#fate = perception of experience over time

[deosilplanarglitches]

I am eternal.

I am a thousand years old.

I was born yesterday.

I am five.

I am twelve.

I am thirty three.

I am eighty six.

I am a hundred and eight.

I am eighty six.

I am thirty three.

I am twelve.

I am five.

I was born yesterday.

I am a thousand years old.

I am eternal.

[hellokittyyyysblog]

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 1

Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: You work as an intern at a prestigious law firm, dedicating countless afterhours to your tasks. One seemingly ordinary late night, you encounter a mysterious individual who reveals a discovery that shatters your perception of reality and everything you once believed in. This fateful meeting sets off a chain of events that will forever alter the course of your life.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

It was dark outside, though you only knew by chance. You had caught a fleeting glimpse of the night through a window as you passed by a coworker's office—a brief reminder of the world beyond the law firm's walls.

Working after hours had become routine. Since starting as an intern, you'd quickly realized that your official duties were merely the tip of the iceberg; unseen responsibilities piled up off the record. The firm demanded your efforts but refused to pay for them, yet clocking out on time was a surefire way to lose your job— you'd witnessed it happen to many diligent workers.

The company expected unwavering devotion; free time was a luxury reserved for those at the top. If you wanted to keep your position, you had to play their game, allowing your superiors to exploit your fear of unemployment. They dangled potential futures before you and the other underpaid interns, but in the months you had been there, no one had been promoted who wasn't already wealthy and privileged. Still, you were determined to become that someone, enduring the unethical treatment and the all-consuming nature of your work. You believed that someday it would all be worth it; the challenge lay in enduring the suffering long enough to reach that point.

After all, it was your goal to do what made you most proud in life and felt natural: defending people. You were a natural at it, always standing up for classmates when they were unfairly called out by teachers for some unknown reason or when someone picked on your friends.

You were the one your friends turned to when they were in trouble, the one who could see through the noise to the heart of the matter. — It felt like a calling, an inner drive to protect and advocate for those who couldn't do it for themselves. You had envisioned the courtroom as your ultimate arena, where your skills and passion would converge to champion justice.

Little did you know, your world was about to take a drastic turn.

Lost in your thoughts and consumed by exhaustion, you found yourself staring out the window— the dark cityscape a blurred mosaic of lights.

Suddenly, the sharp click of heels behind you snapped you back to reality. The sound echoed through the empty halls, reminding you of where you were. You turned around to see Ava, your coworker; her short black hair moved with a graceful sway, catching the faint light from the hallway lamps. Her features, distinctly European with delicate French contours, gave her an air of sophistication.

She was more than just a coworker; Ava was your closest friend in the firm. Both of you had come to the States for college—she from France, you from Italy—making a bond over shared experiences of adapting and striving in a demanding professional world.

"What are you doing here so late?" she asked—her voice filled with genuine concern.

"I could ask you the same" you replied, managing a tired smile.

Ava blushed slightly and glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby. "I had a... meeting. Or more like a hookup, actually— with Louis. You know, one of the senior partners? We've been seeing each other secretly."

You raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Louis, huh? I knew it. You can't hide anything from me. How's that going?"

She grinned, a playful glint in her eye. "It's complicated, but he's been really good to me. Just trying to keep it under wraps, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Just be careful; this place is a minefield."

Ava nodded, her expression turning serious. "I know. But enough about me. What about you? Why are you still here?"

"I was just going through some old case files and doing some research" you explained. "I was actually about to head to Davis's office to update him on a case we've been working on."

“He really pushes you to work too hard, and no, don’t defend him anymore” she remarked with a sympathetic expression. “AND we haven't hung out in SO long….how about cocktails on Friday?"

You smiled "That sounds perfect. I definitely need a break."

"Great! It's a date then" Ava said with a wink. "Well, I'll let you get to Davis's office. Don't stay too late."

"Thanks, Ava. See you tomorrow"

You both exchanged goodbyes, and you watched as she walked down the corridor—the sound of her heels fading into the distance as you made your way to Davis office. The cold air was making you shiver and the thin fabric of your black slacks and white blouse were not keeping you warm enough. Each step of your high heels echoed softly in the quiet hallway, the usual bustling energy of the office now replaced by a serene emptiness.

Reaching Davis's door, you knocked firmly—the sound punctuating the silence. After a moment, the door cracked open, revealing his assistant, Emily, peering out with a polite smile.

"Hello" she greeted warmly. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to speak to Davis" you replied—trying to hide your discomfort from the chill— "I have an update on the case we've been working on."

"Ah, he was actually looking for you. He's in Bowman's office" Emily informed you.

"Thank you, Emily" you replied gratefully, offering a brief smile before saying your goodbyes.

Great. You thought, while making your way to bowman’s office.

Interacting with one of the two CEOs after such an exhausting day wasn't something you relished. Bowman was notorious for his tough demeanor and demanding expectations, and you couldn't shake the apprehension as you headed towards his office— and you weren't exactly looking forward to interrupt his meeting either.

You knocked on the door of his office, expecting to be called in, but you were met with more silence. Emily had said, Bowman's office, you knew she had. — Yet you couldn't even hear someone approaching the door to let you into the room. So you stood there like a deer in headlights.— If your presence was needed, surely you'd be expected to arrive at some point.

You were torn between knocking again and seeming impatient or standing in the hall like a clueless know-nothing. Both impressions were unflattering.

However, you'd rather look too eager, than not eager enough. So you knocked again. This time, you heard murmuring inside. You weren't sure if someone was being instructed to open the door, or if you were being instructed to enter. After another moment of waiting with your mouth hanging open, you took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

The door didn't open slowly, but it felt like time stood still as the moment you had eyes on the room— you saw Bowman hunched over the desk, blood trickling from his lips. Davis lied lifeless across the tabletop.

Before you could inhale a breath, Bowman was in front of you, with a hand clamped over your mouth. He swiftly pulled you inside the office and locked the door behind you. It took no time at all, but you knew it happened.

"My, my, my, who do we have here…seems like I got myself a delicious midnight snack" Bowman taunted. His chin was dripping with blood that ran down from two prominent fangs. You'd never seen those before.

You wished you had a witty retort, but you were too stilled with fear. He was going to kill you, after maybe taking advantage of your body—that was how things like this worked, or at least that was what films would have you believe. As far as you'd known, vampires weren't real, but crazy men were. Yet you weren’t certain that you were being threatened by that very monster.

"At least you’re still warm”

If you could scream, someone would know. If you could make a lot of noise, they'd catch him in the act, even if you were dead by the time they arrived. You had to make noise.

You couldn't.

But then, you didn't have to. — Bowman’s steely eyes lifted from your face. His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared.

"So they've sent the dogs after me?" He said.

Your vision was obstructed by Bowman’s frame, but someone had entered the office from the window—There hadn't been a sound, yet Bowman hadn't needed to turn around.

"Did you think they wouldn't?" The second voice was the audible equivalent of silk with a twinge of a feminine Slavic accent. "And obviously I came at the right time. How did you plan to clean this up, youngling?"

Bowman’s grip on you waned and he spun around. You hadn't realized your feet were off the ground until your soles hit the floor once more. Bowman reached for your shirt collar to keep you near. At a different angle, you were able to see the woman. She had red hair that complimented her strong features and dark green eyes; like Bowman, she too had longer canines.

You were in awe of her despite feeling the need to stay present in the room—Yet somehow, her presence had made you feel safer—She was clearly unhappy with your boss, but you had no evidence that she would let you live once she was done with bowman.

As if she knew your inner monologue, she addressed you whilst still looking at Bowman. "Human, you may leave."

“Oh no, nope she’s not going anywhere."—Bowman didn't let loose of your shirt.

The woman finally made eye contact with you, and you felt your chest tighten. It felt like the first time someone had ever made eye contact with you—someone had ever seen you. As soon as it happened, it was over just as quickly,and the woman was looking at the man beside you. Her head tilted like a cat sizing up its prey. Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was planning with that look, was not good, but you felt oddly sure that you were not her focus.

It took no time at all for the woman to cross the room. You didn't even catch it with your eyes; she was a blur. But you knew she had to be faster and stronger than Bowman, as she had him in less than a second. His hand was no longer attached to you. You were free. It happened so fast that it didn't register. You were transfixed by the red-headed woman hoisting Bowman up into the air. His feet dangled despite the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than she.

"Human" the redhead said calmly, without looking at you. "Is this your boss?"

"Yes" your mouth felt dry—it was the first time you'd spoken since Bowman had dragged you into the room.

"Then I would say that considering the time, you have the rest of the night off."

Understanding why moving would take some time—but you'd regained enough of your faculties to know that it was time to leave. With a squeaked, "Thank you" you exited the office—The door closed behind you without a need for effort on your part. Whatever the woman was going to do, she didn't want an audience.

You looked disheveled, and your eyes were still wide and pleading for safety, though you were alone and, as far as you knew, you were safe. Though no one would see you and think 'Vampire attack interrupted' if someone took the time to spare you a glance, they would see a person who had clearly experienced something out of the ordinary. You were not the same as you'd been when you'd entered the boss' office—in more ways than one.

You hurried to your office, grateful for the late hour and the deserted offices that ensured no one noticed your swift departure as you gathered your belongings. Amid the quiet corridors, a solitary light emanated from the closed door of the office opposite yours, a reminder that you weren't entirely alone in the building.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, Bowman's parting grip had left a faint smear of blood on your jaw—It went unnoticed until you caught your reflection in the elevator doors.

The front desk attendant gave you an habitual: "Have a good evening."

"Thanks" you managed to say. Your voice was a bit shaky, but the attendant didn't notice. He actually looked at you, but you knew it was a part of his routine. He'd send you all off, nod in your direction, and then he'd go back to his computer. At least someone had acknowledged you, you thought—though, he was as oblivious as anyone else. The front desk was probably not the best place for a person who apparently had tunnel vision.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The chill of the night greeted you as soon as you stepped outside, accompanied by a wild wind that seemed to howl through the air. You knew the sound was just the wind—familiar yet eerie after your recent encounter with the supernatural. If vampires were real, as you were now certain they were after what you had witnessed, then the possibility of werewolves seemed just as plausible.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Your supervisor was dead, and your boss—a vampire? It was all so nonsensical, yet you had seen it with your own eyes. The memory of her, pale and powerful, lingered vividly in your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the red-haired woman who appeared suddenly in your path until she was right in front of you. You gasped and instinctively took a step backward. The woman made no move to invade your personal space; instead, she stood calmly, confident that you wouldn't flee. Despite the flight alarms blaring in your mind, you found yourself rooted to the spot.

"Human” the woman said. It was a word you had never been addressed with before, yet tonight it had been uttered several times already in reference to your kind. Despite knowing it to be an undeniable fact, hearing yourself labeled as merely 'human' felt oddly surreal. Normally, you might have laughed it off or made a light-hearted comment or a teasing remark, but the intensity in the woman's eyes quelled any inclination for humor or banter.

"You cannot tell another about what you witnessed tonight."

She was fast. She must have “finished” Bowman while you were in the elevator—maybe even before. You envisioned the nightly cleaning staff stumbling onto a horrific crime scene. You liked the night staff, they didn't deserve to clean up such a mess—disposing of viscera was not in their job description.

"I won't" you replied. The thruth is you wanted to tell someone; holding in that kind of information was going to make you sick. But you knew, deep down, that the moment you opened your mouth, others would think you were insane. "No one would believe me."

"Unfortunately, that is a chance I cannot take." the redhead woman replied with a gentle, almost mocking smirk.

You instinctively took another step back, feeling the edge of the wall against your back. People streamed out of the building, oblivious to the tense encounter unfolding just steps away; oblivious of the fact that maybe those were your last moments on earth.

"You don't have to—" Your voice faltered, shaky with fear. The woman's threat hung heavy in the air. If she intended to kill you, there was little you could do to stop her. You had witnessed her power in action, if only briefly, and it left you unnerved. You gulped, "I won't say anything. I promise. You don't have to kill me." Maybe you should’ve said something more convincing than “I promise”when someone was about to take your life. Did promises bring any value to her kind? She would’ve never believed you.

She arched a brow, studying you with a mixture of amusement and disdain—her frown deepened, as if she disliked your assumption. It was clear she was capable of violence and you were uncertain if she had any inclination towards mercy. Her words had left little room for interpretation—she intended to eliminate any witnesses, and you stood alone as the only witness.

"I do not wish to kill you" she said. Her voice was so soothing that it made your shoulders soften. You hadn't realized how stiff you'd gone.

Her presence held power over you, and when she said she didn't want to kill you, you believed her.

"Then what do you want to do? I meant it, I won't tell anyone. I don't even know your name."

"And you won't. I will take away the memory of tonight for your safety and the safety of my people."

"Your people...you mean uh…"

She nodded and made no effort to verbally confirm your suspicions.

You were silent as you stared at the confirmed vampire in your presence. She was mysterious in a very dangerous way—but a feeling was burning in your stomach. It felt like a need, but you hadn't a clue as to what you needed and how the red-haired vampire could help you.

Apparently, her way of helping you was erasing a piece of your mind. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but she had expressed the explicit desire to tamper with your memories.

It would feel better, you sensed that much. You knew that the shock would go away, as would the fear, and unanswered questions. But, with those negative things would go the knowledge that you as a human were not alone. Knowledge was power, even if you weren't sure how to wield it yet.

"I don't want to forget" you admitted quietly.

When the woman approached you again, you didn't step back. "I want to know what happened to my friend.”

The vampire reached out and rubbed away the blood from your chin, she hadn’t asked, and you didn't need her to. You stood still and let her.

"You want to remember the way he met his end? for what purpose?”

"Someone should know; someone who knew him."

"And when your boss is missing and you know the truth, what will you say?"

You weren't sure how to answer the vampire's question. Everything had moved so fast, you didn't have time to plan what you'd say to everyone else.

"I don't know."

She considered you, and most likely what she was going to do with you. You weren't convincing, you knew, but she hadn't acted without consulting you. So maybe, just maybe, you had a way out of having your mind wiped.

"Go home, human" she said—and you thought you'd taken a kickball to the gut—you were taken aback so abruptly.

She was letting you leave, or so it seemed. "You have twenty-four hours to consider this choice. I hope you will see reason. I will find you tomorrow night."

You should have focused on the deal the vampire was making you, rather than the fact that she was promising another meeting.

Maybe she would answer some of your questions.

Maybe she would satiate your curiosity.

Or maybe she would make you forget she existed at all.

"How will you find me?" you asked— It was a wonder, but it was one of the last questions you should have asked— she'd scaled a building and entered through a window without so much as a sound. She could find you easily. You wasted your breath asking a question that didn't need to be answered.

"Don't worry about me. Keep your wits about you, and your mouth closed. Consider my offer and the alternative. Your knowledge is yours for now, but understand that should you speak of this night to anyone in the next day, my offer will be revoked." She said before turning around and disappearing behind the crowd.

The vampire woman was not suggesting that she'd lay off and leave your memories alone. She was suggesting that you and your knowledge would cease to be. She was essentially giving you a day to come to your senses and realize that you wanted to forget the ordeal.

But you were stubborn and embarrassingly naive, and she was too interesting to forget. You had to figure out a way to keep your knowledge and gain some answers in the process, if only for a chance to see her again.

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -

[cyb3rtarot]

Pick a Pile: Facing “Failure”

Disclaimer: readings are not replacements for professional advice. You create your fate, not the reading. Take what confirms and not what confuses. In this reading, I’ll look at your current perception or relationship to perceived failure & things to keep in mind. It’s great if we can find beauty in the inevitability of lessons instead of fear!

Help a Palestinian family: 1 2 3 4 5

pile 1 ✃ pile 2 pile 3 ✃ pile 4

Pile 1

[Mannaz, King of Wands rx, 8 of wands rx, 2 of swords, Follow Your Own Good Advice rx, Changed in the Night]

Hello pile one! This pile struggles with understanding how fate & time interacts with effort. There’s a complicated relationship with destiny or divine timing. On one hand, when things don’t work, you may try to reflect and understand if that has a deeper meaning. You may wonder, for example, about whether failure & rejection is divine protection, if the timing wasn’t right—if it’s not meant for you. But then the energy switches to pointing the finger at yourself and wondering if what you haven’t accomplished is a personal failure. There’s flip-flopping between where to place the blame. Even if you’re not thinking of intentionally blaming anyone or anything, there may be self-blaming tendencies or a fixation on trying to find a reason for pain. You may comb through your actions looking for an answer and are sometimes only able to see everything that went wrong. This can begin even before the outcome is achieved; you may stagnate yourself through perfectionism or through not applying yourself because every approach seems not good enough. There’s a struggle in merging what you think you could improve with the knowledge that some things are out of your control.

Of course, we wish we could understand why exactly things went wrong because we’d feel better armed. But one of the things failure shows is no matter how much we arm ourselves, there can be a wrench in our plans. Instead we must move with self-trust even when we don't know what's going to happen. This is one of the struggles of being human! Even highly intuitive people are in constant reflection to understand what’s going on. Going around in a mental loop can function as self punishment sometimes, as if we’re forcing ourselves to sit in the corner and find an answer to things beyond our understanding. You should always reflect and strive for self improvement, but this best comes from self love rather than a fixation on failure or criticism. You already have this King of Wands energy which leads you to success despite stumbles. You don't need to perfectly understand everything or perform perfectly. 

Fate, success, failure, outcomes, these are complex webs. Trying to boil fate—and related concepts like divine timing, fated chance, predestiny, free will, etc—down to a few simple factors can lead to extremes or bias, where we convince ourselves we’re totally in control or on the opposite end we convince ourselves life is out of our hands. Neither side of this polarity acknowledges the power of free will. Fate is something formed by ALL people who have lived, are living, and will live, by forces unseen, but also our own hands. It’s complex because one single person is an infinite pool of complexity within themselves, much more so a whole world. Add time and it can be confusing to understand why xyz happened the way it did. Don’t go to extremes ignoring the concept of timing nor dooming yourself to feeling controlled. The human experience is somewhere in the middle. When things don’t work out, take an honest look at what you had control over and how you feel about the way you handled it. Not to judge or criticize, just make objective notes. If we focus on these parts of reality, we can detach from unhealthy mental traps about what could’ve been or might be. 

