t that easy. It’s his best friend. Business associate. Right hand man.  Mick – because that’s who it is, Mick -  doesn’t have to say a word, because just the breathing – the quiet – tells him that much.

“Mick,” he says, and it’s a bullet to the gut. There’s only one reason for him to be calling on her phone. On her number. “Where’d they take ‘er?”

And for a minute, he’s so sure it’ll be a hospital, because crime life might be his inheritance, but Grams – the OG boss lady – is untouchable.

But that quiet – that stillness – it stretches on too long, then the phone goes dead, and just like that, his plans shift again. 

Maybe Mick hadn’t thought he’d be ID’s quickly. Maybe he’d ran out of words, or the strength to say them.

Didn’t matter, because the only other man that could pull Mick’s strings was incarcerated.

And if Nick was starting the old games up all over again – if he was putting Rio in the place he’d built for him, the cage he’d built on lies and slander – well, at least he had a second for the upcoming duel.

Rio glanced through Elizabeth’s window – just a glimpse of her moving canisters and bake wear in the kitchen, all done up like she's waiting for someone. Him, probably, because he really has made too much of a habit of dropping in.   It's like watching other moms do yoga. A zen space, all of her own. He could ruin it - pop her bubble like the phonecall popped his - but like a gift, he'll let her have that – let her have the night. If they're going to war with his brother-cousin, she’ll need the stored-up inner peace bullshit baking always gave her.

And really, he wasn’t a monster. Even he could admit she was damn good at it. In the morning, he’d need to rally all his troops. For better or worse, that means her – and her two little flunkies. Because really. If they can turn Mick, they can turn everyone else, too.  

Everyone but her. Might as well let her bring snacks to the war room. And maybe a juice box or two.

[commander-rahrah]

Johnny grabbed the sides of her face, fixing his gaze to look deeply into her eyes. “That fuckin’ city ain’t got nothing on you. I know it took a lot from you, robbed you, fucked you, left you for dead.

But you’re fucking Vixen Volkov." Her name was a growl from his mouth, his gaze remained steady. " And that’s your city now. If you want it to be.”

A little updated art for my fem V — Vixen Volkov — from my SilverV fic Twin Flame. I’ve been working hard on improving my art, and the brain rot for her and Johnny has been extra bad lately so this is what I’ve been working on the last couple days since I fucked up my left hand and can’t type aha. Also I need a roadmap of all her tattoos cause she has so many and I love to reference them too

[usafphantom2]

Leonardo reveals the next package of updates for the Eurofighter Typhoon's survival capacity

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 07/14/23 - 16:00 in Military

Leonardo, on behalf of the EuroDASS consortium (Leonardo, ELT Group, Indra and Hensoldt), announced the next survival capacity upgrade package for the defensive aid subsystem (DASS) of the Eurofighter Typhoon.

This is based on the substantial progress in technology development already made, taking advantage of the continued investment of EuroDASS partners in the defensive capabilities of the Typhoon.

Designed to meet the requirements of Typhoon operators, upgrades are being proposed for the Eurofighter Phase 4 Enhancement (P4E) package from four nations and will also be available to export customers.

The latest update will increase the aircraft's ability to survive and lay the foundation for the integration of the defense system with Typhoon's highly capable E-scan radars. This includes all versions of the Typhoon E-scan radar, including what is already in service, as well as the variants currently under development by Eurofighter partner nations.

The existing DASS, called Praetorian in honor of the elite Roman bodyguard, protects the Typhoon from threats, including infrared (IR/heat search) and radar-guided missiles. The system's integrated sensors and interference equipment provide situational awareness to the pilot and equip the aircraft with digital discretion, obtained through advanced electronic disappointment techniques.

This last phase will see EuroDASS partners integrate a number of new features, already in advanced stages of development, into the Praetorian system. This includes a digital receiver feature, which will allow the Typhoon to better recognize modern and complex targets and their modes of operation, allowing it to deploy the appropriate countermeasures. The update also incorporates a band extension that allows the Typhoon to continue to operate on the increasingly complex, congested and contested electromagnetic battlefield of the future.

The update will also include improvements in signal processing algorithms and processor capabilities, providing great advances in processing speed, capacity and memory. This will allow the Praetorian system to make the most of its integration with Typhoon's E-scan radar options, including the new ECRS Mk2 currently under development for the United Kingdom Armed Forces. The newest radar options incorporate a powerful electronic attack capability and will complement the on-board lock provided by the Praetorian system to provide a formidable overall effect.

