#on the surface you’d interpret it as things going his way

[dgaftilwedie]

in the darkness, it's just us (namgyu x reader)

the poll that i did was basically unanimous so i guess im posting my fics on here too!! here's my most recent namgyu fic... my baby... my magnum opus... this fic is already up on my ao3 (@kittieglitter if you feel inclined to follow it)!! also im posting this on mobile so please excuse the potential formatting issues 😭

contains: 18+ content (minors dni, duh doy), afab reader but no pronouns are used so interpret this however you wanna!!! lots of biting, getting freaky deaky during lights out, domgyu 🤤🤤, semi-public sex, a lot of dirty talk, and namgyu being kind of a sweetheart :3

Namgyu's nails were digging into your waist, his other hand clamped around your mouth to keep you quiet. His face was buried in the crook of your neck and his mouth was working wonders up it. Purple splotches were scattered on your neck as his teeth gnawed on the skin. Your pants were at your ankles and your face was pressed up against the corner of the wall, the coolness conflicting with the heat on your face.

“Taking me so good, fuckin’ whore,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to another fresh hickey. His cock was buried deep inside of you. He fucked into you hard; he was trying to make you break, let everyone know what was going on.

The chaos behind you was hard to ignore. The lights flickered on and off, and it was impossible the block out the screaming and shouting of everyone else. If it wasn't for the fact that Namgyu was armed, you'd be terrified someone was going to attack you. Instead, you were eating up his attention. The way he whimpered into your ear, the way his lips were glued to your neck, the way his dick was hitting your spot so fucking perfectly… Your legs were shaking. All your noises were muffled by Namgyu's hand, which was slowly slipping down your face and towards your neck. He peeled his lips off of your skin for just a moment, replacing them with his hand.

“Gonna keep being a good slut for me, yeah?” His hand ran down your neck, over your collar bones, and then dipped down, making its way up your shirt. It rested on the other side of your waist, nails finding the softest spots to dent your flesh. You bit your lip and nodded, letting the tiniest whimper escape your mouth. Namgyu chuckled before sinking his teeth back into your neck and continuing to paint the surface with blue and purple marks.

“So fucking wet, holy shit…” He let out a soft groan, blowing cool air onto your neck. “You like it when I’m mean, don’t you?”

You tried to mumble out a response, but it came out as a moan. A loud one. You could hear Namgyu let out a laugh as you slapped a hand over your lips. Unfortunately, you did like when he was mean. You got off on the way he spoke to you. His cock abused your insides like you were nothing but a sex toy to him, but the way he spoke to you was what ruined you. His words sent shocks of sweet, hot electricity coursing through your body. This wasn’t the first time his douchebaggery got you pinned to a wall with his dick inside of you, and you were certainly hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

Before the games, Namgyu would take you to the club he worked for. He’d watch you mingle with guests and proudly eye-fuck you the whole time. You’d eventually make your way back to him and he’d crack jokes about the people you were talking to. He’d drag you to a private room, gossiping with you about the people he’d met or worked with. In a drunken ramble, you admitted to him that it turned you on to think about him talking about you the way he talked about other people. You could see it in the way his eyes had lit up; it was like a switch had flipped in his brain. Every time you hooked up after that, he’d flood your ears with the nastiest things he could think of only to tease you for the fact that you were dripping fucking wet.

“Come on, slut. Use your words. Tell me you’re my cock-drunk little whore and I’ll let you cum.” Namgyu hummed into your ear, his voice a little more than a whisper and his hands squeezing your waist tight. He laughed at the squeak you let out as he dug his nails even deeper into your flesh. You used all the strength you had left to take your hand off of your mouth, planting it into the wall for some stability. Your other hand was gripping onto one of Namgyu’s arms.The lights behind you were still flickering, and you could still hear the screams, but in your head, you and Namgyu were in your own little world. You felt Namgyu’s hand slip down your waist, fingers resting on your clit. It took everything in you to not scream as his fingers drew slow, deliberate circles on the swollen bud.

“Fuck, Nam-” You started, only to cut yourself off with an exasperated groan. Your head dropped backwards, resting on Namgyu’s shoulder. “Yours… I’m all yours…” You mumbled, words slurring together from the pleasure.

“Words, slut. Tell me how good I feel in your cunt.”

You were pretty sure half of Namgyu’s degrading comments were just to help him get off. You didn’t care, though. Feeding his ego was one of your favorite things to do. You were his favorite things to do. It was a nice little exchange the two of you had.

“Feels like I was made to take you,” you stuttered through shaky breaths. You were getting close, and so was he. Namgyu’s thrusts became more sporadic.

“Had to break you in before someone else did,” he groaned, head buried in the crook of your neck.

“Such a slut for you, fuck,” you whispered, practically panting. “Nothin’ but a whore for you cock.”

“Fuck, that’s it.” There was a faint lilt to Namgyu’s voice as his fingers sped up their movements. His other hand left your waist and pinned you closer to the wall, his thrusts become rougher and more irregular. “Can I?”

His voice was faint, a quiet request. You nodded almost violently. Namgyu let out a small chuckle as he felt your walls tighten around him. All of a sudden, you were thrown into the midst of one of the strongest orgasms you’d had in your life. You buried your face into your elbow to stifle the pathetic moans escaping your lips. Your legs shook as waves of burning pleasure coursed through your body. If someone hadn’t realized what was happening between the two of you sooner, they definitely would’ve realized now.

Namgyu’s orgasm followed in suit - you could tell by the way his teeth clamped down on your neck again. A soft whimper left his lips as he buried his cock as deep inside of you as it would go. He was whispering something into your skin but you couldn’t tell what he was saying. His breaths were uneven as he pulled out, hands pressing against the wall to hold himself up. You could feel his cum leaking down your legs as you tried to catch your breath.

“Gonna get you cleaned up when this shit show’s over…” Namgyu hummed, leaning into your body and pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”

You let out a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against the wall. “My bed tonight?”

Namgyu nodded against the back of your head. “Your bed.”

As the chaos continued behind to two of you, you quickly wiped off Namgyu's cum with some rando's pillow case, chucking into beneath the bunkbeds. You’d run to the bathroom a little later. Namgyu would insist on coming just to make sure you didn’t get hurt. The two of you made yourselves semi-presentable, aside from the panting and the disheveled hair and red faces. You rested back against the wall and slid down it, eyes falling shut. Namgyu plopped himself down next to you and threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close to him. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you.

“Was that too much?” Namgyu asked softly, breaking the silence with an uncharacteristic tenderness. You shook your head “no”.

“Good.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and rubbed his thumb over your shoulder, letting you rest as the chaos finally came to an end with a loud gunshot.

[arcadia-smith]

TW: torture, abuse.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's prayer.

Part 6

Night surrendered to dawn, the inky sky slowly giving way to the soft hues of morning. You and Simon remained on the kitchen floor, the world beyond the window stirring to life while the quiet inside held steady—until his phone shattered the stillness with its insistent ringing.

Once. Twice.

Simon let it ring, his jaw tightening. But when the third call came, he exhaled sharply and pushed himself to his feet, disappearing into the living room as he finally answered.

The weight in his voice made it clear—this was business. His words were clipped, professional, until one phrase cut through the air like a blade:

"No. I’m not bringing her in. She’s done with this mission."

Your stomach tightened. Pushing yourself upright, you stepped into the living room. "Sim..." Your voice was soft, a quiet plea.

He shook his head, the tension in his shoulders unrelenting as he tossed the phone onto the couch.

"I need to go to the base," he murmured, then turned to you, hesitation flickering across his face. "You… you’ll be okay?"

You didn’t answer. Just stood there, watching him, waiting—because as much as you wanted nothing more to do with this mission, the need to know why still gnawed at you.

Simon sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s Basma.”

The name struck like a match, setting fire to the silence between you.

He hesitated, then pressed on. “We’ve brought in so many interpreters… tried everything. But she won’t talk to anyone who’s… not you.”

A slow nod was all you could manage, a silent acknowledgment that you understood.

But understanding didn’t make it any easier.

Basma’s face surfaced in your mind, weary but kind. Then Noor’s—small and fragile, her wide eyes filled with something that had no place in a child’s gaze. And Nasir… He had you, but he had her, too.

And you didn’t know if she had been pulled from the wreckage the same way you had—or if she was still trapped in the clutches of the man who had destroyed so much.

Your pulse thundered, but your voice came out even when you finally spoke. “I can go.” The words felt heavier than they should have. “If she’ll talk to me… I’ll go.”

Even as every part of you screamed that you’d already sacrificed enough.

"You don’t have to," he murmured, softer than before. A quiet offering. One last chance to walk away.

You did have to.

"She asked for me." It was the only answer that mattered.

The ride to the base was quiet, the kind of silence that hummed with things unsaid. The city was fully awake now, sunlight creeping over rooftops, the early traffic a distant murmur. But none of it settled the weight sitting heavy on your chest.

You swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of your sleeve as your mind spiraled through every possibility.

Simon’s voice cut through the quiet. "I won’t leave you alone in there. You say the word, and we walk out."

You glanced at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands tightened on the wheel. He was worried. For you.

"I know." You noded.

The base was a maze of motion—soldiers moving with purpose, conversations clipped and efficient. But everything seemed distant, muffled by the rush of blood in your ears as you followed Simon down a dimly lit hallway.

At the end of it, a door stood slightly ajar.

Basma sat on a worn-out cot, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked up at the sound of the door, her eyes darting past Simon, past the soldier standing by the wall—until they landed on you.

And then, finally, she breathed, Arabic filling the room "You came."

Her words were like poison on the air, a venomous thread that curled beneath your skin. They were the same words that had caused everything to unravel. If not for your understanding of that cursed language, you’d be back home by now, with your daughter, a semblance of yourself—unbroken, unscathed. But here you were, a shattered reflection, a mere echo of who you once were.

You exhaled, the weight of the moment heavy on your chest. "Lieutenant said you're not speaking to any—"

"My girl, Noor, my boy, Sayid." Her voice cracked, a trembling plea wrapped in desperation. "They won’t let me see my children."

You glanced over your shoulder at Simon, but he didn’t meet your eyes, instead letting his gaze fall to the floor—something unspoken passing between you both, a quiet understanding of what she had asked.

The questions burned, their answers just out of reach. You didn’t know where her children were, or if they were alive. Were they safe? Could you even begin to offer comfort when the truth seemed far darker than you could admit?

The words came, bitter and untrue, as you spoke them—lies told from one mother to another. "They’re fine, Basma. Safe and—"

Her interruption cut through you like a blade. "I’m not speaking until they are here with me."

You swallowed, the lump in your throat like stone. Nodding wordlessly, you turned and walked away, the silence in the air sharp as a wound.

Once you were far enough from the room, you let the breath you’d been holding slip out of you. "Where are the children, Lieutenant?"

For a moment, Simon’s steps faltered, just a brief moment, before he closed the distance between you, his voice low. "The boy’s in the medical wing. Injured after the bomb. The girl," he swallowed, his words thick with something unsaid, "We couldn’t find her."

The world felt like it had collapsed beneath your feet, an unbearable weight pressing against your chest. For Basma, for those children, for everything you’d failed to protect.

Your steps remained steady as you moved down the hallway, though the uncertainty gnawed at you, dragging you forward without direction. And then, the sound of a voice, sharp as a knife, pierced the air—Arabic words followed by screams that twisted through your body like a cruel ache. You turned, a cold breath escaping your lips.

Is that…?

You already knew the answer. You would never erase that voice from your mind, no matter how hard you tried.

Simon’s hand brushed against your back—tentative, unsure. "Let’s go," he said, the same tone he used with recruits, distant and calm, a shield against the chaos.

"Is that him?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but it broke the fragile silence between you.

You had thought he’d been dead—his body falling lifeless, in the darkness when Simon found you. But then, the realization hit, cold and sharp. Simon never missed. If he’d wanted him dead, he would’ve been.

Fear dissolved, burned away by the sudden rush of anger that surged through you like wildfire. Before Simon could stop you, before reason could catch up with your actions, your hands shoved the door open.

There he was—the monster.

Tied to a chair, head snapping sideways as Johnny’s fist collided with his jaw. The room reeked of sweat, of blood, of something far darker than interrogation. This wasn’t about getting answers. This was about pain. Retribution.

