#thought of this so now everyone else has to see it too

[feral-renaissance-cat]

Having come from a small church town that gets reeeal ugly when you look past the "We're all good neighbors who live good lives :)" facade, I can see the vision here.

Cozy Witch thinks to herself "Hmm, in every cozy mystery there's usually a convenient clue with exposition in the trash somewhere" so there's a game mechanic where you can peek in trash cans and dumpsters but she finds things like crumpled up drafts of suicide notes, or letters from the bank with a final warning about all their overdrawn accounts, or empty prescription bottles for anti-depressants and antipsychotics. She could use these to better understand the struggles of her neighbors and maybe reach out to them to offer emotional support, but haha nope nothing about where the cat went in here, better keep looking. (And she's not qualified to help people with problems like that so what could she do anyway that wouldn't possibly make things worse? They seem happy when she waves at them during her visits to town so they must have it under control anyway. She'll cast a little spell to make more flowers in their garden and that ought to cheer them up.)

Cozy Witch sees a little boy sitting on his back doorstop looking sad. "Aha," she tells herself. "He must be sad because the nice kitty he saw ran away. I can ask him which way it went." Turns out the boy is sad because one of his parents drank too much "grown-up juice" and now they're too sleepy and angry to play with him. She could take him with her on her adventure or at least spend some time with him, but ohhh welllll if his parent comes out looking for him they might be worried about where he went, so best of luck kid but there's still a missing cat out there. (She has heard about how violent alcoholics can get and if they get angry with her for doing anything with their son without permission they might hurt her. Except no, that person runs the charming little bookshop, they would never hurt anyone. She doesn't want them getting upset either way, and doesn't want to find out what they're like when they drink. She'll come back later and bring them some muffins or cookies or something the boy will like.)

Cozy Witch comes to the forest on the other side of town, which of course is where a cat would go to hide. She hears people talking and goes to see if they have any information about where her cat might be. As she gets closer she hears it's actually a small gang who have dragged the local Minority Character out here to rough them up and remind them that You Don't Belong Here Because You're Different. She has a few spell options that could break this up, but it's not her business and besides all this noise would have scared her cat away so she should look somewhere else, far enough away where she can't hear Minority Character's pleas for mercy. (And frankly she sort of agrees that Minority Character would be happier if they moved away because they don't fit in at all and no one would have to get mad if everyone just Fit In.)

Cozy Witch eventually finds her cat playing with the dead body of an endangered bird that it very clearly killed. Earlier in the game there were posters throughout town saying that this bird is a protected species and here's a list of ways you can help the conservation efforts, which includes not letting your pets roam free outside. She dismissed those by telling herself that her cat is different and she keeps it well-fed so it shouldn't have any reason to kill birds. She's a witch after all, and it's her job to protect all living things, which is why she's vegetarian and keeps her cat on a vegetarian diet as well. She gives her cat a talking-to on their way back to her cottage, and that should settle the matter. (Her cat might not have even killed that bird. Maybe it saw a hawk attacking the bird and tried to intervene but it was too late. Maybe it died of natural causes and when her cat found the body it thought that was one of its feather toys. She taught her cat to be nice and not even scratch the furniture so it's just so very unlikely that her cat would kill anything.)

These are all basic examples but it's almost 4am and I'm too tired for deeper nuances

i could not be trusted to make this game because my immediate thought is that the game advertises and markets itself as what op intended but steadily and then rapidly becomes very clear that instead of a cozy cute cottagecore "mystery" the story SHOULD be about the blatant corruption, cruelty, systemic oppression, and persecution and bigotry of her neighbors, but the main character is desperately clinging to the original genre of omg cozy cute and cottagecore because she feels overwhelmed by the potential responsibility to enact meaningful change rather than feel-good aesthetic positivity, thus becoming actively complicit in the town's crimes through her not mere inaction but in fact conscious choice to decide that she will be the protagonist of a cozy cute genre game rather than a story which might challenge her preconceptions of the world and the state of her own community.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he���s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[levisjinchuriki]

midnight - satoru gojo

summary: gojo's new year's resolution is to tell you how he feels, but people keep stealing you away before he gets a chance

warning: fluff, friends to lovers trope, gojo pining after you, a bit of a power dynamic, small amount of angst, kissing

gojo stands near the edge of the room, one hand gripping a glass of something amber and strong, though it’s been forgotten. his other hand rests in pocket, fingers twitching with restless energy. he’s satoru gojo—jujutsu high’s golden boy, the strongest sorcerer, the life of the party…and yet, tonight, he’s anything but.

his sharp blue eyes, usually so carefree and confident, are laser-focused on you standing across the room, leaning into a conversation with a group of his friends. 

you’ve always had this intense power over him, even when you weren’t trying. it’s in the way you move— completely unaware of how effortlessly you draw people in. it’s in the way you smile, disarming and genuine, making everyone in your orbit feel like they’re the only person who matters.

but for gojo, it’s your eyes that get him the most. the way you look at him commands his full attention, every time. you see him, really see him, in a way no one else does. and it makes everything else fade away.

you’ve caught him staring more than once tonight. each time, he sees that same knowing look in your eye, your lips quirking into a subtle smile that feels like a challenge. like you’re daring him to do something about the way he looks at you.

his grip tightens around the glass. gojo takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. he’s starting to lose his mind. 

you’ve been stolen away from him at least five times tonight. first, it was yuji, grinning ear to ear as he swept you into an animated conversation. then geto had pulled you aside, his smooth charm keeping your attention longer than gojo liked. now, you’re surrounded by a group of people whose names gojo didn’t even bother to catch, their laughter mingling with yours in a way that makes his stomach twist in jealousy.

it’s maddening.

every time he musters up the courage to approach you, someone else beats him to it, pulling you away just before he can do the one thing he’s been too terrified to risk for years. every missed opportunity gnaws at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that even his drink can’t wash away.

because satoru gojo is in love with you.

he always has been. from the moment you first smiled at him with that effortless warmth, he was all in. but fear—sharp, unfamiliar, and relentless—has kept him silent. the thought of losing you, of ruining the bond you’ve shared for years, has held him back, no matter how much it’s tortured him to watch you be with other people.

it ached to see you cry on his shoulder over an ex who didn’t deserve you. it hurt even more to hear himself giving you advice he wished he could follow—advice he wished he could prove to you himself. but through it all, he stayed the supportive best friend, locking his feelings away and pretending that watching you love someone else didn’t shatter him every time.

but tonight, gojo feels different. maybe it’s the champagne fizzing in his veins, making everything feel a little lighter. maybe it’s the delusional bravery that comes with every new year, the promise of new beginnings and the freedom to act on desires that have been bubbling under the surface. or maybe it’s the way you keep looking at him like that—like you’re waiting. like you already know.

his chest tightens as he lifts the glass to his lips, downing the drink in one long, burning swallow. he grimaces, but the rush of liquid courage steadies him momentarily.

enough is enough.

glass abandoned on a nearby table, gojo straightens, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with ease as he makes his way toward you. his pulse is pounding, his nerves are screaming, but his eyes stay locked on you, unwilling to let anyone else take you away this time.

“can i steal her for a sec?” gojo interrupts smoothly as he approaches the group. his tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it—a subtle claim that leaves no room for argument. his towering frame and commanding presence seal the deal as his hand presses against your back, guiding you away without giving the others a chance to respond.

you let him lead you, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him. he feels the warmth of your gaze, the way it lingers, and it does little to calm the pounding of his pulse. 

“finally decided to come out of your corner, gojo?” you tease, your voice low and laced with amusement.

“i wasn’t in a corner” he lies. your raised brow and knowing grin let him know you’re not buying it for a second.

“right. and i wasn’t waiting all night for you to talk to me” you counter smoothly, the challenge in your tone making his stomach flip. the glint in your eye—mischievous and just a little smug—nearly crumbles him. he stammers for a moment, trying to form a response, but nothing coherent comes out.

“you’ve been avoiding me” your voice drops in volume as you step closer. the intimacy of the gesture steals the air from his lungs.

