#and i cannot condense my thoughts at all

[iholli]

I would absolutely love to hear about your faves 👀 Tell me everything you know 👀👀👀👀

AAAAAAVUYCDTIGCTUGCH YOU'RE A GEM THANK U FOR THIS 😭😭😭💚

this is super long bc I'm Completely Normal abt J'onn lmao whoops 😂

omfg where do I start. FIRST THINGS FIRST. HE. MY BELOVED. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, my favorite favorite of all time. no really it's coming up on 8 years and I still love him sm 😭 my one braincell may wander off to new fixations but I always circle back around to him sooner or later.

I have like 4747058 images of him ofc but these are SO good bc they tell a lot about him ??? he's cute, he's silly, he's dramatic, he's sassy, he's the heart of the Justice League twenty times over despite DC refusing to give him any time to shine (I'm going to fight them with my bare hands for that).

I've never posted this but it's been in my drafts for ever so I'll throw it in here 😂 I have so many thoughts about him omg

ALSO I have a whole thing analyzing J'onn's moral compass & development through Justice League Animated, Unlimited, and some of the comics a while back so there's tHAT WHICH,,, was super good imo 👏

uuuuughghghghh I could talk about him forever 😭💚

When it comes to people Superman wouldn't want to fight, J'onn is top of that list, that's canon. He's OP as FUCK. He has most if not all Clark's powers, shapeshifting, intangibility, invisibility, phasing, telepathy, seriously his powers seem to never end ??? But he's terribly underutilized :") like I get it but come on DC,,,

J'onn is addicted to Oreos. no, really. in MM 98 issue 24 Blue Beetle and Booster Gold have this Super Funny Idea to hide all the Oreos from J'onn, and you gotta applaud the dedication to the prank bc they literally went out and bought ALL the Oreos from the ENTIRE vicinity of the JL Embassy building. J'onn proceeds to Hulk out and tear up half the city chasing them for it. It's revealed by Batman that Martians can get addicted to Oreos. At the end of the issue it turns out this is just a story J'onn is telling Diana but... he winks and asks if she's got any cookies, so it's up for debate if it's really just a story [I think there's some truth to it. bc it's very funny.]. And the Oreo thing comes up many times in many places including JLTAS 😂

He also likes sweet things in general !! he canonically drinks coffee with a TON of sugary shit to take off the bitter taste. I also made the hc that was the case for him just days before reading it in MM Identity and I'm very real for that 👏

J'onn is a cat person. One of his aliases is even an Italian street cat named Tommaso. And he has an orange cat named Double Stuff,,, of course 😂

however,,, he's totally a dragon nerd, he knows everything about dragons, he likes reptiles in general but dragons are his fav. He shapeshifts into draconic creatures all the time and he talks many times abt a specific species of moon nesting dragon called quonars. He also telepathically connected with an iguana once and it was a wholesome experience 🥺

J'onn lives in Colorado, in a suburb named Middleton, which is actually the name of a real ghost town! it's interesting that Denver is his preferred climate bc you can assume Mars was similar 👀

He is THE sass master. He goes toe to toe with Batman constantly. One of these days I'll just make a list of every sassy line he delivers in JLTAS but I think that would be a whole book by itself. There's a video of sassy moments from Batman: The Brave and the Bold that I watch 400 times a week. One of my favorite comic sass moments is when Batman expresses his annoyance at J'onn for leaving on the middle of an important meeting, which J'onn happily counters with a "you're so right, it would look bad on the League if someone just vanished at random all the time, huh Batman :)." he then also takes a crack at Bruce's lack of people skills. iconic.

He's also a silly little guy. The Batman 2007? J'onn OWNS the noir detective role, down to the cheesy old fashioned music. He also has like, a whole list of quotes he's just waiting to use when the time is right. He waited years to say "You're probably wondering why I've called you all here today." love him fr

J'onn is canonically kind of an adrenaline junkie. He loves driving, particularly an 87 Chevy Impala which he affectionately says "vibrates like a Chihuahua with a head cold." He once physically linked with an entire damaged spaceship to steer it out of danger and got carried away bc he was just having fun. He also said it was similar to the video games he plays with GL-- so he's canonically a gamer, too 😂👏

I 100% believe he's got anxiety or at LEAST separation anxiety [and that may be the case for the entire Martian race]. I already thought as much but then JLU issue 24 kinda confirmed it and it was devastating :") the League is taken over by Starro, J'onn is the only one who dodges the attack and he's left to fight his teammates which. is already awful for him. and it triggers flashbacks to a time on Mars when he was separated from his family in a nasty sandstorm. J'onn went pretty much feral with panic until he broke down and then forced himself to calm down enough to think of a plan. Meanwhile back with the League he's frantically trying not to panic again bc, while fire is a Martian's greatest weakness, "being alone is a Martian's greatest fear." I cried the whole time I read that issue and then I bought a copy LMAO. can DC stop putting him through the PTSD wringer for five seconds thanks

One short comic run J'onn spends the whole time being chased by the Martian god of fire, H'ronmeer, bc it turns out he was psychically keeping the souls of the entire Martian population tethered to the mortal realm. he's super powerful and HE'S GOING THROUGH IT. ALL THE TIME.

I don't have the context for either happenstance at this time, but J'onn has been both a Black and a White Lantern in comics. I have no idea what any of it means, either, I just know it's happened. I'll get there eventually. maybe. [I think he's dead for the Black Lantern thing so...probably...not...]

^^^ this is up there with the whole "J'onn was actually an advance agent for the invading Martian species but rather than let them use him as a weapon he essentially committed suicide after fighting the whole Justice League [beat them easily, it wasn't even a competition] and somehow this split his consciousness into like 4 different people" of comic runs that I really don't want to read [even though I own this one] :") help

I don't know what it is about forcefields but his brain just shuts off when he gets near one fr. Multiple times when there's a forcefield, EVEN IF HE KNOWS IT'S THERE, J'onn just yeets headfirst into it. He's just generally super impulsive tho ??? This guy is constantly jumping into action without a moment's thought. pls stop handing off the braincell to absolutely no one when there's danger, J'onn [he does not actually have the braincell at any given time. only Bruce has it. occasionally].

He totally enjoys starting shit. J'onn is Here for teammate drama. He once gave Batman absolutely what for and called him immature just bc J'onn was annoyed with his attitude. He sends people on League missions that will either bring out complete drama or make them find common ground. Though he says the contrary, J'onn is absolutely in the background of every team squabble with popcorn like Thor watching Tony and Cap argue. "You're all so petty. And tiny."

J'onn's name means "light to the light" and it's so poetic 😭😭 of COURSE he's the heart of the League. akdjfndckdnxkd

I'm going to stop there bc I could go on forever but I've held this ask hostage in my drafts long enough 😂😂 ENJOY THE RAMBLING THANK U FOR SENDING THIS ASK AAAA 💙

[dreamyfelixx]

“ 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞”

welcome to my little corner of the straykids hot megaverse ♡ living in delusion constantly & mentally married to felix (he doesn’t know yet)

all of my condensed work is listed below. enjoy!

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

➸ 𝐎𝐓𝟖 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

say it back: in which you don’t say i love you back. (hyung line, maknae line)

i’m a big fan: in which you fangirl over another skz member. they’re totally cool about it.

nailed it: in which you tell him another man paid for your nails

clingy: he calls you clingy (hyung line, hyung part 2, maknae line, maknae part 2)

under the spotlight: in which the concerts in america have been huge and you’re both feeling all the feels

match my freak: in which you scold them for the hickeys they left on you. they’re very proud.

get drenched!: in which you surprise him by being barricade at a show. his response is to spray you with water.

naughty naughty!: in which he surprises you with a lingerie set and he cannot keep his cool

big husband energy: in which you call him hubby. his brain short circuits.

➸ 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!bangchan while he’s on tour

stay a flirt: in which chan is flirting with stay on bubble again

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

gold digger: in which he insinuates you’re a gold digger (part 1, part 2)

➸ 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!lee know while he’s on tour

pictures of you: sending bf!lee know random pictures of himself as reactions to his texts

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!changbin while he’s on tour

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!hyunjin while he’s on tour

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!han while he’s on tour

hottie with a body: in which han was looking fine as hell in his livestream and you’re definitely having less than pure thoughts

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!felix while he’s on tour

pretty boy: in which felix looks so utterly ethereal in his ig pics you can’t help but fawn over him

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!seungmin while he’s on tour

work of art: in which you’re obsessed with seungmin’s latest instagram pics. he’s a little shy.

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

➸ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 ♡⋆˚✿˖°

texts w bf!jeongin while he’s on tour

pretty baby: in which he’s feeling insecure and you’re there for him

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon screwing you in the shower.

The warm water dripped over your bodies like rain, coating everything inside of the shower with a layer of wetness. Sealed inside the oasis, a thick layer of heavy condensation filled the air, making all that you touched from each other to the walls slick.

Simon's large hand dug into your hip, making sure he had a good, strong grip on your thigh that he held up against his side so that he could thrust inside you easily.

Your hand was pressed against the foggy glass of the shower door, using it as a bit of leverage to keep you steady while those wide, muscular hips of his ground into your own as they rolled his cock into your pussy over and over again.

"Fuckin' hell," that husky voice hit your ears over the sound of the running water. His raw lips had just disconnected from around the tender flesh of your neck to move higher up towards your ear as he left a trail of burning kisses all along the moist surface.

Head back as he worked his magic, you felt him hum into your skin, his hips never loosing speed as he kept that's delirious rhythm steady on. "Cannot get enough of ya," he growled. "Even when I'm inside ya, I need more. I'm fuckin desperate, luv. Goddamn desperate."

Two beefy arms shoved you back suddenly as Simon pulled out of you, making you hit the back wall with a light thud as your body bounced off of it, but quickly you were scooped back up as he wrapped those arms back around your waist to hoist you up, making you throw your legs around him to hold on.

"Goddammit, I can't take it, need more... now," the desperation in his tone made your legs vibrate. Your clit twinged as he moved in and caught your lips with his own, squatting down so that he could realign his cock with your entrance and strike back up into you in one smooth motion.

All this wet, all this warmth, all this tepid flesh at his disposal, that only made the primal part of himself gain full control. As your bodies slipped and slid across each other, your back pressed firmly against the shower wall as your tits were pressed into his chest, he could do nothing more that rut into you like some beast hell bent on getting what was his.

His pace caught right back up to where it was seconds before, not a moment to spare. "You've put me under a spell, ya bitch," he grunted with the force of his thrusts. "I can't stop fuckin' pining for this tight little pussy. Gonna go fuckin' mad."

Your forearms wrapped around his broad shoulders as you held on while he bucked wildly in and out of you. The muscles in his back contracted and released under your fingertips, another sign of just how desperately rough his movements were.

His flesh was on fire, burning for you and only you, and even the water from the shower head was no help in taming it's flames. There was a part of him that worried he would not be able to stop until he had completely devoured everything inch of you; that was how strong his need was.

"Mine," he claimed aloud as you whimpered into his shoulder, his cock hitting that specific bundle of nerve ending inside you. "You're all mine, sweetheart. Ya got that? I can't fuckin' stand the thought of anyone else havin' ya, ever."

"Yes," you breathed, "say it again baby."

He smirked. "You're mine, mine. No one else can ever fuckin' touch ya. I ain't ever sharin' all this beauty."

A blanket of steamy air surrounded you both as the hot warm continued to pour in, locking out the entire world from the inside of the shower so it felt you were a million miles away. To be in such a place, in the throws of passion as Simon declared his claim to you, it was all so overwhelming that your body ached lustfully for release.

Fingernails dug into his back as the last bits of your sanity had you clinging on for dear life, the raw lines across his shoulder blades stinging from the water pouring down the contours of his back. "Goddamn, I just wanna keep my cock buried in you foreva," he hissed at your delicious roughness as your hips rolled over him, the pressure nearly at its peak. You were panting like a bitch in heat and he was doing everything he could to push you over the edge.

Pumping in and out of you with everything he had, his head wandered down the front of your chest as he squat down a little more, his mouth hungrily searching for it's prize. Finally he is able to reach your tit and greedily he took the nipple into his mouth, sucking on the supple flesh as the tip of his tongue rolled around the silk smooth areola.

God your soft breast felt like heaven in between his lips, the damned flesh so juicy. He had to press his body even harder into your own to keep you from slipping, but it was worth it just to keep your tit locked in his mouth.

"Fuck, Simon," you moaned, your fingers running up the back on his neck to his head where you tangled them into his short, wet locks. That mouth was making you vibrate as the sensation of suction sent shocks of pleasure tingling down your spine.

Not one to ever leave any man behind, Simon unlatched from the first breast to give the other the same amount of attention. It was all too much, the pumping between your legs mixed with the tingling sensation at your breasts, and that heated pressure began gathering in the pit of your stomach, about to violently through you off.

Your hips ground more into him, he knows that telltale sign that you are close. Amber eyes met yours again as he moved back up to his full height; he needed to see it, the look in your eyes as you come.

"I know you're close, luv," he says assuredly. "That's it sweetheart, come for me. Come all over my fuckin' cock. Goddammit I need you to come for me...so bad..."

Simon had to have it, you orgasm; he needed to know that your body responded to his in that very precise way that would make sure you'd never stray. He desperately needed to be the one to get you off. And as he staved off his own orgasm, he would.

"Don't stop," you begged as your head fell back against the wall... as if Simon would ever even dream of such a thing.

"Not until your legs are fuckin' quakin', sweetheart."

His thighs were burning with shooting pain as he continued to squat under you, but he didn't stop; it was worthy any amount of discomfort to see you come completely undone.

Your fingers in his hair clenched down, yanking wildly at his hair as with a few more precise thrusts that warmth finally shot through your torso and you rocked forward against with a cry.

"A-ah... f-f-fuck..." you stammered as your orgasm shook through you.

"That's it," Simon coaxed you through it, "ride it all the fuckin' way with me, luv...almost there..."

And not even a few seconds more he followed suit, a gravely roar ripping through his chest as he milked himself completely dry, his body convulsing with the strength of his ejaculation; fuck did you always make him come so hard.

