#plasma* whoops :-)

[sentientsky]

you're in a car with a beautiful (not-) boy and you don't know how you've managed to stay intact this long, how you haven't fractured at the edges yet, lit up from the inside with all that aching, cataclysmic want you've fought so hard to keep quiet—to keep from thrashing in your chest like a sparrow against glass.

you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're not human but if you were, you're certain this longing would have killed you by now, would have left you in the cool green earth—rotted you down to the quick—a thousand times over (and if that didn't kill you, then the look in his eyes now certainly would). and you don't, can't, won't believe in god because how could She create such a being and then not let you press your palms to the side of his face, not let you hold him, not let you open your mouth like a confession box and tell him, there is a bird inside my chest and you are the center of every solar system and i'm willing to play the part of icarus if only you'd let me. and you don't/can't/won't believe in god, but his eyes open and its like the sun in a three-piece beige suit and you're pretty sure you stopped breathing the moment he got in the car (hell, you haven't tasted oxygen since the moment he stood on the cliffside, hands all empty of swords and fire).

you're in a car with a beautiful not-boy, and you're all spitfire and grief and six thousand years of whispered half-syllables into the dark of a lonely night, of savouring the way his name burns your tongue like sacrament (holy, holy, holy).

and he's handing you a thermos now, and his hand brushes yours and it's been nearly thirty years, and still you'd let him turn you to salt if it meant he might touch you again.

... but you go too fast for him. you always go too fast, with all your ugly, hollow-boned want and your burning yellow eyes and your hands, sullied with the weight of sin; fingertips that look more like claws than anything you'd ever want to touch with any scrap of volition.

and you're in your car with this beautiful boy who is not a boy and you're burning up, plummeting like a waxen-winged thing. and he's looking at you and you're falling, and the world is twisting around the edges, and he's stepping out of the car and your ribcage is becoming a slaughterhouse—an abattoir with all its knives turned up towards the sky. and then you're in a car, and you’re alone. and that is all.

#whoops my hand slipped #teehee #this is based on the richard siken poem ofc!! (“you are jeff”) GO READ IT IF U HAVENT. IT CHANGED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN #can u tell i project onto crowley?? can u?? #this probably has spelling mistakes and stuff sorry im tired lol. the punctuation errors are on purpose if that helps ajsdklaslkf #“plasma here is supposed to mean like plasma in terms of what the sun is made of. not blood plasma which derives from the marrow of bone yk #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #good omens #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #good omens poetry #good omens angst #gomens #gomens 2 #gomens angst #good omens 1967 #you go too fast for me crowley #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphale x crowley #on longing #on yearning #my poetry #anthony j crowley #wren writes crow

[veveisveryuncool]

quick doodles of my favorite helpers

kirbytober day 12: helper/gijinka

#wyd when the no mouth gang shows up #whoops sorry for making your chilly look like a weird ass fusion of sans and the adventure time guy tumblr goes crazy over #ok. i wont lie plasma wisp kinda sucks in game #plasma itself it just a weaker spark #but i heart plasma wisp a lot #kirby series #kirby #plasma wisp #chilly kirby #kirby gijinka #implied magochilly and plasmalline ig #veves ultra cool art #kirbytober #kirbytober2023

[ncvabcrn]

@monmuses : ⛓ - Brock (catch the littol creechur.....)

well, shit! this is what they get for being curious about something.

& it wouldn't be the first time that they felt like they were being watched specifically either- not that they could truly blame anybody. if you had sudden confirmation that there was a being from another dimension just walking around, wouldn't you investigate it too?

still, what they thought was just some random piece of junk turned out to be a trap of some kind; one that immediately went off with a loud CLANG & SPARK, electric wires wrap around them rather tightly & keep them in place.

"what the FUCK-?!"

normally traps like these could be easily melted with enough plasma, but this.. wasn't working. why the fuck wasn't it working? it felt like they suddenly had NO power, & they didn't. their body tries to keep standing, but the amount of pressure & pain it was causing results in ally falling to their knees with a strained yelp. they're panicking, squirming like a feral animal.

#monmuses #*・ﾟ★ ( ally / ic. ) — ❝ ᵛᵃᵍᵃᵇᵒᶰᵈᵉᵈ ʰʸᵇʳᶤᵈ ❞ #YOU TRAP THE CREATURE?? PUT THEM IN PLASMA CAGE??? #JAIL FOR BROCK FOR 1000 YEARS!!! #also whoops me writing a whole novel for this

[asuyaka]

Hello there! It's the anon who made the Gojo x affectionate reader request, I have to say I absolutely love your writing, it's so adorable and wholesome!

Anyways, I wanted to make a similar request like the one I previously asked for, but with a different scenario- kinda.

So my prompt is that Reader is like Mitsuri(not female tho, but if you're ok with it maybe make them a bit effeminate? Like the soft boy aesthetic!), they are a 1st grader but have enough strength to beat even the strongest adult in Jujutsu High to the ground like a ragdoll, they're very sweet and affectionate and just precious in general. They are best friends with Gojo and Geto and were sent to deliver the Star Plasma Vessel with the boys since their strength and durability can put them in the same level as a Special Grade student.

Now here is where this whole scenario actually takes place; Reader somehow managed to enter the domain(?) that Suguru and Toji were fighting on, unfortunately they only manage to get to where they are after Toji had already defeated Geto and after seeing their best friend now bloodied and unconscious on the ground, Reader gets very pissed off and make it their personal goal to give Toji some righteous ass whooping for what he did to their friends and Amanai. And after they took care of Toji they took Geto and ran out of the domain before it could collapse on them.

Sorry if that's a long request! I like making my asks as detailed as I can and tend to go overboard, especially if it's about my current hyperfixations. I hope you' have a great day/afternoon/night! Also remember to stay hydrated and take breaks!😁

- Sincerely, 🌈 Anon.

★ - 'm so glad you liked it !! o(*////▽////*)q req's a tiny bit confusin' but 'm think 'm got the general gist of it!! :3

★ - 'm sorry but 'm wasn't exactly sure who the main character was, so 'm decided ta use em both cauze yanno they're right there!! ^_^

☆ - Teen! Satosugu x Male Reader — can be read as platonic or romantic!

♡ - Zuha's a bit silly n doesn't know how t'write fight scenes s'forgive 'im if it isn't suuuper good! ꒰#’ω`#꒱੭

This whole 'merging' with Riko was extremely taxing on you, Suguru, and Satoru, but it's almost over so you three can relax and play Digimon 'till you passed out!

"Uwaaa! I'm so tired..." You mutter, leaning on Suguru's shoulder as your group climbs the stairs leading to Tengen's barrier around Jujutsu High.

Riko beside you huffs. "You can at least pretend not to be!"

"I'm sure [Name] didn't mean anything by it." Kuroi smiles softly as the five of you finally reach the top of the stair way, safely inside Jujutsu High barriers.

You let out a sigh of relief. At first, you weren't entirely sure why you were put on the mission, you're only a first-grade sorcerer while Suguru and Satoru were special grades, but Yaga chalked it up to you being strong enough and your friends needing someone responsible to be with.

The mission took more out of Satoru than anyone else, you and Suguru were heavily aware of that. On Day Two, you stayed up with him the entire night, busying yourself with whatever videos you could find and an unhealthy amount of Sakura Mochi.

You hear Suguru tell Satoru he worked hard, and he did. Harder than the two of you could thanks to his technique. You make a mental note to yourself to treat the two of them to food when the merging is finally complete.

"I never wanna get stuck babysitting a brat again." Satoru rolls his eyes, the blue glow that indicated he was using his Six Eyes dissipating.

You walk up behind him and hug Satoru from behind. "Goob job 'toru!" You make sure not to squeeze too tight, he was tired and you didn't want to make him physically hurt too.

The next thing that happens, hurts.

You feel something— it's sharp — enter your abdomen and exit through Satoru's sternum.

The two of you instinctively look back. You're inside the barrier which is supposed to protect you from any intruders, but obviously from the blood that's piling up your throat, it didn't.

Satoru uses a small version of Blue and Suguru uses a curse. It hurt, obviously. You couldn't use your technique to nullify it because it wouldn't do it's job of hurting the man behind you, so you let it pass.

You breathe to calm yourself and analyze your situation. Your eye is bruised, not blind but there is blood obscuring your vision. You definitely have internal bleeding, but it missed vital spots so you can suck it up and deal with it.

Satoru and Suguru are talking about something, but you're worried about Riko and Kuroi— some could argue that you should be worried about the hole in your stomach but your injuries come later, Riko and Kuroi need to be safe.

"Suguru, [Name], get them to Tengen-sama."

Suguru tenses, gazing between you three before nodding. "Be careful!"

