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[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part One

CW: angst, hurt, dystopian, Mutant!Reader, mental anguish, existential despair, suggestive emotional and physical intimacy

Word Count: 2436

A/N: Hey loves! So I' m back with the first part of this new series featuring DOFP! Logan---Definitely one of my favorite x-men films that I went to see in theaters a few years back. I really hope y'all enjoy it--As always comments and feedback are highly appreciated! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

(Part Two)

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The world had become a graveyard of memories, littered with the remnants of a civilization that once thrived. The skies, once a brilliant blue, were now a perpetually overcast gray, the sun a distant and pale shadow of its former self. Buildings stood as crumbling sentinels, their facades scorched and broken by years of unrelenting warfare. The air was thick with ash and the scent of burning, a constant reminder of the lives that had been lost and the battles yet to be fought.

The war had waged for years, perhaps decades—time had lost its meaning in the endless cycle of violence and survival. The Sentinels, monstrous machines designed to hunt and exterminate mutants, had decimated the population. Humanity, too, had been nearly eradicated in the crossfire, caught between the relentless advance of the Sentinels and the desperate resistance of the mutants. Those who remained were either in hiding or dead. The world was a barren wasteland, devoid of hope and teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You stood on the precipice of what was once a thriving city, now reduced to ruins. The wind howled through the skeletal remains of skyscrapers, carrying with it the echoes of a world that no longer existed. Your heart was heavy with the weight of all you had seen, all you had lost. But you were still standing, still fighting. You had no other choice.

Your powers had been both a blessing and a curse in this war. The ability to manipulate time was a formidable weapon, allowing you to slow it, speed it up, or even rewind it in brief bursts. But every use took a toll, draining your energy, leaving you weaker with each passing day. It was a power that came with a price—a price you had paid over and over again, watching friends and allies fall only to rewind their deaths, knowing that it would only delay the inevitable.

And yet, despite everything, you had survived. You were one of the last remaining members of the X-Men, a shadow of the team that had once stood as a beacon of hope in a world that feared and hated them. But hope was a luxury none of you could afford anymore. Survival was all that mattered, and even that seemed like a losing battle.

Beside you, Logan Howlett—Wolverine—surveyed the desolate landscape with a grim expression. His once fierce eyes were hardened by the years of combat, yet there was a depth of sorrow in them that matched your own. His presence was a constant, a rock in the storm that raged around you both. You had fought together through countless battles, each one more desperate than the last, and had watched the world crumble piece by piece.

Logan’s wounds healed quickly, his regenerative abilities keeping him alive when others would have perished. But even he was not immune to the emotional toll of this endless war. The loss of friends, of family, of a future worth fighting for—it all weighed heavily on him, carving deep lines into his face, turning his hair to gray.

For years, you and Logan had been comrades in arms, partners on the battlefield. But there was more between you than just the bond forged in blood and fire. There was something unspoken, a connection that ran deeper than either of you dared to acknowledge. It was a thread that had woven itself through the fabric of your shared experiences, pulling you closer even as the world around you fell apart.

The quiet moments between skirmishes had become precious, stolen time where the chaos of the world seemed to fade, if only for a brief while. It was in those moments that you would catch Logan’s gaze, his eyes searching yours as if seeking solace in the only place it could be found. There were times when your hands would brush, a fleeting touch that sent a spark through your entire being, a reminder that you were still alive, still capable of feeling something other than pain and despair.

But there was no room for love in a world like this. No room for the vulnerability that came with it. To love was to risk losing everything, and neither of you could afford that. So, you kept your feelings buried deep, hidden beneath layers of resolve and determination. There were more pressing matters at hand—survival, resistance, the slim chance of victory.

As the days passed and the future grew increasingly bleak, a plan began to take shape among the remaining X-Men. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to change the course of history, to prevent the events that had led to this catastrophic timeline. The idea was to send someone back in time, to a point before the Sentinels were created, before the war had begun. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance you had left.

The choice of who to send was obvious. Logan was the only one who could survive the journey. His healing factor would protect him from the physical strain, and his mind was strong enough to endure the temporal displacement. But even with his abilities, the mission was fraught with danger. If it failed, if something went wrong, there would be no coming back.

Your role in the plan was just as crucial. Your powers would be used to anchor Logan’s consciousness in the past, to guide him and keep him connected to the present. It was a task that required immense concentration and would drain you of almost all your energy. You knew the risks, knew that there was a very real possibility that you wouldn’t survive the attempt. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was giving Logan a chance to succeed, to change the future, to save the world.

The night before the mission, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of what was to come pressed down on you, a heavy burden that you carried alone. You had always been strong, resilient, but the thought of what lay ahead filled you with a sense of dread that you couldn’t shake.

You sat alone in the darkness, the cold air seeping into your bones, your thoughts a tangled mess of fear and determination. The reality of the situation was sinking in—this could be the last night you ever spent in this world. The last night you would see Logan, hear his voice, feel his presence beside you.

The sound of footsteps drew you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Logan approaching. His face was set in a somber expression, the lines of worry etched deep into his features. He said nothing as he sat down beside you, the silence between you heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. There was nothing that needed to be said, no words that could capture the magnitude of what was about to happen. But the silence wasn’t empty—it was filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between you for years. The tension that had simmered beneath the surface, always there but never acknowledged, was now impossible to ignore.

Finally, it was Logan who broke the silence. His voice was rough, low, like gravel underfoot. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hell,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first light of dawn was just beginning to break.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “Yeah. It is.”

He turned to look at you then, his gaze intense, searching. “You ready for this?”

You met his eyes, seeing the concern there, the fear that he was trying so hard to hide. You managed a small, sad smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Logan’s hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before he rested it on yours. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold that surrounded you, a lifeline in the darkness. You looked down at your joined hands, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This could be it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If things go wrong… I just… I don’t want you to—”

You shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish. “Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Don’t say it. We can’t afford to think like that.”

But even as you said the words, you knew it was too late. The reality of the situation hung between you like a shadow, impossible to ignore. Logan squeezed your hand, the pressure grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of despair.

“You’re strong,” he said, his voice steady, reassuring. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, took your breath away. For a moment, you felt like the world had stopped, that there was nothing but the two of you in that cold, desolate night.

Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face in your hand, your thumb brushing lightly over the rough stubble on his cheek. “And you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You have to come back. You have to make it right.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the hardness in them giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he vowed, his voice fierce, filled with a determination that sent a shiver down your spine. “I swear, I’ll make it right.”

The moment hung between you, heavy and charged, the tension that had been building for years finally coming to a head. It was as if all the barriers you had both put up, all the walls you had built around your hearts, were crumbling in the face of what was to come.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before the fear could take hold, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was fierce, desperate, a collision of pent-up emotions that neither of you could contain any longer. Logan responded immediately, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he could merge your bodies, your souls, into one.