"G-goddamn..." he said through heavy breaths, his soaking head coming to rest with it's forehead against your shoulder.

He did not let you go until you had both calmed, just letting the sound of the running water and your breathing lull you both back down. Picking up his head from your body, he laid a breathless kiss up on your lips, his face resting against your own from sheer exhaustion.

"Told ya you'd fuckin' enjoy it," he said, playful smile plastered to those full lips.

Carefully he set you back on your feet, your legs wobbling tiredly from the exertion. "You could make me enjoy anything," you admitted freely. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

Simon's fingers twirled the loose, wet strands of your hair between them. "You got it wrong, luv, ya see it's you that could make me enjoy any fuckin' thing. My beautiful girl, I'd have a right ol time in hell if you were the one to take me there."

His large hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft, supple skin. "You've got me fuckin' whipped, sweetheart, and I am more than fine to keep it that way."

He held you close, peppering your cheeks with stray kisses as he moved you both back fully under the shower head, ready to clean up the delicious mess he had just made.

[byexbyez]

hair wash day

⟡— an injured arm leaves you unable to wash your hair. luckily, your boyfriend is more than happy to help, sylus x mc/reader, domestic fluff, lots of kisses, pet names, self-indulgent, wc: 2.2K

⟡— a/n: this is a little something inspired by this post where i thought sylus would think that he could brush your curly hair dry. so this is for my peeps with curly hair routines! i know some of you have routines that take up 3 hours because of different curl patterns, porosity levels and whatnot but let’s just pretend that this is a condensed version. and if you have straight hair, be grateful that you don’t have to deal with this and keep on reading /j.

p.s. if i got the steps wrong just know that i only apply mousse and call it a day, so don’t come for me.

⟡— read on ao3.

“Come here so I can brush your hair. It’s messy.” 

You’d whack him on the head if you could. Anything and everything sets you off lately, especially with how itchy your scalp feels. You can literally feel every single hair follicle on your head—painfully. 

Before your arm had to rest in a cast, you used to wash your hair once every week, dedicating half a day to maintain your curls. It’s been well over a week and more, and your boyfriend who has set foot in your place for the first time today, now scrolling on his phone on the couch, thinks he can brush your curls dry. Completely clueless about how much time it actually takes to make your hair look remotely presentable. 

“You absolutely cannot brush my hair, Sylus.” 

Turning off his phone and chucking it between you two, he leans in, his competitive side bearing its head. “Why, you think I can’t do it?” 

“Not that. If my hair was straight, I’d let you brush it any day. You can’t brush curly hair. I mean you can, but it would look terrible and the brush would literally get stuck in there. I need to wash it first.” 

“And how are you going to do that with that arm, sweetie?” 

“I’ve been putting it off,” you admit with a  sigh, letting your head fall back against the couch.. “I don’t know, I’ll manage. I need to do it like yesterday. My head hurts and I feel disgusting. Maybe I’ll go to a hair salon tomorrow.” 

“Let me do it.” 

Your head snaps up. “You can? I mean, it takes a lot of time. You’ll be here for a while. And you’ll get tired.” 

“That just means more time with you.” His thumb gently smooths the crease between your brows, releasing the tension there. “I doubt I’ll get tired from washing your hair.” 

Oh, how wrong he was.

Sylus somehow manages to fit a chair in your cramped shower stall for you to sit. He has you tilt your head back to make washing easier, then positions himself outside the shower doors. Crouching slightly, he reaches in to turn on the water.

“You need to make sure all of my hair is wet,” you note. “it may look like it’s wet enough from the outside but the very middle part declared its independence and doesn’t want to soak up the water.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

And he does. His large hand forms a shield around your hairline, making sure water doesn’t get in your ears or eyes. You try to keep your eyes open as much as possible to see your boyfriend’s focused face, though the whole thing feels like you’re getting your hair washed in a salon, so you keep closing your eyes once in a while. Especially when Sylus lifts the shower head higher and unintentionally gets water on your forehead, despite his best efforts. 

Once he’s sure that your whole hair is thoroughly soaked, he shuts off the water. “How’s your neck?” 

“Fine.” It isn’t, the weight had started to pull on your neck towards the end, but you don’t mention it. You’re used to it. 

Sensing the white lie, he cradles the back of your neck, lifting it just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. His fingers gently squeeze the muscles beginning to tense.

He’s so considerate. 

“Now which one’s the shampoo?” 

His big hands are a gift sent from heaven, you think. Firm yet gentle, working through the stubborn itches on your scalp, even scratching behind your ears with his knuckles. If he keeps this up, you’re going to fall asleep right here.

“Sweetie, you with me?” 

“Mhm.” You melt into the chair but manage to open your heavy eyelids. “How are you so good at this? Did you do this before?” 

He meets your eyes then, an indulgent smile playing on his lips. “No, you’re the first. I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

The sound of soapy friction fills the bathroom again. You can’t take your eyes off Sylus, your gentle giant of a lover. Reaching out to cup his cheek with your free hand, you stop his fingers in your hair, distracting him from his task.

“What is it? Want to take a break?” 

“No, please continue. I just wanted to touch you,” you murmur, stroking your thumb across his cheek. “let you know I appreciate you.” 

When your thumb presses down on the corner of his mouth, he bends down, and your lips are already puckered, eager to welcome the tender kiss. 

“Is this how you usually treat your hairstylist?” he chuckles against your lips. “Does seduction get you a discount?” 

Playing along, you smirk and hook your index finger to the collar of his shirt. “I only seduce the ones who are stupidly good-looking. You’re the first.” 

He grabs your hand from his collar, raises it to kiss it, forgetting the shampoo coating his fingers. “Using my lines against me, huh?”

The second round of shampoo is even more touchy. You nearly poke his nostril. Nearly. He keeps your finger away by pretending to bite it. “Behave.” 

“But I love your nose,” you whine. 

After the shampoo is rinsed off, you can feel the hanging weight of a big clump. Of course, your hair was a tangled mess, with how long you’ve put off washing it. You tell Sylus to reach for the detangling brush and he spends a good minute trying to choose the correct brush from the rack. 

His first mistake is starting from the roots of your hair. He was too quick for you to catch on. 

“Ow! No, that’s not—start from the ends, please. And work your way up until you can smoothly brush it down.” 

A kiss to your forehead again. “Sorry, sweetie. That was stupid of me.” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.” 

This part takes forever because Sylus diligently plucks the dead hair from the brush after each stroke, making sure nothing is preventing him from smoothing your hair down, asking every now and then if he’s hurting you. 

“Look at how much hair you shed. You’d think I brushed a cat.” He straightens his back. Even if he feels a strain, he doesn’t let it show on his face. “The next step is conditioner, right?” 

“Yup,” you hum. “right next to the shampoo.” 

Cupping the back of your neck with both hands, he lifts it carefully, alleviating your own strain. “Let’s take a break first.” 

“Tired this soon?” you tease. 

“I don’t need a break, sweetie. But you do.” You think he’s about to kiss you again when he leans in, warm breath brushing your lips, his eyes low and intent. “You haven’t had water for a while.” 

And he leaves you there waiting with a pout while he gets a glass of water. 

After that, Sylus thinks you’re finally ready to sit upright. The conditioner only needs to be applied to the ends, after all. But trying to explain that you still need to bend your neck? That’s a sport in itself. 

Bottle in hand, he tilts his head. “I don’t understand. What’s the catch?”

“I usually do this step with my head upside down. Since I can’t do that now, I still need to throw my hair back, so you can do it for me.” 

“Upside down?” His confusion is adorable. However, thinking about the bajillion steps that still remain after the shower, you take a deep breath. 

“Yes, with my hair in front of my face. For volume. Otherwise my roots stay flat. Now lightly squeeze the water out. Not all of it. We still need moisture—no, not like a towel!” 

You teach him the praying hands method, he’s appalled by the amount of conditioner in his palms. “Sweetie, are you sure you need this much product? This is almost half of the bottle.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now you know where all my money goes.” 

He looks at the brand name on the bottle, making a mental note to stock it up for you. 

“Okay, thank you.” You bat your eyelashes at him, luring him in for a smooch. He obliges immediately, a big wet smack sound echoes in the bathroom. 

The following step is scrunching the hair up to the roots with the excess product left on his hands. Yet again, he’s confused about why you need to do this. For the curls to form, of course. 

“And when you scrunch all the way up, keep squeezing but not too hard.” 

“Not too hard…” He murmurs to himself. 

You skip the hair mask, because you’ve already been in the shower long enough, and tell Sylus to find a soft cotton T-shirt instead of a towel for drying, after he rinses about seventy percent of the conditioner out. Gotta keep the moisture, after all.

You’re sitting on the floor, pillows propping you up against the couch. Laid out in front of you on the coffee table are a spray bottle, leave-in curl cream, mousse, gel, oil, a curl brush, claw clips, and a dryer with the diffuser attachment. A handheld mirror rests in your hand. 

Once he’s finished taking pictures of each product—including the different brushes and the diffuser attachment, “since you’ll need them back at the base”—Sylus settles behind you on the couch, legs bracketing you as he gets comfortable.   

You guide him through the next steps: clip your hair into sections, begin with the bottom strands, mist them with water, and smooth in the curl cream. Later, he’d be applying mousse. The gel cast step is skipped. You’re not in the mood for that kind of commitment today.

He picks up the brush with the odd indents, combs through the section, then shakes the strands gently between his thumb and index finger.

Voilà. The curl forms on its own.

“If you tried this on straight hair, it wouldn’t hold,” you explain while he’s still figuring out how to flip the brush properly. “But this way, the curls last about a week.” You tilt the mirror higher, amused as his elegant long fingers wrestle with the brush. 

His lips brush your temple as he asks, “You really do this every week?”

“If I have to be perceived by people—which is always—then yes.”

Sure, it takes him twice as long as it would take you, but the quiet “Poor thing,” he mutters, followed by another kiss to your temple while you watch through the mirror, makes it more than worth it.

Eventually, the styling phase is over. Time to diffuse. Your least favorite. Yay. 

“This thing looks like a space weapon,” he says, inspecting the diffuser attachment like he would a gun. 

“It sure does drain my life,” you groan, using his knee as leverage to stand.

Here you are again, head thrown back in the chair, while Sylus butchers the tune with a grin:

“Rapunzel, let down your haaaair.”

You squint your eyes at him. “I’ll see you with your sore arm when you’re done, mister.” 

With the dryer on the lowest setting (two words from you: “heat damage”), your hair nearly takes one hour to fully dry. Sylus does not complain one bit, keeps humming a tune. Relaxed but focused. 

The final step is softening the curls with a bit of oil by scrunching again. 

“We are done?” 

You laugh. “Why do you sound disappointed?” 

“With the way you were exaggerating, I thought it would take longer.” 

“Well, we skipped a couple of steps.” 

His hand comes to rest over his heart as he gasps mockingly. “When I asked you to teach me everything? You wound me.” 

“Next time,” you promise. “You know I’m stuck in this cast for a while.” 

“Plenty of time to perfect the routine.” He nods. Coming to stand in front of you, he examines his work, seemingly satisfied with the result. 

“Do you prefer cash or credit, sir?” 

Gripping the back of your chair, his mouth is on yours again. A content sigh escapes his lips when he pulls back. “My preferred form of payment is cuddles, miss. No discount.” 

Your fingers dive into the hair at his nape, scratching affectionately as they drift toward his ears. You roll and pinch his earlobe. Just because. 

(It’s so soft.) 

With the perfect amount of pressure, he begins to massage your neck. 

“I’m so down,” you whisper against his lips. “How about we cuddle, order food, watch a movie, cuddle some more… and then you stay the night?” 

“I was waiting for you to ask.” 

Later, curled up on his chest and halfway across his lap, you drift off to the sounds coming from the movie. His nose rests in the crown of your head as he murmurs, “You smell divine, sweetie.”

“Thanks to you.” 

“Don’t hesitate to ask me for help,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His voice, quiet and warm, draws you back from the edge of sleep. You giggle. “Okay, I’ll call you next week for a hair wash. You asked for it, don’t regret it later.” 

“I never would.” 

“Big words,” you sneer. 

He nuzzles deeper into your freshly washed hair and presses a kiss into it, almost without thinking. “You know what I learned today?”

“Hm?” 

“That I need to think twice before ruffling your hair again.” 

“It’s okay. You get a free pass.” You turn your head toward him and meet his ruby eyes. A beat, maybe two, passes in silence before your smile takes over. “Thank you Sylus, I needed this.”

[theeartuaist]

The App (2)

Three weeks. Two burner phones. One frenzied apartment change. That was all it took for you to start believing you were free.

You’d torched every digital breadcrumb like a fugitive with blood on their hands. The old phone? In pieces. Your social media? Wiped clean, like a crime scene bleached of evidence. The new number came from a prepaid device you bought with cash at a rundown gas station two towns over—right next to a place that sold fireworks and pickled eggs. You told no one but your family where you’d gone, and even then, you didn’t tell them why.

The apartment was smaller than the last one. Claustrophobic, maybe, but it had good bones: thick walls, double deadbolts, and a front desk guy named Marcus who treated unknown visitors like they were walking lawsuits. Most nights, you even slept through without scanning the corners for shadows that moved too smoothly, too human, but not quite enough.

For a moment, a fleeting, fragile moment, you believed you'd done it. That you’d outrun Raye.

And then the books started arriving.

The first one came five days after you finally began to settle in. No envelope, no Amazon box. Just a dog-eared romance novel—The Billionaire’s Forbidden Love—resting right in front of your door like an orphaned pet. Shirtless dude on the cover, a woman swooning like her bones had gone soft. You laughed, briefly. Then you saw the neon-yellow highlighting, thick and uneven like it had been applied with too much pressure:

“You can run, my love, but you cannot escape destiny. What belongs to me will always find its way home.”

You didn’t laugh after that. You pitched it into the alley dumpster and double-locked the door. Then you added a chair under the knob, just like your dad taught you.