On some level, you already know this. From your oracle cards and this King of Wands (rx), I feel you’ve already done a lot of self reflection on things you want to improve or that haven’t gone the way you wanted, but there’s hesitancy to relax and move forward. It’s like you keep re-evaluating or planning because it can’t be as simple as trusting yourself—what if it goes wrong again? Yes, it’s true, things may go wrong. But what if everything went better than expected? This is the unknowable which will eat away at our mental health if we let it. But, even if we knew what would happen, it still could not replace our effort, confidence, self love & trust. We would still need those things to make the most of our future and enjoy it. Trust that you know yourself. You’re not who you once were, because those lessons you learned prepared future-you for new things. Be honest with yourself, not because I think you aren’t, but because when you can say with evidence you’re realistically evaluating the situation, you can navigate the unknown to the best of your ability. Your relationship with failure is also your relationship with fear of the unknown. But I see someone who should trust that their honest effort does mean something, is worth something, and then your energy and talents can come out more easily. Don’t be your own bully before anything had a chance to get off the ground!

Also, don’t be afraid to ask for help! Some of you isolate or were forced into being self-sufficient. Other people add more unknown factors, but sometimes that’s what helps the most! Working with others or asking for help is often where positive surprises comes in, safety nets that catch us when we’re low, and we also learn more about ourselves through others. If you can grow deeper bonds with your peers or community, these may be a positive influence.

Failure won’t always come with epiphanies to undo it, especially when we already tried our best. Sometimes we can only understand & manage limited things. We must balance and rest in this knowledge ♥️

Extra Details: more college students in this pile or preparing for college (I see a lot of academia and big university buildings), fear of embarrassment or shyness when presenting what you made, worrying about what you’ll make of yourself, past bullying, writing & traditional drawing, letters, journal keeping, thick frame glasses, kpop, being unsure when to reach out or withdraw, drawing on a tablet/with a stylus, studying arts or liberal arts, blueberries, lots of huge creative energy

Thank you for reading! 

✃

Pile 2

[Xebo, 7 of pentacles, the Magician, page of cups, Justice]

Your relationship to failure is linked to a fear of disappointment. This pile is grounded in the idea of give and take, putting effort into goals to receive a desired outcome, needing to do the work. And I feel when faced with failure this pile may have a relatively quicker process of getting back up, because you know that’s what it takes to move forward. There’s balanced, methodical, and steady energy, a work ethic or skill of endurance. 

However, the symbolism & faces of figures on these cards seem melancholic. I see physical effort to keep it all together, but you may feel hesitant to put hope or emotional attachment into anything. There’s a sense that you let yourself have wishes but only view them as wishes. Even as you work towards them, you may not let yourself get expectations up, because you know even with putting the work in something could go wrong. Or, you might see things you want as a “forbidden fruit,” imaginary, unrealistic, naïve, etc. There’s a deep-seated fear or thorn in your emotions when connecting to desire—because doing so sets up potential for disappointment which feels too crushing. You might feel it’s illogical to set yourself up in that way, yet at the same time, this restriction of yourself can become fear based and less logical. 

There’s a need to heal this because it’s casting a dampening energy over what you do. Confronting your relationship with failure is confronting avoidance of the pain of disappointment. Avoiding pain is normal but can restrict desire and ambition that wants to be expressed. Don’t deny desire, emotionally separate yourself from it, nor be too judgmental. The possibility of failure makes you detach from deep emotion and put your guard up. Maybe you feel a very measured approach will yield the best results, and often it can, but more so when coming from a place of healthy curiosity than suppression. This may stop a lot of you from pursuing connections with others. It’s great if you’re rational, grounded, decisive, but to your inner self this may come off as a strict-parent dynamic where you restrict wants through very decisive planning—rather than directly addressing them. And sometimes what you need is to be a friend to yourself, to indulge a bit, let yourself relax and see the fun in dreaming. You already understand putting work in, so using this realistic perspective, what would your life look like if you had some of the larger desires you feel are fantastical dreams? What would a merger between your current life and that desired life look like, or what would the transitional scenes look like getting there if you were reading a story? And, what are reasonable disappointments you may encounter on a journey there? The point of the last question is not to get caught up in disappointment, but rather that facing it as a possibility may make you feel more prepared. Disappointment is not more powerful than you when you accept it as part of life’s cycles. 

As I flip through the deck I see strings of cards indicating you already know this but maybe some of you are having trouble integrating intuition with conscious knowing. I feel if you haven’t already come to these conclusions you may be at the edge of an epiphany regarding emotions and desires. Maybe because there’s something new you’re interested in with the page of wands at the bottom of the deck? The work ethic and planning skills you have can carry you far, and through reflection on disappointment as a part of the human experience, remaining fears cannot keep you down. Best of luck in whatever you pursue!

Extra Details: meditation on emotions, desires, & fears could be helpful. Revisiting past disappointments to create new perspectives (there may still be pain or disappointment to process, don’t rush it!), scared/anxious, uncertainty about seeking connection, balancing long term material goals with relationships, connecting with your emotions & wants will bring clarity to your intuition, putting defenses down about feelings, letting go of old ideas, spending time with/ thinking of a grandmother, homemade coffee, new interests/ on a search for something new, measured responses to others, lack of excitement/ feeling rigid (or coming out of this), a need for more union or sync within oneself & dualistic concepts (body/mind, emotions/thoughts, desires/detachment), changing views on connection with others and within yourself, resigning yourself to unhappiness unnecessarily, unhappiness in the home or with traditional lifestyle, prominent Virgo placements in natal/SR chart or in profection yr, or receiving help from a Virgo (take as it already resonates), internalized beliefs from family about success or passions—a lot of you may replicate your family’s criticism in your thoughts towards yourself. Interests you’ve put off because it’s “not productive” like music, some of you may enjoy going out at night to places with live music or clubbing/lounges, The Moon in tarot/deep subconscious emotional pulls, something dripping or the word dripping may be significant?

Thank you for reading!

✃

Pile 3

[Perthro, Ace of cups, King of pentacles, the Hierophant, the Hanged Man rx]

Hello pile 3! Your message is about perspective. On one hand, I see you guys have a lot of hope deep down or a tendency to romanticize. When you see things aren’t working out, it may be hard to accept because you look at potential and what's working rather than what isn’t. Especially in relationships, there are a lot of people here who find it difficult to accept aspects like incompatibility. However, when you finally come to terms with what’s happening, I see a lot of you can turn around to the next thing very quickly. This pile is aware that “failure,” or endings, are just new beginnings. It’s very hard to totally dull your “sparkle,” because there’s always some renewed sense of optimism or ability to see potential. When you realize the stage has been set for something new, you get a lot of excitement. There’s an inner & outer sense of security that allows you to make peace with the fact that living means lessons, and as long as you take these lessons in stride, you can keep going and receive new things.

However, your other message is about that momentum. The Hierophant with the Hanged Man rx and your rune suggests that slowing down mentally and having a lot of reflective or learning/teaching time may be a benefit, especially because this pile’s message seems specific to right now. You may hear a lot about waiting and working on yourself, and you may feel like, “but I have worked on myself, what’s next??” Sometimes a period of stagnation after something doesn’t work just drags & drags and makes you keep seeing or feeling the things you’re trying to move on from. However, it's this exact period that's a benefit—those moments are beneficial for the new opportunities you seek. Your cards encourage you to analyze those things—particularly in the recent past—that didn’t work, and to do a lot of reflection on what you wish to carry into the future. You may wish to rush forward, but good things come to those who are patient (not necessarily to those who wait, but those who take a steady approach). There may be things from your past that you've quickly dropped from your mind and there’s more learning to be done. For example, there may be relationships or events you look over with rose-tinted glasses, and it’s important to analyze what actions & energies led to the endings you experienced, both what you did and didn't do, and what others did and didn’t do. You may also learn something from analyzing what didn’t work in the lives of those close to you. For example, you could look at similar things friends & family did that seemed to go wrong if you wish to try a different approach. Your ability to pick yourself up and keep going is admirable, but appreciation and taking advantage of still moments is also needed. There may be some kind of lesson wrapping up right now or that’s attempting to be conveyed to you, and there may be more things to learn yet from recent “failures” that you have not analyzed from all angles because you’re ready to go. Especially those things which are emotionally painful, make sure you’ve not only made peace with these but understand how approaches may need to be different going forward if you’re to have different outcomes. Life is unpredictable, and it’s for that reason that still moments are a blessing, because when things get moving we may no longer have the time, experience, and learning to tweak our approach mid-trajectory. Quieter times allow us to set our destination and plan our trip before hopping on the plane, metaphorically. Whether in material efforts or seeking new connections, and I see a lot of you may be bringing children into the world so that's especially important. Looking into the future is not bad at all, but make sure you’re connecting the past and present into your future vision and looking at things from all different sides. There’s no need to rush forward; life constantly moves us in that direction.

It seems there are developments & surprises upcoming for you. Think of the present as us donning our armor and weapon—self-exploration and growth. The more time we put into these, the less we'll be caught unawares. We’ll be prepared to make the most of things we actually do want when we get them, instead of repeating the past from a different standpoint. There’s a particular emphasis on gaining knowledge, whether of yourself or otherwise, while new phases are in the making. Each new moment is born out of this present one, so be mindful of the energies allowed forward. As we get in control of ourselves and our perspective, we less so need to “wait” for good things to come to us, and instead can take confident steps, as you’ll know what you want and what direction those things are in.

Extra Details: pregnancy (use protection if doing risky things) ((messages about proper planning & gaining knowledge are doubly emphasized for anyone giving birth soon or trying for children)), being mindful of energy allowed towards oneself (those with rose-tinted glasses may have had a tendency to allow disrespect in relationships), breaking cycles, others sharing your developments (example, if you break a toxic cycle or start something new you may notice loved ones doing the same), realistic hope, pushing the past out of your mind due to emotional wounds or resentment (healing/shadow work needed if so), “let go or be dragged,” current Saturn transit may be significant or Saturn significant in solar return/profection year, as well as Pluto leaving Capricorn, Wheel of Fortune, never-ending flow of time, heavy natal or solar return Libra placements, midnight, interim period before change, a need to study/learn pertaining to the things you want in your future, midnight gospel, meeting up with others in public spaces like cafes

Thank you for reading!

✃

Pile 4

[Laziness, Compromise, the Outsider, Iceolation, Sowilo]

Hi pile 4! Your message is about redefining what “failure” means to you. Your cards suggest you’ve gotten comfortable with some misery or discontent, possibly because you don’t feel a life that would make you happy is accessible. Maybe you feel you’re not a person who can achieve a different life, so you resigned yourself to how you currently feel. Or, some of you have built an “acceptable” life, and you’re not confronting discontent because you might have to tear this down—or you might “fail” trying to achieve change. 

Wanting to start over, being different from others, past difficulties, none of this makes you a failure or is anything to feel shame/embarrassment about. I won’t say not living your truth makes you a failure either; everyone struggles and searches for that throughout their lifetimes. It’s not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with how you do things or how you might do things differently without the pressure of expectations. But, you may be compromising on something that’s fundamental to your wellbeing, and this doesn't have to be the answer. Your relationship to failure is significant in whatever is making you feel like you have to accept misery or “less than." There’s a sense of alienation from others through your life and from your own happiness. Maybe you feel your wellbeing is too difficult? The significant thing is on the “outsider” card, a child looks longingly through a gate they think is locked, but actually the gate is open. This card is comparable to the 5 of pentacles in that help in unhappy times is often far closer than you think. But don’t water yourself down for others or their expectations, that’s like extinguishing your flame before it has a chance to do anything.

Now’s a time where you can approach different aspects of your life in ways you might’ve thought of before but couldn’t. Maybe there’s a desire you couldn’t obtain before and now there’s a more promising opportunity. Especially in regards to your material situation, such as jobs, life goals, physical things or finances. But not only; this is a time of general personal development and spiritual growth. Things in your life that you have kept in darkness, such as feelings of disconnection, misery, resentment—these have an opportunity to be purged. It’s a time where you’re encouraged to see how the effort you put in can pay off, like sowing seeds. Don’t be discouraged by the fact that you may have once tried and failed. Life has ebbs and flows, sometimes what was once out of reach comes into grasp at another time. 

Some of you are concerned with what your life will look like to others if you change. Particularly those who are living a socially acceptable life or have something that works practically, or people encourage you into (such as a traditional job), but want to explore something unconventional or harder. This is also a fear to address, keeping yourself caged through others’ ideas. Everyone has their own path to walk and you won’t necessarily find yours by looking at your life through another’s lens, or through the person you wish you were instead of who you actually are. You may have reached goals, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay where you are if you feel misaligned. The feeling's not there to throw you off but to tell you something. It’s your choice how to address it, but don’t repress it. Life can be more than staying afloat. Not even necessarily in a material way, but mentally and emotionally you can find things that give life more meaning. If you address the ways in which you minimize yourself, or kill your hopes before you’ve tried, then your relationship to failure may take a healthy turn and you can feel assured in making changes.

Extra Details: feeling like you’re regressing, spiritual growth or incoming period of inner development, the Hermit/turning inwards to find yourself, contemplating what you want or who you are, setting new goals/ working towards dreams— especially material ones, finding confidence, reflecting on haughtiness vs confidence. Contemplating the universe, feminine energy (reflecting on what this means to you spiritually), eat nutritious foods to combat deficiencies especially iron deficiency, caring for yourself according to your bodily/mental cycles

Channeled image, I see a bush or hedge being pruned. The message is you do this to yourself—how you minimize yourself. We all grow and have to tweak our expectations, selves, goals, etc. But if you try to take care of one plant in the way another needs, you may take away what makes it most beautiful or unique, it may come out looking off. Similarly, it’s true you may have had to adjust your life in unexpected ways, and this may happen again. But, if you do this based on anything except your true self, then the end result—your life, will be more likely to feel “not right.” When you make a mistake growing a plant or pruning, the plant can make a comeback if taken care of. But if you try to care for it as if it were a totally different thing, that’s what actually creates errors.

Thank you for reading!

✃

[gazeofseer]

Direction of light to the browns of your life (;

Browns, what grounds you and what burns

You, deeply underneath too.

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Pick a Image

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Fatalist is term used for the one who confuses the go with the flow to become prone to act or intent and choosing not to play which will keep them under the fate, is a state of your fear, dear.

Instances of yours : You so badly wanted to take a decision about something quite recently but you step back and waited for the fate to decide for you, but you got more confused now that a week has passed because your fear covers non existential ideologies to appease your mind's guess.

You are a damsel but not in distress but in the capture of your mind's vivid imaginary and illusions that seems like a vision but is not, remember this is the world of manifestation whatever comes here is a by product of your state of being not of your state of reactions and idealism, it is birth out of your actual reality.

So there is a lot of confusions now, to clear which you need to seek your intentions do you really intent towards what your presume to be your purpose? Question that bloody dream does it dares to manifest when you will fail or will it vanish like a delusion you just had to gauge your mind off the bait?

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Overthinking is not a disease it is a power of your discipline that flow of thoughts you find a way out of your head quite smart right? Quite logical and prideful to feel right as always, but where do you hide those wrongs, those mistakes, that makes you feel like sinner to do so? You don't strive for perfection, you actually like one, great pretentious can be a great tool unless it becomes wavering, unsettling and making high while feeling the lowest in this moment right?

So much of right, I hear a feminine voice with chuckles shows how confident you are about everything you have, and the way you identify yourself with things, but when you endear it as an experience it's annoying, you start nitpicking, for your thoughts it found a flow in your mouth that you keep bickering, playing to some extent, what leaves bitter in this after all? Is the distance you feel within your authenticity and a convincing truth you lied around about.

You are not sad, not in pain, not in guilt or even regret you are disappointed in yourself, for the way you feel, for the way your head takes over all your heart like a devouring death you smile upon.

You need to really, really stop giving value attention, to your thoughts it's mere exertion of your senses let that go liar are those who say you become what you think, you become what you believe in, you become what you feel like is the mere intuition's guide.

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Shed many scales left my scars, even broken the light from the star I held so tightly underneath the sight of wars I had, battles I am fed with, all I could ever be is tired even with the best of the person, I had to feel sorrow and pitful, like an aftermath I stayed in people but with a different story to state of torns, I don't know anything, but I always told about everything, I lend hands and ears, and get rewarded with swords and screams.

Warrior, My champion how does it feel to be your very own thing? Great right then what is the guilt lying in there? There is a cobweb of perception you have crawled your mind through break that, your giving too much importance to the words of others getting absorbed in take your time alone and chose silence sometimes words must fail you so you can see what people mean was truly never about you but the way they feel, they want, they need about you. Do not get into the play of says and opinions they are void. Anyways you have strong instincts and intuition you either way don't need that.

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[lollygaggingloser]

Depth Perception

Varigo brain blerp

Hugo needed to sleep so bad. The team had finished the Dark Kingdom trial and were rushing to Ingvarr thanks to Nuru's insistence that they didn't have time to waste. The blond was in no hurry to return to his home kingdom, knowing what awaited him and his friends after the next trial. Beyond all odds, in a cruel twist of fate, Hugo cared for his team. Yong was his little partner in crime, the two having spent most of their time with new experiments where nothing was too crazy for them to try. Nuru had become his closest frenemy, ever ready to argue with her, but the first to fight with anyone who doubted her genius. What could he say? The only one allowed to bully her was him. And then there was Varian...

The freckled little alchemist had gone from an annoying know-it-all to the kindest, strongest, truest friend Hugo was honored to know. And once the group reached Ingvarr and finished its trial, Hugo was going to lose all three of them. The stress of it was messing with his sleep. It also didn't help that Yong was joining him in his tent to slumber in the last few nights. He couldn't blame the kid for having nightmares though. The firecracker had a close brush with death at the last trial and if it weren't for Hugo's quick reflexes, their group would be a trio. Yong had the habit of moving a lot in his sleep, so Hugo would wake up to the kid accidentally smacking him, stealing his blanket, or kicking his back. He woke up in bed that night, looking over at Yong who cocooned himself in his blanket, lying upside down and diagonally, his legs resting on the blond's chest. Hugo moved Yong off him before sitting up. Yong didn't even stir in his sleep as his legs hit the floor with a thud. Exhausted, but less than willing to lay back down next to Yong anytime soon, Hugo left the tent for some fresh air. Exiting the tent, he looked up to see moon glowing brightly above him. The night breeze was cool and gentle against his skin.

