#OOS extras

[starzzarehere]

Satosugu thoughts (please, these idiots are killing me)

I see everyone talking about how 'Stsg prolly met up in secret' and all I can think about is "What if Shoko was the one to meet with Geto?" I mean, they seemed pretty close last I checked. Like in the haze of stsg, people tend to forget about Shoko. I like to believe that Shoko was the one to meet up with Geto; that each time she went she'd invite Gojo, and each time Gojo would decline. I mean, what else is he to do? He can't meet up with Geto— he'd be betraying himself by betraying the people he protects. So instead of going outright, Gojo would send little trinkets for the girls. A few clothes here, a few key chains there. Sometimes he'd hand Shoko some money and tell her to give it to the girls. Geto was...gone. The boy he knew, the boy he loved cared for was little more than a rotting corpse. But those girls— they were still young. Their minds had been tainted, but they were just kids. They couldn't be blamed for taking their father's(?) word as doctrine.

And Shoko, for all her taunting, would oblige. She'd go to Geto, talk about shit, let Geto tiptoe the ethics and implications of his parenthood, the way he...procured his girls, and that would be that. Each time Shoko would lie (as per Gojo's request) and say that she was the one who brought all the goodies. The girls would be nonetheless wiser; but Geto— oh, Geto knew. Because, Shoko cared, undeniably; but expensive gifts? No, that just wasn't her style. It was a bittersweet thing, really. Gojo cared for his daughters but he didn't care for Geto himself. Shoko noticed his inner conflict but she'd long since given up trying to intervene. Geto thought Gojo hated him, used hilariously complex justifications to support his belief. He was a man long gone and Shoko would not waste her time trying to mend things that were broken irreparably. Alr, I'mma go devour some salad now. Peace.

[charcarts]

a little late, but here's my part for @/pokeearthcollab's BW project on bsky! First image is the finished ver of Keldeo (resolute form), shiny var of the pre-paint over, and a couple of exploratory concepts b4 locking in

[charlottesweetly]

Was anyone gonna tell me about this or was I supposed to walk around thinking Charlotte was permadead in TGWDLM for the rest of my life

[coldfrcnt]

i told them to remind me to pre order the bucky sweater

[absentlyabbie]

it's killing me. this is so pedantic and unimportant but it's killing me

trope: common cliches, themes, or devices in narrative

troupe: a group of individuals, typically entertainers. like dancers. or clowns.

[tangledtheseriesislife]

You don’t wanna go to work work work work work work work but you gotta go to work work work work work u can work from hoome aye o aye o oo

[cinamun]

I'm interested in the lore! I wasn't around for the beginning and darren is so fine. All of your sims look good. My dad was heavy into wutang and nas so is Darren based off like nyc street culture? My dad is 52 so I grew up listening to all that and some of the stuff you post about darren just reminds me of him and he's from queens. Sorry if you've answered this already but I do like the extras and stuff you post outside of the actual story. Nice touch cin

POV: Its 1994, and this kid comes up and asks you for a light for his blunt rolled with 2 phillies (in the bridge we call em oo-ops).

The short answer to Darren's character is, yes, he was a product of the streets of Queens. He ran with a crew (mostly drug dealing, fighting and an occassional shootout) from age 11 and, as was the case with his voice claim pictured here, he was "raised" in the most infamous housing projects of the time. As such, you can imagine the kind of wild shit he was a part of, the death, the violence, the shit burned into the back of his eyelids and that which kept him awake at night. His parents were largely absent so he spent most his time in and out of school or at the bodega with his crew trying to pick up girls or rapping.

[arcade-confetti]

How would yall feel if staff introduced the ability to make custom/user made apparel

[riggedbones]

I have got to do more color ("color") filled sections of my mouse drawings but it always annoys me real bad because it means I have to make decisions about where the lines connect.