“i haven’t—”

“you have” your voice is firm, but still laced with that teasing edge that drives him insane. “you’ve been staring at me all night like you want something, and yet, here i am, talking to everyone but you”.

gojo swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. you’ve cornered him effortlessly, your words peeling away every excuse he might have used to deflect. the way your eyes hold his makes it impossible to look away.

you’ve been watching him just as closely as he’s been watching you, dissecting every glance, every subtle shift in his posture. you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and each time, the slight tilt of your head and that knowing look in your eye made it clear: you know.

you know exactly how much power you have over him.

and you’re enjoying it.

it’s infuriating, the way you have him so completely wrapped around your finger without even trying. but it’s also exhilarating. he’s satoru gojo—untouchable, powerful, confident. no one has ever left him flustered, never made him second-guess himself. but somehow, you’ve brought him to his knees without even trying.

“ten... nine...eight…” the crowd begins the countdown, but he barely hears it, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. now, as he stands before you, the room buzzing with energy and the countdown ticking dangerously close to zero, he knows he can’t wait any longer. the way you’re looking at him— like you’ve been waiting for him to finally catch up—sends a thrill racing through his veins. it’s the curve of your lips—that faint, maddeningly confident smile—that has him completely at your mercy.

there’s no time like the present. either he steps forward and starts the new year without regrets, or he lets the moment slip away and risks losing the person most special to him forever.

“three... two...”

he doesn’t wait for “one”. 

without another second of hesitation, gojo pulls you closer, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your face as though you’re something fragile and precious. his thumb brushes gently against your cheek as he leans in.

the kiss is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more—sweet, passionate, and filled with longing after years spent second-guessing and holding back. it’s not just a kiss; it’s an apology, a confession, a promise all wrapped into one moment.

your arms slide up instinctively, fingers threading into his undercut, pulling him impossibly closer. the gesture is possessive, grounding, and when you kiss him back with equal fervor, satoru knows he’s a goner.

you’re everything he’s ever wanted but was too scared to ruin. and now, with the taste of your lips on his, satoru is sure he’s addicted. he feels relieved, euphoric, and he wonders how he’s managed without this for so long.

when gojo finally pulls back, your foreheads rest against each other. you’re both breathless, chests rising and falling in unison. 

“took you long enough” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth. your thumb lightly grazes his bottom lip.

for all his usual confidence, there’s a vulnerability in the way he looks at you now. his normally playful eyes are earnest, his gaze searching yours as if afraid this moment might vanish, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

“yeah, well… i like to keep you on your toes” satoru quips with familiar cockiness.

the smirk on your lips a reminder of the truth: he’s in your hands. you’ve always been the one in control. but tonight, you let him have this moment, let him play at being the one holding the reins.

you hum, the sound low and pleased. the way you’re looking at him—with affection, amusement, and something he doesn’t dare name—has his heart racing. for a second, he wonders if his knees might give out entirely. 

“happy new year, gojo” you say. your fingers brush the nape of his neck.

“happy new year” he murmurs back, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s afraid to miss a single second of this.

then, before anyone can pull you away again, before the world outside this moment can intrude, he leans in, stealing another kiss. it’s slower this time, less hurried, but no less consuming. the intensity builds, unspoken feelings spilling over with every shared breath, every gentle press of his lips against yours.

it’s just him, you, and the undeniable connection you can no longer ignore.

when you finally part, both of you breathless, he lingers close, hand cradling your cheeks. there’s a softness in his gaze now, a vulnerability that’s rare for him, but is entirely genuine.

as the sound of cheers and laughter signals it’s time to celebrate with everyone, gojo laces his fingers with yours before leading you back toward the others. his grip is firm but gentle. he doesn’t let go, not even when you’re surrounded by the lively crowd.

instead, he gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. 

he’s determined—no one is going to steal you away again.

not tonight. not ever.

--

a/n: happy new year, everyone. this is my first fic of 2025!! one of my resolutions is to write more. please send some requests my way!! <3

creds: found on pinterest so i’m not sure who the creator is!

[arc-misadventures]

Care to Share a Drink?

Jaune Arc was walking back from the training halls tired from another grueling training regime. Since becoming a, Specialist, Jaune had taken several courses to broaden his expertise; both in functioning, and technical training.

It was good to widen his expertise as a, Specialist, and he may be taking in all this new information like a sponge, but a sponge can only absorb so much in before it starts to leak out.

Now, Jaune was tired. He needed to relax, and just destress himself for all the worries that weighed him down. He was having a day off tomorrow, maybe he could...

: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hmm...?

Jaune turned around to see the ever smiling, Clover Ebi approaching him.

Jaune: Oh, hey, Clover. What's up?

Clover: Just wanted to ask if you wanted to go out for a drink?

Jaune: A drink?

Clover: Yeah, there's this bar I like to go to, I thought you would enjoy some male bounding. I would have invited you sooner, but we were so busy with everything. Besides, you look like you need someplace to relax for a bit.

Jaune: Oh, is anyone joining us?

Clover: Naww... I asked everyone else; Marrow, can't hold a drink for the life of him. Vine is a tea nut. Elm, likes those fruity drinks, the bar we're going to doesn't have those. Harriet said she was busy doing some paperwork with, Winter. And, Winter... Ya know.

Jaune: I know, Clover, I know.

Jaune: Sure... I wouldn't mind having a drink with you.

Clover: Alright then, let's go!

