#transformers: edge of infinity

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ don't let go, okay? | gojo satoru

wc: 2.1k

summary: it has to be some sort of fate that you happen to be stuck with gojo on valentine's day.

contains: f!reader, slowburn, fluff, reader and gojo are 21, reader and gojo are ‘guardians’ to megumi and tsumiki but they are not romantically together, japanese valentine’s chocolate tradition, reader’s cursed technique (vaguely), kind of pining

a/n: in the 'conversations on love' universe but takes place before the main series (would be nice to read but not necessary to understand this). theme song for this is what love is by zimmer90.

part of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within 'conversations on love'. also included in how to be your lover boy (a valentine's collab by augustinewrites & seiwas)

The night is crisp when you step into it, the clean cut of a cool breeze tickling your cheek; it sweeps past you in the edge of winter and spring. 

You walk along the street. 

A sort of faded, vintage hue paints Shimokitazawa, wooden boards with worn down signages holding names of antique shops in every corner. The night feels older here, retro lights tinging bars and pubs more maturely than those nearby in Shibuya. At the street across, the sign of a cafe is flipped the other way to formally open the speakeasy it transforms into. 

You’ve only been here twice before: once with Nanami and Utahime years ago, while searching for old vinyl records the three of you had gotten into, and another with Tsumiki, some time last month because she’d mentioned wanting to check the thrift shops. 

Who would have thought you’d be back so soon? With—

“Satoru,” you call out, half-giggling, “why are you sniffing?” 

Gojo trails just a few inches behind you, body bent over closely to catch a whiff but not near enough to touch. Each inhale he takes is punctuated with the sound of whizzing air, condensing to fit through his nostrils. 

“You smell like chocolate.”

Out of all the plans you’d anticipated on Valentine’s Day, being roped into a mission with Gojo at the last minute was definitely not one of them. 

You shake your head knowingly, the corners of your lips curling; Gojo can smell sweets miles away, you could honestly mistake it for his cursed technique. 

He pulls back, falling into step with you. 

“Tsumiki asked me to help make some earlier.” 

Heavy jazz floats through the air as you pass by a bar entrance, the music muffling as the doors fall shut a few seconds later. Your boots clack against the pavement. 

“Oh?” Gojo perks up, voice turning an all-too-familiar hint of nosy as he teases, “What kind?” 

You snort as you dig your hands further into your pockets. For someone who claims to be all-seeing and all-knowing, Gojo is a lot more inquisitive than he seems; his nonchalance is but an added security much like his infinity is, dissipating only in company he’s comfortable sharing that side of him with. 

It’s been a while since Gojo’s been ‘home’ in the past week, so you don’t blame him for wondering. 

“Tomo mostly,” your gaze shifts to the side, waiting for his reaction, “though I did notice her sneaking a few honmei ones when I wasn’t looking.” 

There’s a slight stagger to his step as his shoulders tense up, his sunglasses shifting higher as his ears push back. You bite down your laugh. 

For as clueless as both you and Gojo are when it comes to being guardians to Megumi and Tsumiki, you think Gojo’s grown an odd mix of semi-brotherly-kind of-fatherly-mostly-guardianly protectiveness over the both of them—to Tsumiki especially. You can tell because his reminders to Megumi are always sealed with some form of ensuring Tsumiki makes it home safely. 

‘Home’, which is where the kids stay, but it’s neither yours nor his—just a place nearby that keeps them protected and comfortable. You’re with them most days, Gojo staying when he can, but with the higher-ups assigning him on missions left and right, there’s hardly any time for him to drop by. Hell, you haven’t seen much of him either, besides the rare instances of bumping into him along the halls of Jujutsu Tech, a whine almost always drawn from his throat. 

You see his curiosity as an effort to check in.

He only hums, hollower than his usual responses. The sound of his footsteps fill the gaps of what would typically be a seamless back-and-forth with you; you try not to comment on it. 

Indinstinct chatter brings the street to life, smooth beats cascading warmth against the chilly breeze. Despite the noise, Gojo’s silence feels unsettling—as if there are words forming at the tip of his tongue, withheld for reasons you can’t quite get a read on just yet. 

So, you wait, learning more and more that he usually comes around when—

“Did you?” 

The question is half-murmured, part of it lost to the night. 

Did you what? Notice Tsumiki?

“Hm?” you tilt your head towards him, tucking strands of hair behind your ear in an attempt to hear him better. 

He doesn’t answer. 

You stop walking. 

“Did I what?” you adjust your coat before turning towards him, catching the slightest of his gaze before he looks away quickly.

(“Did you make honmei chocolate?” he means.) 

Still, no answer. 

The tips of Gojo’s ears dust pink, and you try not to comment on that too.

His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth, slipping free before his Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing. 

“Wanna see something cool?” he changes the subject, removing his sunglasses and turning back to you as if none of it happened. As if he didn’t ask you anything, as if you didn’t ask what he meant—as if you didn’t just catch him at the tail end of a wistful stare. 

The shift in his tone happens so suddenly, it feels disjointed. Unnatural. But you’ve gotten used to moments like this from knowing him for so long; Gojo always says less of what he truly means. 

You focus on his face, yellow and red retro lights dancing on clear blue. He looks almost freakish this way, otherworldly—a crazed look you’ve gotten familiar with. His hands are stuffed inside his pockets when he stops, gangly long legs outstretched by the shadow beneath him. 

There’s really no time to be doing this right now, the both of you just 10 minutes away from the mission’s location—an abandoned building housing a special grade curse that lures people in with fabricated memories. Around you, the neighborhood’s nightlife has dwindled, your walk thus far having brought you farther from the heart of the place and closer to somewhere quieter, more secluded. 

Gojo looks too excited, eyes beaming wonder and mischief along with something else you can’t quite figure out yet. You purse your lips in thought. 

“C’mon, it’ll be quick.” he smirks, the dimple on his cheek deepening as he shrugs, “I’ve finally perfected it.”

A beat—skipped before your heart races. 

You wonder if he knows, if he’s using this to his advantage, because—

—when have you ever denied him when he looks at you this way? 

The higher-ups should have known better than to pair you together for a mission. Your instructions were merely ‘to assist’, but you hardly believe it considering Gojo almost always handles these things on his own. It’s more babysitting, you know, to keep the damages of his technique to a minimum. 

They shouldn’t have called on you, of all people—you’re on Gojo’s side. Always. 

A smile threatens to escape your lips, warmth spreading within your cheeks; you roll your eyes jokingly, stifling a giggle before relenting.

“Fine.” 

He guides you forward, chest bumping against your shoulder blade as he picks up pace. It’s a clear road ahead of you, the streets emptying out to more greenery; your senses are filled with the smell of the earth mixed in with the faint cotton of Gojo’s cologne. 

This is bad for your feelings. 

(Being this close to you feels like the ticklish drag of fingernails just right before it creates indents in his chest.) 

There’s something brewing between you and Gojo, neither of you have just addressed it yet. He pulls away when the moment is too close but still looks for you first after missions, an almost automatic question to either Shoko or Ijichi about your whereabouts.

You’ve been catching his stares too, almost always at the split-second before he turns away—a reaction on impulse. The silence between you feels fuller lately, as if there are words he wants to say but is choosing to withhold. 

When the space is vacant enough, he steps a few inches to your right, left hand stuffed inside his pocket as he shakes his arm hesitantly, almost awkwardly. 

“You have to hold on to me,” he instructs you. 

Your eyes widen, equally surprised and shy as you slowly take your hand out of your coat and slip it into the empty space, resting it on the crook of his elbow. Gojo freezes very slightly. 

He shakes it off just as quickly, “You might be sensitive to my domain because of your technique, so stay close just to be safe.” 

Then, his head tilts towards you, a little closer than you’re both used to. This near, his eyes hold a perfect morning sky, eyelashes hanging like wispy clouds on a clear day. 

Your gazes meet and you blink twice, goosebumps littering your skin. 

“Don’t let go, okay?”

Another beat—followed by another, and another, the sound of it growing louder. 

You almost miss the way he says it gentler than normal, how sincere it feels with his breath tickling your cheek. 

“Okay,” your fingers curl around his arm tighter. 

He lifts his other hand up, crossing his fingers as he recites the mantra to his domain. In an instant, the greenery around you disappears, stark white taking its place. 

“What do you think?” Gojo asks almost immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Your fingers stay curled onto the crook of his elbow, sandwiched between his forearm and bicep; his other hand rests a few centimeters away from yours, nearly touching. 

You scan the space, examining its vastness. Minimalist. A blank sheet—

“It’s…” you try to find the right words, “... empty?” 

He gasps exaggeratedly, “Hey!” then pouts in fake offense, “I made it porcelain white at least. This isn’t pure white you know.” 

You eye him from the side.

He chuckles, breaking his act, “You should be honored.”

A pause—his tone shifting to something softer, more vulnerable. 

“You’re the first person I’m bringing in here.” 

His admission is unexpected, but it feels relevant, makes you feel like it, too. 

You’re touched, knowing how secretive he’s been on perfecting his domain since Toji and Geto; he only ever tells you and Ijichi about it. No one ever pressured him into achieving his perfect domain, but he feels like his existence necessitates it. 

“It’s clean,” you finally say, playing along, “I like it.” 

He eyes you this time, dimples deepening the more he attempts to poorly push down his smile. 

“Shame I can’t really do much with it, would have wanted to spice up the interiors a bit.” 

You snort, knowing full well that Gojo’s very much the type to pick one piece of furniture and anchor the entire place’s aesthetic off of that. 

“Someday,” you catch his eyes again. 

(It echoes in his ears, the quickening thump of his heartbeat—pink noise that can’t possibly be a product of your technique. 

In the silence of his domain, all he hears is that sound and you.) 

He hums before looking back to the empty space, “Acoustics would be good by then, we can try your technique in here.” 

You nod, the corners of your lips curling; his pinky presses against yours so faintly you wonder if you just imagined it—if he had meant it or not. 

. 

The special grade is dealt with within a quarter of the time it took you to travel to here, but Gojo seems to bear the consequences with another one of his migraines—a mixture of fatigue from activating his domain earlier along with sensitivity from the increased bustle in Shimokitazawa’s night life as you exit the neighborhood. 

You make a mental note to get him something that covers his eyes a little bit more than those circle frames he uses—an imbued blindfold maybe? You’ll have to think about it some more. 

(When you both get ‘home’, you set up the couch, offering him the spare bedroom so he can sleep off the headache. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water when he catches a glimpse of it—a fully decorated box of honmei chocolate partially hidden at the corner of the counter. 

The card has half of his name written in your handwriting.

You don’t end up giving it, but he does receive some chocolates from you, still. It’s a belated gift the next day, along with the ones you gift to Shoko, Yaga, and Ijichi—a tradition you’ve kept up since you were 16. 

But, his box has an extra piece, and you even tailored each one to all his favorite flavors: sakura, strawberry, zunda, and anko; his card is the same one you left half-written, just now fully spelling ‘Satoru’. 

So, he thinks his might be a bit more special, and he’s realizing that he likes it that way—he might prefer it much more, actually.)

a/n: haven't written col in a while but this is the official launch of 'do you know what love is like?', a mini-series of almost's within the 'conversations of love' universe! there are lots of details that connect to some of the col works but this happens before all of the ones released so far (so you don't need to read the main series to understand this, but it would add to the full experience if you do!).

thank you notes: @augustinewrites love u my valentine, this fic wouldn't exist without you 🥹 + @stellamancer col couple is here!! with chocolates!! thank you for going over this for the first read 🥹 ily niku + @mididoodles @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat my cheerleaders!! thank you for the support always 🥹

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[pookalicious-hq]

˚₊‎‧welcome to the all-japan youth summer games‧₊˚

description: the all-japan summer league is a prestigious event that runs from may to the end of august, with only the best players from various sports associations, leagues, and clubs from across Japan receiving invitations. we hope to see you there.

guidelines: - only sfw // there will be suggestive things but no smut - you are free to send in requests about a certain character - each reader insert will be specific to their own story/fic (differentiated by last names) unless otherwise specified - this IS a crossover au

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ welcome - 0.0 (intro)

For years, a vast stretch of land just outside Tokyo’s beating heart had been draped in secrecy. It sat quietly, like a slumbering giant, only fifteen minutes from the city’s restless hum, yet worlds away from prying eyes. Tall walls and guarded gates kept it hidden, while the murmur of construction whispered through the air. It was as if the earth itself had been stirring beneath the surface, preparing for something grand, though no one quite knew what. Rumors danced through the city—some claimed it was the site of a new stadium, others a corporate headquarters.

Then, as if the secret could no longer be contained, the truth was finally revealed.

The land had been transformed—not into a simple complex, but into a world of its own. A sprawling, exclusive sports facility, rivaling anything ever seen before. This was no ordinary venue. The gates would not open to the public, nor would casual spectators ever stroll its paths. Instead, a self-contained village now stood where dirt and machinery had once ruled—a place carved out for only the best of the best.