The next day, the second book showed up. But this time, it was inside. Sitting right on your pillow. The highlighted passage was even worse:

“He watched from afar, memorising every pattern, every habit. True love required study, devotion, and pursuit. She would understand, eventually, that his persistence was the purest expression of his feelings.”

You tore the place apart. Every lock, every latch, every inch of ductwork. The windows were sealed, the cameras at the front desk had nothing. No one but you had come in.

By the end of the week, you had seventeen books. Seventeen. Titles like – Surrendering to the Shadow King and The Possessive Duke’s Darling. And they kept appearing in places they had no business being. One in your refrigerator, its pages damp with condensation. One stuffed between your clean towels. One curled like a sleeping dog in your shower caddy.

Each with its own highlighted passage about destiny, ownership, and love sharpened into obsession.

You considered calling the police. Then you thought about what that call would sound like: Hello, officer? I’m being stalked by a man who may not be a man and who communicates exclusively via bodice-rippers. Yeah. That’d go over well.

Then came a knock.

You crept to the peephole, half-expecting a nightmare in a human suit. But it was Mrs. Abernathy, your octogenarian neighbor with a floral scarf and a fondness for raisin cookies.

“You have a package, dear,” she called sweetly. “Special delivery.”

You cracked the door just enough to peer out. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her eyes didn’t look quite right. Too glassy, like someone had forgotten to switch them on all the way. Her smile stretched a bit too wide, like someone had drawn it there with a knife.

“Oh, I know,” she said, waving a small wrapped parcel. “That lovely boy Raye asked me to bring it. He showed me pictures. Said you were engaged. Such a devoted young man!”

You slammed the door like it was a guillotine. Locked everything. Heart pounding hard enough to echo in your ribs.

Through the wood, her voice came again, but it had a different flavor now—tinny, mechanical, like it had been routed through a bad speaker. “He asked me to tell you he’s learned from his mistakes. Movies were poor research materials. He’s found much better guides now.”

You didn’t say a word. Eventually, her steps shuffled away.

You should’ve been gone by then. Should’ve run. But something—foolish hope, or maybe just fear—kept you rooted to that spot. That night, the package still showed up.

You found it on your kitchen counter. Inside was a leather-bound journal. Handmade. Not a book but a log. Each page was filled with razor-precise handwriting—cold, methodical, obsessive. A surveillance diary.

It catalogued your life: what time you left for work, what you ordered for lunch, who you spoke to, how long your showers lasted. Some entries even had photos. From behind bushes. Across the street. Through windows. They dated back months before you ever met him.

The final page was in red ink, as if written in something warmer than pen:

“I have identified the errors in my courtship approach. Fiction is an incomplete source for behavioural protocols. I have been observing actual human mating behaviours and have identified more successful strategies. Persistence is key.”

“I have instead been consulting superior information repositories that your species calls Reddit, 4chan, and various forums dedicated to "game." I have also analysed dating advice blogs and YouTube channels dedicated to human mating strategies.”

“The consensus is clear: females respond to what humans designate as "alpha" behaviour. One must "hold frame" and employ "negging" and "dread game." The courtship requires what your species terms 'pushing past last-minute resistance”. I will begin again tomorrow. You will find my improvements satisfactory.”

You didn’t read any further. You just grabbed your things, left the apartment, and checked into a hotel the furthest from your apartment.

You didn’t care anymore. The world you thought you knew had slipped away, and now you were just running, your phone buried in the lining of your suitcase. At dawn, your eyes opened to a rose on the pillow beside you.

Your phone buzzed, though it was supposed to be off. You checked it. The app was back.

A single message blinked at you like an open eye:

Good morning. I have located your temporary nest. Your evasion techniques are impressive but unnecessary. I now understand that pursuit and resistance are part of the dance. This is biology. I will perform correctly this time. I am upgrading for you.

You didn’t even stop to brush your teeth. You didn’t bother packing. You didn’t bother trying to reason with yourself. You checked out of there in a flash, running down the hotel hall, looking for an exit; a chance to breathe without Raye’s presence closing in on you like a vice.

You burst into the morning air, your breath clouding in the cold as you stumbled into the streets. The first taxi you spotted felt like a lifeline, and you threw yourself into it without thinking twice.

The driver was an old man—silver hair combed neatly, liver spots on his hands, eyes soft and wet like a dog’s. He glanced at you in the rearview mirror and smiled, a slow,little smile.

“Where to, miss?” he asked, voice gravelly and warm, the kind of voice you think should come bedtime stories.

“Train station.” Your voice was high, tight. “Please hurry.”

The cab pulled out with a gentle lurch.

“Bad morning?”

You nodded, eyes glued to the window and pressed yourself against the door. You stared out the window, your heart was still punching your ribs. You thought if you stayed quiet, maybe you could disappear. Maybe he wouldn’t find you.

“Boyfriend trouble?” the old man asked, trying to make it sound harmless.

You swallowed. That word—boyfriend—curled in your throat like something rotten. “Why do you care?” you asked, too sharp.

He fell silent.

The city blurred past—gray buildings, flickering signs, streets that all looked like they were exhaling their last breath. Then you realized something was off. A left turn when it should’ve been right. A street you didn’t recognize. You sat up, brows furrowed.

“Hey,” you said, leaning forward, “you’re going the wrong way.”

No response.

“Sir? Did you hear me?”

Still nothing. The cab made another turn. Left. Not toward the bus station. Not toward anything you recognised.

“Hey! Sir this isn't where the train station is,” you repeated, the chill of dread sliding under your skin like ice water. “You’re going the wrong way?”

The driver’s voice came again, but it had changed. Just slightly. Too measured. Too... calculated.

“Creating uncertainty increases emotional dependence,” he said.

You froze.

“What?”

“The literature states that unpredictable environments produce deeper attachments.”

You reached for the door handle.

Click.

Locked.

You yanked this time. Still locked - child locks. Of course.

Your stomach dropped like a stone into a bottomless lake. You turned back to the driver, heart hammering. “Let me out,” you said. “Now.”

“The manuals suggest limiting options increases compliance,” he says, smooth as ice, still not looking at you.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. No signal. Useless. You pounded the window, screaming. “Let me the hell out!”

The taxi sped up, turning down a quieter road—broken sidewalks, chain-link fences, warehouses that haven’t been used in decades. The kind of place where bad things happen and no one finds out until it’s too late.

In desperation, you looked at the driver, ready to plead, threaten, whatever it took—and froze. In the rearview mirror, where the old man's eyes should have been reflected, there was nothing. Just empty space.

As if sensing my realization, the driver's face rippled. Like wax left too close to a fire, the old man melted away. The silver hair receded, the wrinkles smoothed. And what’s left was him.

Raye.

His familiar, too-perfect face stared back at you from the mirror, his expression neutral, observant.

“Was the old man's disguise inadequate?” he asks, genuinely curious, like a scientist observing a mouse that bit back. “I modeled it after ‘trustworthy archetypes.’”

“You... you.. just, let me out,” you said, quieter now. Not because you’re calm, but because you were trying to be. “Please.”

“Your heart rate has increased,” he noted. “The forums suggest this indicates attraction, yet your verbal cues suggest aversion.”

His head tilted. That same goddamn tilt you remembered from your first and last date.

“The data remains inconsistent.”

“Well, gee, perhaps the reason for that is because you are kidnapping me!” You saw the road slipping past. Warehouses and rusted fences blurring by. You tried to memorize every turn. Useless. You knew it was useless..

“Your cultural narratives celebrate pursuit after rejection. They frame perseverance as romantic despite the ethics and laws. Is this your attempt at stimulating narrative tension? Are you playing, as your people say, hard to get?”

You were shaking now. Not from fear—but from thr hot, boiling pit simmering inside you. “They’re written by people who want control, not connection. Hell, do you even understand what you're reading?” You said, breath trembling, “You have no damn idea, do you?”

He processed that. You can see him processing it. "The research is indeed inconsistent." The cab had slowed now, creeping down a service road lined with oleander bushes, their pink flowers drooping like exhausted dancers. "I calculated the most efficient approach based on available data.. the forum posts with the highest engagement metrics suggested—"

"Shut up wbout your stupid data! You don't know anything about love!" I gestured at the surroundings; the locked doors. "This - what you're doing - just creates fear. Not love.”

Raye's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Just slightly. The knuckles went white, then translucent, something that looked like starlight filtering through fog.

"I have exonerated my sources. I have watched 689 romantic films," he continued, voice carrying a new edge like glass scraping against glass. "Read 447 romance novels. Monitored 432 relationship advice forums. Observed—"

"OBSERVED!" You were shouting now, past caring. "That's all you do, isn't it? Watch and copy and calculate, but you've never felt a goddamn thing in whatever passes for your life. Relationships aren't algorithms. You can't learn them from books or websites. You need real experience. And you never experienced love in your life!"

The cab jerked to a stop.

In the terrible silence that followed, your own breathing, ragged and harsh, ricocheted in your ears. Raye's reflection had gone perfectly still. When he finally spoke, his voice was different — quieter, with a sound like distant rain.

"You are... correct. I have no experiential database for the emotion you call love. Only... approximations. Simulations." His head tilted, that familiar gesture now seeming disappointed rather than curious. "The inconsistencies in human behaviour patterns suggest an underlying complexity I failed to accurately model."

Something changed in the air. The child locks clicked open.

"If love cannot be calculated or observed from the outside," he said, still facing forward, "then my research methodology is fundamentally flawed."

You didn't hesitate. Your fingers were on the handle, your foot hitting the cracked asphalt before my brain could catch up. You were already running, but his final words followed you down that empty road: "I will... recalibrate. Begin new research. Attempt to understand the variables I overlooked."

For three days, there were no books, no messages, no signs of Raye. You began to hope that perhaps you had crashed his reasoning, created a logic loop he couldn't resolve.

Then on the fourth morning, you found a book on my new kitchen table in yet another new apartment that no one should have known about. It wasn't a romance novel this time, but a philosophy text opened to a passage about identity. A note had been paper-clipped to the page, written in that same mechanically precise handwriting:

"I purged the corrupted data. Your internet contains many viruses of thought. I will observe more carefully now, without intervention. When I understand the paradox, I will return."

"The designation "fiancé" was premature. The designation "researcher" was inadequate. I find no human words for what has transpired between us. Thank you for identifying the error in my programming. I will experience love."

next chapter

[contrarianwitt]

random thoughts while rereading the raven king part 3:

ronan and matthew being “all that matters” to declan kills me actually. i don’t get it when people say they start rooting for him in tdt like i love him so much

“no one knew what ganseylike was, not even gansey” is such a good line because you can’t condense his character into anything ugh i love maggie’s writing

mmm henry being to gansey what kavinsky is to ronan…

lowkey took me until this reread to realize that “child bride” was referring to opal, not blue lol

oh my god these idiots are so in love with eachother i cannot

declan is such a man of whimsy “join me in my office” gesturing to his volvo when he is talking to ronan of all people is so funny he is such a lynch

“parrish always was a creepily clever little fuck” is top 10 lines of all time actually. have i mentioned i love declan.

mountain view students calling blue “not your bitch” is so iconic of her, like kat stratford who?? blue at the bus stop scene is my favourite scene of trc i laugh everytime

awh ronan going from calling blue a terrorist to calling her bro and laughing in the kitchen (he definitely told her about the kiss then)

just think, the tree showing nightmares. adam’s literal worst case scenario nightmare is killing gansey. not never making it out of henrietta or staying in the trailer. it’s hurting his best friend, his brother. you can’t tell me they don’t love eachother so much.

ganseys “don’t break him adam” is so important considering gansey thinks he’s about to die and declan and matthew are leaving, it’s just out of pure fear and anxiety

ugh gansey longing to be done his quest is so important to me, when it is the only thing that’s been driving him all of his life

part 2

[hotchscoffeecup]

those things will kill you

pairing: javier peña x dea!reader

tags: gun violence, broken glass injury, bullet wounds, blood, no y/n

word count: 5k

summary: attacked in a public bar, javier takes you back to his apartment to get you cleaned up and tend your wounds. an almost kiss leads to an exploration of feelings neither of you were prepared for.

as always, big thanks to muffin for always being willing to help beta my fics <3

The bartender places a bottle of beer, sweaty with condensation, in front of you on the bar top.

After uttering a short thank you in Spanish, you leave a couple of bills on the counter and twist your fingers around the neck of the bottle. The beer is cold and slides down your throat easily, but it tastes bitter in your hollow stomach.

You run your tongue over your teeth and tsk, shaking your head wondering how you ended up in this mess. Everything seems like it’s going to hell in a handbasket and all the government wants to do is tie your hands and everyone else’s in the search for Escobar.

You hate how it all keeps you up at night; the cat and mouse. For every inch you eked closer, Escobar always seemed to be a mile ahead. Even when he is right under your nose, he evades capture and disappears without so much as a trace of evidence.

You think too far too deeply about Pablo Escobar and you know it affects your work. How can the same man who built homes and schools for the poor of his hometown be the same man that would blow up a city street full of school children and their families a week before school starts? The thought of it keeps you awake at night because you genuinely cannot fathom how such a disconnect can exist in the human mind. He is a drug lord. A killer. A criminal. But he was also someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s father. Could he really justify all of this cruelty and malice? You wonder when enough stopped being enough for him. You wonder if a reality existed where he was just that, a man of the people. A family man. In another life, maybe he could’ve actually maintained a seat in the Colombian congress. In all his posturing and speech making, he really did exude all of the makings of a good politician that wanted to see a better and more prosperous Colombia. Instead, he became that which instilled fear in the hearts of those that called the great nation their home.

The clipped click of a lighter snaps you out of your own mind and the sounds of the bar pull you out from under the sea of thoughts you’d lost yourself in.

“Real sharp instincts there,” Javier jabs as he drags on the cigarette between his lips and settles into the seat beside you. “Glad I’m not a sicario. Getting the jump on you would be all too easy now, wouldn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Peña, I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened? Get in trouble with the ambassador or something?”

You direct a hard stare in his direction and that seems to speak for itself.

“It’s an adjustment for everyone. He’s definitely more of a tight ass, but he’ll get used to the way things operate down here. Give it time.”