[firestorm09890]

organization xiii recusant sigil being used as a panopticon situation. xemnas COULD be tracking you right now, we just don’t know

[starzzarehere]

In my recent ventures of fanfic writing, I've come to notice how little information we actually have on the Gojo clan. So, being the neurodivergent fucker I am, I have decided to do a bit of my own research to try piece together a semi-coherent thesis on them— as a fun little exercise. Also, most of this is headcanon. I also wrote this on one and a half hours of sleep and a shitton of coffee.

-> Some needed exposition (The Blah Blah).

The Gojo Clan are descendents of Sugawara no Michizane, one of Japan's Three Great Onryō (known as "vengeful spirits" in english). Sugawara (August 1, 845 – March 26, 903) was a scholar, poet, and politician of the Heian period. He excelled particularly in waka and kanshi poetry, and is also seen as the Shinto god of learning, Tenman-Tenjin.  

While Gojo Satoru is referred to as the one-man act of the Gojo clan, it's made clear that there are other members within said clan.  

Gege has gone on record to say that Satoru would often sneak out or slip away as a child to roam around the city. He said this in the 33 questions he answered about Satoru.  

Gege (also through 33 questions about Satoru) says that Satoru was spoiled rotten as child, while simultaneously being isolated from most childhood experiences. He also states that his parents were forced to relinquish him during his early years due to their abilities as sorcerers being subpar relative to the young heir. He also said that Satoru was mostly in Tokyo for training as a kid.  

The Six Eyes are said to be a hereditary trait, though it's not a cursed technique like Blood Manipulation or the Ten Shadows. But unlike the other two clans, the Gojo clan is kinda useless without their human embodiment of a weapon— the Six Eyes are technically not needed for a Gojo sorcerer to use limitless, but without SE a Limitless user cannot harness their full potential. Ie, they'd be kinda average. But again, CTs aren't exclusively hereditary so there's a good chance that a Gojo clan member could get a powerful CT. I'd even go as far as to say that the Gojo clan chooses a head who was born with with the strongest CT to maintain appearances.  

All of the clans are pretty traditional, but we can see that the Gojo clan is a lot more lenient in their traditionalism. I'm saying this because, if it were up to the Zen'in or Kamo clans, Yuuta wouldn't have become clan head. The other two seem hellbent on traditionalism while the Gojo clan (from what little we've seen) seems more welcoming of change. I think this is partly due to the the way the Six Eyes are inherited: there can be no two SE and the bearer is bound to the same mortality as the people around them. Another thing to keep in mind is that the SE manifests once in a few centuries; for the SE and Limitless to manifest together is a miracle in itself. Therefore, the Gojo Clan can't afford to be rigid/petty in their structural hierarchy.

The Gojo clan is situated in Kyoto, AKA the cultural capital of Japan. This'll be important later.  

Buddhism is a core theme in Jujutsu Kaisen (I'mma be fr, the last two facts were added last minute cause I lowkey forgot to write them in 😭)

★ Piecing it together (The Blah Blah, but Kovi has fun) .