There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense, as if you were both trying to pour everything you felt into this one moment. It was a kiss born of desperation, of the fear that this might be your last chance to feel something real, something good, before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Logan’s other hand slid to your waist, pulling you into his lap as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless. You could feel the raw power in him, the barely-contained rage and pain that he carried with him every day, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take it all away, to make him feel something other than the constant ache of loss and regret.

The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, clinging to this one moment of passion and vulnerability. It was as if time itself had stopped, holding you in a suspended reality where nothing else mattered.

But time, as always, was cruel. The kiss slowed, the intensity gradually ebbing away, leaving behind a bittersweet longing that settled deep in your chest. You pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cold air.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

He opened his eyes, and the raw emotion you saw there nearly brought you to your knees. There was so much in his gaze—love, fear, desperation, hope. It was almost too much to bear.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” you said, your voice barely audible, “I need you to know… I—”

But before you could finish, Logan captured your lips again, silencing you with a kiss that was somehow even more tender, more meaningful than the last. It was a kiss that spoke of promises unmade, of words left unsaid, of a future that might never come.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still cradling your face, his expression was one of fierce determination. “You don’t have to say it,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding as you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand on your skin. The dawn was fast approaching, the light slowly creeping over the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruined city.

The reality of what was to come settled over you both like a dark cloud, but in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you, you felt a sense of peace that had eluded you for so long. You knew that this could be the last time you ever saw him, the last time you felt his touch, his kiss. But you also knew that if anyone could change the future, it was Logan.

As the first rays of sunlight pierced the gloom, you pulled back, reluctantly breaking the embrace. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you could see the same mixture of hope and fear reflected in them.

“It’s time,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart.

Logan nodded, his expression hardening as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. But before he could step away, you reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Promise me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something tender, something achingly vulnerable. He squeezed your hand in return, his grip strong and reassuring.

“I promise,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll come back. I’ll find you.”

With one last lingering look, Logan turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows as he prepared to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life.

And as you watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and hope, you whispered a silent prayer to whatever gods might still be listening, begging them to bring him back to you.

Because in this world of darkness and despair, Logan was your only light, your only hope.

And you weren’t ready to let that go.

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Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus

(If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series moving forward just comment below <3 )

[andy-wm]

Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

[nanasrkives]

navigation : midnight records! the moonlight album! the jjk album!

BEFORE SUNRISE ft. Zen'in Toji

synopsis : tokyo, may 1995. she doesn’t want to go home. he doesn’t have one. what starts as a strange encounter becomes a night of wandering until sunrise. and sometimes, one night is enough to remember someone forever.

contains : before sunrise au. soft angst. fluff. right person wrong time. strangers to almost lovers.

warnings : mentions of alcohol/smoking. language. themes of transience and loneliness. mentions of family trauma. suggestivity.

✷ masterlist — chapter two

✷ CHAPTER ONE. / 8:00 PM - Last Train

You left work late. Again.

One of the speakers had blown and you stayed back after close, rewinding the same ten seconds of a scratched L’Arc-en-Ciel CD until the bassline stopped rattling. It didn’t. You gave up.

The street was already leaning toward night when you stepped out, city lights blinking like they were pretending to care. You didn’t check the time. You knew if you looked, you’d start running. And running meant you still gave a shit.

So of course, you ran.

Boots not meant for sprinting. Shoulder bag slipping down your arm every five seconds. You cut through two alleys, jaywalked across an empty intersection, and whispered “sorry” to a taxi that almost hit you, though you weren’t. The wind hit your face like a reminder that you didn’t put on powder before you left. You’d gone a little heavy on the mascara this morning and now it was probably smudged. Fine, whatever.

The station came into view like a mirage of bad timing. You took the stairs two at a time. Your breath caught somewhere just behind your ribs, and right as your foot hit the platform — the train doors slid shut. You didn’t even get the satisfaction of a dramatic noise. They just clicked. Indifferent. Clinical. The train pulled away from the platform as you watched it go, hands on your hips, chest rising too fast, trying to look like you hadn’t just sprinted six blocks and lost.

Cool.

You tried to make your breath quieter. You tried not to look like someone who still cared about missing things. But your legs were buzzing and the strap of your bag had carved a mark across your shoulder and honestly, the worst part was that you ran at all. You could’ve left five minutes earlier. You could’ve not cared. But you ran. Because sometimes, even when you’ve got nothing urgent to get home to — you just want to get there first.

And now you weren’t there. You were here. Sweating slightly under your collar, trying to look normal under the flat glow of station lights. You pulled your coat tighter. Not because you were cold. Just because you needed to do something with your hands.

You decide to lean back against the wall to avoid looking awkward longer. Your shoulder bag tugs at your arm, heavy with too many little things — a mazzy star cassette tape you didn’t put back in its case, half a sandwich you forgot to eat, a receipt you didn’t throw out because it felt like proof of something. You pretend to check the next train time. It's thirty-two minutes. Which is just long enough to feel like a punishment.

The vending machine glows from across the platform — garish in a way nothing ever is during the day. You walk toward it. Not because you’re thirsty. Just because it's something to do that isn’t standing still and thinking about how out of breath you still are. You press the first button you see. A can thunks into the tray like it’s mildly annoyed with you. You open it without looking and take a sip. Lukewarm. Bitter. Tastes like shit and regret. It makes sense. You're not sure what else you expected.

You bring the can up again and catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Not movement, really — just presence. Someone standing across the platform, maybe six paces off. Leaning against a concrete column like he’s been there the whole time. Like he was built into the structure. You didn’t see him when you got here. Or maybe you did, and your body was too busy trying not to collapse in front of a closing train door to register it.

He’s tall. Really tall. Black jacket a little too heavy for the weather, dark jeans that are not too large but not too tight. Cigarette between his fingers, not smoked so much as held. You can’t see his eyes from here, but you feel them. Not in a creepy way. Like he’s not looking at you. But he’s not not looking, either.

He doesn’t shift. Doesn’t even seem bored. Just stands there like someone who doesn’t feel the need to fill silence. Or maybe someone who’s too used to it to bother anymore.

You glance away. Sip again. Grimace. The coffee still tastes like shit.

You wonder what he’s waiting for. If he’s waiting. If he even missed a train or if this is just where he ended up tonight. You think about saying something. Then think better of it. You haven’t had enough sleep this week to make decent small talk. You haven’t had a full conversation in three days that wasn’t about a refund, a release date, or which side of the sleeve is supposed to face out on a display rack.

Besides, he looks like the kind of man who doesn’t answer questions. Not because he’s mysterious, but because he doesn’t see the point.

You exhale through your nose and shift your weight again, not because you’re uncomfortable — just because standing still makes you feel too obvious. You glance over one more time. He hasn’t moved. You don’t know what makes you finally speak. Maybe boredom. Maybe impulse. Whatever it is, the words come out before you think them through. “You always look this constipated?” It comes out low, flat, not even trying to be funny. Just something to toss into the space so it doesn’t keep swallowing you whole.