Jaune: Do they have any good bar food there? I'm starving.

~~~

Clover: So here we are, Jaune! The Squeaky Cog! Best bar in all of, Mantle!

Jaune: I thought we would be going to a bar in, Atlas, not one in, Mantle.

Clover: Nahh, there are plenty of decent bars in, Atlas. But, this place... it has a more homely feel to it, feels more lived in then the bars in, Atlas which feel sterile.

Jaune: Ahh, a by product of the whole, Colour Wars, eh?

Clover: Yeah, pretty much. Now come on, let's get a drink!

The pair walked over to the bar, and took a seat. Jaune grabbed the menu, and gave it a quick glance, finding a item he wouldn't mind eating. The barkeeper shortly came to them, and asked if they wanted anything.

Clover: I'll have a beer, and the chili fries.

Jaune: I'll have the... fish and chips, and a scotch on the rocks.

The bartender took their orders before walking away, as he left, Jaune busied himself with a bowl of pretzels.

Clover: A scotch on the rocks? I didn't take you for the type.

Jaune: A simple beer, thought you had more taste.

Clover: I tend to have whisky after a reward for a rough day, for this a simple beer will do.

Jaune: I'd take a vodka myself if I wanted something simple. But, it's been a while since I had a drink, so I'll take a scotch.

Jaune thanked the barkeeper when he brought them their drinks. He swirled his drink watching the ice cube move about his drink. He took a sip letting out a satisfying breath of air as he did.

Jaune: That's smooth... I was told by some of the locals while I was walking about, Mantle that Mantilian Scotch is really good; That's a hell of an understatement.

Clover: Really? Maybe I should try it, and maybe you can try a beer too.

Jaune: Actual piss has more flavour in it than that piss in a bottle.

Clover laughed at, Jaune's little jab, he looked at, Jaune a serious look crossing his face.

Clover: Uhh... listen, Jaune...

Jaune: Is this where you ask me questions about my relationship with, Winter, or are we going to talk about you, and Harriet instead?

Clover stopped in his tracks, looking dumbfounded at, Jaune who just gave him an inquisitive eyebrow in return.

Jaune: Well?

Clover closed his mouth before giving, Jaune an amazed, yet scared look.

Clover: Again, you notice way too much, and it's scary how much you do.

Jaune laughed as he spun the ice cup around in his drink.

Jaune: Relax, Clover. I've been expecting you to ask me about you two since I caught you making your way to the, Ever Light Hotel~!

Clover: Hey! Keep it quiet about... the hotel!

Jaune gave another light laugh before taking another sip of his drink.

Jaune: Okay, Clover; Let's play a little game then shall we?

Clover: What kind of game?

Jaune: I ask you a question about you, and Harriet. Then you ask me a question about me, and Winter. You game.

Clover: Okay. I'm game... You first.

Jaune: Oh good, because I've been wondering for weeks now; How the hell did you two get together?

Clover: Ahh... Well... before you joined us, the Specialist, we already had six members... But, we lost one, his name was, Tortuga.

Jaune: Tortuga... I remember hearing, Harriet saying that name... She said, 'I was good, but I wasn't anything compared to, Tortuga.' Is that why, Harriet hates me? Because, I'm some sort of replacement of this, Tortuga fellow?

Clover: Kinda. Harriet, and Tortuga always had this older brother, younger sister dynamic to them. So when, Tortuga died, Harriet lost her 'big brother.' She didn't take it well...

Jaune: I can understand that. I have seven older sisters... I can barely handle the thought of losing one of them...

Clover: Well as it's my job as team leader to help my teammates. So, I talked with her, consoled her, and was just there for her when she needed it. A shoulder to cry on, a face to scream at. A friend.

Clover: Then one day, the whole team went here to relax, and have a drink, and while the rest of the team slowly went home one after another, bunch of light weights the lot of them! Harriet, and I stayed there getting absolutely waisted... Then...

Jaune: You woke up in each others arms in an uncompromising position?

Clover: Uhh... ahh.. yeah... that's pretty much it...

Jaune laughed at, Clovers face as it was flushed red from embarrassment.

Clover: There was some awkwardness between the two of us. But, we managed to work it out, and we've been dating in secret for about two months now.

Jaune: Why in secret; is there something against, Specialist dating each other?

Clover: No, there isn't any rule. We just don't want the others to know, I mean if, Elm finds out about us, we'll never hear the end of it!

The pair shared a short laugh that ended when the bartender brought them their meals. The duo thanked the bartender before they went back to their conversation.

Clover: Okay, it's my turn... How the hell did you get together with, Winter freaking Schnee? I mean... I've know, Winter for years, but she never struck me as the type who would be interested in dating anyone. Much less you.

Jaune: Rude...

Jaune nonchalantly replied while enjoying the fries on his fish, and chips. He quite liked the mixed spices they were using.

Clover: I don't mean to be rude, It's just... you seem so... so simple.

Jaune: I guess that's what she likes about me.

Clover: You guess?

Jaune: I don't know, or really understand why they like me. I was just being myself with them; honest, open, being an absolute dork... Honestly, I haven't the faintest clue how those two fell for me. I've flirted with woman before, and I was absolute trash! Like what the fuck was I thinking?!

Clover: Everyone was an idiot when it comes to flirting.

Clover commented this as he was shoveling his chili froes into his mouth.

Jaune: That was a year ago...

Clover: Pfft?!

Clover soon developed into a small coughing fit, before grabbing his beer, and chugging it down.

Clover: (Cough, cough, cough!) Serious, you went to being a loser who couldn't flirt with a girl for the life of them, to having, Winter Schnee fawning all over you?!

Jaune: Yeah, I don't understand it either...

Jaune dipped his fish into the hollandaise sauce, marveling at how nice it tasted. He also flagged down the bartender over to get, Clover another beer.

Jaune: Honestly if feel like I'm just standing there, and some hot girl looks at me like: "Haha! What's a dork!"

Jaune: "I must have him for my own."

Clover: Seriously?

Jaune: It's happened at least four times, two in the past two weeks... Okay, my turn: What's up with, Harriet?

Clover: What do you mean?

Jaune: Harriet's been looking a little queasy lately... Did any... definitions of 'lucky' happen?

Clover: Huw...?!

Clover dropped his fork in shock at the implications at, Jaune's honest question.

Clover: ...?!

Jaune: Well?

Clover: No! N-N-Nothing like that at all! She's just sick from bad fish, I swear! We had it checked! She's not pregnant!

Jaune: Then you better keep using those condoms, or birth control. I don't think you two want that to happen... Yet?

Clover: Well... I wouldn't mind it happening eventually... but, there's too much going on right now...

Jaune: Well, regardless of what happens, I wish you two the best of luck! Not from just your semblance.

Jaune raised his drink in the air before, Clover raised his in the air for a salute. Jaune then finished his drink, asking the barkeeper for another.

Clover: My turn?

Jaune nodded as he finished the last remnants of his meal.

Clover: Okay... When I asked you about you, and Winter. You kept saying, 'they:' Why?

Jaune: Ahh... I'm not gonna lie to you, Clover... but, I'm stuck within a love triangle between two woman.

Clover: You're... in love triangle...?

Jaune: Yep.

Clover: Seriously?

Jaune: Yep!

Jaune gave, Clover a dead serious look as he answered him. Popping the, P to emphasize his point.

Clover: How...?!

Jaune: I don't understand how these things happen to me either.

Clover: Between who?

Jaune: Winter Schnee, and Robyn Hill...

Clover: Robyn Hill?! She's into you? Again, how?

Jaune: Not sure. My best bet is that I was honest with her. Robyn's semblance lets her decern truth from lies. I can only guess what she went through to have a semblance such as that. But, I think saving her from a psycho faunas certainly helped.

Clover: Being the literal white knight saving the damsel...? Yeah, I bet that helped.

Jaune: Now the two of them have given me tokens of affection, and I have no idea what to do...

Clover: The sash, and that falcon pin?

Jaune: Lucky guess.

The pair shared a laugh before continuing their stories.

Jaune: Now the worst part is, is that they both know the other likes me, and they've both staked their 'claims' on me. I'm literally stuck between two badass huntresses who could beat my ass, who are more than willing to fight each other tooth, and nail to get me! I have no idea how to navigate any of this!! And, worse of all: It's fucking hot that I have two beautiful, wonderful woman fighting over me!

Clover: Do you know which one you want to be with?

Jaune: I don't know... They're both among the greatest, and most beautiful people I've ever met! And, as much as I've enjoyed their rather, forceful kiss's. I want to be the one to steal their breath away with a kiss. But, I have no experience when it comes to the affairs of the heart, so I haven't got a damn clue on what to do... And, it's as you said, there is too much going on right now to worry about such things...

Clover: But, if you had to choose: Who would you pick?

Jaune shrugged his shoulders before looking at, Clover.

Jaune: Both?

Clover snorted as he smacked, Jaune on his shoulder before slapping a pile of credits on the bar top after finishing he second beer.

Clover: It's on me. Now come on, let's back to base.

Jaune finished his scotch before getting up, and following, Clover out of the bar.

Jaune: This was nice. Thanks for inviting me, Clover. We should do this again. Only this time, drinks are on me.

Clover: Looking forward to it.

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

This is why Mt. Saint Helens is so notable in volcanology, it's explosion was many firsts! Satellites were able to capture it's plume cloud, one of the first, and we could finally understand just how big these explosions really are. Here's a(n indie) documentary that goes more in depth about the satellite photos

Not only that, but it also allowed scientists to study up close and personal on how volcanoes aren't as terrible as we thought. Are they horrible? Yes, but they give land new life, and we as humans are only just starting to understand how the scythe of death gives us nutrients to grow. There has to always be a new cycle, always a change or else the ecosystem will stagnate