You get up, internal bleeding be dammed, grabbing Riko's arm and running the other way with Suguru.

The bleeding of your eye gets worse with every step and you have to keep running despite coughing up blood more times than is healthy. Suguru looks back at you, worried, but you assure him you're okay.

You can't let Satoru down. You can't let Suguru down, so you force your body to deal with it— force your body to use RCT, something you know like the back of your hand due to your technique.

The four of you reach the elevator that leads to where Tengen stays. Suguru makes sure You, Kuroi, and Riko enter in first before pressing the button for the lowest floor.

"H-here!" Kuroi hands you a handkerchief to clean the blood off your hands. You mumble out a small "thanks" using it to wipe your face as well.

You're strong, you know that. Being a first grade while in the second year is an amazing feat, but fuck you were scared.

You're able to go through Satoru's Infinity just fine, but that's because of your technique. That man, whoever he was, shouldn't be. "Satoru's going to be fine, don't worry," Suguru says as if he can hear your thoughts, patting your arm for reassurance.

If Suguru says everything is going to be okay, then everything is going to be okay. You remind yourself to focus, focus, focus— because after this, you two will go help Satoru, and everyone will be fine.

The elevator stops and the four of you get out. You're beside Suguru and Riko and Kuroi trail behind you. All of a sudden, Kuroi stops.

She's crying and you can feel your heart breaking. This 'merging' thing was fucked up from the get-go. No kid should have to always have in the back of their mind that they're going to die, and there's nothing they can do to stop it.

"Suguru..." You mumble softly. You shouldn't be seeing this— it's private, meant to be between them. Suguru nods. He understands, he knows what's happening is messed up and he's going to do something about it, who cares what Tengen needs?

The walk is silent, unnervingly so but you're about to kill a kid. The thought makes your stomach churn but you do nothing about it. You're strong, you can deal with it.

"Suguru, I'm staying back." You say, hands pressed into a fist and your head hung low. You can't stomach the thought of willingly killing a kid— you won't forgive yourself even though you know you can't do anything about it.

Suguru doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. You were put on the mission last minute, and he knows how empathetic you are.

You watch them make their way to Tengen's territory and you feel sick. You feel sick to your stomach, hunching down and forcing yourself to calm down.

"focus, focus, focus." You say like a mantra to yourself, even though you're scared. You know how to focus if the situation is right, but you just feel nauseous.

You hear steps walking closer and your heart jumps. It's Satoru! Satoru did it and now he's coming back to show that he's a part of the strongest duo in the Jujutsu world.

"Damn. Didn't know they had security here."

Your eyes widen. That voice doesn't sound like Satoru, and it doesn't look a thing like him. It's that man, the same one that went through Satoru's Infinity.

You can see him clearly now thanks to the yellow fluorescent lights on the sides of the wall.

He's more muscular than you you can tell that easily. His hair is flat against his head with eyes that don't have any form of empathy in them, and with a scar on his lip.

You aren't scared, surprisingly, you're angry— fucking livid.

He killed Kuroi, a woman who was so nice, so grateful for the things she'd had in life, a woman who didn't deserve to die. He killed Satoru— he killed the people you care about.

You don't ask questions, you don't stare with your mouth open like a moron, you start fighting.

You're struggling to keep your emotions in check even though the first and basic rule of Jujutsu Sorcery is to not let your emotions get in the way.

The man, whoever he is, grabs your wrist, hastily pocketing his gun and grabbing a knife, stabbing it straight through your sternum and dragging it down to your hip line.

He takes it out, your blood staining his forearm. He switches the way he's handling it and stabs you through your throat.

Your vocal cords and blood vessels are in pain, but you can't yell, can't scream, can't do anything. Your body face-first falls limp on the floor, pushing the knife deeper into your throat to the point it comes out the back of your neck.

He stomps on your head for good measure, grabbing his gun and walking towards where Geto and Riko are.

You feel your heart slowing down as your blood leaks to your fingers. You're dead, you're dead if you don't do something—anything. Your eyes close and blood leaks out of your mouth. You're done for.

The sound of rubble falling wakes you up, your hand twitching before you lug yourself up, the front of your uniform stained with your blood as the energy from your subconscious RCT flares off your body.

You pull the knife from your throat. It stings, obviously, but you don't care about that.

You know for a fact now that Satoru, Kuroi, and Riko are dead. With every step, you hear more crashing and buildings getting destroyed.

Your eyes scan the area. You can feel the output from one of Suguru's stronger curses, it's faint, most likely due to distance, but it's definitely there.

Jumping from the platform, you hastily make your way to where the energy was coming from.

You're there— so close until the building fucking collapses.

Your heart drops when all the dust and smoke clears. Suguru is lying down— is he dead? Oh Suguru, please don't be dead — an 'X' on his torso his eyes are closed and that same fucking man is standing in front of him.

"Shit kid, just can't stay dead can you?" His grin pisses you off. It's full of teeth as his scar grows wider.

He notices your expression, holding back a snicker. It looks just like the curse-eater's when he realized Gojo died. "Might wanna close your mouth, you'll catch a flyhead in there." He snickers, putting the blade he had back into his cursed spirit and getting a smaller weapon with two blades on it.

You grab a weapon out of your back pocket. Your technique barely helps in hand-to-hand combat so you're used to carrying a weapon on you that you're used to using. Why you didn't use it the first time, you aren't sure yourself.

It's a decent-sized blade Yaga had made with the technique of a retired sorcerer. Hammerspace or something, you don't really care. All you need now is that man dead.

You throw the knife at him for a distraction. He deflects it, like you expected. You ducked behind him, your hands curled up into a fist as your hand connected with the blade of his sword.

You had to make this quick so you can tend to Suguru.

Not giving him any time to land on his feet, you grab your blade from the air switching the grip into a reverse hammer and brute-forcing your way through his hand.

The blood splatters on your cheek, grabbing the blade out and using your other arm to hit him from the side.

You take a second to breathe. His arm has a hole in it and he's breathing heavily. That cocky grin finally wiped from his face.

Every single bone in your body was telling you to kill him, to put an end to him right then and there for killing people who didn't deserve it— for killing teenagers.

But then you remember Suguru. Suguru who's lying on the floor somewhere, most likely bleeding out. That is what pulls you out of your anger-infused trance, turning your back to the man and rushing for Suguru.

He doesn't try and kill you, thankfully, but you notice Riko's body is gone.

Pushing all that to the back of your mind, Riko's dead body, her lifeless face— her life that was cut too short because she was born as a vessel, you find Suguru.

His breathing is there, very faint, but it's there. Immediately starting RCT on his body as tears brim your eyes. You're crying now, crying over all the things you should've cried about before but were too busy trying to keep yourself alive— not that you could die anyway, you do RCT subconciously.

"Suguru... Suguru, please open your eyes," Your voice wavers as his uniform gets damp with your tears.

You keep RCT going, pressing your ear where Suguru's heart is as his blood stains your face. You cry over the death of Satoru, you cry that you weren't able to save Kuroi or Riko, you cry about how you couldn't kill the man that would've killed most of the people you knew— most of the people you care about.

"[N-Name]...?"

Suguru's voice sounds so weak. It sounds horse, like he's dehydrated, but it's there— God, Suguru's alive.

"'m sorry- was too weak- 'm so sorry S'gu!" You wail as the tears fall harder, your decently muscular arms wrapped around his torso as you wait for him to berate you, to yell at you for not killing that man when you had the chance.

"[Name]— It's okay, I just... fuck, okay, listen, it wasn't your fault, alright? He had a heavenly pact and from what I can see, you at least caused him to bleed." Suguru's hand wipes the blood on your cheek, his thumb presses against the grass to get the blood from that monkey off him.

"I'll check on Satoru, so wait here, okay?"

You don't have the heart to say no to him. You're too weak, too mentally fatigued to stand up and see the corpse of someone else you loved, someone else you cherished.

So you watch Suguru leave, accompanied by wet sniffles and dry wails, you curl in on yourself and wait obediently for someone to come get you.

You don't know if you're hallucinating, but you swear you see a patch of dark blue hair, blood leaking from Riko's the person's head before you pass out.

#ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 — ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴ' ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ #jjk x male reader #male reader #geto suguru #geto x male reader #gojo satoru #gojo x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #suguru x male reader #satoru x male reader #satosugu x reader #004 #⋆｡𖦹 — ​ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ​ #🌈: anon! #aaa! kinda took a lot outta me (／。＼) #hope ya enjoy 🌈 anon! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

[namazunomegami]

Into the Void

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: Geto is so succumbed to his ideals that you have no choice but to run. But the hunt for you is more than a simple chase. It's resurrection. It's repentance. Just like in the parable of the lost sheep.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, predator/prey, injuries, blood, toxic dynamics, heavy religious symbolism, emotional distress, dissociation, tiny bit of hurt/comfort, yandere behavior, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising

WC: 5.2k whoops

Credits: my dear @notveryrussian for proofreading but tbh I should start calling you my editor from now on lmao. I'm glad you enjoyed my sneak peeks so much 💕

Song rec: since I can't control myself, I picked 3 songs by Nine Inch Nails that gives the perfect vibes to the story. For the exposition, I recommend Heresy, mostly because the lyrics resonates with the reader's thoughts about Geto. For the escape/chase part, I picked Eraser for the creepy vibes and reader's slowly deterioriating sanity. For the closing part, I picked A warm place because it's a comforting yet a bit gloomy track

A/N: Saying that this idea possessed me is an understatement. Initially I only wanted to put effort into the whole chase scene but obviously I started to add lore into the whole thing. And since they grew on me and I simply love their dynamic, a part 2 is on the way yaaay.

Minors shall not interact unless they wanna get punched.

And a usual warning for dark content. I wanted to keep it mild but I couldn't. Maybe I'm a lil bit too skilled when it comes to writing about fear.

It’s all too painful to think that maybe running away with Geto wasn’t the best idea.

Of course you loved him, you loved the twins too and the makeshift family you created, it really healed some of the wounds you received in the past. But you wished it would’ve stayed that way. Living together, somewhere far away, isolated, in peace. Have a fresh start, build a nest for the four of you and fill it up with love.

But he had other plans.

There were a lot of improvements in the initial phase of your plans. Building community, uniting the herd. You enjoyed some reverence from the followers too. Eventually the initial number of breakthroughs began to stagnate, despite all the effort. It became routine, like you were being dragged through the same day for years and years without end. When you were faced with even more setbacks, you started to realize that you basically never left the temple and it soon began to feel like a cage. Golden and holy. It was draining to see people lose their sense of individuality and how he became their only source of validation. It was torment. Living life as an idol of worship tucked into a forgotten corner of a church. Praised like a twisted Gothic Madonna with a blue cloth over your head, but in reality you weep, you’re their Mater Dolorosa, with swords piercing your sorrowful heart.

The most devastating thing about realizing you’re not fit to run a cult, is the fact that you lack the most understated yet important aspect of it: believing in the agenda you want to spread. How could you guide all those helpless, simple-minded sheep while questioning whether your destination is real or not? Maybe that Canaan has nothing to do with milk and honey, instead it’s just a pile of rubble.

You soon got tired of it all. His drive, his goal, all too impossible to achieve. Maybe he knew he could never make it happen, but it consumed him regardless. You’ve lost the most cherished parts of him to his hatred, his deeply repressed rage against any injustices he had to deal with after the infamous Star Plasma incident.

You weren’t sure about your feelings towards Geto anymore. Were you afraid of him? Angry at him? Bitter? Disappointed? Worried? It all turned into mush, a grotesque, black liquid as the thin walls of the temple slowly made you feel like they were closing in on you. You had no idea how much time you had, until your unresolved feelings will taint the whole place.

You always circled back to the worst possible action to protect your soft, aching heart… When you thought that nothing will change for the better, you wanted to run away. You wanted to hide. The ambivalence of your feelings towards him weighed on your heart and conscience, like a thousand stones. You loved him, yet you loathed what has become of him. Despite that you trusted him with the map of your soul, made it through all the highs and lows of your relationship so far, all the deep abysses of pain and suffering.

Maybe you should run, just for the sake of it. To test how it will make you feel. Will it make you feel freed? At ease? Will it lift the weights on your chest? Will this sense of incoming doom vanish?

Maybe you should find Gojo. He wouldn’t condemn you, but he would be disappointed. If you set your judgement and resentment to aside, he’s the only one who can talk with the higher ups to scratch your name off the list of curse users who are on death row.

How much time did you need to forge your plan? Not even a single minute. It was only natural for you to memorize everybody’s routine, how to distinguish the sound of their steps, to pick a timeframe when nobody is lurking around the halls. The first (and probably last) time you were glad those who have hurt you gave you a skill, besides the ability to harness cursed energy of course. They made you stealthy, alert, observant.

And when Geto left you to cater to his followers, you decided to put your plan into action.

Your body is strung tight with the tension of waiting, agitation making you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams - but something deep inside of your mind pleaded for you to stay. Agony and anxiety were plaguing you until you’ve found enough courage to get up and sneak out. Now, you had the chance to show off everything you’ve learned: sliding the doors shut so slowly that they don’t make a noise, walking down the corridors with socked feet, carefully putting the middle parts of your feet on the floor, instead of your heels, easily avoiding those parts that creak.

Sometimes, when he was immersed in his thoughts, he was amused by how faint your steps sounded.

An involuntary instinct warns you. It’s trying to convince you that he can see you through the eyes of bodhisattvas residing in the thangka paintings decorating the walls. You almost give up your quest as you glance at the depiction of Vajrabhairava. In all its anger, with its six faces and twelve limbs. A dreadful beast that defies death itself.

You don’t want to do this to him, do you?

You look away from the painting, focusing on getting your shoes on and climbing out through the window. As you’re squatting on the windowpane, you can see all of Tokyo stretched out beneath you. You’re a little bit annoyed that all temples are built on a mountain. A long way to go, but you can never know when this place will turn into a funeral pyre.

It’s a little bit too easy. There’s no sign of surveillance curses nearby, you only need to slide down on the wet tiles, jump up high, land in the mud and let yourself be swallowed by the darkness of the forest. You specifically picked your least conspicuous clothes to blend into your surroundings perfectly. And the cold and murky night will let you go safely. The leaves will conceal your tracks.

So many things are working in your favor tonight.

You know there’s no need to rush. You can only draw attention to yourself if you are running around, creating noise and disturbing the wildlife. You don’t even use a flashlight, you have to get used to the darkness, the full Moon will guide you with all her dazzling light. And after that, Tokyo will do the same, with its crowded streets and all its places to hide.

There’s a weird kind of tranquility in your heart. How the cold prickles your skin, the moisture in the air, the faint noise of the creatures dwelling under the leaves, up in the trees, singing, chirping, crawling. The scent of wet soil, the gentle caress of the wind…

Now, you feel free.

As you walk deeper and deeper into the woods, you feel lighter, you feel like you could fly away, like you could dance all the way towards your destination. You’re thinking about actually doing that, as if you got possessed by a strange spirit…

But the uneven, slippery ground makes you fall right into the mud. You squirmed a little, trying to get hold of a tree trunk and then…

Silence, dead silence.

Your heart sinks deep in your chest.

You know what it means. When nature falls silent. There’s…

There’s a threat nearby.

A primal instinct tells you to run.

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way that he already noticed you were gone.

Twigs whip at your skin as you’re running mindlessly. Wherever you end up, it will be fine, as long as you can enter the outskirts of the city. The cold night air stings your throat, your heaving breath leaves your mouth in puffy clouds. You feel the urge to cough, deep from your bone-dry lungs.

The ground beneath you turns soft and steep. You lose your poise, stumbling and rolling all the way down until you fall from a high clod of rain-washed soil. Your body collides with a cold, wet, yet incredibly hard and flat surface, fraying the skin on your palm and face. Your back and shoulders will be bruised by tomorrow, painting your body with black and blue spots. The pain ripples through your entire being, paralyzing you for a couple of moments.

As you slowly gathered your battered self from the ground with a grunt, you realize you landed on a road. It’s a good sign, you’re not so far from civilization. But instead of following the road, cutting through the forest is the wiser decision.

Your relief is short-lived, just like a may fly.

A sinister feeling takes hold on you. It makes you freeze, squeezing your insides. Like you’re sitting in the jaw of an eldritch beast. You slowly turn back to the direction of your fall.

The lights are flickering.

You grab on the guardrail for dear life. You try to fill your lungs with shaky breaths, your heart desperately beating against your ribcage. Your trembling knees barely keep you upright, yet nothing can make you move. You have been found, you’re defeated, there’s no point in running away from him. The injuries, the already forming bruises will only deplete your strength.

How could you fight him? You’re aware that if he wanted to, he could break your bones and twist your body at the joints with an arm behind his back.

How could you outrun him? He’s capable of summonning a swarm of curses before you even take a step.

How could you make war with him?

Three of the lamp lights were already out, you stared into the darkness, the boundless abyss right before your eyes. You can’t even force yourself to blink.

And when the lights came back on, he was just standing there. Without breaking a sweat. Your pulse feels non-existent.

What infuriated you even more was that he wasn’t wearing his gojo-kesa. The motherfucker even gave you a head start by changing into something comfortable before he came to fetch you. Or simply he noticed your absence later than you expected.