He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his gaze slightly, enough to let you know he heard. His face doesn’t change much — except for the smallest twitch near the corner of his mouth, like something pulled tight out of habit is deciding whether or not to let go. “You always talk this much to strangers?” he asks, tone dry, almost bored. Just matter-of-fact.

You shrug, turning your attention back to the can in your hand like it might give you an excuse not to answer. “Only the ones who stare. And see me lose.” You walk back toward the bench without looking at him. You sit, cross your legs and sip the coffee again just to make your mouth stop moving. Still disgusting. Still better than being alone with your thoughts.

He doesn’t come closer but he doesn’t leave either.

“You always smoke that slow?” you ask, watching the red tip of the cigarette hover near his fingers. “Only when I’m not in a hurry.”

“Well shit, guess I ruined your vibe.”

Still nothing. Or maybe silence is just how he answers when he doesn’t feel like lying. You don’t push. But you don’t stop too. “I thought I had more time,” you say, like that’s something normal to admit to a stranger. You keep your eyes on the machines across the track. “I didn’t, apparently.”

He flicks ash without looking at you. “Can’t tell if you’re making conversation or confessing something.” You smile, faintly. “Why not both?” That’s the first time he really looks at you. Not long or searching. Like something about the way you say it doesn’t match what he expected. You sit with that. The station hums in the background. One of the lights overhead buzzes like it’s threatening to die.

“You live around here?” he asks after a beat. It’s not casual, but it isn’t probing either. You don’t look at him when you answer. Just tilt your head, eyes still on the vending machine like it might give you an exit. “Far enough to miss the train. Close enough to pretend I didn’t mean to catch it.”

Another pause. Then you add, softer, because it’s true, and you’re too tired to lie about small things: “Not that I was rushing to get home.” He doesn’t react. But that doesn’t surprise you. He’s got the kind of face that probably doesn’t shift for much. You wonder if that’s something he learned, or if it just grew that way.

You lean back against the bench, feeling the cold press of metal through your coat. The coffee can’s almost empty, and you can’t decide if you’re disappointed or relieved. “It's not that I hate it,” you say, mostly to yourself. “The place is fine. Small. My first appartment.” You swirl the can once before setting it on the ground by your feet. “But sometimes it feels like the walls get closer when I close the door behind me.”

He doesn’t say anything. You weren’t expecting him to. That might be part of the reason you said it. It’s easier to speak when the other person doesn’t try to fill in the blanks. He drops what’s left of his cigarette and crushes it under his boot with a slow, clean scrape. Doesn’t rush the motion. Doesn’t say anything for a while after.

Then: “Let’s walk.”

Just like that. Not a question. Not a command. Just a line drawn across the platform, and you’re the one who has to decide whether to cross it. You look at him. For the first time, fully. And he meets it — not challenging, not inviting. Waiting, like he’s already on the other side of the choice.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one leg. “You could be a serial killer.” He nods, like that’s reasonable. “I could.” There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t feel dangerous. He's ridiculously honest. Which is maybe worse.

You look toward the exit, then back at him. “You’re not gonna smile and say ‘I’m not that kind of guy’?”

“No.”

You let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. “Points for consistency.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t gesture for you to follow. He just starts walking. Like the night was already his and you’re just deciding whether or not to step into it.

And for a few seconds, you stay still. You think about your apartment. About the cold floor, the quiet, the leftover curry you didn’t finish last night. You think about how the silence there doesn’t even echo — it just lands. You should stay. You should wait for the next train. You should go home. But you don’t want to go home. So you move.

The doors hiss shut behind you. You step into air that’s cooler than it felt five minutes ago. City air, late air — the kind that smells like warm metal and leftover ramen and just enough night to make you feel like maybe something’s still possible.

You stand there for a second. On the curb. He’s a few feet ahead of you, not looking back, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t ask if you’re coming. He already knows.

You shift your weight. The vending machine buzz follows you out. A cat darts across the street and disappears between buildings like it’s got somewhere more urgent to be. You glance toward him, then forward again. “If I end up in a missing person’s case,” you say, mostly to the sidewalk, “I really hope they use a decent photo.”

He doesn’t turn, but you catch it — the ghost of something near his mouth. Not a smile. Just a suggestion of one. “Guess that depends on what gets you reported missing.” You shake your head, drag your hands deeper into your coat pockets. “You’re really not big on comfort, are you?”

“I don’t sell anything I can’t afford.”

That gets a small exhale out of you. Not a laugh. But enough to loosen the knot in your chest. You both stay still for a minute. Not walking yet. Not really standing, either. Then, without looking at him, you ask: “So, we just gonna walk until sunrise?”

His voice doesn’t shift when he answers. “Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.” You don’t but you don’t say that. You just stay where you are. The street humming somewhere behind your left shoulder. The sky half-closed. A taxi slows but doesn’t stop. And the night — strange, quiet, almost patient — lets you be undecided.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @buckcherried @andysteve1311 @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @angelkiyo @stargazsblog @seren-dipitt @loverofthingsnsuch @miiyas

[mmani-e]

Hobgoblin Kazuichi: "Gee, I dunno what it is but everything I make ends up being some kinda war machine."

Dwarf Fuyuhiko: "There's gonna be pages dedicated just to you in the book of grudges when I get home."

Hobgoblin Kazuichi: (Squints in confusion, stops) "Fuck did I do man?"

-

Modron Chiaki: "Yeah, my dad was... (Audible sound of gears turning, and slowing down before a metallic clang)... was this really manly guy... (Wind-up mechanism malfunctions, illusionary eyes power down, Usami rushes over to desperately rewind the key in her backpack)... I (powers back up unexpectedly and goes ramrod straight, flinging Monomi into the ocean) think"

Hajime: "oh thats cool"

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2023 - Follower Recs Part II

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2023

Before the year ends, we want to share more recs of your favourite stories that were published this year. All these recs were submitted to WangxianFicRecs anonymously and most of them without further comments, so you will have to check them out yourself~

Rewind 2023 - Follower Recs Part I

~*~

After I Met You

by Amandyalmonds

M, WIP, 78k, Wangxian

Summary: "They’re not going to go through with the marriage proposal though, right?” Jiang Cheng reasoned. “You’re ours. And surely the Lan sect wouldn’t want a huli jing, let alone the famed Hanguang-jun.” “Exactly," Wei Wuxian said with a grin. "The Lans are too stuck up to know how to handle someone like me, and they won’t risk forcing their precious Hanguang-jun into such a marriage.” Or, after the end of the war, Wei Wuxian is offered as the last known huli jing to marry into the Lan royal family. The only problem is that Wei Wuxian has never met the man he's marrying, and he's not sure he'll survive in a palace with over three-thousand rules.