Take post eruption Mt. Saint Helens for example, the ash and dead fauna and flora provided fresh nutrients for the next plant generations, and now the animals too are benefitting from it. There was also a reforestation project to replace the trees that were felled, the community got together and celebrated when plant life retook the dead kingdom. Animals being seen made people jump with joy and smile, we are just a part of the world as the world is a part of us and we both celebrate and mourn natural disasters and victories

I grew up watching the NatGeo VHS (my family likes older technology, many happy memories) that covered Mt. Saint Helens and I only saw it immediately post or a couple decades afterwards. Some years ago I flew in to Seattle and I saw how the land looks now and I'm pretty sure I concerned my row partners because of how I jolted in my seat once I realized just what I was looking at. I didn't think I'd be close enough to see, but we were and I adore how well everyone and thing has bounced back. Here's some photos I took, and the one where it's lined up was actually my wallpaper for over a year lmao

Just look!!! It so long ago that lake was filled with logs, those hills decorated with monolithic toothpicks, the land inhospitable, but look at it now! The spot where the pyroclastic flow is still visible, thats just how much power nature has! Oh, I wish I could go and properly take photos of Mt. Saint Helens and the surrounding area, that explosion defined my love for geology

The End, by Alister Lockhart.

[nerdygirlramblings]

omegaverse 141

a/n part of this once again inspired by @dragonnarrative-writes and their comment on a previous chapter. also, if you have ideas for a title, that'd be great 😂

cw: a/b/o dynamics and typical omegaverse breeding (m! and f! omegas can get pregnant) mentioned

previous

In the interim between your meeting with Captain Price and dinner with the task force you call your family pack. You know your moms and dad will give you their honest opinions, and right now you want that more than anything.

"Hey pretty girl," Dad says when he picks up the video call. "Everything okay? You usually don't call on a weekday unless we've planned it." For a moment you simply take in his smile and the way he's trying to reassure you.

You deflect. "How are you feeling, Dad?" He's carrying another litter, and after losing the last two, you know how important it is to everyone that this one is successful.

"Your moms have pretty much put me on bed rest," he says, rolling his eyes. "But you called us, honey, what's going on?"

You sigh. This is what you called them for. "Well, I wanted your opinion on something," you tell him.

"Just my opinion, or do you want the moms' too?"

You tell him you want everyone's opinion, so he moves through your childhood home to where your moms are, each room he passes drawing forth another bittersweet memory that has you missing him and your pack even more.

He finds your moms in your childhood bedroom, being transformed into a nursery, again. He sits on the rocking chair you remember, the one that floated between the three kids' bedrooms each time there was a new litter. Once your moms are standing behind Dad, you tell everyone about the offer to join Price's task force, and by extension his pack.

The more you tell them, the more your mind snags on how appealing being part of a pack is. But you can't help but be scared of the implications of that desire. Despite how Price laid things out, it's going to be hard enough to prove you're worthy of being on the 141, and if you become part of their pack, you'll never escape the talk about sleeping your way on the task force.

Your parents can tell your mind is somewhere else when you hear Mum insert your name into Bowie's "Space Oddity."

"Sorry, Mum. Wha' was i'?"

"I was just saying this - the task force, I mean - sounds like a great career opportunity. But I can't abide how much more danger this puts you in."

Mama adds, "Sounds like this alpha knew how to broach this. Didn't cock it up. And I agree with Mum, this is much more dangerous than what yer doing now. But sweetie, ya didn't see yerself when ya talked about what this would mean ya you. And what doors it might open for other omegas like your brother."

You tear up. Both your moms see this for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is. You notice no one's mentioned the other half of Price's offer. "Dad?" you prompt, "Wha' da you think?"

Dad watches you for a few minutes, smiling but sad: you can see it in his eyes. "I think you need to say yes, honey. Even if it scares us more, i's the right thing fer you." Your moms don't chime in; they don't need to. But you need want their thoughts on becoming a pack omega, Dad's in particular.

"And the other part?" you ask quietly, looking away.

"Honey, becoming pack omega fer yor moms was one of the hardest and easiest decisions I ever made. I love yer moms," you watch their faces through his declaration, both putting a comforting hand somewhere on him, "and they gave me all of you pups. If Price is as good an alpha as he is a Captain, if 'e's a guiding hand for his pack, then you couldn't have a better mate. In the end, trust your omega."

And that's the crux of the matter isn't it. Your omega has been scratching at your hind brain all afternoon because she wants to take Price up on both offers as soon as possible, but you need to be smart about optics and your career.

You tell your parents you love them and thank them for their honesty, promising to tell them what you decide before the ink dries. You end the call with a few minutes to spare before dinner and take that time to pull your emotions together.

next

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @carlos-in-glasses @annoyingcloudearthquake @laelipoo @strandnreyes and @whatsintheboxmh!

From Somewhere in a Song chapter four, posting tomorrow :)

TK’s lucky. He met people in rehab whose families didn’t want anything to do with them anymore, who’d been fired from jobs they wouldn’t get back, who knew they’d have to cut off all their old friends because those were the people they drank or used with. TK came back to a dad who was happy to see him, to fans who still wanted to buy tickets to see him perform, to friends want to support his sobriety even if TK keeps insisting they don’t need to worry so much. He has money, he has resources, he has people who care about him and want him to succeed. He has so much more than so many people in his situation, and he feels like such an imposter every time he catches himself wallowing in self-pity.

And yet he’s still outside a bar in South Philly, leaning against a vibrating brick wall with throngs of people having the time of their lives on the other side of it and all TK can think is how much his life feels like a tightrope walk these days. One misstep or gust of wind and he would tumble down, and he can’t count on a bouncy nylon safety net always being there to catch him. He wanted so badly to be his old self, just without the substances. He wanted to keep being fun, the life of the party, the one who bought drinks for everyone else, the one people were happy to see when he walked into a room. It’s a gut-punch to admit that TK’s not sure he knows how to be that person anymore, without the pills and the booze, and to realize that means maybe it was never him all along.

“TK?”

Inhaling and looking up, TK feels crashed into by the sight of Carlos’s concerned face frowning down at him. TK hadn’t realized he’d slipped down to his backside on the ground until Carlos crouches, sitting back on his heels until he’s closer to eye level and reaching out a hand that he places on TK’s shoulder. It’s instantly warm even through TK’s jacket, and he immediately shrugs it off.

“No offense but you’re kind of the last person I wanna see right now,” TK grinds out, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

Carlos doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t leave, either.

“They prepare you for this in rehab, you know,” TK says, almost immediately ignoring what he’d just said. “I thought I was ready for it.”

He fumbles for purchase on the rough brick of the wall behind him, pushing himself vertical in a way that nearly knocks Carlos over onto his ass on the concrete. TK paces away, shaking his hands out in front of his body. Every inch of him feels like it’s vibrating. He can feel, without looking, that Carlos is still standing behind him, but TK doesn’t turn around. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged his storied past with Carlos in earshot. TK’s talked to his dad and his band and Billy, but he’s left it unspoken in front of the band travelling with them. He’s not so naïve, though, as to imagine they don’t know. He’s sure Carlos saw the headlines and the Tweets and all the very public hoopla.

To the empty alley, he laughs humorlessly and says, “They literally coach you on this, about avoiding places that might be triggering if you can but that ultimately you can’t orchestrate the world around you so that triggering things don’t exist. We worked on mantras and breathing exercises and making sure there are people you can call, if you’re not being stupid like me and making your friends go with you to a fucking nightclub.”

“Who should we call?” Carlos asks, his voice finally returning to the sticky night air around him.

TK turns. He sighs and shakes his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nobody. You don’t need to stay out here with me, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Carlos argues, in a voice that’s far too gentle for TK’s liking.

“That’s not your problem.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@hereghostslive @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @ladytessa74 @denizoid @everlastingday

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[ratlesshonret]

(This is a very long and disorganized rant. It may come off as very aggressive, but know that it is simply the way I speak when I want to ramble and not indicative of any true anger/malice)

Follow-up to my last post, it is kind of a pet peeve of mine when people almost brag about winning Limbus encounters with winrate.

Like... if you don't like the gameplay, just say that. If you want to just get to the story, that's fine. But sometimes I'll see a creator act like they're so amazing at Limbus, like "I'm so good I can win even with winrate"

But. That's not. Being good at the game? That's just letting gacha luck and the autowin button play the game for you while you take all the credit.

Idk, I kind of hate it, as someone who genuinely likes and appreciates the intricacies of Limbus gameplay. Esp when they whine and fucking complain about how a fight is "too hard" because they have to read two lines of text and then manually select a few skills instead of letting the win button carry them.

Even worse is when these people go play Ruina and complain that it's way too complicated because there isn't a single button that lets them win any fight. Hot take incoming everyone, but Ruina is really not that hard, literally 90% of the game is learning to read. And there's a difference between "ooh lmao i missed that one line when going over the passives, i can't read lol" and "i genuinely refuse to read the passives even when i am losing over and over again"