Whatever, both is bad news for you.

He doesn’t utter a single word, he merely walks towards you. Slowly cornering you. Feasting on the terror on your face. Meanwhile you can’t unravel what could possibly be going on in his mind. The only thing you notice is that those violet sparks in his eyes are so sharp they could cut yours out of their sockets.

Should you give up? Should you beg for forgiveness?

But then, an idea blooms inside your mind.

You don’t hide your fear, you let your body tremble freely, fingers desperately clinging onto the metal, with your shoulders hunched to protect your neck and your wide, frightened eyes stare back at him. Letting him believe that you won’t fight back. That he can take you back to the temple and throw you back into your cage.

And when his foot hits the bisector, you jump. Right into the nothingness behind your back.

You fall on leaves and broken twigs again. You roll and roll with such speed you can’t comprehend the growing distance. Not even having an idea of how far you’re from him. Small rocks, branches, hardened roots of trees, bones all cut, scratch and pierce you. But you endure it, you’ll undergo any torture if it meant you’ll be freed. Your only hope is that the adrenaline will deal with the pain.

Suddenly, you violently crash into a tree, the ridged texture imprints deeply into your stomach. Acid bursts from your throat. Your diaphragm didn’t avoid the hit either, breathing is not unlike Sisyphean task as you try to get your shaking limbs to stand. Your mind is disturbed by the lack of air and your desperate attempts at getting yourself together. You’re wheezing like a dog. You must look pathetic, you think.

It takes almost all of your mental strength to calm down and slowly breathe through your nose, your lungs finally opening. But Geto won’t let you recover, you hear the fallen leaves getting crushed under his feet. You take a few sharp, ragged breaths, like it’s the last drag of a cigarette before the train comes and then, you move.

You hide behind a thick pine tree, palms covering your mouth and nose. The lack of oxygen is just another frustrating hindrance to your successful escape plan. Dizziness fills your head like a thick fog and sucks the strength out of your shins, needing to lean against the trunk to keep yourself standing. You try to conceal your cursed energy with all your might. A tracker who’s untraceable is a useful pawn in the hands of the higher ups, this skill made you a cherished student back in the day. Back when everything was so… no, it’s only the nostalgia making you wistful, it wasn’t any better.

The rustling gets quieter, you wait until the sound eventually dies. An almost muted sigh of relief leaves your lips in a thick cloud, dancing in the cold air.

From the corner of your eye, a floating form cuts through the pale moonlight.

Looking closely at its shape, you realize what kind of curse it is. The beetle looking one that attacks instantly once it senses movement. You can’t believe it, you’re going to -

The curse drags itself into your aura, scanning your form that is fused with the pine. Every muscle is tensed, you’re stiff as a board, you suppress every reflex in your eye and empty chest. You’re just like a statue, a corpse, showing no signs of life. Only an agonizing scream echoes inside your skull. A scream that puts mental breakdowns to shame.

It’s like an eternity until the curse finally disappears from your sight.

You definitely look exhausted, your body is limp and heavy like lead. But you must keep going at all costs, even if you have no idea how many curses are sent after you. You walk around the mountain instead of going down like he’d expect it.

Slowly yet surely, you calm yourself down. You know that you’re still in his grasp, but you still have a chance to outsmart him. You go deeper and deeper, you’re near the heart of the forest now. The moonlight barely crawls through the leaves, it’s easier to navigate according to what you hear rather than to what you see. The surroundings are growing eerie, you ache for light and warmth. And the longing sucks a bit of spirit out of you.

Before you can start questioning yourself, the sound of running water fills your ears.

A narrow, yet fast running stream plowed through the forest. Though you were unsure of staying close to the stream, going through it and getting to the other side sounds like a smart idea. As you take a reluctant step, you realize the water is ice cold. And when you dive into it further, enduring the strong current, it’s not as shallow as you believed. You’re submerged all the way up to your thighs. At its deepest point, the stream hugs your waist. The cold makes your movements slow and rigid, your teeth clang together in a frenzy. The bottom is filled with smooth, flat pebbles, they make it easy to - 

You slip on the rounded, polished stones and fall into the stream. The freezing temperature makes your skin shrink, it prickles you like a thousand needles. Scared, you crawl around the bottom, trying to get a hold of something and emerge back to the surface. A sharp, burning pain wakes in your palm, tears streaming down your cheeks. You try to swallow your scream, but it wants to burst from your lungs, you grunt and whimper until you can bite down on your sweatshirt, letting the material muffle your shout. Your gaze fixates on your hand and even in the darkness of the night, you see blood oozing from the deep cut, from your own torn flesh. The urge to retch is strong.

You palm is plunged back into the cool water, in hope of easing the pain.

He calls out your name right behind you.

You crawl out of the water, running from him, just as before. It doesn't matter how many times you trip, fall, stumble. It doesn’t matter how your fresh wounds end up in the mud, you don’t have it in you care about the pain or the looming threat of an infection. You hear him trying to reason with you. You must come back home, you’re injured, you’re bleeding. He must take care of you.

Why are you running? Where could you go? Who’s going to help you recover?

No, you mustn’t let your determination crumble. But oh… it sounds so easy. Giving in to your hopelessness.

An evergreen bush becomes your shelter to collect yourself and check on your wound, which is aching from all the dirt and is still bleeding. Water is dripping from your hair, your clothes are soaked, makes it easier for the cold night air to bite into you, to shake the whole length of your body. Your fingers are hardly moving and have no strength in them. The adrenaline is starting to wear off. You feel alone, small, and vulnerable. You’re freezing, scarred and aching. All the things you see in the dark twist into creepy, threatening forms. Everything that surrounds you is suddenly dangerous. As a lonely spider crawls within your field of vision, you flinch. The world around you is evil and everything is after your flesh.

And the only person who can save you is the one you’re running away from.

What are you going to do now? Fight, flight, or freeze? Which instinct is going to win this time? Because comprehensible thoughts won’t work on you. Every little layer of a fully-fledged human with a conscience has been stripped from you. You left them scattered everywhere in the woods. You’re nothing more than a primordial shell of a being.

Ceremonial horns wake in the distance, soon followed by howling. They let the dogs out to hunt you down. Poor, little hare. Your own stupidity has woken up the beast.

Who is like unto the beast?

You defeat the paralyzing dread and decide on flight. You dash out from the bushes, but - Oh… your eye. Your soft doe eye. There’s something in it. And your tears have an oddly metallic taste on your tongue.

And power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations.

You wish you could see yourself from the outside, but you’re probably nowhere near as majestic as you think you are. Right now you feel like you’re the fastest, stealthiest creature who’s ever lived, even if your muscles are almost torn, weak, and tensed. This is the last crumb of your strength, this is your all.

And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him.

You don’t dare to look back. You know he’s there. He’s so close, he’s orbiting around you like a moon does with its planet. As if all of this is a dance. A hunt is a dance with a coital rhythm. And mother nature is the audience to your deadly waltz.

And he doeth great wonders, so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men.

He takes your hand in his. Gentle and kind. To not scare you any further. You snap like an electric current under his touch, but you break free and zigzag between the trees.

He grabs your waist. Forcefully. It scares you this time. You escape from his embrace before he can swallow you whole. But he might have bit your throat during the process, you feel something trailing down your collarbones. You hear your bones crack.

It was all a mistake. You are a mistake. But mistakes can be forgiven, right? He has forgiven you so many times, you can’t even think of a number.

You slide down on a slope, leaves stick to your clothes, and you drop onto a thick trunk of a fallen oak. Tensive pain ripples in your side. You should stand up and run, but you can’t move. You won’t move. What’s wrong with you? What kind of prey gives the fight up before its last breath? But you think about your frozen limbs, the pain in your palm, your back, your shoulder blades, everywhere. You think about home… you want to go home or be left here to die. But the thought of dying here, alone, makes your heart palpitate rapidly, like there’s not enough air to fill your lungs. Your breathing becomes desperate, panicked even. Your chest hurts, your ribcage is ready to break apart by your racing heartbeat. You press your palms against your head, clawing into your hair. Every little morsel of you is bursting into a tremor. The connection between your mind, your body and the world cease to exist. And that lovely, unlimited stretch of space inside your consciousness is shaken, it’s in utter chaos. Breaking into tiny little pieces, like glass, like porcelain. Tears and plucks like paper and fabric. Shrieks and wails, rejecting the only thing that makes all creatures on this plane of existence agitated over their own mortality.

You’re doomed.