~*~

it rains, it pours

by jublis

Not rated, 130k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian dashes across the distance that separates him from his husband, like a child running through the dark as if that would lessen its existence. He grabs Lan Zhan’s hand and holds the arm close to his side, to a soft breath of laughter. “Come on, Hanguang-jun,” he half-whispers, because the atmosphere seems to call for it. “Light the way for us.” (Wei Wuxian has scarcely known fear to be gentle — and still. It's as if there’s something murmuring down the hallway, behind the closed door, next to the window in this howling storm: I’m here, I’m here, I’ve always been here…) Or, as Wei Wuxian starts to look into the reasons behind the unsettling notion that something is not quite right, something else starts to look back.

~*~

Take My Pieces, Make Me Whole

by InTheGreySpaces (@inthegreyspaces)

M, WIP, 203k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Wangji reunites with Wei Wuxian in Yiling only to discover that their union in Xuanwu's Cave nearly three years ago had an outcome he never could have anticipated. Instead of leaving the Burial Mounds that evening, Lan Wangji stays, and his actions set in motion a series of events that will save Wei Wuxian and the Wens. But first, he must battle Wei Wuxian's own lack of self-worth, the clutching hold the resentful dead are determined to keep on their champion, the greed of Jin Guangshan, Jin Guangyao's machinations, his own Uncle's unbending disapproval, and the hatred of the Cultivation World. However, friends and allies are found in the least likeliest of places, and eventually, there is a light at the end of the single-log bridge.

~*~

The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos

by dvasva (@dvasva)

M, WIP, 127k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: “Of all the rotten luck I could have!" Outside, in between the gentle embrace of an imposing misty mountain and the caress of soft wind, stood the Cloud Recesses. It wasn’t a section that Wei Wuxian had recognized from his time in the sect, but the motifs of clouds and cranes in the buildings, the impeccable feng shui and carefully manicured paths, and the utter silence as the sect members slept peacefully, all burned themselves into Wei Wuxian’s eyes. No wonder the curtains were so firmly nailed to the walls! Any bit of demonic energy escaping the room could call down a veritable army of righteous cultivators! What sort of person in their right mind would dare to summon a spirit into their own body using resentful energy in the Cloud Recesses of all places? What kind of person would scoff so rudely at the Lan Clans most important rule, ‘Do not fraternize with evil?’ After being dead for four years, Wei Wuxian wakes up in a body he doesn't really feel comfortable with, in a place that he's sure wants him dead, and married to a man who surely hates him.

~*~

A Hop, Skip, and a Jump

by Prince_Enby (@enbiart)

T, WIP, 47k, Wangxian & LSZ/OYZZ

Summary: Two years after the events of Guanyin Temple, the Junior Quartet unknowingly walk into an array during a night hunt, and walk out into the middle of a war. None of them are even slightly prepared to deal with the opportunity dropped into their laps - and yet, despite it all, Ouyang Zizhen's biggest concern is somehow still the fact that everyone thinks he and Lan Sizhui are married.

~*~

fans for hanguang-jun

by saltyfeathers

M, 21k, Wangxian

Summary: “What I mean,” Wei Wuxian repeats with as much gravitas as he can muster, “is that every single day in their marriage bed, the Yiling Laozu sp—spears open the most esteemed Hanguang-jun on his—his mmmmmmonster cock!!!” wei wuxian gets kidnapped by a team of belligerent bottoms.

~*~

not wx in the fic

ruin this on me

by loosingletters (@loosingmoreletters)

E, 2k, MXY/WWX/XY

Summary: Mo Xuanyu raises his head from Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to mouth at the exposed skin at his neck, leaving bruises and red stains from his lip balm. He forewent the white foundation today; it is more of a hassle in bed than an enhancement, and he carefully avoids the delicately painted huadian from smearing. Wei Wuxian exhales, not quite a moan yet, and Mo Xuanyu grins against his skin before biting down. The Yiling Laozu is a kind master, sweet to his heir and family, but he is not a gentle man. His breathing hitches at the sudden pain, an approval on its own. Or, Mo Xuanyu pays special attention to his sect leader and shixiong.

~*~

💕

the past drifts away with the waves

by thelastdboy (@thelastdboyy)

E, WIP, 28k, Wangxian

Summary: The next time Wei Wuxian became aware of his surroundings and was able to form semi-coherent thoughts, Wen Zhuliu had just finished tying weights to his feet. Both his arm and his back were still bleeding and he felt as if he had been flayed. “Should I make it quick?” Wen Zhuliu asked him, offering a small mercy. But Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Give me your worst,” he snarled, his teeth coated in blood from where he had bitten his tongue at some point. “I will come back to end you all,” he promised darkly. “Very well,” Wen Zhuliu merely said and drowned him. Or: Yu Ziyuan cuts off Wei Wuxian's hand to appease the Wens. He gets drowned in the lake behind Lotus Pier and resentful energy transforms him into a river spirit. After avenging his own death, he finds his way to Yiling.

~*~

this story plus the lovely podfic

if this one could be ransomed

by harborshore

T, 2k, Wangxian

[podfic] if this one could be ransomed

by jennisaisquoi (@jennisaisquoi79)

T, 10-20 Minutes, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Wangji is too late to save A-Yuan. Sick with grief and pain, he throws himself back in time to try again. But he goes back too far.

~*~

a thousand lifetimes

by SapphyreLily (@sapphyrelily)

G, 2k, Wangxian

Summary: Immortal Sizhui doesn't always go looking for the reincarnations of his fathers, but they always find him, in the end.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[thewertsearch]

[ there was more to this ask, but some was spoilers 😆 - C ]

Ooh, that is a fun challenge! I might make this a bigger Title post, actually, because it's been a good while since we've had one of those.

...alright, I just finished, and this one kind of got away from me. I hope it's ok that I sort of hijacked your post to talk about Aspects as a whole - but rest assured, I did answer the original question. Let's get into it!

Unfortunately, it might be kind of difficult to make Class guesses. My theory is that they're Sburb's take on RPG party roles - and for obvious reasons, we haven't seen how any of the non-Player characters would fit into a Sburb party. A full analysis of the hypothetical Midnight Crew, Exile and Guardian sessions would be fun, but it's a little out of scope for this question.

Personality certainly seems to be a factor. I don't think it's a coincidence, for example, that the Seers are the most inquisitive members of their respective parties. Dave and Karkat both hide their true emotions behind a persona - but then again, so do Feferi and Jade, two happy-go-lucky Witches with incredibly dark backstories. Dave may be the worst offender, but half the cast is hiding behind some sort of facade.

John, for his part, doesn't seem to have anything in common with Equius - at least, nothing I can see. I might dig a little deeper for human/troll Class parallels once we've seen more of Equius and Feferi, but our sample sizes are so small that it's going to be hard to tell which shared traits are intentional.

Anyway, none of the other classes feature a pair of Players that I could toss into a Venn diagram, so we're at a bit of a dead end.

I suppose I could approach this from another angle, and try to extrapolate a Class from each character's life circumstances - for example, by speculating that Grandpa's inheritance of the Betty Crocker brand makes him a potential Heir - but that's clearly not an accurate method, given that literal heiress Feferi is a Witch.