The bastard looked like a grotesque painting—bruises blooming in deep shades of purple and red, skin split open like a canvas torn apart.

"Love."

Simon’s voice was quiet, but his fingers around your wrist were firm, grounding. But something was off.

The gloves.

He’d been wearing them around you. Always. And Simon never did that.

Simon always had rough hands, the kind that spoke of war, of survival. But now the pieces slid into place like a lock clicking open. The gloves weren’t for you. They were for him���to hide the damage. You didn’t need to see them to know his knuckles were bruised, just like Johnny’s.

Your breath caught as you took in the rest of the room. The knives. The restraints. The cold metal gleam of the instruments that had once torn into your flesh. Every cruel reminder of the time you had spent in the darkness, at the mercy of the man before you.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you wrenched free from Simon’s grip, stepping forward.

The monster lifted his head, his swollen eyes locking onto yours.

And then he smirked.

That did it.

Everything happened too fast—your mind barely had time to catch up with your body. One second, your hands were empty. The next, fingers curled around the hilt of a knife from the table, metal cool against your palm.

You moved without hesitation.

The blade sank right between his legs, right into his shaft.

Once.

Twice.

A scream tore through the air, raw and jagged, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

[inkinflux]

Lakefront Liaison

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader (& kinda Steb x Reader if you choose to interpret it that way I guess?) | 2.6K | SFW (tw: half-hearted suicide attempt) You must learn how to move on after Jayce's death. 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫  

The lake was pink as it reflected the hues of the clouds above. Small flames danced on the surface, doubled by the water’s mirror. Lily pads bumped against your calves at each subtle movement, the smell of water lilies mingling with the scent of melting candle wax.

Across the way, a drooping willow’s arms skimmed the water, dancing in the calm breeze. Your mind filled in the gaps of the shadows, inventing a familiar form standing under the canopy, his face turned away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, heart tugged by a heavy weight. Underneath your eyelids the familiar sting welled, the pain around your raw eyes getting too much a bear.

A grounding hand came to rest upon your shoulder, giving a light squeeze. You turned, wiping your face, earning a saddened look from Caitlyn.

The stiff fabric of her eye patch crinkled as her brow furrowed, and you could tell her seeing you like this made it very difficult not to join in your crying.

“We’re going to grab a drink, since the service is over,” she told you gently. “Come with us.”

You shook your head, turning back to the water filled with floating candles, wanting to join them in their suspended peace.

“(Y/n),” Caitlyn stepped down next to you. Instinctively, you reached out to hold her forearms, steadying her to prevent her from slipping against the mossy stone underfoot. Doing so unfortunately brought you face to face once more, nowhere to run. “I know the easiest thing right now is to shut out the world. Trust me, being alone is the worst thing you can do to yourself.”

You averted your gaze, catching Vi lingering at the top of the stairs, the flames on the water reflected in her glassy eyes.

“I don’t want to have to talk about how I’m feeling,” you said. “I can’t describe it, and it would be painful to try.”

“No talking. Understood.” Cait began up the stairs, tugging you along. “Keeping in the company of those who care about you is enough.”

Vi wrapped an arm around your shoulders as you passed. The two had somewhat adopted you in the wake of all the chaos, keeping you company despite every refusal, waking you up at the appropriate time to drag you out to breakfast and bringing you dinner when you inevitably forgot to eat again.

They both wore their scars on their sleeve as they sat in the booth across from you. Spilling thoughts and feelings over quickly emptying drinks, talking through the difficult things in soft, solemn voices, holding hands all the while. You were glad you had them, and you were glad they had each other, but their support wouldn’t fill the empty seat beside you.

The way Cait traced the white lines on Vi’s face, the way Vi placed tender kisses to Cait’s knuckles, it all reminded you of what you had lost. What you would never hope to find again.

Anger had already passed, that stage of grief marked by broken furniture and slashed canvases that had littered your apartment, the only evidence remaining being a few dents in the walls and floors. You were nowhere near acceptance yet, and you doubted you’d ever get there, standing stagnant at the station of despair.

Everything felt heavy, even more so once you’d knocked back a couple drinks.

“You know, whenever he went away on his travels, he’d always bring back trinkets,” Caitlyn reminisced, leaning against Vi’s side. “I thought it was the most exciting thing. A carved stone from a village in the Shurima deserts. Dried plants from some deep forest in Valoran.” Cait smiled to herself. “I used to think he was the coolest person in all of Runeterra.”

Your soul sunk just a little further. You’d been so selfish in your mourning, barely able to rally the energy to check in on everyone else who had loved him. Ximena had wept enough to fill the lake for a second time over, and all you’d managed to offer was a shoulder to cry on. No comforting words, no soothing reassurances.

To think, if life had gone a different way, you might have become her daughter-in-law.

You dropped your face into your hands, shoulders shaking as the guilt overwhelmed you. Caitlyn and Vi grew quiet, unsure if their shared stories were helping or hurting.

“(Y/n),” Vi cautiously came over and slid next to you, warm arms holding you tightly. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Cait gave her a sharp look across the table and she grimaced, giving a shrug in response. They’d tried so hard to accommodate you, giving you space to grieve but not letting you drift so far out to sea that you risked losing yourself. It was a delicate balance, especially at a time when they were mourning themselves. But they had each other for support, and without Jayce, you had no one.

Not only did you have to carry the pain of a missing heart, but at each turn you found hatred and anger lobbed against your parted friend. The blame had been laid squarely at Viktor’s grave, for which there was no physical embodiment. No monuments carved in stone, his name stricken from every Piltover Academy record, as if he had never existed at all.

To know he was being regaled as a hero only as a direct opposition to his partner would have killed Jayce. No matter how much you fought the narrative, it had already been woven in the tapestry of history, the loose threads burned and sealed.

And that cruel, twisted history had happened all without you.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you announced, “but I think I’ll go home now.”

Vi and Cait hadn’t fought you on it. They’d offered to walk you home, but you’d declined, claiming the quiet would be good for you.

The cobblestone path swirled beneath you in your tipsy state, the night crisp and hinting at an incoming autumn. You hadn’t consciously thought about where you were going, but your feet led you back to the lakeshore.

A majority of the candles had been snuffed out, the candles burned to their ends. You wobbled as you descended the stairs into the dark water, its refreshing cold welcoming you into its hold.

Lily pads darted away from the movement, water lilies bending against the small waves. The slick rocks on the lake’s bottom kept making you slip, water splashing into your face as you surged forward, deeper.

Your clothes dragged you down, heavy and weightless at the same time. Soon, you could no longer reach the bottom with your toes, and you began to wade with outstretched arms and kicking legs. You swam with effort to the center of the black lake, amongst the few candles that continued to flicker against the encroaching night.

It was there that you decided to turn onto your back, floating and gazing up at the clear, starry night sky. No matter how you tried to burn it from your memory, it would always serve to remind you of that day when the sky turned into roiling waves of agony. Before it was all blown away in an instant, with a finality you had known was the last moment of Jayce’s life.

The pain tore at you like clawing hands reaching from the bottom of the lake. You cried, tears slipping down the sides of your face, into the calling void below.

You closed your eyes, replaying warm memories as you stopped treading the water, allowing the weight of everything that had transpired to tug you down as low as you felt.

When you opened them again, you could see the distorted stars above, and the black circles of the floating candles, some surrounded by a small sliver of dancing light.

You sunk further and further, until your back hit the stones, and the surface was a slash of barely visible sky. The black silhouettes of small fishes travelled across your vision, darting around the spots of colour that started to sway in their own current, replacing the oxygen that was leaving your body.

With your body cradled by the soft aquatic plants, you thought you could fall peacefully asleep. You drifted subtly, until you were beneath the weeping willow. It gazed down at you with disappointment, its limps tracing the surface, beckoning you to return.

Your lungs burned, your pulse becoming a thundering drum in your ears as you gritted your teeth against the urges of self preservation.

Your limbs started to feel prickly, the tips of your fingers twitching up, wanting to be taken in the willow's arms.

A shadow peered over the edge, watching you now. You blinked up at it, willing the phantom away, to leave you alone in your water-logged grief. But no matter how you tried, your chest kept floating up, your heart less of the heavy stone than you thought it was.

When you burst against the surface tension of the water, the first breath felt like a knife against your throat. You coughed, sputtered, splashing the pond scum away.

“It’s late for a swim.”

You glared up at the uninvited guest. His cheeks flared as he looked down upon you, his enforcer beret slightly askew.

“I could have you arrested for that.”

You balked. “For utilizing a public space?”

The enforcer gave you an incredulous look. “For public indecency in the form of a dead body.”

He extended a hand. You frowned at it.

“Come, now,” his voice was so quiet, like he wasn’t accustomed to using it. “My shift ended ten minutes ago, and I’m in no mood to get in there to heave you out.”

“If your shift’s already ended, why don’t you leave me be?”

He huffed a sigh, rescinding his extended arm. “You’re right. There’s no use fighting.”

First, he rid his beret. Then, he unbuttoned his coat, shirking it off onto the grass. His shoes were the last thing he took off before he slid into the water beside you, still in his trousers and undershirt, re-emerging to shake the water from his face.

You starred daggers at him. “Well now I don’t want to stay. I can’t brood with you here.”

The enforcer smirked, startling you with a splash of water in the face.

“Hey!”

“You weren’t afraid of letting the innocent civilians of Piltover wake up to see your bloated corpse. Why does it matter if I’m here now?”

You rolled your eyes, drifting to the lip of the pavement, hauling yourself with your heavy clothes up and onto the edge.

The enforcer followed, sitting with a wet thwap beside you, dripping lake water in a steady beat that broke up the silence now between you.

It was a while before he said, “You’re Kiramman’s friend. I’ve seen you around.”

You nodded, refusing to meet his eye as you stared down, kicking your feet against the water, back and forth in a soothing repetition.

“You were in a relationship with Councilor Talis.”

Your movements stilled.

“Yeah.”

The enforcer pushed a webbed hand into your vision. You glanced up at him, his pale eyes glowing in the moonlight. “I’m Steb.”

You took his wet hand, shaking. “(Y/n).”

He gave you a gentle smile, then leaned back on his hands, peering up at the sky.

“It’s strange. For all the friends I lost that day, I’ve made many more as a consequence.”

A dragonfly landed on your knee, and he stared at it, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Were you there?” You asked, watching the dragonfly’s wings still as it rested on you.

“Yes,” he said, picking up his beret and beginning to circle the crest with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, for all he had been through, and for needing to deal with you. Once again, guilt nipped at your heels. “I just… don’t know how to be. It feels like the world keeps spinning, and people are starting to get on with their lives again, but I can’t.”

“I understand,” he told you, watching as the dragonfly took off, hovering close to your face without you noticing before it took off again.

The damp clothing pressed close to your skin was starting to bring the cold with it, and the sunken smell of lake water was becoming less pleasant with each passing second.

Steb moved to get to his feet, but your incoming words stilled him.

“He was reckless.”

You tugged at the grass beside you, tearing the blades of chlorophyll methodically.

“He never cared whenever he got hurt. Always racing off to protect everyone else. Even when it put him at risk, he’d do what he knew was right, no matter the cost.”

Steb settled in beside you, mirroring you grass-picking, though his movements were a lot slower and more relaxed than your anxious ripping.

“I wish he was here so I could scream at him for being so stupid. I wish I-” you choked up, your vision blurred with tears, “I wish he could be here to take responsibility for the pain he’s causing me.”

Words that had felt set in amber in the presence of your friends melted onto your tongue in the company of a kind stranger. It felt so liberating to unbury them from your chest.

“To die is the greatest betrayal of all,” Steb said, pointedly.

You rubbed your face, sniffling. “I get it. I was being selfish.”

“Yes,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Don’t feel bad about it. Dying is easy. That’s why it’s so often done.”

You accepted his arm this time, pulling you up out of your sorrow. Steb was more solid than his slender figure implied. Short fins ran down his arms, twitching as the cool breeze blew against his wet skin.

“Go home. You stink.”

“So do you,” you countered.

Steb raised a brow. “Now, who’s fault is that? I did just have my uniform starched, you know.”

Your lips quirked upwards. It felt like turning your back on a long, empty corridor towards a light.

“There’s a dry cleaner slash café on my street.” You hadn’t even thought about what that sentence implied before it left your mouth.

Steb tilted his head, reading the internal war plain on your face.

“You’ll pay?” Was all he asked.