"What are you doing up?"

The engineer nearly jumped, not expecting anyone else to be awake. He looked to his right and squinted, having left his glasses back in the tent.

"Varian?" he asked, recognizing his silhouette, dark hair, and blue hairstripe. The alchemist nodded, carrying some lab equipment in his arms.

"Who else?" Varian asked, pausing to chuckle at Hugo's messy appearance. "Well? What are you doing awake this late?"

"I could be asking you the same thing," Hugo responded, but already deduced that Varian had just finished some late night experiments. "....Yong's in my tent."

"Ahh, I see," Goggles sympathized, putting away the lab equipment. Varian himself had the fun experience of having Yong as a tent buddy before during the beginning of their journey. "Sorry."

"...there's nothing for you to apologize for." Hugo watched as Varian walked back toward him. He wished he had his glasses. He could barely make out the alchemist's face in the moonlight, and couldn't see what expression laid upon it.

"I don't know," Freckles softly spoke. "Maybe if I had been more careful...or kept a better eye on him...I could have kept him from danger and he wouldn't be having these nightmares. He's just a kid after all-"

"Hey, he's okay," Hugo interrupted, placing a hand on Varian's shoulder. He shifted closer, finally able to see the curve of Varian's nose, the shape of his eyes, and his mouth, pressed in a thin line. "Plus, I don't mind having him nearby."

"He's lucky you were there. We're all lucky. I know I can't thank you enough for saving him."

Hugo didn't feel particularly lucky. Soon, the team would realize he was going to be the key to their failure. Ingvarr was only a few days away. If he could, he'd take 100 sleepless nights like these if it meant delaying the inevitable.

"Are you okay?"

Hugo snapped out of his thoughts to look back at Varian who had leaned in closer, concerned.

"Y-Yeah...just tired," he lied. But he could tell Varian wasn't quite buying it. His furrowed brows refused to soften. For a second, he was glad he couldn't see the intense stare Varian had on him.

"If you want, we can switch," Varian offered. "I'll stay with Yong and you can knock out in my tent."

It was a kind gesture, but Hugo had meant it when he said he didn't mind having Yong nearby. The last trial had made him scared for the boy as well, but he wouldn't admit that. Instead, Hugo lazily smirked at Varian.

"Inviting me to your bed? That's rather forward of you."

Even in the dark of the night, Hugo could see Varian's face flush at his teasing. He let out a soft laugh as Goggles lightly punched his arm.

"You must be sleep deprived if you're making dumb jokes like that," huffed Varian.

"Ha, probably," Hugo yawned, watching as Varian tried to regain his composure. He couldn't help but stare at him. A muted blush still covered his face. The blur of Hugo's vision made Varian's facial features softer. But his green eyes longed to focus more in hopes of seeing the spray of freckles across Varian's cheeks and nose. A wave of sleepiness hit Hugo and he yawned once more. He figured he had enough fresh air and was ready to go back to his tent.

"I should go back to bed," Hugo mumbled.

"Yeah, you look like you're gonna pass out. I'm heading off to bed too. I was only up to finish restocking some of our solution bombs, in case we run into trouble soon. Nuru says that we should be-"

Hugo's eyes moved down to watch Varian's mouth move as he spoke, letting him ramble on. He could see his slight overbite peek behind his lips. The sound of his voice soothed him as it escaped his mouth. It was a pleasant sound to hear when it wasn't yelling at him. Hell, even with the yells, Hugo was certain he would miss it. His emerald eyes narrowed at the shape of Varian's lips. Had they always looked that full? Or was it just his bad eyesight? He slightly smiled to himself, knowing one way he could find out. His mind buzzed at the thought.

"Well, I hope you get a good night's sleep," Varian finished, feeling a tad awkward with Hugo staring and smiling at him.

He froze as Hugo leaned down unexpectantly, bringing his face dangerously close to his. The movement was so sudden that he didn't have a chance to react. Painfully, their noses collided, causing both scientists to yelp and groan in pain.

"Ah!" Varian hissed, holding his nose. "What was that for?"

"Sorry," Hugo apologized, looking rather dazed. "I don't have my glasses, so my depth perception is shit."

"What were you even-"

Varian stiffened once more as Hugo placed a hand against his cheek. The heat of his skin sent a small shiver down his back. Varian let go of his nose and looked up to see those green eyes squinting fiercely at him. He couldnt help but feel more anxious than earlier. Slowly, Hugo pressed his thumb against Varian's lips. Unlike before, Varian had time to react, but didn't pull away, curious as to what Hugo was doing. Their faces inched closer together and Varian could feel Hugo's breath. The alchemist glanced at the blond's mouth seeing it creep closer to his. Nervously, he swallowed, his lips slightly parting as Hugo slid his thumb across them.

"Full...just as I thought," Hugo mumbled. For a brief moment, the two made eye contact. Just when Varian was certain that the space between them would dissipate, Hugo removed his hand and turned away.

"Goodnight," Hugo said quickly, going back into his tent.

Varian stood flabbergasted, mouth agape and mind overwhelmed.

Hugo laid back down in his tent, burying his face in his pillow.

Both of them shared the exact same thought.

What the hell was THAT?!

In this tired daze, Hugo almost did the unthinkable. He mentally kicked himself, blaming his sleep deprived brain and hoping Varian wouldn't bring this up tomorrow. Yong shifted beside him, accidentally smacking the back of his head with his stretched out arm.

Hugo needed to sleep so bad.

[ennn]

Initial Agatha All Along Ep 7 Meta Thoughts + Reactions

This ep was a work of art and my brain is buzzing while my heart is in awe.

YELLING at how the show is just leaning into the gay now that we're in the endgame. This is the current star TV show product of Disney Marvel and I am stunned and delighted. Two of this show's lead characters flat out saying they're not straight / queer.

I can only hope this spills over to more open marketing and interviews. Yes, I'm still shook about it and will be for the time being.

"I'm your mom's ex [forever pause] best friend." Congratulations Wanda-Agatha shippers, I'm happy for you. Also Agatha's "oooh" at possible epic Maximoff drama? Nice.

We've hit Doctor Who levels of time shenanigans! And timey whimey storytelling is a sure-fire way to hit the feels. There's something so powerful and tragic about Fate.

I keep drawing parallels about how the show feels like such a spiritual successor to DW with the Agatha-Billy team up, and the incredible layers (and theatrics and cunning and drama) with Agatha. Now we're directly playing with time and it's glorious!

As much as Billy is giving Agatha a hard time now, it's probably a good thing and healthy this conflict is in the open. Billy's expressing his hurt and anger and making it super clear he doesn't trust Agatha – which of course, structurally means he will of course have to trust her by the end of this story.

Them snarking at each other attempting the trial? I enjoy these bitchy dumbasses.

What an incredible writing feat in how they did the time skips, with the focus centered on Lilia so we can experience her tragic journey. I can't wait to hear more about how Schaeffer and the writers plotted this out. A new masterclass in executing a series reveal, with stunning cinematography to match. (the colours! the framing!) This episode embodies how it's really the craft and execution that delivers, less of the idea or the plot point.

Patti LuPwn effortlessly grounding this episode with her performance. I'm glad a wider audience gets to experience this Broadway legend's talent. My only regret is we never got more of her singing.

Agatha's back in her active leader-y role in driving the trial to succeed (and of course saving her own skin): tackling Lilia so she doesn't get impaled, reminding them to hurry up, and ultimately saving them crucial seconds by putting down the Death card.

Congratulations to Agatha officially joining the monsterfucker club. The way everyone looked to her (look, everyone saw Rio's dumb scar confession) was gold.

Vindication for my Death's missing heart theory -- although now it looks like the wound is more likely self-inflicted? I wonder exactly when and how.

Vindication for my perception of Rio as not a liar (as I do love the contrast with Agatha's duplicitous nature and tendency to run). She literally told everyone she's The Green Witch. In a scary voice no less.

Excited to see how they tackle Rio being the original Green Witch. Death being a witch is certainly a new take? And I'm still not sure how human or not this makes Rio, which makes the last two eps rather unpredictable. Yes, she's got a skull face and can do weird shit with her body. But the Scarlet Witch was able to pull off some inhuman things in MoM.

[slowd1ving]

IV. REVISED: THE CONCEPT OF FRIENDSHIP .・゜DAN HENG NSFW

One of the theories pushed forward in this universe—a common conjecture between scientists throughout the stars—is that there are disturbances in a system that is being observed, versus one that is not. This is astutely named the observer effect. And this situation is the first proper example he’s seen of that. Dan Heng feels that as soon as he takes his eyes off you, you’ll phase back to a space between these dimensions, like some specter there are only myths about. when data nerd Dan Heng finds the forbidden dictionary and masters the hidden art: synonyms male! engineer reader warnings: eventual nsfw, kind of but not really spoilers to dan heng's backstory, amab reader

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

DRINKER OF THE MOON, DEVOURER OF DREAMS MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART

There’s a certain art that comes with avoiding people, and Dan Heng has practically mastered it by now. From evading the monsters that habitually trespass on his path, to eluding the red-eyed man from Dan Feng’s convoluted past—no one can deny his experience in these twisted matters. 

Unlike his predecessor, he has no qualms in ridding himself of problematic situations by simply taking his leave. And though he may be labelled a coward, he can’t find it within himself to care. Honour and dignity is important—he’ll acknowledge that gladly—but making the pragmatic decision is something he’ll continue to prioritise. 

When you’re a fugitive, it’s all you have left. 

So, why hasn’t he left the Express yet?

A week prior, the brief vacation finally reached its conclusion and he stepped back onto the train. It was easy at first—you were busy reading over the contract negotiated by Mr. Yang with Argo-II for their bronze. There was no time for you and him to be alone. Not even in that fateful kitchen. 

His nightmares had ceased temporarily due to the lingering effects of the Argonian booze, so there was an easy excuse to save him from the regular nightly rendezvous. But at what cost?

All the rational cells in his brain are urging him to leave the Express far behind. It’s a honey-trap, they scream—he’s becoming too dependent on its security. There is also the pressing issue of your presence, but he’s intentionally avoiding thinking about it. 

He should leave. 

Dan Heng has overstayed his welcome. 

“—oh, Dan Heng, perfect. Do you remember where the information for the Migrides Embassy legislature was, from when I asked for it a few weeks back?” Himeko’s request jolts him from his reverie, and before he’s even aware of it, his deft hands pick out the correct file from the archive shelves. “We’ll use their own courts against them to uphold our honour.”

He frowns. I’ve gotten too acclimated to living here. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

The man in question tears his eyes away from the small bag that sits in the corner. It’s a sharp reminder of his obligations—moving on before he lands himself in an even bigger mess. 

“Perfectly fine, Himeko,” he bites his tongue, afraid that his sour mood will taint his polite words with curtness. 

She tilts her head, and her blood-like hair spills from her shoulders in a clean decapitation. The action is an ominous prelude to her next words. 

“You didn’t have an argument with him, or anything?” 

Sometimes, she’s also annoyingly perceptive. 

“No,” he replies carefully. “We’ve just been busy with our respective lines of work.”

“...If you say so.” It’s clear she doesn’t believe him, and the long look she gives him only reinforces that notion. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes; they seem like they’ll unearth his unease about being near you, forcibly prying any reason from him. Behind his back, his nails dig into his palms. “The tension doesn’t suit you. Talk to him sooner rather than later.”

She exits the archives then, and he’s left wondering about the meaning embedded deep within her words. 

What tension? That dream was an error; like the fields of ‘Asphodel’, he would’ve never dreamt about you had he been in his right mind. 

Sure, he might be avoiding you, but he’s not tense. He’s my friend. The awkward feeling will dissipate in due time, so Dan Heng’s making the tactful decision to elude you and get over himself. And Himeko’s right, he reluctantly accepts. If he wants to inoculate himself against making things even weirder than they normally are, it’s necessary to ease back into the regular back-and-forth of friendship with you. 

Friendship—the word’s bittersweet on his tongue, for some strange reason. 

It’s both fortunate and unfortunate that he’s unable to see you for the next few days. 

After all, you personally descend to the Migrides cluster alongside Himeko—an unlikely pair, but one that absolutely makes sense—in order to finally beat the Embassy at their own game. It’s strange, though. Where he should find relief in his chest, there’s only a heavier, tighter burden to carry. 

It hurts. There’s no rhyme nor reason to his erratic pulse, not any more. For those few days, there’s not a trace of your presence and he’s growing listless. 

Contradictions. He’s full of them, forcibly driving a wedge between the two of you, yet he can’t deal with the overwhelming lack of you.

“You’re spacing out,” Mr. Yang cuts into his thoughts. There’s only a wooden chequerboard between them, but it feels more like a chasm that simply cannot be bridged. “And losing.”

Check. His rook is promptly sacrificed in the bloody battle, but it’s not like he’ll win. With a drawn out sigh, he tips his king flat onto the board. 

“There’s something on your mind, I’d wager.” Mr. Yang stares long and hard at the easy victory he’d gained—one of Dan Heng’s most embarrassing moments in chess, but it’s not like he’s particularly engrossed in the game. 

“What gave that away?” 

It’s a curt response; he’s tired of the constant reminders of you. Still, he holds onto the hope that maybe—just maybe—the bespectacled man isn’t referring to you like Himeko had. 

Mr. Yang simply looks at him with that flat gaze, and he loses that kindled ember of hope he nurtured. 

“Forget it,” he shakes his head, and for a brief moment Dan Heng feels relief that the topic has been dropped. 

“I’m sure you’ve got it under control. I’m sure you’re not running away from communication.”

Sometimes, he’s reminded that Mr. Yang is more sardonic than he lets on. 

And there’s something so hilarious in the way he musters up his courage to approach you first, only for you to slide open the door to the archives first. 

Thump. For a heartbeat or two, he’s spellbound by your return—yet he can’t bring himself to say anything. He ducks his head back into his book when you look over: piercing eyes glaring right into his soul. There’s a faint rustling of plastic against plastic as you slide out several files, though not a singular word from your lips. 

Aeons. He can feel his face heat up as the rough mixture of soap and metal hits him. You’re here, but he can barely think, let alone formulate any sort of sentence. 

When he looks up after a few minutes, you’re still there—and noticing his eyes on you, you give him a brief nod whilst you read over your selection. 

It’s too much. It really is. 

Dan Heng leaves the small room with paper trailing behind him and a pulse too erratic to be considered healthy—the rushed action elicits a small noise of surprise as he brushes past you. He avoids your eyes, but can’t evade the mandarins still clinging to your clothes and now his. 

The bathroom door is locked, yet your presence is etched onto his skin. 

This is friendship?—he scoffs. Friendship shouldn’t taste so bitter, not when his stomach is writhing uncontrollably. Not when he feels his tongue go leaden and skull grow heavy. There’s something wrong with him. It’s clawing from his insides—raw scars are left on tender flesh. 

Even when he knows the coast is long clear, it takes more than a half-hour for him to slink back to the archives. Why? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know, not when the lingering remains of you still hover around the enclosed space. 

If he had one word to describe this feeling welling up inside, it would be torturous. 

Shameful. 

He can’t sleep. 

Long past the time he usually takes the first steps into the dream world—or in his case, the cacophony of nightmares—he’s still tossing and turning. It’s not the sticky heat that seems to plague him, but rather the anticipation of something finally happening that keeps him up. It’s stupid. His mind is hazy as he checks the time on his phone, yet not hazy enough to slip into that wreck of a slumber. 

00:34

His fingers tap mindlessly on the screen. Nothing. No messages, no mail, not even a scammer he could mess with for once. He’d work on finally updating and organising information about the smaller planets near Penacony, but even that’s barred from him via Pom-Pom’s stern insistence that there not be more than one sleep-deprived fool on this train. He doesn’t particularly wish to know the conductor’s wrath, so he does what they say. 

00:40

It’s a disgusting sort of lethargy. He can’t will his eyes to stay closed, yet he can’t bring himself to summon Cloud-Piercer either to numb his mind from his thoughts. 

He grits his teeth, and he can feel each molar grind against another. Bone against bone. 

Pathetic. 

He checks his phone one last time, and turns it off for good. Perhaps if he wasn’t so unlucky this night, he might have seen the message that came up just a few minutes after it powered off. 

01-04-XXXX

<Frankenstein & Co.> 02:59 > [robot.jpeg attached]  02:59 > Yeah this one looks like you lmao

<You> … < 03:04 Wow. You’re such a comedian. < 03:04 If you ever need a gig with the Masked Fools I’m sure they’ve got plenty of vacancies. < 03:05

03:05 > Cope bro 10:56 > Btw Welt picked up takeout from the Space Station 10:57 > Hurry up before I eat your share too

(+4 unread messages)

21-04-XXXX

<I’ll get you a satanic… mechanic> 00:55 > We’re both shit at communicating  00:55 > I’m coming to the archives in half an hour to put back the files, since I know you’re probably awake. Might as well talk it out.   00:56 > If you’re sleeping I won’t bother you  00:57 > We’ll just figure it out tomorrow I guess

Dan Heng has never been particularly fortuitous. Perhaps that’s why the message only gets delivered and not read. Perhaps that’s why he staves off the urge to check out his schedule for tomorrow in favour of rest. 

When they call him unapproachable, maybe luck also thinks of him that way. Sure, Dan Feng’s had his own share of misfortuned days, but tonight might just be the unluckiest night in this incarnation's life. 

When does it start?

In his memories, it might’ve been triggered by the gradual heat spreading across his limbs. His skin is molten across flesh: scorched to its very bones. Everything’s so tight—it’s no wonder that he throws his shirt into the corner next to him. He’s left breathing heavily in only sweatpants, and still they’re too cumbersome, too constricting. 

What’s the cause of it all?

It might’ve been catalysed by the dizzying feeling playing on his mind that started a while ago. He’s entranced: wandering through a fog that seems to have no end, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of whatever’s making his heart flutter all hummingbird-like. 

Or maybe it’s the faint traces of you still clinging to the air. 