See, Classes are a tough nut to crack! The main issue here is that the comic has given us very little to work with - it's been tight-lipped on Titles in general, and there's been almost no exposition on Classes specifically.

It might be easier just to try and assign Aspects to each of the non-Players - so that's what I'm going to do. I'll also take the opportunity to put forward my best guess for what each Aspect means.

Without further ado:

Time means time.

This one seems extremely straightforward. Not all the Aspects are quite so literal - Breath, for example, seems more closely related to wind than the body function it's named after - but Time is about engaging directly with its namesake. It may have other meanings as well, but we haven't seen any yet.

If you wield Time, then you're the session's designated time traveler - which is a lot less cool than it sounds, because it means you're on Doomed Timeline cleanup duty. Enjoy the corpse disposal!

Both of the comic's Time Players have fashioned their own personal time machines out of musical instruments. Music seems to have some connection to Time - which makes sense, since it's an art form of pitch, rhythm and beat. Music is time.

We can also talk for a second about Dave's Quest. As we'll see, each Land Quest seems to directly concern the Player's Aspect. Dave's Quest is to...

...um.

Well, one of these is Dave's Quest. The LOHACse is the only one of the two which is directly related to Time, but I've speculated that Dave's sword-in-the-stone quest will involve him rewinding Caledfwlch to an earlier point in its timeline. Plus, the Caledfwlch quest also speaks to Dave's Class as a Knight, so I think it's the real one.

For the sake of completeness, let's also talk about the Time Lands. Each Land always seems to feature one trait which either directly or obliquely references its Player's Aspect. LOHAC is self-explanatory, but Aradia's Land of Quartz and Melody is an interesting case, as its 'Aspect trait' could be either of its two descriptors. Quartz could reference the quartz in a modern clock, and Melody could reference the musical connection I mentioned above.

I can't think of any non-Players with particularly strong ties to Time - aside from the Felt and Lord English, who we know very little about. Let's say they're all Time Players, and English rules over them as a Prince of Time. As a mob boss and destroyer of worlds, he undoubtedly shares some of Eridan's megalomania.

Space... well, we actually don't have much for Space. We haven't seen Jade or Kanaya do anything with their Aspect, nor do we know anything about their Quests.

We do know that both Space Lands contain the Forge, so maybe there's something to that. Presumably it's going to forge something, and I think it's probably where you're supposed to create the universe. If your task is literally to create Space, it makes sense that a Space Player would take point - but that begs the question of what would happen in a session without a Space Player.

Maybe the game prefers a Space Forge, but it can spawn on another Land in lieu of one - or maybe Space is the 'default' Aspect, and it's actually mandatory in every session.

As far as Space's symbolism is concerned, my assumption is that it's as straightforward as Time, but we'll need to see more.

While I'm here, I guess I should dip my toe into this hot mess.

Yes, LOFAF's Space Word does appear to be Frogs. Yes, that does imply that Kanaya's was also Frogs, or something equally mysterious. No, I do not know what this could possibly mean.

These frogs are apparently heralds for their god, Bilious Slick, whose shadow has been looming over the comic for months now. I guess their appearance on the Space Lands implies that Slick is Space themed, which is at least consistent with my theory that he's the final obstacle between the Players and their universe.

Moving on, because I give up.

(Oh, and if anyone's a Space Player, it's Bec. You could also make an argument for Mom Lalonde, since her home was fitted with an observatory, but that's very tenuous. We don't know much about Space, so I don't know how else to tie a character to the Aspect.)

There's a lot going on with Light.

All Quests so far have had ties to the Player's Aspect, so whatever Jaspers thinks he's talking about here should have something to do with Light.

Jaspers... seems to be talking about different ways to represent information, and instructing Rose to find a particular DNA sequence. (I have to assume this isn't the MEOW sequence, because I don't think Sburb wants Rose to fill LOLAR's oceans with First Guardians.) So, it sort of looks like Light is information, doesn't it?

Well... maybe. See, things are are complicated by the fact that Dave's Quest above was also Knight-themed, so this spiel from Jaspers could be partially Seer-themed. How can we tell which is the Seer stuff, and which is the Light?

Recently, Rose said this, seemingly confirming that her Title is about information ('knowing shit'), and also implying that the 'knowing' is a Seer thing.

This allow us to compare her to Terezi, the other Seer. As we'll see below, she specializes in discerning people's personalities and motivations - literally, seeing into their minds - so it sounds like being a Seer is about perceiving or 'seeing' things that relate to your Aspect.

Rose, the Seer of Light, should therefore have an advanced perception of Light - but just what is Light? What can Rose see?

Well, she says she can see 'the big picture'.

I think Rose's powers allow her to zoom out, understand the broad strokes of a situation, and see how it all ties together - and I think that is the essence of Light.

Dave wonders how he's going to navigate the Furthest Ring's twisted-up space, so she scans the overall situation with her Light powers, and vaguely understands that it won't be a problem. Dave will be able to play his part.

However, if he asked why, exactly, it won't be a problem, or how he's going to do it, she'd be stumped. That's not her department.

I think I sort of understand what Light means now, but I can't think of a succinct way to describe it. The zooming-out Aspect, maybe? The everything-is-connected Aspect? The don't-sweat-the-details Aspect?

Guys, I think I'm starting to understand Homestuck!

Ah, shit.

Yeah, I don't know how Vriska or her powers slot into this interpretation. As the Thief of Light, I guess she'd be stealing... the bigger picture... from other people? And that lets her take their luck, somehow?

I guess when you give yourself 'good luck', you are sort of improving your situation in the general sense, rather than the specific. You don't know the details of how your luck will manifest, but you don't really need to - all you need to know is that it'll be good for you.

I don't know. This is getting messy, and more than a little abstract. I'm sure Vriska will be doing a lot of luck-stealing, so we'll hopefully learn more as we go.

At least the Land of Maps and Treasure fits Light-as-the-big-picture. A map is, literally, a big picture.

A flurry of disquieting happenstance is related to the ADORED SOVEREIGN. With no other options, her counsel is all that is left to be sought. Abdication is never ideal. But in the face of inevitable conquest, conceding ground can supply the only remaining advantage.

WQ, then, seems like a good fit for a Light Player. After listening to PM's full report, she seems to understand how the pieces fit together.

The Queen knows that Jack wants her dead, and clearly understands how dangerous a Player item can be, in the wrong hands. She doesn't know what's in the package, or what Jack will do with it - but she doesn't need to. She can see the writing on the wall, so she retreats.

I did a bit of Breath research for this post, and landed on the above quote. I think Breath is about direction and destination.

TT: John? TT: Are you there? -- tentacleTherapist [TT] is now an idle chum! -- EB: hey, yeah i'm here! EB: and not dead i think. TT: I know. TT: I've been watching you scramble through the house like a lunatic. TT: You should have answered me sooner.

John's a meandering kind of guy. He's wandered haphazardly around the session for three thousand pages, but he always seems to reach his goal. Despite not knowing where to go, he always seems to be where he needs to be.