You nodded, shoving away the guilt that threatened to bubble back up to the surface. “Sure.”

Steb picked up his relatively dry jacket and beret, tying the laces of his shoes together and throwing them over his shoulder.

“It’s not a date,” you clarified awkwardly.

Steb shrugged. “I didn’t interpret it as such.”

“Cool.”

You lingered there, hands holding your elbows, unsure what to say next.

“It was nice to meet,” Steb spoke into the awkward tension, seemingly immune to it in his stoicism, “despite the circumstances.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t know what else could be said.

“Tomorrow?” Steb checked.

“Yes.”

“8am works for me.”

“Okay. Eight.”

Steb gave a concise nod, then turned on his heel and left.

You blew out a breath, wide-eyed in your realization that this is what living on without Jayce meant. It meant making plans to meet with strangers and build new friendships. It meant finding ways to fill the days with activities. It was what Cait and Vi had been trying so desperately to encourage you to do.

The grief still sat patiently at the bottom of your stomach, but as least you knew you weren’t tied to it. Even if it was tiring to continue treading water, there was someone at the surface to keep you company as you did.

And he was very happy indeed to have his uniform in perfect order the following day, his cheeks ruffling in delight as he sipped his coffee and read the morning paper by your side.

[cheriecoke]

carefully, i was going to live

FEATURING. past nanami kento x f!reader, gojo satoru x reader — wc: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and gojo realize you share the same kind of pain.

CONTENTS: shibuya arc / jjk s2 spoilers, death, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts, references to disordered eating, implied satosugu, platonic gojo x reader, anger, angst, gojo isn’t sealed

note: reader & gojo’s relationship for the future is up to your interpretation. title is from a mitski song <3

The world was bleak outside your window.

With November came the death of all things beautiful. The trees grew barren, flowers wilted into dreary puddles, the sky turned a muddy shade of grey, and your house transformed into a tomb.

It was almost evening now. The streets were busy with people commuting home from work, children skipping along sidewalks after a tedious day at school. Each expression became the epitome of human nature, and through all their ups and downs, there they stood, alive.

You blinked at the scene, just enough to wet your eyes, trying to ignore the spiteful hatred that bubbled up in you against cheerful strangers.

When the women had a smile on their faces, your mind easily morphed them into miserable frowns, weaved a story of how their partners treated them terribly. Children’s loud giggles turned into wretched cries, sobs from spoiled complaints of not getting their way. Men’s casual conversations on their cell phones became a long-winded rant of how their job was slowly destroying them.

There wasn’t anything left for you in the world but misery. It should only be fair that other people received the same.

Perhaps that was an evil thought, but you didn’t care. The bed was cold, and it had started to smell of something awful from the sheets that housed your own grime and sweat. You shivered, bundling yourself up in the blankets more.

An ache increased in your stomach before it grumbled, breaking the silence. Though, it suppressed its own pleas, knowing better than to suspect sustenance after so many evenings of emptiness. Over and over, you ignored your hunger, a part of you hoping that your body would begin to devour itself from the inside out.

Perhaps, then, you’d finally achieve the peace that you’d been longing for.

From the world inside your mind, Kento scolded you, begged you to pull yourself out of the darkness that you’d crawled into. He’d be unhappy, that much was certain. One look at your unkempt hair would put a crease between his eyebrows. He’d recoil at the piled trash that you’d been too exhausted to take out.

Still, you knew better than to believe he’d be anything but kind about it. Stern, maybe, but uncompromising words would never leave his lips without soft eyes and a sad smile.

You swallowed down the nausea that erupted from within you, and buried yourself deeper into the pillow, wishing the couple in the distance would cease their affectionate embrace.

A tear collected on your lash line.

For a moment, you let yourself fall into the painful peace of delusion. A phantom touch rested on your skin, comforting fingertips dancing along your hip. Kento Nanami’s love pressed into every subtle graze. Please. Let me help you.

His voice was raspy, unfamiliar, and you wondered if you were starting to forget the sound of it, the exact inflection of his words, even though you listened to his painfully short inbox message every day, replayed the voicemails he left you more often than music.

A dry sob forced its way up, though no sound released as you squeezed Kento’s pillow tighter, digging your nose into the cotton. You were desperate for his lingering scent, but it had been two weeks since he’d been killed, and there was nothing left of him.

Still, you sprayed his old cologne on every surface, left everything as he had, and pretended that he was still around.

Grief hugged you tight, trying to embody the embrace that Kento had once given you. You didn’t hear the knock at your front door, muffled from two rooms away and the constant swirl of your heartbroken musings.

No one had visited you in two weeks. Itadori had tried, but you’d screamed far too cruelly at him, even though he was just a kid, and none of this was his fault. The list of guests had been shortened since then.

You didn’t blame them.

Someone said your name, though it was distant, and it was easy to chalk it up to your imagination. Though, the plea became a whisper through a grisly storm, then a scream over the fierce winds in an attempt to reach you.

You opened your eyes, shifting to face the noise. 

Satoru Gojo stood at the edge of your bed, his large frame towering over you with every ounce of power he’d been born with, his slack jaw unable to hide his horror at the mess you’d made of yourself. Blindfolded eyes flicked across the room, then, his lips curled into a grimace.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he said. Another sound but your own breath was so unnatural in the stale room. It took you far too long to understand him.  

You blinked back once, before rolling over to return your attention to the window once more, the scene beyond it still playing like a television series. Kento had always hated that your bedroom had a view of the city, some illusion of privacy gone now that he could see the world outside. Though, it was the only thing you could be grateful for now, as that square panel of glass became your salvation.  

“Sorry.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. You weren’t sure when you’d used it last. “Phone’s dead.” It had been for days. The slender device rested useless on your nightstand, and you wondered how many people had died since Kento; jujutsu sorcerers didn’t stop fighting just because you had.

Gojo shuffled around the room. You peered over your shoulder to see him sliding the charger into your phone, the screen lighting up later with a bright logo and a ding.

“Everyone’s been calling.” His back was to you, muscles taut with exhaustion and strain. “There aren’t enough sorcerers. We’ve lost so many people.”

You tensed and considered blocking your ears, humming a song like a petulant child. No part of you wanted to hear about Jujutsu. Satoru Gojo could manage on his own, and you didn’t give a damn about saving the world anymore.

“I can’t help you,” you said, realizing just how true that was. There wasn’t an ounce of energy within your body.

Though you had let yourself rot, you had grand plans of finding a curse you could never defeat. You would never be strong enough in your current state, and that was alright. You just wanted to go out with some semblance of a purpose, as Kento had. Maybe that way, it wouldn’t feel so much like a suicide.

“I know,” Gojo sighed, and you waited a minute before he spoke again. “That’s not why I came.”

You breathed; the process was no longer subconscious. “Then why are you here?”

Gojo came around the bed to stand in front of you once more, so close that he blocked your view of the window. His icy irises had been revealed, somehow warning you just how serious he was about this intervention.

The laugh you couldn’t muster up came out in a shaky exhale. You weren’t scared of Gojo, and you certainly weren’t impressed by him enough to listen to whatever wisdom he wanted to bestow upon you.

“I just want to help my old friend.” A twinge of pity in his voice irritated you, even though it was warranted. The scene before him couldn’t evoke any sort of emotion except for pathetic despair. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“No.” Your muscles were weak as you maneuvered your shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I just don’t care. Not even Satoru Gojo can fix everything. I thought you’ve learned that by now.” It was cruel, you knew that, but you spat the words without regret, rolling onto your back.

The stiffness in your hips alleviated, and finally, he couldn’t pin you with his gaze. You could only imagine the way he’d flinched at your comment, wondering when the shy, sweet girl from his youth had become such a bitter woman.  

Your eyes glued to the ceiling, and you imagined Kento there beside you, staring at you with a wistful smile while you merely blinked up at the white walls.

Gojo said your name again. Then he was tugging on your arm, and the clench around your heart unfurled, bringing you away from the desperate fantasy.

“Look at me,” Gojo said, and his words were harsher, exasperated, and you realized he’d been talking this entire time, minutes of one-sided conversation flowing in one ear and out the other.

“No, Satoru,” you growled, trying to resist, even though you didn’t have the strength. He pulled you to a seated position easily, forcing you to look at him once more, and never let go of your wrist. “Get out of my house.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“Get out.”

“No.” Satoru stared at you, his eyes cold and unflinching, and for a moment, you realized just how fearsome he could be, why so many curses looked him in the eye and remembered that they didn’t stand a chance. Then, he blinked, and that image was gone, left with the picture of a broken man who had lost too many friends, and was trying not to lose you too. “You won’t talk to anyone; you won’t see anyone. You’re destroying yourself like this. I won’t let it go on any longer.”

The sympathy and disappointment in his voice disgusted you, and you recoiled with a renewed strength, slapping his hand away. “I don’t care if you want to be a hero now. You couldn’t help Kento, and you can’t help me. What good is being the strongest if you can’t even save the people that you care about?”

Gojo tensed, his jaw clenching like you’d slapped him across the face. That, at least, gave you some sort of satisfaction, even if it only lasted for a moment. A twinge of regret started, burning brighter and brighter until the weight of your comment came down on you.

There was a point to being angry at the world, to projecting your suffering onto strangers. They would never bear witness to every ounce of your misery. But Gojo had known you since you were a child, had cared about Kento too, and you were treating him no better than the curses that had killed the man you loved.

“Fine,” Gojo said more tersely. “I can’t help you. You have to want to help yourself, too.” He raked a hand across his face, revealing dark, purple circles, and sallow skin. The two of you were an ugly picture—the perfect personification of every struggle a jujutsu sorcerer could experience. “I just thought you’d want to know you still have a friend. Nanami and Haibara may be gone, and…” He looked away, mouth pulling down further. “Suguru, but I’m still here, you know?”

You swallowed, even though your lips were too parched to produce any saliva. They were cottony and stuck together as you spoke. “Don’t come back here, Gojo.” Though you swayed, lightheaded, you didn’t lay back down, only curled your knees into your chest, feeling small. “I don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore. I don’t want to remember any of it.”

Gojo hesitated, disappointed that his previous comment hadn’t hit as hard as he’d intended.

“What will you do, then?” he asked, his hands helplessly dangling by his side before he moved to sit beside you.

“Nothing.” The word felt like a punishment to say, even when that’s all you’d been doing, for days. Your life meant nothing anymore, so there was no point in trying. “I’ll forget I ever loved Kento Nanami and then I’ll disappear.”

Gojo’s face turned, his eyes narrowing, lips curling down. “No, you won’t.”

You almost came back with a childish retort—but it no longer seemed worth it. You turned back towards the window, wondering if it would rain soon. The sky looked like it might.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only person still alive who knew Nanami exactly as he was. There are people out there who cared enough about the both of you to not let you throw that all away.”

Guilt gnawed at you. Kento may not have ever respected Gojo for his decisions as a sorcerer, but deep down, he’d always known that he was a good man who tried to do right by everyone.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” you said, quietly at first, swallowing back the heavy emotions that weighed on you. Satoru watched you, never interrupting, though your pause was long and burdened. “I just want it to stop. It hurts so much, Satoru.”

“I know.”

“Everyone moved on like Shibuya never happened.” You twirled the ring around your finger as the heavy tears returned, ones that you’d thought had long been expelled. It seemed impossible that someone should be able to cry without end, yet, your grief was unrelenting, and your cheeks grew wet once more. “Everyone kept going, and I can’t do that. I can’t pretend like I didn’t lose my entire future. I’m never going to get married, Satoru. I’ll never be able to—”

You stopped, choked by your own emotions as a lump rose in your throat, sour like bile. It was the first time you’d said the words out loud. They tasted worse than they felt in your mind. You’d never be able to call Kento Nanami your husband.

Gojo’s eyes softened, and though he reached for you, you flinched away, swallowing over and over to bury your tears. Heaving breaths came, unsteady.

“Nanami wouldn’t want this for you.” It was cruel, too close to mockery to make you feel anything but anger.

You already knew that you were disappointing the man who loved you with every fiber of his being. The sight of you so weakened would wreck Kento, but you couldn’t get yourself to move out of the house. Not even when your skin yearned for a ray of sunlight, or your body screamed for something other than the stale convenience store snacks.