As established in (8), Jujutsu Kaisen is a world that is heavily based on Buddhism. Not just that, but the world of Jujutsu itself borrows from many aspects of Buddhism (Dukha, Mudra, Bodhi, The Eightfold path, etc. etc.) So it wouldn't be much of a surprise if the Big Three™️were to adhere to buddhist principles/values, to the point where it crosses into dogmatism. I'm inclined to believe that the Gojo clan are the ones who manage maintain their facade of pragmatism the best. This is mostly due to how the other two clans seem...trigger happy. K(enjaku)amo Norotoshi has already tarnished the name of the Kamo clan, and the Zen'in clan are, uh. Not the nicest bunch. That isn't to say that the Gojo clan are any better than the other two though. Because stated in (5), the SE and Limitless are a hereditary technique. Ie, they could be inherited by men or by women. And considering the rampant misogyny in the Jujutsu world, I feel like they'd just pass her off as a man. This isn't a stretch btw, it was an actual practice in medieval Japan. Would make sense for the old geezers to retain this practice, especially in case of a heir who's supposed to be ✨enlightened✨. But this seems contradictory, no? I literally just said in (6) that, of the big three clans, the Gojo is most lenient in it's rules. Which— yeah. Between the three clans, they are the most lenient. Especially taking into consideration (4). I feel like they'd be less abusive physically, resorting to verbal reprimand. Kinda like that one aunt at a family gathering who's always shitting on your sister's looks, even though she's the farthest thing from a sight for sore eyes (don't ask). Speaking of! Referencing what I said in (1) & (7), I think that the Gojo clan (and the Kamo clan, which is also in Kyoto) would be very particular about their cultural education. I mean, think about it; if you're part of an ancient clan, living in the cultural capital, while having an ancestor who was a poet...wouldn't you also want to be educated in the arts? Yes, this is an excuse for me to make Gojo wax poetic; no, I don't wanna hear about it. Also, he's Asian. Asians don't play about their culture. Oh! And bringing in (3), I wanna add that the heirs are probably given rigorous training to be worthy of their position as head. Doesn't matter if they're special or not. Satoru probably skipped classes to run around the city lol. Also, (4) also explains a lot on why he resents the higher ups. They basically took away all he had as a child, giving him material pleasures while withholding emotional affection. They probably used the whole 'no attachment' belief as an excuse. Also, going to (5) I'd wager that Gojo clan heads are more ceremonial than anything, the clan governance being handled mostly by the older elders. Of course our blue-eyed king is an exception to this, as are the other SE users.

Aaand, that's wrap. I've gotten that outta my system, so hurrah. Now I'mma go eat some unbelievably unhealthy shit

[valdrift]

honestly wanna rework my mirage design, in my head cybertronions are really really REALLY evolved bugs and their plating is like super advanced chitin

[keeps-ache]

i think this pinkish-red colour has Got me hfshv

[attacks for sunshinepokje, @pigswithwings, and @r0nin-sleeps !!]

[countlessrealities]

@advnterccs sent:

Curled up in bed, Rick pulls his counterpart in closer. He's still half asleep and he doesn't realize what today is. Instead, he brushes his nose against the back of that neck. Softly breathing in the other's scent. Something that has become so familiar and comforting to him within these last two years.

"Mm, morning, baby~" He finally says, voice a bit deepened from having slept. "I-I wanna make you pancakes."

{ To your Rick from my Rick // i forgot it's their 2nd year anniversary so have a short thing !! 🤭💙 }

The first sound that leaves Rick's throat is a quiet, contented hum. He isn't wasn't awake, not really. His mind was still mostly lost in a dreamy haze, barely able to register what was going on around him.

And yet, his body instantly recognised the form pressing up against him, without a split second of uncertainty. By now, recognising his counterpart is as easy as breathing, if not easier. It's like a second nature for him, for reasons that go way beyond the fact that they are the same person.

Almost without realising it, he squeezes closer to his boyfriend, hands blindly reaching out to touch him. No matter what they are doing, how much time they spend together, how physically close they are, he just can't get enough. When they are apart, it does never feel fully right, as if something is missing.

A feeling he should be used to, if not for the fact that these days he knows exactly what he needs and wants to fill that particular hole in his chest.

Rick lets out a little snort as he turns around in his other self's embrace, cracking an eye open, enough to look at him. He's too cozy to fully come back to the waking world. He wants to stay there a little longer, in that bubble where it's just him and the love of his life.

"H-Hey, lover," he hums, his voice coming out a little raspy with sleep too. "I-It's always a fuckin' good morning w-when I get to wake up next to you."

It's cheesy as hell, but he doesn't care. He wouldn't be able to even if he tried, not when it's about his counterpart. Fuck everything and everyone. He's in love, as he has never been before, and he has all the intentions of enjoying every single bit of it.

His lips brush the corner of his boyfriend's mouth, lingering just a moment too long, and then he presses their foreheads together, finally opening his eyes properly so he can look into those gorgeous ice blue orbs.