At first, he can’t quite pinpoint where it’s coming from. When he turns his head on his pillow, the strands of a clean soap grow stronger—so he reaches out. His fingers brush against soft fabric, and the man freezes with his fist clenched around your sweater. 

It’s yours. 

Somehow, your presence hasn’t yet been washed out from the threads. And for whatever damned reason, pressing it near his face is lulling him into a better stupor than that cursed drink ever did. 

It’s not enough. 

He buries his face in the material—by now, he’s practically drinking in all the intricacies of your scent. Inhale. Notes of orange peel, the subtle shift of soap, and the disorienting tang of diesel. Exhale. His mouth is half-open: too caught up in the throes of whatever this is to close. Unbearable. That’s what it is: a deep tension right below his navel that forces him to slowly lose his senses. 

One hand is firmly clenched around the fabric pressed to his face, while the other discards the stifling blanket that’s only suffocating him further. But as he does so, he accidentally brushes against the front of his sweatpants.

His heart skips a beat, then bangs against his ribcage particularly loudly. 

“Ah,” he gasps out. A chaotic pulse registers, deafening, along his ear canal. There’s a realisation that trickles honey-slow through his brain. It’s not like he’s explored this way of tiring himself out.

Aeons. 

He’s never felt so perverted. 

He’s never felt so conflicted. 

Was it not enough that he had that dream about you back on Argo-I? 

Aha must be gleefully orchestrating this twist of fate—he’s sure of it—as this defies rational thought. He should not be getting turned on to the smell of his friend that invades his senses and overwhelms him so completely. 

It’s not him, he justifies weakly. It’s just the feeling of there being another person. Well, with that sort of logic, Nous is itching to accept him into the folds of the Genius Society. 

There’s that strong, bubbling shame that lays heavy in his chest; however, the tightness in his lower abdomen is catalysing its destruction. It doesn’t help that he’s losing himself in the warm scent of you, and the shortness of breath that comes with covering one’s mouth and nose in thick fabric. No, it definitely helps. Shame aside, he somehow hasn’t crossed the precipice of perversion; the hand that isn’t lodged firmly against the material is merely resting atop his bare torso. 

He can’t bring himself to trail his fingers lower. 

It’ll help with sleeping, he rationalises once more. His head is heavy, and his self-control is slowly slipping as he keeps breathing you in. 

What would he say? If you saw him—face flushed, nuzzled into your clothing; chest bared with hardened nipples from both his arousal and the stream of cool air; sweatpants tight across his hips—what would you do? Would you leave in disgust (eyes trailing briefly across the body of what can only be called a pervert)? Would you curse him out in that rough voice of yours (then never speak to him ever again)?

Would you help him out?

The very thought of it makes his pulse bloom vibrant in his head—desperate to be heard, desperate to rip through his skull. It is also a sobering notion. 

He turns his body until he’s flat on his stomach with his face buried in the sweater currently draped over his pillow. The action is meant to rob his breath and calm his racing thoughts, but this really isn’t his lucky day. 

“Mmh,” he whines into the fabric when the pressure of his weight exerts itself right on his crotch. It was an accident, he later swears, but he can’t bring himself to move from this position. His mind is growing numb—not in the way he wants it to—but something so carnally perverse it brings an even greater flush to his face. 

Despite the futility of the gesture, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut in one last desperate bid for sleep. In his mind, he’s begging for slumber without having to resort to that. However, it’s fruitless: pointless in every sense of the word. Him attempting to relax even further just makes the warm sheets brush against his naked chest—and with his eyes closed, it feels more like hands gently cupping around the area. 

He gives up. 

He feels so much shame that he’s delirious on it as he grinds against the thick material of the futon. Dan Heng knows he shouldn’t be doing this—rutting himself against his bed desperately while his teeth leave small marks in your sweater—but the irrational part of his mind has long taken over. 

It’s not enough. It’s nothing more than a brief morsel of pleasure—far from being able to sate his hunger and quench his thirst. 

The hour is late enough that he doesn’t feel particularly cautious as he turns back to face the glimmering ceiling. There’s an unspoken rule on the Express: don’t step into the Archives once the light goes out. Therefore, he abandons the caution he usually employs in this small space and slips his cold fingers past the waistband. 

He hisses as his frigid hand wraps around himself, thumb brushing just past the leaking tip in a way that is simultaneously overbearing yet simply not enough. 

It’s not like he’s never done this before, but it was more of a perfunctory experiment rather than anything—and being chased by a homicidal maniac does little to get him off. 

His other hand abandons the plush material of your clothing to tug sharply at his nipples—jaw clamping down on the threads to prevent the rushed moan from leaving him as he rolls them with gelid fingers. He’s sensitive: every harsh application of pressure shoots straight through his neurons and into his brain, and that’s slowly frying. 

“Mmh—” he slurs around the fabric in his mouth, practically gagging on it as he paws at his tits. 

The garment obstructing his vision and airways feels so empty that he can’t help but assign some sort of meaning to it. What would it be like if it were replaced by him instead?—he thinks, and the very notion causes his cock to twitch within the confines of his fingers. Your hand might be twined through his hair just like this: tugging on the strands as you manoeuvre him to fit exactly against you. Your thighs might clamp around the sides of his face like this: locking him there while he takes you down his throat. 

It could be him, and the concept is shoved to some disused, forgotten corner of his mind with just a phrase. 

He’s just a friend, and the words taste bitter in his mind.  

As if to forget, his fist hastens its pace and he’s rocking his hips into the motion. It’s rough—nothing like how he usually would be so methodical with this. Then again, it’s clear that he’s not trying to emulate his own ways while his hand wraps around himself; but he doesn’t want to acknowledge exactly who he’s imitating. 

It’s still not enough.

The garment stretches taut across his motions: too constricting for him to reach that high that he senses clouding the edges of his consciousness. Before, these sorts of actions were experimental—not meant to induce pleasure or buzz his mind, but simply a perfunctory exploration of his own body. Yet now, it’s clearly evolved into him chasing the haze as though he’s nothing more than some slut. 

He hisses as he slips the waistband of his pants down with a tacky hand—the darkness enveloping him only makes the cold air sharp against his sensitive skin. 

The darkness also grants him reprieve; it reminds him that he’s alone in this moment, and no one will know of his sins come morning. 

An absence of light also leads to his other senses growing more profound. Neuroplasticity. The term refers to the nervous system and senses rewiring themselves due to various stimuli, such as losing a sense. 

Without sight, he can clearly hear the sticky shick-shick as he fucks into his fist. He can hear every shift of skin against skin—every lewd squelch when he pumps his hand downwards. He can hear the rustling of clothing as it adheres to the pre-cum spilling from his tip. He can hear each bitten groan as it leaves his lips, muffled against you. Or at least, your sweater. 

Most of all, he can hear the desperate drumming of his racing heart as it acclimates to his sudden hunger for ecstasy.

+8 unread messages

21-04-XXXX 

<I’ll get you a satanic… mechanic> 00:55 > We’re both shit at communicating  00:55 > I’m coming to the archives in half an hour to put back the files, since I know you’re probably awake. Might as well talk it out.   00:56 > If you’re sleeping I won’t bother you  00:57 > We’ll just figure it out tomorrow I guess 01:14 > You really should turn on your read receipts sometime 01:14 > I can’t tell if you’ve read these or not but I’ll assume you’ve seen them  01:14 > Since you’re usually still up and around at this time 01:15 > I’m almost done with writing up the Migrides report for the Society, so I’ll be there in like five to ten minutes? I’m turning right back if you’re asleep though 

His pulse damn near bursts out of his chests as he speeds the motions of his hands up: one clenched tight around himself, while the other draws crude circles into his hardened nipples. It’s not perfect, not by any means—it’s sloppy and undignified, so unlike how he is that he half-wonders what possessed him. 

But the rough, hurried pace allows him to dissociate from himself briefly. It’s not he who ravishes himself, but the careless approximation of you pressing hard against his weeping cock: jerking it this way and that as tears leak down his flushed cheeks. 

As he imagines you knelt between his legs, the debauchment—the shame—paints his cheeks a garish red. There’s no way to take it back; he’s already crossed a line he shouldn’t have, and he can’t stop himself from doing so. Every time he forces the image into the forgotten recesses of his mind, you’re there again: spreading his legs while you make a mess between them. 

He can’t stop. He can’t stop. You’re not allowed to stop, not when he’s almost trespassing the brink of pleasure. Hurriedly, he twists his hand—your hand—just so and his stomach heaves as though on a particularly rough starskiff. 

His skin feels feverish—on the very brink of delirium and madness—but there’s still something missing. 

More, his body begs. He’s so empty, and the feeling is so foreign he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or, more accurately, he knows full well what to do, which is precisely why he’s so hesitant to even formulate the thoughts and go through the motions. 

Slowly, his fingers trail down the vertical dip in his stomach, past the valley of his waist, and nestle neatly between his spread legs. 

There are two crucial things that he’s unawares of, much to his detriment. One, that the time is precisely nineteen minutes past the system hour—the sand in the hourglass paves the path to your arrival. Two, the door to the archives isn’t nearly as soundproof as he thinks. Of course, he’s experienced this himself—hearing the bass thrum through the panels of your own door—but it’s not occurring to him that this applies to his own as well.

Instinctively, he muffles his whines and moans, just in case. But honestly, it’s hard to focus on cutting off his noises when he’s roughly jerking his palm while fucking himself on his fingers. 

It’s hard to focus on anything, except the faint trail of metal still lingering in the air. Human-loved liquor rarely weaves those blessed by Long into its viscous spell, yet somehow the merest whisper of your presence forces upon him unmatched drunkenness. 

And you’ll never know the effect you have on him. Not when he’s so painfully hard, not when he’s stuffing himself with his fingers and pretending it’s you. Sweat laves him tonight, and he is baptised in the filth of his own lust. 

“So close,” he slurs in his delirium. At least in the cover of the endless night, when the only light comes from the glow of data, his body is as honest as his thoughts. 

Which is to say, not very honest at all. 

There’s something missing—something so slight, yet profound enough to add a counterweight to his tipping into ecstasy. He can’t move past the precipice; blankness simply eludes him. Though, whenever he thinks of you, that path to hedonistic pleasure is that much clearer. 

The steady hum of data calibrating itself to Astral Express standards should be the primary sound washing over this enclosed space, but the low whir is delegated to the sidelines. He’s chanting your name in broken, garbled syllables; if it were any louder, there wouldn’t be any relative machine humming to speak of in the first place. 

In fact, the same word practically drowns out any other awareness he has of the environment. Maybe if he hadn’t been mindlessly spilling your name from his lips, he might’ve been just the tiniest bit luckier. 

Alas, Dan Heng’s soul is far less fortunate than one can imagine. 

This set of banal coincidences—a lack of soundproofing, his weakening senses, and his decision to turn his phone off for the night, him avoiding you—all culminate into his impending doom. 

In the first heartbeat following this revelation from fate, your footsteps slowly make their way from your room: feet sinking into plush carpet with a languorous sort of amble that doesn’t belie the neurotic twitch of your hands as you walk towards the person who’s avoided you successfully for however many days. In any other set of circumstances, he would’ve picked up on the tiniest of disturbances outside and nearby his door: down to the very buckles of your outfit clinking together, down to the creak in your boots as you shifted impatiently. 

In the second heartbeat, you pause outside the door—hand poised to knock in an awfully ironic mirror of him just a few months ago. 

How naive. If he saw this picture right now, he would’ve told himself to never board this Express. 

You pause outside the door, and it’s reached a point where the sounds escaping his parted lips are lulled. Or, more accurately, they escape with each exhale—natural as crying, to the point where one might think he’s having a particularly vivid nightmare. There’s nothing to suggest what’s actually going on.

This, therefore, is the last moment he has to not screw this up any further. 

But—

There is a very strong ‘but’.

—Dan Heng has already established his inaptitude for fortune. 

Had he seen you right now, he would’ve witnessed the turn in your shoulders as you accept the small noises as him just having a nightmare. Plausible explanation. There’s enough circumstantial evidence and midnight encounters to immediately come to that conclusion, then leave him to inevitably wake up on his own. 

However—however—you simply don’t turn away fast enough. Or, Dan Heng has the worst timing to ever exist. Maybe it’s the first reason for this calamity, maybe it’s both, but looking back on it, it was definitely the latter explanation. 

He’s so close. 

As he’s hastily sliding his hand up and down his weeping cock, while his fingers probe at unfamiliarity, your name slips from his mouth once more. These fateful sound waves ripple and poke past the wooden door, far enough to reach your ears and freeze your steps. 

“Dan Heng?”

He must’ve hallucinated it. But that’s your voice, so hushed and tender that his flesh throbs beneath his fingers. 

Shivers descend on his body—so profound his vision goes white for a brief moment—and thick ropes of cum spurt out onto his stomach. He’s so sensitive, but he needs so much more: rocking back onto his fingers while his slick walls clamp down onto them. 

“Ah,” he whines out, in tandem with the door opening. 

Finally. 

That grabs his attention, and his hips stutter to a grinding halt as his head turns to the side. Glossy eyes lined with unshed tears stare at the mirage to his right—it’s you, illuminated by the low glow of the data banks and the dim light in the background. 

No. 

You’re real. 

His breath hitches. Like a deer caught in headlights, he’s frozen; except in this scenario, it’s much worse than a quick hit-and-run. Dan Heng’s a mess right now. There’s globs of white pearled across his chest and stomach, there’s the fact that one hand is still cupping his hard dick, there’s still the image of the fingers of the other hand nestled deep between his legs. There’s the drool leaking from his parted lips; there’s his fucked-out, hazed expression complete with burning cheeks; and perhaps the most incriminating factor, there’s your sweatshirt still draped across his pillow.

Aeons. No amount of explanations will ever save him. It’s why he can’t bring himself to scramble to piece together his shredded dignity.

“Uh,” you begin intelligently. There’s some sadistic (wholly unconcerned with his own situation) part of him that notes that this is the first instance he’s seen of you being struck dumb like this. 

It’s dim enough that you need a moment to process it, but he watches your eyes adjust. You take in his half-naked state, exactly where his hands are still positioned, and finally, that damned sweatshirt. 

He swallows, but no words escape his mouth. And frighteningly enough, he can feel himself twitch against his cold palm. 

“I really wasn’t expecting this when I came to confront you about avoiding me,” you mutter, firmly looking elsewhere as he pulls the sheets so they cover his legs and sits upright. “Did I cause some crisis within you? Is your attraction to me the reason you’ve been so distant?”

“I’m not…” Distant? Avoidant? Attracted to you? 

“I’m not interested in my friend like that,” he replies thickly. “I just needed to sort myself—ah—out before I could continue that relationship.”

If this were anyone else, this conversation would’ve ended a few minutes ago. If he were any closer to you, he would’ve left this area as soon as possible. Maybe it’s because you’re so distant that it’s possible to keep talking like this, like he isn’t still getting off on your words and the texture of his sheets on his painfully hard dick. 

There’s the evidence of his shame on his cheeks—such a dark red he feels lightheaded. 

“Ah, right,” you nod in understanding. “Because I didn’t hear my name being called out, and that’s definitely not my jumper lying there. You’re not interested.”

“Exactly,” he lies. He can’t gauge what exactly you’re probing him for, but he knows that you’re offering a chance out of this mess. 

This was a mistake. He screwed up—letting his irrational mind entrance him with you. No doubt, this was all due to the strange dream he had back on Argo-I that catalysed this disaster. He’s not interested in you—his friend. 

“Dan Heng,” you breathe. “You’ve been evasive ever since we returned from the Argo.”

He stiffens, watching cautiously as you lean against the doorframe. 

“I’ll leave after you truthfully answer one question of mine.” Your cadence is casual enough that he can’t hear judgement nor disgust within. Just kick me out, he wants to say. If he could, he’d want to undergo rebirth this instant so he’d forget all about this. 

“Why aren’t you yelling at me?” he blurts out.

“Do you want me to yell at you?” you counter. “It’s natural behaviour for people, is it not, to release tension this way?”

And perhaps, it is your indifference that is the most galling facet of this situation. 

“What do you want to know?” he instead asks, rather coldly. Do anything other than look at me like that! But here you are, picking at your nails as if he’s not just bared his vulnerable body in your presence. 

It’s weird, so weird, and if the Masked Fools ever picked apart his memory and witnessed this scene… Well, he doesn’t even want to think about the numerous ways they’d publish it. This is perhaps the most humiliating and bizarre experience he’s ever had; worst of all, it appears completely one-sided. 

“Dan Heng.” You shake your head in disappointment. Slight mockery coats your tongue, and he flinches with the sudden heat in his abdomen. To think, you’ve never called his name in this realm before today—but the shame he’s experiencing has caused the sudden influx in your vocabulary. It’s hilariously, painfully ironic. “I was wondering why it was the Argo cluster in particular that triggered this.”

An ominous prelude to your question.

“You lied to me on the last day, didn’t you?”

The dream. The damned dream. You know. Somehow, you’re aware of what exactly it was that he’d dreamed. 

He holds his breath. 

“But I won’t be as cruel as to ask that just yet.” So what will you ask in its stead?

You shift until you’re at your full height, and he’s hyper aware of the piercing—knowing—glint in your eyes as you assess him. “Out of all your days at that bar, did you happen to spot the blinding red poster behind the counter?”

Now that you mention it, he does faintly recall the edge of crimson in the deep recesses of his memory. Mutely, he nods (after all, he doesn’t trust himself to not stick the final nail in his own coffin).

“Perfect,” you drawl sarcastically. “Then, can you tell me what was written on that poster?”

No. He finds that he can’t. And what is the reason for that? He doesn’t know. 

(He does know. For the same reason his blood chases the heaving gulps of oxygen, his gaze flitted only to you for that brief week—but that will go unacknowledged by him.)

“Archivist—” and it’s the first time you’ve used his title so callously, so bluntly. “—for someone whose job it is to collect information, you sure didn’t do a good job at knowing that overconsumption of anything is bad for your health.”

His fingers twitch. Shameful. How utterly shameful it is—how abhorrent—that even as your words cut through skin and flesh and reach tender marrow, his heart rate quickens with adrenaline. 

“Do remind me,” he mutters. Perhaps if he were a little wiser, he would’ve searched up the drink as soon as he left the Argo, ignoring the prickles of chagrin that pierced him as he thought about it. 