“Don’t say that. Kento’s not here anymore.” His name came out choked on your lips, the first time you’d said it since screaming it in misery. The word didn’t feel so much like love anymore. It was sorrow, wrapped into two tiny syllables. “What he’d want doesn’t matter.”

Satoru lowered his voice, treating you as fragile as you’d become, uncertain how to speak to someone who would never want to listen. “It does matter. He loved you so much.”

You covered your ears, squeezed your eyes shut. “Satoru, please. Stop it.”

“He’d want you to be happy—”

“I don’t care.” You spoke over his ramblings and pushed him away until you were certain he’d fall off the bed. Though, it did nothing to move him, strong and steadfast Satoru Gojo who would never be toppled. “You just don’t understand. I replay it over and over in my head, wondering why I wasn’t there, why you weren’t there.” You dropped your head in your hands, breathing into your palms like a paper bag. “It’s not fair.”

“Nothing’s fair.” Satoru said, the age-old cliché, a hand hesitant on your wrist. He was quiet when he said your name again. “I know how you feel.”

“No you don’t.” You slapped him away, even when he held strong, even when he let you see the anguish he usually hid away, let it erase the warmth from his expression.

You remembered dark long hair, kind brown eyes, a young man who had once held such a promising future. Two best friends that perhaps had been more, never sharing the secrets of their ill-fated bond.

“No, you don’t.”

Gojo was scooting closer, pulling you into his arms, the embrace tight, protective.

He was serious and sullen in a way that you hadn’t seen since Geto died. Gojo was a master at veiling his emotions in laughter, but it seemed now that your own emptiness was reflected back at you, the sheer desire to stop existing all at once.

“I know it better than anyone.” Nothing more than a whisper. The tears were too heavy and hot; there was nothing you could do to stop them. “You’re not alone.”

You were quiet for a moment, then another, before everything that you’d been feeling for the past two weeks crashed upon you like a wave, drowning you, and you were unable to breathe, clinging to Gojo like he was the only thing holding you above water.

You’d known Kento for ten years. You’d been strangers, friends, lovers parted by death before either of you had turned thirty, and though you weren’t the only person who had lost someone in Shibuya, you felt like the only one who was too weak to recover from it.

“Satoru.” Your voice broke. “I don’t know how to live without him.”

Gojo smiled. “You find a way.” Said so confidently, a man who’d been through it all before, and your heart shattered with sobs that came out uncontrollably, soaking Satoru’s shoulder.

Desperately, you clawed at his back, wishing you could wear his skin as a protective shield, could tear his heart out of his chest and trade it for your own, if only to gain an ounce of his strength. He held you tight in his arms, but nothing about him was the same, right down to the very blue eyes that had lost all their arrogance. Both had dimmed, and even the infinity within them seemed to end.

He didn’t smell like Kento, didn’t feel like Kento—but no one else had comforted you since he’d died, so you let him. Satoru kissed your forehead with an affection you’d already forgotten, reminding you to move on.

You never would.

[beemochi-art]

Does the Matrix do any fuckery with Prime's mind or body at times? Is the Matrix even sentient?

The matrix unfortunately does create some fuckery in primes life. But not as much as you’d think, it’s more ambitious than straight forward. it’s other… factoids related to it to Op’s deteriorating mental state.

The power of the matrix

The matrix is like the key to primus (cybertrons.) spark (Aw). It creates a deep connection with the holder and the planets core. The Matrix will attach itself to the new Primes spark, where then they will get a unique feelings and a special power. Feeling that come from the matrix is usually a calming sensation, some says it’s like a powerful fire, other primes reports an endless supply of energy. It depends on the person I guess. In Orions case, the sensation he got from the matrix was calming and gentle, the feeling of absolute comfort. He ended up sleeping. (Of course he woke up depressed but that an thing Orion probably.)

But in dire circumstances the Matrix will let’s out extreme burst of energy that can cause the older to become feral and incredible violent. This is pretty rare but as of recent times Primes have made it a focus of their training to harness this power.

Not only that, but the planet as well as it’s creatures seem to bend to the will of primes. The surface of cybertron is always shifting. At times the environment will change for the prime, and other times it falls completely still. Some primes have the ability to connect with some of the most dangerous creatures on the planet. It works in mysterious ways but will never be completely tamed.

It also connects all the primes to each other, both dead and alive.

A prime doesn’t have to actually die to have the matrix passed to another. If a Prime were to die and just anyone pick it up and tried to use it, the matrix is a glorified paperweight. No one really understands how the matrix chooses and when it leaves. How long all this is or anything for that matter. It’s a mystery. It is said to come at dark times.

Even tho the Matrix is gone from the holder the bond formed with planet and past/present primes will never go away. Leading a curtain level of entitlement.

The point is the matrix never had any specific rules of in place except a description that reads till all are one. The matrix isn’t inherently a good or bad object either. It chose both sentinel and zeta at one point, but it also chose Optimus.

Right of passage

Any Rules and Rituals set in place have all been written by past primes. Shuttle interpretations her and there over millions of years just became law.

In cybertron society to be Prime is to be the emperor of the whole planet. It is the highest class system you can on cybertron. But a prime must prove themselves worthy to the people first.

One of Sentinels lessons was, if you can conquer primus creatures you can conquer her people.

So he’ll take his knights to Uraya for a lil field trip. The idea is to find the biggest baddest creature and tame it. Normally these trips are unserious and unsuccessful. But when he took Orion he was completely serious.

Conquering different cities and cultures being the main focus of most of a primes training. A prime cannot be a stranger to killing.

A prime is supposed to be a representation of cybertrons strength and strike fear to their lessers. So before they are presented to the public modifications must be made to not break this belief. Optimus is heavily modified. Most of him was reconstructed.

Older primes will share parts of themselves with the new prime. Allowing them to have pieces of their own frame. Optimus eyes are not his.

By the time a prime has been presented to the public, they have killed, dominated and changed into something else entirely. Leaving their old weaker self behind.

In Optimus quest to become strong he realized he lost his way. He never really committed to being as horrible as Sentinel classest and a complete psychopath. But he has killed.

(I really didn’t do some of these rules in order but oh well!)

[not-neverland06]

If requests are still open, how about headcanons of Heisenberg with a reader that is a fifth lord. Reader's Cadou allows them to manipulate sound (radio) waves, and go as far as sonic scream. No pressure or rush, just curious on your interpretation :)

Karl Heisenberg x GN!reader A/N: This is only the second time I’ve done HC’s and I’m still struggling to get a grasp on them. Thank you for the request, your prompt was interesting to think about. This is a little short, so if I didn’t give you what you wanted let me know and I’ll try again.

He really doesn’t give a shit about you at first

Unless you go out of your way to catch his attention he’s treating you the same as he treats the rest of the family

Whatever your powers are, he’s gonna assume you’re just as bad as the rest of them and dismiss you

You have to actively make him notice you

It wouldn’t take a lot, maybe one snide comment towards Mother Miranda and suddenly you have value

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You scoffed, glaring down at the horde of Miranda’s worshippers that had surrounded the old church. You’d just been passing through town, picking something up from the duke before heading back up the mountain. 

Heisenberg happened to be there at the same time. You weren’t sure what his deal with the Duke was but it seemed to be complicated. His head perked up as you glared at the villagers. “What’s your problem?” He muttered, tone bitter. 

You nodded towards the villagers, “They are. All their Mother Miranda bullshit, I’m sick of it.” You walked back towards your lair, the old radio tower up in the mountain. It was the best place for you to be with the way your powers functioned, your strongest point. 

He watched as you went, staring at you contemplatively and wondering how he’d missed that hatred in your eyes. 

When he and Alcina start to argue, Miranda will just look at you and you’ll let out a scream so loud bits of drywall fall from the ceiling

It’s painful but it’s effective, you’re essentially used as a mute button when things get out of hand

You tend to avoid the others, keeping quiet and to yourself

When Miranda had first experimented on you, your experience with the sound waves had been less than pleasant

Learning to control them was difficult. The first time you spoke after waking up from her little experiment, you’d blown out your own eardrums. 

Even after you finally harnessed them, you figured that it was better to just be quiet. The times you did speak you kept your voice below a whisper. 

“You don’t talk a whole lot do you?”

You shrugged, “Only when I have to, really.” You sat in his workshop, mostly against your will. He’d invited you to dinner, though it felt like more of a command, and you’d tried to get him to make the journey up the mountain to you. 

He’d, of course, refused because he was a stubborn bastard. You didn’t even want to sit down anywhere, there was oil and blood on nearly every surface. And if it wasn’t covered in that, it was sticky with dried lycan drool. 

At least Moreau managed to keep his quarry clean.

Heisenberg hadn’t stopped staring at you since you sat down, it was starting to bug you.

You don’t normally speak with your family, mainly because you don’t really care for any of them. Having his attention on you was disturbing.

He sets his fork down on his plate and gives you an odd look, “How do your powers work, anyway?”

It was easier to show than it was to explain. You focused on the large pile of metal scraps on his desk and opened your mouth. The noise was nearly silent at first, a high pitched ringing that you questioned if you were actually hearing. 

Then it got louder, the ringing clear now. It was painful to anyone outside of the focused stream of sound waves, but it was lethal once you stepped into the stream. The metal shook, vibrating loudly against his desk. A few toppled over, the rest exploded in a violent display of clashing metal shards and sparks. 

Heisenberg clutched his ears, a small stream of blood leaking from between his fingertips. You want to apologize to him. You’ve always had a little difficulty controlling your powers in such close spaces. 

But he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t even look like he’s in pain. Instead he’s grinning widely at you, something glinting in his eyes that had you feeling on edge. 

He sees the uniqueness of your powers, the untapped potential for violence and how helpful someone like you could be to his cause

He waters the seedling of resentment you already hold towards Miranda and helps it grow

He whispers words of hate and anger into your ear until you’re just as passionate about taking Miranda down as he is

You two work together, using your odd understanding of radio and sound waves to improve his soldat designs 

Slowly, your loyal followers from the village start to abandon you and move to different lords. Your connection to Heisenberg has soured your influence among the sheep in the village, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

Your status as a lord meant little to you when you had him

He’s intrigued by your powers and loves to experiment with them, but more than anything there’s something soothed inside him because he’s no longer alone

He’s grateful for the support you provide when he feels like he’s just stagnant in his progress taking down Miranda

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Resident Evil Village, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[clangenrising]

Month 12 - Leafbare

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Time was hard to hold onto these days. Scorch blinked and suddenly spring had arrived, cautiously thawing out the gardens and poking its flowers up through the soil. If she thought back, she could remember that she had spent the time studying to become an interpreter in between visits from Razor but the actual experiences of those moments tended to feel fuzzy and loose. She was grateful that she somehow managed to hold onto the knowledge of interpreting.

The act fascinated her. Each Name Charm was marked with symbols that the Folk used to convey meaning and slowly, she was learning to interpret it. Confined in her house as she was, Portia wasn’t able to do much teaching so she had put a young molly named Marmalade in charge of teaching Scorch how to understand the symbols. 

Marmalade took Scorch through the neighborhood, usually with another cat along to ‘escort’, and showed her the symbols in different places. Now that they were pointed out to her, Scorch couldn’t stop seeing them. They were on the corner poles and the fronts of houses and the sides of cars and nearly every wall in the downtown area had some cluster of them somewhere. Marmalade would teach her what they said and then teach her how each symbol made up a piece of the meaning. She learned how to recognize the individual symbols wherever they appeared in the clusters and how there were two versions of each symbol for some reason. 

It was honestly exciting. She couldn’t believe that all her life there had been meaning spread across the surface of the world and she hadn’t even known. When she was at home, when time was the most solid, she would wander around, discovering all of the different symbols in her home and trying to interpret them. They were everywhere, on the food boxes and her dish and flashing across the magic window that her Folk would watch and the pages in the kits’ rooms and the warm thing the adult human pawed at on her lap and even though Scorch didn’t know what some of the words meant, she knew their pieces and that felt like power. 

It wasn’t power that helped her much, though. Being an Interpreter did come with a certain amount of prestige. She and Marmalade were sometimes sent to deliver blessings from the Folk. They would go to cats who were ill in their homes or to new mothers and their kittens and bestow gifts upon them. Cats always thanked them and looked up at them with worshipful gazes. They parted to allow them through. Chaff asked them for blessings as they passed and thanked them profusely when Marmalade bid them “be well.” Yes, there was definitely power there, but it never did anything to get rid of the babysitters that followed her everywhere she went.