Here, in this enclave, Japan’s finest young athletes were to be housed, nurtured, and tested. Handpicked from high schools across the country, they came not just to compete, but to stake their claim on something far greater. This was the All-Japan Youth Summer Games—where talent would be sharpened to its finest edge, and where the fire of competition would burn hottest under the summer sky.

sports clubs to watch out for:

haikyuu (the monsters)🏐

MonstersJV is a Japanese volleyball league that spans from U14 to U19. This elite, non-profit organization represents the pinnacle of Japan’s youth volleyball scene, showcasing the nation’s top players on a global stage. Athletes from across the country go through rigorous tryouts, where they are selected to form a rotating roster of elite teams. These teams compete against one another within the league, constantly pushing the limits of their abilities in preparation for international exposure.

miya atsumu... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚first glance... 2.6k words: atsumu realizes love at first sight is a real thing when he falls victim to it himself. tags/tws: crossover au, insta stalker atsumu, swearing, fighting, love at first sight, jjk!mma!reader ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

blue lock (the infinities)⚽

Blue Lock Academy earned its invitation to the All-Japan Youth Summer League following its explosive success in the Neo-Egoist League. Known for its revolutionary approach to developing strikers, Blue Lock has handpicked its top players to form elite teams that will represent the academy in the AJYSM. These players, already sharpened by fierce internal competition, now stand ready to showcase their unique talents on an even larger stage, further solidifying Blue Lock’s claim to producing Japan’s next great soccer prodigies.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

kuroko's basketball (the miracles)🏀

KNGenBasket was established to spotlight the key players who transformed Japan’s youth basketball landscape. Over the years, the league expanded, bringing together more exceptional individuals to form elite teams. However, its true rise to fame came with the emergence of six extraordinary players, each possessing unique strengths that captivated the nation. Now, these teams represent the very best of Japan’s youth basketball, standing as a testament to the league’s evolution and the incredible talent it has fostered.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

jujutsu kaisen (the curses)🥊

The Jujutsu Kaisen Curse is an elite MMA gym that exclusively trains and houses the top fighters in Japan. Known for producing ruthless and extraordinary athletes, the gym has earned a fierce reputation within the global MMA community. After years of dominating the sport, The Curses were invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League to showcase their raw talent and unrivaled power on a new stage. Each fighter that steps into the ring under their banner carries the weight of the gym’s legacy, feared for their relentless strength and skill.

sukuna ryomen... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ bestest friend... 2.5k words: they've always been best friends since anyone could remember, what's changed now? tags/tws: crossover au, childhood friends to lovers, swearing ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚loading...

attack on titan (the titans)👟

AttackElevate stands as Asia’s most elite and expansive Track and Field club, rising from Japan’s competitive landscape to earn international recognition. From the age of 10, the club selects only the most promising young athletes, putting them through rigorous training with one goal in mind: to reach Olympic-level excellence. These athletes, forged through years of intense discipline and competition, represent the pinnacle of track and field talent. Now, AttackElevate has been invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League, where their relentless pursuit of greatness will be put to the test against Japan’s finest.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

more coming... (send an ask)

[beautyinsage]

A Pattern

You just can't help it.

gojo x reader.

cw: smut, fem!reader, oral (f!receiving), edging, pettiness as a love language, begging

The first time was a fluke. It was never supposed to happen again. The second time even, you could brush off as high tensions and just a release. But that was it — there was no fucking way you were letting this man into your bed again. 

And yet, here you are, legs spread, with a man whose ego is the size of Saturn in between them. 

“You know sweetheart,” Gojo murmurs softly, suckling gentle kisses on your inner thighs as he glides your panties down your legs, “you’ve got a lot of attitude for someone whose pretty lil’ pussy is practically dripping for me.”

He faces you, lips still a few inches away from where you want him most, when he suddenly shifts back. You make a sound of slight indignation and glance down to meet his crystal eyes. You recognize his signature smirk — the smirk that on a normal occasion, makes you want to slap him so hard that even his precious infinity can’t protect him  — and the slightly devious look in his piercing orbs. “Imagine,” he says menacingly, tempting your reaction, “if I just stopped here.”

Anger flashed through your veins at the thought of Gojo thinking that he could have that much control over you. “Oh, fuck you Goj—ahhh!” Your words were quickly interrupted after his tongue pressed a singular long, flat stroke against your core. 

“You can call me Satoru now, don’t you think? I mean we’ve come so far,” he teased. “Now ask me nicely for what you want.” 

You stubbornly held his gaze with gritted teeth, legs quivering in his arms as he gripped at your hips. You tried to stay strong, you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t need this — didn’t need him — but the feeling of his hot breath grazing your center, the promise that he held in his words, the urge to feel his tongue against you just one more time, had you swallowing your pride as you bit out the word, “Please.” 

He chuckled darkly, leaning forward and lightly tracing your clit with the tip of his tongue. A scream of frustration threatened to escape as you ground your face forward — silently asking for more; your efforts were fruitless as he held your hips down and he quirked an eyebrow at you. “Oh? What is it pretty girl? What do you want?” 

You glare at him, but he simply tsks at you before continuing his light, feather-like strokes. Finally, the sexual frustration ends up overtaking your ego, and the words bubble out of your mouth. “Please Satoru, please give me more—need your tongue, need you—”

His mouth was on you before you could even finish your sentence, his impatience becoming clearer than ever, and you reached down to fist his soft hair as you held on for dear life. You didn’t even have a second to breathe again before he began to eat you out mercilessly, feasting on you like you were his last meal; considering his quick wit and sharp logic, it shouldn’t have surprised you that the man was talented with his tongue, but even then, you couldn’t have known just how talented. 

Unconsciously, your hips began to rise off the bed, moans echoing throughout the room as you clutched onto him while he brought you closer and closer to the edge, faster than you had ever known was possible. A strong hand pushed down your stomach while the other remained tightly clasped at your hip, forcing you to stay down and in place as his skillful mouth continued his actions. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Satoru,” you managed to choke out between whimpers, eyes screwed tightly in pleasure as the coil deep in your stomach began to tighten, “I—oh fuck—think I’m gonna—”

He hums against you, almost as if he already knew that, and tugs you impossibly closer, giving you one last solid stroke with his tongue before pulling away. A cry of frustration sounded from your lips, the build to a satisfying release forgotten, but it quickly transformed into a breathless moan as, after a moment, Satoru once again began to suck at your clit, lapping at your folds, as your thighs trembled with a desperate need to release.

And so it happened—again, and again, and again. Satoru slowly built you up, making sure you were on the precipice of falling, before suddenly denying you, leaving you empty and whining at the loss. 

“Please,” you found yourself begging, pride long forgotten as you clutched on to him, tears filling your eyes, “Please, Satoru—ah!—let me come.” 

Your pleas went ignored, and you felt almost faint as you pointlessly did everything you could to maybe just fall off the edge faster, all whilst using the arm that wasn’t clutching onto his hair to cover your eyes. 

After what felt like eons, Satoru’s hand left your stomach, and one finger entered you suddenly, curling just right, causing you to jolt at the sudden added feeling. “y/n,” he drawled, “Look at me.”

You immediately opened your eyes to meet his gaze, whimpers leaving your lips and tears trailing down your cheeks as his fingers repeatedly brushed that spongy sweet spot, wetness practically gushing out of your as his lustful icy eyes stared deeply into your own. “Come.”

At his permission, you finally cried out and fisted the sheets beneath you as you came, rolling your hips mindlessly as euphoria coursed through your veins. “That’s it pretty,” he mumbled, his grip around your hip becoming impossibly tighter, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” You sobbed out your pleasure, your legs shaking from the weight of the orgasm; all the while, Satoru maintained his position, continuing to lap at you long after you had finished.

It was only after you managed to whimper out a soft, “Satoru, baby, t-too much,” that he released you, slowly making his way back up to your lips to kiss you with such fervor you thought you would break.

“That was mean,” You managed to rasp once he pulled away. 

Satoru snickered condescendingly. “You like me mean.” 

a/n: don't worry, next time it won't be you begging

[ashmeadow96]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TRANSFORMERS ONE AHEAD READ WITH CAUTION

This is the first time in a long time I am writing a fanfiction for the Transformers fandom since falling in love with it after watching Transformers 2007 and when Transformers Animated was still airing. Even then it was an OC-self-insert fanfic, so this is the first non-OC fanfiction I am writing for the first fandom I ever fell in love with.

It happened in slow motion. The sound of the blaster and crushed metal stretched into infinity, and the smell of burning Energon filled the air. D-16 could only watch his best friend and Conjunx Endura, his whole world, explode into thousands of pieces from a blast of his cannon. Screaming echoed across the plaza. He doesn’t know if they are his own, Bee’s, or Elita’s, but it doesn’t matter. Dee’s body moves faster than his processor does. Orion was falling over the edge and into the Well of All Sparks. The impact of Dee’s blast pushed Orion further from his reach forever.

AKA: D-16 shoots Orion and immediately regrets it. This is what happens after.

[geometrymatters]

The Polynon: A Geometry of Consciousness

How Consciousness is a fundamental substance and everything else, including the Observer, is it's function of self-reflection within a complex construct and hologram.

Introducing the polynon:

A polynon is a conceptual geometric entity, a polytope of which vertices are non-events and its edges, holograms. A polynon contains all the holograms of that which can be projected as a polytope. From tetranon to dodecanon, and special cases such as dinon and nullanon.

The epistemological foundation of the polynon is a non-event, hence multi (poly) non-events. The ontological foundation is a noumenon, both in its negative and its positive aspect.

Collapsing the noumenal realm into a single dimension results in the conceptual noumenal monad, where the perceptual border is equal to the infinity of noumenal possibilities, as well as the phenomenal something.

Or, as "a cercle with the centre everywhere and circumference nowhere". A monadic embodiment of the thing and the non-thing, the visual expression of the substance of consciousness.

The neutral monistic approach enfolds the ancient knowledge of the self, and the contemporary science of consciousness, from a Vedantic self reflected in Indra's net, to a multi-dimensional implicate and explicate construct of Bohmian orders.

Also encapsulated in the formulation f(f)=f, akin to an Ouroboros mathematical formulation symbolizing a form of autopoiesis or self-production ad infinitum, a self-referential Fichtean process where the self (I) is both the creator and subject of its reality.

The eternal aspect of consciousness, a timeless monadic essence, is described as the perceptual continuum of f=0, signifying pure, timeless potential.

"Eternity isn’t some later time. Eternity isn’t even a long time. Eternity has nothing to do with time. Eternity is that dimension of here and now that all thinking in temporal terms cuts off." - J. Campbell

The wavefunction is defined here as a layer of the noumenal monad, a transition between epistemological and ontological, given by the limits of the Observer's senses and perception.

In this context, |ψ(x)>*n, with n not strictly equal to 2, transcends its conventional mathematical role within Hilbert space and diverges from standard quantum mechanics, suggesting that different values of n represent distinct dimensions or layers of noumenal collapse.

Each wavefunction is a layer of the noumenal lens, of which border is (n+), or consciousness C; it’s contents are negative noumena (n-) and it’s holographic centre “collapsed” onto a phenomenal Observer O(n) as function of noumenal self-reflection of consciousness.

Furthermore, the Observer is envisioned as a holographic projection sitting at the core of the noumenal lens, emerging from the focus and diffraction of noumenal probabilities within the noumenal lens.

The perceptual border of positive noumena (n+) reflects and focuses noumenal probabilities (n-) into the hologram of the Observer O(n).

A rotation of noumenal lens reveals the noumenal essence (n+), hidden under the superposition of the noumenal lenses (n-) and the hologram of the Observer O(n).

The observer’s perceptual focus, directed through Cognitive Gravity G and visualized with noumenal g(n) and cognitive gradients g(r), refracts the essence of Consciousness, transforming noumenal vertices into discernible edges like light through a prism.

As the number of noumenal collapses increases, the complexity and breadth of the observer’s perceptual dimension diminishes, resulting in a progressive refinement and narrowing of perceptual prowess of the observable construct.

A cognitive threshold marks the evolution from a purely phenomenal observer to one with phantasiai and developed cognitive functions. This threshold varies according to the local conditions of the observer’s cognitive gradient and gravity and the overall noumenal function.

The hologram of a polynon enfolds within it the reflection of the noumenal substance, that both originates and reflects consciousness. It encapsulates the entirety of consciousness in each of its vertices and edges, as projections into a perceptual reality.

The concept of “consciousness nodes” describes (n+) zones between noumenal lenses (n−), revealed as vertices of the polynon, equal and identical in nature.

The Observer O(n) is in superposition with the phenomenal p+, epiphenomenal or phantasiai p-, negative noumena n- and noumenal vertices (and centre) n+ of the hexanon as a function for self-reflection of consciousness C.

The polynon is abstract and elusive, residing beyond human imagination yet within its grasp. No heavier than a fleeting idea, but far too heavy to be understood. A palindrome for language and thought, mirroring itself in perpetual paradox. Beginning the same way it ends.

From the "Polynon: A geometry of Consciousness", by Tib Roibu Read the paper here.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

New World (10)

Itachi Uchiha x Reader Fluff

Summary: The world War has met its end and Itachi has returned to his village. He questions whether he should set down his roots here when he meets a stranger. Or rather, a stranger is forced upon him by fate.

Warnings: embarrassment

Word Count: I deleted Hinge. Turns out I am too lazy to talk to boys and set up a date to hang out with them. Guess I'll be single for a good time. Also I have some unknown allergy that won't stop making me cough. Fanfic Gods! If you can see this, make this go away! We need to complete so many works!

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Are you still mad about failing to complete your mission?" The children play in the temple grounds, cackling under the morning sun with clear skies and a day that feels lighter than usual. It feels so mostly because their parents are not after them, hissing them back inside their homes. Instead, the men are out gathered by the local tavern, drinking their homemade wine, while the women are collected under the community tree playing cards while smoking pipes. The bamboo village feels like a welcoming place today. Fukaboshi sits on the top of the stairs which is the entrance to the sacred ground. He is looking at Toge, who sits next to him, lost in some thought while he continuously flips a coin in between his fingers. Fukaboshi is patient, looking at his student with nothing but adoration. Toge finally tsks, throwing his coin down the edge of the hillside. "It's not your fault, Toge." Toge closes his eyes with an internal wince. "Tell that to my conscience," he grumbles before getting up and walking down the hill towards the village. Fukaboshi sighs, lowering his head, knowing his internal dialogue is no different than his student's. A crow sits atop a nearby tree, watching the events unfold before taking flight towards the next hill, gliding down the roof of one of the cottages where the Konoha citizens stayed the night. With one smooth transformation, the little creature morphs into a human, entering the room through a window.