And that's the thing, some of these people literally REFUSE to read card/skill effects and passives. When they'd probably save more time reading them both by losing the fights less and becoming better at the game.

I feel like in the start, "Project Moon fans can't read" was just to describe a phenomenon of missing/misreading a line or two in the text and making a silly mistake because of it, but now it has gone to become a genuine phenomenon and almost an excuse for itself. Creators and redditors and many others literally refusing to read the text and then excusing it with "well limbus fans can't read it's fine"

And now it is seeping into the story discussion. People wanting to have the story neatly summarized for them by someone else, because they aren't willing to have their own thoughts and interpretations. I mean, what if I'm wrong guys?!?!?! What if I had an incorrect interpretation of the story that harmed nobody and only served to slightly confuse me for a short period?!?!?!

In some ways, the phenomenon of creators like ESGOO neatly summarizing IDs and their gameplay so that winrating Limbus streamers can know what to shard for to put as little effort into playing and enjoying the game as possible has seeped into every corner of the fandom. It's like: "Guys I've GOTTA know what my smart Limbus gameplay guy says about the new ID/EGO. I've GOTTA have Reddit summarize the story for me. I can't have my own thoughts about the gameplay or the mechanics or the story or anything, I need to have someone else package it for me"

I know that not everyone is a diehard fan. Some people are just casuals. It's okay to not enjoy the gameplay and want to get it over with, and to some degree it is helpful to have other people do stuff like explain what IDs/EGOs are good, and what to look out for in both your own and the enemy's skills so you can spend as little time as possible being bogged down with reading pages of text.

But when I see people complaining like "they should just put the source code in the ID skill text" or "omg this new ID is a fucking novel who wants this" it just makes me a little sad. Are we so averse to reading, what, like two paragraphs total of text, that we need to complain every time a new ID comes out that has more than two effects per skill?

And when I see people blatantly misunderstand the story, possibly now because they just skimmed the dialogue and had someone else explain what happened and then formed their opinions based on how they felt when the pretty colors were on screen, it makes me wonder what we're doing.

It almost feels like something Project Moon would tackle in their own works. A society so unwilling to think their own thoughts, so unwilling to take even the barest effort to understand the world around them, that they rely on a few select people they've just decided are smart to summarize and explain everything confusing that happens so that they can go back to mindlessly mashing buttons.

And this behavior being reinforced, through memes like "Project Moon fans don't read" and "me when I winrate the final boss" and "just spam fluid sac lmao," as well as through batshit insane plot theories and interpretations that seem like people are just saying whatever.

I don't really have a point other than that... maybe we need to encourage more actually reading? Instead of just having a semi-formed thought and going to the nearest 'expert' to ask "hey what do you think about X story thing" we actually encourage people to have their own thoughts and feelings and opinions instead of just listening to whatever the generic fandom hivemind says about the plot and mechanics.

[covid-safer-hotties]

//I’ve gotten covid four times now, two due to my former job, and two from my family members. All were instances where I was taking precautions and masking save one where I was blindsided and had thought I was in company of tested and healthy individuals. I’m terrified that I’m going to be rendered unable to function because of these infections. I already have some serious long covid, and I had developed fibromyalgia. Now I’m terrified that my thinking skills will be further degraded to the point I won’t be able to do my old hobbies or pursue my academic goals, and that my body will continue to wear down with illnesses making it harder than ever for me to hold down jobs or spend any time outside my house. I apologize if this has been asked already or if this is too much of a vague area to respond to confidently, but are you aware of whether or not COVID can cause such significant cognitive disabilities? I’m honestly more afraid of that than anything else. I don’t want to lose my thinking. I don’t want to lose the things I’ve used for so long to help me get through life.

I can't give you any answers about covid and cognitive because there are still so many unknowns: They're still debating whether it's viral particals crossing the blood brain barrier, cytokine cascades in your compliment system, swelling, or immflamatory factors leaking into your brain envelope.... or SOME COMBINATION plus an unknown unkown. I'm sorry I can't provide anything beyond the studies about long covid and brain in the archive. There's a good handful of ideas, but no solid conclusions as of yet and much more study to be done. There's also a whole bunch of articles of people with simliar experiences you may find helpful or cathartic. (You can find them here)

If you're worried the precautions you're taking aren't enough, you should look over our archive of introductory resources to covid safety to see if there's any thing you can add or look into. While not cost effective for everyone, portible air filters are an easy addition that helps keep you safer in one-way-masking high risk situations. Nasal sprays of several vareties can somewhat lessen the chances of both infection and neruo-covid symptoms that would increase the chances of brain damage/cognitive decline.

[lazychimken]

Ever since TFO I’ve fallen in love with Elita-One I love her sm and according to ME everyone else loves her too // also here are my thoughts about my weird TF continuity that I’m making up rn made up of combination of TFO and TFA

—————

So the TFO movie events still happen except that B-127 is a sparkling. Orion becomes Optimus Prime and with the help of Elita-One and the newly formed Autobots, they rebuild Cybertronian society.

B-127, along with other sparklings such as Cliffjumper, are sent to the newly formed Autobot Academy. Initially it was to have them learn basic knowledge (like our real-world education system), but as the Decepticons, Quintessons, and other threats continue to threaten the Autobots it eventually becomes an Autobot Boot Camp to train soldiers, spies, scouts, etc.

After orbital cycles/years of not seeing OP or Elita-One, B-127 finally graduates from the academy as a scout and immediately tries to become OP’s personal scout. He’s still a yapper (which got him bullied) but now that he’s a teen (idk the TF equivalent to that) he’s gotten a bit more bratty and overconfident to make up for his short stature.

While B-127 was in the academy, OP has continued to lead the Autobots to form a more fair society for all. He continually runs into Megatron throughout the war, but still has hopes of one day changing his mind. OP feels the pressure of being the leader constantly and as such hopes to assign the rank of Prime (or something similar to it) to other bots, such as Ultra Magnus and Rodimus (who’s still training to become one).

Elita-One becomes the leader of the Elite Guard (named after her + a separate entity) that goes into battle side-by-side with OP. She’s seen as one of the greatest soldiers the Autobots have and everyone, especially academy students, wants to be part of the Elite Guard. Between helping OP, fighting battles, leading the Elite Guard, and training new recruits, she has a bit of a chip off her shoulder, but always means well.

Side Notes for Arcee and Hot Rod:

- Arcee and Hot Rod were teens when the events of TFO occurred, with Arcee being a cogless miner and Hot Rod being a cogged racer

- They have both graduated from the Autobot Boot Camp and are now soldiers

- Arcee is a new recruit for the Elite Guard and has a bit of a hero-crush on Elita-One; her bubbly personality and endless energy is seen as a welcome change for the Elite Guard and she gets along with everyone

- Hot Rod was initially also going to the Elite Guard, but his prowess on the battlefield as well as his natural leadership skills caught OP’s attention and he’s now being personally tutored by Ultra Magnus

- Became friends with B-127 and adopted him as a sort of little brother, as they’re glad to not be the youngest anymore and to show off to someone who’s easily impressed

[whimsicalpolitical]

heyy so i had a really shite christmas/new years like hall of fame level shite so i was wondering if you could do an imagine or something where reader and matty are away from eachother at Christmas and reader has a not so great time then he comforts her when they reunite? (can be smut or not idm)

ur writings so good and i hope you had a good holidays :))

i’m so sorry you had shit a holiday and i hope you’re doing alright <33

18+ mdni, fluff, oral (f receiving)

you’ve always loved christmas—or at least you used to. there’s something about the lights, the music, the way people soften their edges for a while. but this year, it feels like you’re on the outside of it all, watching through frosted glass while everyone else is warm inside. maybe it’s the first year you and matty haven’t been together for the holidays, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything piling up at once. whatever it is, it’s heavy, and no amount of tinsel or mulled wine seems to shake it off.

matty knows something’s wrong, of course. he always does. he’s got this knack for reading you, even over the phone, even through a screen. but every time he asks, you deflect. “it’s fine,” you say, forcing a smile he can’t see. “just busy. i don’t want to bother you, you’ve got your family.”

but it’s not fine. and you do want to tell him, but the thought of pulling him away from his mum, his brother, his christmas… it feels selfish. so you keep brushing it off, even though you know he doesn’t buy it.

then one night, the walls crack.

you’re sitting on the floor in your flat, fairy lights blinking dimly around the room. the silence is louder than any carol, and when your phone buzzes with matty’s name, you almost don’t answer. but you do.

“hey, love,” he says, his voice warm and familiar, like it always is. “you alright? and don’t say ‘fine.’”

you try to laugh, but it comes out shaky. “i don’t want to ruin your christmas, matty.”