“Overconsumption of this particular drink can lead to migraines and hallucinations.” Yes, he faintly recalls the sound of those words as the bartender warned him about all those neatly lined coupe glasses. Just like a fool, he didn’t pay much heed to the warnings he heard as though it were mere alcohol. Easily handled, easily managed. Except it wasn’t. 

“That’s not all, is it?” For the first time, he can see your slight hesitation as you mull over the final consequence. 

“No. There’s also the ability to project into dreams that aren’t wholly your own.”

Oh. Oh. His mind reels. 

You were there, and you saw all of it. 

“You—” he cuts himself off as he notices you standing only a foot or so away, peering down at him as you reach for your sweater. Your scent invades his senses—so much more potent than the insignificant material bearing only traces of you. 

“I’ll be taking my leave.” You’re still leaning over him. The folds of your clothes brush just right past his naked torso, and he flinches back as though he’s been scalded by the proximity. “Thanks for confirming what I needed to know, friend.”

It happens as you’re beginning to move back. Unprompted, his hand reaches out to grab your wrist and you drop the sweater you were holding. 

Surprised, you stare at him with your lips parted. The distance is insignificant; in fact, he can feel the warm gusts of your breathing right on his collarbones. 

“So you do want me,” you comment smartly, and he averts his eyes to look anywhere but your laughing gaze. 

“I still don’t,” he mutters, but his voice quivers far too much to hold only truths. He’s my friend, and nothing else. 

“Then, should I go? Leave you to deal with this alone?” The words brush honey-sweet against raw skin—they brutally remind him of your position. You’re kneeling slightly on the futon, back bent a crude seventy degrees as you lean over his legs to grab your sweater once more. A rough palm is firmly planted by his side (he’s terribly conscious of the warmth it radiates) while the other is locked in his own grasp. 

“Are you offering?” he challenges: pure irreverence dulls his cadence. 

“If you ask nicely, I might help out my dear friend.” A crescent smile is present on your face; innocuous enough, but he can sense the sharpness just waiting to cut him. It was a mistake. Getting involved with the Express was a horrible mistake. Every time he inhales, he can smell those mandarins and the soapy scent of you—the metal, the caffeinated drinks, you. Even your terrible, doom-ridden smile has long turned sweet; the only danger it brings is the heated surge straight through his stomach. 

He’s willing to help. 

“And if I don’t ask nicely?” It’s not like him to be this brash, but Aeons know just how insane he’s feeling tonight. 

“Then I bid you good luck in whatever you were doing before,” you whisper, moving to disentangle your fist from his shaking fingers. 

And he admitted I’m just a friend too. 

Selfishly, he refuses to let your arm go. 

“Dan Heng?”

“If it’s just for tonight…” he exhales. After tonight, the regular back-and-forth would be reestablished, right? His bottom lip wobbles, and he catches your eyes flickering to the small motion. 

“You act like you’re doing me a favour,” you sneer. Is it normal for his pulse to accelerate as you look at him with such disdain? Is it normal for his heart to drop when you wrench yourself free of his grasp and stand to head to the door?

“Where are you going?” He hates how it sounds like he’s whining like some damn mutt, hates how hard he feels at the slightest hint of your displeasure, hates you for making him feel like this. 

“Locking the door,” you remark. “I’m not like you—so desperate that anyone can just walk in and see you with your legs spread.”

“Mmh,” he sighs out at each blunt syllable that leaves your cruel lips. He’s too far gone to feel shame about it; more accurately, you made him this way. Nothing’s in his head except you—his mind’s whirling as you kneel back down at his side, heart pounding desperately out of his chest. 

His eyes squeeze shut as you ghost closer; fear poisons his vessels as he moves back slightly. 

“No kissing,” he insists, since that will feel far too much like that dream. Something so intimate doesn’t belong here—his only goal is to break away from this night and resume his friendship as cleanly as possible. 

“Okay.” He can picture your raised brows as you wonder exactly what about a kiss is more amorous than the very act of intercourse. “Just the lips, or everywhere?”

Against his will, his face flushes a far deeper red than it had previously. Crimson is fading into your vision—as visible as his glossy, tear-lined eyes—and he knows you see it clearly. How can you not? After all, he can feel the heavy pressure of your gaze as you look directly at his face. Not his body, nor his clenched fists, but right at his face. Strangely, that feels far more intimate than anything else. 

“Just the lips,” he stammers. 

Aeons willing, his heart won’t stop anytime soon. While it feels like his very cells will collapse in on themselves with how hard his pulse thuds, he hopes they’ll continue enduring just a little bit longer. 

“Okay,” you breathe once more—except this time, he doesn’t hear it so much as feel it brush gently over his collarbone. Blooming like flowers, your mouth leaves a meadow behind on his clavicle; he can’t help but throw his head up to be closer to you, to allow you to mark him up more. 

Every place you suck a bruise into burns white-hot. He knows he should pragmatically stop you from claiming the base of his throat and above (if only to preserve his dignity when he faces the rest of the Express come morning) but he can’t bring himself to hide this: for one night, he lay in your arms. 

He knows that he should’ve limited you from placing your warm mouth anywhere. What will he do tomorrow? When he sees the blossoming violets seeping into his dermis in the morning, how will he look you in the eyes cordially while knowing it’s your fault? While he waits for his sore body to recover, how exactly will he maintain friendship?

“Don’t worry your pretty head so much,” you whisper, and oh, you must’ve seen the furrow in his brows while getting some air and admiring your handiwork in the dim light of data shelves. A palm splayed flat on his bare chest—warm, just like the man it’s attached to—pushes him firmly onto his futon once more, until his back hits his pillow and his elbows prop himself up. It’s a testament to your words: forget the turbulent thoughts, and just think about this moment. 

Pretty, he thinks drunkenly. He thinks I’m pretty. And though it’s, quite frankly, stupid to be flustered over that when there are plenty of better reasons to be flustered right now, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut even tighter at the word. 

Your mouth moves lower, teeth grazing the grooves of his abdomen—and his back arches into the sensation of soft lips. 

“Aeons— ah—” he moans as you lave your tongue across where the still-sticky rivulets of cum remain. To make matters worse, the rough pad of your thumb rubs callous circles against his nipple: sensitive from his earlier toying. But oh, it feels so much better than when he’d given them his amateur attention. He can’t help but shudder into the touch: so robotically precise he wonders whether you view people like your machines too. Does he do this with others as well?

The question creates a sickening, furious heat in his gut. One of his hands lifts and grips your shoulder, digging through the loose shirt you wear and into the firm skin beneath. 

He finally opens his eyes to look down at you—your brows slightly raised as you continue cleaning up the mess he made from the side, tongue darting out to catch every last drop—and his dick stiffens painfully from where it’s still covered. 

Salty, he thinks he hears you mutter to yourself. Maybe that’s the last straw, or maybe it’s you washing your tongue over your lips as if not to miss anything. Neither of those things matter—he needs you to expedite whatever you were going to do, now.

“Hurry– hurry up,” he gasps as your other hand brushes his hip bone, dangerously close to where the sheet covers. 

“So impolite,” you mock. Suddenly, that same hand wrenches the sheet down, and he lets out a groan as his naked flesh is bared to the cold air once more—he sees you don’t miss his reaction. “Not even a please.”

You’re the one who’s impolite, he thinks—ogling at him while you’re still fully clothed. 

“Sure have a lot of demands for someone who got caught calling out my name,” you reply, and it’s then he realises that maybe he didn’t think that at all. Still, with a fluid motion, you discard your shirt to the side and he’s left gazing at the expanse of your skin once more. Just like in that dream. 

“Now who’s ogling?” you continue quietly, but he’s much too fixated on seeing the bare flesh that unconsciously, his hand reaches back up to trace the plains of your shoulder. Then, his focus shifts as you reposition yourself so you’re practically straddling his legs, essentially trapping him under you. 

His tongue flickers out to wet his lips. 

Thankfully—thankfully—that’s not the thing you notice as your eyes finally trail down. 

“Mmh—” he whines as your calloused hand grasps his stiff cock. You’re gentler than he thought you’d be—though it’s precisely that sort of friction he’d been looking for in the first place. It’s almost cautious; you swipe your thumb across his leaking slit experimentally, and he can hear his own breathing become more rapid and shallow. 

“So pretty,” you murmur. “Just like the rest of you.”

He blinks, and suddenly he’s looking down to where your gaze lies: where your hand almost dwarfs his flesh, where his mushroom tip glistens from his earlier release, and where you’re slowly pumping it from shaft to base. 

Yes, he thinks, it is a pretty sight—but only because you’re in it too. 

He freezes. 

I can’t think that way. 

Dan Heng gasps as you remove your hand from him, shamelessly licking up the remaining liquid from your hand. The very sight causes his mind to go blank: body burning, stomach churning.  

“Why’d you stop—” he slurs his words, lids blinking slowly despite the scalding flush of adrenaline spreading through his limbs. “—not fair.”

Gently, you grab the hand that rests on your shoulder, pressing a small kiss to it while he hears the sound of a zipper. The sweet gesture forces his eyes open completely—if you moved any closer, you’d be able to hear his maddened heartbeat. 

“I’m not stopping,” you assure him. Warm fingers easily thread through his, and he gasps as your dick presses against his. His teary pupils can’t bear to look down—feel how you’re rubbing the pieces of flesh together in a dizzying rhythm.

Just like clockwork, he presses his freehand to the back of yours: stuck together in perpetual motion. He can hear the soft shick-shick as you move your palm up and down; feel the heat of your skin as it radiates into his own cold hands; see the faint smile as you stare at him beneath you. 

It feels so good—and normally, he’d never give in to the facetious pleasure that waits to slit his throat while he’s in its tender embrace. 

Pressing his lips together, he removes his hands from yours and loops them around your neck. If he feels closely, he can sense the steady race of your pulse—something that belies the surprise you hide in your languid expression. Like this, your body is forced closer to his (or more precisely, his body is forced closer to yours). 

You sigh out as his nails dig into your fragile human flesh; he’d think you were in pain had it not been for the small exhales you’d let out as you sped up your pace. When you hiss out—breathing shallow from him, from the man cursed to be Dan Heng—he can’t help but throb in your hold. 

He’s had that effect on you. Not anyone else, not those people pressed against you in the club who wanted your fragments, but him. 

“So infuriating,” you grind out with gritted teeth. He buries his face in the valley between neck and shoulder, breathing in the soapy scent from the juncture as your hands become harsher. Rougher. 

Dan Heng occupies his loud mouth by suckling right onto your neck—stealing his breath away while the pleasure builds up in the pit of his stomach. 

You lean back slightly, and suddenly the hand that was propping your weight up firmly grabs the side of his waist—and he thinks he can see the stars within the confines of these four walls. You notice—of course you do—the ragged panting coming from him, and he can see the grin forming on your face in his mind. 

How shameful. 

He stares back with crescent eyes and dark red cheeks lining them. 

“Pervert.” Two syllables. Two syllables, accompanied by a harsh squeeze of his side, before he comes undone. Arching into you with a choked cry, more strings of cum spurt from his tip: coating his stomach and yours with an unmistakable affirmation of your words. No, word (singular), because for whatever Aeon-forsaken reason, his body chose in particular to respond to your insult. 

Spit connects his mouth to your skin—face still in your shoulder as if to hide from you. His chest rises and falls rapidly: tits pressed against your own chest as he whines with the overstimulation. 

It’s no good. Your hands keep moving, and he’s still so painfully hard he can barely breathe. 

“‘M– I’m not,” he garbles, even as you poke at the sticky liquid dripping from his sides. 

“Are too,” you murmur, but the teasing doesn’t comfort him the way he thought it would. No, tomorrow when your regular back-and-forth is reestablished, he’ll only think of this night—how you feel on him, how well you touch his body. 

“Don’t stop,” he whimpers as you pause the movements that keep driving him to many brinks. 

“I’m not.” He’s putty under your hands as you twist his body with such deftness that he wonders where you get it from. Lugging around heavy machines certainly does leave you with some muscle there—he doesn’t realise the position he’s in until he feels your torso move against his plush ass. 

His chest presses down against the futon, face barely escaping the same fate as he turns it to the side to avoid suffocation. If he had to describe this situation, it would be humiliating—arched straight into the air with you kneading the soft expanse of flesh like it were fucking bread. 

It finally sets in. 

He’s about to get fucked by his closest friend in this cycle—and he hates how stiff the thought makes him. 

But surprisingly—since you’re so damn full of surprises—you instead part the sensitive flesh of his thighs and instead fill the gap there. He’s so empty, but in this position, your tip catches against his every time you drill into the space; that (begrudgingly) makes up for it. Somewhat. 

“Stop delaying it,” he groans as he feels more of his cum dribble down onto his sheets. What more do you want from him?

“Dan Heng,” you instead hover over him, grasping his waist like handlebars. He hates this so much—how easily you manoeuvre him, how good the pain of your nails feels against his touch-deprived skin. 

Most of all, he hates how depraved he feels—using his closest friend for this. 

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty your thighs are?” you groan above him, and he swears he can feel the vibrations right against his cock. “Or how gorgeous your waist is?”

It should be insulting. He’s a guard and archivist, not some object to ogle at under your heated gaze. Yet, contrary to his expectations, he can only suppress the violent urge to just cum on the spot from those words. You like his body. 

Not as a warrior, not as a weapon for the protection of the Luofu, but simply because he’s beautiful in your eyes. 

“No,” he replies through a breathy moan, clutching desperately at the shirt you discarded that’s lying right next to his face. You notice, of course. Nothing really escapes your sharp eyes, not even when it’s dark and he’s trying to hide. “I can’t say anyone has.”

“You’re so cute.” And when you say those three words, you press a quick kiss to the nape of his neck while one of your hands lazily jerks him off. 

However, that’s not what pushes him to the brink. It’s when you finish—hot streams dripping down his inner thighs as you let out a muffled groan right next to his ear. That’s when he shivers. That’s when his heart pulses extra loudly for one beat and his breath hitches. That’s when his body tightens and he spills once more onto his sheets. 

“Ah,” he gasps as he continues thrusting weakly into your hand. Your body’s heavy as you lean your forehead into his neck: warm breath tickling his nape and making his whole body shudder from the sensation. 

“Are— are you finally going to–” he’s cut off as you pull away from his thighs; scalding residue is left between them, and every time he shifts it squelches. 

“Man, your biology really is different.” He can feel you smile against his skin as you don’t let go of him. He’s practically caged in by your body at this point—but strangely, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Already eager to go?”

“Don’t avoid the question,” he grips the material of your shirt so tightly he can feel his nails dig into his palm. “Actually, don’t answer my question with a question of your own.”

“Still so vocal,” you shake your head slightly. Much too casually, you tighten your grip around him in a ring and he has to clamp his jaw shut so as to not let out any more wanton noises. He can’t give you the satisfaction of proving yourself right.

“You’re just too slow.” He doesn’t know why he’s provoking you. 

“You’re just too impatient,” you hiss. 

It’s worth it. It’s worth it when you nudge at his hole with your tip; worth it when you stretch him out just around the shaft. 

“Mmph— more,” he moans shamelessly at the burn. When he attempts to sink down further, your hands grip his waist in such a way that prevents him from moving an inch. It hurts, more than his fingers did—but he can’t help wanting to just take it. 

“You sure?” 

In one fell swoop, you bury yourself to the hilt in his tight hole—and he practically screams at the sudden intrusion. His body tightens almost immediately, yet the relief never comes when he feels your fingers tightly wrap around him to prevent release. 

Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, and he can clearly see the sadistic smile on your face as his glossy eyes meet yours—ruining his climax while there’s not a single speck of remorse in your ruthless gaze. 

“Fuck you–” he grits out. Stemming his tears is a futile attempt. 

“That’s your job,” you grin. Pulling out just so your tip remains, it doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out what you’re going to next. “Remember, Dan Heng, patience is a virtue.”

He’s still reeling from the ruined orgasm when you slam into him again. The man swears he can feel you in his very throat as his chest tightens from the impact—and the broken moans he’s been suppressing come out once more at full volume. 

You don’t give him any time to adjust; rather, you set a pace so thorough that the gummy spot inside of him is hit every time. Still, there’s no mercy for him—your hand prevents his release on each occasion he gets close to it. 

He can feel your own body tense up. Maybe, as a gesture of goodwill, that’s when you finally let go of him and take hold of his waist once more. On his skin, your hand is tacky from a mixture of both you and him. 

Using both hands, you pull him into you just as your pelvis collides with his own flesh; with each plap of sticky skin against skin, he lets out a cut-off mewl that simply fades into the next. Over and over. 

This is a special form of madness. 

“Please, please—” he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, only that it’s the only thing he can say at this moment. 

It seems this has some effect on you—he can feel your abdomen stiffen as you grit out a question. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” he breathes. Perhaps that’s your last straw. Perhaps his voice like this is too much for you; not even a minute later, he can feel searing rivulets seep deep into him—so warm and slippery. 

“Hng–” he moans out. The feeling’s too much. With a desperate sob, he’s finally allowed to cum too: an awful, mind-numbing sensation that wracks his whole body with ruined pleasure. His chest heaves up and down—milking you for all you’re worth as he continues to ride it out. If you look closely, you’d see his legs practically giving out as you loosen your grip on his waist ever-so-slightly. 

Your body looms over his trembling one, pressing kiss after kiss to his spine as he cries it out. 

Discordant breaths slowly dissipate into calmer ones—your comforting weight grounds him firmly to the present. 

When… did I start thinking that way?

As he’s soothed into stupor, he notices how your scorching palms slip from his sides and hold down his clenched fists—twining finger against finger in such a tender gesture he can feel his very shoulders deepen into carmine. 

You’re half-hard inside him, but he still needs so much more. When his sniffles die down, he notices you staring unabashedly at him: a mess, he’s sure, but he sees how enraptured you are. That, for some reason, makes the comment die down in his throat and replaces it with a poignant question. 

What do you think about me?

(But that’s not a question you should be asking your close friend, not when he’s firmly lodged within you with his chest pressed against your back.)

You rub circles against the slight veins that line the backs of his hands—rough shapes that somehow retain the essence of your mechanical certainty. It’s so fucking intimate he can’t help but feel his whole face burn: to the bitter point where he’s pressing it right against his tear-stained, sweat-stained pillow. 