The room, unlike last night, is empty. The bed, where Itachi had left you last night, has been made, the duvet neatly folded and placed at the end of the bed, the pillow fluffed up and the sheet crinkle-free. Itachi stands there for a long minute, revisiting the chapters he memorised last night, all of them comprising of every tiny feature of your face. But as much as he flutters through the pages in his mind, the images do not seem enough.  He walks out of the room and through the hall towards the other rooms; only to be met by Nami and Naruto midway. Both are carrying their bags, ready to set out. While Nami is nibbling on a tiny piece of sugarcane, Naruto has his face stuffed. “Where’s Y/N?” Naruto tries talking through his full mouth but Nami shuts him up with a smack of her hand to his stomach. “She’s already left. With Kakashi.” No hint of emotion passes through her features. But her brows morph into confusion when she witnesses Itachi go blank. No emotions surface behind those dark eyes. Just a neutral blink before his head finally gives in and does a 45-degree tilt, akin to a puppy wondering about this new situation. “I didn’t see them-“ Nami takes in a lungful. “Kakashi took her out of the village under the radar. She…did not want any more attention. They will reach the inn in about two hours. We are travelling with you so you better keep us safe, Uchicha-san. That’s a threat.” Nami nods and signals Naruto to walk out with her. Itachi does not follow them. Instead, he stands looking into infinity with brows that are too uncomfortable to be furrowed for such a long time. Why did she travel back with Kakashi, Itachi’s brain is already calculating multiple scenarios to justify such an act where his chest does not squeeze with such pain. Why am I not travelling back with her? A crow caws somewhere outside to fill in the silence of this cosy guest house that is suddenly empty.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A day passes. Then two. Then three. Everyone has returned home. Itachi has joined Kakashi at the Hokage’s office to submit the mission report and enlighten her about their sensitive information being leaked by opponent villages. She is not here, he finds his internal voice declaring the fact out loud to this existence. “Itachi, of course, was quick to respond to any threats,” Kakashi’s voice breaks his subconscious monologue of reasoning your absence; never wondering why Nami and Naruto were not there. Tsunade hums. “We need to do something about the rock village before they get on my nerves," the Hokage fumes slowly behind her desk. "The Anbu are already on it." "And who else do you think knows about our-" Tsunade inhales, rolls her eyes a little and waves her red nails generically in the air- "empath, for the lack of a better word." "The information was sold to five villages-" Itachi does not wait for a pause- "Mist, Sand, Bamboo, Wood and Seashell." "Seashell doesn't sound-" Tsunade pauses her quip with Kakashi's little wave of hand. "They feed their enemies to eight-foot giant crabs." She does not say it but her face tells she sounds impressed. "I thought Sand Village was a friend." "They are," Itachi adds, "Gara was the one who forewarned us about the leak." The colours of realisation bring a positive glow to the Hokage's face. "That's why you two knew what was going on this entire time. I like that kid." She taps her nails on the table in a rhythmic tone. "Are the other villages a threat?" "We have prepared infiltration teams to visit these villages and bring us any intel we can get that might pose a threat." Kakashi leans on the window sill with his arms crossed over his chest. "Tell them to execute the infiltration at the earliest." Kakashi looks up at the Hokage, blinking for a second. "Oh, they are already out. In about three hours, they'll be entering the respective villages." Tsunade narrows her eyes at the former Anbu. "I knew I would get your permission for the mission," Kakashi shrugs. Itachi clears his throat to bring attention to him before Tsunade can eat Kakashi's ears out. "If that's all..." Without another word, Itachi opens the window and disappears into thin air. "What is wrong with him?" the Hokage points at the open window with a mix of offence and worry. Kakashi throws his head back in defeat, his palms trying to soothe the pain caused by the burden of carrying the team on his shoulders for the last few days. "Ugh. Let's discuss this after I've had a nap. And we will need at least three bottles of sake." Tsunade guffaws, slapping the table with excitement. "Meet me at Ichigo's restaurant at eight," she declares before swivelling her chair towards the window. Within a second, her excitement morphs into a sour affair. "And don't you two dare use my window as a gateway after this! You delinquent little shits!"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Itachi's crows scour the Konoha skies looking into every street, under every tree, all koi ponds, and riverside. It is one of the crows soaring over the local marketplace that signals the former Akatsuki member before disappearing. And Itachi does not waste time, walking faster than usual in that direction. His body automatically halts when he sees you in the crowd. You are sitting on the stairs of the open shops where different types of nuts delivered from outside the village are being sold. Your arms are wrapped around a black cat with the most beautiful fur. Children are gathered around you in awe of the little furry creature; their curious minds asking you all sorts of questions. Itachi's permanence comes to a standstill. All his senses seem to revolve around you. His eyes can see the  y/e/c glow of your iris, his nose can smell the coconut oil rubbed on your skin. His ears can hear the croak in your voice that still heals from the adventure. He wants to stay still and bask in your presence but this uneasy feeling in his heart wants him to step towards you. Like the pull of a string, your head instinctively rises in the direction Itachi stands. You watch him inhale the guilt of being found out- of brazenly watching you from a distance. And just as he sees you...he can see you. A flash passes inside his mind for barely a second. Your shoulders are bare, your face marred with dirt, your hair a mess. Your eyes are red with tears. And just as it comes, the fash vanishes. And with it, you vanish too. The black cat with the beautiful fur is left on the steps for the children as you are nowhere to be seen.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

More days pass when you ‘miss’ each other; on the streets, at the Hokage’s office, in the village mart, and once right outside the Uchiha home. Itachi knows something is out of the ordinary. But not only with you.  He has not been feeling his usual self. His heightened senses seem to go into overdrive and shut down quicker than they should. His fast brain dissociates every ten minutes. His body is restless, unable to find peace at night, forget about getting an ounce of sleep. He sulks on the village rooftops unable to make sense of the hyperactivity that is frying his brain before he finds himself in the gym behind the administrative building with limited access. Like any other night, he walks into the gym from the backdoor at two in the dead of the night, finding two other men walking out of the locker room to begin their workout. “Who is that?” He hears one of them whisper, instinctively rolling his eyes internally and turning around to let the fresh Anbu meat have a good look at the infamous Itachi Uchiha. Much to his surprise, they are not looking at him. Instead, their attention is taken by another presence in the gym. Itachi changes into his workout clothes- a black t-shirt with grey joggers- and walks out of the locker room. From how the two men have their eyes away from their equipment, he can calculate it is someone new and quite possibly a woman. Turning the corner, his eyes involuntarily fall on the figure before returning to the treadmill- his original destination. It takes him a fraction of a second to register the figure doing crunches, using the rods holding the dumbbells as a pivot for her feet.

It’s the woman. Itachi has a clear view of you from his treadmill- with your back to him. You, on the other hand, are unaware of him. Your face is flushed, and sweat runs down your neck and back. All the rebellious strands of your hair mark the sides of your face and neck. The sweat stains on your oversized t-shirt and gym shorts show how long you have been working out. You finally stop and take a breather. He increases the speed of his treadmill. Itachi can see the Anbu boys tapping each other to bring their attention in your direction. You use the hem of your shirt to wipe the sweat from your face, exposing your abdomen. Itachi feels guilty for letting his eyes linger for a second longer at the lines of abs forming on your front. Yet a part of him fumes when he can hear the boys snicker at an inside joke before walking in your direction. The blonde one takes the lead. "Konnichiwa! My friend and I were wondering if you would like to work out with us." You bow a little, sending a little twist inside Itachi's gut. "Thank you for the offer. I am good." But the boys are quick to pester you again. "We think you are really beautiful and we would like to take you out for a meal after the workout." You ignore them and walk towards the bench. Even when you try to ignore it, you can hear them giggle and snicker behind your back. Tune them out, your inner voice tells you. Tune them out, tune them out tune them o- Your focus has been completely devoured by the boys who have turned a blind eye to respecting your personal space; and in doing so, you have picked up a ten-kilo dumbbell for your workout. Lying down on your back, you stretch your arms over your head to pick the dumbbell to start your set.

"How about we help-" Fuck! I should have brought my earphones!!! You have put all the focus inside your arms to raise that damn weight and take it over your head- and while doing so, you realise you can no longer hear the snickers of the boys. Your arms do pick the weight, but your brain gives the warning signal a bit late that the weight is beyond your muscles' threshold. A small cry for help comes out of your lungs but never makes it to the finale. you are half scared that the dumbbell might fall on the ground with a resounding boom. But that never happens. Instead, you feel the heaviness being taken away from your palms by a shadow behind your head. You raise your head back to find the dumbbell resting in the veiny hands of the man you have been avoiding this whole time. Itachi Uchiha. He is holding that dumbbell as if it weighs nothing. His shirt is covered in sweat and the strands of his hair not in the ponytail are out having the gall to stick to his exposed neck. His eyes are stuck on you, watching you with confusion and...was that concern? Don't be fooled. It might be murderous brooding too. We don't have enough experience to really tell, do we? you inner voice was thundering all over the metaphoric walls. Your heart rate is going up, more than it already has from the exercises. You take the support of your arm to get up, quickly reverting your gaze. But the screaming pain inside your arm brings out a wince from you instead. "Don't move," he commands in the Uchiha voice you have grown familiar with, "you have sprained your muscle." You do not dare to look him in the eye. "I'll spray some-" The former assassin, it seems, never waits for your words. Before you have finished your sentence, the gym's first aid box is seen being put down next to you on the bench. You can feel your lungs take a justified pause as Itachi gets down on his knee in front of you, making himself busy with the contents of the box. "I'll do it-" you give out a little squeak but the man ignores it, shaking the spray bottle in his hand. Without hesitating, he opens his free hand. "Arm." You, on the other hand, want to shrink and disappear into the bench, never to be seen again. "Y/N," he calls you out from whatever hell you are making in your mind for yourself. It bothers you even more that his voice is as sweet as it has been whenever you have interacted with him before. "Give me your arm." You do not want to move. Instead, you have started singing Naruto's favourite ramen song inside your head. Sparks fly inside your body when you feel the touch of Itachi's fingers trying to find their way under yours. And they do- having invaded the space between your fingers and the coarse leather of the bench. His usually pale fingers are red- mostly from the workout- and they are cautiously making their way to your wrist, rotating it to expose the other side upwards.

"Does it hurt?" Your gaze is fixated on his arms. The veins are popping under that pale, mole-kissed skin. There is a certain edge of satisfaction trailing the veins from his wrist up the bicep. People should be paying to see this, your inner voice sighs, never once averting her gaze from the sculpted beauty. You have reached the hem of Itachi's sleeves when you realise he has asked you a question. "Hm?" "I guess not." Itachi's face is flushed. How hard has he been working out? For a second, you think you see a smirk build upon his lips. But the moment you blink, it is gone; making you ponder if you were seeing things. Itachi's fingers go further up, resting right in the middle of your lower arm. His thumb puts a little pressure on the muscle underneath. There is a slight hint of pain. He can tell the way your brows furrow quickly and let go of the stress when he lifts his thumb from your skin. Itachi wonders how your skin has the right amount of suppleness and smoothness. And then he wonders why he is wondering about your skin. His fingers move further up. One hand lets your upper arm rest in itself. The other hand takes the liberty to feel the muscle. And that is when you let out a pain-ridden shriek before clasping your mouth. "It hurts," your broken voice reassures him. Itachi grounds your upper arm within his hold. You can feel his hand's intention of not letting go. "Face the other way," he instructs. You have heard him but the words have not yet registered in your head. And Itachi can tell from the blank look your eyes give him. Your eyes. The former assassin cannot get used to these eyes that look at him with zero micron of hesitation; no ounce of fear or mistrust. Zero thoughts behind those pupils and the intention to follow whatever he will say. A part of him wonders if your eyes do this for anyone else. And then that part makes his chest squeeze with mild annoyance. He raises his free hand and lets his fingers rest on your jaw, pushing your face in the direction away from your arm. The gesture surprises you, making your stomach do a summersault internally. You can hear the clicking of the shaking pain relief bottle before feeling the cooling spray over your skin. The affected part is then meticulously covered with a crepe bandage. "Do not use this arm for at least forty-eight hours if you cannot get an appointment with Sakura before that," Itachi clears, checking the bandage one last time.

"Thanks," you admit, about to get up. "It's natural," Itachi declares softly, not moving. Confused, you look down at your arm to wonder what is natural about it. "To have...thoughts that seem dark. And...filled with lust." Itachi finally looks at you and you can feel a cold wave pass down your spine, reverberating through every cell in its way. "It's simple biology," he continues, averting his gaze. "The only difference was that someone in your vicinity had the potential to see your thoughts. There is nothing to be embarrassed about." Oh, are you sure?!! Your inner voice shouts before pointing out at your racing heartbeat and flushed skin. Your breaths are starting to feel shallow. Itachi can sense the uneasiness. You get up with a jolt. "I should go." Even the whispered words of you come out shaking. "You can look inside my mind," Itachi announces before you can step away from him, "to even out the..." He does not finish the sentence. Look inside the mind of Itachi Uchiha. How many people have lost their lives to get the answer to this question? And here he was, offering it to you on a silver platter. "I should-" you bump into the bench behind you with the step you take back, scaring yourself for a second- "go." You dash out the door, leaving the man still on his knees. He sits there, experiencing you leaving the same redolence that he smelled off you in that cottage in the bamboo village. A smile builds up on his lips and no matter what he does, he cannot seem to make it stop.