“ruin it?” he repeats, incredulous. “you’re part of it, yeah? so if something’s wrong, i want to know.”

and just like that, it unravels. the lump in your throat swells, and before you can stop it, you’re crying—proper crying, the kind that makes it hard to speak. you manage a broken, “i’m sorry,” but he cuts you off.

“none of that,” he says, “don’t apologise. tell me what’s going on.”

so you do. you tell him about the loneliness, the pressure, the way everything feels just a little too much this year. and he listens, doesn’t interrupt, just lets you spill it all out until there’s nothing left.

when you’re quiet again, he exhales softly. “only two more days, love,” he says, his voice low and steady. “then all this mess is over, and i’m with you. alright? two days.”

you nod, even though he can’t see you. “okay.”

“good. now, listen to me. i want you at my flat when i get back. you’ve got the key. just… be there, alright?promise me.”

“i promise.”

two days feels endless, but you make it. barely. and when the day comes, you’re at his flat like he asked, pacing the living room with a cup of tea you haven’t touched. you hear the door before you see him—the rattle of keys, the creak of hinges, the thud of bags dropped carelessly in the hall.

“love?” his voice carries through the flat, and you turn just as he steps into the room. he’s wearing that dark green raincoat you tease him about, unzipping it as he crosses to you in three quick strides.

before you can say a word, he’s there, wrapping you up in his arms. his coat smells like rain and travel, but underneath is that familiar scent that’s just him. he doesn’t let go, not even when you try to pull back to look at him. instead, he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“missed you,” he murmurs, his lips pressing to your forehead, your nose, finally your mouth.

“missed you too,” you whisper against his lips, and it feels like the first honest thing you’ve said in days.

“oh, darling,” he smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to keep you close to his chest. your ear is right on his heart and you can hear it beating faster than usual, probably because he hurried coming here. “feels good to be back. i’ve missed you a lot.”

you smile and allow yourself to close your eyes to fully capture the moment. you didn’t even know how much you really missed him until now.

“you alright?” he asks, pulling back and immediately holding your face in his hands.

“yes,” you nod and give him a smile. you’re alright. alright because he’s here now.

“come here.”

he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands firm on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. your fingers curl into the nape of his neck, brushing against the soft curls damp from the rain. there’s an urgency to it—not rushed, but full of everything you’ve both been holding in over the days apart. the unspoken loneliness, the ache of missing each other. it all spills out in the way his lips linger against yours, his breath warm and uneven.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his nose brushing yours in the quietest, gentlest way. “you exhausted?” you ask softly, fingers still tangled in his hair.

he gives you that familiar crooked smile, the one that always undoes you. “nah. surprisingly awake.”

the next thing he does is shrugging off his raincoat and walking to the front door to pull of his shoes as well and hang up his coat.

“i’ll help you unpack,” you start, but he just shakes his head, already tugging you toward the couch.

“later. it can wait. you can’t.”

he drops onto the couch with a sigh, tugging you into his lap like you belong there. his arms wrap around your waist, and you settle against him, the weight of his hands on your back grounding you.

“i feel awful,” he starts, “i’m sorry christmas was shit, it shouldn’t have been.”

“it’s not your fault.”

“still,” his thumb brushes over your cheek and he takes in every feature of you, “i should’ve taken you with me and honestly i don’t even know why we spent days apart this year. i always want you with me, you know that?”

you sigh and want to argue about something but matty’s quick to read you.

“because i do, darling. i always want you with me. it doesn’t even matter where we are, i could spend my life with you in this shit little flat. i love you.”

his lips connect to your temple and they stay there.

“i love you more,” you smile.

“d’you know, my mum’s asked about you all the time. she couldn’t believe i’d go anywhere without you.”

“really?” you ask, pulling back just enough to look at him.

“really,” he says, his lips curving into a small smile, “and there’s something else.”

you lean your head to the side to look at him.

he gently kisses your forehead again, “always talk to me when you’re sad or feeling miserable. i’m here for you. and when i’m fucked up you’re always the best to me, s’everything and it’s only fair to even try to be there for you in the same way.”

“you are,” you quickly say, “you’re always there for me. i just sometimes have a bit of a trouble to tell you what’s up when you’re not with me.”

matty nods in understanding, “we’ll work on that, yeah? i’ll just have to remind you then every time i call you when i’m in the studio because i miss you.”

it’s true. matty’s never shy with telling you how he feels, letting you know everytime he misses you or needs you.

“okay,” you nod, “i’ll try.”

matty breaks out in an adorable grin, “that’s my girl.”

his lips meet yours again, this time with more intent. the kiss deepens quickly, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he tilts his head and presses closer. there’s a heat in the way he kisses you, his lips moving against yours like he’s desperate to make up for every second you’d spent apart.

you gasp softly when his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and he takes full advantage of it, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that has your head spinning. it’s messy, slow but deliberate, his lips and tongue working against yours in perfect rhythm.

his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as though he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. the intimacy of it—his hands steadying you, his mouth claiming you, the soft hums of satisfaction vibrating in his throat—makes your whole body feel like it’s on fire.

you find your hands gripping at his shoulders, his t-shirt bunched up in your fists as you anchor yourself to him. when he shifts beneath you, pulling you impossibly closer so you’re straddling his lap, you let out a soft whimper against his lips that he swallows eagerly.

“you’re perfect,” he murmurs against your mouth.

his lips trail down to your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the skin there.

you’re panting now, your head tipping back as he kisses his way to your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and the groan it pulls from him has heat pooling low in your belly.

“matty,” you breathe, and he lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting yours with a look that’s nothing short of wrecked.

"what, love?" he asks, as his hands slide down to grip your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to keep you grounded.

“just- fuck,” you breathe out when matty sucks on your neck hard enough to leave a mark there.

“d’you want me to make you feel good? will you let me?”

you nod eagerly which makes matty chuckle.

“alright, lay down f’me, i’m gonna take care of you.”

the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. you slowly lower yourself onto your back and matty moves above you.

his lips find yours again. he keeps them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his.

the kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. his hand moves to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushes.

you can feel the heat between you growing. "s’too warm," you mumble against his lips.

his eyes darken slightly. "yeah?" his voice is rough as his fingers lightly trail over the buttons of your shirt. "do you want me to take this off?"

you nod and he slowly starts undoing each button with purposeful care. his gaze flickers between your eyes and the exposed skin. he lets out a groan when your shirt finally falls open, his eyes taking you in.

"you’re so gorgeous," he breathes out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again.

you respond eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to pull his shirt over his head.

“fuck, i really, really missed you.”

he gently presses his body weight down on you, and you shudder at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

his lips delicately kiss your face, until he reaches your ear. he nips at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. "you like that?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

you answer in a soft moan, your body arching into him.

his lips slide lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slide down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

his mouth moves to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dips lower.

"god, matty," you softly moan as he places a wet kiss on your lower stomach. "feels so good."

his hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your sweatpants.

"more, please," you whimper, lifting your hips instinctively. his fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

he lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress.

he puts you out of your misery when he finally drags the pad of his index to the bundle of nerves at your center, tracing light circles over the fabric of your panties.

“thought about you like this all the time.”

his finger is still tracing a line from your clit to your entrance, the wet line seeping through your panties.

he presses chaste kisses up your thighs, your breath getting heavier with each one closer to your center. the delirium hits an all time high when he presses a firm kiss to your core.

skilled fingers hook your panties to the side, revealing you in all your glistening glory, "look at you," he marvels hoarsely, "s’ that all for me?"

you nod fast, "yes, yes matty please." you whine out, you'd sound like you were in pain if it were anyone else.

"hey, hey it's alright, don't do that. i’m gonna take care of you, promise." he coos, calming your pleas, "come on, leg on my shoulder."

he quickly slides off your panties before you oblige and get used to the new angle.

slowly, his tongue flicks over your glistening cunt, and you gasp, your body trembling at the touch.

he moans in response, as if he can’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that have your hips lifting off the bed in search of more.

"so fucking sweet," he mutters against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinds himself against the couch.

your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continues. he alternates between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down until it enteres you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure.

you gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure builds with every move.

"matty please, don't stop..." you beg, voice thick with need.

his fingers curl inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continues swirling around you.

“fuck- close,” you moan out, the pressure already right there.

matty doesn’t stop, he hums once to let you know to just let go.

it doesn’t take any more and your legs start trembling as you reach the edge.

"i’m-"you gasp, but the words dissolve into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. your legs are shaking as you come undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth.

matty doesn’t stop, though. he keeps going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. then, he slowly pulls away, his lips glistening as he looks up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“feel good?” he asks softly, licking his lips.

you laugh breathlessly as you nod.

he moves his body up so he’s exactly laying on you like before, “taste yourself,” he grins.

his mouth comes down to yours and he wastes no time to glide his tongue into your mouth, eagerly licking into you to share your taste.

he swallows a moan you let out when you taste yourself on his tongue.

he smiles proudly when he pulls back, “fucking delicious.”

you hum tiredly but your mind is with matty right now, who’s pressing into your thigh.

“let me take care of you?”

his head tilts up slightly, his chin propping on your chest as he looks at you with a lazy, satisfied grin. “it’s alright, darling,” he says softly, “it can wait.”

“but—”

“it’s alright.” he cuts you off, pressing a feather-light kiss to the base of your throat. “i just wanted to make you feel good. that’s enough for me right now.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, though your lips twitch into a smile. “i love you.”

“i know,” he says, a cheeky little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “i love you too.”

you huff out a laugh, and he dips his head again, kissing along the curve of your shoulder like he can’t help himself.

“how about this,” he continues, his voice low and a little raspy as he props himself up on his elbows to look down at you. “i’ll make something to eat, yeah? and we’ll watch something. whatever you want—your pick.”

you arch an eyebrow at him, your fingers still toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. “whatever i want?”

“anything, love,” he says, leaning down to nudge your nose with his. “even if it’s that god-awful reality show you made me watch last time.”

you laugh, your chest lifting against his, and he grins like he’s just won something.

“alright,” you say, your voice softening as you cup his face, your thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “in a minute.”

his grin fades into something gentler, sweeter, and his eyes soften as he looks at you. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper, pulling him down into a slow, lingering kiss. his lips move against yours like he has all the time in the world, and when he pulls back, his forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and steady against your lips.

“take all the time you need, darling,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it makes your chest ache.

“so,” you say, smiling as you tighten your hold on him, your legs tangling with his. “guess you’re stuck here for a bit longer.”

“best place to be,” he says with a wink, and when you roll your eyes at him again, he just laughs, his hand coming up to trace idle patterns on your side as the two of you sink further into each other.

[jjunbug]

────𝓙𝓙UNIE𝓦ORLD / 𝓙𝓙UN𝓑UG 2024 WRAP UP! ᪥

it’s the start of the new year and i just wanted to take a look at everything that i did on here in 2024 before fully kickstarting 2025! i also wanted to do this to give one last final goodbye to my old blog and look at it one last time in a positive light!! ♡ thank you to everyone who followed me and enjoyed my works on there and i hope you’re as excited as i am for the new year on this account! ^^

before we begin, i just want to give a quick thank you to all of those who were with me this year. i truly couldn’t do this all without you!! ~~ ♡♡

──to my mutuals ⦂

i love and appreciate each and everyone of you so so much you guys actually have no idea. truly, i would’ve quite writing on here a long time ago if it weren’t for the friends that i made on here and all the people i’ve gotten close to this year. here’s to another year together!!~~ ♡ i want to especially thank my very lovely friends @jjunberry @ghstzzn @hyukascampfire @biteyoubiteme @beomiracles @beombunni @yeoningz @prince-jjae @hyukalyptus @izzyy-stuff @thetxtdevil and everyone else who i may have missed (i’m so sorry if i did!! there’s literally so many of us in that server it’s hard to keep track lmao..) i really hope that i can get closer to more of my mutuals this year and make ever more friends with you guys hehe ♡♡♡

──to my readers ⦂

thank you all so so so so much for supporting me and my works—especially those of you who followed me over to this new account!! i also really really appreciate all the sweet messages about me and my works that you guys have left me and i just want you all to know that i truly do cherish all of them and think of them often! i’m so excited to share with you guys all that i have in store!! ♡

──how much i write in 2024? ⦂

for the year of 2024 i wrote a total of 191k words!! that is literally insane to think about… that’s like a whole 600-800 page novel… and that’s not even including headcannons, thoughts, or smaus either!! i’m curious to see how much i write this year hehe~~ maybe i’ll even bet 2024’s brand new record!!

──my fic with the largest word/note count ⦂

this comes as no surprise, but the longest fic that i wrote this year was the salt under the sea at 27.5k words!! (∩╹□╹∩) honestly, in general, the player’s game series has the largest word counts that i’ve written so far… it’s crazy to think about how at only two parts it was almost a total of 50k…!

for the most notes i’ve gotten… that goes to so soaked and sex for dummies! with, as of right now i believe, 5,762 and 5,107 notes respectively!! hehe my first mean dom fic… sfd you’ll always be famous to me and i can’t wait to rework you to be so so much better :))

──what is my favorite fic that i have written? ⦂

HANDS DOWN, it has to be both the lighthouse and don’t delete the kisses!! i quite literally put my whole heart and soul into those two works and i’m so so so so excited to rework them and expand them even further. when i think about where i want my writings to be at in 2025, THAT is the standard!! also a special little honorable mention to ceilings and especially its part two i wanna be yours!!

──what to expect in 2025 on this new account ⦂

this year, i want you all to expect works at the same quality and as my favorite fics listed above—at least to the very best of my ability. as also stated above, that’s the standard i’ll be holding myself to this year. also, i won’t be uploading new fics every two or so weeks like i did on my old blog. instead, i really want to take time to write works that i’m very happy with and that i’m excited to share with you all! on this new blog, i will also be dipping my toes into some darker content—nothing too crazy to start with, but it really just fascinates me the different levels of storytelling that comes with writing a story more darker and less fluffy. so expect a lot of angst and mature themes!! (you guys know how much i love my angst!!)

──what are my new year goals? ⦂

along with exploring different types of storytelling, i also want to write longer stories in general! i started this a bit at the end of 2024 with the players game, but i really wanna write something crazy long—like maybe 30-50k?? maybe even longer if i have the plot for it!! also expect more fantasy!! hehe it’s literally my favorite genre ever and it’s absolutely criminal how little of it i wrote on my other blog in 2024… (i may or may not have a little fantasy something something coming for you guys soon hehe!! so keep a look out for it~~) i also want to interact with you all much more this year, so don’t be scared to come into my inbox to chat about literally anything under the sun!! i welcome it hehe~~

as for my goals outside of this blog, i will be furthering my education!! i’m planning on going to college to study writing as an english major in the hopes of publishing all the stories in my head one day!! i’m so excited for this new beginning in my life and i just know that 2025 is gonna be such a good year for me! ♡♡ i’m focused on bettering myself this year and really stepping into who i am as a person and losing the fear of expressing myself. 2025 for me is all about being true to who i am, and i’m so so excited for it!!

[ kipo’s note . . . ] i hope you guys all have the most amazing 2025 and that you get everything you deserve in life!! ♡♡ i can just feel how good this year is gonna be, for me at the very least, and how happy i’ll be so i’m extending all the energy that i feel to you as well!! hehe i love you all!!~~~ (づ ￣ ³￣)づ♡♡♡

[miss0atae]

Random Thoughts about The Heart Killers (EP 1 – 6) : An interesting Rom-Com with morally grey characters.

The long awaited post I've wanted to make, but always failed to do properly. Since we are not getting an episode today (which is a damn crime because the wait is killing me!), I've decided to feed my poor soul with some writing about the series. I won't add anything that haven't already been said on here, so I won't feel sad if you don't pay attention to this post. It's just me screaming in the void of internet to try thinking about something else. I knew I would like this series (I like the actors, the directors, the plot… everything has been set according to my own taste), but I try to reason with me. You shouldn't put too many expectations on a series, otherwise you're at a risk of being disappointed. I also give better advice that I never really follow, so yes I had expectations and until now they have been fulfilled. I would be lying if I didn't say that at one point or another I was really annoyed by the characters' actions. I tend to forget that the series is 12 episodes and I'm looking forward to seeing the sweet scenes between the main couples (real ones with no lying). I was promised a rom-com, so don't be mad at me for being a little fool here. I'm a bit impatient as you can see. However, I know that I shouldn't react in the heat of the moment so I waited until now to write something about The Heart Killers.