Unconsciously, your limbs curl into the very same position you took when you saw the world for the first time, protecting your belly and face, making you seem small. Geto knows you only do that when you fear what might happen to you, despite being unaware of the kind of terror your brain had subjected you to. That’s why he approaches you slowly, making no sudden movements as he picks you up gently, like one would lift a porcelain figure from the ground. When you open your eyes, he had already settled you into his lap as the manta ray curse lifts the two of you up to mount the skies.

You have no idea if he hunted you down or saved you from your own demise.

What a defiant, ungrateful creature you are, you think. You tried so viciously to run away from your burden, and now you feel safe with him again, you dare clinging to him, you dare seek his warmth. The contradicting thoughts and desires torture you on the way back. There’s only one faint voice inside your head that’s capable of calming you down, able to keep your sanity intact…

You’re the lost sheep, and he’s the shepherd who searched all over the world to find you. And he’ll bring you back to the flock, and he’ll love you more than the rest of them.

Your false god. Your fallacious savior. Will he forgive you if you repent on your knees? Until they get bloody and bruised?

Back at the temple, he refuses to let you take even a step on your own. You weren’t born to run, to soil your soles with the ground that filthy monkeys walk on. You’re meant to be worshipped, to claim the whole world as yours beneath dainty, soft feet.

The warm lamplight and the comfort of your shared room helps you unwind. To shift back into a much more civilized, humanlike state. And as you practically glue yourself to the heater, you notice more dirt, more cuts, more blood marring your flesh than you expected.

When you take off your grimy sweatshirt, shoes, and socks, Geto is towering over you. There’s nothing imposing about him, he looks rather troubled as he sighs.

“What do I do with you?”

You roll your eyes. Oh, the good old rhetorical question. He has no idea if he should treat your wounds first, bathe you or break your leg just like the Gospel says.

“Come, let me take a look at your hand.”

You see your reflection in the mirror, and you’re horrified. Your right eye is bloodshot, a deep cut is splitting through your lower lip. You’re drenched in mud, already dried on your face along with some patches of wine dark blood. Together they seal the scraped skin on your cheek, makes your hair stick together into thick strands, accessorized with pine leaves and other remains from your little hike. You’re blistered and torn, you can barely recognize yourself.

It's pleasant to rinse your hands with warm water at the sink, but the sight makes your stomach twist. That nasty wound is too deep, it has to be sewn shut. A shiver races down on your spine when you see the first aid kit. He soaks a fresh gauze pad with wound solution and guides it towards the gaping cut with a pair of tweezers. The sting is horrible, the burning sensation rivals acid being poured straight into your flesh, it makes you grunt and hiss. He gives you a moment to breathe and collect yourself then he continues, despite your whimpers and twitching, tensed fingers. But the pain pales in comparison to when he swipes a new, clean pad inside your wound, cleaning it of all the filth. A pathetic cry erupts from your throat.

“Stop.” you sob, pulling your hand away to hug it close to your chest. You’re too distressed to realize that the temporary discomfort is necessary. But maybe this whole act is nothing but another one of his silly little games.

He places a finger under your eye, close to your lashes and collects your tears. The sight of you crying is somehow not worth of savoring to him. Before any little drop of your sorrow and regret can roll down your cheek like diamonds, he smears them, as if they could make your misery vanish. Well, they can’t. It frustrates you that you can’t let your feelings manifest because he’s ready to devour them just like his curses.

He doesn’t care that your face is caked in dirt, blood and tears, he lifts your chin up to kiss you. Deeply. You’re not reprimanded for not kissing him back.

You were right, he’s definitely toying with you. He makes it hurt before he soothes the ache. He creates a connection in your mind. Like you’re the dog of Pavlov, slowly conditioned to associate him with anything that makes the human heart fill with delight.

The tiles attract your attention much more than watching how the curved needle dives into your skin, how the thread closes the wound proficiently. Your features soften for a moment. Shoko would be so proud of him... Not for the reason he got so good at it though. He learnt to treat his wounds for the sole purpose of not letting a non-sorcerer doctor ever touch him.

He’s crazy. Vile. Petty. And delusional. It drives you crazy too.

But when your stitched hand is wrapped up in bandages, you seriously think about thanking him for putting up with you. For not being angry at you.

“Maybe this will make you reconsider your actions next time.” he remarks in a flat tone, concealing what’s going on in his mind.

You keep your gratitude to yourself.

But it’s not an easy task when he continues spoiling you, with so much care that it rivals motherly love. How he rinses all the grime out of your hair, how he gives you a moment of peace in a tub filled with plain, warm water, no bubbles or scented oils to irritate your scarred, sensitive skin. He dries you, brushes your hair and fills the whole bedroom with the calming notes of lavender and cedarwood coming from the incense burners. But he’s just so fixated on your injuries… every scratch, every surface level cut is thoroughly sanitized. It’s still humiliating, even when you’re the one sitting comfortably on the bed and he’s kneeling on the floor.

You’re afraid the extra pampering will twist your reasoning and resolve. That’s all part of the mind games he plays. You know he’ll go out on his way to prove that the world outside is cruel, that this is the only place where you’re safe, loved. In his proximity, under his hand.

And somewhere, deep down, you admit that he’s close to convincing you.

It makes you mad, you want to tear him to shreds, you want to weep for him just like Mary did under the cross. There’s still care, there’s still love under all those layers of burning hatred. What remains is twisted though, but it is there.

After you’re patched up, he glances up at you, thumb brushing your lip right next to that nasty cut. His other hand is resting where your thigh and knee meet. It’s a sign, a warning.

“Was it worth it, little lamb?” his tone is soothing and playful. So close to being outright mockery.

You reflect in silence, averting your gaze from him. All those scars and discolored skin, your disturbed mind, and the ache in your bones - you realize that your stupid little plan was futile. Totally unnecessary, it’s no achievement you can be proud of. At least if you’re not as masochistic as to pride yourself on your injuries. But the fact that he can recognize the parallels coats your answer with bile.

“No.”

Because you know that you can be so much more… There’re unlimited possibilities to a repented non-believer. And now you know that being his doubting Thomas has no benefits.

Maybe you did lose your faith in him, like the lamb in that story, to eventually realize how much you need him and vice versa. But you’re not satisfied with being a lost sheep. You just haven’t decided on your role in his Gospel yet. This is your call, you don’t know exactly which part of him calls out to you, but you’re satisfied with either of them. Whether it’s a prophet, a messiah, a beast, or the devil itself. The fallen Morningstar who used to be the favorite.

This can be your true Genesis.

“Go on, break my leg if you want to. There’s meaning in that, at least.” you dare echo his last words to Gojo, clean and low.

And your bones remain whole.

You’re relieved. Though you’re sick of his maneuvers with your mind, you’re aware their purpose is not to hurt you or punish you. These aching limbs of yours go limp as he crawls into bed next to you. The arm you were scared of coils around your waist. Viciously tight, much like a snake. The snake that corrupted Eve in the garden. The one that made her sin, got her cast out of paradise, the one that turned her whole world upside down. And maybe Eve did fall in love with the serpent, the worst creature that God had ever created. But even though he caused the fall of mankind, the serpent freed you from the clutches of a jealous, ungrateful god who denied knowledge from his own creations. Now you have the passion to rebel, to prove your creator wrong, to avenge his mistreatment. Give in to the temptation of your snake, believe his honeyed words, accept the fruit for a second time. Because you still remember the taste, oh so sweet and luscious. And with all the power he wields, you can win back your lost Eden or re-build it on earth, the home you’re both yearning for. It’s a promise between the two of you, silent, because words are not needed, only closure.

Something warm blooms inside your chest. Yes, that’s it! You can finally feel it now…

The very first ounce of belief.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #getou suguru x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #idk why but geto is very downward spiral coded to me #fun fact the title is another song by nin lmao #and i dont delibaretely write him as a yandere but somehow i finish a fic and reread an then... whoops he's yandere #geto suguru x reader #meesa writes

[ihatebrainstorm]

I've been thinking quite a while now about Brainstorm's potential origin story and am just using this post as a way to compound/spitball my thoughts/theories/headcanons? I don't know what to call it but apologies, it's realll long:

"Genitus of Operation: Solar Storm", what if Operation: Solar Storm was a military campaign that literally utilized solar storms? Solar storms come in various types, including but not limited to Coronal Mass Ejections (CME), Solar Flares, and Solar Particle Effects (SPE).

Generally the dangers of solar storms are that they can blast radiation, protons, plasma, etc. (depends on the type of solar storm) which could potentially in turn affect satellites/spacecraft, radio communication, GPS, electronics, etc. and funnily enough, transformers (the electrical kind, not Cybertronian kind).