[misdeliria]

SATORU GOJO

Goes With This (0)

Satoru thought you looked pretty cool when he initially found you. A total badass that slaughtered everything that terrorized her–he respected the ruthlessness.

And when you woke up and couldn't even sense the waves of cursed energy he was emitting at you, he was elated for some odd reason. You were clueless about the waves of energy you reciprocated, and Gojo essentially enrolled you into Jujutsu Tech.

"You think anything's special about her?" Suguru questioned him at their hotel before their flight back to Tokyo. You were in the other room, putting on one of the outfits Satoru went out to buy–all you had were the blood-stained rags you wore in captivity and the gown from the hospital.

"There's something about her cursed energy," Satoru answers sternly, trying to convince his friend of his suspicions. "I just have a feeling, y'know?"

"I suppose you might have some reference to what you're saying," Suguru refuses to admit to Satoru might be right.

There's a knock at their door, and Suguru goes to answer it.

"Hey, how does this look?"

Satoru gives you a glance, and his face quickly burns. You're standing at the entrance in a comfortable airport outfit with slippers and baggy fabric. He thinks you look amazing, but he bites his tongue before it can slip out.

"You look nice. Comfortable," Suguru tells you in a nonjudgemental tone, the sweetheart he is.

-

Later that night, Satoru believes he experienced sleep paralysis (but he eventually learns it was you). He sleeps in the same room as Suguru, but they occupy separate queen-size beds. He stirs with his limbs rigid against the side of his body. A wave of anguish washes through him, and he strains to turn his neck to the side and call out to Suguru, but only muted choked grunts make it past his lips.

A head is popping out beside his bed, looking from the edge and staring at him. It's a woman shrouded in shadow with beady eyes and long horns edging closer up the bed to him.

Satoru activates his Infinity before the woman can get too close and notices she's wearing a worn-out kimono.

She doesn't move any closer or mutter anything he can understand, but then she slinks away.

And when he wakes up later that morning, he realizes his memory of her face is distorted and he shudders at his recollection.

You don't seem to have a clue why Satoru's staring at you so hard when he eventually sees you for the flight.

-

KIYOHIME

origin' A princess in Japanese folklore. She fell in love with a Buddhist monk named Anchin, but after her interest in the monk was rejected, she chased after him and transformed into a serpent in a rage before killing him in a bell where he had hidden in the Dōjō-ji temple.

[i-starcreamed]

Ayye another transformers blog!! Hello! :D

Could you write a oneshot about Swerve meeting the human liaison? Like they both have similar personality traits and Swerve just freaks out with excitement? Nonbinary reader please so they/them pronouns

HEYY so excited for my first request, hello fellow tf blog :D

jhsdbjc i am so normal about Swerve btw, i love him

Swerve x Human Liaison!reader

You were beyond excited to be on a giant ship full of Cybertronians, when Rodimus first briefly introduced you to the crew you couldn't help the wide grin on your face as you looked around. Here you were, the first and only human liaison on the Lost Light. A human! And you get to work on a starship! All that studying and overworking yourself back at your organization had been worth it, you think, since it gave you the chance to really see these beings up close. By up close, you meant having to crane your neck up if you weren't on someone's servo.

You were currently on Chromedome's servo as you traveled through the ship's long and extending halls, Rewind was close beside their partner. You were busy answering what seemed like hundreds of questions from Rewind, him claiming it was a "historical and monumental" event that just had to be recorded. You happily answered though, a smile on your face as you went on about your home planet. Suddenly as you all turned the corner, the sound of laughter and talking filled your ears. It wasn't hard to spot the commotion, not at all. Loud voices came from a specific part of the ship. The noises sounded rather... excited? Or rather, one specific voice overpowered all the rest. This piques your curiosity as you gesture that way.

"Wait wait Chromedome, what's over there?!"

"Hm? Oh, this would be Swerve's. And er, that's Swerve over there, the barkeep." Chromedome entered the bustling room, immediately you realized oh, this is a bar. A cybertronian bar. Your wide eyes scan all the different glowing, bubbling beverages with amazement. They looked extremely toxic to your system but tempting, you were ready to ask all about that.

Rewind chuckled. "He's the chatterbox of the Lost Light. Can't get him to shut up- well, you can do it, I have, but he won't stay shut up. I think you'll like him actually."

Swerve was in the bar, doing the only thing he knows how to do: talking and serving drinks. To a group of a few bots in particular. As you neared the front counter, you could finally make out the words they spoke.

"Do you understand how terrifying the concept of infinity is? I mean, it's, like, INFINITE, but then again, what ISN'T infinite, you know? What I'm trying to say is that-" The red minibot suddenly paused as he saw Chromedome and Rewind out of the side of his optics, with a wide grin on his face he opened his mouth to greet them. Then he saw something move on Chromedome's servo, Swerve did a full body double take as he saw you holding onto Chromedome. He's heard all the news about you, sure, but seeing you in person?! That was entirely different. "Wait wait wait wait wait, wait! You're real?! Like- really real- like you're- a human?" He gasped, suddenly running over to the three of you. His exciting nature seemed to only increase yours. You suddenly lurched forward, hanging onto the edge of Chromedome's servo in order to see the mini-bot more clearly. (which almost gave Chromedome a spark-attack)

"Yep yep yep, I'm real and human! I can't believe you're real though, oh my gosh. You have no idea how unbelievable it feels to be working with you guys. It's been less than a day- wait, I think? How do you keep track of time out here?" You hummed, then shook your head, dismissing the thought. Swerve on the other hand was absolutely exhilarated.

"OHMYGODOHMYGOD. You're actually speaking! I've heard all about you! This is incredible. This is wonderful. What an honor, oh- Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you drink alcohol? Wait, don't answer, it's a dumb question, of course you drink alcohol. Wait, should I not say that? Probably right, not every human drinks. Wait, what if- wait, just, hey! What's your name?"

Chromedome attempted to escape the both of you by setting you down on the ground, in a split second you let out a yelp when you were swiped up by a red servo and placed on the counter. To your luck, you were now about the height of the mini-bot. You weren't at all startled by his babbling.

"The name's (Y/N), and I've gotta say, this place is in-cre-di-ble! I had no idea cybertronians even drank alcohol. Which means you can get drunk too...is this stuff toxic to humans by any chance?" You tapped one of the square glasses to your right, the glass itself was a bit shorter than you were with a red, luminescent liquid inside. Swerve hummed, under the visor, his optics glanced from the high-grade energon to you and back. "Well, for now it is. But, don't think it'll stay that way for long. I've done my fair share of research on what humans can and can't consume..you know, just in case." Suddenly his visor seemed to light up, he just remembered something.

"OHH OH OH, okay so, I was reading an article about humans...is it true that you shed? Is that why you're so soft?" The bot asked with an excited grin, leaning down towards you. You let out a loud laugh and leaned against the glass. A nearby bot gasped in the background, the glass in their hand was almost dropped on the floor.

"They can do that?!"

"Not now, Trailcutter I need to hear their response!"

Just wait till you tell them about...uh, everything

[swagmagussupreme]

@whiterose-fans-blog White Rose in Bloom, Day 5: Fantasy AU

Jk it's the lazing in bed one. I've written 200k words of Whiterose fantasy AU lol, if you wanna read that, go here:

No content warnings for this one, just pure short fluff since work is On Some Bull Shit ™️ today. So without further ado:

Words: 879

Ruby hated Huntress’ Sprint. She hated infinity-scrollers in general because she should be studying instead of playing them. Alas, here she was.

The door slammed open. Ruby jolted, peering over the edge of her hanging bunk.

It was Weiss, her face bright red and eyes puffy. Ruby watched her shamble to the bunk below, then flop face-first onto the mattress, groaning. The team leader stayed where she was, despite the way her heart ached with sympathy— Weiss preferred distance. The amount of physical affection Ruby had gotten her used to was already a miracle. Weiss groaned.

Ruby leaned over the edge of her bed, ignoring the way it creaked. “Weiss? What happened?”

The heiress simply groaned.

“Was it Cardin?”

Surprisingly, Weiss shook her head.

“Oh. What was it, then? Did you get a surprise test or something?”

Weiss mumbled something into her mattress.

“Huh?”

Weiss patted her bed.

Ruby blinked. “What?”

Weiss aggressively patted her bed.

Tentatively, Ruby fell out of her bunk and smashed her entire idiot face directly on the floor, her features saved only by the grace of her Aura. That didn't make it painless. “Owwwwwww,” she moaned, peeling herself off the scratchy carpet. She found Weiss’ eyes staring more bemused than concerned, and tried her best disarming smile, which disarmed Weiss enough for her to flop her face back down into the mattress. “You… want me to sit with you?”

Weiss mumbled. Ruby took it as an affirmative— a denial would've been fervent and straight to her face— and crawled into the bed, sitting criss-cross beside her partner's head. Her hair was a mess.

Weiss dared to put a hand on her head, which didn't elicit any opposition. “What happened? You can tell me— n-not like you have to!” she hastily added. “Just, like, you can. If you want. I'm here to listen if you're here to speak. I'm also just… here. In case you don't want to speak. I can…” Ruby slowly moved her hand on Weiss’ head, stroking it in the same way mom used to do for her. “I can do this and be quiet. If you want. Y'know.”

Weiss’ head moved up, and Ruby immediately jerked her hand away, fearing vindication for overstepping their boundaries. A million apologies lined up behind Ruby's lips.

They all vanished when Weiss blearily grabbed her wrist and plopped her hand right back where it was, moving it back and forth demandingly. Everything in Ruby's throat died, leaving a hollow void that crept all the way to her chest. Nervous giddiness started to dance between her lungs.

“I had combat exams with Jaune today,” she groaned. “He beat me.”

Ruby rocked forwards to keep herself from recoiling back, which probably would've hurt Weiss feelings. “Oh,” was all she could manage.

The sky was green. Water was dry. Jaune Arc had beaten Weiss Schnee.

“How?” traitorously seeped past Ruby’s lips, which got a glare from Weiss. She didn't move the hand away, though, which was progress.

“Ruby, he threw me,” Weiss stated, her voice distant with horrified recollection. “He rushed me, slid over my ice— somehow— and he grabbed me around the waist and fucking threw me!” She weakly pantomimed such a toss. “I was so surprised I just… I couldn't get up in time and he got me. He got me. Me.”

Weiss sniffled, her hand dropping from Ruby’s wrist. Instinctively, the scythe-wielder’s hand moved to cup the back of her head, thumb gently rubbing her crown. “It happens to all of us,” she advised. “It's only our first year, there's plenty left to surprise us.”

“It's not supposed to happen to—” the heiress bit her lip, her shoulders hitching as she visibly held back a sob. Noticing this, Ruby let her hand drift down to Weiss’ back, where she patted between the shoulder blades. That opened the floodgates. “It doesn't happen to me-he-heeeeeee,” Weiss bawled, punching the mattress. “He— he’s just… a guy! Literal vomit-boy!” She wailed. “And I’m a scion of the Schnees! I— I got— f-fucking tackled, Ruby! There's gonna be videos everywhere!”

Ruby stared at her partner, mesmerized. She'd never seen Weiss open up like this, not to her, and she'd certainly never been allowed this close when she got so touchy. It felt a little wrong, almost, like she wasn't supposed to see this. “It… it's not okay now,” she tried to say smoothly. “But it will be. I promise.”

Weiss looked up at her, glaring wetly, snot dribbling down her nose. Her voice came out hoarse and thick. “What're you gonna do about it, huh?”

Ruby smiled at her. “We'll do more sparring, some hand-to-hand, even. I know I've been focusing on Crescent Rose too much, I need to focus on improving our skills. Together.”

Weiss grimaced.

“Next time he tries to tackle you, you're gonna be the one throwing him, okay?” Ruby moved her hand back to Weiss’ head. “I'll make sure of it, as your partner.”

“Not as our leader?” the heiress said, pouting bitterly.

Ruby schooled a serious expression over her face, her other hand moving to take Weiss’ with fervor. “No. As your partner.”

Weiss’ eyes went wide. She stared at Ruby. Ruby stared back. Through the crust of pain and tears and snot, Weiss blushed.

[little-engineer-who-cant]

Jason has an identity crisis, tries to fuck his way out of all his feelings and fails miserably.

Part 1 of Sirens Scream Names Forgotten by Tomorrow, Laid to Rest in Infinity

(also posted under cut)

“Be kind to the jaded souls, the ones with jagged edges and bones weary and crumbling. Be gentle with them not because you may break them to pieces with one wrong touch, not because you may cut yourself on their serrated fingers, but because the world has never known to be gentle with them. Because they have never known to be gentle with themselves.”

- don’t you think they’ve suffered enough? (j.p.)

It’s easy to slip away from that warehouse in the chaos of his own trap springing, leaving the hero and his newest child soldier with nothing but his laughter ringing in their ears. For all of Batman’s tech, his strength, his mind, there’s no way for a living and breathing man to track a phantom that doesn’t want to be found. Dead men tell no tales and all that.

(Oh, but you do.)

That part hadn’t been planned, but he’s more than a little smug about handling it as smoothly as he did. Even unprepared, there was just too much that he knew about Bruce and wasn’t that just unsettling to old Batsie?

(You wanted him to know you, didn’t you? Wanted him to see past the mask.)

(Shut up, it’s not time.)

A wrench like Bruce had a certain amount of unpredictability, that was true. Humans usually did. But to fucking show up personally for a seemingly small potatoes villain like him and not just send that little shit of a replacement Robin like he’d been anticipating… you’ve changed your game a bit, huh old man? No, he’s apparently now made just enough of a name for himself that the Bat himself wanted to talk. At least the talking part hadn't changed. Same as always, it was about the smokescreen, the show. The act of making Bruce feel better about himself, like he had tried to deescalate the situation but any violence that resulted was always someone else’s fault. Never his. They all forced his hand, you see?