Usually, in a rom-com you get characters that are archetypes usually found in this type of story. In the Heart Killers, most of the characters are neither good neither totally evil (except maybe Mother, but she may also have a good side, who knows). All characters have their strengths and weaknesses and they may appear on different sides, but they all have a strong, justifiable reason for doing what they are doing. I've making this grid for a while now. I may have forgotten some information, but it's just my own perception of the series so far. Things may change in the coming episodes.

So why was I annoyed by the characters at one point or another? I guess one part of the reason is that I forgot the structure of a rom-com because of the unique setting the screenwriters and the director put our main characters in. Any rom-com follows a certain structure in three times I would say.

• The first part is the presentation of the setting, the characters and their unfulfilled needs.

• The second part is when you have the meet-cute (or not so cute) between the characters. It is followed by the honeymoon stage until obstacles arise at the midpoint and the relationship is in jeopardy (that's where we are right now in the story). Usually, it's when the couple break up or start to have doubts.

• The third and final part is the moment of realization where the characters can view themselves outside the relationship and decide what are their new desire and goals. It leads everyone to the final of the story that usually ends on a happy note or at least give the viewers some hope for the characters if they don't end up together (my personal choice would be a happy ending for everyone, but I like to be surprised).

We've seen the first part already and have moved on the second part. I believe in the Heart Killers the break-up part could be different. Will the characters really break-up now that they think they have understood the needs of the others?! I don't think so. I believe they are all going to pretend to be together to try to outmatch the other ones and to learn the truth. They believe they are in opposite sides, but the truth is their main enemy who is working against their desire/happy ending remains Mother and to a lesser extent Keen (until Mother works against him and he may become an ally to the main leads). We could probably add the Captain too.

So, even knowing that, the question remains: why was I annoyed by the characters, despite loving everything else?! It's because I viewed them through my own sets of value while forgetting who they are and the setting of the series. To be fair, I'm used to rom-com characters who usually are not morally wrong. Here, in this story, none of them is really right or wrong. After all, they are on different standpoints and the perspectives they can reach are not the same. They represent different sides with different views (sorry I'm rambling here). I would say, Style may be the only characters who didn't have a criminal past and his worst fault is that he didn't flirt (at first) with Fadel for love, but for greed to possess Kant's car. The other characters, Kant, Bison and Fadel, all are or were a criminal at one point. Does it mean that criminals can't fall in love because what they are doing is morally wrong? The story doesn't agree with this point, as all of them were dragged to this because of something external. Kant needed money to take care of his brothers and Fadel and Bison were forced into this line of work by their “guardian” Mother who pretends to make them go after other “criminals” because the justice system isn't doing the right wrong. In some way, she isn't wrong, as the only “justice” figure we meet in the story is Captain Christ. He isn't a nice guy too as he is threatening Kant to force him to do his work in exchange for freedom from his past.

The idea of writing morally grey characters is interesting as it maintain the suspense, both in the relationship between the main leads, but also in the core structure of the story. The characters had needs at the beginning of the story, but their desire slowly changed by interacting with their lovers and other characters. It is also good for viewers as they have the opportunity to prefer one side over the other one. I changed my mind a lot during those six episodes. I was feeling terribly sorry for Bison when I saw Kant's playing with his heart, but in the last two episodes, I understood how hard it must be for him to keep pretending while also falling in love, despite knowing the truth. I was amused by Style's aggressive flirting with Fadel, but also felt annoyed on behalf of Fadel as I noticed how his "secret life" was putting a toll on his mental health. Choosing to have morally grey characters work better with the setting of the story. Otherwise, who would root for hitmen to fall in love? The fact we care so much about the actions of the main characters and what impact it will have on their romantic relationship, confuse us and make us anticipate the next move they may make. It also allows the true villains of the story to actively continue working against our main leads' happiness. The ones who really gain from the new feud between the main couples are the Captain and Mother. They may believe they are in their rights, but they use the main characters as chest pieces, without regard for the toll it can have on their well-being.

Mother is using the maternal figure she has set to control Fadel and Bison's action. She is pretending to care about them. She willfully taught them how to be hitmen to supposedly kill other criminals. The reason may appears good, but the actions are not valid. You can't Pay Evil unto Evil. She pushed our characters in this place by using the death of their parents as an example of failed justice. She knows much buttons to push to keep them in the place she wants them to be. Mother pretends to understand that they are tired of being hitmen and that this job will be the last one, but will it really be the last one? She also purposely and actively works against their happiness, by keeping them lonely. Bison and Fadel may think they are in controls, but the viewers can see, they don't really have a say in their actions or life. They never settled before and they don't really know how to. They find a different way to cope with this, but deep down they are still prisoners of what Mother has made of their life. As for Kant, he is also being controlled by the Captain who knows about his desire to protect and care about his younger brother. He uses his criminal past to make him an informant. Unlike Mother who pretends to act as a true mother to the brothers, he doesn't lie about his real view of Kant. However, just like her, he knows much buttons to push to keep Kant working for him.

As for me now, I can’t wait for Bison, Kant, Fadel and Style to overcome the lying part and the feeling of betrayal they will have regarding their relationship, so they can all be on the same side and fight against their real enemies.

[forgivenpunishment]

Wolfwood rolls his face against the wall, biting his lower lip as he quietly, bashfully moans his lover's name. Hopefully it's too quiet for Vash to hear, but Nicholas knows better than that—if he has enhanced senses, Vash must have them at least tenfold. Face now a beautiful shade of sunset red, Wolfwood looks backwards again with the other eye, watching this special facet of Vash the Stampede that so few, if any, have had the pleasure of seeing.

He looks so calm and in control like this. Wolfwood could get used to this, but admittedly he does enjoy it when Vash rolls over for him. Hopefully he's not into the whole... degradation thing. They'd never really discussed it, but looking at him now, the undertaker realizes he'd never be able to be mean during sex with Vash. Vash just deserves someone, something gentle. Everyone else in the world, including himself and, yes, Wolfwood too, is mean. These moments should be cherished and adored for what they are. He supposes that he really does put too much thought into things—maybe it's just because he can now.

"You don't need to get me nothin', Blondie. You're the best damn thing I could ever have. No better gift than you." Another moan punctuates his thought, and Wolfwood finds himself arching backwards to encourage Vash to go deeper, to spread him open. The warm sensation is a bit strange at first, but now that it's suitably in and on him it just makes him want more.

"I'd say y'could get me somethin' for my birthday if you really felt like it, but..."

Ah, that slipped out.

One of Wolfwood's major tenets: do not talk about his birthday. Don't bring it up, don't even acknowledge it, because he knows the reaction the answer gets out of people.

"... It really ain't that important to me, darlin'. Just like being here with you. Fighting with you by my side, traveling the world with you—I like all that. Keep doin' that, being my friend, and it doesn't matter what you get me."

A tremor shakes through his body at the end of his sentence, and another, louder, moan escapes his agape mouth.

"Ahh—Vash—right... right there—"

Hey, he was just checking-- if Wolfwood didn't care, or didn't want it, then he wouldn't bother. Like he'd said, they were just a little bit beyond that point; they'd pretty much been beyond it since they'd started having sex. God knows Vash hadn't thought about anything like that when he'd first climbed on top of--

Focus!

... h-how was he supposed to focus when he got to look at Wolfwood like this?! Corset boning and sheer fabric seemed almost eager to compliment the bronzed skin and sculpted muscle. This view let him complete the full picture of Wolfwood in the outfit, even if it was a little skewed and (now) missing some pieces. It was still dangerously tempting-- even gifting his left hand a mind of it's own, gliding down along the curve of his waist and hip.

"You thought of everything, huh~?" he chuffed, giving his ass a squeeze with his left head, and tugging gently at the sparkly ribbing with his right. Wouldn't want to loosen it-- "two presents with so much thought put into them... and I got you cigarettes and candy. I'm really gonna have to step up my game for next time."

Whenever that was. Vash hadn't exactly restricted little gestures and gifts to specific occasions, but that was neither here nor there right now. He tore through the tamper seal with the help of his teeth, spitting it out and popping open the cap like he wasn't wasting any time-- and he really wasn't, now. If Wolfwood had already started them off, then he was going to try going with two fingers; getting them nice and slick (oh, whoa, this stuff really is warming) and urging the undertaker to spread his legs just that little bit further-- by way of squeezing his ass again, and using his thumb to expose his entrance a bit more.

"This stuff does heat up a little. Just warning you..."

Just like the first time, the Plant painted over the hole with the pads of his fingers, making sure it was sufficiently lubed up, too, before prodding the ring of muscle and slipping the slick digits inside--

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”