And it never stopped Razor from calling on her. 

Today, after an Interpreters’ meeting in Portia’s garden, he had arrived to collect her, all toothy smiles and pet names and suffocating touches. She purred and fell in beside him and let go of her grasp on time. He’d invited her to accompany him to another meeting, this one about the warfront, and she had agreed. 

Now she found herself draped against his side as he lounged in the grass of his own backyard. Several toms sat around in a circle, discussing strategy. All of them, except for Ghost, were Exalted. 

“Hunting operations are continuing as planned,” Oreo was saying. “We’ll have to increase our presence, though, if we want to account for spring prey numbers.” 

“Do you think we’ll still be able to starve them out?” Razor asked thoughtfully. 

“I do,” Oreo nodded. “The Chaff are hungry enough, the only problem is the risk of getting attacked by wild cats. We need to find a way to make it seem like the threat is minimal if we want them hunting in droves.” 

Ghost cleared his throat and said, “From what my cats have been saying, most encounters can end without bloodshed as long as we don’t antagonize the Clans. If a cat apologizes and leaves they’ll get a torn ear at most. If you’d like, I can spread the word about-”

“No,” Razor rumbled darkly and Scorch felt her throat tighten. “No, we’re not going to teach the Chaff that they should run from these savages. We won’t show weakness like that when that territory is our right.” 

“But, sir,” Ghost shifted uncomfortably, “most of my cats aren’t fighters.”

“Then pair them with fighters,” Razor said as if it were obvious. “If they need protection, give it to them.” 

Ghost’s throat labored for a moment before he said, “Yes, sir.” 

“I think it might also be a good idea to take a more proactive approach,” said Sardine, a younger tom who had only recently been allowed into these kinds of meetings. “You know what they say: the best defense is a good offense.” 

Razor smiled and nodded in his direction. “I’m listening.” Scorch listened too, with bated breath.

Sardine continued. “Part of the reason the Slaughter of Sycamore was such a decisive loss was because our position wasn’t easily defensible. The wild cats had the home turf advantage and, given their surprisingly large numbers, I reason they must have had somewhere to organize themselves before the attack. If we could take that location for ourselves, we would have a much stronger foothold from which to orchestrate our campaign. We could even move a number of chaff to the front full time.”

Scorch repressed a shiver as the image of Razor and his followers carving their way through RisingClan’s camp flashed through her mind. The calm, detached manner in which Sardine said it rubbed her fur the wrong way. It was almost like he didn’t care that he was toying with the lives of cats on both sides.

“And how would you propose we do that?” frowned Tiger, his muscles rippling under his pelt as he shifted forward. “We have no idea how far that location might be and clearly inching our way bit by bit doesn’t work.”

“It could,” Oreo countered. “Another big reason we lost that battle was because of the snow storm and we’ll have all summer to retake that ground.” 

“We’ll still be out in the open,” Tiger growled. “I don’t like it.” 

“Please,” Razor said, his chest rumbling smoothly against Scorch’s side, “I’m sure Sardine has a plan. Don’t you?” He tilted his head to regard the young cat and Scorch heard the familiar undertone in his voice that said ‘this is a test.’ 

Sardine smiled and said, “I do. I propose we form strike teams of three to six cats and wait for the ‘border patrols’ to come by then kill as many cats as we can.” Scorch swallowed. “Soon enough, their numbers will weaken and falter and we will be able to find and clear out one of their bases and take it for our own, thus acquiring a proper encampment from which to stage our own assault.” 

“Not a bad strategy,” Razor complimented and one of Sardine’s ears twitched in satisfaction. “What do we think, boys?” He looked around the circle, one brow raised. Scorch did likewise, trying to keep her expression passive as she judged their reactions. 

“It could work…” Oreo hummed skeptically. 

Ghost shifted, a grimace on his face, and said, “This all assumes that they have a fortified location we could use. There’s no way to know if that's the case. They could live in scattered nests or isolated burrows.”

“Who cares,” Tiger brushed him off. “Even if there isn’t some central location we can take over, I think the effort put into the strike teams would be worth it.” He smirked and looked at Razor. “I wouldn’t mind the opportunity for a bit of extermination.” Scorch’s blood ran cold. Tiger seemed to notice and his eyes twitched over to meet hers. She quickly ducked her gaze and leaned away to nestle her cheek into Razor’s fur demurely. 

“We would need to be careful,” Ghost said. “The wild cats are a lot stronger than we first thought. I’m not sure many of my cats could go blow for blow with them for long.” 

“They don’t need to,” Oreo said simply. “If we get enough of them in a group they’ll be able to wear the wild cats down even if they take losses.” Scorch spared a glance at Ghost to see his jaw working. He was furious. Still, he was hiding it well, she thought. It was only her experience with him that let her recognize the subtle tensing of the muscles in his neck and the way his tail tip was poised to start twitching if he let it. 

Razor seemed to notice too and said, “True, but there’s no need to be so wasteful if we can afford not to be. It’s our job to look out for the Chaff, is it not?” 

Oreo’s whiskers twitched and he looked down. Tiger huffed softly through his nose. 

Sardine nodded and said, “Indeed. Perhaps combat training could be provided?” 

Razor smiled. “Good idea,” he said. “Why don’t you and Ghost organize training for the most promising candidates. Once you both feel satisfied with their progress, we can start implementing these strike teams, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Sardine said, glancing at Ghost. Ghost grunted affirmatively, his jaw still clenched. 

“Good,” Razor said, moving to stand. Scorch stood as well, pressing close to him and keeping her head low to avoid too much attention. “Is there anything else we needed to discuss?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Oreo said, standing as well. Tiger and Ghost both shook their heads. 

Sardine took a step forward. “Actually, Razor, I was wondering if I could have a private word?” 

“Of course,” Razor said, jerking his head towards the rose bush in the corner of the yard. Tail brushing across Scorch’s belly, he leaned into her ear and said, “Wait here for me, would you, dear?” 

Scorch chuckled to hide the shudder of disgust that went through her. “Always.” His smile widened and he ran his tongue over her cheek and up her brow before gesturing to Sardine and padding off to the rose bush. She was tempted to try and eavesdrop but knew that she wouldn’t be able to get close enough without being seen. 

In addition, she had a more important task to see to. She looked over at the others. Oreo and Tiger had started off across the lawn together, talking amongst themselves. Ghost sat still, his eyes closed as he breathed slowly in and out. Scorch cast one glance over her shoulder to make sure Razor was occupied then slipped over to stand next to Ghost. His whiskers twitched as she drew near and he opened his newly scarred eye to look at her.

“What do you want?” he grumbled. His eyes also darted over her shoulder to where Razor and Sardine were talking. 

“I wanted to apologize,” she said softly, offering a smile. “I was under quite a lot of stress last time we talked and I did a lot of things that I am not proud of.” She held her breath, hoping he bought it. This part was integral if she was going to accomplish what she needed to.

He scowled at her. “You nearly got me in serious trouble, you know that?” 

“I do,” she winced, hoping she looked sufficiently remorseful. “I’m sorry, Ghost. Really.” He stared at her for another long moment before sighing, his gaze softening a touch. 

“I appreciate it,” he said, looking her over. She smiled and sat down. Good. He had never been able to stay mad at her for long.

“I did mean what I said about looking out for Smokyrose,” she whispered. “If you helped me escape, I could bring them a warning.”

Ghost shook his head. “And then what? My cats get killed instead? No, I can’t do that.” Scorch felt anger rising in her again. There was always an excuse with him, wasn’t there, some reason why he couldn’t do what she needed him to. She focused on keeping calm, though. Trying to threaten him hadn’t worked at all. She needed to use a softer touch. 

She shifted closer, her eyes big and sincere, and said, “Then I’ll tell the Clans not to kill the Chaff. Goldenstar would listen. She took in Scrap despite my warnings. If she can spare a life, she will, I promise.” 

“So Scrap is safe then,” he said as if he’d caught her in a lie. Scorch tried not to let her irritation get the better of her. Like he cared about Scrap at all. 

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “And I can make sure that she stays that way. Both her and Smokyrose.” Instinctively, she brushed her tail tenderly over his, satisfied by the way he tensed and then relaxed under her touch. “Please, Ghost. Won’t you help me?” She tried to make her eyes water as she held his gaze. Hopefully he would prove as predictable as always and be unable to resist the pleadings of a woman who needed him. 

She watched him thinking. His eyes darted down to her paws like he wanted to place one of his own on top of them. He leaned forward almost imperceptibly, their whiskers almost close enough to touch. His mouth opened, a hesitant word on his tongue, and she felt her spirits soar. Yes! She had won! She had-

His eyes flickered over her shoulder and a scowl returned. “Razor is watching,” he said. Bile swelled to overtake her lifted spirits and drag them back down to the pit of her stomach. She knew better than to look over her shoulder or quickly fix her posture. She licked her lips and very carefully sat back. 

“Think about it,” she said. “You know where to find me.” At this point, she could hear Razor coming her way. She let one ear twitch back, then stood and turned to face him, hiding all evidence that she had been touching Ghost. She smiled fondly at Razor and moved to meet him, butting her head against his chest. 

“Ghost,” Sardine said, a dubious tilt to his voice, “Shall we talk logistics?” 

Ghost cleared his throat and nodded, standing. “Yes. Let’s.” Stiffly, he turned and followed the younger tom and Scorch cursed him in her head. He was being too obvious! 

Razor curled around her, his brows furrowed, and asked, “What was that all about?” As he did, he nosed the fur on the back of her neck and she went rigid at the touch, heart suddenly hammering. 

“I was urging Ghost to have faith in your leadership,” she lied, trying to turn her head to look at him, but he opened his mouth and gently placed his teeth against her scruff and she immediately froze again. A purr rumbled through him and he removed his teeth. This time, she stayed exactly where she was.

“Is that all?” he murmured warmly against her skin. “It seemed like there was more to it than that.” He padded slowly around her, always keeping some part of him in contact with her. 

Scorch fixed her eyes on the rose bush as she spoke. “Maybe for him,” she said. “You know he never really got over me.” 

“Mm,” Razor hummed, unsatisfied. 

Scorch swallowed. “But I promise, things were strictly professional. I have no interest in any other kind of relationship with someone like him.”  

Razor came back around to look at her face again and she dared to turn her head to meet his gaze. “Not even a little?” he asked, “for old times’ sake?” 

“No, of course not!” She promised with a worried expression. “Razor, I’m yours now. That’s all I could ever want.” 

Razor looked her over and then sighed with a dejected glance downward. “I know. I just… after you went missing and everything…” He shifted his weight and sat down. “It feels like you sometimes don’t think about how your actions affect me. I do so much to make sure you’re taken care of and it’s like you don’t even care.” 

“No, Razor,” she swallowed and stepped in to wrap herself around him instead, “of course I care! I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel that way.” She knew his game. This trick was the oldest in the book. But she had no choice but to play along. “How can I prove how much I love you, honey?” 

Razor leaned into her touch with another sigh. “Just… promise you won’t talk to Ghost anymore?” he asked tiredly. “It would make me feel so much better if I didn’t have to worry about him and you.” 

“Of course,” Scorch promised, pressing her forehead against his. “If that’s what you want, I’ll try and avoid him.” 

“It is,” he purred. “Thank you, Gingersnap.” 

“Anything for you,” she swallowed. 

“Why don’t I walk you home,” he offered, pulling back to meet her gaze again. 

“Oh, that’s alright,” she shook her head. “I can get back just fine on my own.” 

“No, no, I insist,” he said, standing up. “I’ll feel a lot better if I know you got home safe.” 

Scorch sighed. It had been worth a try. Smiling, she tried to play her reaction off as fondness and said, “Alright then. Whatever you want, dear.”

[taurusvenusian]

what do you think about both partners having moon in the others 8th house in synastry?

Very intense, so it’s never for the weak. You both know that things are not just surface-level between you two. Your feelings for each other go very deep, so be extra aware and cautious of leaving a traumatic or painful impact on each other because you both have the capability of doing that (but just because you do doesn’t mean that you both will, right?). Triggering each other may be a common experience if both of you lack self-awareness and knowledge of this synastry aspect.