Leonardo is integrating the Praetorian system in Luton, where the company carries out research, development and advanced production of electronic warfare. The development of the digital receiver capacity was led by German partner Hensoldt and the band's extension work was conducted by Spanish partner Indra. Other enhancements to ECM and WTP Cooler will be led by ELT Group.

At the 2023 Royal International Air Tattoo (RIAT) in Fairford, United Kingdom, Leonardo will present the new features aboard a Navajo test aircraft operated by its 2Excel test and evaluation partner.

As the individual features introduced in this update are already ripe after the international investment, the first flight tests using 2Excel Navajo equipped with the updated Typhoon hardware will take place shortly after RIAT. Other tests on board the Typhoon aircraft are scheduled for early 2024.

Looking beyond this update, EuroDASS partners are also making progress on Praetorian eVolution, the proposed roadmap for the future Typhoon DASS that will ensure that the aircraft maintains its world-class level of protection in the coming decades. The roadmap proposes new advanced features, including cross-platform electronic warfare and combat ISR functions, such as high-precision targeting and advanced combat ID.

Discussions between the four Typhoon partner nations (United Kingdom, Italy, Germany and Spain) continue to advance, with all parties recognizing the benefits of Pretorian eVolution in terms of future survival capacity, maintaining the basis of each nation's air-based combat ground combat skills and ensuring future freedom of operation for Typhoon operators in an evolving threat scenario.

Tags: Military AviationEurofighter TyphoonLeonardo Company

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Daytona Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work around the world of aviation.

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[growwithmeastrology]

Friday, April 21st 2023

Sun in Taurus ♉️🌎, Moon in Taurus ♉️🌎

If any plans you have fall through today, don’t be too surprised. The energies are a bit chaotic so do your best to just go with the flow.

Earlier this morning, the universe put Mercury in the microwave again. I mean, Mercury drank the Gatorade. Gah, what I’m trying to say is, Mercury is in retrograde. Lol, so yeah. It’s kind of like that. Communication may be off, electronics can go haywire, you suddenly remember things you hadn’t though of in ages, exes try to come back or you bump into people you haven’t seen in a while. Just to name a few.

We have the Taurus Moon, which loves vanity and to be indulgent conjunct retrograde Mercury in Taurus to kick off the day. This can cause delays (especially in travel),breakdowns in communication or thing just not going smoothly all around. Today is not the day to go color your hair a new color or get a new spur or the moment tattoo. No. Drastic. Changes. In. Appearance!! Period.

This energy is way better for revising of reviewing things than starting something new.

The Taurus moon goes on to conjunct Uranus in Taurus as well. Yep, that’s the planet of chaos. The ultimate disruptor, joining all that going on I just wrote about. Yep, sorry to say, it’s a shit show.

That will all sextile Neptune in Pisces which is kind of nice and oblivious. Just adding some more confusion or delusion to it all. It is colorful and creative. Maybe stick to that today!

It’s a weird day, ya’ll. Expect weird. ☮️💚✨

📸: Fernanda Meier Photography. Check out her the series of photos from Mardi Gras worn by the Native Americans and the history she details for @mardigrasindiancouncilofficial @lenubienne FernandaMeier.com

Learn more about your personal energies and how the daily forecast affects you! Comment below⬇️ or DM me for a FREE consultation.

Grow With Me Astrology provides astrological roadmaps that empowers people to take full control of their lives.

Let me reveal to you the most powerful tool you already possess.

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#growwithme #astrology #loveyourself #bethechange #healing #dailyhoroscope #selfcare #love #zodiac #sun #aries #venusingemini #plutoinaquarius #solareclipse #saturninpisces #taurus

[angry-geese]

Blood Ties - Chapter Fourty-Six: Lithopedion

soulmate au Choso x reader

Warnings: character death, canon typical violence, manga spoilers

Synopsis: the sorcerers have finally located Angel. Unfortunaly for them, her help comes at a price

a/n: I've only forgotten to post this for about what? five months now /hj anyway sorry! lolol

Word count: 2.7k

prev - next

masterlist

As long as humanity has existed, so has the string of fate. As long as the string of fate has existed, so has a sorcerer capable of manipulating it.