John's Quest as the Heir of Breath has been explained in detail. He needs to unclog the pipes of LOWAS and defeat Typheus, freeing his Land's fireflies from their cloudy prison. In essence, John's Quest is to give these bugs a new direction, allowing them their full axis of movement once again.

There might also be some Heir stuff in this Quest, but its ultimate goal seems to align pretty well with that Breeze quote above, so I'm willing to accept it as Breath evidence.

AG: Have you ever tried to fly? I 8et you haven't! AG: How a8out we take to the skies, Pupa! AG: Hahahaha, oh you like that idea, Pupa? Yes, you do. I can feel it in your simple, mallea8le 8rain. AG: You want to fly so 8ad!

Breath might also have something to do with agency - or at least, the ability to choose your own actions. John's freedom-themed Quest isn't the only example of this - Tavros's entire arc is about how Vriska keeps denying him agency, while pretending she's doing the opposite.

(I'm going to avoid comparing Homestuck to other works, because this post is long enough as it is, so you're just going to have to imagine the twelve paragraphs of Deltarune meta that would otherwise be placed here.)

AT: bECAUSE THE ONLY TIME i EVER HAD FUN PLAYING THIS GAME WAS WHEN i WAS ASLEEP,

Tavros just wanted to do his own thing. He wanted to ignore the game and float around Prospit, away from everyone's expectations - but he was denied this opportunity, again and again. It's no wonder that he's on a bit of a high right now, after being granted the freedom of his new robo-legs.

As for potential Breath Players - well, CD reminds me of John a little, but he seems a lot more likely to stay on task. I don't know what Aspect he'd be assigned.

Now - we're onto the Aspects we've only seen in trolls. We don't have as much for most of these, since we haven't seen any troll Quests, nor any Aspect powers sans Vriska and Terezi.

Terezi, the Seer of Mind, deals in personality - or maybe, more generally, vibes.

CG: WE'RE NOT EXILING JACK, HE'S COOL. [...] GC: [...] 1 DO NOT G3T 4 GOOD F33L1NG FROM H1M! GC: H3 K1ND OF CG: STINKS? [...] GC: W3LL GC: SORT OF GC: H3 DO3SNT SM3LL B4D 4CTU4LLY GC: H3 SM3LLS R34LLY CL34N 4ND SH1NY 4ND D4RK D4RK D444RK L1K3 4N O1L SL1CK 4ND TH3R3 1S 4 T1NY H1NT OF L1COR1C3 TH3R3 TOO GC: 1TS MOR3 L1K3 GC: TH3 W4Y H3 MOV3S GC: 1 SM3LL H1S SMOOTH MOT1ONS 4ND TH3 W4Y H3 SQU1NTS H1S 3Y3S 4ND 1T G1V3S M3 TH1S R34LLY N3RVOUS F33L1NG

When she smells someone, her Mind-enhanced perception doesn't just tell her what they look like - it also seems to communicate that person's essence. Terezi can see the idea of Jack Noir, here. She's smelling what it feels like to be inside his head.

GC: TH3 D4Y 1T H4PP3N3D W4S TH3 F1RST T1M3 1 3V3R H34RD FROM MY LUSUS GC: SH3 WOK3 M3 UP, 4ND 3V3R S1NC3 H4S B33N T34CH1NG M3 4 D1FF3R3NT W4Y TO S33 GC: 4 D1FF3R3NT W4Y TO P3RC31V3 3V3RYTH1NG 1 GU3SS, NOT JUST 1N 4 S3NSORY W4Y

Terezi is also a naturally perceptive person, so it's sometimes unclear whether her reads are due to Seer clairvoyance or her own deductive abilities. As a general rule, I'll only treat her insight as a Mind power if she explicitly refers to her sense of smell as its source, since that's the avenue for her supernatural perception.

GC: T3LL M3 YOUR R34L N4M3!!! >:[ TG: ok lets say its TG: dave why not GC: D4V3! GC: TH4T SM3LLS L1K3 TRUTH GC: 1 W1LL D3C1D3 TO B3L13V3 1T >:] TG: fuck

Therefore, I'm pretty sure her powers do, in fact, allow her to detect lies. Mind, then, might be related to the concept of truth - as in, your Mind is the truth of who you are, stripped of all illusions.

I was initially going to place Droog here, since he seems to be the only Crew member with his head screwed on, but I no longer think Mind is about being rational or analytical.

Blood is the first Aspect I don't really have a guess for. Maybe it's got something to do with genetics - Karkat is a carcinoGeneticist, after all, and a mutant to boot.

Spades Slick is blood brothers with a Knight of Blood, and he's got a lot in common with Karkat, commanding his party with a moderately annoying leadership style. I'll put him here on the strength of those parallels, and I can revisit it when Blood is explained.

We don't know much about Nepeta, so we don't know much about Heart. Shipping is all about drawing them, though, so maybe Heart is about romance - or, more broadly, relationships and connections.

Nepeta's Land of Little Cubes and Tea is a lolcat joke, so it might not conform to the Aspect Word pattern. I guess, since the cubes are sugar cubes, it might be a pun on 'sweetheart'? Who knows.

I'll put Hearts Boxcars here, and not just because of his name. He's the only member of the Midnight Crew with any interest in shipping.

Feferi revived Sollux with a kiss, so Life is probably healing, as it is in many other element systems.

How her Land of Dew and Glass relates to Life is a mystery. While dew can refer to condensation on any surface, it's often used to describe the water droplets which accrete on grass and other flora. That's kind of a connection to a living thing, but feels like a stretch and a half.

Let's also put Nanna here, since she's the only true healer in the cast. I don't know why the other sprites don't use the healing beam.

Our Void Player is in a Land of Caves and Silence - a hole in the earth, and an absence of sound. Void seems to represent negation, or a lack of something.

Also - this might be a reach, but Scratch describes the gaps in his clairvoyance as 'pockets of void', so perhaps Void also has something to do with uncertainty - aka, a lack of information.

Most of the Guardians could go here, really. Bro seems the best fit, since he's constantly hiding from Dave, and completely vanishes for most of the session.

When a timeline is marked for destruction, we say that it's doomed.

Doom seems to represent death, obliteration and entropy. Sollux Entered into the Land of Brains and Fire, and I think it's pretty clear that Fire is the trait which is tapping his Aspect.

Doom may also be the Aspect of prophecy. After all, Sollux is a prophet of Doom - so maybe he's a prophet because of Doom. It could also be related to his nature as a Mage, but Mages haven't been explained, so I can't speculate.

I originally thought that Sollux might be a Seer - but the Seer Class seems to be about gathering information related to a particular Aspect, rather than directly divining the future. Maybe a Seer of Time could see future events, but it's certainly not a default ability of the class.