In the same way, when someone has a deep attachment and hold on your emotions, then there is also the capability for deep healing. You both have the emotional endurance to go through life’s best and worst situations. You are both deeply attracted to each other and you must know that this connection can be very addicting. It’s not everyday that you meet someone who knows your vulnerabilities and deep wounds, or has the power of doing so.

You will leave an unforgettable mark on each other, knowing that even if you part ways, you’d always have a big part of each other wherever you go. If pain may be something that comes up in the relationship due to faults or mistakes, this one will leave a lasting impact on you both and may take some time to heal.

Personally, with my experience having my ex-boyfriend’s moon in my 8th house, he knew how to get me, how to make me feel comforted, and ultimately, how to destroy me. It’s a conscious effort not to do the latter. His wounds also felt very exposed to me, like just from a few interactions, I knew what kind of pain he was dealing with and somehow it was easy to take on that kind of weight in trying to help/understand him that didn’t feel the same with others. I think he felt the same with me too. When we broke up, everything that happened between us changed me and that pain he left definitely transformed me into a better person.

Overall, this is a life-changing aspect. It may be hard to, but just try to enjoy it. You never know when you’ll be experiencing this kind of intensity and emotional depth with someone again. 🖤

Disclaimer: everything I said here can still vary and may not apply to all with 8th house synastry, depending on your individual charts and the synastry chart itself so I still highly recommend getting your charts analyzed and interpreted. Ü

[bigdealsgoddog]

Lookism guys trying to impress their s/o

Notes: gender neutral reader! This is just my hcs about how some of the lookism guys would try to impress their s/o(Jake kim, Samuel seo, vasco, Daniel)

Jake kim (kim gi myung)

Probably the least likely to feel the need to impress his s/o

Like he’ll absolutely do it if he knows it’ll get a certain reaction out of you but he’s pretty confident in himself

Maybe there’s a special hole in the wall place that he found or maybe he’ll take you to one of the places on big deal to be like “yeah I know this area really well, the people love me here and it’s amazing food”

He’d probably try to hide that he’s the leader of big deal for a while unless that’s how you end up meeting him/finding out about him

He’s more likely to try to impress you with things he found rather than material items and spending money. As is big deal doesn’t have a lot of money but he’s also not the type to just throw money around like that. Plus doing that attracts all the wrong people in his eyes.

Samuel seo (seo seongeun)

This man and his inferiority complex? You know DAMN WELL he’s gonna be dropping so much money on you to impress you

Fancy dinner dates, expensive liqour, his fancy car all the way back to his fancy apartment

See I feel like he wouldn’t like a gold digger as much as he wants to impress you with money I think he’s more likely to fall for someone who doesn’t give a shit about his social standing. Or who he even is for that matter

It’s the inferiority complex kicking in, he feels like he needs to get what’s not his, someone that doesn’t want him until he proves that he is the best option for them

So he’s gonna be a little disappointed when his attempt at impressing you doesn’t actually work out

He’d end up trying to impress you by finding out about a certain food/item that’s been discontinued and absolutely hunting that thing down and getting it for you. You’d be more impressed that he remembered that random niche thing about you but it’s honestly a little touching how hard he worked to find it for you

Please praise him that’s all he really wants

Vasco (Euntae lee)

He’d have all of burn knuckles memorize a performance or something like that, panicking because “he really needs to do this for s/o, everything is on the line”

It was like your fifth date and he heard something from vin jin that if you’re not spoiling your partner and showing them every moment why you were the best option then they might as well leave and poor guy took it to heart so now all of burn knuckles is getting ready to surprise you for what you thought was going to be a coffee date with vasco

Honestly suddenly being surrounded by all of burn knuckles while you were taking a walk in the park as they tried to do what looked to be interpretive dance? You honestly weren’t sure it was a little overwhelming

Actually a lot overwhelming

Jace thankfully was able to save the day rushing in and escorting the burn knuckles while vasco panics asking you what’s wrong and if there was something wrong with the surprise

You calmed him down and let him well the thought was nice but you didn’t really know why he went through all that trouble? He ended up explaining it all and you kinda just gave him that ‘Aw you poor thing’ look

“It’s ok vasco you don’t need to impress me just to keep me around” “i don’t?” It’s like a weight lifted off his shoulders

You also didn’t want to admit that when he works out seeing his muscles impresses you enough

Daniel park(hyeong seok)

I think he’s also one of the types to not want to try to impress his s/o?

Not to say that he’s super confident or anything but he knows how differently he was treated on surface level appearance alone so I think he would’ve probably fallen for an s/o who wouldn’t be all about impressions alone?

Like somebody he doesn’t feel like he needs to impress or act a certain way with but he’ll still try, he ends up asking Jay and joy what to get you, things he could do to impress you

He’s pleasantly surprised when you’re more impressed how he remembers your drink order at the nearby cafe and when he brings you your favorite pastry from the patisserie down the street

He ends up getting you some new clothes on occasion, like if he notices a specific hoodie or shirt you’d wear a lot he’ll try to get you clothes in similar brands/styles. And so long as you like it he’d get you a size up too because he noticed how much you like how big his clothes are on you

[5and3nevermind]

Mini & Moni Album Exchange: Part 2 (and other thoughts)

Part 1

My plan was to write two posts about the album exchange. Summaries, more or less, with a few of my own thoughts. But this second post is going to also incorporate some of the things Jimin said during the jacket shoot that I think also shed some light on how the album should be viewed.

First of all, let’s appreciate Joon’s smile while listening to Who:

Jimin says about Who:

He goes on to explain:

So…here’s where things get a little difficult because we might have to agree to disagree.

If you want to take a literal view of Who, then it’s pretty simple: Jimin is single and looking for love. So are his friends. And that’s that.

However, I would argue that there might be more here to consider based on some other things that were said by Jimin during his jacket shoot.

If we opt for the literal view of the lyrics of Muse as a whole, Jimin writes about love and then says, basically, “Wait! Actually I’m single. Who is my heart waiting for?” There isn’t much to misunderstand or interpret or assume in that case. It is a linear storyline with a surprise/twist ending.

If that’s your reading of Muse, that’s fine. I’m not going to tell you how to interpret Jimin’s art.

However. Jimin himself seems to want there to be various theories and interpretations. He is the “tailor of chaos” (photo folio) after all! I’m not going to pretend that I have all of the answers or that this is easy. But I do believe there is more here beyond the surface-level interpretation.

When Jimin tells Joon that he and his friends all feel this way—“flat”—I think that this could mean a lack of inspiration or excitement or purpose. Let’s not forget: the name of the album is Muse!

The word “muse” is defined as 1. (in Greek and Roman mythology) each of nine goddesses, daughters of Zeus, who preside over the arts and sciences. 2. the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

As I said in part 1 of the album exchange, I think love is being used as an analogy for artistic inspiration.

Back to the album exchange…

Jimin talks about the way the rapline inspired him:

Jimin talks about vocal training and how often he spoke about vocals with Jk. He tells the story of having drinks with Jk and Yoongi, and stepping aside with Jk so that Jk could demonstrate something related to vocals. You can read a little more about that here. (This was of course separate from the other numerous times Jimin and Yoongi have gotten drinks together, just so there’s no confusion. They are drinking buddies after all! +)

Jimin and Joon discuss the military and the future. Joon says glowing things about Jimin to close out the album exchange.

To summarize, I feel like we learned a lot about Muse and its meaning. I do not think we were provided with clear answers to some of our questions, but that is by design.

Any thoughts you’d like to share about Muse or about the album exchange? I’d love to hear them!

[dailycharacteroption]

Roleplay Ramblings: New Elements part 2

(art by global99 on DeviantArt)

Incorporating the New Elements

So, I went over the new elements in brief last time, but let’s take a further look at them today and talk about how you can work to help implement them into your games and settings. Obviously the writers at Paizo have done the work of writing them into the Lost Omens setting already, but there’s still some legwork to be done nevertheless when running the game in First Edition. So without further ado let’s get into it!

So let’s talk metal!

Prior to Rage of the Elements, metal was, at most, just a refined subset of earth. After all, where does metal come from? You dig it out of the earth, of course.

However, that’s not what metal is like in the original Wuxing interpretation, for while metal is extracted from the earth, the act of purifying and crafting it is a heavenly act, while it is also associated with death and grief, especially appropriate given the ease at which metal can be crafted into tools of death.

This isn’t to say that metal and earth have no connection, far from it. In fact, this association is explained in lore because Ayrzul the Fossilized King, the more sinister of the two lords of earth, actually broke into the realm of Laudinmio, elemental lord of metal as chemistry and and crafting, and stole from her several aspects of metal that he took and made his own, particularly poisonous and radioactive metals. The Sovereign of Alchemy was so upset about how her gifts were used she fell into an angst-coma where she remains unto this day, hopefully with someone snapping her out of it soon.

In any case, neither traditional elementalism nor Wuxing fully encompass what metal is as an element in the context of Pathfinder. So let’s explore those aspects. There is the Wall, which reflects metal’s density and strength; the Blade, which evokes it’s capacity for dealing death; the Conduit, which reflects metal’s ability to channel all manner of energies through itself, and the Spoke, representing how it can be shaped so readily into all manner of shapes, be they simple tools or the most complex mechanisms.

However, there is also an aspect of death and finality to metal beyond the sharpness of a sword or the velocity of a bullet, and that is for all it’s wondrous creations and their durability, they cannot last forever. Whether it be by oxidation, corrosion, or simply the stresses of time and repeated use, all metal eventually breaks down. Sometimes the remains can be salvaged to create new wonders, and sometimes it is beyond all but the most omniponent mages and deities to recover. Either way, even being nearly infinite, the plane of metal will one day succumb to entropy and rust, and be little more than a wasteland. But that is so far off into the future that even the Starfinder setting will be a distant memory by then.

All said, Metal is the element of creativity, strength, and inevitability, for wonders arise and wonders fall, and every moment before the end it worth experiencing, and who knows, maybe something else will rise up later?

As far as environments go, the plane of metal is pretty much exactly what you’d expect, landscapes made up almost exclusively of metallic elements with little non-metallic elements to go around. Forests of twisting silver crystals, mountains of iron, seas of quicksilver and glaciers of gallium barely holding their solidity, all of which is contained within the inside surface of a functionally infinite metal sphere. You’ll even find more mechanical environments in the places where civilized elementals live, forged from the world around them, as well as deserts of rust as things are slowly broken down by time and the careful guidance of the elementals that rule over that specific aspect.

Speaking of which, metal elementals typically embody two different poles of metal in aspects, either embodying the specific properties of metals, such as the liquid mercurial and zuhra genies, the magnetic and electical powers of pelogoxes and living lodestones, or even the quasi-supernatural properties of skymetals and other exotic fantasy metals with the likes of the skymetal strikers or abysium horrors. Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum are the elementals of metal as it breaks down, like rust scarabs, nanoshard swarms, oregorgers, and even the massive ramshackle melomachs. Among the most influential are the elemental lords, Laudinmio, whom we already mentioned, and Ferrumnestra, the Lady of Rust, who rules over and guides the decay of metal and makes room for the new when things have outlived their purpose.This list is hardly comprehensive, but there’s a lot of clever ideas that go into them.

Meanwhile, let’s take a look over at wood!

In Wuxing, wood is not just trees, but also covers air itself, which is a pretty impressive connection to make in a time before people understood exactly what oxygen was or the role that plant life has in the ecology of the entire planet. However, wood is also associated with growth, as well as frustration and anger, but also more positive emotions like kindness and generosity. It’s an element that feels a lot, which makes sense that it’s the one element that is made out of living material.

Of course, the idea of wood being an element is incompatible with western elementalism as they typically see living things, all living things, as being made up of elements, not being one themselves and certainly not existing by drawing upon other elements. To western elementalism, if something has to draw upon three whole other elements to even exist (earth for nutrients, water and air for important chemical processes), then it can’t be an element.

Not so with Wuxing, in which all the elements feed into each other, propping one up while undermining others, which makes wood make more sense in that context.

But what is Wood in Pathfinder? Simply put, it is verdant growth and potential cultivated by wisdom and discipline. Plants are grown and planted deliberately, trimmed back when they would crowd out other plants, and the very environment is shaped and carved, as are many of it’s denizens, from the living wood, always taking care not to needlessly kill even as homes are carved from trees on a truly colossal scale. Which isn’t to say that it lacks danger, for though discipline remains a core part of the plane, so does strong emotion, leading to plenty of furious or dangerously passionate creatures that might turn violent attention onto neighbors and visitors alike.