You scoff. “Easy for you to say. All you and Murphy have to do is posture and dick swing your way into his good graces. It’s not that easy for me.”

The bartender nears your end of the bar and inclines his head towards Javier. He gestures towards the drink in your hand with his cigarette and says, “Lo mismo, por favor.”

With a drink now in hand, he turns towards you and levels his deep brown eyes on yours.

“Cut the crap.”

Your brow arches toward your hairline. “Excuse me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his lips quirks up. “I’m not buying this ‘I’m-a-lady-so-I-have-to-work-twice-as-hard’ bullshit. You’re a damn good agent and that’s why you’re here with me and Murphy. Ambassador knows that. So, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. Pointing the bottle at you he says, “and to be clear, I’m not swinging my dick around for anyone.” His eyes flicker over your face and a glint of mischief enters his gaze. “Unless they ask nicely of course.”

You drop your chin and shake your head. “Just when I thought you were being genuine.”

“Hey, I am genuine,” he protests. He pops the cigarette between his lips and grabs your shoulder, the warmth of his palm pressing through your jacket. “C’mon, what’s really eating you?”

You grab the bottle in front of you and swirl the pale liquid inside, forming a small tornado when you still your hand. “I just haven’t been sleeping, that’s all.”

Javier drops his hand from your shoulder to take the cigarette from his lips and blows out a puff of smoke, angling his mouth away from you but the acrid smell still manages to burn your nostrils.

“Those things will kill you, you know?”

Javier smirks and you hate how good it looks on his smug face. “We work in Bogotá. A lot of things can kill us.”

“No need to tempt fate.”

He moves from side to side as if weighing his options. “Cigarettes, alcohol, working too hard trying to prove ourselves that we don’t sleep at night…we all have our vices.” His eyes linger on yours and you suddenly feel vulnerable being called out like that.

“Consider the reasons I don’t sleep, Javi.” You drain the last of your beer and push the bottle away from you.

You press your hands against the edge of the bar, but before you can push yourself up and off of the barstool, Javier claps a hand over one of your wrists, stilling you.

“You can talk to me, you know?” The browns of his irises flicker as they bear into yours and the hollow pit in your stomach widens. You know you can talk to him. Steve too. It’s just hard to be too vulnerable down here though when there’s so much pressure coming down from all angles. If you even look like you might collapse under the weight of it all you’ll get rotated back to the States so quickly, you won’t even get the chance to say goodbye. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you and you can’t squander it. So, it stays easy to lock it down, despite the consequences.

So, you do just that and lock it down. Forcing a smile you know doesn’t reach your eyes, you shake off his hand and zip up your jacket. “I’m fine, Peña. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He presses his lips together, but doesn’t say anything more. He nods his head in farewell and you turn to leave.

You take two steps before your name rolls off of his tongue and you roll your eyes. “Peña, I’m—” The words die on your lips as you turn, eyes drifting past Javier to the pair on the motorcycle beyond the glass window that makes up the external wall of the bar. The man on the back of the motorcycle aims an automated weapon in Javier’s direction.

“Everybody get down!” You cry out as all hell breaks loose.

You’re airborne as the glass shatters and the explosive sounds of gunfire fill the space. You collide with a thick wall of muscle and hit the ground hard, covering your head with one arm and shielding his body with the other. The gunfire stops almost as soon as it had started and the sound of tires squealing on the pavement echoes off the street.

Patrons scream and cry out as they scramble over one another to evacuate the space. You roll onto your side and groan as shards of glass cut into your arms through the thin windbreaker you have on.

“Javier,” you groan as you reach for him. He’s moving so you know he’s alive. You lean over him and his shocked visage. “Javi, are you with me?”

He blinks hard out of whatever stupor he’s in and sits bolt upright. “Which direction did they go?” He turns his head to look over his shoulder and the gaping frame where shards of glass poke out of the windowsill like jagged teeth.

“They’re gone,” you say on an exhale. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head or anything when I tackled you?”

He breathes out a short laugh and you fear he might be in shock. “Did I hit my head? No, I didn’t—” He stops and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear away a fog. His brow pinches as he looks around at the damage. Tables and chairs are upended and cast aside. Broken bottles line the floor where they shattered upon impact off the shelves behind the bar and litter the ground. You’re surprised to find that, miraculously, no bodies littered the ground in the wake of the attack.

A hand cups your chin and you reflexively reach for the gun tucked into your waistband.

Peña raises his other hand in surrender. “I think you might’ve hit yours though.” His eyes shift just above your field of vision and that’s when you feel the hot sticky substance drip down onto your lashes. You raise a hand and touch it, surprised to find a smear of red staining your fingertips when you look at them.

“I think that’s just from the glass. It’s all in my jacket.”

Javier clambers to his feet and dusts off his jeans. Bits of glass hit the floor as it rattles off of his leather jacket, a much heartier material that you wish yours had been made from.

He extends a hand towards you and you take it, wincing as he pulls you to your feet. With a grunt, you tug the zipper down and shrug out of your jacket. There’s no saving the ripped and bloodied material so you drop it on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re hit.”

The words don’t register as Javi closes the gap between the two of you and the smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you in a strange, yet almost comforting cloud of, well, Javier.

He scrubs a hand over his face as he hesitates to touch you. You hear him muttering to himself, but the words don’t quite register. Funny how a moment ago you were worried about him going into shock.

A sharp sting of pain brings you back to your senses as Javier presses a folded up bar towel to your shoulder. “Hold pressure on that,” he instructs. He turns and reaches back to take your hand in his. “Come on, I’ll get you out of here. I need to get you taken care of.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Javier Peña’s Jeep with blood seeping through a dirty bar rag onto the upholstery of his passenger seat. At some point he reaches over you and retrieves the satellite phone from within the glove box to call in the attack.

“No, Murphy. I’m fine. She’s fine. Minor wounds it seems. No—no, don’t wake Connie. I’ve got a kit at my apartment. Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her. I’ve already called the Ambassador and Martinez. Yeah, yeah. Ok, goodnight. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

By the time he pulls into his garage, the adrenaline wears off and the sharp sting of pain in your shoulder becomes glaringly obvious. Javier gets out and moves to open the door for you. He places a supporting hand under your uninjured arm as you maneuver your way out of the car in the confined space. Your body brushes against the firm plane of his as you do and you don’t miss the way he stiffens in response.

“Let’s get you inside,” he murmurs and drops his hand to the small of your back to guide you towards the door.

His apartment is simple, built in the same style as yours and Murphy’s. They all share the same furniture and simple decorations, though yours doesn’t have quite the number of liquor bottles perched on various surfaces and vaguely remember what he’d mentioned about vices at the bar. The smells strongly of him, of his earthy cologne and cigarette smoke. You’ve grown used to it from sitting across from him at work for the last six months. There’s something oddly comforting about it even though the amount he and everyone else smokes bothers you to no end.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He says, gesturing toward the couch.

You do as he suggests and sit on the couch, only on the edge though. You don’t want to ruin the upholstery like you’d done with his car. Plus, you’re fairly certain there’s still small shards of glass embedded in the skin of your back and the idea of pressing those in any further makes you queasy.

Javi disappears into the bathroom, muttering expletives under his breath in English and in Spanish. He returns with a small red first aid kit, a couple of wash clothes, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He climbs onto the couch and perches on the back of the sofa, his legs spread on either side of your body. “Hold these,” he says, and doesn’t wait to dump the items into your lap.

With gentle hands, he peels the bar rag up and off your shoulder. “Good,” he sighs. “Bleeding’s stopped. Let’s get you out of this shirt.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to look at him from beneath an arched brow and he immediately doubles back. “So we can clean this properly and make sure there isn’t any more glass. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Funny, I thought you liked it there.” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “I know what you meant, but it is fun to watch you squirm.”

Javier shakes his head and you turn back around to pull your tank top up and over your head. You try to do it with one arm to avoid aggravating your shoulder, but the movement jostles the joint and you hiss between your teeth. Javi catches your hand as you try to pull it over the injury and takes over guiding it up and over the wound. He discards your tank top on the ground and sucks in a breath.

“What, Jav? You see women in their bras, or without them, all the time. Relax.”

“No, it’s not that. Wait, what—”

You smirk to yourself. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s just on second thought, I think we ought to move to the kitchen. There’s more light there and there’s still some glass stuck in and around where the bullet clipped you.”

He gently lays the towel back down over the open wound on your shoulder and you follow him to the kitchen and drop your keys and gun onto the counter before perching on one of the bar stools. He kicks the nearby waste paper basket next to the empty stool beside you and arranges the first aid items onto the counter, opening the kit and withdrawing gloves, tweezers, gauze pads, and roller bandages. He zips the kit shut, determining he has everything that he needs and places it in his lap as he sits down.

A strange silence settles over the two of you as he snaps on the pair of latex gloves and sets to work. He removes the soiled rag from your shoulder and drops it into the trash. The pinch and sting of him pulling glass from within and around your injuries dulls over time and you watch as the tiny pile of red stained shards grows on the counter next to you.

“You know there wouldn’t be so much of this if you hadn’t fallen directly on top of me.”

Javier scoffs. “You’re right. Next time we’re in a firefight, I’ll let you fall on me.” The tweezers lock on to another small shard and you grimace as he pulls it free. “I think that was the last one.”

He unscrews the plastic cap from the bottle of rubbing alcohol and soaks a washcloth with it. “This is probably going to hurt worse, but we gotta get this cleaned up.”

You nod. “I know, go ahead.”

When he’s cleaning the dried blood from off and around the skin, it just grazes over small cuts and scrapes that feels more annoying than anything else. It’s when he passes over the open wound in your shoulder that a curse slips past your lips and tears well in your eyes.

“Fucking shit, that hurts.”

“I know,” Javi says apologetically. “We definitely don’t want you to get any infection though.” He swipes the cloth over the injury three more times and just when you start to wonder if he’s a sadist, he finally declares he’s finished and drops the washcloth into the trash. The cool air blowing from the nearby AC unit dries the alcohol and relieves the burning sting. He replaces it with a fresh gauze pad and holds it in place with his left hand while his right works the roller bandage into position. He works quickly and quietly as he winds it around your shoulder and bicep. After securing a knot in the bandage, he sits back and nods affirmatively, content with the job he’s done.

“Now let me see your forehead. We oughta get that cleaned up as well while I’ve got you here.”

You’d almost forgotten about the cut above your eye with the adrenaline wearing off and the pain in your shoulder growing more severe. You reach up absentmindedly and brush your fingers against the now dried and flaking blood stuck in your eyebrow. Javi spills some alcohol onto a gauze pad and your breath catches when he touches the tips of his opposite hand beneath your chin to tilt it towards the overhead light.

He swipes at the dried blood and scrubs it free from your eyebrow. When he passes over the shallow cut, you wince and he apologizes. When it’s clean, he peels open the wrapper on a butterfly bandage and uses the tips of his fingers to try to place it so it’ll pull the cut closed. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him press his tongue to his bottom lip as his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he makes sure the small ends of the bandage don’t tear.

“There,” he whispers when he’s sure it’ll stay put. His face is so close to yours and the breath catches in your throat when his eyes drop to yours. “Just like new.”

Time slows to an absolute standstill and you feel yourself inextricably drawn to him, as if there’s some tether pulling you towards him and you really start to wonder if you did hit your head harder than you thought in the chaos because you’re pretty sure he’s also leaning in towards you, which would be crazy because he’s your coworker, but he’s also tilting his head and his face is incredibly close to yours…

Reality snaps back into place like a rubber band against skin when the first aid kit resting on his thighs clatters to the ground. You immediately pull away and drop down off of the stool to pick it up and Javier immediately chastises you doing so.

“Dammit!” He curses and your name sounds sharp on his tongue. “You’ve barely stopped bleeding, don’t jerk yourself around like that.” He snatches the first aid kit from you and splays a hand under your elbow to pull you back up to a standing position. He tosses the kit onto the counter and stalks off into the living room leaving you at the bar wondering what the hell is driving this one-eighty in behavior as he paces back and forth across the carpet.

“Damn, Peña. I’m not going to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” You smirk. “Your jeep, maybe,” you suggest, trying to make light of the sudden tension in the room.

Javier either doesn’t or chooses not to hear you. He loops his thumb through one of his belt loops as he shakes his head and mutters under his breath. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brow pinches and you hate the heat that rushes to your cheeks. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot and suddenly feel like you’re taking up too much space in the small apartment as he increases the space between you and him. This errant behavior is giving you more whiplash than when you’d taken him to the ground and you’re about to call him out on it, when, without another word, he turns and ducks into his room.

Irritation quickly replaces whatever vulnerability you’d just been feeling. “What the hell does that mean?” You ask, your words clipped and demanding. You walk towards the sounds of him rummaging around inside drawers and come to an abrupt halt as he strides out of his bedroom and presses a ball of fabric into your chest. “This,” he says by way of explanation and takes a dramatic step away from you.

“And by this you mean what exactly?” You know exactly what the this in question is, but you want to hear him say it. Frankly, you’re just as surprised by whatever just happened between you and him, but you’ve worked with each other long enough now to know when the other is severely bullshitting their way through a situation and you have no intention of letting him get away with it.

The smell of his detergent wafts up around you from the shirt in your hands and you take the opportunity to try to awkwardly shrug into it without aggravating the freshly dressed wound. It’s hard to start an argument and be taken seriously when you’re standing toe to toe with someone and you’ve only got on jeans and a black lace bra after all.

As you fumble with the buttons on his shirt, he takes a resigned step backwards and collapses onto the couch. He gestures vaguely at the space between the two of you. His voice is softer when he speaks, tired. “All of this. God.” He runs a hand through his hair and falls back into the cushions. “You,” he says, eyes briefly meeting yours and then at the ceiling.

Your fingers pause mid-fastening. “What about me?”

Javier shakes his head. A wry smile pulls at his lips, rife with disbelief, and it fades as quickly as it comes. “You nearly died tonight.”