Unless Cybertronian comms also use radio waves that utilize the Ionosphere, or their tech also utilizes electricity, the main danger from solar storms to Cybertronians would likely be the actual outward blast itself. Radiation probably being the bigger danger? Since its been shown radiation does affect Cybertronians (ex: Kup and Nickel's radiation meter probably having some purpose).

A sort of idea I had is that Operation: Solar Storm involved the Autobots utilizing a nearby star's solar storm to take out a large amount of Decepticons via a concentrated radiation blast?

The operation of this kind likely needed a lot of scientists to work on a mass weapon or device to pull it off.

Brainstorm's altmode is a fighter jet, so it's likely he wasn't built with the intention in mind to do science. Instead, my guess is that his purpose could've been either to protect the scientists/device, or (bc he's so disposable as an MTO) get dangerously closer to the sun in place of the scientists? Such as to collect data or to plant stuff there for whatever theoretical device.

Perhaps if this military operation theoretically had a lot more science involved than others such as Simanzian Dawn or Corcapsia Incursion, at some point Brainstorm picked up/was more involved in the science aspect? Especially if it involved building a massive weapon as suggested. During which, he might've had superiors noting him on his intellectual prowess; resulting in him being transferred from combat to research/engineering instead.

A military operation that largely involved building a massive solar weapon could also potentially explain how despite being deployed as an MTO, he never killed anyone? As he'd have less of a chance of seeing active combat.

Also we see him in MTMTE lie about being forged? I always wondered if after he was theoretically transferred, his superiors gave him a new identity/told him to pretend to be forged?? Perhaps they either wanted to not encourage other MTOs to try and transfer, or some good ol' past functionist beliefs were at play I dunno.

Or his origin story could be as dumbed down as: was actually born in the science division or something I dunno, I'm not an IDW writer lmaoo

Sorry its so long, I've sat on these ideas/theories for such a long ass time and needed to spitball them out kdsks- (but also I have the infodumping sickness, hence that semi-irrelevant chunk about solar storms whoops)

#Frick I got too carried away I still have so much school work to finish noooooooo #mtmte spoilers #theory #headcanon #transformers #mtmte #transformers mtmte #idw mtmte #lost light #transformers idw #maccadams #tf mtmte #maccadam #brainstorm #genitus of operation solar storm #more than meets the eye #tf idw

[bioplast-hero]

just my luck

2k • teen • satosugu • part 2: February

“Don’t rest your shoes on the wall,” Suguru scolds. “It’s very rude.” Satoru likes the exasperation in his voice a little too much. “Oh?” “I’m serious. Setsubun is about purification.” Satoru knew he would fuss. “My feet aren’t resting on anything except Infinity.” In the beat that follows, Satoru relishes that small, disbelieving scoff. “Leave it to you to disregard tradition.” The wry shape of Suguru’s mouth does something funny to the barometric pressure. Or maybe Satoru’s doing that. Whoops.

Satoru attends Setsubun festival with Suguru, and finds out at the end of the night it’s actually his birthday.

(Set in February, the winter before the Star Plasma Vessel incident. Series part 2 of 12.)

[Read the fic on AO3]

#jjk #SatoSugu #SuguSato #Satoru x Suguru #stsg brainrot #mutual pining #canonverse #pre-canon #stsg #sgst #goge #gego #my fic #fic promo #jjk fic

[fourphoenixfeathers]

Oooooo I am so normal about ieytd. So normal. I did not just scroll the tag instead of sleeping. Why would you say that.

I'm thinking about Agent Phoenix and I'm trying to figure out my hc on how they survive everything. Bc. Time loops are cool.... but sometimes they get too depressing for me. And I have No Clue how pure skill would save them from the final missions. That elevator fall, and Phoenix was somehow well enough to get up and leave the scene such that the agency didn't find them in the destruction? Getting exposed to neurotoxins/poison gasses without experiencing any bad symptoms if you stop it fast enough? Driving through the massive jets of fire on Prism's truck without an Immediate Need for Hospitalization? Falling from orbit?

So. Hear me out. Agent Phoenix has some kind of supernatural ability to not die. I played with the idea of the name Phoenix being accidentally more literal than all the characters thought bc I hc Phoenix as a bit of a firebug, but that would cause problems with the whole heat-activated bomb in their head, so. The recreational arson is a coincidence.

So that leaves me down to a couple ideas.

1. Regeneration

Ah, the classic. I love regeneration. Simple but it can be used in really cool ways. The fun is the how. I think I'm leaning towards ✨experimentation✨, either self inflicted (Phoenix seems to like the sciences) or something done to Phoenix and they decided to do something with it. The Agency definitely wouldn't be involved, considering how surprised everyone is that they keep surviving these shenanigans. This has great angst potential and I'm giggling and kicking my feet thinking about it.

Also, this makes me think of using the forge in KBOOM. You can't convince me the metal tools are safe to handle so quickly. Not glowing does not equal safe temperature. I kinda want to write a snippet where Phoenix hands Prism the wrench and she immediately drops it bc OW???? And Phoenix thinks whoops, I forgot that burns are a thing.

2. Telekinesis and pray

What if the massive tk stunt in KBOOM wasn't exactly unprecedented? What if Phoenix has had a lot of practice pulling off nigh impossible things with telekinesis, sink or swim style?

Paralytic neurotoxin/poison gas? Manually keep your heart beating and puppet your body until you can get a moment to counteract it or it wears off on its own.

Faceful of fire from some mad scientist security measures? Split your attention between driving the car and desperately pushing back the hot plasma inches from your face, because you kind of need your eyes for this mission.

Falling from orbit? Slow your descent as well as you can, and push even harder because your best won't win against gravity. Don't tell your handler you had to do that, bc he never asked. He simply assumed you were lucky enough that your shuttle wasn't damaged when the big death laser went kaboom. If all your enemies think that explosion was too bad for you to survive, well that's just a bonus. It wasn't, right? You're here. Your shuttle had to have been fine.

#ieytd #agent phoenix #ieytd au #yeah ill give this the au treatment #i will probably end up keeping both of these bc they both ahve a lot of potential #but im always a sucker for medical experimentation and regeneration shenanigans #kat rambles #ieytd 2 #ieytd 3

[therealgchu]

Snippet Sunday - Seven Days

i just realized i didn't put the graphic for 7 days up on dropbox, so i could use it on my home computer. whoops.

oh well, look at me, back to a regularly scheduled posting.

the first chapter of Seven Days is up on ao3. i'm publishing these at a more rapid rate since i've been writing them faster. almost half of it is already written. chapter 2 will go up tomorrow, hopefully.

Day 2 Sneak Peek

His brain had been trying to make sense of everything he’d heard yesterday, and he still didn’t understand most of it. He decided to take a stab at the most concrete aspect. “So, how did you become queen of the pirates?” he asked.

“By killing the king of the pirates,” she answered nonchalantly, like killing the pirate king was as mundane as getting coffee.

Sam choked, “You killed Delgado?”

She nodded. “In my original universe, I got nabbed by SysDef to infiltrate the Fleet. Delgado was obsessed with Kryx’s Legacy. I was obsessed with getting the artifacts and getting the fuck out of that universe. I helped him get Kryx’s Legacy, muscled out Naeva to become his second, and used the Fleet to finish getting the rest of the artifacts.

“In my second universe, I realized that it would just be easier and more efficient to take over the Fleet right away. So that’s what I’ve done ever since.” She opened her hand and a small bright ball of plasma formed in her palm. “Did you know plasma can burn through glass like a hot knife through butter? Or, more accurately, an 11,000 degree knife through butter.”

Sam stared at the bright ball in her hand and shuddered. “What are you?” he whispered.

She looked at him, “Starborn. I already told you.” She closed her hand into a fist and the light went out. “Anyway, I blasted him through the window of the war room. He never stood a chance. I declared myself queen, and if people didn’t fall in line, they’d be met with the same fate. People fell in line.” She shrugged. “It helped that I got Kryx’s Legacy within days of taking over. Whereas Del never got close in all his years. A lot of money buys a lot of loyalty.”

He looked at her in fear and awe. She was a monster. If there was anything human left, it had been burned away by whatever Unity was. He began pacing angrily again. “Are you going to let me out of here?” he demanded.

“Eventually.”

“Why the hell am I here?” Sam punched the wall in frustration.

She looked at him, but didn’t actually seem to see him. “I think I’m trying to punish myself. Maybe. I don’t know.” She looked back to the floor. “My Sam always could unravel me. Since the moment we met, he could slip past all my defenses and armor. Wasn’t even something he consciously tried to do.”