When I say that the Plane of Wood is cultivated order, I don’t just mean that the denizens put some effort into keeping their neck of the woods clean and pretty. I mean it’s a fundamental part of the plane. The whole plane is fractal in nature. While in theory the bottom border of the plane sinks it’s roots into the waters of the Plane of Water, everything is plants growing on plants all the way down and all the way up, from planet-sized trees with contienent size trees to country sized tress and you can see where I’m going with this. While these plants often don’t literally resemble the plants on the next largest tier but in miniature, they can, and it all keeps going down, potentially infinitely, but like all planes, perhaps not literally. As such, one can walk across a vast field which is just a mile-thick fungal mat stretched between two colossal branches, or walk around a massive tree city where streets and roads have been carved from the “dead” wood of the tree, leaving the living layer mostly untouched to keep growing and thriving. Seasons and time of day are partially determined by region and the bioluminescence of colossal plants a truly unfathomable distance above or below oneself. For that matter, in addition to plant matter familiar to denizens of Golarion, there are examples of plant life from potentially every planet across the universe as well as exotic fare that can only really exist on this plane. Of course, some environments are more hostile than others, such as the fungal denizens of the Nightwood or the areas suffering from the blight caused by Ayrzul (yes, him again. Turns out he’s pretty much an asshole to everyone).

And speaking of which, let’s talk denizens. Now some may wonder aloud what makes a wood elemental from your garden-variety plant monster, and the answers a little complex, but it boils down to how cultivation defines them. On the one hand, sure, some wood elementals are essentially mobile fruit or plant creatures such as moss sloths, pine pangolins, or harvest regiments, but others are shaped by careful cultivation, such as living groves, which the art of which expressly references the daisugi technique of Japanese logging, applying bonsai techniques to full-size trees to create perfectly straight logs. Others, however, are carved or grown into shape, such as carved beasts, painted stags, snapdrakes, or event the mighty twins of rowan, all of which are carved into shape from otherwise immobile wood (often with a still rooted base) and breathed new life into them by the rituals of either the Kizidhar genies or Shumunue, the Carved Lady of Mimicry herself, who represents wood as an art medium which imitates life as well as the ways that plant life draws in animals as pollinators or occasionally prey. Meanwhile, her counterpart is Verilorn, Custodian of Oak and Ash who presides over all agriculture, cultivation, and forestry. The two once worked together, but have grown apart in the eons of the planes isolation, to the pain of both.

And so now that we know all this about these two planes, we can actually get to the point of this entry and talk about integrating them within the pre-Second Edition setting and your own setting!

Firstly, let me gush a little about how these two new planes, which bring the elemental planes up to a whopping 6, defying both the assumptions of Wuxing AND Western elementalism in one fell swoop (not to mention all the others) also proceed to take the same basic concept of environment (i.e., being entirely made out of their element with barely any intrusion from the other elements barring those mixed-element outliers) and elevating it. Even without the illustrations from Rage of the Elements book, you can imagine an infinite fractal forest or a vast curved plane of gleaming metal and find that beautiful and awe-inspiring, and heck, they did a decent job of elevating the concept of the original 4 as well for that matter.

With that focus on elements returning and mixing, it’s also worth noting that not only are these new elements mixing with the old ones as they regrow into their old positions, but in their absence the other planes mixed as well. While it will take countless eons for them to be re-slotted in, no doubt also outstripping the cosmic era of Starfinder, eventually air and water will be mostly cut off from each other as will water and earth, but those vast areas of air-cooled ice and churning mud will never really go away.

But how will this affect your games? Well obviously if you never touch on it, it won’t, but if your 1e games want to touch on the elemental planes either directly or indirectly, it will. For the Lost Omens setting, perhaps metal and wood elementalists are gaining more respect and recognition outside of Tian Xia as anything more than a novelty, and maybe in the face of having two new pairs of elemental lords that don’t share the presumed dichotomy of good and evil will make planar scholars rethink the effects of how mortal assumptions about aspects of certain elements actually shaped the behavior of the beings that ruled them.

In a more general setting sense, having metal and wood be elements in your setting may change the sorts of environments your characters might encounter beyond the borders of the map. If they find a place where the element of wood is strong, they might think they stumbled onto some remote noble’s garden with how orderly it is until something like plants growing plants clues them into it being not quite natural, or maybe dwarves and other miners in your setting try to cultivate an elemental nexus of metal to turn a location into a motherlode of ore and valuable metals, and so on.

I’ve talked a lot about the new elemental planes in this one, but trust me, it’s all going to be very useful for the next two entries, and I hope you’re excited to see where that takes us tomorrow, starting with how character options change in a 6-element system!

[shmothman]

hello buddy daddies fandom. today, i bring you kazurei drabble. tomorrow? who knows

(Kazurei, 373 words, rated M)

“Just like that, fuck, Rei, baby—”

And, just like that, Rei’s world goes topsy-turvy.

Kazuki—ever-worried, ever-perceptive Kazuki—notices immediately the way Rei stills above him; notices and interprets as hesitation, or worse, displeasure, and props himself up on his elbows with his brow so caringly furrowed. “Rei?”

But, god, what is Rei supposed to say? That he can’t breathe when words like that fall so easily from Kazuki’s lips? That he’s never felt so wanted—so loved—as when he says those things to him? If only he could put his feelings to words the same way Kazuki does. If only he could be more like Kazuki; Kazuki and the tenderness that so gracefully finds its home on his tongue, on the tips of his fingers that reach for Rei like you’d reach for the surface while drowning. Like he needs him. Like he can’t live without him.

“Rei, you okay? D’you not like it when I call you that?” Kazuki’s reaching for him that same way now, worried that he’s crossed some invisible line, that there’s something Rei’s not telling him. And Rei would tell him, he really would, but the words just won’t come. 

Because he’s not like Kazuki. 

But, there would be nothing worse than letting Kazuki think he didn’t like it when he called him baby, when he calls him love or darling, so Rei does what he can: he surges forward, recapturing Kazuki’s lips with a fervor that surprises even himself, open-mouthed, desperate, and wanting. 

Kazuki lets himself be pushed back onto the pillows with a laugh and clinking teeth, and when Rei finally pulls back for air, he’s met with waggling eyebrows and a teasing smirk.

“Ohhh,” Kazuki grins, sly as he is triumphant. “I see. You do like being my baby!”

And Rei would normally scoff, would give a haughty huff and insist that that’s not what’s going on at all—but a small smile is quickly taking residence on his lips, and it’s turning into a bigger smile by the second.

Because as it turns out, he doesn’t need to put his feelings into words for Kazuki to be able to understand him perfectly. Because Kazuki makes him feel like he doesn’t need to be anything other than Rei.

[urmomnsuch]

Hozier: Francesca • (Song Theory)

“Francesca” is about the demise of a relationship caused by a miscarriage—hear me out…

Hozier: “When this song came around, it started from personal experience and then I allowed those themes and some of the imagery from that character (Francesca da Rimini) in and then let the two mix. It’s an example of letting the song have a life above ground and resonate with a life below ground in regard to that character.”

Taking inspiration from real life figures, Dante’s Divine Comedy reimagines an adulterous pair in the second circle of hell: Lust.

Hozier paints a tragically beautiful image—stuck in a typhoon for all of eternity alongside the person you’d give your life for.

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, Francesca blames love for her agent of sin. Francesca's persuasive power derives from her language, which echoes that of love poetry, especially from Dante's early poems. In this way, Francesca becomes a reflection of Dante himself; much like Hozier portraying Francesca’s convictions of love as his own.

On the surface, this beautiful song is simply a testament of love to a lover lost. That despite all of the trials and tribulations that led to their demise, he would do it all over again without second thought.

But just beyond the surface of Hozier’s brilliant reimagining, is a looming darkness I can’t shake.

“Do you think I’d give up?

That this might’ve shook the love from me?

Or that I was on the brink?

How could you think, darlin, I’d scare so easily?”

• The narrator professes that he is fearless to the circumstance they are faced with—that his love for her will always overcome any hardship, including this one

“Now that it’s done,

There’s not one thing that I would change,

My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end,

I’d tell them put me back in it”

• Although this is not something the narrator and his lover planned for, he’s prepared to endure this difficulty alongside her—admitting he has no regrets

“Darlin, I would do it again

If I could hold you for a minute

I’d go through it again

I would still be surprised,

I could find you, darlin, in any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darlin, I would do it again”

• The narrator expresses to his lover that he would experience the hardship of that moment all over again; because she was there to experience it with him

“For all that was said,

Of where we’d end up at the end of it

When the heart would cease,

Ours never knew peace

What good would it be on the far side of things?”

• The narrator reflects on the future plans they’d made together. He goes on to state, ‘when the heart would cease, ours never knew peace,’ indicating that the loss of life had caused unsettling turmoil within the relationship—questioning where they would be if the loss had not happened

“It was too soon,

When that part of you was ripped away

A grip taking hold,

Like a cancer that grows,

Each piece of your body that it takes”

• The life they lost took a piece of the narrator’s lover with it, which ultimately leads to her resenting him for it

“Though I know my heart would break,

I’d tell them put me back in it”

• Despite the pain of her resentment, he would still do it over again, (which is a common response to a trauma bond)

“I would not change it each time,

Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I”

• The relationship was difficult and messy; it was a far stretch from paradise. But he wouldn’t change a thing about it because of the love he felt for her, and because of the life they almost had together

Just a song interpretation/theory that gives this beautiful piece a higher power for me

…Thanks for hearing me out.

•

•

•

[psychewritesbs]

Hola capaa~~ argentina y entusiasta de Clamp, JJK y Sonny Boy sos todo❣️❣️

I absolutely love all your psych analysis!! I was wondering if you’d like to write a little about Gojo’s relationship with Megumi, like what he views him as. I know there’s a lot of discourse about whether megumi views him as a father/brother/uncle/mentor/guardián but I’d like to read about Gojo’s probable view.

Saludos de CABA❤️

Hola hola! Mucho gusto ♥!

Dear CABAnon... I just need you to know that your ask is an amazing question that required so much fun and multilayered brainrot.

So thank you for the ask and thank you so much for your kind comments. I will write in English in case anyone else wants to read this word vomit but will say hello in Español at the end of this post.

I'm also so glad you're a CLAMP enthusiast too because I'm going to drop clamptastic moments to illustrate points. My heart rejoices in knowing you'll get it.

So without further ado...

Gojo + Megumi. Let's brainrot...

Also... I may or may not have written a whole analysis post only to realize that I wasn't necessarily answering your question so I ended up deleting most of what I had written.

Hence the delay...

Ok procrastination, attention deficit disorder, and my overall slow temperament might have had something to do with it too. So thank you as well for your patience! 😂

ANY-WAYS!

I've written about my thoughts on this relationship from Megumi's perspective in the past, but I feel like my thoughts could use some more nuance given everything we've seen of this dynamic as of late.

What I'll start by saying is that Gojo isn't a character I spend a lot of time brain rotting about, so I may only scratch the surface of my interpretation of him, or perhaps even mischaracterize him a bit *gasp*.

That to say that in order to answer your question, we kind of have to peel back the layers of this dynamic.

So let's start by taking an in-depth look at Gojo:

Gojo Satoru is human af

Ok so... names have meaning in JJK, right?

So given how popular he is in the JJK-fandom, I am assuming it is common knowledge that his name, and the kanji in his name, alludes to an enlightened being.

In other words, Gojo is a bodhisattva--an enlightened being who is able to enter Nirvana but delays doing so out of compassion for others and their suffering.

But here's the thing...

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

Carl Jung

What is interesting about Gojo is that, despite his exalted spiritual status as the personification of a bodhisattva, he is actually VERY human.

For one, in relational dynamic to others he keeps others at a safe distance. Like that's literally part of how his Cursed Technique manifests, which is a beautiful example of how Cursed Technique can be a metaphor for the sense of self.

Second, Gojo CARES SO MUCH AND SO DEEPLY, it is actually shown how his emotional entanglements are one of his main weaknesses.

Now, for context, consider that emotional entanglements are a form of self-related attachment and that, in very simple terms, the goal of enlightenment is to transcend attachments that might hold the sense of self back from Nirvana.

Third, Gojo is a direct product of the society he is a part of since he does carry the burden of The Strongest / The Chosen One.