Grandpa seems to have some ties to Doom. He prophesized Jade's death to her when he told her about her dead Dream Self - plus, he's a hunter, with a house full of corpses. Also, his entire presence in the session is overshadowed by the spectre of his future death. This is probably the Aspect guess I'm most confident in.

I guess there's also Hope, a brand-new Aspect with no lore. Eridan's 'hope' would seem to be expressed in the fact that he constantly hits on people, hoping in vain for a yes. Thankfully, we're not aware of any non-Players like that....

The mail is the one final hope for resurrecting a dead planet from its ashes, and the letter carriers are the brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade. They are the defenders of the light of knowledge, free communication, and the exchange of ideas. They are the bold toters of all those little papery conduits of freedom, the white postmarked angels that whisper a message on their deliverance, a promise to the yearning: "There is hope yet."

...but PM is pretty much screaming about hope in her mail monologue, so we'll put her here.

ORDER IN THE COURT. YOU WILL HAVE ORDER IN THIS COURTROOM. IF EVERYONE DOES NOT SETTLE DOWN YOU WILL CLEAR OUT THIS COURTROOM, YOU SWEAR TO GOD.

It's hard to classify the Aimless Renegade. He's all about crime and punishment - which is certainly a Terezi trait, but I don't think it's a Mind trait.

As for Dad, he has a well-established gentlemanly personality, but I don't know what Aspect is the most 'gentlemanly'.

I could try and classify more obscure characters like FedoraFreak, the Pen-pal, Jaspersprite or the Hussie self-insert, but I'll tell you right now I don't have any guesses. Still, that was fun, and it was a good opportunity for me to update my thoughts surrounding the Aspects!

[ratteni-da-rotten]

A Mouse Among Owls? - Chapter 02

Fandom: Murder Drones

Warnings: Implied/referenced Child Neglect

Character appearances: Uzi Doorman, Serial Designation V, Serial Designation J.

The flight back to the metallic carcass spire felt rather uneventful. Her arms were already occupied, securing a snoozing pill drone, and her tail was busy coiled around a dead worker. Harsh winds blew against their bodies, but no matter how strong, they never halted the disassembly drone’s skilled wings. Mechanical mercenaries such as her were designed to endure this planet’s post-apocalyptic, never-changing climate.

“You’re so tiny… are you a runt?” V thought, as one of her true eyes stared at the robot infant. To be fair, the disassembler gal never had met a worker UNN before and had no way to check if all unfledged drones of its kind were normally that small. 

It looked peaceful, glued against her chassis to feel warmth. For a second, the older drone wondered if it was dreaming or rewinding memory files before she softly chortled. “Cute.”

J always said that toasters weren’t like them, just insentient machines mimicking human speech. V didn’t have much knowledge about prey other than how to hunt them, she didn’t have a lot of reason to question what her leader told her. Yet, occasionally her mind tried to convince herself that… Oh, I don’t remember.

Serial Designation V wondered why it had been brought outside in the first place, usually the little ones were kept in the safety of bunkers and strongholds. And in security breaches, the young were almost always the first ones to be evacuated or hidden. For dumb metal tins, they were oddly smart about preservation. No doubt that it was thanks to ‘JCJenson IN SPAAAAACEE!!!!’ skilful coding. 

The murder bot delayed their arrival a bit, but enough to not become toast. It was as if she was dragging her feet (her wings?) at the thought of possible confrontation. Unit V hoped her leader would be asleep when she got there, for the pill baby and her audials’ sake. Night had been hectic for both of them, a good day of rest was needed.

She landed quietly outside her squad’s outpost, the menacing structure swayed thanks to the frigid wind’s will. Watching its gentle movements was almost hypnotic, one could forever dwell wondering if the thing would ever collapse to the ground. Somewhat unlikely, as long disassemblers are inhabiting it, they will keep disrepair at bay.

Cautiously, V stepped through the entrance, her mechanical “ears” terribly keen to the sound of snow crunching under her peg feet. She tried to keep her vents under control, aiming for minimum noise. Her tail freed her prey, its spark of life long gone, and stiffly curled towards the ground. 

Decoration was sparse, excluding the dismembered drone parts scattered around the tower’s inward. A few miscellaneous items, once belonging to the now lifeless, glistened with stray moonlight that managed to peek through the chinks on the metallic husk amalgamation’s walls. Definitely tripping hazards! 

She wonders if anyone complained about it already.

For a brief moment, her gaze fixated upwards on a specific corner of the spire. In the farthest area, there was an entrance to a quite hidden den. She didn’t… enjoy paying visits there frequently, preferring to only show up when it was truly necessary. “Don’t think about it,” the disassembler gal shook her head and continued with her quest, V didn’t want to linger too long at the yellow glow coming from it.

“How did the hunt go?” Slow and tired, a voice from above suddenly asked, her tail bristled up as straight as a steel bar and it felt like her core almost jumped out of her chest. Carefully, SD-V turned her head to look at the speaker, even though such action was pointless due to her true eyes having a wide visual field, mindful to conceal her new charge with her own body. J was hung upside down, deadly tail fastened like a snake around an improvised perch, metallic wings hugging herself to shield from possible threats and cold breeze. Her headband lights were dimmed, not bothered to lay bleary eyes on her teammate. Most likely filing squad reports on her internal software. “How many did you take down this time?”

“It was peachy,” carefully picked words left her sharp-toothed mouth, “I don’t remember how many but it was more than I could carry back here.” 

The leader hummed softly, clearly pleased by V’s hard work. If she wasn’t so sleepy, J would have endlessly ranted about hunting quotas and squad ranks. 

“You’re dismissed for now,” her coworker mumbled, “And it’s your turn tomorrow.”

Slowly V wandered to her personal nest and placed the egg-shaped infant on a pile of soft old clothing, ones she had collected during scouts to serve as bedding. The whole time wracking her CPU for solutions of how she would keep the tiny drone alive, out of other creatures' sight and earshot. Its digital eyes snapped the moment her clawed hands stopped contact, darted around the room analysing the new environment and then started to wobble with threats of tears. 

Whimpers started to bubble in its synthetic vocal cords, begging to be held close again. The disassembler’s eyes hollowed and quickly grabbed it. HOW DO I SOOTHE A BABY? Her mind was panicking. Serial Designation V’s usual “protocol” was to… leave them crying on their own until it stopped.

Well, he didn’t cry as much as before! And J didn’t want crybabies in the team.

“Goddammit brain, focus on right now and not that,” She whispered.

The murderous drone started to rock the pill thing at a plodding pace, V didn’t know how smart it was but made shushing sounds hoping that it quickly got the memo. Thankfully, the whining died down. She sighed, shoulders slacked and her back lay against the den’s ground with a thud. 

Disassembly drones were social creatures who usually enjoyed communal sleep, needless to say, J expected to see V hanging beside her blade cocoon-like figure next dusk. Although every squad member had their own nests they were mostly used for storage, dronelings, and the sick.