#starfield #sam coe #fanfic #fanfiction #coemancer #spacefarer #starborn #crimson fleet #murderhobo #murder hobo #seven days #day 2 #therealgchu writes #the coemancer crew

[sentientsky]

Excerpt from one of my gomens fics, in which I reveal that I have abandonment issues (and should probably start going to therapy more often. whoops!):

Three years, eight months, and seventeen days ago, the world had nearly ended. Again. And he and his angel had (with a great deal of help from Muriel) brought it back from the brink of destruction. Again. And when the metaphorical dust had cleared away, the Almighty had found him in the dawn of a new world, all unearthly gaze and shimmering ethereality. She had offered him a complete return to the way it was before—not as a principality or even an archangel. No, She offered him the chance to be as he once was: an engineer, the Starmaker, a seraphim with all of creation at his fingertips and all of divinity at his feet. In a new world, too—one without Heaven or Hell, She promised. He had gripped his angel’s hand tighter, felt him return the pressure in equal measure.

Crowley had leveled his gaze at Her, terrified but unflinching in the face of so much heavenly heat. Like looking into the sun.

He would not leave, would not fall prey to a God that made too-pretty promises. Even if She had let him ask all the questions he desired, he would still refuse, and he told Her as much.

She had accepted this decision with a somber nod. Eyes full of plasma, She’d looked at him one last time and asked for forgiveness.

“My dearest Starmaker, I hope you understand.” A flock of birds flitted across the sky behind Her. He tracked their movement from the edges of his vision. “I am so sorry for all the pain I caused you.” She reached up to try to touch his face.

He pulled back, nearly snarling.

Dreadful memories of falling from a great height flashed through his mind. The taste of sulphur coated the back of his teeth, noxious and terrible.

“You let me fall. You pushed me—for asking questions ,” he had hissed, all venom, all jagged teeth. So many eons of abandonment, of sheer loss…Well, it does something to a not-person, to a beating, not-human heart. You learn to go cold, to slow your breathing and keep yourself boarded up and hidden. Your body learns to react to affection like a rejected organ transplant. You carry on through life scarred and spitting and backing against the wall like a cornered animal. You believe you don’t deserve tenderness. You believe it will ruin you. Because to love, to let yourself be loved, is to turn all vulnerable and underbellied—to show your hand in a game of cards with everything on the table.

And yet…a very young, hands-trembling part of you yearns for it—begs, desperate and hungry and aching, for love. Like a starved dog with all its ribs showing. Like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock, knowing full well which way the hill slopes.

After so long spent in the mires of self-destruction, Crowley would not—could not—forgive Her. For not only the violence inflicted against him, but also against the entirety of a vast universe. He would heal himself—had been healing himself—but he would not give Her the satisfaction of forgiveness. A breeze picked up, tossed scarlet hair against his forehead. He set his jaw, felt his heart slam against his chest.

“I know.” Her gaze softened. “I made a mistake.”

He’d barked a laugh at this, strangled and bitter and full of unspent wrath. “No fucking shit.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply beside him, and Crowley could practically feel the anxiety burn through his palm. But She made no move. She didn’t pull the edges of reality apart and rummage through the outer reaches of time. She didn’t pull the Book of Life from between worlds and condemn him to the heavy violence of non-existence—of never-having-been, never-will-be.

She only murmured into pearlescent air, quiet and resigned and infuriatingly serene, “I would take it all back if I could. I’d go back. Set things right.”

But she could, he thought, if she really wanted to, of course. She was God, after all—the Almighty. The one who held all the strings, the one behind the curtain, orchestrating the whole damned symphony. Was not everything within her control?

But of course, too much had transpired, too much had been changed in the last little stretch of eternity. And in truth, would Crowley have changed it—pressed restart—if given the chance? His gaze had flickered, momentary, to Aziraphale. From his periphery, he traced the soft line of his jaw, the arc of his curls. He breathed deep and tasted familiar bergamot on his tongue. Would they have been able to replicate what they had now, given the opportunity to do it all over again? How many times does lightning strike the same ground twice?

“Okay.” A beat. A ragged breath. “I hope you don’t expect me to forgive you.”

“I do not. And that’s alright; I understand.”

Thank u for reading!! Here’s the rest of the fic if u want it lol: x

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #go2 #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 good omens

[stardust-dragon8]

Just started the Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky ROM Hack Explorers of the Spirit! All I know about the hack is some out of context screenshots and that the protagonist is very angry. I'm probably going to play it once in a while, so no spoilers please! I'm currently up to the start of Chapter 3.

Anyways, here's Team Cayenne, consisting of Plasma the Charmander and Flora the Chikorita! Plasma is shaping up to be a ticking time bomb that's definitely going to explode, while Flora is baby.

(There’s a darker rectangle around the title of the ROM hack because I forgot "the" before I went to post. . . Whoops!)

#my art #traditional art #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #charmander #chikorita #explorers of the spirit

[chaosintheavenue]

Tried to kill the rat for the kids in Freeside.

Casually forgot that I was using a plasma rifle.

Whoops?

#sorry kids #fallout new vegas

[donniesexceptionalmind]

I two things:

1, I love any and all of yet rambles, especially the space ones. Space is also one of my special interests, and it makes me so so so so happy whenever I see something about it on one of my favorite blogs!

If my brain wasn’t so stupid and actually let me remember stuff when I want to, perhaps I’d actually be able to keep all I learn >:(

2, Please remember to drink some water, eat some food even if it’s just a few crackers, and rest.

Ya can use this ask as an excuse to talk about space ^^

1. I AM CONSIDERED ONE OF YOUR FAVOURITE BLOGS? *falls from my gaming chair*

Thank you.

Astrophysics is a wonderful field of science.

Don't worry, I don't have the memory of an elephant, so I can't keep everything in mind. It's not bad to forget stuff. I like to reread & rewatch stuff & I feel happy when I read or see stuff that I already know. It's like: WHOOP, THAT I KNOW!

2. ... You got me there. When I'm in hyperfocus, it's really hard to remember to eat or drink. Sometimes, I don't even want to. A few minutes of nourishing my body feel like eternity even though I know that is JUST my emotional perception.

Oooooh, another infodump about space? Hehe...

You won't regret this, will you?

✨️Let's talk quasars! ✨️

'Quasar' is short for 'quasi-stellar radio source'.

Quasars got that name because they looked starlike when astronomers first discovered them in the earliest radio surveys of the sky in the 1950s.

Some of the radio sources discovered back then coincided with objects that appeared to be unusually blue stars, although photographs of some of these objects showed them to be embedded in faint, fuzzy halos.

But quasars aren’t stars.

They are, in fact, young galaxies located at vast distances from us, with their numbers increasing towards the edge of the visible universe.

The oldest quasar, currently, is J0313-1806. Its distance is approximately 13.03 billion light-years, & therefore, we see it as it was just 670 million years after the Big Bang.

Quasars are extremely bright, up to 1,000 times brighter than our Milky Way. We know that they’re highly active, emitting staggering amounts of radiation across the entire electromagnetic spectrum.

A quasar is a type of an 'active galactic nucleus', short AGN.

(There are actually many different types of AGNs, each with their own tale to tell.)

Theoretically, the intense radiation released by an AGN powers a supermassive black hole.

The powerful radiation comes from material in the accretion disk surrounding the black hole when it is superheated to millions of degrees by the intense friction generated by the particles of dust, gas & other matter in the disk colliding countless times with each other.

The inward spiral of matter in a supermassive black hole’s accretion disk – that is, at the centre of a quasar – is the result of particles colliding & bouncing against each other & losing momentum.

That material came from the enormous clouds of gas, mainly consisting of molecular hydrogen, which filled the universe in the era shortly after the Big Bang.

There is a maximum rate set by the Eddington limit at which a black hole can accrete matter before the heating of the infalling gas results in so much outward pressure from radiation that the accretion stops.

Some quasars have radio jets, which are highly collimated beams of plasma propelled out along the rotation axis of the accretion disk at almost the speed of light.

These jets emit beams of radiation that can be observed at X-ray & radio wavelengths (and less often at optical wavelengths).

What distinguishes an “active” galactic nucleus from other galactic nuclei (90–95 percent of large galaxies that are currently not quasars) is that the black hole in an active nucleus accretes a few solar masses of matter per year, which, if it is accreting at around 1 percent or more of the Eddington rate, is sufficient to account for a typical quasar with a total luminosity of about 10^39 watts. (The Sun’s luminosity is about 4 × 10^26 watts.)

Quasars are baby galaxies if you will.

Credis: STScI

Have a WELL-DESERVED cookie 🍪, this has gotten WAY out of hand.

Apologies.