(Like you’re trying to now.)

What a fucking joke , like the old man would ever say something worth hearing. Trying to be reasonable, through heavy handed threats of grievous bodily harm, how the fuck did I ever go along with that? Being a child was only so much of an excuse. He’d been old enough then to understand the words that were being thrown about, he’d just been too caught up in being the Robin to Batman that he hadn’t cared about the meanings like he does now. Being on the receiving end makes him look more closely at this warped funhouse mirror that’s become his… life? Unlife? 

Whatever. The specifics of his… situation … are too complicated to parse through his feelings on those right now. Not when all he wants to do is take his now warm and living fist and slam it into Bruce’s face for having the fucking nerve to bring another child into this, like Jason meant nothing. Just the first body in a God knows how long of a line of them to come. Some kind of demented conga line of dead birds; maybe he’s more like the Joker than he wants to think he is and that thought makes him snort a bitter huff of amusement under his breath then grimace at the ache in his ribs. 

(He’s a vampire bat, maybe, they feed on birds.)

(Fuck.)

That’s a whole other can of worms that he is not looking into right now. Bad enough his carcass was replaced so easily. Even worse if it was planned.

If he goes down that line of thought, he might light this whole city on fire and leave Bruce screaming in the ashes, bleeding out from a thousand cuts. 

No, no, no, he’s got a plan already and that’s bleeding this city dry and watching Bruce try to desperately revive its picked over cadaver the way he never tried to revive Jason’s before he gives the old shit the mercy of a bullet-

(Maybe you’re the vampire.)

-just because that’s justice . And that’s all the Batman’s after, right? All he’s ever been after, if all the lines he fed to his Robins-

(His food-)

-could be believed. 

(Chewed you up and spit you in the ground, he’ll do it again and again-)

His fist raps the alley wall a few times, enough to sting and drive back the looming cloud that threatens to swirl around and become a living typhoon. There’ll be blood under his gloves from how tight he’s clenched his fist, splitting open old wounds, but that’s fine. What’s blood loss going to do? Kill him? He’s no stranger to handling a bruise or a hundred, that’s par for the course in his life now. Has been for years. A couple cracked ribs and some bloody knuckles are not going to slow him down. 

No, what really fucking stings is whatever is left in that cavity inside his chest, the hole that he used to think was patched when Bruce brought him into that huge house, when Alfred smiled and snuck him cookies. 

(That was the fucking dream, wasn’t it? Warm house, warm food, then you get the shit beat out of you to go fight crime.)

Turnabout is fair play and all that nonsense.

The side of his fist finds that same brick wall but he doesn’t smash into it, just rests his gloved knuckles against the abrasive surface. No use breaking his hand for a momentary fit of rage, it won’t help anything and he needs to keep his head on straight. There’s a plan here and he hasn’t gotten this far by losing his cool. It’s just a grounding point that he presses against, one that won’t crumble no matter how hard he shoves. It’s exactly what he needs because God knows there isn’t a person he can take this out on-

(Yes there is.)

(Shut up.) 

But his body turns towards his magnetic north anyways and he doesn’t stop it. It was a token protest anyways. Truth will out and all that bullshit. Well, Batman didn’t get the truth tonight but someone else will. Someone else will look this horrid amalgamation in the eye and either run or treat him just as gingerly as Talia did. Like the weapon he’d spent so long honing himself to be, the monster he’d welcomed into that place that-

That still hurts. It still hurts, in that cavity inside. The part he never thought had a chance in hell of crawling out of that hole and back into his sad sack of a meat suit. Jason Todd went into the ground a whole boy, the Red Hood emerged a warped reimagining of that little corpse, grown strong and tough and-

(And you failed.)

One day, he’d finish that fucking clown. One day, he’d dig the bastard a pit to Hell next to what used to be Jason Todd’s grave, but first, he had a bigger score to settle. In the end, in the here and now, this wasn’t about the Joker or even about Jason fucking dying. It was about Tim goddamn Drake.

Because what had changed, really? What changed? Nothing. He’s died and come back, he’s been buried and dug himself out with his fucking belt buckle and nothing changed. Not even Robin changed. Tim Drake is just another child following Bruce, spouting his words, punching the people Bruce points at and all of them, both of us, were just replacements for Dick who was a replacement for the family Bruce lost. And none of them ever lived up to it, I died trying to be that and still failed to do that right-

It’s as easy as breathing, though that’s a little painful right now, slipping up the wire-frame fire escape in the darkness. Never change, Gotham, never change. A last sweeping look over the city confirms that he’s alone. Or as alone as a log ever gets in a stacked fire pit, waiting for a match to drop. Or maybe this city’s already smoldering and he’s trying to frantically pour water on it.

(If water is gasoline maybe. Then you’d be God.)

(Shut. Up.)

His ribs ache as he slips into her apartment through a once locking window, confident no one is following him, not even the little shit in a stolen suit who’d tried so hard to get the drop on him. But the kid is just that, still a kid. Jason’s been in the game for a long time, not even Bruce knows how far his reach in Gotham goes now. This isn’t Batman’s city anymore, it’s Red Hood’s. It’s his. Bruce may fight crime, but Jason grew up embedded in it. He knows it in a way Bruce and his silver spoon never will, no matter how he studies its occupants. Because he isn’t one of them like Jason is. To a grown gutter urchin, these streets are home, their busted lights a balm to his soul, the screams of brakes and people alike a familiar lullaby. Even the muted throbbing in his face is familiar, almost a comfort of home. It’s certainly not the worst hit he’s ever taken, even discounting the obvious comparison.

Her bedroom is empty like he knew it would be. It’s Friday, she doesn’t work tomorrow and it’s not even that late. Barely past eleven. Really, he’s impressed with himself, taking an early night off. His ribs will hurt like a bitch tomorrow and his cheek might be fractured from the stupid kid’s pretty solid punch before he split, but the mask did it’s job, taking most of what might have otherwise knocked him down. And he’d left the Bat and his replacement-

(God damn you, did I ever mean anything to you besides being the means to your end?)

-frazzled and afraid. A few more steps in this grand plan and the truth would come out, the web he’d been weaving around The World’s Greatest Detective would close and there would be no way out. Either Bruce would pull the trigger, or Jason would. If you pull it old man, it might not stick. Is that what you want?  

At this point he doesn’t know who he’s talking to, his imaginary Bruce or himself.

Where is she? He needs a distraction from these swirling thoughts, a way out of the growing labyrinth in his head. She’s always been that since he found her, a light in the dark, a soothing balm over an open wound. She’s not part of this world, with its shrouds and lies and agendas, she’s just a girl living her life and unfortunate enough to have found the devil on her doorstep. 

Crazy enough to have let him in, despite all the warning signs.

The whisper soft humming from the dark abyss beyond the doorway echoes in his ears like a siren song, alerting him to her location and he smiles under the mask. Drawing him into her embrace again, the only comfort he had that didn’t come from watching the life leave someone’s eyes. The only warmth he felt that didn’t involve him being elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity to feel it, didn’t need a slit artery or have a-

(bomb as my pyre, feeling flesh melt, unable to move, unable to scream-)

-match burning down to his fingertips just to feel something other than apathy and bone melting rage. 

He watches her from the doorway, silent and shadowed. There’s no moon tonight, no star bright enough to turn on him and expose his presence or even grace him with a shadow of his own. No streetlights. She’s an office worker, not a millionaire, so she’s not in the part of the city where they keep replacing those when they inevitably get shot out. But the shirt she’s wearing is light grey, mine, she’s wearing my… Jason’s shirt, and the walking shell of Jason Todd isn’t the one who watches it float around the room like a ghost, flickering at the hem in time with the movement of her legs, the back vanishing and reappearing in time with the swinging of her loose braid.

Blue light washes over her face, staining her lips as she clicks on the kettle. It takes every ounce of his considerable self control not to stalk over, not to press his fingers, mouth, entire being against those lips to make sure they’re warm with life and breath, not washed out and cold like a corpse. He’s seen too many, he’s made even more-

(you’ve been one too, don’t you remember what it was like trying to move those stiff limbs? It took you hours to feel again, trapped in that box-)

-and if there is one certainty in life it’s that if she keeps welcoming into her sanctuary, she’ll be another one to add to the list of his sins. His hands aren’t clean and she isn’t safe. This was a mistake, he should not have come here, he should have done what he usually does. Rampage around another supervillain or five for old times sake. Grit his teeth and put his shoulder back to the grindstone to burrow his way deeper into Gotham’s underworld, chiseling away at the Batman’s iron grip until he replaces it with his titanium one instead. But no, he’s an idiot . So, he’s here, in her apartment in the dead of night, uninvited.

Jason Todd, the shy and uncomfortable man she met at a fun little nightclub, is not watching her. 

The Red Hood, Gotham’s latest war dog, is.

(Is he?) 

Sometimes, he wonders if there’s a difference anymore but it doesn’t matter right now. Not when they both want her. Because they’re both me but who the fuck is that anymore? Jason’s dead, the Red Hood is Joker’s, what am I?

She notices him, of course she does. She’s too perceptive not too. Sometimes, he wonders what happened to make her that way, wants to ask about the small, oddly scattered scars like knife wounds- 

(too similar to yours) 

-that dot her body, but she doesn’t ask about his disappearances, his odd hours, the blood and death that have burrowed so deep into him that they’re practically lovers, so he keeps his mouth shut. Her secrets are her own, God knows he has plenty. Whatever has happened to her, it’s tuned her into the smallest shifts in her carefully created atmosphere, her protective bubble, her sanctuary. She notices him and there’s no telling what gave him away. The ragged breathing behind his mask, the soft creak of leather when his fists clenched, some other presence that he can feel clinging to him like a second skin and dripping from his lips like blood as he pants- 

It’s a phantom, given life by his every exhale, moving in a disjointed and phony copy of his own limbs, but it’s his and his alone. Rage made manifest, always closer on nights like these, ones where the acrid scents of smoke and gunpowder and iron cling to him even after a shower, like it's an expensive cologne and he wonders how she hasn’t guessed the truth. Or maybe she has. She’s smart, too smart, too perceptive not to. 

(Then why doesn’t she run from me?)

Robin would have been good for her to find. Even an older, jaded, more independent Robin like Dick would have been better. But no, she’d picked the worst possible one, the skeletal remains of a bird too young to fly before it was launched from the nest to fall, to struggle, to die. There was no feasible way she could have known, sidling up to him and flashing him that smile, ignoring every warning sign with the single minded determination of a self-destructive spiral, but shouldn’t she have seen? Seen the blood under his fingernails-

(they’re clean, you wear gloves)

-seen the fangs in his mouth-

(they’re normal teeth)

-heard the growl in his voice that screamed run, run, run-  

(Why didn’t you run?)

No, she’d looked into the lion’s mouth and smiled without fear, run delicate fingers through his mane, put her number in his phone and yanked him into her addictive embrace. She should have found Robin and maybe she’d find that little brat one day but right now she has a nightmare made flesh in her kitchen.

His hand flexes, wrapped around the butt of the gun holstered on his thigh like it’s a child’s comfort toy, not a deadly mechanism of destruction that he could so easily turn on her. Never, I never will . If a bullet kills her, it won’t be his, even if it’s because of him the trigger is pulled. Small comforts. The other fist clenches harder at the bitter thought, like the pressure will stop him from doing something even stupider than standing here. Like he can stop himself from reaching out, a demon to an angel, falling further over his abyss of damnation to reach her divine light.

So she notices. So she turns, so she sees. Sees him, towering in the shadows like he wants to melt into them. Sees the red covering his jaw and mouth and nose and cheeks, the black covering his eyes, the hood above all that. Sees the kevlar, the weapons, the gloves, the rage pulsing from his skin like a living being. Sees the truth of the man she’s been letting into her life and into her bed, a reaper come to take his due, coming here was a mistake-

He sees the truth on her face, the flicker of comprehension and complex emotion that cannot be anything but fear . Hears it, in the way her breath catches on an inhale that sounds like a gunshot between them, her to him, echoing over the actual gunshots outside. This was a mistake, you’ve fucked up-

Then, she’s slowly stepping toward him, like he’s an animal she’s trying not to spook. You’ve fucked up, Todd . This nice, kind, normal girl who was somehow able to see whatever shell of Jason was left under all of his Red Hood bravado, now being confronted with the truth that they are one in the same and something else entirely and fuck, he’s just fucked this whole thing up, isn’t that what you wanted? You knew she would never be safe-

If she runs, he won’t blame her even one bit. He’ll let her go, even though she threatens his whole plan because she knows now. But the memories of her fingers twisted with his as she dragged Jason Todd along a park path, joy in her eyes and laughter on her lips even when he stumbled… He’ll let her go. His hands are weapons that Bruce shaped long ago, people always choose to avoid him instead of crossing his path but she’s headstrong in her lack of fear. He’s a man to her, nothing more, and even if she runs from the devil, he’ll let her escape this one time just for that kindness.

She doesn’t run.

She also doesn’t take his hand.

She doesn’t touch him at all.

No, Anna kneels in front of him, eyes not wavering from his face even as her mouth is level with his groin. Jason doesn’t dare breathe, what the fuck is she doing and she doesn’t break eye contact as she opens her mouth and presses a filthy kiss to the front of his pants, tongue dragging up his inseam to mouth at his belt buckle as she looks up at him and blinks once, a question. 

There’s a breathless beat where she stares up at him and Jason does his best to play off his surprise as stretching the moment like he’s considering her offer, like he wouldn’t die a thousand deaths to take her up on it.