In the air is the smell of decay, and a damp cold that seems to sink directly to her bones. The woman—nearing fifty, face roadmapped with scars and wrinkles—fixes her pack higher upon her shoulders, and begins her march up the steep path. As each wooden gate passes, she draws closer to a temple.

It was beautiful. At least at one point in time. Over the course of a century, the temple has fallen into disrepair. Animal bones lay bleached and brittle from the sun, stone steps crumbling under the slightest touch. There's signs warning travelers to stay away—talismans littered about. Some hung on trees, others litter the ground. Some are so old that they turn to dust under foot.

That's when a man—he can't be older than forty, but time has not been kind to him—ducks out of the shrine, and greets the sorcerer. His kimono is in tatters. He radiates fear; from his glossy eyes, to the slight tremble in his hands. He stops upon seeing her.

“I’m here seeking Ryoumen Sukuna.” She says. “I’ve brought an offering.” The contents of the bottle slosh as she holds it up. Sake. From the thick, wax seal, to the label on the bottle—it all appears expensive.

His eyes linger on her hands for a moment longer than she should. An unnoticeable action to most, but she picks up on it. Without another word, he motions her through.

In stark contrast to the exterior, the inside of the temple is well kept. Incense is lit. So are candles, which illuminate the short path. The room holds a damp cold that seems to seep right into her bones.

She doesn't hear the man enter, but she senses another soul behind her. She refuses to turn her head to the disturbance. Maybe it’s out of fear. A fear so primal she doesn't recognize it at first. A fear left behind from before humans moved into villages, and then cities. But something is preventing her from turning to look at him.

Without a word, she uncorks the bottle of sake, and takes a swig. The alcohol does little to settle her nerves.

“You walk down the center of my temple’s path like you’re its mistress,” Sukuna says, circling around her, “you tamper with my offerings, and you disrespect me directly,

“Are you not afraid? I could kill you right here…” 

He runs a clawed finger along the underside of her chin. The sorcerer tilts her chin upwards, moving with his touch.

“Girls have the most tender cuts of meat.” Sukuna says. “Men? Their meat is too tough; women have an extra layer of fat that makes them cook down better.”

The sorcerer wants to scowl. Girl? she wants to spit, I haven't been around for fifty years to be referred to as a child.

“Maybe thirty years ago that would be the case,” she says, a tone of annoyance audible in her voice, “but I’m too old, and I’ve spent too many years smoking for my meat to be tender,

“Killing me would do you no good.” She says. “I’ll be reborn into another body. You would have maybe twenty years of peace before I come back,

“And I will be back,

“But you… you don't have that luck.” The tattoo on her chin twitches as she smirks. “When you’re gone, that’s it.”

A look resembling annoyance crosses his face. “I won't die.” He says. “Even in the golden age of sorcery, you humans couldn't defeat me.”

“You say that,” the sorcerer continues, “yet I don't believe you,

“But I didn't travel all this way to argue with you. I want your help. I would not bring such a request to you without something to offer in return.”

The look on his face turns from thinly veiled amusement, to something unreadable. When she offers the bottle to him, he takes it, holding it to his lips. It appears comically small in his hands, his palm able to wrap nearly twice around it.

“Speak, then.” He says.

“I wish to free humanity of this curse that my ancestors placed upon them.”

“And in return?”

…

Ryoumen Sukuna would meet the Soulmate Sorcerer once again that following winter. Just months prior, a war had raged in the region to the south. He never witnessed it personally, but he saw it in the way smoke lingered along the horizon. Occasionally, refugees would find themselves lost in these woods, unaware of how the locals avoid it. Much like those refugees, she would find herself injured atop the steps of his temple.

Sukuna isn't quite certain why he didn't leave her to bleed out. Perhaps it was their conversation from months prior. Perhaps, deep down, he has a shred of honor left. It's not a significant one. Ryoumen Sukuna is not a man of honor. And yet, the Soulmate Sorcerer would wake up hours later, with her wounds dressed.

She thinks, at first, that she must be dead. This temple—once abandoned—has a strange luster. The smoke in the air obscures the ceiling, the walls flickering with the light of a fire. If this is the afterlife—she thinks—then it’s a disappointing one. 

Slowly, enough feeling has returned to her hand for her to bring it to her side. The wound—product of a thrown spearhead—feels as if it’s been filled with hot wax. Scratchy, yellowed bandages have been secured around the wound. It's crude handiwork. Someone actually trained in healing could do better. Though the sorcerer doesn't find too much to complain about, seeing as she’s still alive.