#donnie speaks #donnie answers #donatello infodumps #donnies exceptional mind #turtle net #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #neon leons messy mind palace #mikeys world of feelings #raph a roni blog #rise of the tmnt #autistic donatello #rise autistic donnie #rottmnt autistic donnie #donnies special interests #space #quasars #infodumping #infodump #special interests #space is awesome #space facts #black holes #galaxies

[hel-phoenyx]

Okay so I needed to prepare that Ferris Wheel Scene rant because this is REALLY, REALLY a very important scene for me, both in the story of the game and in my opinion.

Let’s start with a bit of context : I’m trying not to acknowledge what the wiki or such says about ages. I have always seen (and always will) N as 18 and the protag as 16. There are several reasons, starting with the significance of the rivalry. I will try to not make ages count that much but that may come up at a moment.

Screenshots are not mine. I took them from a youtube video because my own game is in french and since I’m ranting in english, well, it would be easier.

So. We are in Nimbasa City. Two grunts were trying to steal the Pokemon Pension’s residents from the host, but fortunately we were here and we gave’em a good ass-whooping. They ran away in the amusement park, and I don’t know how the game forces you to go and catch them because I usually follow right away.

But in the park, no grunts : Just N, who notices us right away and asks us if we are searching for Team Plasma. Before telling us to follow him.

The boy is not exactly good at communication and if you play the game for the first time while in your late teen years or just at an age where you can read signs, that comes off really fishy. How does he know ? We never fought the Team in front of him. We could just be wanting to have fun, and not being the one who just beat up said grunts.

But hey, he’s being helpful, and at this point he’s just a trainer not that much older coming off with really good points in his argument, so why not following him ?

That we do (because the story told us so), and N guides us to the bottom of the park without letting us look around (for a very obvious reason). We stop at the Ferris Wheel, and he says they’re not here, and that maybe we could see them better at the top of the Ferris wheel.

Before adding that he loves ferris wheels like the huge math nerd he is but that is irrelevant.

So we go in there and BOOM !

Revelation.

The Trainer that we thought was just a sympatizer is, in fact, the boss of the whole fucking organisation. That explains, if we didn’t notice at first, why the Team tries to steal the dragon skull at Nacrene right after N talks about the legendary dragon Zekrom/Reshiram. Obviously that was his (or Ghetsis’) idea.

And with that exact sentence, the kind-of rivalry we had with him up until that point went to a whole other level.

He went from “Trainer with different opinions that we try to understand” to “Big boss of the enemy that we obviously can’t reason with since his grunts are using VIOLENCE to get what they want”.

At this point we don’t know the whole problem with Team Plasma so there is safe to assume that the protagonist suddenly took him way more seriously.

Let’s continue. He said that Ghetsis asked him for help saving Pokemon. So we learn he’s not exactly the one in charge, but seeing how grunts talk about their king, doesn’t change much.

The ferris wheel ride ends up with his question. “How many Pokemon exists in this world, I wonder... ?”. So, going right into the philosophy matters. Obviously, being the protagonist doesn’t allow us to answer to this, but we can consider the revelation went calmly, even though this is a very serious discussion.

We get down in silence. And who rush at the speed of light right on us ?

Man, those grunts are loyal to a fault.

And we probably went past them in our “search”, seeing where they come from, which kinda help me say with certainty N just wanted to tell us he was the king of Team Plasma.

Man found an excuse to lure us away and most importantly reveal his true identity, and at this point we can say this is certain we are not just any trainer in his eyes, as would be Cheren, even if he met N at the same moment. So, why did he decide to tell us ? What was the trigger of this ?

I’ll get to it later.

N reassures the grunts (obviously, we’re not hostile towards him, we just went in the fucking ferris wheel at his demand) and tells them he will keep us here while they run away. Very self-sacrificing of him, which is a trait he possesses, but there is probably another intent. After all, we never met without fighting up to this point. And the only danger I represent for these grunts is beating them up a second time, since there is no gym leader around and literally no one that can capture them.

The grunts run away without insisting, and N (finally) can focus on us. He tells us right away he can’t win, and he knows it (obviously), but still starts the fight.

I noted that the dialogue is way more agressive in English (in French, there is a lot of suspension points and he says “In the future I have seen, I can’t win against you... just... help my men escape.... Let’s go...” which kinda feeds more my claims that his true motivation is not the sake of Team Plasma) but he still dives into the fight head-on.

(Little tangent here : N changes Pokemon every fight, making him unpredictable. This is explained later in a memory in BW2 telling us he releases his Pokemon regularly, thanking them for their help. I can’t help seeing a parallel between that behaviour and mine, with my final team very early in the game (usually my last Pokemon caught is a Vanipeti at the middle of the game), and the one of all the other trainers we fight regularly, who keep the same team over and over. That kind of makes us even more opposites. Enf of the tangent because it is not the subject)

During the fight, there is THIS, which is a very important question that N asks right before losing his last pokemon. Do we see different futures ? Or, do we have different visions of the world that we want to see ?

And when we win, there it is.

The proof that he was trying to understand what we are. While fighting. N, buddy, is this chara dev I see ?

So we win the fight, obviously again, and N isn’t at all surprised. He predicted this, after all. The grunts ran away, I have no reason to go after them at this point, so he reached his goal and could go away right now. But he doesn’t.

What does he do ?

He tells us that he must change the future. Something that we know at this point, he was pretty clear in our two differents interactions. And for that, he must surpass the Champion.

N’s dialogue at this point and the one at the end of the game are actually the only ones presented like this. Feeling like he is facing us. This emphasizes the importance and the tension of the scene : There is story in the making right now.

And N doesn’t tell us that he will surpass the Champion. He tells us something else.

He litteraly encourages us to countinue our journey, collect all the gym badges, go at the Pokemon League, and, instead of Alder, fight him.

He tells us to try and stop him.

The French version adds a very pretty “if you can” that is quite litteraly a challenge. A very serious challenge, but a challenge nonetheless.

He tells us afterwards that if we don’t have enough motivation to stay with our Pokemon forever, we won’t be able to stop him, and THEN only he leaves. After throwing in our faces the biggest challenge of our lives.

So there we have it. The Trainer that we thought just has different opinions became right here, right now our biggest rival. It would have been so easy to just observe our journey if he wanted to study the link between us and our Pokemon, but no, he got out in light, revealed himself as the king of Team Plasma to me (and the whole Unova region since we have no reason to hide that information) and challenged us.

He who wanted a world where Pokemon could roam free and far away from humans challenged us to a POKEMON BATTLE (something that is way more significant now that we know he is not just simply asking himself how Pokemon live among trainers) and told us that if we wanted to stay with our Pokemon, we would have to fight him. At the top of the world.

He just became our biggest rival.

And he made us his biggest rival.

#hel is talking #pokemon black and white #pokemon bw #n pokemon #natural harmonia gropius #ferris wheel scene pokemon #i am not normal about this game at all

[yaboyhoney]

Ghetsis x goth reader ( no I’m not the og goth reader anon)

Ghetsis x Goth Reader

Let's face it, Ghetsis loves presenting himself as someone better than you. It's shown with the way he regards himself, others, and how he treats his own Pokemon.

So he has to take the biggest lesson in humility and humbleness when you, a complete stranger, whoop his ass in a Pokemon battle.

He disregarded you the moment he saw you at first, due to how you dressed. You dressed in monochrome colors, belts, and piercings. He thinks of you as someone begging for attention.

But he quickly finds himself to be exactly that kind of person when you defeat him so easily, demanding a rematch.

Life after Team Plasma was so boring that he stated taking battles seriously as it was the only entertainment he had. You two become pretty good rivals after that.

Ghetsis is a challenging trainer, which makes you excited. He never lets you down with having to do a boring fight.

He's eventually drawn to you beyond just battles, growing excited and smiling when he sees you. He had the complete intention of showing you that he was better, stronger, and the more competent trainer when he takes a step back to realize you weren't in a good mood.

This was something completely different. You always had an air of an elegant intimidation with the way you dressed and fought. But today you were significantly much smaller, your presence being smaller.

He doesn't even think to gloat or to take advantage of you like this, which is rather unusual of him.

He offers you instead to a cup of coffee, not really knowing how to exhibit care for others. But he is trying

#ghetsis x reader #goth reader #my writing #pokemon x reader

[itsbenedict]

grocery trip

laundry

J/A: update

EG session

start reading that quest thing i’ve had open in a tab for like a week

exercise

100 WK reviews

EG didn't happen due to half the players being out at the eclipse whoops!!

the quest thing in question is Asphodel in Mourning, which is pokémon but disco elysium. the protagonist is a team plasma true believer who's mentally in pieces due to the shattering of the Great Work, and all the different pokémon types are the mental voices/stats. only three updates so far but very good. love it when things engage with the fucked-upness of the pokémon world's premise without breaking the rules of that premise. the PoV character's whole Thing and her being an unreliable narrator makes it even juicier

#sc accountability