(She didn’t run. Take what you can get.)

The syrup slow moment passes as he follows her desire into whatever abyss this is. This is why he came here, to forget. And it’s so, so easy to forget when she’s smiling at him. 

Anything else can come later. 

—

He wakes up the next morning sore . Both from the strain of fighting those who he doesn’t want to fucking think about right now and the intensity of his worst, or maybe smartest, spur of the moment decision that followed. 

“Shit,” he breathes, watching his breath puff out in the chilly air. Her heat isn’t working again, fucking cheap-ass landlord . He rolls onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes to stop the assault of the full daytime outside, taking a deep breath. 

Last night was a line that he crossed at full fucking sprint, he should not have come here in full Red Hood costume after a confrontation with Batman and his replacement-  

Jason takes a slow, calming breath. Rage and panic won’t help anything, it’ll just cloud his judgment. And he’s already clouded enough because he came here last night instead of running to ground in a safe house like he absolutely should have . It doesn’t matter that he lost any potential of a tail, that he was clear of trackers, he had promised himself that first night that he would not get Anna mixed up in this. She’s a good, nice girl and has no business being close to him but he’s fucking pathetic and she cares about him and he’s drawn to her sweetness like a moth to flame. Knowing it’s going to burn him but doing it anyway. 

There’s a part of him that knows she’s known something this whole time. He’s subtle but she’s smart. And now he’s blown the whole charade, breaking into her apartment at ass o’clock at night in full Red Hood regalia… god damn it, Todd. One person who cared about whatever’s left of you . It was a mistake, she’ll see that in the light of day. The bravery the dark gave her will fade. She’s a practical woman, she’ll know it’s too dangerous to let him stay.

But he’s a grown ass man who has to face the music he wrote, he can’t wallow in her bed forever. All his clothes, and his fucking mask God damn it all, are strewn in the other rooms. His dick twitches at the memory and he hates himself a little, mind-blowing sex does not make what you did okay, own up to it and face her like a man. So he takes a deep breath, pulls his arm away from his face and looks at the empty side of the bed. She’s probably been up for a while now. Rises with the sun and doesn’t even think of stopping her movements until after it sinks. Maybe she’ll give me a secret for a secret?

But that’s a hypocrite talking. Just because he busted into her apartment and basically handed her his head on a silver platter does not mean she’s going to do the same. And if she came to hide out in Gotham of all places…

If he digs, it won’t be hard to find out. But where will he be then? What good would it do? No, this is fine. 

She’s Anna, that’s all that matters. 

He’s… someone, but in her bed and in her life, he feels a bit closer to human. Maybe not Jason Todd, maybe never again, but… closer to the dream of it that almost feels like a memory on the good days.

He sighs, then stands up, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his jaw, mumbling to himself about needing to shave, then goes over to ‘his’ drawer in her dresser, the one where she keeps all the clothes she’s stolen from him over the months they’ve been… whatever they are. Whatever you can be when you’ve been lying to her, you bastard. Can’t be a relationship, that’s for fucking sure. 

Maybe it can be.

Fed up with his own internal monologue, the very thing he came here to escape, he pulls out a pair of sweatpants and yanks them on, then runs a hand through his hair and looks in the mirror. Tired, he looks tired. Bruises on his ribs and scrapes on his arms, the beginnings of a shiner on one cheekbone from the little prick, a few hickeys scattered along his throat and collarbones. Stop stalling, he glares at his own reflection, then turns on his heel and stalks towards the bedroom door, opening it and stepping into the apartment before he loses what little nerve he has left. The King of Gotham, brought to his knees by a slip of a girl whose smile could melt ice in a snowstorm. Christ, Todd, what’ve you come to?

She’s in the kitchen again, her kettle heating up for morning tea. His heart aches as he leans in the doorway, folding his arms and watching the way his shirt rides up her thighs as she walks, a slight hitch in her step, the way her braid can’t cover all the marks he left on her throat last night, the way she stirs honey into her tea, a sure sign that her throat is raw from- He breathes through his nose to banish the image before he pops a completely inappropriate boner.

Instead he refocuses on how the sunlight catches the colors in her lovely hair, highlighting the lighter brown streaks hidden away in the dark color and showing that it is, in fact, brown and not black. A deep chocolate color that makes him think of syrup or rich, dark wood of expensive furniture that no one wants to ruin. She’s beautiful, humming to herself and smiling as she takes a sip of this still-too-hot tea like she always does, hissing a bit but then making a small noise of satisfaction that it’s just right. Taking the tea bag out and disposing of it, turning around with a bright smile and- 

“Hey,” she says, still smiling, eyes still shining and crinkling in the corners in genuine delight, her voice a little raspy, “morning sleepyhead.” 

“Morning,” he rumbles out, arms still crossed, waiting for her to tell him to get the hell out before he drags her into his complicated mess of a life- 

She holds out a hand, sipping her tea again. “Come’ere.” 

He stares at the extended hand, glances over to the open area where her living room is. He sees his Red Hood suit, carefully folded and placed on the coffee table, his mask resting on top. Bold and open in the broad daylight, not hidden away or uncomfortably left untouched. Cared for. 

He looks back at her and her open smile, her quiet, understanding eyes, still crinkled at the edges, happy. Slowly, he straightens, unfolds his arms, waits for her hand to draw away, for her to flinch. 

She doesn’t. He takes her hand and steps into her sunlight with a smile, with something in his chest that might be the memory of hope.

(Neither of them see their shadows lurking in the corners, looming larger than them, just as entwined. How hers looms over his in the bright rays they bask in, the darkness swallowing the sun. Just as hungry.

He may be the Red Hood, but Silena is a wolf.)

[masterash]

Summary: The surrounding buildings are illuminated by the scarlet glow of lamps strung above, hazed by a soft mist. Both ends of the street are consumed by the fog, giving the illusion that it goes on for infinity. Lines of shops sit on the edge, and Wei Wuxian makes out odd trinkets being sold. A thought slams into him, threatening to topple him over again once he’s on his feet. Nothing hurts, the pain is gone. The injuries he’d had just seemed to vanish. When he looks up he’s taken aback by the startling sight of a boar glowering over him. No, not a boar he realizes on second glance, but a large muscular man with a boar head. He makes a sound like a low pig snort, “Puh- damn new ghosts.”

If you haven't seen this yet, its a great time to take a look at it! My latest fic, a crossover between TGCF and MDZS. Just posted chapter 5 today!

[x-heesy]

Jen Stark’s art is driven by her interest in conceptualizing visual systems to simulate plant growth, evolution, infinity, fractals, mimetic topographies, and sacred geometries. Using available materials—paper, wood, metal, paint—Stark strives to make work that balances on a razor’s edge of optical seduction and perceptual engagement. In recent years, Stark has introduced new technologies into her diverse practice, delving into the digital realm of interactive projections and distinctive NFTs.

The resulting works often resemble organic, molecular, cloud-like structures, and are imbued with kinetic, undulating effects that serve to dislocate the viewer from staid reality into an immersive ecosphere of echoing patterns and the implausible designs found in nature. Even her vivid colors are in direct conversation with the natural world; the attractant/repellent properties of flowers encouraging pollination or insects warning birds of their poisonous traits, and the luminous mystery of phosphorescent sea creatures are among Stark’s concerns.

Via these corporeal abstractions, spectators are led onto the astral plane; there’s a transcendence to Stark’s work where the vibrational phases become a sacrosanct and curative experience for the viewer. Traces of mandalas or nautili reveal themselves as sacred geometric forms in Stark’s spiritual reservoir.

Stark’s ability to create atmospheric, minimal, naturalist configurations that only reveal themselves after deep engagement align her with the artistic legacies of Yayoi Kusama, Sol Lewitt, Tara Donovan, Tom Friedman, Andy Goldsworthy, Ernst Haeckel, and the Finish Fetish artists of 1960s Los Angeles.

Not limited to the confines of museums and galleries, Stark’s diverse practice—a series of sculptural objects that rely on a commitment to process and hypnotic repetition; charismatic wall works; widely seen murals; intricately animated films; NFTs (non-fungible tokens) and interactive projections—has been exhibited throughout the world, permeating both the physical and digital realms. By adopting cutting-edge techniques to showcase her aesthetic, Stark activates her universe through constant adaptation and transformation.

Stark was born in Miami, Florida in 1983, and studied at the Maryland Institute College of Art, graduating in 2005. Since then, Stark has realized exhibitions globally, with major shows in New York, Los Angeles, Miami, Chicago, Thailand, and Canada. Recently included as one of Fortune’s “NFTy 50,” Stark made history as the first female artist to make Foundation’s top 10 highest selling NFT creatives. Her work is in the collections of the Smithsonian American Art Museum, the West Collection, Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, NSU Art Museum and MOCA Miami, among others.

Stark lives and works in Los Angeles. Part1 Part2

#sculpture #sculptureart #sculptureartist #sculptures #sculpturelovers #sculptureoftheday #sculpturepark #sculpture_art #sculpturegallery #sculpturesofinstagram #sculpture_gallery #sculpturesurbois #contemporarysculpture #sculpturecontemporaine #sculpturephotography #sculptured #modernsculpture #abstractsculpture #handsculpture @frenchpsychiatrymuderedmycnut 🌈 #artsculpture #instasculpture #skulptur #skulpturen #skulpturer #skulpturensammlung #skulptures #skulptūra #skulpturia #skulpturenausstellung

Soundtrack: I Feel Space by Lindstrøm 🌈

[specterthief]

Fandom: SK8 the Infinity Characters/Pairing: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki, Hasegawa Langa & Hasegawa Nanako Rating: G Warnings: None Wordcount: 4089 Other Tags: Pre-Relationship, Haircuts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Crushes, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Rule 63, Gender Issues, Butch Hasegawa Langa, Insecure Kyan Reki, Developing Friendships, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Family, Autistic Hasegawa Langa Summary: “Huh?” Reki stammered out a little higher than she meant to. “No, no, you’re cool, uh… I was just—you know, I was just wondering what you did with your hair when you were snowboarding. Do girls all wear ponytails or something?” “Oh. No.” Langa pressed her lips together in a thin line, picking at the edge of Reki’s bandana. “Well, some girls do, but mine was always way too short.” — Reki gives her new friend a haircut, and learns more about Langa than she was expecting along the way. Nanako just wants her daughter to be happy.

new fic for the first time in a while!! and it's my first time posting a fic for the skateboard yuri AU. somehow i keep writing about characters getting dramatic haircuts and being gay about them

i'll try and arrange the series in roughly chronological order as i post to it, i want to write a lot more for this AU! it's been a labor of love to develop it so i hope everyone can enjoy it

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 2

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/148364599#workskin

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1

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When I open my eyes, black and red are the first colors that I see. Still disoriented from sleep, I blink to clear my blurry vison.

Before me are the bold patterns on the back of Sylus's trademark pitch black jacket. His back is facing me, the jacket draped over him like a flowing shadowy cape. He's already tall and intimidating, but the padding of the shoulders and thick material add to this perception. His figure and presence are a harrowing sight to any that would cross him.

In the dim light of the single lamp, his silhouette reminds me of the first time I saw him in N109. Back then, he looked like the Grim Reaper to me, a monster jumping from the shadows to devour me. Or a demon coming to claim my soul. Back then, I wanted to murder him as revenge for my family's deaths before I knew he wasn't responsible for their tragic end. Incredible how perceptions can change over time - how even a deep fear can transform into desire and yearning.

Sylus sits on the edge of the bed buttoning his silver cuff links and folding his sleeves elegantly to his elbows. The corded muscles in his forearms shift as he does so. His long legs are crossed; he's wearing matching black pants and freshly polished dark shoes with long pointed toes. A thick black leather belt wraps around his hips, a gun clipped into a holster over his lower back. Two more guns are attached to straps crisscrossing around his torso. As I watch, he removes one and opens the clip, checking it over.

I stay as still as I can, wanting to observe him a little longer. I do my best to control my breathing, though I have a hunch that he is well aware that I'm awake. To this day, I've never been able to catch this man off guard.

His watch beeps a few times, and he adjusts the gold and silver wristband. He takes his phone out of his pants pocket, thumbing through a series of screens. His starlit hair falls over the side of his face, hiding his eyes from my view. This sight reminds me of the night before he left me to go to His Highness's palace. Preparing. Predicting. Making plans A, B, and C.

His silence is filled with anticipation; likely already calculating all the possible outcomes of whatever he is about to face.

Slamming the clip back into the gun, he deftly flips it and tucks it away.

The same cold terrifying aura surrounds him now as it did before he went to that party. An icy void. Or like metal left out to freeze in winter. If I touch him now, will I be frozen, too? Will I fall into that nothingness? How could a man with such an aura look at me the way he did last night? Touch me the way he did? Incite the kind of fire his hands and lips had ignited deep within my body?

Another beep from his watch. He pushes a button on his phone and speaks into the microphone.

"Luke. Kieran. Is everything set?"

"Ready, boss," one of the twins replies.

"Bring the car around."

"Yes, boss."

Sylus hangs up the call.

My heart sinks, and an unfamiliar fear takes root.

He's leaving, going somewhere dangerous again, and even though he's exceptional and powerful, I can't stand the possibility of him being hurt. Looking at his broad shoulders, I clench my fists helplessly. This is his choice, and his life. I can't change who he is, and I wouldn't want to. If I did, he would no longer be the Sylus that I...

...that I...

...what, exactly?

I sit up, smoothing mussed dark hair out of my face. I'm wearing his sweatshirt and nothing else. It comes down to mid thigh and still smells like him. My ruined clothes are somewhere in the bathroom, abandoned in the frenzy of lovemaking that was a natural sequel to our encounter in the closet. Just remembering it sends a thrill through my body. A hunger for him, still unsated, stirs in my blood.