In the low light of the room, she slowly gains her bearings. At her feet sits a shrine, ripe with offerings. To her left, a blanket, of which she’s kicked off herself while asleep. The pile of hay and furs she lays atop can hardly be considered a bed, but it’s warmer than the ground.

He sits, eyes fixed on her from within the darkness. Her heart beats faster—fueled by a sudden rush of adrenaline. The feeling of being prey; one not entirely foreign to the human psyche. 

“What?” She asks, the slightest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not gonna eat me? I'm already halfway there. Just needs a little seasoning.”

“I did not give you permission to die.” He says.

…

Spring rears its head with a vengeance. Violent rains batter the temple, and surrounding woods. The ground is soft from all the water.

Sukuna would come to learn that the soulmate sorcerer is a child of winter, born on a bleak January day. He could have guessed that, he thinks. She seems to tolerate the bitter cold, the snow, and the distant warmth of summer. A child born under a black sun, regarded as unlucky by every caretaker and adult in her life. A sorcerer; a powerful one. The only sorcerer capable of challenging fate itself.

“What could make a human choose this life?” Sukuna asks, one day by the riverbank, “to live among cursed spirits as a human…”

The sorcerer shrugs, turning her attention back to her fishing rod. The morning has proved fruitless. All she has to show for her time is a broken line, and wet boots.

“I believe it’s a side effect of my cursed technique.” She says, following a brief moment of silence. “I am one of the few humans born without a string of fate.

“To you, that may not seem significant. What good is a soulmate to you? But to my people, that was a sign of bad luck,

“I was the scapegoat. The black sheep. They viewed me as a bad omen from the moment I was born,

“For a while, I was betrothed to a man from a neighboring village. He suffered from the same misfortune as me. Our families thought they could fix our ‘curse’ by marrying us, but…”

Sukuna seems to understand what she wishes to say before she does so. “How’d he die?” He asks.

“Pneumonia.” She says. “He fell sick one day and never recovered. And honestly? I felt relieved after he died,

“I spent so many nights awake wishing he would simply disappear and when that day came I finally felt free. Because I do not wish to be seen as a broken half! I wish to be seen as my own person! Why aren't humans allowed to exist free of soulmates?!”

Is love not the root of all curses, she thinks.

So this it is. She thinks that’s the way her ancestors were cursed to live: to wander aimlessly. It's not such a bad life, she thinks. There's plenty of tales to tell, plenty of drinks to be had, or warm fires to sit by. She exists—she thinks—to experience these things; and she finds comfort in that lack of direction.

“What about you?” She asks. “Weren't you human at one point?”

“I was,” he says, “at one point. And if you expect me to lament to you about how I miss it, you’re mistaken,

“There are things that were better while I was human. Alcohol. Sex. But if I were given the chance to go back—to do this all over again—I would not. I do not miss humanity.”

He watches as her lips press into a thin line. Perhaps she expected more from his answer. Maybe a shred of regret. Or the slightest semblance of humanity deep down. But Ryoumen Sukuna, King of Curses, holds few regrets.

The following morning, the Soulmate Sorcerer would leave on a hunting trip. She would not return that evening.

And when a week later, the King of Curses finds the head of his guest on a pike, captured by the local villagers, he would not regret razing it to the ground.

He did not give her permission to die.

…

James isn't quite sure how long he’s been asleep, but the dryness in his throat signals some time has passed. For the past few hours, the sorcerer has been drifting in and out of consciousness. He pretends to sleep through all of it, so as to avoid talking to new people. Such a ruse can only be held up for so long.

They haven't tried to kill him yet. James considers himself lucky in that regard.

Conversation takes on a low, sleepy nature. The voices—some familiar, and some not—sound low, and distant. Only the occasional word is discernible. It all sounds like nonsense to James anyway.

The ache in his hand turns from dull, to near unbearable in a matter of minutes. He flexes his remaining digits. It feels like his missing fingers are being compressed beneath the bandages, aching to be free. It feels as if his hand is in a painfully right fist. James knows logically that nothing is there. 

It takes James a moment to register the sight before him: a hotel room. An expensive one, if he had to guess. Were the circumstances any different, he couldn't imagine staying in such a place. 

“Did you sleep well?”