“Want more,” he slurs, hissing sharply as you lean back far enough on your heels that you manage to seat him firmly in your lap. It’s so much deeper that he has to stifle his whines while you gaze at him with that annoyingly perceptive look. 

He’s reminded of your strength when you tug at his legs and manoeuvre him so he’s facing you, on your lap, while still stuffed full of you and his cum. There’s fat globs of white dripping from him in a frothy ring, but you clearly don’t care about any of that as you lean back on your palms impassively. 

“Your turn,” you prompt. 

And oh, as he feels himself get split apart at this angle, it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall apart at that instant. It hurts, relying on his legs to rise and fall on your dick—over and over—but by the Aeons he can’t stop his tears from being shed and his mouth from letting out some of his most embarrassing sounds. 

He’s so dizzy he almost collapses—but his hands digging into your trapezius muscles provides a tentative support to his shaky frame. 

“Jerk,” he gasps out as you palm him callously, meeting each bounce of his hips with your pelvis thrusting upwards. He can’t stop the whines that leave his spit-shined lips; every sticky skin-on-skin sound is accompanied by such. 

He can’t go as fast as he wants, nor can he go as high as he wants, but that allows him to observe the irritated glint in your eyes as you duck your head. 

“What are you— ah—” he whimpers as your teeth graze his puffy nipple; his back curves into an arch unconsciously to press his tits more to your face, and he can’t help but feel embarrassed at how easily his body responds to your motions. 

As your tongue laves wet circles round the areola, while your hand roughly strokes him and you fill him up so, so good, he clutches at your body for dear life when he feels that familiar feeling building up in his stomach. 

“So close,” he bites out, shuddering in your grasp as you bite lightly around the nipple. Combined with the twisting motion of your hands, and the irresistible smell of sweat and metal bleeding from your skin, it’s no surprise that he cums in glistening ropes: painting your skin once more. 

More tears leak from his eyes as you don’t slow down. Well, you do, but only to use the tight grip he still has on your shoulders to push him down so he’s under you once more. You resume just as quickly; by this point, it’s clear you’re chasing your own release. 

Beautiful, he thinks through hazy eyes. 

He glances to the side briefly, spotting the bag he vowed he’d carry out of here in time—then back at you. 

There’ll be more passengers. More people, vying for your attention like this. Will you treat them like this? Like friends, as he’s so aptly put it?

He pulls himself closer to you, watching as your eyes widen in brief surprise at the sudden proximity. 

“What’s wrong?” you murmur. “Want me to–”

You’re so considerate it makes him sick. Is this how you view friendship too?

Where is the boundary?

Gradually, you bring your hips to a slow roll as he continues staring directly at you. He almost whines at the loss of motion, but the dilated look in your pupils is enough to keep him sated. 

Need him. He squeezes tight around you; as soon as your eyelids flutter shut, he kisses you on the lips chastely—the brief contact of your lips against his is enough to almost make his eyes roll back in delight. 

Your eyes practically flinch: blown open in abject surprise as you stare at his bashful, flushed expression. He definitely can’t leave, but Aeons this attention makes him want to retreat back into himself. 

“Dan Heng,” you whisper. “What happened to your rule?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “Not anymore.”

He’s not expecting you to immediately cup his face with a shaky hand, kissing him feverishly while you continue grinding against him languidly. The salt on your lips—the taste of himself—is enough to have him cum against you one last time in weak, watery spurts. 

He moans into your mouth: hands clutching at you for dear life while you shudder with your own climax. Never has he felt so spent; not even after hours-long battles. Sure, he’s felt cold detachment from the blood on his palms, but he’s burning at the moment. A veritable comet streaking right across the galaxies, made of all the cold ice he can imagine—but lit up as white-hot as a star. 

If he had to explain the feeling of prodding his tongue into your warm, wet mouth, it would most likely be the best sensation he’s ever experienced. He can’t stop: too drunk on your taste to think about anything else save you. 

When you have your best friend’s dick in you, it’s pretty hard to think of him as just a friend. 

“Not going anywhere,” he mumbles into the scalding skin of your neck. “I’ll stay right by your side.”

“What—changed your mind about us just being buddies?” you query mockingly, running your fingers into the valleys above his hips. This weight; it feels safe being caged in your arms like this, as though he’ll sleep without nightmares every night he’s entrapped like this. “Felt too good for a friends with benefits situation?”

“Shut up,” he huffs, weakly poking at your arm. “Don’t want you treating your other friends like this.”

He can feel you stifle your laugh. 

Perhaps, if he really looks at it, the standard TUL dialect definition of friendship applies to this situation. Mutual trust and affection. 

“Okay, okay,” you accede. There’s a fluttering sensation in his chest that accompanies his reddened cheeks, and it’s not due to the strenuous activities from a moment prior. “You’re mine, then.”

The clumsy framing somewhat fit at the beginning, but no longer. 

And if he really looks at it, he should reread the whole dictionary to make sure he doesn’t misunderstand any more of these concepts. 

　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　   ☾

[1-800-kami]

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK .. feat. gojo satoru

.. two star-crossed lovers who make an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life.

content: 1.8k words, fem!reader, angst (with a little comfort), first half takes place during chapter 236, (so MAJOR manga spoilers ahead) character death, reincarnation au, gojo is a future lawyer, VERY bittersweet

author's note: it's been a minute since i've last uploaded a fic lmao </3 i've mainly been doing smau's (because they're very fun to do and take less effort) but here's a short gojo fic that's been resting in my drafts for a while. it's a reincarnation au that i wrote while listening to slow dancing in the dark..so enjoy! -kami <3

interact and reblog for a kiss ;)

it’s cold on the battlefield.

the wind nips at your skin until it feels like you’re about to freeze over. you feel the coldness seeping into your skin—entering and traveling up your veins until it eventually reaches your already ice-cold heart. 

the scene in front of you feels all too familiar. you’ve seen it a thousand times over in the past–the image plaguing your sleep, turning what’s supposed to be a time to rest into a time of nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat. your lover, gojo satoru, is on the ground, eyes on the precipice of losing its shine. and there’s red, fuck–there’s so much red. a pool of red lies underneath gojo and it’s all you can see.

usually, at this point, you’d wake up, mind all over the place and heart racing. satoru… where’s satoru? you’d panic, feeling the covers for your lover and exhaling a sigh of relief when you find him curled up next to you. 

he’d always get up after you, knowing that you’d experience the occasional nightmare of him leaving you. satoru understands this very well. he has nightmares of you leaving him too. he’d make sure to hug your shaking, crying form until your sobs eventually ceased. “i’m right here, love. i’m not going anywhere. i’m the strongest, you know? you should have more faith in me.”

wake up. y/n. this isn’t real, right? wake up. you pinch your skin and dig your nails into your palms, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. except, you don’t wake up, and with the newly made marks etched on your skin lighting your nerves on fire, you realize this isn’t a dream. this time, gojo’s not there to ease your worries and reassure you that he’s alive–that he’s never going to leave your side.

with that realization, you feel yourself moving again. you scream satoru’s name with a voice plagued with nothing but agony and despair. you run over to his side, panic filling your senses when you feel his body and get all the red on your hands. red. it’s never had a negative connotation to you before. there was red on the roses that satoru had given you on valentines day. red on the heart-shaped gold necklace he’d gifted you on your anniversary (that you’ve never taken off since). red on the box of chocolates that he’d given to you on an ordinary day. “what? does there have to be a special occasion to show my girlfriend how much i love her?”

now, your perception of the color red has been tainted for the rest of your life. it’s the only thing you can see, and you want to close your eyes forever just so you don’t have to see that crimson shade ever again. “satoru, you said you’d never leave... you lied to me!”

he coughs weakly, using all his remaining strength to weakly take your hands in his. there’s a small smile on his face, and his peaceful expression only makes you sob harder. an expression that shows that he’s accepted his fate. “gosh, i’m getting your clothes all dirty. i’m sorry, princess…”

“can you promise me something, though? before i’m gone…” he whispers, and you nod your head, ready to do anything for him. “promise me we’ll meet again, okay?”

that catches you off guard. “w…what do you mean?”

“we’ll meet again, in another life, and i’ll love you all over again.” he smiles cheekily, and you hold his hand a little tighter, sobs racking your core and making your entire body shake. “have you ever imagined living a normal life? a life where sorcerers and curses are all alien words, and i’m not “the strongest”?…a life where i’m just like everyone else, and i get to marry you because no shitty higher-ups are holding me back anymore. god, i think about that all the time. i’ve realized that i’d like that version of life with you more than anything.”

you think that everyone in the jujutsu society has had that thought at least once. sometimes, the idea of being an ignorant civilian unknowingly living in a world filled with curses and despair seemed preferable. and yet, you’ve chosen to be a sorcerer, and perhaps this is the worst part to it. constantly losing the ones you’ve held closest to your heart–all to protect a group of people who aren’t even remotely aware of the sacrifices that sorcerers have made so that they can live a normal life. 

“i’ve always wanted that too, s’toru.” you whisper, in fear of your voice breaking if you speak too loudly. “yeah… a regular life without curses. what do you think it’ll be like?”

“hm… let me think. i’ve always wanted to be a dad, y’know?” satoru teases, and the two of you are lost in your own world as you both envision a life where you can be together without any repercussions. “megumi doesn’t count, cause ‘m not his biological dad. i want a little me running around in a house that we’ve worked so hard to buy. and who knows? maybe we’ll have more kids. maybe one or two more-”

“three kids?! that’s a lot, satoru.” you say in mock surprise, though you can’t expect less from your boyfriend. “hey.. does that mean we’ll get married?”

“of course, sweetheart. you’re the only love i’ve ever known. ‘m sorry i have to leave you like this. but i’ll come back for you in our next life, okay?” he hisses as he uses all his strength to grip your shaky hands a little tighter. you can tell his adrenaline’s wearing off, but you’re not ready to let go.

i’ll come back for you in our next life.

every second you’ll spend waiting for satoru seems like an eternity.  “i’ll propose to you with a beautiful ring ‘nd you’ll be…”

he coughs up a little bit of blood, voice hoarse and barely holding on. yet, gojo persists on using whatever strength he has to talk to you.

“you’ll be y/n gojo. i like the sound of that…” he whispers, and both of you know that his time has run out. the red on your skin is beginning to dry, and it feels like it’s tainted you forever. “i love you, princess.”

“i love you too, satoru. i’ll see you soon.” gojo’s grip on your hands loosen. you whisper his name again, looking for a response, but you’re only met with silence. he’s left you alone just like how everyone else has left you. nanami, geto, haibara, and now satoru.

you don’t scream or sob once you realize that satoru’s gone. in fact, your tears have ceased, but it's instead replaced with this empty feeling—like a hollow hole in your chest that can’t be filled with anything to make you feel whole again.

the battlefield is cold, but gojo’s limp body feels colder.

gojo satoru is twenty-two years old. he’s a slightly above-average man (both figuratively and literally) standing at six foot three, boasting looks that’ll make anyone fawn over him. it took him almost two years to decide on a major, but after trying a little bit of everything (and falling asleep during every business class that he took with his friend nanami) satoru settled on choosing a political science major to become a lawyer.

despite having looks that grant him the ability to get any girl that he wants, satoru’s spent his whole life looking for a girl that he’s never even met before.

he remembers everything–and every part about you. sometimes, he thinks that all the memories he’s spent with you were just some sort of dream, and yet, they seemed so vivid. sometimes, satoru chastises himself, a part of him wanting to just move on from you because he doesn’t even know if you actually exist–and yet, he’s been trying his entire life to find you because his memories told him that “he promised he would”.

were they memories or were they dreams? he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

but then, gojo satoru finally gets his questions answered one spring afternoon.

he passes by a cute bakery while walking home from school, and feels his taste buds waking up as he stares at all the mouth-watering sweets displayed behind the store’s glass. the bakery has a wide variety of baked goods, as well as coffee. satoru’s so busy looking at the menu that the second he looks at the cashier, he feels his entire world stop.

it’s you.

and at that moment, satoru could feel all the memories flooding back in. no, they weren’t dreams. they were memories. satoru has lived a completely different life before this one, and this was a new life, a second life that was granted to satoru from whatever deity there was out there. all he ever wanted was to live a normal life without being renowned as “the strongest”, and most importantly, he wanted to live a normal life with you in the epicenter of it. 

you. his entire world. his lifeline.

and now, you’re right in front of him, and satoru feels like he’s sixteen all over again–the year that you met him when you transferred into jujutsu high. the year you turned his entire world upside down. the year you–as well as his other friends, taught him how to live for a moment without caring about the overbearing pressure of expectation that was ever-present on his shoulders.

a glimmer of gold on your neck catches satoru’s eye.

it was the heart-shaped gold necklace that he’d given to you on your anniversary. the heart itself was crystallized red, and when you asked gojo to clasp it around your neck, you’ve always kept it on you.

he wonders if you ever took it off after he died.

“y/n?” the whisper almost felt pathetic with how much emotion he poured into it. you look up from your phone and finally meet his gaze for the first time in years.

two star-crossed lovers who made an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life. the two of you have finally crossed paths again–but wait, there’s something terribly wrong.

“y/n? yeah… that’s my name.” you say, looking at your name tag that was pinned onto your apron. a look of confusion is etched onto your face–the man in front of you is looking at you with so much familiarity that you feel the need to know who he is. silvery white hair, cerulean blue eyes. his appearance makes him stand out so much that you would’ve definitely known who he was. you awkwardly adjust your name tag, unable to find any words to say other than:

“i’m sorry, but do i know you?”

[seliasvault]

The Supermarket

supermarket!simon x reader cw: stalking, dark simon riley

Part two

1 │2 │3

Simon Riley hasn't experienced kindness, so when you show him some, he goes a little crazy.

Simon Riley's had an unarguably difficult life, from his childhood to his current occupation, he hasn't experienced much kindness.

He's been in his line of work for a vast amount of time, been through countless missions, seen all kinds of things, and his views of the world have consequentially been tainted.

But it isn't just the missions that severed his perception of the world, he's been let down time and time again by several individuals, relatives, teammates, strangers. He doesn't believe anyone could truly be good.

With his life experiences, he'd be a fool to believe any act of kindness or show of good would not be followed by an ulterior motive.

Which is why when he encounters you, he's perplexed.

- He's on leave, once again, returning to a so-called "home", barely furnished, with equally less in the fridge.

The smell of smoke and debris following him, he decidedly heads straight for a shower. Rinsing his body of any reminders of his most recent assignment, he gets out clean, in a literal sense. He doesn't think could ever be clean.

He makes his way out, deciding to head to the local supermarket down the street from his flat. Not being in the mood to drive, he thinks the walk might help him unwind. It doesn't.

The fluorescent lights illuminate the space, uncomfortably bright, he goes around with a shopping basket, filling it up with the essentials, some organic shit that Johnny recommended to him, and a six-pack.

He heads toward the lines, numbers of people at each register, some even lined up inside the aisles themselves. He chooses the cashier that looks the fastest, based on the speed of her scanning and bagging.

The line continues to slowly progress and he's lightly tapped by the cart behind him. Turning around to look, he sees the person behind him's been shoved into by the cart behind her. And from the look on her face, it wasn't as light as the slight tap he got.

He's almost sure she's getting ready to blow up at him, the little fuckers got the most shit-eating grin, with no ounce of a sorry, done almost deliberately.

He awaits the forms of screaming, lecturing, anger, but she simply turns around with a hand soothing her back. Almost unphased. Being somewhat surprised he turns back.

But he can't mind his business for too long as an older man approaches you, probably his dickhead father. He once again expects you to tell him off, to control his son. You however are courteous, kind? Offering an understanding look and turning back.

Again unusual, statistically people tend to create a scene, especially when they've been hurt, it's human nature to get angry, and so once again he wonders why you would just take it?

Turning back around he sets that aside, not wanting to read into it, he continues waiting.

-

By the time his turn comes, he's over the noise and the fucking lights. Everything's been bagged and the last step to freedom is to pay the overpriced store. He reaches a hand into his pocket, searching for his wallet, empty. He shoves his hand into the other one, again empty. He searches his sweatshirt pocket to be met with the same fate.

Empty.

Just as he's deciding to forget the entire thing and leave, he's interrupted by a soft voice.

"Hey, y'know what it's okay I got it." a smile followed, one that twists something in his heart. He looks at you, the same unusually calm stranger behind him. He searches your face, eyes for an explanation, did you want something from him?

After a beat he replies, he doesn't need your help, isn't some man to feel bad for. And so he turns going to leave, to escape you. Before he can get anywhere at all you quip back a reply and pay. Claiming it was "No problem.", so fast he hasn't had time to process what the hell this all means.

He's confused, conflicted, turning around to face you, studying you once again.

Searches for something, a hint of an ulterior motive, of frustration at his lack of words, a sign that you'll do something, anything to finally prove him right.

All he sees are innocent eyes, not even a twitch of a brow as you look at him and avert your eyes back to your cart. Acting as if you hadn't just paid a hefty sum for a stranger you've only met. He tries to figure you out, the tired slump of your shoulder, the honey-like voice you use to talk to others, the way you stand with a certain uncertainty.

He doesn't come to any conclusions, snapping back to realize he's been staring too long. He gives you a grumbled thank you, grabs his bags, and leaves.

Walking out the door for the trek back to his flat, he can't stop thinking about you, you've confused him, ensnared him, people like you don't exist. Haven't existed in a while, at least not in his life.

Kind, gentle words, with a hint of something else.

Something inside hims snapped, and he'd be damned if he gave up trying to figure you out. Because you've already embedded yourself into his brain.

-

Simon Riley's never claimed to have a strong sense of morality, never claimed to have any at all.

The lines to cross are practically invisible, especially when it comes to you.

And so what he does next, is nothing short of justifiable for him. Because it’s for you.

had to write a dual pov just to show how different him and reader are, her reactions and behaviour aren’t a big deal to her but to simon, he’s just 🤯

this was a short chapter, but part three is coming! working on the mapping/where to go, if you have any suggestions, things you’d like to see, or anything to say, my asks are open

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.1

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to use her abilities through a binding vow. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from a strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 1 - The Futility of Resistance

Sukuna had heard whispers in the shadows, rumors that stirred the depths of his domain—the existence of a powerful young sorcerer, a female with unrivaled potential, but little experience. It was said you had recently begun your studies at Jujutsu High, a place teeming with skilled Jujutsu Sorcerers.