"S-Sounds like a goddamn good idea, baby," he goes on, as his arms wrap around the other's neck.

The next moment, he's moving forwards, rolling them on the mattress so that he ends up on top of his counterpart, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"B-But lemme hold you for a little more first. 'S not like the pans are going anywhere any time soon."

[off-brand-likes]

Kallus now realized why Kanan had been so glad to let him pretend to be a stormtrooper officer for a change. The corporal he'd taken this armor from had not made much time for cleaning and maintaining it. Dirt made the joints grind together. It stank.

At least Kallus didn't have to wear it for long. He was here to apply the corporal's code cylinders, unlocking a storeroom with containers currently bound for Coruscant so the rest of the Ghost crew could distract the guards and reroute the containers to rebel contacts on Rodia. Finding the storeroom in this base shouldn't be difficult, but it was laid out like someone had followed tunnels dug by stone mites...

"Corporal! With me."

Kallus stood taller as he turned to salute whoever had decided they had the rank to boss corporals around. Ah, an Imperial army captain, that would do it. "Sir, I'm under Sergeant Bordear's orders to--"

"And I'm countermanding them. Move." The captain turned, clearly expecting Kallus to follow.  Without the distraction that Sabine was waiting for his signal to set off, shooting the captain in the head would be a death sentence for Kallus too, one way or another. Kallus followed at what he hoped was an appropriate distance.

Stormtroopers had never been encouraged to ask questions. Kallus concentrated on memorizing their path through the base, and noting interesting signs along the way. They were heading toward the base's prison, according to the hallway signage, unless something were happening in the staff cafeteria which required an officer's attention.

They passed the storeroom Kallus had been looking for, and the cafeteria. They wound through the prison corridors, which were ominously unguarded, in Kallus's opinion. As they reached an intersection, a couple troopers at the far end of the hallway focused on the sergeant and turned around and quickstepped down a different hallway. Kallus clutched his rifle tighter. His sweating palms pressed unpleasantly against his stolen armored gloves' worn lining.

They stopped at a group holding cell, designed for keeping twenty or so Class 2 or 3 prisoners in one place while the staff work through a processing queue. The captain frowned at Kallus. "I'm having trouble with the troopers who are supposed to be assisting in a weapons test here. All they have to do is hold prisoners in place for aerosol dosing, but they're balking. The test material has been specifically designed at a droplet level their helmets should filter out. Do you understand what that means?"

"Sir, that means the helmets should stop the chemical before they breathe it in." Damn, Kallus should've said "we," not "they."

The captain was indeed giving Kallus an odd look, but all he said was, "The helmet filters will catch the chemical before they breathe it, corporal. Emphasize that to the troopers, then lend a hand securing the prisoners."

Kallus's mind offered suggestions for how ISB-021 would've secure prisoners for such an operation, but he kept his mouth shut. The captain said he was conducting "aerosol dosing" for a "weapons test." This sounded like some new Imperial monstrosity in the making. Kallus had assisted with enough of those for a lifetime.Inside the windowless holding room were about twenty prisoners, none of them human, all of them in binders with a remote release function, among other new conveniences in the latest models. They turned hostile gazes on the new arrivals. The troopers holding rifles on them didn't look any more welcoming, in their posture anyway.

The captain frowned at Kallus. "Well, get on with it."

Kallus looked over the prisoners again. Whatever they'd done to end up in Imperial custody, it hadn't earned them the death this experimental weapon was supposed to bring them. Kallus couldn't be a part of this. Even if he could, he couldn't imagine going back to the Ghost and telling Zeb what he'd done.

Nor did he have any chance of shooting his way out. His best chance at survival lay in surrendering. He'd either break out of a cell or fight when the odds were closer to his favor.

"Sir, I cannot follow that order." There was always the chance he'd just send Kallus out in disgust...

The captain drew his sidearm and pointed it at Kallus's head. So much for that. "If you will not help conduct the test, then you'll join the test subjects. Surrender your weapon and armor. Now."