The question isn’t directed at him, but it’s what finally pulls him from sleep. It's a woman's voice. One he's heard before, but can't place where. James must lay there for several minutes, unable to shut his mind off, before he stirs. 

“You're awake,” Angel says. She wipes her palms on the front of her pants, before getting up from her seat.

Fatigue has set in—a byproduct of blood loss. He sits up, his gaze tiredly meeting hers. Something is strange about the sorcerer standing before him. Though her face is that of a human—a sorcerer—two sets of eyes stare back at him.

“You're an angel…” James slurs, almost sounding drunk. The moment he processes his own words, he sits up, quickly correcting himself. “You must be Angel—I can sense your second soul.”

A mouth appears from the flesh of the woman's cheek. “It's rude to interrogate a young lady, Matchmaker,” it says. 

Such an accent is difficult for the sorcerer to place. It sounds like a grandmother. Old. James has no recollection of ever meeting Angel, but his body betrays him. There's a strange feeling of familiarity as it speaks.

“You were going by Gloria the last time we met,” it—not ‘it’, she—says, “I take it that's changed.”

“A little,” James says.

His front pocket is bulky with something: a pack of cigarettes, and a book of matches. He has the filter of one between his lips before he realizes what he's doing. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seems to become more audible.

“You must be hungry,” Hana says, “here.” 

The grocery bag crinkles as she reaches into it, retrieving something, and tossing it to him. The package lands square in his lap. It's some kind of ice cream bar: melon flavored. He tears the top off, sinking his teeth into it. 

James knows he should eat—his body is signaling that he needs to—but he can barely stomach it. There should be a sense of fulfillment that follows the action, but he feels none. The food seems to turn to ash in his mouth. 

“If it's not too personal, I must ask: why enter the game?” Hana asks. “You're not a reincarnated sorcerer, you weren't forced to become a player. What reason do you have for being here?”

James shrugs. “Because I have an idea on how to take down Kenjaku.”

That seems to catch the other's attention. They pause their conversations, only to turn to him.

“By opening the prison realm?” Itadori asks.

“Sort of. In order to free Gojo, we need to get Kenjaku in here,” James says. “Geto's soul is still in there. When the two are present, the string of fate is complete, and they should be able to leave together.

“So we're going to use Gojo as bait,

“The problem lies in getting Kenjaku into the game in the first place—and even then, we risk him entering the wrong barrier. But I have a plan for that,

“I have reason to believe that once all the players in a barrier are dead, or have moved on, that barrier becomes inactive.” He says. “The final showdown—so to speak—will happen when all remaining players are confined to the same, final barrier,

“The game only ends when all participants are dead, or everyone refuses to participate, and dies… so by that logic, what happens to the final guy?

“I think that's when Kenjaku steps in to absorb all the residuals,

“And I have another theory: Kenjaku will be the one to deliver the final blow. Or at the very least, he'll be present for the deaths of the final few players,

“Granted, I don't have any proof for this, but I'm figuring the number nineteen has something to do with it. Once the number of remaining players drops to that, Kenjaku will enter the game.”

For whatever reason, a significance is placed on that number in this game. Of course, the sorcerer has no way of proving this until he tries it.

“Back in Shibuya, I briefly witnessed Geto take back his own body when in the presence of his soulmate.” James says. “If we can replicate that—for even just a minute—they can use the rule I put into place to escape.”

Megumi opens his mouth to speak. “But, if Kenjaku is still present within Geto's body-”

“The barrier will take care of that.” He says, sounding just certain enough to convince himself.

“Could that work for Itadori and Sukuna then?” Megumi asks.

“Maybe.” James says. “But Itadori’s and Geto’s situations are a bit… different. Sukuna has learned to coexist with Itadori—so to speak. Meanwhile, Geto and Kenjaku’s relationship is more like parasite and host. While one is considered a complete being, the other is viewed as an intruder.”

Trying to separate the two—especially now—could prove fatal.

A crease forms in the space between Megumi’s eyebrows. He runs his palms along the front of his pants. Through his plain expression, small cracks of emotion show through. It's only now that James notices how tired the student looks. 

Hana stands, hands smoothing out the front of her sweater. “I don't mean to interrupt,” she says, “but look at the number of people who just entered the colony.”

With the wave of her hand, her Kogane appears. The number on its scroll quickly turns from 23 to well over 800.

“I will help you,” Hana says, “if you help me defeat 'The Fallen.'”