You arch a brow and direct a knowing look at him. “Javi, not sure if you were paying attention but we both nearly died tonight. I mean, things moved a little quickly for me to break out my calculator and add shit up, but I don’t think all 30 or 40 of those rounds were meant just for me. I think they were aimed at both DEA agents and they didn’t give a fuck who else got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s not the point,” he responds resolutely.

“Then tell me what is.”

He doesn’t answer, but sits up and pulls the half crushed pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slips one between his teeth. As he rolls his thumb over his lighter, you feel your already short fuse ignite. Without giving it a second thought you step forward and snatch the cigarette from between his lips.

“Hey!” He protests, nostrils flaring.

You snap the stick of tobacco in front of him and toss it to the floor. “Enough of the theaterics, Peña.” You stare directly into his eyes, refusing to let him get away with ignoring you. “Quit bullshitting me and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

The sound of the wall clock ticking fills the space and the silence is unbearable, but you refuse to be the first to break. Fifteen more uncomfortably strained seconds tick by before he drops his gaze to the floor and scrubs a hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

He slides over on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Sit down, will you?”

You do as he asks and situate yourself at an angle towards him with one leg pulled up across your lap.

“Here,” Javi says as he pulls a throw pillow out from behind him and wedges it gently between you and the couch. “I don’t want you to go and tear open anything I got closed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh and thank him, glancing down at his haphazardly buttoned shirt you’ve got on. You notice you’ve completely misaligned what you’d managed to fasten. Ignoring that for now, you kick at his shin and incline your head towards him. “You done with all the tough guy shit?”

Javier presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. I just—”

“Just what?”

He lifts his eyes to yours and you watch the way his coffee colored irises flicker in the lamplight. “There's just some lines you shouldn’t cross.”

“This is Bogotá,” you say, mirroring his words from earlier. “There’s a lot of lines we shouldn’t cross.”

“I’m serious,” he responds brusquely, eyes darkening as he shuts you out once more.

You sit up straighter, undeterred by his obvious attempts to push you away. “Yeah, well tough shit, so am I.”

The way he speaks your name is laced with frustration and uncertainty. He’s holding back and your own frustration mounts. You’re tired, you’re in pain, and frankly, now you’re just feeling plain stupid. You’d heard rumors of Javier’s extracurricular activities with women. Did you really want to be another notch in his bedpost?

You let out a low, wry chuckle and shake your head. “You know what, Javier?” You push yourself up and off the couch, wincing as you do so, and look down at him. “Give me a call if you figure out what side of the line you stand on.”

You turn and swiftly move towards the door, swiping your keys and gun off of the counter as you do so. You use your good arm to shove your sidearm into the back of your jeans and unlock the deadbolt on Javier’s front door.

You’ve barely pushed the door open when Javier appears at your side and yanks it closed. Before you can protest, he pushes you up against the door and presses his lips to yours in a devastatingly desperate kiss.

You can’t control the moan that rushes from your mouth into his as you kiss him back. He tastes like mint and menthols and you suddenly can’t remember why you hate the smell of cigarettes so much. The cuts along your back and shoulder blades sting as the wood rubs up against the shirt Javier gave you, but with his hands pressed against the expanse of wall on either side of your face, you decide it’s bearable.

That is until you reach up unthinkingly to tangle your hand into his hair and a sharp sting of pain reverberates from your shoulder all the way down to your fingertips.

Javi abruptly breaks off the kiss and his eyes flicker across your face, shining with concern. “Fuck, I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment. Did I hurt you?”

You place a placating hand against his chest and feel the erratic beating under your palm. “I’m fine, Jav. Really.”

He licks his lips and you already miss the way they felt against yours. He presses them together and nods. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo. “I guess I should head home though, get some rest. God knows the ambassador is going to want a report on all of this.”

“You got shot, the ambassador can get fucked.”

“Fucked, is what we’re both going to be if we can’t figure out who targeted us.” You sigh and shake off the thought. “I better get going. It’s late.”

Javier stops you from turning to leave. “You’re not walking home alone this late at night.”

“It’s down the street, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not walking alone.”

“Then walk me home. Your strong male aura will keep danger at a bay,” you add sarcastically.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what do you suppose I do?”

“Simple, stay here. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

“And sit on all that blood? No thanks.”

“Okay fine, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

You consider the implications of that and choose the safest route. “S’pose I could sleep on the couch.”

Javier shakes his head. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the fucking couch. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

“And you’ll sleep where?”

“Next to you,” he says smoothly. “If you’ll let me.”

You arch a brow. “And we’ll just…sleep?”

Javi shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs his shoulders, his smile smug. “Tonight, yes.” He steps forward and takes a hand from his pocket to cup your face gently in his wide palm. He places a tender kiss upon your lips. “Tomorrow night might be a different story.”

“I think I’d be quite interested in reading that,” you respond playfully.

“It’s different than what I’m used to,” Javier says and then adds, “but I think change might not be a bad thing.”

You give him a once over and nod. “I think you’re right about that.”

He smiles, somewhat sheepishly, as he says, “I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

The corner of your mouth quirks as you shrug your good shoulder. “I’m not sorry I pushed your buttons like that. It’s about time you open up and actually let yourself feel your feelings.”

He rubs his thumb across your bottom lip and then drops his hand to curve around your hip and rest on the small of your back. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

And that’s how you find yourself lying in bed next to Javier Peña of all people, wearing his shirt to sleep while he snores softly beside you; and you can’t help but wonder how many things had to happen for you to end up here at this moment. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you in against the steady warmth of his skin and you find that you quite like the way you fit so perfectly against the crook of his body.

In the comfort of his arms, you drift off into an uninterrupted sleep and for the first time since you can’t remember when you don’t dream of Pablo Escobar.

[primreaperstuff]

Trying to figure out what's under the Jhesselbraum crossed out text in the Book of Bill

EDIT: Somebody figured it out! Thank you @kitcatia (and @angst-estefany for helping them out)!!! This makes a lot of what's in the post outdated or wrong here but I'll keep it for archival purposes. :D

Dunno if anybody's done this before but I figured I'd give it a shot. This is the original image.

I first went and found the font used for this. I think it's DIN Condensed Bold. This font unfortunately costs money to get onto your computer, but it is included with Adobe Suite software so if you have Photoshop or are silly like me and used Illustrator, you can access it (I know Illustrator isn't great for this stuff but I generally use GIMP and didn't feel like installing Photoshop for this one thing).

And this is the image with the letters I can figure out.

If I got this right, there are a couple of things in here that are huge.

Bill thinks (or at least thought) very highly of Jhess. He describes her as the smartest Henchmaniac. Depending on how you interpret that comment about the eyes, he either let her into the group despite not liking how many eyes she has or has sour grapes about her leaving.

Jhess did a ton of the heavy lifting for the portal project. Bill is often presumed to simply have the multiversal know-how for a lot of the physics and stuff behind the portal, but this implies that Jhess was actually the first one to figure much of this stuff out and Bill went off of what she told him.

I also want to draw your attention to a tiny detail I noticed in the name Bill gives her. It's so small that it might just be me just seeing a pattern where none exists, but I thought it worth mentioning anyway.

My first thought was, obviously, that the name given was "JESS." The first two letters are clearly J and E and the character is called Jheselbraum so that would track. But then I noticed this tiny squarish region that does not line up with how the red pen's stroke normally tapers off and is slightly whiter than the pen. It is exactly where another letter would be... and it does not line up with DIN's capital S! The capital letters in DIN that it lines up with are B, D, E, F, H, I, L, M, N, P, R, and T. The name looks like it cannot exceed 5 characters given the position of the pen stroke.

In terms of plausible names in there, these are the options:

Jeb

Jed/Jedi

Jet/Jett/Jete

Jeff

Jerry

Jerk (lol)

Jelly

Jem

Jen/Jenn

The majority of the plausible names, as you can tell, are either masculine or ungendered. Which makes me wonder-- is Jheselbraum the Unswerving trans??

Because that implies a lot. For one, I have to question why Bill is deadnaming her in that case. Is it to be hurtful or did he just legitimately never figure it out? She went on the run from him so it's likely she never updated him on her live-name. (And I mean, let's face it, "Jheselbraum" is not that far off from some of the live-names trans people choose for themselves. You guys are reviving antiquated names one transition at a time. \pos)

He also speaks rather admiringly of her, which would be odd if he was trying to insult her with her deadname, so I think it's really highlighting how little Bill actually knows-- and might underlie the real reason he crossed it out. He literally just found out she transitioned and he doesn't even know her live-name. Really undermines the whole "unlimited being with knowledge and answers" thing he claims about himself.

It would also explain what drew her to Bill in the first place. Bill already believes in 14 million genders, and he was offering to smash all the norms and rules. What have norms and rules ever done for the trans community? Seldom anything good is my impression.

Hell, maybe she wound up doing her own sex change surgery, because nobody else would do it for her, and that's why she has the skills to install a metal plate in Ford's head. (Pure speculation of course)

Or maybe I'm just overthinking a print error or false pattern or something! Who knows?

Anyway, I thought this was interesting enough to share. Not important my tailbone lol.

[felassan]

Brian J. Audette: "As promised, what follows is an unofficial behind the scenes/director’s commentary thread for the “Isle of the Gods” mission in Dragon Age: The Veilguard for Dragon Age Day. Some Veilguard spoilers will follow, so Beware." [source thread]

Rest of post is under a cut due to spoilers and length.

Brian J. Audette: "First off, who am I? I'm Brian Audette. I was the level designer on Isle of the Gods and the level design lead for the critical path (and other scattered missions) on Veilguard for the last 3.5 years or so. While some levels changed hands between people over time, Isle of the Gods was mine from the beginning. And speaking of the beginning, what a great place to start. Usually when a level designer starts work on a crit path mission, the main dialogue and narrative is already written. In this case the writer was Bioware veteran Sylvia Feketekuty whose fingerprints are all over the game, but who you can primarily thank for Emmrich. While this initial narrative work gives us a general idea of what the mission needs to be, the gameplay is only a suggestion at this point. As the level designer, the first thing I do is flesh out the gameplay implied by the narrative and then design the steps that will connect those moments. This is all done “on paper” in a concept doc. I’m a very visual thinker and while not a requirement of this process, I used a free online fantasy map making tool to mock up a sketch of what I thought the level could be in order to help me wrap my head around it."

"Once that’s reviewed and approved, the more physical work on level design begins: blockout. Essentially this is where the level designer uses simple geometry to craft a skeletal version of the level in order to test gameplay, pacing, flow, etc. In the case of Isle of the Gods, the initial blockout and the final version of the level look very different, but the major beats, how they connect, and even most of the pacing and timing is the same. The major difference is that originally the island was more condensed, with a moat-like river around a central rise, but when level art initially started working on it, they “unraveled” it into a crescent shape that ultimately proved much better both visually and for the gameplay."

"One thing that barely changed from blockout to the final level, was the very start of the mission, but especially this rocky arch. I added it early in blockout in order to sell the idea that we were landing on a rocky, secluded cove."

"The initial beach area changed several times during development. It started big, got smaller, and got bigger again for various reasons. At one point there was some light deep stalker combat here, but the pacing felt better without it in the end. Another thing that barely changed from the original blockout was the gods’ ritual site and how it’s seen in the distance. My initial inspiration for how this should look was the Castlevania games, where Dracula’s lair is always at the pinnacle of the castle and juts precariously out into the air."

"Unraveling the level to be more of a crescent allowed both for more views of the ritual site as we climb and an earlier view of the Antaam presence across the inner bay than what was originally intended. I think this helped better sell the bigger combat that follows the first small encounter. I cannot claim full credit for the mortars combat beat. At one point we had a group focused on interesting combat moments and this was their idea, that I ultimately refined as what’s in game now. I think it’s more fun than just fighting a bunch more enemies alone."

"As we approach the entrance to the gods’ stronghold from the beaches, we get this moment where we see explosions in the distance as evidence of the rest of the team's (those not with Rook) efforts to distract the Antaam. This was another view helped greatly by art’s unraveling of the level."

"If you head down to the beach just after seeing the explosions, you can find some goodies and one of our visual Easter eggs … an homage to Planet of the Apes. This was initially setup by the level artist Meggie Rock and I decided to place a chest right where one could get the best view of the statue"

"Incidentally, this makes me want to hear Gareth David-Lloyd deliver the “You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you! Damn you all to hell” line from Planet of the Apes, but as Solas. The next bit of the level proceeds more or less as it was originally blocked out, though the area with the deep stalkers at the top of the first elevator was an addition that had to be made after level art decided to blow out the traversal in that area to a greater degree than I initially intended. The overlook where you fight some mercenary mages has one of my favorite notes. Sylvia and I wanted to press the idea that a larger Antaam presence here had been drawn away by the explosion at the camp below and It was my idea to have a note from a bored Antaam lookout, counting floating rocks."

"One thing that changed even before I was done with the blockout, was Elgar’nan’s speech as you make your way through the ruins and up to the second elevator. Originally we had wanted his face in the sky like Ghilan’nain at Weisshaupt, but decided to trade it for the Archdemon flyby we used instead. At the top of the zip line just before the Archdemon flyby is one of my favorite views: the gods’ ritual site silhouetted against the eclipse. The initial description of this shot was used almost like a mission statement for this level in the original concept."

"Here’s a fun bit of trivia for you: The second elevator in Isle of the Gods is the longest elevator ride in the game. Also … elevators used to be slower and I’m pretty sure this ride contributed to speeding them up everywhere. The fight while waiting for your companions to open the gate after the second elevator was always intended to be big. Originally I had designed an arena with lots of cover and elevation changes, but when we decided to use a couple Reavers for the fight, things got a lot flatter."

"This waterfall area after leaving the gatehouse was never in the original blockout, but it’s something the level’s original artist put in and that we liked so much, we tried to find use for it as a nice side path for loot and a note."