I shuffle over to him on the bed, wrapping my arms around his back. I can't reach around his shoulders, so I settle for his firm waist. My heart fluttering nervously, I link my fingers together at his front and rest my head between his shoulder blades. It's bold, I'll admit. I have no idea if what happened between us meant anything to him or not. For all I know, we were just two pent up people in the right place at the right time. If he wants to walk away from this, I wouldn't stop him. Though, it would definitely hurt much more than I care to admit.

The rough fabric of his jacket presses against my face. I recognize the texture. This is material used in Hunter armor. It gives some defense against fire and acid. It also helps guard against electric shock. He must have had it sown into these clothes for some protection, a testament to the daily danger crossing his path. My grip on him tightens reflexively.

"You're leaving," I whisper. He doesn't react for a minute, and I start to pull back. I unlink my fingers, my heart vulnerable, exposed.

Just before I can move away, he catches my hand and slips his fingers between my own. Turning my wrist, he brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses them. Tingles and goosebumps cover the right side of my body. I shiver as he kisses my wrist and then my palm. At last, he turns to look at me. His ruby eyes shine with a hint of mischief, the corner of his mouth tipped upward just enough to make my heart flutter.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. "Looks like you won't be catching a cold after all."

I blush. "You...kept me plenty warm."

His thumb strokes mine as he looks deep into my eyes. His gaze slips to my lips. I dare not move, still afraid that any moment now, he will choose to walk away.

"I would enjoy keeping you warm a little longer," he says, as though catching onto my insecurities.

I lick my lips self-consciously, fascinated when his pupils dilate just like before. "I would also enjoy that."

"Sadly, I have a prior commitment tonight."

I sneak a peek at his guns. "I noticed. Are you expecting heavy resistance?"

"Nothing of note." His smirk belies a darker truth.

So, yes, an ambush. At least.

My stomach twists into a knot. I'm being ridiculous. This is Sylus's day to day. He didn't start jumping into gun fights when he met me; he'd been doing it for who knew how long. Honestly, guns were probably the most tame of all the things he faced. His skin was flawless and unmarred, but the scars of his climb to the top are visible in other ways.

"You could use some backup," I frown.

"No need."

My brows furrow as my anxiety burns like acid in my gut. I grip his hand, hard.

"Sylus, it's still the middle of the day. Maybe you should take me with--mmph..."

His lips close over mine, and he pushes me down to the bed. His overwhelming body heat and tantalizing scent envelop me like a cocoon as he coaxes open my mouth and slips his tongue inside. The intensity of the desire that grips my body shocks me. Frustrated with this delicious but intentional diversion, I push back to break away from the kiss.

"I'm serious," I tell him hotly, "take me with you so I can--mnn--Sylus--" He doesn't let me speak, pulling me into an even deeper kiss, breaking my resistance until I'm no longer pushing against him. Knowing that he will have his way, I surrender. My hands weave into his hair, my thoughts scattering. He moves away when he's satisfied that he's subdued my rebellion. On his terms, as always.

I'm breathing hard, my cheeks flushed. He's amused; gives a chuckle at how flustered I am. His regard simmers with something unfathomable, face hovering just above mine, eyes eclipsing my universe.

"You have your boring symposium to get to, remember? I've diverted you enough for the moment." He steals one more ravaging kiss. As he leans back and away from me, he slips a black credit card onto the nightstand. "Go get what you need to be comfortable."

I cross my arms, frustrated. "I'm fully capable of buying myself clothes."

"I'm responsible for ruining your remaining garments," he says, his eyes twinkling. "It's the least I can do. But, suit yourself." He stands up. "That card's also the keycard to this room and the elevator. You'll need it if you want to go anywhere."

My heart lurches in my chest.

This is it.

He's going to leave.

And, I have no idea when I'll see him again.

I rush to kick my feet over the side of the bed, but I stop myself from moving any closer. My pride has taken enough hits in the last twenty-four hours. I'll be damned if I start acting like a needy brat just because we slept together a few times. A thousand questions hover on the tip of my tongue.

When are you coming back? Where are you going? What happened between us? What does this mean for us now?

I ask none of them.

Now is not the time, and I'm honestly not sure when the right moment would be.

I freeze when he closes the distance between us and tips up my chin. He rests one hand in his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. His expression is neutral, bottomless ruby eyes holding a galaxy of stars. The way he looks down at me sharpens the angle of his features. Once again, his intense singular focus makes me breathless. His thumb pads across my bottom lip, dipping inside my mouth, grazing across my tongue. My knees go weak, and I struggle to keep standing.

"Do me a favor and stay out of trouble, kitten," he says softly. His chiseled brow furrows, and he wraps an arm around my waist, lifting me up and against him until my feet no longer touch the ground. An inescapable gravity pulls us together until our noses touch. His hot breath caresses my face. "Keep this fire lit for me. When I come back, I'll make sure to satisfy it."

He sets me down carefully. With a final glance at me, he turns then steps out of the doorway, out of the penthouse suite, and out of my life.

In the wake of his exit, I walk to the bathroom and shiver. My arms wrap around my body. I give myself a few minutes to process everything that's happened in the last day. Naturally, it's not enough. But, I don't have time to sulk. I need to keep moving. To keep breathing.

Is this what emotional and physical entanglement feel like? I'm not sure I'm up for it if that's the case. I much prefer the quiet days of spinsterhood where the biggest challenges of my day were finding clean underwear and making sure I had enough frozen meals stocked in the freezer. This roller coaster is exhausting.

I shiver again when I recall Sylus's hands on me. His lips. His fingers. His labored breaths and sounds of pleasure as he thrust into me in the shower. The water cascading down my skin as he bit into my shoulder and left a lovely mark to remind me of him.

Oh God...

I bring both of my palms to my burning face and turn on the cold water, splashing it over my cheeks.

My phone is still sitting on the sink where I left it. Picking it up, I look through my numerous unread messages and alerts.

Zayne reminding me to check in with him after I return to Linkon.

Rafayel sending me an e-vite to his latest gallery gala.

A few missed calls from Tara and Lois.

And there, at the end, an odd message from Xavier.

Taking a deep breath, I give him a ring.

The holo screen on my watch flashes with a bouncing music note for a moment before my partner picks up the phone.

"Ellara," his soft baritone comes through the speaker. I can't help but smile. I love hearing his voice. When I'm so far from home and so far from normal, hearing him anchors me. It's incredible how close we've become over the last year and a half of working together.

"I'm safe," I assure him with a smile. "I'm sorry I haven't called or texted."

"I heard you lost your luggage. How is the symposium?"

"I couldn't say. I missed the first day. But, I'll be attending the lecture tonight."

"It's unusual for you to miss any kind of event like this. Weren't you looking forward to this for a while?"

His blue eyes are sharp and steady. Xavier has always been able to see right through me. He knows something is up, but he'll never pry unless he feels I'm in danger. I try to keep my voice even, feeling guilty for not being entirely truthful with him.

"I still am. I just ran into some unexpected difficulties. After I buy some clothes, I should be able to join everyone."

He hesitates, his lips pursing.

"What is it?"

He rubs his chin. "I'm not sure if I should mention this, to be honest."

Excitement sets my heart racing. I know this tone of voice. "Xavier, what have you uncovered?"

More hesitation.

"Xavier..."

He sighs.

"I've found rumors of a rare protocore auction happening right where you are. The source of intel indicates it could be a connection to Noxis."

My breathing accelerates.

"And LUMINIS," I finish for him. He nods, and my hand instinctively tightens its grip on my phone.

Xavier and I have secretly spent the last four months investigating a substance known on the street as the "modern love potion". The premise is simple: a perfume so incredible that it can cause physical attraction and even obsession towards the wearer. In short, a powerful aphrodisiac that metabolizes through a person's Evol channels, making it highly effective and also extremely dangerous. It's official prototype is known as LUMINIS, a liquid in aerosol form. When coming in contact with skin, it acts like a toxin, causing side effects that range from temporary mind control to fatal poisoning.

The name "Noxis" has been heavily associated in intel with its distribution, and we theorized that it must either be the organization or individual responsible for its creation. We still don't know why it was created or what the motive for its distribution could be. After all, why create a drug so unpredictable that it will murder its user? Worse yet, it seems to interact in some way with Protocores and Wanderers, attracting monsters and mutating them. If Noxis was allowed to continue production, who knew what they would do or what chaos it would cause? Many innocent people had died already. 

Unfortunately, there was also some intel that suggested a leak within UNICORNS. In addition, my grandmother's name was mentioned among some of the documents. I had no idea if finding more about LUMINIS could lead me to her and Caleb's real killers, but Xavier and I couldn't risk tipping them off and potentially losing the trail. Therefore, we kept the investigation under wraps, integrating our efforts into existing missions to stay off the radar. We were exhausted, but breakthroughs like tonight made everything worth it.

"Where is it?" I ask. "Can you send me the coordinates?"

"It's close. There's a luxury nightclub called the 'Mythe' less than two miles from you. I've secured a pair of invites."

I scowl at the screen. "Why didn't you lead with that?"

Xavier scratches the back of his head. "You've been excited about this symposium for months. I thought..."

I realize where he's going with this and stop him mid-sentence. "Xavier, you're already here, aren't you?"

He blinks at me for a moment, his handsome face unreadable. Then - "I'm in the lobby."

"I'll be down soon. Give me thirty minutes." Cutting the call, I grab Sylus's black card off the nightstand. My eyes catch something I didn't see before. It's a coal black gun resting against the pillow on the bed. Did Sylus forget one of his weapons? Somehow, I can't imagine that being the case. Though it makes me uneasy to use a weapon I'm not familiar with, I take it with me anyways. I have no idea what's in store for me tonight, and having a good weapon could mean the difference between life and death.

As the elevator takes me down a rumbling path to the fourth floor, I begin to reroute the evening's plans. I'm thrilled for the distraction. I'd been worried that the symposium lecture wouldn't be enough to keep my thoughts from straying to Sylus. But, sneaking into an underworld auction with my partner to find out more about our private investigation into LUMINIS sounded like the perfect way to keep my mind off of the King of N109.

A quick search on my phone labels a popular local store called "Proxima" as the best place for a quick and affordable glow-up for special events. Checking my watch, I note that it's roughly 3:00 PM. Self-conscious, I tug Sylus's sweatshirt farther down my legs. I worry about people seeing me in such a state, but miraculously I manage to make it to Lois's room without encountering a single person. I use my Hunter's watch to unlock the door then quickly run to the bedroom. Pointedly ignoring the closet, I pop open Lois's suitcase, hoping I can take advantage of her earlier offer to borrow some clothes. Fortunately, she and I are about the same size. I dig out a spare Hunter uniform packaged in shrink wrap, get dressed, brush my hair, and head downstairs.

Xavier is waiting in the lobby as promised. He's dressed in a sharp black Hunter's uniform complete with heavy boots and gloves. His sword is strapped to his back. He's holding an extra winter coat. As I walk to him, we gently bump fists and share a smile. He drapes the coat over my shoulders and pulls a snack out of his pocket. We start talking and eating as we make our way outside.

"Let me see the invite," I ask between bites. He hands me a beautiful creation on heavy card stock with a holographic element depicting a classic ballroom. Sure enough, this isn't a simple auction. It's disguised as a formal masquerade, and our uniforms are simply not going to cut it.

"First, let's go here," I point to the picture of Proxima on my phone. "We'll need a disguise." I glance at his sword. "We'll have to find a way to get that past security."

"Wouldn't be my first time," Xavier says. There's no concern whatsoever in his voice. "Let's grab a taxi."

It takes us less than an hour to make it to Proxima. Upon our arrival, I can't help but be taken aback. The sleek silver and gold building sports three floors of clothes, barber stations, studios, and other features. It's more than a clothes shop or hair salon. It's an all-inclusive package service which takes you from a day in your pajamas at home to being the star of any kind of event or venue. A young woman greets us at the double doors wearing a pink pencil dress and frilly cuffs.

"Welcome to Proxima," she smiles. "Here, beauty drives connection. How can I help you two today?"

Xavier gives me a blank look, and I form an apologetic gesture with my hands. "Hello, we are going to a formal event tonight and need to look the part. I've heard you can help."

"Aha!" the woman seems far too happy. "And what time is the event?"

I look at my watch with a frown. "Oh...well...it's in two hours."

"Perfect!" the clerk gushes, startling me. "It's a great thing that you both came to us today. We'll have you both dressed and ready for show time in short order."

She gestures to another clerk in pink, male this time, then turns to Xavier. "If you'll follow Henry, Sir, he will assist you with your perfect Proxima look."

I put my hand on Xavier's arm, sensing his discomfort. "Let's get this over with."

The lady reveals her name is Clara. I let her lead me between different rooms, trying to relax as the clerks fuss over me, worrying about how much all of this is going to eat into my monthly paycheck. I do my best not to look at the price tag of the dress they pick out for me. Sylus had called me out earlier when labeling me frugal, and he was right. I hate spending money on unnecessary things. His black card seems to burn a hole in my pocket, reminding me that I do have an easy way out if this package ends up being out of my price range.

I don't know how much time passes, but it goes by in a whirlwind. There's always at least three people attending to my clothes, make-up, and hair. When everything is said and done, the clerk takes me to a full size mirror. I do a double take, for I don't recognize the woman reflected within. They've dressed me in a floor length blue velvety gown with long semi-sheer vanilla sleeves. The sleeve fabric sports stitched patterns that look like twinkling stars. The cut is lower than I'm comfortable with, but it will have to do. Beneath, I'm wearing thigh high panty hose held up by a contraption I'd only seen in passing while perusing for bras on clearance at my local department stores.