A couple of the troopers were aiming rifles at him now, too. If they were this afraid of the new bioweapon, then the captain's threat would motivate them well. Moving slowly, Kallus set the rifle on the floor and followed instructions. He wasn't yet well known enough to be recognized on sight, at least.

"If you don't want to become a test subject as well," the captain told the troopers, "then follow orders. Put this one in binders. Start administering the doses as instructed. Now."

The new binders weighed Kallus's wrists down more than the older models had. Now that all Kallus wore was the grimy black undersuit troopers at this base wore under their uniforms, the room's chill sent a shiver through him. He flinched as a trooper held a mask over his face, covering it from eyes to chin and part of his neck.

Cold liquid misted over his face. He held his breath. Around him, other prisoners struggled against the same treatment. A trooper did something to the Mon Calamari beside Kallus, who groaned.

An armored fist thudded into Kallus's stomach. His air rushed out his mouth into the mask as he doubled over. For a long moment he couldn't have taken a breath in if he wanted to, and then he couldn't stop himself.

The air in the mask smelled sour, the same sour that the liquid he inhaled left on his tongue. His face was soaked in the stuff and it kept pumping out of the dispenser in the mask anyway. Barely enough air came into his burning lungs with the liquid to keep him conscious.

A scuffle to his left distracted the trooper holding him. He pushed the mask up and off his nose and mouth. A blaster shot sounded, and the Mon Calamari collapsed. The wound in his chest smoked faintly. The rest of the prisoners accepted their masks without fighting.

Kallus focused inward, searching for the first hints of the chemical's effects on him. Aside from his elevated heart rate and the familiar ache in his bad leg, he felt fine.

"Everyone out." The captain picked up Kallus's rifle and as many pieces of the armor he'd worn as he could hold. The troopers backed toward the door and kicked the few remaining pieces of armor out before they shut the prisoners in.

The binders on everyone's wrists beeped and released their arms. Everyone stared at them in confusion as they caught their breaths.

Kallus forced himself to stand straighter, despite his bruised stomach. "Has anyone tried breaking down that door yet?"

"You want to get shot out in the hall, you try it," a Twi'lek said.

He had a point. Kallus was about to suggest undoing the bolts that held down the benches around the walls and using them as a battering ram anyway when a Sullustan on the other side of the room screamed. She clawed at her face, drawing bloody tracks down her cheeks, then launched herself at the person standing next to her.

Other prisoners pulled her off the person before Kallus got to her, but the prisoner who'd been attacked was snarling almost as loudly as the Sullustan. The ones holding the Sullustan looked furious too. One of them threw her too the floor and raised a foot to stomp on her.

"Wait!" Kallus shouted. The Sullustan launched herself off the ground at the person about to step on her.

The whole room dissolved into furious shouting and flailing limbs. Kallus still didn't feel any different, but the other prisoners were all angrily lashing out at each other. It'd be just like the Empire to make a poison that specifically did not affect humans.

Kallus felt an appropriate amount of anger at that. He did not feel the need to attack the people around him. Climbing up on the nearest bench seemed like a better idea. That'd at least keep his head out of most people's reach while he figured out what to do next.

Although... Were these people not even trying to fight their instincts? It was literally the least they could do. No, this did not feel like an appropriate amount of anger, actually.

Kallus dug his nails into his palms. If he couldn't bear the thought of killing these people with a weapon, then killing them with his bare hands should've felt like a worse idea, not a better one. Facts. Facts would get him out--

Somebody dug claws into his leg and pulled. He tumbled into the swarming bloodbath of prisoners on the floor. For every person he kicked away from him, another latched onto his arm, kicked his side, tore at his back with teeth or hands.

Kallus was punching and scratching and biting along with everyone around him. Every new bolt of pain through him made him fight harder. They were ripping each other apart.

[inklingofadream]

Gang, Gerry may not make it out of this one alive