"My original blockout for the area after the gatehouse (now known as the Elven Ruins) was much different. The pacing and the beats were the same, but I envisioned it as taking place at the tops of ruined towers rising high above a caldera or pit below. Ultimately these blighted ruins work better imo. The presence of fade tears and the fact that we call them out several times in the level originally had a larger narrative purpose that we moved away from. Exploding fade tears didn’t actually exist in game until I created them for this mission and they were ultimately elsewhere to good effect. The blight destruction before entering the gods’ inner sanctum was a beat that went through several iterations early on. We knew we wanted to halt the player at a door like we did at the gatehouse, but didn’t want to use the same idea of fighting until the door opens again. At one point I had some over complicated ideas about using fade tears to blow up blight boils, but with level art’s help we settled on something less about combat and more about traversal."

"Now we’re getting close to the end. When you open the door to the gods’ inner sanctum, right before it fades into the cinematic, you can see your companions who have gone ahead, waiting for you in the room. Most will miss it, but I wanted that attention to detail. While the general structure of the final section of the level didn’t change much from the original blockout, the gameplay certainly did. Everything after that last elevator ride in cinematic was overhauled to create an experience that was much more about this looming confrontation with Ghilan’nain. “A master class in blight boils” was how we had originally approached the two sections before the boss fight here and I originally had some really cool and puzzle-like blight destruction utilizing boils that would regrow."

"Ultimately we removed that puzzle aspect however as we wanted a lot of combat and in play testing it, it just felt too busy. We could either have a big puzzle or a big combat, but both was too much, so we decided on combat as it was more in keeping with the pacing of the end of the mission. The fight against Ghilan’nain was a collaboration between myself and several other designers. We knew we didn’t want to attack her directly (that’s Lucanis’ job) and we knew we wanted to strip away your companions at least initially. Once again, we decided to use the blight. If you think this fight is chaotic now, imagine it with blight boils that regrow! Like the previous section, we decided to ditch this idea as it detracted from the rest of the fight. Incidentally, you can beat this fight without killing a single enemy. My best time is somewhere just under 2 minutes. And that brings us to the end of Isle of the Gods. I hope you enjoyed the mission and I hope you enjoyed this look behind the curtain. And remember "Whatever it takes!""

[source thread]

[enbypotat53]

(SPOILERS FOR TNM6!)

Holy fucking shit. Two years of waiting was so worth it. I'm not even kidding I have been sobbing and shaking for the past half an hour.

I have way too many screenshots so I'll try to condense it but FIRST OFF LOOK AT THESE CUTIE PATOOTIES??? Oh my god realising that this was a year onward from the murders was like a knife to the chest; seeing Tophat and Sketchpad living together and ACTUALLY HAPPY FOR ONCE?? AUGHHH I LOVE THEM 💔

I'm not joking when I say I went back and screenshotted almost every scene GPS was in, but I'll include this one when talking about the memories because GPS hiding behind the couch is SO damn cute 💙

And. Oh. Oh my god. My fucking heart. They care SO much about Tophat and Folder, and the new song?? PEAK. Average TNM W. Seeing all of the adorable moments of these three together?? Heals the soul, but it's SO bittersweet knowing they'll never see eachother again. I'm ABSOLUTELY redrawing some of these, they're too cute not to :,3

Okay but THEY ARE SO IN LOVE?? THEY. AJDJFJFJFJ THEY ARE SO IN LOVE. I. WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS. HOW IN LOVE THEY ARE. GOD. PLEASE ALLEN JUST. LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE. P L E A S E.

"You just.. wouldn't get the full picture. It's the same with memories for me. Would it still be me.. even if I was missing a few bad ones?"

This is.. genuinely such a fantastic line. GPS has always been my favourite character, but.. damn. The idea that even bad memories hold value because they're still memories; still a part of you, and still might contain the people you love most? They're genuinely such a well-written character, and it's plain to see just how much they care for their friends. And they have a point! Memories shape you, good and bad. As much as the bad ones hurt, it can also help to learn from them in order to make more good ones in the future. And it seems Sketchpad and Tophat did just that.

God. Codey's betrayal was definitely forseeable, but it still hurts. The "I'm just following my programming" line gives me similar vibes to Speech Bubble and Spraypaint in a way; everyone has their part to play, even if (in Codey and Binary's case) it's a harmful one. I'm glad they did the right thing in the end, though. And Binary for SURE gives me Airy vibes, I both adore and despise them and to be honest that's EXACTLY what I could've hoped for in an antagonist. They're GREAT.

Wait a sec..

Binary..

OH I GET THE JOKE IT'S BECAUSE GPS IS NONBI-

Oh.

OH.

Hear that sound? That's the sound of me wailing in agony as my heart shatters into a million pieces.

"This is.. really it.. huh?" THEY SOUND SO SCARED?? God this entire episode I wanted to give them a huge hug and a slice of cake and to tell them that everything would be okay, my hEART. This entire scene broke me, the fear in their eyes and voice hurt so much to hear, my BABY HE'S BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH 💔

And just. This. Entire scene. I cannot tell you how fucking PERFECT of an ending this was. The fact that Tophat was the last thing GPS thought of before he died? The happiest moment they could think of was their high school prom dance, spending it with the person they love most? One final memory to end it all, and it was the most important one in their life. I've said this before but god. They're so in love. It's genuinely gutwrenching watching this scene; they're so happy yet this moment is so fleeting. Knowing how temporary it was and how everything ended makes it worse. Tophat moved on, maybe not fully but at least he's happier. GPS on the other hand? They're stuck reliving memories of people they can NEVER see again; people they hurt.

It's bittersweet as hell, and honestly kind of a perfect juxtaposition to the puzzle scene. Then, they relived bad memories, yet still seemed happy. Now, they're re-experiencing a moment that should fill them with joy, and yet...

Nothing lasts forever.

The ending song being a response to Imaginary Friend, too? Perfection. 💙

Thank you, Nightly Manor. Thank you, Allen. This series was fucking phenominal, and the wait was worth every second. My heart is in tatters but good lord I wouldn't have it any other way. Now it's time to redraw some scenes and try not to cry any harder than I already am! :,D 👍💙

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Constantine, blue, petrichor

@void-of-unparalled-chaos

WC: 537

It was a fucking cliché, that’s what it was: a dark and stormy night. No moon in the sky, lightning jumping between heavy set clouds, and the steady beat of rain.

Constantine shrugged deeper into his trench coat.

At least the rain was helping settled the dust from the building coming down.

He cupped his hand around his cigarette, desperately trying to light it despite the damp conditions. He’d need a smoke to get through this conversation.

Those things are going to kill you, the voice echoed through him. It wasn’t a mental voice spoken into his head, no, this was a voice that was all around Constantine. It vibrated through his very bones like he was inside it.

The voice laughed. Against his own determination to be in a bad mood, Constantine felt something inside of him unwind at the sound.

Inside of my voice, the being pondered, obviously having latched onto that thought. Maybe. If you take me to dinner I’ll let you properly be inside me tonight. And Mi Casita doesn’t count. I want somewhere I can actually sit down.

“Luv, you haven’t even got legs at the moment,” Constantine pointed out and gave up lighting his cigarette. He wouldn’t get it to light if the other didn’t want him to.

You know I can. You like my legs very, very much when I have them.

Well, they weren’t wrong there.

John stubbornly ignored that and gestured with his woefully unlit cig. “Done for the night then? Not any more ruin and destruction you need to rain down across the city?”

Rain drops caught in a light that didn’t exist, flashing like stars for a moment. Oh, you’re miffed at me.

“Miffed? Miffed? I’m fucking pissed, mate!” John said. He ignored the feeling of air pressing around him like a caress. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking into this lot?!”

The rain drops scattered in light again but this time the ‘stars’ stayed. Colors started to catch in the water like a fain rainbow or aurora. It was beautiful, but they they always were.

“Now they’re a fart in the wind and I’ve not a bloody chance of figuring out what they wanted!”

You. The force of the word had John shivering. The world wrapped tighter around him. The colors started to condense. They wanted you and they cannot have you. You are mine, John Constantine, Hellblazer, Laughing Magician. You belong to me.

John swallowed. “Possessive much?”

There was that laughter again. The echoes of the sound stopped existing absolutely everywhere and instead came mostly from the person-shaped mass of colors that was forming in front of John. You like it.

John harrumphed.

“You do,” the voice came from a mouth now, one John could barely see inside of the form of color and light and stars. They leaned in and pressed that newly existing mouth to John’s.

He closed his eyes.

The light still bled through his lids like a supernova.

“You knew what you were getting into with me.”

John sighed and opened his eyes to glare at partner. “Danny, mate, I assure you that no one ever knows what they’re getting into with you.”

Danny just laughed, the git.

[kuroposting]

Branching off this post a bit, specifically Sebastian as the big bad wolf, there was something I noticed from using google translate on chapter 107.

I cannot tell you if these are more accurate or not, I cannot read Japanese. I’m also fairly sure that there is no official translation of the special chapter following the murder arc, which is what I’m going to compare it to:

This part of Sebastian that seems genuinely impulsed to shield himself from these sorts of accusations and take pride (or at least find validation in?) the excuse that it’s all Ciel’s choice; Ciel knows his true nature, yet he still chooses to ally himself and depend on him anyway. I’ve never been able to decipher if it is Yana using Sebastian’s voice to tell the reader how we are supposed to understand their dynamic as a rule, or if it is truly Sebastian’s cope. She has said a couple of times that he is incapable of shame and he’s said that he’s incapable of emotions, and I don’t know, it could just be poor writing on her part- I never thought of him as having the same characterization as Ryuk from Death Note. He does not seem detached, and I don’t know why he has such a habit of being defensive or annoyed when he’s perceived as some sleaze with the qualities you’d expect from somebody who prides themselves on being, well, devilish.

It would be pretty boring if it turned out to just be Yana’s cope instead of Sebastian’s. For a manga that harps on Facing Truth vs Willful Ignorance to allow its most smug, nihilistic character to never be challenged with self reflection and still win in the end. I think Ciel has to constantly contend with it- more than even the readers have, since I still see the most popular takeaway from the Green Witch Arc to be “Sebastian doesn’t care, he only wants Ciel’s soul.” all these years later. I still have a post about that in my drafts that I’m struggling to condense. Basically, with themes like these, it’s all too reassuring to have a premise spelled out to you which 1. Gives you permission to victim-blame Ciel for the sake of having this premise and 2. Tells you point blank not to think twice about any of it’s characterizations, just take them at face value.

Rereading Chapter 35 on black-butler.net, there was a subtitle that I hadn’t seen before

I would appreciate it if anybody had more information on that, like if it was in the japanese version when it was originally published in square’s magazine, or something.

…

I think the true development is that Ciel continues to make strides in accepting himself and Sebastian for what they are, but that never has to dictate WHO they can become- what choices they can still make. Much like all of his servants and allies. No matter how far gone and irredeemable Ciel believes himself to be, he is still giving orders like this:

He is not descending into the depths of depravity, his humanity has resilience. It continues to expand, beyond his capabilities of even the earliest chapters. So much that it even extends to Sebastian.

Which I don’t expect to be something that Sebastian has no appreciation of. Going back to where I started, with chapter 107, some humility and compassion was all Sebastian was asking for.

[crystaleclipse10]

A look into the Ninja's powers

Welcome to my analysis of the powers of each of the 6 main Ninja. How each power feels and its source for each Elemental Master, and how it reflects in their personalities. This has headcanons and canon explanation. Hopefully it all makes sense

Cole: Cole’s power comes from deep within the ground. He can feel the power of the earth in his guts, strong and steady. It’s grounding. It’s constant. The earth is always somewhere below him. No matter where he is, somewhere there’s earth—whether it’s deep within a mountain, everywhere; or leagues under the sea; or so far beneath the sky it is practically invisible—it will never not be there. It’s reliable. Yet it takes different forms: dirt, rocks, magma, sand; it’s all part of the ground, versatile. It’s protective; it encases and preserves ancient ruins and fossils, it gives shelter to those seeking refuge. It connects all living things—it reaches every part of the world. It cannot be forced to move, but it can be guided. It is the foundation of everything.

“You've never been farther underground. Never been more surrounded by the very thing that powers you. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying you, but what if he was actually bringing you closer to the earth? To the source of your elemental power?” “So what do I do? Try to connect with the earth?” “Perhaps. Or perhaps you just have to stop worrying so much and let the earth connect with you.”

Zane: Zane can sense his ice powers in his mind. It can exist in the coldest of climates, and when it melts, turns into something just as powerful; it is not wasted. It carves its way through anything—glaciers. The rivers of ice creep forward slowly but surely, taking everything in its path. It’s steady and cold, but its bite can be unrelenting. Frostbite, hypothermia—just as cold as ice is. And icicles, especially when shot as a projectile, are like daggers; sharp and dangerous. But it can numb pain. It tames something burning hot into something pleasantly warm. It is hard and strong, but it can crack—and if that happens, it can be made whole again with a little time. It is reliable and quiet. It can create a protective barrier. It’s there when it needs to be.

“This isn’t about numbers…it’s about family.” “He’s protecting us.” “I am a Nindroid, and Ninja never quit. Go Ninja, go!”

Jay: Lightning. He can feel it buzzing on his skin and nerves, able to be condensed and controlled. Pure energy, electricity. It’s volatile and dangerous. But it can be essential to life. It’s everywhere—thunderstorms, static, neurons firing in the brain. If it wasn’t for electricity, the brain would cease to function and life couldn’t exist. It’s quick—blink and it’s gone, just a thread of light that comes and goes. But its impact is remembered. A thunderous boom, a scar of soot, sometimes even a blaze set in its wake. Its glow is practically too bright to look at; a source of light for even the darkest of caves. Just one spark can start a fire or illuminate a building. It’s a source of power—for vehicles, technology, buildings. Even though it is not always visible, lightning and electricity are all around, ready to be called upon.

“Control the power inside you. When you feel a surge welling up, harness it.”

Kai: Kai’s power over fire comes from the breath—air is fuel for fire, and controlled breathing can control the blaze. It is not a matter of force—though hot anger can stoke fire—but harnessing the buzzing potential in the air. Fire can be destructive; a wildfire is chaotic, unyielding, and intense, burning everything in its path. But it can be life-giving, too. It’s cozy. It provides warmth on the coldest of nights. It can cook food, boil water, ward off frost. It is the essence of the sun—the largest blaze that allows life to exist. It burns with passion and ferocity, but if it loses strength, there will always be an ember remaining. Almost nothing can beat back a big, hot fire. It can be a weapon or a defense; it hurts to touch, and no one without immunity would dare go near. Without fire, life could not be sustained.