They'd put waves into my black waist length hair and had outdone themselves with my makeup. All in all, I look nothing like my normal self. The woman looking back at me is lovely, even lovelier than any of the times I'd tried to play dress-up with Sylus. Proxima's professionalism really shows.

"What do you think, ma'am?" Clara asks, a hint of pride in her tone.

"I think Xavier isn't going to recognize me," I say honestly.

"He will," she assures me. "This is all you, honey. You come across to me like the kind of girl that's too busy to take care of herself." She pats my shoulder. "Every woman is beautiful. Don't forget to look out for yourself sometimes while you're busy running around taking care of others."

Are those words part of the service? If so, I could have gone without a reminder of my low self care standards.

Xavier comes out next, and I forget how to breathe. The closer he comes, the more my chest constricts until I can't help but clutch at the fabric of my skirt and take a step back.

He's stunning in a white suit with a thick blue silk band wrapped around his slim waist. White leather boots come up to the middle of his shins. A cape is draped over his shoulders with a gorgeous stitched pattern resembling fanning golden swords. The inner lining is the same hue as my gown, strewn with golden lines and shapes that mimic shooting stars. His lapels are adorned with golden swords to match his cape and belt buckle, and a lovely sapphire and gold collar chain accents his long and graceful neck. Completing the ensemble is a pair of onyx gloves on his hands and a pauldron on one shoulder; both are decorated with silvery metallic articulations.

Standing in front of me like this, he's not much shorter than Sylus. Yet, somehow, I'd never really realized how tall Xavier was. Or how broad his shoulders were. Even his typical soft and gentle features look sharper, older. In the gleaming warm light of the studio, I can see flecks of dark azure in his eyes that I hadn't noticed before. The blues of his outfit and the sapphire of his collar chain accent them too well. They'd styled his lovely golden hair, too. 

All in all, he reminds me of a painting Rafayel had shown me once of a holy knight standing at the head of an army. I can easily imagine Xavier jumping into battle, saving innocents, and stealing the hearts of young maidens in this get-up. How is it possible for him to suddenly look so dashing? He'd always been handsome, but now I wasn't sure I was comfortable standing too close to him.

When he catches sight of me, his eyes widen and his lips part. He takes me in then gives me a heartbreaking smile. Tilting his head, he reaches a hand out to beckon me to come closer. With numb fingers, I take it, marveling at how I've never noticed so many things about this man in all the time we've known each other.

"Are you satisfied?" he asks, tugging me close. "As far as disguises go, this might be a little over the top. Though," his eyes soak me in from head to toe, "I'm not really going to complain in this case."

I'm glad Clara dolled me up. Really really glad. For tonight, at least, the little frog that I am can dream of becoming a princess on this knight's arm. Just for tonight, I can run with this illusion. Gathering my courage, I turn us both to face a nearby mirror. We match perfectly. The clerks had taken our colors and styles into consideration and coordinated well.

"We look like a lady and her knight out of some kind of movie," I giggle. My cheeks are still hot and flushed.

Xavier's gaze softens. "You look so lovely," he murmurs. I turn to look at him, my heart in my throat. Simultaneously, he reaches out to touch a lock of my hair. He ends up cupping the side of my face, and for a moment I am immobilized.

"It's just the make-up," I stammer. "And maybe the dress."

"No," Xavier disagrees. "It isn't." His gaze is unfaltering, straight, honest. He meets my gaze head on, just like he does every other challenge I've seen him face. I've never known Xavier to lie about anything. He doesn't say anything he doesn't mean, and he would rather be silent than tell a lie.

Beyond embarrassed, I clear my throat. "Right, well. We got what we came for I guess."

"Just need our masks now."

"Allow me to help!" Henry chimes in. He appears out of nowhere, melding from the shadows. "Actually, I was hoping the madam would choose." He prances up to us with a box full of all kinds of beautiful masks. They are all a shade of blue, but the styles vary greatly. Some have feathers while others are made of silk or porcelain. I spot I pair I like right away - two identical silver masks made of shimmering satin.

"These," I smile, taking one out of the wrapping and turning to Xavier. "May I?"

He nods.

I reach up, standing on my tip toes to loop the silk string of the mask around his head. Ever helpful, he bends down a bit. I'm still trying to get my heart to stop racing. But, as I pull back and away, he smiles again and I'm back at square one. I try to breathe deeply as he ties my mask into place.

At last, we're both ready.

Clara comes out with a small tray, and I steel myself in preparation of seeing the price tag for this adventure. However, she glides past me to Xavier, who taps his Hunter's watch against the little machine on the tray and gives her a nod.

"Did you just...?"

He shrugs. "It's a work expense, isn't it? No one will question it."

It's easier to take his word for it than worry about it now. Besides, I don't really want to think about it. I just want to enjoy this illusion for a little while longer. Who knows what will happen when we get on site? All of this could be over in a heartbeat. To give ourselves more time to prepare, we take a taxi to the Mythe. Xavier's cape allows him to hide his blade from view, and my skirt is roomy enough to allow me to strap Sylus's gun to my thigh. That done, Xavier hands me one more blaster. It's heavier and larger than what I'm used to, but I manage to strap it to my other leg. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, we review a holographic layout of the Mythe that Xavier downloaded to his watch.

Once outside the building, we both share a glance.

"Are you ready?" Xavier asks.

I nod. "As ready as I can be."

"Let me take the lead. I'll scan the room first and come back to your side when I've come up with an exit strategy. Once someone wins the bid on the LUMINIS, we'll have a short window to find the merchandise in the holding room." He squeezes my hand. "Remember, if something goes wrong, go to the checkpoint we talked about."

I thread my fingers with his, and we squeeze each others hands. "Roger. Let's get this sample and get out of here in one piece."

[primroseprime2019]

Name: PrimrosePrime ❀❀❀❀❀

Nicknames: 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐺𝑒𝑚，ᒪITTᒪᗴ ᑭᖇIᗰᗴ, 🅟🅡🅘🅜, 𝔏𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢

Age: 22 years old

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual, Polyamory, Demisexual, Xenosexual

Favorite Tv Shows: Transformers (Prime, Animated, Cyberverse, Earthspark and 2015’s Robots in Disguise), Star Wars Rebels, Gravity Falls, My Little Pony, Steven Universe, Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, The Owl House, Lucifer, All American, Pokemon, Star Vs. The Forces of Evil, Miraculous Ladybug, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Stranger Things, Dragons: Race of the Edge and Defenders of Berk, Tales of Arcadia, Sonic Boom, My Hero Academia, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Legend of Korra, Lego Monkie Kid, Young Justice, The Sandman, Obey Me, Death Note, A Centaur's Life, Bob's Burgers, Big Hero 6: The Series

Favorite Books: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Alexandra Bracken’s The Darkest Minds, Lore, Divergent, Warriors, Chronicles of Narnia, A Monster Calls, Wings of Fire

Favorite Games: Five Nights at Freddy’s, Sky: Children of the Light, Switchcraft 3, Super Mario 3D World, Apex Legends, Bendy and the Ink Machine, Minecraft, Genshin Impact, Uncoven, Pokemon Go

Favorite Movies: Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief and Sea of Monsters, Avengers (Age of Ultron, Infinity War and Endgame), Godzilla and King of Monsters, Spider-Man: Into/Across the Spider-Verse, The Amazing Spider-Man 1 and 2, Spider-Man: No Way Home, Jigsaw/Spiral, Carrie, Shrek, The Last Unicorn, The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, How To Train Your Dragon 1, 2 and 3, Rise of the Guardians, X-Men, Ghost Rider, Descendants, Jurassic World 1, Fallen Kingdom and Dominion, Nimona, Split, Glass, Candyman (2021), Nope, Us, Kong: Skull Island

Loves: writing, drawing, reading, taking naps, making friends, stargazing, watching movies, painting

I am autistic and I support LGBTQIA+

I am a writer and I’m working on 55 chapter stories called Transcendants.

I ᵃᵐ 𝕒 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 ᙖY ᑎᗩTᙀᖇᙓ

☆☆☆ 𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒰𝓃𝒾𝓋ℯ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℐ𝓉’𝓈 𝒫𝓇ℯ𝒸𝒾ℴ𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 ☆☆☆

♱

WIPS: Transcendants: A Light in the Darkness (55/55)

Transcendants: Starfall (55/55)

Transcendants: The Ghost's Curse (55/55)

Transcendants: Phoenix Rising (55/55)

[luxurygetawaysbyodyssey]

Safari Secrets: Wild Wonders of Southern Africa | Luxury Getaways

Imagine waking up to the call of wild birds, the sun rising over vast savannahs, and the thrill of seeing a lioness in her natural habitat. Southern Africa’s safaris offer not just an adventure but a deeply transformative journey. Whether you’re wandering Namibia’s desert dunes or cruising Botswana’s waterways, luxury safaris here combine unparalleled wilderness with world-class comfort. 

Here’s a guide to uncovering the best safari secrets in Southern Africa.

Why Choose Southern Africa for a Safari?

Southern Africa boasts some of the most diverse ecosystems on the planet, from Botswana’s lush Okavango Delta to the stark, otherworldly beauty of Namibia’s Sossusvlei dunes. It’s a haven for wildlife enthusiasts, offering sightings of the iconic Big Five, rare antelope species, and a kaleidoscope of birdlife.

What sets this region apart is its commitment to conservation and eco-tourism, ensuring that your travel footprint contributes positively to preserving these natural wonders. Add in the luxurious lodges and curated experiences, and Southern Africa stands out as the ultimate safari destination for those seeking exclusivity and authenticity.

Destinations to Explore

South Africa

Explore Shamwari Private Game Reserve, a conservation success story where vast plains are home to rhinos, elephants, and leopards. Shamwari offers both thrilling game drives and serene landscapes for ultimate relaxation.

Located in the iconic Kruger National Park, Lebombo Lodge offers contemporary design with sweeping views of the N’wanetsi River. The lodge’s sleek architecture and proximity to wildlife make it a standout destination.

Situated in KwaZulu-Natal, Phinda Private Game Reserve boasts diverse habitats, from forests to wetlands. With exclusive activities like black rhino tracking, this reserve promises intimate and educational adventures. 

Botswana

The Okavango Delta is a maze of waterways alive with hippos, crocodiles, and stunning bird species. Experience it aboard the Zambezi Queen, a luxury houseboat that glides through the Chobe River, offering unique water-based safaris.

Set in the heart of Chobe National Park, Belmond Savute Elephant Lodge is famed for its elephant sightings. Enjoy luxurious tents that blend seamlessly with the surrounding wilderness. 

Namibia

The Sossusvlei Desert is a striking contrast to Africa’s verdant landscapes. Here, you’ll find towering dunes and starry night skies. Marvel at the desert’s stillness while staying at & Beyond Sossusvlei Desert Lodge, an oasis of comfort in the heart of the wilderness.

Zimbabwe 

Hwange National Park is Zimbabwe’s crowning jewel, a sanctuary for elephants, lions, and cheetahs. Indulge in the opulence of Singita Pamushana Lodge, where every moment is a blend of luxury and immersion in untouched nature.

Zambia

Known as the home of walking safaris, Zambia offers intimate encounters with wildlife. Stay at the Royal Livingstone by the Zambezi River, and pair your safari with breathtaking views of Victoria Falls.

The Luxury Safari Experience

Luxury safaris in Southern Africa redefine the art of travel. At Shamwari Private Game Reserve, you’ll enjoy exquisite dining under the stars, guided by the rhythms of the bush. Every villa is designed for privacy and comfort, ensuring you’re always connected to nature without compromising on elegance.

In Botswana, the Zambezi Queen elevates the safari experience to the water. Glide along the Chobe River, sipping sundowners on deck as elephants and buffalo gather at the riverbanks. 

Namibia’s & Beyond Sossusvlei Desert Lodge offers a different kind of luxury - solitude. Wake up to sweeping desert views and wind down with guided stargazing sessions under one of the clearest skies on Earth.

Zimbabwe’s Singita Pamushana Lodge combines cutting-edge sustainability with indulgence. Here, infinity pools overlook vast wildlife-rich plains, and every detail is designed to immerse you in luxury while respecting nature.

Finally, the Royal Livingstone in Zambia merges colonial charm with modern opulence. Enjoy sunset river cruises or indulge in spa treatments with views of Victoria Falls - a perfect blend of adventure and relaxation.

Signature Experiences You Can’t Miss

Hot Air Ballooning in Namibia: Soar over the Sossusvlei dunes for breathtaking views at sunrise.

Water Safaris in Botswana: Glide through the Okavango Delta by mokoro (canoe) for a unique perspective on the region’s wildlife.

Sunset Game Drives in Zimbabwe: Witness the golden hues of the savannah as nocturnal creatures begin to stir.

Walking Safaris in Zambia: Feel the thrill of tracking animals on foot with expert guides.

Dining in the Wild: Enjoy private bush dinners under starlit skies, with the sounds of the wild as your soundtrack.

A Call to Adventure

Southern Africa’s safari secrets promise a blend of adventure, luxury, and unforgettable moments. Whether you’re gliding along the Chobe River or watching elephants at sunset from your villa, every day is an invitation to reconnect with nature in style. 

So, which safari secret will you uncover first? Let us help you plan your extraordinary journey into the wild wonders of Southern Africa!

Our luxury travel consultants are dedicated to curating seamless and personalized experiences for every traveler. From arranging premium accommodations, flights, and private transfers, every detail is meticulously planned. Whether it's a special occasion or the journey of a lifetime, connect with us to design an unforgettable Luxury Getaway.

 

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