“She must be clueless about what awaits her, poor thing,” Sukuna whispered to himself with a predatory glint in his crimson eyes. His plan was clear: to kidnap you, and bind you in a contract that would force you to follow his every order. With your abilities at his disposal, he would infiltrate the ranks of Jujutsu sorcerers, and wreak havoc. He would use you as a cover to facilitate his evil plans.

The King of Curses smirked to himself as he traversed the boundary between his domain and the mortal realm. Jujutsu High lay ahead, a beacon of light amidst the encroaching darkness.

With silent steps, Ryomen Sukuna ventured deeper into the heart of the school, his senses attuned to the faintest trace of your cursed energy. Tonight, he would find you. And when he did, nothing would stand in the way of his ambitions.

---------------------------------------------------------

After your first week at Jujutsu High, you lay sprawled across your dorm bed, exhaustion pulling at your every limb. Only a few months had passed since your cursed energy had suddenly manifested, growing rapidly at an alarming pace.

Until then, your life had been tediously ordinary—a normal family, normal friends, and a sense of boredom that gnawed at your spirit. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be more to life than this. And as if your prayers had been heard, your life was suddenly thrown in a whole other direction.

Everything changed the day your best friend got caught up in a mysterious incident, her life abruptly ending. Grief-stricken, you began sensing dark presences lurking in the shadows, just beyond your perception. At first, it was merely an eerie feeling, an aura of sorts, but soon, shadows and movements turned into tangible threats. You convinced yourself it was just the trauma of losing your friend playing tricks on your mind, until the creatures became undeniable.

In moments of emotional turmoil, a strange power started surging within you, like an electric current.

Then one fateful day, while walking down a crowded street, you bumped into a tall man with vibrant white hair and darkened round sunglasses, his compelling blue eyes hidden behind them. The jolt at his touch was unlike anything you’d felt before. He looked at you with an expression of amused curiosity, as if he knew exactly what had happened to cause the jolt.

This man, Gojo, began bombarding you with questions that were weirdly specific, as if he already knew your story—the strange sightings, the sensations coursing through your body, the surges that came on when distressed.

Through him, you were introduced to the hidden world of curses and Jujutsu Sorcery. Despite your age of twenty-two, an anomaly among the typically younger students, Gojo ensured you were admitted to Jujutsu High, emphasizing how exceptional your acceptance was.

Now, as you lay in your dorm, the weight of this new reality pressed upon you. You closed your eyes, trying to calm your racing thoughts. The stark contrast between your own ignorance and the other students’ extensive knowledge of curses gnawed at you. They wielded their cursed energy with a measure of control and confidence, while you struggled to grasp even the basics.

But you were determined. Resolute in your desire to control and tame the energy within you, you held onto the hope that one day, you could prevent others from suffering the same fate as your dear friend.

Unbeknownst to you, your own fate was about to be in jeopordy, as Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, was drawing closer.

You sighed deeply as you pulled the blanket up, hoping for a peaceful night’s rest. However, just as you begin to drift off, a sense of unease prickled at your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, adrenaline flooding your veins.

A faint noise tickled your ears, barely audible yet unmistakably there. It seems to emanate from right outside your dorm room.

Your heart skipped a beat as you sat up, eyes fixated on the door. The handle rattling with increasing urgency. You prayed to yourself that someone must have mistaken your room as their own, but when the lock gives away with a sudden, sharp pang. It dawns on you that this was no simple mistake.

The door creaked open slowly, letting in a ray of light from the dimly lit hallway beyond. A surge of overwhelming energy washed over you, suffocating and disorienting. It felt as if the very air around you thickened, making each breath a struggle.

Shadows seem to dance along the walls, and a chill ran down your spine. The room felt charged with a malevolent aura, unlike anything you’ve encountered before. Fear built within you, yet alongside it, a resolute determination. With shaky breaths, you braced yourself.

A mysterious figure with a strong build walked in, his confident presence commanding the space. At first, it was hard to make out his features. But as the faint ray from the corridor landed upon him, you froze like a deer in headlights.

Though you weren’t fully familiar yet with the world of curses and jujutsu, you had heard plenty about this man in your first week. Countless horrifying stories, drawings in books, and anecdotes filled your mind.

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, stood before you, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. For a moment, you hoped to awaken from a bad dream, but every fiber in you knew this danger was all too real.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sukuna murmured, his voice dripping with condescension as he regarded you. “A lost little lamb, far from the flock.”

He stepped closer, the air thickening with his oppressive cursed energy.

“I’ve heard rumors of your potential,” Sukuna continued, his gaze raking over you with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. “A rare gem, they say, amidst the sea of mediocrity that plagues this place.” He hissed.

He tilted his head, a cruel smile curling his lips. “Tell me, little sorcerer, do you have any idea of the power that courses through your veins?” His voice was a low, seductive purr, but the underlying threat was unmistakable.

Suddenly Sukuna’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your throat with a tight grip. The pressure cut off your air supply, sending a jolt of panic through you. Your heart pounded as you wondered how Sukuna had managed to bypass all the security measures in the building.

“Do you feel it? The weight of my power pressing down on you?” he taunted, his voice laced with delight. “and this is only a fraction of what I can do.”

You struggled to draw a breath, your hands clawing desperately at his iron grip, but it was futile. Sukuna’s strength was beyond a mere human's strength.

His face inched closer, his hot breath caressing your cheek. “With the right… training, you could be of great use to me.” The implication in his words sent a shiver of dread down your spine. “So woman, what will it be? Will you join me willingly, or do you want to have some fun first?”

Despite the fear consuming you, a spark of defiance flickered within. You had barely managed to control your cursed energy in the past week, but now, with adrenaline coursing through your veins, it felt almost natural to conjure it up. Desperation fueled your actions as you channeled the energy through your hands and shot a powerful blast at Sukuna.

His eyes widened momentarily as he felt your cursed energy manifesting. A faint smirk played on his lips, as if he had been anticipating this very reaction.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he released his grip on your throat, effortlessly deflecting your blast of cursed energy back at you with a casual wave of his hand. The blast sent you reeling backwards, colliding with the wall behind you.

“Nice try brat,” Sukuna purred, his voice dripping with a sadistic pleasure as he stalked towards you. “But ultimately, futile.”

He loomed over you, his towering presence casting an ominous shadow. “You dare to strike at the King of Curses, huh?” His lips curled into a cruel smile.

Sukuna’s hand grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I admire your spirit,” he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle. “But I wouldn’t make a mistake like that again if I were you.”

Then his grip tightened, and you felt a flood of his cursed energy coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. “Now, submit to me.”

With his hand still firmly on your chin, you felt utterly disgusted by his display of power. You couldn’t help yourself from glaring back in anger.

Surprised by your own unwavering defiance, you gathered your courage- and spit, and spat in his face. You knew you couldn’t win, so the least you could do was oppose him until your very last breath.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed dangerously as your saliva hit his face, a low, rumbling growl escaping his lips. The air crackled with his rising fury, the walls of the room trembling under the weight of his immense cursed energy.

“Insolent fool,” he snarled, digging his nails into your jaw.

In a sudden, lightning-fast motion, Sukuna’s free hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip. You felt your bones grinding together, the agony searing through your nerves.

“I graciously offered you a chance, you know?… To join me willingly,” he hissed, his face mere inches from yours, his hot breath caressing your skin. “But it seems you require a more… persuasive approach.”

With a swift, brutal twist, Sukuna snapped your wrist, the sickening crack echoing through the room. You cried out in agony, tears springing to your eyes.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You will learn to fear me, little sorcerer. And when you do, you will beg for my mercy.”

Sukuna watched with twisted satisfaction as the pain flickered across your face, your cries of anguish music to his ears. He relished the power he held over you, the ability to break your spirit with a mere flick of his wrist.

As you struggled against his grip, Sukuna’s eyes seemed to gaze into your soul. “Pathetic,” he spat, the contempt in his voice unmistakable. “Is this as far as your resolve goes?”

With a swift, brutal motion, he struck you hard on the side of your head, the impact sending you reeling into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Your limp body crumpled to the floor, a final testament to his overwhelming strength.

And the last thing you heard before slipping away completely was Sukuna’s voice, low and menacing. “When you wake up, you will realize the futility of resistance.”

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Thanks for reading! The following chapters are posted.

[alinawritess]

𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 ✩

❀ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. Vinnie Hacker x fem!reader x Reggie Hacker

❀ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. Seattle's buzzing streets set the stage for "Torn Between Two Worlds," chronicling your childhood with the lively Hacker brothers. You arrived from a war-torn country, taken in by your grandparents in this new land. While your folks, busy with their jobs, pushed for top grades, the Hackers were all about "just do your best." Reggie, warm and welcoming, became your best friend, but Vinnie, was always trying to get on nerves, rubbing you in the wrong way since the very start. As you all grew up, things got complex. Summer hit, and secrets spilled out, shaking up your feelings for Vinnie and your bond with Reggie. Settle down for a whirlwind of emotions with the Hackers, Seattle, and your own heart on the line.

❀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. no clue yet

❀ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). Emotional Turmoil ┆︎ Family Dynamics (Immigrant Experience, Distant Parents) ┆︎ Themes of Cultural Adjustment and Displacement ┆︎ Childhood Trauma (War-torn Country Background) ┆︎ Pranks and Initial Conflict Between Characters ┆︎ Complex Relationships (Friendship, Crushes, Love Triangle) ┆︎ Emotional Distress and Insecurities ┆︎ Themes of Personal Growth and Identity ┆︎ Potential for Intense Emotional Scenes and Confrontations┆︎ No Use of Y/N.

❀ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. I haven't finished the last series yet, but here's an idea that's been lingering in my mind. I'm not sure where it came from, but this concept won't leave me alone. If you enjoyed "The Summer I Turned Pretty," you might like this too. I've only just started writing it, so I hope you enjoy it (and I might make some edits of this later on).

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴╴╴╴

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

You had known the Hacker brothers throughout your entire childhood, each year binding you closer to their vibrant world. Three years younger than Vinnie and a year younger than Reggie, you were introduced to them at the tender age of five, shortly after your parents relocated to Seattle, WA for their careers. The move forcibly severed your ties with the only country you had ever known—a place untouched by the concept of America, where the echoes of bombings and mini-wars were the grim lullabies of your youth. In this foreign land, your grandparents had been your steadfast anchors, and leaving them behind felt like abandoning your true family.

With little say in the matter, you were uprooted to a new country and into the orbit of parents who, despite their noble professions as a pediatric surgeon and a paramedic, were often absent from your daily life. Their ambitions were high, demanding nothing short of top grades while the Hacker family next door embraced a more laid-back mantra of "do your best." Despite your academic excellence, accolades were sparse from your parents, who deemed your achievements merely average.

The day you met the Hacker brothers remains etched in memory, a moment teetering between intrigue and irritation. Vinnie, mischievous and quick-witted, greeted you with a prank—a feigned handshake that left you bewildered and slightly affronted, raised under the strict tutelage of your grandparents' prim and proper etiquette. In stark contrast, Reggie exuded warmth, his genuine smile and friendly handshake signaling the dawn of a friendship that would anchor your early years.

As time passed, you and Reggie became inseparable, forging a bond that weathered childhood adventures and adolescent trials. Yet, Vinnie remained an enigma—a constant source of friction and bemusement. His charisma and looks held no sway over your steadfast disapproval, convinced that nothing could alter your stance.

But the fateful turn of a single summer altered the trajectory of your relationships. A pivotal event reshaped your perception of Vinnie, challenging your deep-seated reservations. It cast a shadow over your once-unwavering friendship with Reggie, stirring emotions that had long lain dormant. As you navigate this tumultuous juncture, the lines between friendship, loyalty, and love blur, revealing layers of complexity and unexpected truths that redefine your understanding of the Hacker brothers and your place in their world.

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴╴╴╴

[pussydestroyer10110]

Jake x Avatar!Reader x Neytiri

1.25k words (not edited)

Chapter 1 - Context, arriving on Pandora

This is my first time writing avatar or anything like this so please bare with. I am writing this late at night so please be kind 🙏🙏🙏 also constructive criticism would be much appreciated

♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●

You had arrived on Pandora after years floating in the abyss of space. The lack of gravity came as a shock after years asleep, making it feel as if you were still trapped in the never ending dream.

----------

You were a scientist and friend of Grace Augastine when she had been studying on earth, she first looked down at you with your lack of experience and youth but soon she recognised your passion and allowed the budding friendship to blossom. It was during your second year of studying under her that she was called to Pandora for a second time, afterall she had only returned to earth after the tragedy of the school and the RDA.

She had only ever briefly spoken about what happened that day but she still spoke of her students with love and kindness, holding them above almost everyone else she knew. Frequently she would tell you stories of the planet and how its buds would bloom with colours unseen by people on earth and how the animals were something out of fiction. It made you crave to go there.

When she had finally arrived on Pandora you were already deep in the field of environmental sciences, even studying samples of Pandora that she had collected herself, that's when she started sending you little messages with pictures of her avatar and the vibrant nature around her. For her she had seen you a mere few days ago but in reality it had been years.

Despite the time between last speaking to her the friendship remained strong and you opened each message with more curiosity than last.

She had told you about the marine 'Jake' that had joined them recently and how he was a complete moron with no respect for the world around him. Only weeks later she was singing his praises and telling you about how she had rejoined the clan she once and still loved.

You loved it all, you experienced it through her but that never seemed enough.

Then that one fateful day came, you had sat by your computer for months, checking and checking for new messages but nothing came. She had disappeared.

After a long while of waiting you had finally sent the dreaded message to the lab she was working at, asking of her where abouts, if she was okay. Nothing could've prepared you for the message you received, a message sent by one of her lab partners, Norm.

Now you knew of her death, it broke you in unimaginable ways. You felt your tie to the foreign world become severed within an instant, how could simple pixels on a screen completely twist your perception of reality?

So you threw yourself at your work, reading over notes only you had gotten thanks to Grace, you knew everything you could about this foreign world. That's why you were selected.

With the avatar programme under new management they decided they needed more hands to help repair the gaping wound left by the RDA and once Norm found your chat with Grace and heard about your work back on Earth he recruited you.

He had a team craft your own avatar for you.

When you saw it you cried. You felt a newfound connection to your old friend knowing she had experienced what you were going to.

Then you were placed on that flight which only about a dozen people were on to be shipped lightyears out into space.

----------

So here you were, your mouth dry, your body weak and tired despite your death like rest.

You were there in the outer atmosphere of Pandora. There was a large window carved into the far side of the ship, through it you could see the planet you had only heard about but dreamt of going to.

It felt new, fresh, it was a possibility of a new life as you literally had a new body to place yourself into.

A few hours later and you landed on Pandora, a mask clamped tightly around your face as you went from the shuttle to the base. Inside was sleek but more personalised than when the RDA had ran it, you felt yourself begin to feel slightly emotional once more knowing Grace had walked these same hallways were you were now.

It was a short walk to where the few humans of Pandora were, all of them were smiling and happy to greet you along with the team. To your knowledge they had picked a variety of skill sets, a few scientists, farmers and even a few family members.

You didn't know what to expect as you walked in but you knew you were the only one with an avatar.

The team had only enough materials to craft one more avatar due to the lack of government funding and it was gifted to you. You were waiting in this small room until a man entered, introducing himself as the 'Norm' you knew so much but so little about.

The others were soon chased off to do there duties, leaving you standing there, waiting for your own instructions. After a while Norm turned to you, a large smile on his face.

"Welcome, now you know we've given you an avatar because Grace had always spoken so highly of you"

You look at him with a soft smile, it was nice knowing your old friend had spoken fondly of you, he begins to walk through the hallways while spouting scientific facts about the lab around you, clearly wanting you to follow. Finally you reach a room with a thick metal door showing it was of higher security, from the gap between the door and the floor there was a soft blue glow.

"Now this is where we've kept your avatar for the time being, it's in with the link room as with you being the only avatar driver here we have to compact the space a bit more"

He says and he types a code and the door opens, inside a glowing blue tank and inside the tank the slender, hunched form of an avatar.

"She, well you, matured on the flight out"

As he says this you barely pay attention, instead choosing to walk up to the tank and gaze up at the otherworldly figure twitching slightly in the translucent substance. She looked like you but with her features sharper - not dissimilar to a cat - the whole thing enthralled you. Norm looked at you with a slight smile, he wasn't offended at the lack of focus you gave him as he reminded himself of the first time he'd seen his avatar.

"It's cool isn't it?"

He asks, momentarily breaking your train of focus, you turn to him with a sheepish smile knowing you've been preoccupied with your own thoughts.

"Yeah, it's a bit of a shock, Grace always told me about how it felt to be part of the Na'vi tribe, to look like one of them. I guess I'd never thought I'd experience it myself"

You state, it was obvious this whole experience felt surreal it almost wanted to make you pinch yourself to just assure yourself you weren't dreaming.

It was exciting, new and it hadn't even started yet.

[rainypoetrydefendor]

🏳️‍🌈NEED FOR JUSTICE.

In the resounding echo of humanity's pursuit for justice and liberty resonates a fervent yearning cherished by multitudes. Justice, entwined with the essence of freedom, emerges as the ideal sought by all. Yet, amidst the veils of public perception lies an unsettling truth, one that the world has regrettably failed to grasp. The façade of virtue painted by the UNHCR shrouds a reality steeped in desolation and shattered expectations.

With each passing day, month, and year, the landscape of our existence within the confines of Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya grows increasingly bleak. We, the queer refugees and asylum seekers, find ourselves entangled in a web of adversity. It is not merely a narrative of what has transpired over the years but a poignant inquiry into what ought to be rectified, and more crucially, what each noble soul can endeavor to rectify in this relentless wave of injustice.

Pain, a transient visitor to the human soul, is believed to dissipate with the passage of time. However, when one remains ensnared within the clutches of unrelenting violence and despair, time becomes an elusive remedy. Only those shackled by these circumstances can fathom the depth of anguish endured. Countless untold stories languish in obscurity, leaving a haunting sense of neglect and isolation. Every avenue meant to provide solace and sanctuary has transmuted into a source of strain for us.