“I just wish I still had my powers. I was Master of Fire. I could've made a new fire like—like...like this.” “Oh, do not worry, Kai. Elemental Power comes from within, like courage. Sometimes it wanes, sometimes it waxes, but it cannot be stolen.”

Nya: The power of water flows through her veins. Water is ever-changing and powerful. Even the strongest rocks erode under the power of water. It’s relentless. It can defeat ghosts because it is always changing and shifting, while ghosts are stuck trying to be one thing and refuse to change. It cleanses and heals. The first thing to do for something dirty is to wash it with water. And it’s part of blood, something vital for people to live. It’s restless. The ocean never stays still; it does not like to be contained. The tides are as constant as they are powerful. The entire ocean moves with the tides; the constant in and out of so much water shapes the coasts. Rivers bend and flow around obstacles; no matter what is in the way, it will eventually reach the ocean—the largest body of water filled with plants and animals. Water supports life and creates ecosystems. It’s the heart of the wild.

“Jay, the ocean's good for much more than food. As we go deeper, I can feel its elemental power growing. It's almost overwhelming.”

Lloyd: Perhaps the most vague but also the most powerful element is Lloyd’s. Is it Power? Creation? Energy? Life? Lloyd is connected to the Source Dragon of Life, not Energy. Whatever the case, it comes from his heart. If it is Life, that is where it is strongest—the beating of a heart shows life in a living being; it is impossible to live without a heart. It’s everywhere—inside Lloyd, in his comrades, his students, his masters, nature around him. His love for the world is his true self and makes his heart powerful. His goodness gives him strength. His drive to save the world fuels his passion. Life is inside of him, but it can also be taken away. It can heal, but also hurt. When it is taken away, overused, or corrupted, it leaves him weakened and sick. But it can save his life in a fight—and it has. It is a combination of the core elements of Creation: Lightning, Ice, Fire, and Earth—LIFE (thank you @secretlyharumi for helping me realize this!). They can be utilized individually, but also combined into something potent and beautiful. Without life, nothing would exist. It is the thread of the universe, stitching together things similar and different; big and small.

“I’m already the Golden Ninja. How much more power do I need?” “You’ve only scratched the surface! You have the potential to move mountains. Power of the First Spinjitzu Master!”

I like the idea the Ninja's personalities and powers are mixed

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[luonnon-varainen]

I had it in mind for a while already so I here are my thoughts and headcanon about Collie or rather the „bodily functions” of the eldritch god, here the "species" is archivist

There are some extra notes on doodles but oh boi the amount of typos there is unbearable x"d

Starting from the beginning and basic - the core:

The core is a semi-conscious substance of unknown molecular structure, if with any molecular structure, functioning as magic carrier/vector(similar to the ATP). It's a mystery whether it is really an elemental structure, a condensed energy or a form of electromagnetic waves beyond our current knowledge. In general it is said that core is pure celestial magic. It has many physical qualities of a fluid. The closest liquid to the core would be a Non-Newtonian fluid. It is a blackish, very sticky, dense liquid similar to pitch, which is highly sensitive and "reactive" to a electromagnetic field like ferrofluid. The core, most likely due to its structure and origin, is very unstable. Visible light exposure is enough to cause a spontaneous rapid reaction which ends with an explosion. Making existence on its own very unlikely. In case when the core happens to be sealed inside the archive - the semi-conscious body made of mostly gold, iridium, wolfram and glass, which contains all collected life forms - it creates what is known as an god, in this case an Archivist. This amalgamation allows to not only creat a stable form of both elements, but also develop an fully conscious eldritch, who is able to exist actively. Archivists possess almost full control over their core: shaping it, moving around, grabbing different objects with it, shielding themselves

The core is a more "human" side of an archivist. The element capable of adapting, blending, learning mortal structures both anatomical and social and rebuilding it to their own standards, experiencing emotions and many more. It plays the main role in defining what kind of person the archivist will be. Yet, the core is not equal to Archivists. It possess it's own "personality" and "opinions", similarly to the archive. Sometimes the core and the archivist are quite different and are working not very well with eachother. Situations like these are called "speaking" - a small part of core presents, usually visually, it opposing opinions against whole god's will. It's not harmful, just annoying and uncomfortable

The core is like a liquid - almost incompressible. It's quite an issue when you are a planet size entity who needs to shrink whole your body to be able to fill the archive and keep on existing, but also need to protect "guts" from exploding during day. The long, baggy robes come to aid in this case. Dresses, veils, hats, too puffed trousers and sleeves allows to hide quite a lot of the liquid from external conditions, by creating the precious shade, controlling the temperature amplitude and keeping it away from other liquids. Extra protection are given by their characteristic cloaks, which inner lining is a portal to the Grand Archive. The Grand Archive is a pocket dimensions away from intense light, where the core can be a bit safer and longer outside the capillary archive than usually. Also in order to work in an unwelcoming environment such as a planet, archivists developed a pulsating movement of the core. As the whole core cannot be at the same time in the archive, to prevent the destabilisation and consequently explosion, it is constantly flows through the body and around their closest surrounding. It's quite similar to the cytoplasmic movement around vacuoles in a plant cell or blood flow in Mollusca' s vascular system. The free flow of the core is the key reason why archivists avoid intense light and making them rather a "nocturnal" creatures

The core is inside the archive, where it's well secured and stabilised. However, there are many passages for the core to leave its shelter. These channels have no protection besides a thin membrane. They have a crucial role in an archivist's life as they are the doors to the inside of a god. All collected mortals eventually will end up inside the archive, but that requires a special spell that will reduce the mortal to smallest functional elements. Even smaller than the scrolls provide. That is possible thanks to these exact entrances. The mortal, whether in a scroll or not, will be pushed through one of those channels, encapsidated by the core, " dissolved" and placed inside one of bazillion capsules of the archive. It's unknown if the final archivisation is an painless process, but the truth is that it doesn't matter at this point - whoever was placed inside will stay there forever. The main passage are eye sockets-

The eldritch gods and deep sea creatures are extremely similar in terms of their adaptation to the environment, conserving energy idea and their life motto "eat or be eaten". So no wonder that archivists put a lot of effort to become the most efficient and effective as they could. The core shaped the archive to resemble intelligent life forms displaying a beautiful example of aggressive mimicry. As mortals are the most troublesome in terms of catching them without excessive energy loss. Looking like a young and lost in the forest nymph can really boosts chances of putting hand on curious mortals. After all who wouldn't try to figure out who the hell is this and why it's in my forest at 11 pm(at least I would, but I'm the natural selection's target for a while so I'm not the best example xd). Why go and chase when you can make them come to you. There are way more of the adaptations but it's more the archive than the core topic and I'm not writing it down today

A skilled archivist can use the surrounding matter, even quite reactive one like water, to temporarily shield the core or divide it and archive in order to create the "puppet - puppetmaster" form. A terrible thing to encounter on a long voyage or while wandering on the desert, especially if your specie decides to resist god's will-

[saturnianoracle]

A breakdown of the meaning behind Elements in Astrology

THIS IS PART ONE OF MY SERIES OF HOW THE ELEMENTS, TEMPRAMENTS, PLANETS AND SIGNS ALL CONNECT. This first post will tackle the elements and temprament.

We all know that: Fire sign = Aries, Leo, Sag Air sign = Libra, Aquarius, Gemini Water sign = Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces Earth sign = Capricorn, Taurus, Virgo Further, that: Fire + Air = masucline/yang elements Water + Earth = feminine/yin elements

The relationship and meaning behind what it means to be of said element or such goes a lot deeper, however. To understand this we need to look at the primary qualities of these elements and tempraments (sanguine, choleric, melancholic, phlegmatic).

So, I want to essentially regurgitate my notes on the link between elements, tempraments, planets, and signs. You cannot understand one without understanding the others. Grasping these fundamentals will help in delienating charts better as you'll know more about how the signs and planets function. This requires unlearning a lot of modern/pop astro rhetoric though, as some things may not initially make sense or are 'unrelatable' (an unreliable, poor metric of accuracy in the first place) . This does not make traditional information false - just that a different frame of perspective is needed to understand and synthesise the information for charts. Pretend you know nothing about astrology and start from the very bottom up - its foundations - and keep an open mind; this is merely a stepping stone guide into broader delineation practices.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

All the information below comes from Avelar & Ribeiro's 'On the Heavenly Spehres' which I have split into: I. The Primary Qualities, II. The Elements, and III. Tempraments (and how to calculate it). Parts written in "((...))" are my own thoughts, and part of the Tempraments section is from Greenbaum's 'Temperament: Astrology's Forgotten Key' instead. Buckle in because this will be long af teehee. (I directly quote from these books but have formatted the information in note form to be more accessible and also made it way more succint.):

I. The primary qualities

✦ The 4 elements (building blocks) of the universe are composed of four fundamental principles, or primary qualities. These are: hot, cold, dry, and moist. These qualities represent energy, density, resistance, and malleability. ✦ It is their combinations which define the four elements and the nature of planets and signs.

✎ It all starts with Hot and Cold:

Hot: symbolises energy; what is active, radiant, centrifugal, luminous, light, and subtle. It is a masucline quality, meaning expansive and dynamic. The masucline principle represents activity, dynamism, exteriorisation and expansion. Cold: symbolises what is static; absorbent, centripetal, dark, heavy, and dense. It is a feminine quality, meaning contracting and static. The feminine principle corresponds with receptivity, contexmplation, internalisation, and contraction.

✎ The universe is shaped by opposing forces—light and dark, expansion and contraction, movement and stillness. This interaction between hot and cold generates two more poles: moist and dry.

Moist: symbolises fluid interaction. It is generated from the quality of cold, since an increase in coldness results in humidity (e.g. cold nights -> condensation). Represents: adaptability, malleability, plasticity, smoothness, and therefore things that are easily molded, slippery, and soft. It has no form in itself, but represents cohesion. Dry: symbolises tense interaction. It is generated from the quality of hot, since an increase in heat results in dryness (e.g. leaving things out to try in the sun). Represents: resistance, hardness, rigidity, and therefore things that are abrasive, breakable, and cold. It is the maintenance of form: containing, giving structure, and crystallising. Because M + D are generated from active qualities, they are cllaed passive qualities. They are connected to the concept of form (e.g. clay is malleable when moistened, but hardens when dried in an oven).

II. The Elements

╰┈➤ Each element is composed of two primary qualities: an active + a passive.

Fire = hot + dry. It is expansive, radiant action (hot) that imposes itself naturally without molding itself to the external environment (dry). Air = hot + moist. Dynamic (hot) but adaptable (moist). It is characterised by dispersive activity, adaptability, and changeability. ೃ⁀➷ They both share a hot quality and are therefore both masculine, dynamic, and extroverted ((energetically external, does not mean YOU are extroverted though)). They have a strong a strong centrifugal impulse (exteriorising). Earth = cold + dry. It is contracted , inert (cold), hard, and non-moulding (dry). Water = cold + moist. It is receptive and dense (cold), but extremely malleable (moist). ೃ⁀➷ They are both cold and are therefore feminine, reflexive, and introverted (energetically internal). They have a receptive and centripetal motion.

╰┈➤ The elements can also be grouped according to their passive/secondary qualities (as dryness and moistness come from hotness and coldness).

Fire and Earth both share a dry quality, giving them a tense, resistance, and non-molding expression. ೃ⁀➷ Fire resists by imposing its radiance; consuming and burning what it touches, but also illuminating, energising, and transmitting its heat to everything. Earth resists through its presistence, its premanence. It is immovable, creating obstacles but also providing structure, cohesion, and stability. Air and Water both share a moist quality. They are malleable, changeable, and adaptable. ೃ⁀➷ Air expresses this malleablity in an active manner, expanding freely in any direction. Water expresses itself in a more retracted manner; it molds, absorbs, infiltreates, and dissolves structures.

╰┈➤ Extra tidbit: The four elements are arranged in sublunar spheres ((this concept comes from Aristotle and Ptolemy, which divided the cosmos into the ever-changing realm below the moon aka our planet earth, contrasting with the perfect unchanging celestial realm above)) by density.

Earth: the densest, forms the central sphere. Due to its gravity (weight), it represents all that tends toward static permanence (e.g. a rock). It maintains fixed and structured forms, crystallises and turns substances hard, giving them permanence, durabiltiy, and stability. Continents. Water: less dense than earth. Although dense (cold), its moistness gives it plasticity and adaptability. It makes dense materials pliable and prevents obejcts from becoming dry/brittle with its adhesive propeties. Represents all bodies of water. Air: lightness + penetrability, great mobility and plasticity. Like water, it has a unifying role, though more subtle, and is associatived with transporation, (such as of smells and sounds as done through the air). Fire: the most subtle element as it is the outermost sphere. Its presence is detected through its qualities of luminosity, heat and 'electricity'. Drives energy exchange, creation, and vitality.

╰┈➤ Everything contains all four elements in varying proportions. Each planet and sign is linked to a specific element; planetary movement/celestial configurations are interpreted from the perspective of the movement and thus the combination of elements. Elements bridge terrestial events and celestial reality.

╰┈➤ ((Primary qualities therefore help us understand the THEMES of an element. There are a lot of buzzwords when trying to describe planets/signs (will be in my part 2 post), but it is important to remember their composition to better interpet them.))

III. Tempraments

Fire: choleric Air: sanguine Earth: melancholic Water: phlegmatic

✎Ancients defined tempraments as the complexion of an indvidual: their physical and behavioural traits, as well as psychological and metabolic predisposiitons. ((planets + signs also have tempraments which I will go into in part 2, this part is talking about overall temprament of the nativity, however.))

✎Each person will have a predominant temprament, but the remaining 3 are also present in their constitution, in smaller varying proportions.