It's almost like Gojo's clown externalized persona is an attempt to add some much needed comic relief to the self-definition others have given him. An attempt to lessen the heavy burden of what it means for others to think of him and define him as The Strongest.

Now, what does strength/power mean in JJK? Overwhelming sense of self which is the byproduct of self-knowledge.

So I headcanon that it is precisely because he knows he is The Strongest, that, true to his character archetype as a bodhisattva, Gojo seeks to alleviate the suffering of others. Thus, his actions in an attempt to alleviate suffering are the result of his nature.

And here's the fun twist: Gojo seeks to do so through "power".

Now let's add Megumi to the mix.

Issai shujo to tomo ni

To answer your question, in addition to understanding Gojo's nature as a compassionate being driven by his attachment to others, we have to consider his actions and motivations.

Gojo bringing Megumi under his wing is an interesting rabbit hole for many reasons.

So let's start with the idea behind the theme issai shujo to tomo ni (“together with all sentient beings”—regardless of what hell one might fall into).

Consider that "it’s not enough for a bodhisattva of the Mahayana to just uphold the precepts. There are times when you have to break them, too. It’s just that when you do, you have to do so with the resolve of also being willing to accept whatever consequences might follow" (source).

To put it in JJK-words, how is Gojo abusing his position of power to further his own agenda?

Basically, it's a major red flag in terms of how Gojo might initially see Megumi as a means to pushing his own agenda for seeking power in order to fulfill his function as bodhisattva.

It's just that Gojo, as the adult in the dynamic, consciously and willingly manipulated Megumi into something that was beneficial for the both of them.

In other words, this is a red flag because Gojo, the adult, acted like a child and gave Megumi, the child, an adult choice.

This might loosely remind you of this fantastic meme and the context behind it:

(Source: noa-ciharu's fantastic talent for shitposting).

I just wanted to use the meme because it's about someone taking advantage of someone else's lack of psychological maturity.

As a side note, this also made me realize just how much JJK is exploring the idea that people's vulnerabilities get exploited by those who are in positions of power.

The thing is that Gojo could have just as easily ignored Megumi or reported him to the authorities. But he didn't do that, did he?

Instead he took Megumi under his wing and groomed him to become a tool that could help him change the Jujutsu-scheme of things. You could look at this and think "that's awful!" and you can also look at this and think "yes, it's shady, AND Gojo was also looking to help Megumi maximize his highest destiny and potential." More on this in a bit.

This is relevant because it says a lot about Gojo's "humanity" and the lengths he will go to for the sake of his goal and desire to alleviate the suffering of others.

Again, Gojo gave Megumi a choice Megumi should not have had to make. I have a 9 year old nephew, so I'm all for giving children choices so that they can develop their own sense of self. But the choices have to be age appropriate.

In other words, the adult in the room, Gojo, anticipated and used Megumi's innocence and love for Tsumiki as leverage to manipulate a specific response from Megumi that would benefit the both of them.

Which brings us to the next layer...

Noblesse Oblige

I think that because I come from a last name De los Reyes, I LOVE and deeply resonate with this term.

It's so...

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Voltaire

This is where the rabbit hole gets fun because, were it not for Toji's last words to Gojo, Megumi and Gojo might have never crossed paths.

And is there anything more clamptastic than the idea that inevitable emotional entanglements are the result of fate bringing people together?

The question this brings up for me is... even though Toji gave Gojo the choice (here we have choice as a theme again) to do as he pleased, can we consider this to be a curse that Toji put on Gojo seeing as these were his last words to him?

So the fact that Gojo chose to follow through with Toji's last words is the stuff of tragedy given we've already seen that Gojo's weakness are his emotional entanglement to others. And now that Sukuna has taken over Megumi's body... well... should we brace for tragedy?

But I digress...

The point of this layer is to introduce the idea that perhaps Gojo is someone who fosters strength / power in others through self-knowledge, both for the sake of his own agenda, and also because of the idea behind noblesse oblige--with great power comes great responsibility.

In other words, consider Megumi's theme in the sense that it would have been a complete waste of the talent he was born with, the prized family jewel worthy of one chosen by fate, to be squandered away in a lifetime spent fighting bullies.

Did Gojo see Megumi's worth only in terms of his family's name and his Cursed Technique? I think initially that might have been the case.

There's definitively something to be said about how Jujutsu society as a whole is a microcosm for the toxic Capitalist zeitgeist that permeates our world where our worth is measured against what we can do rather than for the mere fact that we are alive.

But... that's the thing, even if Gojo, as a product of his environment who is ironically seeking to upturn the very system that gave him the power that he has... Gojo is still Gojo, and Gojo is human af.

And for someone who is as enlightened as he is...

To blind himself to this truth about himself, to keep others at a safe distance in an attempt to lessen those emotional entanglements... well, it is kind of tragic, isn't it?

My precious student

I could have literally written this section only and called it a day but like... where's the fun in not word vomitting?

I have to say that I am loving how Gege is starting to tie loose ends. Promises he made early on in the manga are starting to unfold before our eyes.

For Gojo, the Hidden Inventory arc sets the stage for seeing just how much Gojo cares and the lengths that he will go through to alleviate the suffering of others because of how deeply compassionate he is.

So there is no doubt in my mind that Gojo CARES for Megumi deeply and holds Megumi in high regard both intellectually and emotionally.

Like... even if the way he recruited Megumi can be considered shady, I personally think it's in Gojo's nature to care deeply.

As a result I personally like the idea that Gojo came to care for, know and understand Megumi deeply. I should probably open a thesaurus to find a synonym for deeply, I've used that word like 5 times already.

I also think that Gojo sees in Megumi a mirror of himself given their fate has been somewhat defined by their respective Cursed Techniques. There's actually a lot of parallels in their behavior if you look closely.

Now, one of the biggest questions in fandom has been what life was like growing up in the Fushiguro household and what it was like to grow up under Gojo's tutelage.

So I love that Gege has finally given us a sneak peek at that dynamic because it sheds light into the answer to your question.

To me the panels above might show how Gojo approached fostering Megumi's talent. I could be wrong, but I get major "let's go for a walk so I can teach you something" vibes.

And like... I can't imagine how Gojo could have possibly avoided getting attached to Megumi if he basically saw him grow up. Whether he was around every day or came and went is the stuff of head canons.

But I definitively think there's a lot of love between these two characters and that Gojo sees Megumi not just as a student whose power he needs to foster through self-knowledge, but also as a protégé that was entrusted to him.

Now... given emotional entanglement is one of Gojo's major weaknesses, it makes me wonder what Gege is going to do once he lets Gojo out of the prison realm.

It makes me wonder what lengths Gojo will go through to alleviate Megumi's suffering.

Spanglish alert!

Merci a ma chérie (@justafrenchlondoner) for being a sounding board to help me answer this loaded question. We both loved the brainrot that ensued because of it.

Finalmente...

EAAAAA! Mucho gusto CABAnon!

Así es! Soy entusiasta de clamp, JJK, y Sonny Boy! Me encanta q t gusten a ti tb! The trifecta of perfection if you ask me. Lo único differente es q soy Mexicana pero al fin de cuenta, esa diferencia importa poco :)

Espero halla podido contestar tu pregunta... jeje... con eso d q me fui por una tangente q ni al caso me tardé un poco mas de lo esperado pero la vdd disfruté mucho contestando tu pregunta.

Espero escuchar de ti y tus pensamientos al respecto d nuevo!

Saludos desde mi pedacito en el Desierto de Chihuahua, victoria la psicoloca.

[mage-ical-character-person]

so after the playlist i’ve been looking for more fandroid energy songs and like. this is hey there delilah. imagine hey there deliah but in the same old fandroid robotic voice with slightly soul sucking instrumentals.

Got it? imagine that being posted. on the surface it seems like a cutesy love song, maybe put out for valentines. But strip away the instruments and look at the lyrics up front and it sounds less like a love song and more like a cry for help. (maybe the “♪ohh, it’s what you do to meee,♪” gets more and more discordant and shaky with every line, like someone on the verge of tears)

It’s no ordinary song. It’s a small way of expressing that aching sadness. It’s a stress ball. A vent post. He is holding back the floodgates, and yet some of that trauma still seeps through. But nobody bats an eye.

Add-ons to this:

Imagine how it feels to post something like that; something that you feel is revealing something very deep and personal to you, and people still enjoying it like a dog and a chew toy. To you, they’re benefiting off your pain. You’ve never shown anyone that side of yourself, and when you finally do, they clap like it was faked. Can’t even imagine what that would do to the psyche.

“what you do to me” can be interpreted in 3 ways: what the people coding him did to him—forcing him to feel pain for their viewing pleasure, what the audience does to him—ignoring, no, enjoying his one fleeting cry for help, or what he does to himself—scolding himself for crying for “no good reason.”

and don’t even get me STARTED ON “listen to my voice, it’s my disguise.”

Wow. Just.

I always wished Fandroid’s music channel and stuff reflected the lore and stuff like his gameplay channel did. You know? Like Fandroid always sort of felt like That Poppy or Dad Feels toned down and wrapped in lighthearted kids YouTuber. So even in like 2017 when I was first watching Fandroid, I had listened to Poppy and stuff and I wanted something akin to that? Something akin to how Poppy songs are both satires of shallow pop songs and relevant to the character of Poppy. (And a lot of stuff ended up going down with Poppy behind the scenes but let’s not get into that.) But Fandroid just sang about Bendy and stuff. I cared more about Fandroid content than Bendy. I wanted Fandroid songs about Fandroid that kept up the lighthearted robot YouTuber except maybe not so lighthearted thing you’d see in his streams and let’s plays.

And that’s exactly what this wonderful idea you’ve left in my ask box is!

I want to say that I don’t think the audience would be so cruel, that they wouldn’t ignore Fandroid’s pain, after all, that’s us y’know? We care, of course we do. But. We would enjoy it wouldn’t we. I was just saying that I would. Of course, I would still be concerned for him and I doubt I’d be the only one. But… I dunno.

[bubbleonice]

For your next Timothée reading.

Today, Kid Cudi unfollowed Timothée on social media and in the past couple months a friend from school unfollowed Timothée. Will Timothée’s association with K continue to have an impact on his longer-term friendships where they part ways on social media (if not more distant IRL)?

I think I heard about the Cudi unfollow was just a rumor? But I can take a look at wether this is going to have an impact on his longer term friendships.

2 or pentacles: The Two of Pentacles card in regards to friendship means things are okay. They could be better but your friends are helping support you, and you them. Are these friends true friends, and likewise, are you theirs? Is any party in the relationship parasitic, making it a one-sided relationship? It might be time to phase them out.

9 of pentacles reversed: The Nine of Pentacles Reversed can show cracks that are beginning to appear in your current, stable life. Perhaps things are not as solid as they seem, and you might not be seeing the symptoms or cause just yet. It can also represent an idyllic life you are aiming for, but something is stopping you from achieving it. It may be worth your while to think about why you aren’t already achieving your goal, identify any problems and work towards solving them.

The High Priestess reversed: It is important not to jump to depressing conclusions as this card is not a harbinger of doom. But she does point to all not being what it seems on the surface. The energies of the High Priestess reversed suggest the attitude of “Trust, but verify,” will be extremely useful to you when it comes to agreements with others in general. Overall, however, the High Priestess reversed is not a bad card. She simply suggests that we look deeper; at everything and everyone, including ourselves and our own motives.

When the High Priestess reversed is significant in a reading about friends and family, it is an indication that people are at least somewhat vaguely confused. This is an important time to spell things out to your nearest and dearest but also for them to do the same. Communication can be unclear when she appears and so can the impressions that you are picking up from your friends and family members. Just, make sure you are all on the same page before doing or saying something that cannot be undone or unsaid. The High Priestess reversed also suggests that this may not be the greatest time to befriend new people and to try to bring them into your circle of friends. People may not be as open to that as you’d expect so don’t be pushy about that kind of thing now; it may backfire on you.

So in conclusion this is my interpretation. His friends are ok with it and tolerates it, but they are not liking it. They are confused and Timmy is not communicating with them about Kylie. They are all baffled like the rest of us, not really knowing what’s going on. In respect for Timothee they are not directly dismissing her, but they are not open to welcome her into their circle either. They feel intimidated and awkward about the whole situation, but they also love Timmy too much to not support him.