The resounding call for justice often finds its resonance in the collective voice of the public. Yet, when the custodians of power turn a blind eye, actively perpetuating the cycle of violence and injustice, the very essence of justice is desecrated. Whom shall we hold accountable for this protracted travesty, silently unfolding before our innocent eyes? The harrowing violence inflicted by certain African communities upon the queer populace is a known chapter. However, it is the complicity of organizations like the UNHCR, with their deliberate inaction and implicit participation in this violence through police brutality, that perpetuates our mental anguish.

Attempting to assert our rights in the face of UNHCR officials within the camp has become an ordeal, leaving us emotionally and mentally scarred. Our lives, relegated to the margins, have been deprived of opportunities that should be universal to all refugees. Fleeing from persecution has only led us into an abyss of uncertainty, as the malevolent forces continue to prey upon our innocence.

Despite the trials that haunt our days and the tragedies that have torn apart our circles of love and support, we refuse to relinquish our stance in advocating for justice and freedom. We stand resolute against the tide of suffering that threatens to engulf us entirely. Friends, companions, and kin have been lost to the heinous acts of fellow refugees, organizations, activists, embassies, and governmental bodies entrusted with safeguarding human and civil rights.

To you, the compassionate and resilient souls who champion the cause of justice, I implore your solidarity. Your impact, your advocacy, can be the beacon of change illuminating the dark corridors of Kakuma Refugee Camp and Kenya. Our queer community, besieged by brutality, hatred, and violence, beseeches your support. In the midst of abhorrent living conditions, where basic needs remain a distant dream, we beseech various organizations and activists to refute the misguided ethos of the UNHCR in Kenya.

Stand with us, lend your voice to the chorus for freedom, and advocate for the liberation of the queer individuals in Kakuma Refugee Camp. Our only experience in this realm has been one etched with unrelenting pain—a reality we refuse to accept as our fate.

Please try to consider making a donation to also save innocent lives of lgbtiq individuals

https://gofund.me/6930e2d7

[fandom-puzzle-peaces]

Just a Thought About Cale Part 2

It hath been requested, so here is a sort of continuation from my last post. Today I am gonna talk more about what I believe Cale embodies:

HOPE & LOVE

In my first post I already talked about hope a bit, and ya’ll can read that if you want my full take on this, but I will continue where I left off. Last time, I mentioned that something was missing when I listed out what it is exactly that Cale hopes to have in his “slacker life.” Said list is:

A nice house

A peaceful place to have said house in

A ton of money

After looking at this you may be wondering what is missing, since it looks like everything Cale has stated time again to want is already there. However, we all know how unreliable of a narrator he is and that he never actually fully says what he wants unless it’s money. What is missing is his hope of having a family living there with him in that nice peaceful house.

It’s so obvious that he misses having others around him, regardless of how many times he denies it. He’s just scared of losing them again, and for a time I do genuinely believe he had given up on that hope of having loved ones. But over the course of his new life as Cale Henituse you can slowly but surely see that hope being rekindled. It also helps when he learns that the “curse” that was accidentally placed on him due to white star shenanigans is now gone.

So now he actually has a chance to be able to keep his new family around, and you better believe he will do anything in his power to do so. We have already seen plenty of his self-sacrificial stunts to know this fact already. Cale’s list of hopes, of course, has continued to grow from just those beginning 3 that encompass his “slacker life,” and most likely will as time goes on to most likely include the simpler pleasures of life he can indulge in with his family.

A true family man I would say!

Now, regardless of how many hopes he has (or how small they may seem), Cale is someone who is full of hope and in turn fills others with it as well. So where does Love fit into our beloved idiot you may ask? Look at all of the people he has surrounded himself with and how he interacts with them. He may say he's "trashy" and a "bad person," but we all know he isn't with how he acts. Cale is highly perceptive of his family’s condition, their wants and needs. He goes out of his way, all the time, to make them happy:

He gives the children sweets and cuddles all the time

He gave Raon his name

He gives Rosalyn whatever she needs for her research and is helping her become the Magic Tower Master

He visits Alberu all the time and just hangs out, which must be such a relief to shed the royal persona (even if Cale does steal his cookies)

He lets Ron mess with him even though he hates it and helps him take back his ancestral home

Always eats everything Beacrox gives him and compliments it (probably also gives him new kitchen tools and ingredients to mess with as well)

He gave Eruhaben a reason to live longer and extended the dragon’s lifespan—and went through one hell of trial to do it—so he could do so (said reason being to live with them for as long as possible)

He gave Mary the world to experience and explore to her heart's content

Took in Lock and his siblings and just lets them be kids, albeit very violent ones

He got Choi Han a new sword (which he treasures), as well as a new home and family (which he treasures even more)

That's not even counting all he does for the others and his allies. But most of all, Cale protects them:

He never puts the kids in a situation where they can be hurt

Even when one of them was in harm’s way (Raon), he bodily shielded them not once but twice

He carried Rosalyn (with his weak noodle arms) when she couldn't stand out of harm’s way

He keeps Alberu's heritage a secret and helps him politically

He literally blew up an island for Ron

I don't think he's had a big moment for Beacrox yet, but he has saved him from the fate of living in a world without his father

Has shielded Eruhaben before from the White Star

Like the kids, Mary is almost always out of harm's way and he also protects her politically

Has shielded Lock during the Battle at the Gorge of Death

He protected Choi Han from completely losing it, as the biggest danger to Choi Han is Choi Han himself

Cale loves his newfound family so much he speedran the war with White Star in UNDER A YEAR!! And that's just for his family! You cannot tell me he hasn't also fallen in love with his new (well what was supposed to be his really) home world. He is literally tracking down and annihilating the Hunters who are in other worlds because they keep going after his in part 2. Don't tell me that isn't love! It also doesn't help that, no matter how much he denies it, Cale gets attached fairly easily. He wants people around him to love who love him in return.

GIVE THIS MAN SOME HUGS!

Anyways, I think I have rambled long enough. Hope ya’ll enjoyed this!

Brief interest check: how would ya’ll feel if I posted some creative prompts for writing, drawing, etc.? Lemme know however you want.

@elaemae hope you liked it!

[theprenderelliepalace]

Perception

part 2

Read part 1 and part 3 here:

Summary: Y/n heads over to the Salvatore residence to deliver some books, expecting to find trouble, being the odd one out and everything, she doesn't expect his name to be Damon Salvatore. What happens when things get a little more intense once she's caught red-handed?

Warnings: Swearing, alienating friends, traumatic experience, uhh self-doubting MC? Plot point Elena, mysterious supernatural stuff (so, the usual)

Word count: 2k

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I could curse Bonnie Bennet for her terrible timing. Finally, something interesting happens to me, Y/n, for a change and off he went, evaporating from the living room like hot steam in a sauna. God it was hot in here. Damon Salvatore had been drunk, he'd pinned me to the couch and kissed me, we'd fought like usual - I'd insulted him like usual- and then the inexplicable happened. I heard his thoughts. One thought to be specific, "I don't like lying, Y/n." What had that meant? Sure, the guy was attracted to me for some reason that was a cruel joke of fate, but he loved Elena! The girl I hated more than I cared to admit...

It was all so surreal. I was barely wrapping my head around it before I heard Bonnie bustle into the living room. I watched her absently, she came down the steps, threw a log onto the fire like she owned the place. Perfectly judgey, as Bonnie often was.

"Earth to y/n? I came in here five minutes ago, aren't I supposed to be the spacey one?" She smiled at me, it almost reached her eyes. Almost. "Did you bring the books?" She asked. And suddenly I was back on Earth.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." I sucked in a breath and sat up straighter on the couch. I could still feel the tingle in my lips, where he'd gripped onto my waist, where his lips had been against my ear... "So, these books. Prolly not the most legible. They've been tucked under some rock in the town library while my mom and I were traveling." Books. I was here to give Bonnie books, not think about whatever the hell let me read the leather-clad mosquitoe's thoughts. "Some of it's in Scandinavian I think. Mostly memoirs." Stop. Thinking. About. It.

I felt myself blush as Bonnie came over and sat next to me on the couch. She stared at me, almost like she was staring through me. I watched her grapple with something to say. I noticed the nervous clamp of her slender fingers in her lap. She wanted to talk to me about something important then, but didn't know how to say it. I groaned inwardly, in the last 6 months that I had been back in in this dogeball court of a town, where every second neighbour was something that could kill you, the main entourage that was the Mystic High popularity club always only looked like that when-

"Can I ask you something about Elena?" Bonnie tried. Her. That was the curse of having the enhanced ability of perception, I knew what was about to irritate me before it came out of the person's mouth.

"Sure. Shoot." I cringed. She sighed, straightening her shoulders.

"What happened between you two? One day,the four of us were best friends. The next.. you were off with your mom traveling the world. I know something happened, but neither of you will talk about it, so I just-" She was becoming breathless as I stopped her. The eagerness for answers tainting her rational sense of social courtesy.

"- Bonnie, I'm not ready to talk about it. If Elena isn't either then that's that. Besides, it's my business. It has nothing to do with anyone else besides Elena," I felt my throat clench," and me." I didn't remember standing, but I was. I had walked behind the two wingback chairs next to the fireplace and up the stairs. My feet were taking me to the front door, and honestly, I couldn't blame them. "I'll see you later Bon." I said her nickname like one of us still thought we were friends, I didn't believe that person was me.

"But we're your friends! We always have been, you and Elena shouldn't have been so secretive in the first place! We could've figured things out... Come on Y/N you've been back in town 6 months and we've barely said a word to each other. It's always about saving Elena. I know you aren't helping us because of her." I felt my jaw clench and my fists ball. I'd always been a 'fight kind of gal', I'd be loathe to hit Bonnie square in the face, but the thought crossed my mind.

"Bonnie, enough. I'm not your friend, I'm not a kid anymore. Don't treat me like one. I'm not on trial, I don't need to be. Especially with you." I looked at her, I saw her flinch, my gaze must've been harder and colder than I thought. "I'm helping Elena because it's important. I got mixed up with the Salvatores just as much as you did. Klaus is not a force to be reckoned with."

I put my hands in my pockets. Backing up to the hall, I had an airy look about my stride and my face was one of plastered lightheartedness, but I was shaking. "Enjoy your study session from hell. Call me if you need a translator. And tell Stefan whatever Caroline wanted me to tell him." She looked broken hearted as I turned and glanced over my shoulder. My heart twanged, but it was better this way. No one liked to be around the girl that could see everything. That's what I told myself.

-------------------------------------------------------

I was wandering. A habit I had picked up in Italy. The streets were beautiful there, hours of aesthetic entertainment, for free. Mystic Falls wasn't as entertaining. There were trees, I sighed and glanced to my left, and trees. I shook my head and chuckled at the absurdity of it all. I was angry at Damon, how can he just kiss a girl like that and- and then speed off like a bloodsucking coward. Drunken bastard.

Truth be told, it was a good kiss a very good kiss. I felt disgusted with myself for enjoying it, he came onto me, but at the same time; there was this static tension between us. We bantered, he tried to eat me, I shot him in the foot. It wasn't very poetic as attractions went, but it was there. It was something I couldn't really explain, but it was almost as though it had been there ever since I met the guy.

I stopped walking. There was an old stump on the side of the road. It looked about as good as a chair in the woods can get. I heaved myself onto it. My legs were tired from all the fast paced walking. I'd probably have to turn around soon and head back to the boarding house for my car. It seemed like such a waste to let all these feelings cloud my judgement. Damon, Bonnie, Elena... It was more than I could handle today. I put my head into my hands, letting myself sink into my lap.

I'm 16 and I want to retire already. I laughed at the thought.

I shot up, there was a rustling in the thick underbrush. Footsteps, male, moving faster, heartbeat- wait, what?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, not again. "Hey speedy Gonzolez. Find your tail between your legs in the last half-hour?" I asked with a bitter twist to my voice. I picked up a pebble and threw it in his direction. I heard him catch it.

"Aren't you full of it today." He said it with a questioning lilt to his voice, I knew he meant it with a threat carved into his cadence. He walked around my stump and stood in front of me on the road. "Had to get sober." He shrugged at the statement, like he'd simply just said I was a girl and he was a guy.

I raised a brow at him. "Are you a clone or something? An alien trying to take over the stupid little town of Mystic Falls."

He smiled. "Not much to take over."

" All aliens need to start building their hybrid cloning nests somewhere."

"Ew." He grimaced.

"It's true. The TV done told me sir. I saws it wit' my own eyes." I imitated a southerner a little too well. Damon told me as much. I told him to shove it. He sat down cross-legged in front of me. He put his hands under his chin and stared up at me expectantly. I recoiled slightly. "Okay seriously, who are you and what have you done with duchebag Damon Salvatore?" He shrugged again.

"Dunno, but I feel like I should ask you something." He looked contemplative and very, un-Damon-like.

"Well ask away hot shot. And then go away." He was just staring at me, scrutinizing me. "Okay that's getting a bit creepy now" I felt like a frog jumping into the frying pan. I shifted and sat up straighter. "Okay I'll bite, what do you want to ask me?"

"That kiss..." He seemed lost in thought again. "What you heard me think, i felt it." I scoffed.

"Obviously bat-boy. You jumped away from me like I set you on fire." He cocked his head at me.

"You know I can't actually turn into a bat?" He was almost amused.

"Boo, reject bat-boy. What, you a Friday batch vampire? No love for the poor guy with the terrible fashion sense?"

"Hey!" Good, at least he changed his expression to something slightly normal, or whatever was 'normal Damon'. "Insult my style, I rip your throat out." I leaned forward on my knees.

"Why? It's not like you care what you look like." I looked away from him, "or what you do to other people." All of a sudden I felt heated. "You can't just kiss a girl and blame it on being drunk. Either pine for Elena or get a real girl, don't be a dick and then come out here and stare at me for some creepy fucking reason. And FOR GODS SAKE DAMON, stop staring at me..." His piercing blue gaze remained unwavering, passive and increasingly alarming.

"Can I kiss you again?" He asked. I was confused.

"I- you- what? I- no, wait. What?" He sped over to me. His black hair feathered out across his face, his lashes were long and fluttering, even though he still stared at me with those swirling ice pools, there was something in his gaze. It was almost soft, something that made those icy eyes appear as blue as the open sky. It made me feel- free. "Yes."

He was on me in a second, the fire, the passion, that hot burning sensation pressing into my lips. His hands roamed my lower back, he gripped my waist so hard I thought be could snap me in two right there. He probed my lips apart with his tongue, asking permission for entry. I allowed it, God help me. Suddenly I was pinned against a tree, he brought my thigh up and pressed it against his hip. My stomach exploded into little butterflies, my heart felt like it might give out at any second. All of a sudden my arms were wrapped around his neck and I was pulling him closer. I moaned into his mouth as we moved around each other, matching our rhythms.

We shouldn't be doing this. It was a thought, just a simple passing thought as I allowed myself to give back into him. He pulled away from me, breathless as I was. He looked at me, eyes deep and intense. I recognized that look in his eye. "You heard that didn't you?" He only nodded.

Then he was off of me and 3 feet away. I felt him put up all his barriers, brush his jacket down with his hands and turn up his collar. Like nothing ever happened. He stared at me coldly, calculating. "We need to go."

I blinked. "Where?" I was still Damon-ed out. My brain wasn't working like it should've been.

"Georgia. I think I know what's happening to us, and if you have any sense you'll want to stop it." He looked like a pillar, tall and unwavering. I was going with him, it didn't matter what I said or how loud I screamed.

So all I said was, " What's happening Damon?" I could hear the exhaustion in my voice, I could feel the darkness spreading through my consciousness .

He walked over to me, letting me lean my weight into him and I began to see spots. He sighed, the same tiredness I was feeling weighing on his breath. "I think it's a vampire thing. We have to get a move on before the, uh, the coven moves on." He was fighting whatever this was better than i was.

I couldn't get words out. My body went limp. What vampire thing?

I think our souls might be bonding. I heard him reply in my mind. Then the darkness swallowed me.

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Hey!!! Thank you so much for reading.

This is a long one I know. But I felt like some regular screening for teenage drama needed to be added in. I know this is kind of filler, but oooo, what's Y/Ns secret end game? And why's Damon being so sketchy?

Requests are open!

Comment and let me know what you think of the story so far!

Masterlist

[augerer]

I think there’s a remarkable way in which the isekai doomed villain aspects of my next life as a villainess and the bisexual harem aspects gel together to create a metaphor for queer childhood. to me the most interesting way to view katerina is as a girl who is convinced from a young age that people around her are eventually going to subject her to a fate beyond her control and she’s going to be cast out, and this colors her entire perception of the world around her.

it feels very gay experience (though ofc not universal) to be like i have to overcorrect for the fact that one day everyone is going to hate me and exile me for something i can't help through being so kind and helpful to them.  i have to heal everyone around me.  or i will DIE.  they will KILL ME. i need to make myself essential to the people around me because something is inherently wrong with me that only i know about.  and then of course she self-conceives what is in large part her earnest desire to help the people around her as like "i am masterminding a dastardly plan to change my fate"  (read: feelings of duplicity and monstrousness as a gay child).

i also think there’s a way in which her revelation of her past life’s memories could have given her an uncomfortable or even predatory power over the people around her but it does not.  instead she reads very much as a child but like a child with an adult's sense of responsibility for the other children around her (in a world with horrible real adults)?  + mildly related point on the game mechanics aspect, i also like how neatly katerina’s backstory solves for some of her oblivious and quirky tendencies.  like of course she doesn’t think her friends are in love with her, she’s worried about them killing her.

anyway, on katarina/maria: it’s also soooo interesting that everyone is in love with her by the time she meets maria and the possibility she is going to be the "villain" who "dies" is 0 but she just doesn't know it.  but she meets her and is like she is so beautiful and charming and cool, that's why i'm so sure to meet an evil fate. . it’s so on the nose for like, the evil anvil that is going to fall on me which is proof that i’m doomed. . . is how wonderful and captivating this other girl is!  because of course it is, the crux of the issue is gay childhood.  [astronaut meme] “wait it was all about gay feelings?” “always has been”