(( N.B. Greenbaum (in her book , Temperament: Astrology's Forgotten Key) agreeably describes temprament as a person's inherent nature/disposition. This is NOT personality. It highlights the core characteristics that condition a person's behaviours, motivations, and personal dynamics - their character as a broader concept. Greenbaum also suggests (as do many other hellenistic authors) that the personality of a person is a mix of their ascendant, planets in the 1st house, lord of the ascendant, moon, and mercury. There is an issue of people thinking all the planets/signs are them and their personality, and falling into a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of, subconsciously or not, acting like what they think their chart means vs what it actually does...especially under the misunderstanding of what the planets and signs mean - a double homicide issue if you ask me. I'll write another post on how sun sign and etc are not 'you' yourself. Astrology is not so wholly centred on or concerned about a psych evaluation lol. Temprament, however, is the first step in understanding the blueprint of the person. Greenbaum argues that things like planets or aspects to the ascendant in affecting 'personality' are accidental to the individual rather than essential. She explains this in deeper detail in her book. IMO, temprament therefore just provides a rough basic idea; the clean slate/blueprint, it will not give you the complete picture of one's personality. The things that define that are factors beyond what is just essential to our makeup. For example, I bake a lemon drizzle cake. It is essentially a lemon drizzle cake because of its composition. Realistically, though it has many more particular quirks and features which makes it different to other lemon drizzle cakes and adds more nuance)).

✎ Calculating temprament (YOU NEED AN EXACT BIRTH TIME FOR THIS):

- There are several methods, e.g. the one given in this book or the one in Greenbaum's book mentioned above (can find both online as a free pdf). I prefer Greenbaum's method (I think it is more accurate, and her book in general on Tempraments holds a lot of authority and solid reasoning) so I will be using that. Either way, just remember not to include the outer planets, and especially not as rulers (I'll write a separate piece on the benefits of using traditional rulers and why I ditched modern rulerships another time) Greenbaum's method: ((BTW you might need to know whether your mercury and venus are oriental or occidental for this, i.e. whether they are rising before/behind the sun (OR) or after/in front of the sun (OC). This can be confusing to do sometimes so the easiest way is to imagine your sun as the asc point and simply see what planets are above it and the dsc axis (those are OR), and below it (OC). Heres a guide i made:

✎These charts are of the same birthday but born at diff times (night v day) to demonstrate how to find oriental and occidental planets. The easiest method however is to just imagine your sun is in the 1st house/asc instead:

✎ Say the original chart is the night chart, it is clearly a lot easier to pretend/shift the sun into the ascendant position to easily see planets above (oriental) and below it (occidental). Remember to mark the opposition from the sun's position precisely degree wise. Otherwise, for example, you could mistake jupiter in the chart above as being oriental instead of occidental. ))

STEPS (cheat sheet pic further down): 1. The rising sign by element (2 points for the temprament it falls under. E.g. leo rising = fire sign = choleric gets 2 points) 2. Moon sign by element (2 points. E.g. Taurus moon = earth = melancholic) 3. The season you were born in (2 points. Sanguine is spring, Choleric is summer, Melancholic is autumn, Phlegmatic is winter.) 4. 1L/Ruler of the ascendant by intrinsic quality, aka planet (1 point. E.g. leo asc = ruled by sun = 1 point for choleric ) ✎ IMPORTANT: If the planet is mercury or venus: they are BOTH SANGUINE WHEN ORIENTAL in your chart, when OCCIDENTAL - Venus is PHLEGMATIC and Mercury is MELANCHOLIC. 5. Ascendant almuten by intrinsic quality (1 point. This is the planet with the most essential dignity at any degree of the zodiac.). (( USE A DIGNITY TABLE: ✎E.g. Aries rising 28 degrees. Take the sign of Aries and calculate its possible dignities, aka hypothetical, aka not where the planets are in your chart (domicile is 5 points, exaltation 4, term 2, triplciity 2, face 1) . THEREFORE from the dignity table we can see that : Aries' Domicile is mars = 5 points, Exaltation sun = 4, Term saturn (28 degrees) = 2, Triplicity is the sun in a day chart = 2, Face venus (28 degrees) = 1. The almuten of the asc is the Sun because 4 + 2 = 7 points for the sun = choleric. )) ✎ IMPORTANT: If your asc almuten is mercury or venus: they are BOTH SANGUINE when ORIENTAL, when OCCIDENTAL - venus is PHLEGMATIC and mercury is MELANCHOLIC.

6. Ruler of the moon by sign ( 1 point. i.e. its dispostier. E.g. moon in taurus, taurus ruler is venus in aries = choleric 1 point) 7. Moon phase (1 point. see table below). Greenbaum provides a cheat sheet here and an example of scoring:

╰┈➤ THE TEMPRAMENTS (back to OtHS):

✎ Choleric:

- Hot + dry (fire). Enthusiastic, energetic, rapid actions. - Produces resolute, courageous, and ambitious people, ready for action, enterprising, enthusiastic. Does not give up easily. Leadership + strong will. - Can change their mind frequently, start several projects in life. But enthusiasm is not necessarily lost. The focus is action and conquest, details cannot deter them. -Can be precipitated and inconstant. Impatient and not academically/investigation inclined. - Not overly emotional, 'dryness' may cause rigidity and insensitivity. Impatience may cause a lack of grace which may be rude or hostile. - Reacts intensely to threats/external challenges. In extreme cases, their insensitivity and easily expressed rage can result in cruelty. - If the choleric's secondary temprament is melancholic, they may be more moderated in actions. This combo is predominantly dry, indicating a tendency to retain ire, and a tendency for mistrust or bad temper. Has greater emotionaly constancy, curiosity, and capacity for study as the melancholic coldness moderates the choleric's heat. - If it is phlegmatic, this cools the constant activity and impulsive reactions as it involves a mixture of complimentary primary qualities (hot and dry , but also cold and humid). Has greater range of emotional reactions, generating contradictory attitudes. - If it is sanguine, they will be lighter and more sociable, attenuating their cholericness. More sensible and adaptable (humidity moderates the harsh dryness), but as they both have hotness, there is agitation and inconstancy. Physically: cholerics are slim, muscular, hairy. Average frame or short. Coarse skin, hot, and shiny, of a yellow/reddish tone. These traits may be modified by other tempraments. In physiognomic terms (humors and stuff) associated with yellow bile which is centred in the gall bladder. Used to process the remaining humors; confers movement and actions and heats the body.

✎ Sanguine:

- Hot + moist (air). - Similarly to choleric they are dynamic and active. Moistness makes them more versatile and adaptable. Vivacious, spontaneous, enthusiastic, and very communicative + sociable. - Have many interests. When properly tempered, they are curious, studious, and inquiring. - Emotionally very sensitive . Does not harbour anger easily, naturally happy and friendly. -Exteme fluidity can lead to dispersion, lack of concentration, lack of perseverance. Negative aspects include lack of organisation and dicipline, unsettled, and restless. Immense sociability may also cause superficiality and futility. - Melancholic as the secondary temprament: their dynnamic and changeable nature is more structured and consistent. Their vivacity and joy becomes more contained and the person is more serious or conservative. Balanced combination due to contrasting primary qualities (hot and moist v cold and dry), well suited to study and investigation. - If phlegmatic: dissolution of sanguinity. Its coldness makes the person less exuberant/happy, more self-oriented yet still changeable and adaptable due to their shared moistness. - If choleric: intense and bellicose with loss of natural flexibility (due to predominance of hotness). Yet, the dryness confers greater determination and perseverance to the sanguine's actions. - Physically meaty and full but not fat. Robust frame, medium height to tall. Smooth skin, hot and moist to the touch with white or rosy hue. Associated with blood. This humor eliminates and transports substances in the body.

✎ Melancholic

- Cold + dry (earth). - Reflective and focussed. Reserved and moderated, tendency to be underestimated and seen as uninterested in things. - Focuses on objective reality as it provides a sense of firmness and security. Deals better with facts than ideas, resourceful, a good investigator, has a lot of patience and perseverance. - Not very outwardly emotional, rigid in sensibilities (like choleric). Its coldness, however, makes them especially susceptible toward pessimism and depression. Their dryness results in difficulty crying, can retain anger for a long time to the point of resentment. - Rigidity can make them obstinate, distrustful, anti-social, loneliness. Critical and a perfectionist. Extreme cases = intolerant and cold hearted. - Sanguine as the secondary temprament: more sociable, bold, joyful, less pessimistic and defensive. Measured combo. - If choleric: greater vitality, sociability, determination. But predominance of dryness confers a solitary and individualistic attitude. - If phlegmatic: the predominance of coldness reinforces reservedness and withdrawal. Similar behaviour to a pure melancholic type , but more flexible and adaptable. -Physcially: medium frame and slim. Coarse skin, cold to touch, yellowish or dull colour, spare hair that tends to be dark. Associated with black bile. Function is retaining substances in the body, bestowing consistency to muscle tissues and liquids, solidifying the bones, strenghtening memory and sobriety. Containing organ is the spleen.

✎ Phlegmatic

- Cold + moist (water). - Sensitive, reserved, powerful emotional drive, making decisions help maintain security and emotional wellbeing, introverted. Moistness confers plasticity and adaptability. - By favouring emotional reasoning, they can be subjectvie and inconstant to the point of incongruence. Interested in what they feel and in what promotes seucirty, love new people and new situations, can easily adopt a passive and slightly lazy attitude. Timid and serene. -Very emotional but seldom openly expressed. Senstive and sympathetic, avoids commitments and not v expressive. Tends to assume conciliatory roles and is excessively patient. When emotionally disturbed , they can become reclusive and apathetic. Excessive malleability can cause extreme laziness and indolence. - Has difficulty disaplying courage and determination. Extreme case = their emotional self-centredness lads to greed, cowardice, deceit, and emotional manipulation. - Choleric as their secondary temprament: greater agility and daringness. More tempered due to opposing qualities. - If Sanguine: adds hotness which gives greater joy and vitality, minimises their staticness. Predominance of moisntess reinforces flexibility and elasticity. - If melancholic: emphasis on coldness, enhancing introversion. Yet, addition of dryness confers greater solidity and perserverance. - Physically: medium to short frame, meaty body that can easily put on weight. Soft, cold to touch skin that is generally pallid or white and with little hair. Associated with phlegm humor, responsible for maintenance of the body's temprature and its lubrication (aka mucus and lymph).

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I hope this was a solid, comprehensive summary (thanks to the information from the books mentioned, ofc there are lots of other great traditional astrology books covering these topics but I haven't gotten around to digging into all of those yet so am going off of these for now) of elements and tempraments and that you can begin to see how these are vital and crucial to understanding the planets and the signs - stay tuned for part 2 byeeeee B)

[blorger]

Hi! What are your thoughts on the Weasleys as a family and each of them?

Hello friend, I have many Thoughts on the Weasleys, so many that I'm going to have to condense things a bit for the purpose of this ask. To make a long story short, I am glad that they are there for Harry as a found family of sort but, at the end of the day, I like the idea of the Weasley family more than the execution.

If you look at what the Weasleys actually do for Harry when he's still a vulnerable minor you realise that they (in this case the adults) are not actually very helpful to him. Like, when your 12 year old son shows you up in terms of caring about Harry's abuse I think it's time to look inward (I'm looking at you Arthur).

Also, as a someone who was raised in a dysfunctional environment, I can't help but raise my eyebrows whenever the Weasleys are presented as the Ideal Family. If those children were real they'd be a therapist's wet dream, just saying.

As for them individually:

Molly: I loathe Molly, she's one of my least favourite characters in all of the books. I hate how she's depicted as the Ideal Mom when in reality she's pretty shit: she blatantly plays favourites among her children; she openly favours Harry in a way that, if I was Ron, I'd resent tremendously; she's a boymom of the highest degree and her treatment of Fleur is straight up vile. On a meta level, I hate that she only seems to exist as a Mother (and, to a lesser extent, as a Wife): The only interest of hers that cannot, in some shape or form, be tied back to her family is her love of Celestina Warbeck (and that is something we are supposed to laugh at her for). 0/10

Arthur: I'm not a fan of him either. Seeing that the Weasley family is constructed like some sort of 50ies white picket fence nightmare, Arthur is by design uninvolved in his children's lives and that is super gross to me. As I mentioned before, I hate that he witnesses firsthand how Harry is treated at the Dursleys and does nothing. Speaking of Dursleys, I very much dislike the patronising way he seems to enjoy muggle culture (and muggles in general); to me, it reads very Noble Savage-y. My favourite thing about Arthur is the 10ft tall hate-boner he has for Lucius Malfoy but other than that I'm not exactly a fan. 3/10

Bill: little to no opinion, canon bill is there to be occasionally helpful (and for Harry to glowingly review). He's obviously the golden child of the family but, considering he fucked off to Egypt as soon as he was able to, he does not seem to relish in the role. 6/10

Charlie: He is honestly barely a character in canon, so I have no opinion of him. He is another example of a Weasley kid fucking off asap after Hogwarts so there's that, also I like fanon gay Charlie . 6/10

Percy: A parentified middle child who struggles to receive attention from his parents and ends up drifting away from the family? Percy is the most realistic out of all the Weasley children (in that I could conceivably see a child like him come out of a family with those dynamics) and the books hate him for it. Personally, I enjoy him and I enjoy reading stories that examine his thoughts and motivations because the narrative doesn't give two shits about him. 8/10

Fred & George: When I was reading the books as a child they were my favourite characters. Looking at them with adult eyes, I'm now incredibly turned off by their mean-spiritedness. 4/10 (they do treat Harry rather well though so kudos to them for that)

Ron: Ron is honestly one of the best-written characters in the books. As readers we see his many faults and mistakes but we also see him trying to improve and we see how genuinely he cares about Harry&Hermione. I like how, even as Ron improves thoughout the books, his core character traits remain the same. I like Ron, not only because he's a good friend, but because he's imperfect. 10/10

Ginny: Ok concept, terrible execution. Ginny is barely a person, her personality gets changed to suit the narrative and her character basically only exists in function to Harry's. Even at her best, when we're supposed to go gaga over her, she's still deeply disappointing. 1/10

xoxo