But she couldn’t leave it alone, nor place it down without risking it being discovered thanks to the sure wailing the tiny drone would emit. The whole situation screamed, “Stay with me, you have no choice!” One of her hands, the disassembler didn’t dare to remove both at the same time again, ran down her visor and face plates with a quiet groan.

“This isn’t permanent,” V convinced mentally told herself, “its stay is temporary.” Her digital eyes wandered to the oval being in her hold, its visor dots blinking with mismatched tired pacing. “Heh, still cute.” Maybe the corporate ideologue would let resting one day alone slide, right? V set an internal alarm to wake up earlier than usual, hoping to trick the leader that she was near her the whole time. 

If this became a pattern, doing her job would be borderline impossible. Well, she had a possible solution to where to leave it when her next hunting shift came. It was her turn anyway; J wouldn’t check his nest.

[rotinmycore]

It’s 3am, my room is dark, my ceiling fan is humming, and the only thing I can think of is my grandparents home in the trailer park. Well, their old home, the one we sold after they passed. It’s been years, but I remember the sight, the smell, the taste. It’s must and dirt and fire. The wood burning stove in the sunroom. The shag carpet. The wood panels. The lace curtains. The pull out bed in the living room with the florals where my cousins and I would sleep for sleepovers. Running a finger along the ripple in the carpet that lifted. The faded photographs and portraits in the hallway of my mother and aunt and Jesus Christ. The fax machine and china cabinets in which collected dust and vhs movies we’d play, rewind, play rewind play rewind play rewind. It’s the cross above their beds. The bowing of heads before meals. It’s the garden in which I buried my face, smell the earth and fresh vegetables. It’s the tiny, ripped, plush, rainbow soccer ball my cousins and I would kick around in the sunroom while over for holidays. It’s the neighbourhood kids who would ask us to play. It’s the broken, squeaky fence that would slam shut in our departure. It’s my grandfather’s old car in which harboured three sun bleached flies. Dead, frozen, thawed, reborn. Covering my child-like head in the backseat once summer came, convinced they would fly again. Anger in their buzzes, thinking I was their captor. Driving into town as I roll my window down by hand, braids a mess, hair swarming in wind.

This is where I want to live. This is where I wish I never ended.

[krishnaengineering25]

Winding Rewinding Machine

https://www.krishnaengineeringworks.com/winding-rewinding-machine-inkjet-printer.html

+91-8460728298, krishnaengineeringworks@yahoo.com, https://www.krishnaengineeringworks.com/

[calciumwitch-calcisoya]

Hello, Project Moonblr, I have some info about WCorp, that some of you may not know. This info is the result of me dumpster diving through the rich person’s house that is Library of Ruina’s Key Page stories. Have fun!

And to those that don’t want to know about WCorp, due to any reasons, waiting for the limbus chapter (if there is one), not being interested etc, I’ll put the info down below. :)

Where do I start? Easy, why not start with what is easily their most famous shared invention: WARP Trains!

I say shared invention because their singularity isn’t opening up rifts in dimensions, or instant teleportation, the former is merely the tech of a not very well known fallen wing, that that wing couldn’t bring to proper use, and the latter isn’t possible to my knowledge. This tech was then purchased by WCorp, which pondered what to do with it, found a way to safely exit and enter portals after a bit.

Then, they partnered with TCorp, who make devices related to time. So now, inside every WARP Train, there is a device that “collects each and every second that passes on the train”, so even if not a single second passes in the City, all the time gotten from the thousands of years spent on the train is collected and used in TCorps singularity.

Here I simply must go off topic for one sec, I think (I don’t remember the exact wording but I’m pretty sure that this was the case) I read in LoR, that TCorp uses that collected time for different things, the example that I know of is pots that can stew any food for thousands of years, so foods that need to age a lot, can be done within seconds. Yum!

So, now you must be wondering, what is WCorps Singularity? I like to think that the W in WCorp stand for Winding, as in Rewinding, or as the term in game is used, their Singularity is Restoration. They restore the WARP Trains passengers to a previous point in time, after they arrive at their location. But how does this work, I would ask myself…

Well here’s the answer! All seats have scanners in them, which is why all WARP Trains have seatbelts for a ten second ride! They are supposed to keep you still and in place to scan you properly. (They scan genomic data, molecular structure and a bunch of other info.)

This data is then sent to that specific train's transmission device, which is in turn further sent to the restoration machine, which, after all the passenger’s pieces have been found and brought to their seats by clean-up agents, restores the passengers to that snapshot in time before the train departed. Thousands of years of suffering, gone from their memories too. Wowie! This isn’t because of amnestics either, these memories simply didn't exist at that point, and as such, they’re gone.

But like all singularities there are side effects, especially if you move too much in your seats during the scan, scanners don't like that. For example! When you leave a WARP Train, you could be a bit taller or shorter, not enough to not be shrugged off, or noticed tho. Still, there is a difference. Happens in the restoration process.

Besides, if any pieces are missing at restoration time, there is going to be a lotta trouble, since all the pieces are important, and if any are missing… yea, not everything’s gonna be restored.

Fun fact! WCorps weaponry, which is mostly all about cutting and tearing, also uses the dimension opening tech used in WARP Trains, which is why they need charge to work properly and effectively.

Fun Stories to cap off the post:

One is about a team captain and their subordinate talking about ticket prices, and the other is about a Color Fixer sneaking into an economy class seat on a WARP Train.

Fun Fact! Color fixers, or key association members, or anyone who is known to be very powerful, are not allowed in economy class seats, at all. The second story will show why they’re only allowed in First Class seats.

Tickets:

A captain asks himself if the higher ups are going to raise the ticket prices, or reduce train traffic, because LCorp went poof. The subordinate asks if this has happened before.

The higher up responds that it has, when the LCorp before Lobotomy Corp was in place, they were awfully stingy with their energy, and had many restrictions in place.

This made it unpopular in partner companies. They ponder about this and then go back to work.

Color:

One time a color fixer hid their identity and rode the WARP Train in economy class seats, then, once it had departed, he took up a leading role in that train ride, people started training under them, reason for that training being stated to be some sort of enlightenment.

The cleanup crew sent to take care of the passengers once the train arrived found themselves in a dangerous spot, and most of them died, before even seeing the color.

It was a total mess, and RCorp had to be called (WCorp also has a contract with RCorp, similar how Lobotomy Corp had). This is why powerful people are NEVER to ride in economy seats, only first class, so that they sleep through the ride.

Fun Fact!

Economy class tickets are more affordable, however you have to expect to lose your mind, get dismembered and feel pain and agony no one should ever feel.

While First Class tickets put you into, i think it was a sleep or stasis pod, to slumber through the entire trip, and avoid all the years spent in there, even if they cost a fortune.

[meetinginsamarra]

Time

for today’s prompt “time” by @notjustamumj

@raina-at @totallysilvergirl @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @calaisreno and anyone who wants to write

TIME

If only he could have stopped time.

But time was like sand, flowing through one’s fingers, impossible to be held for longer than a moment. Time dissolved, melted away, vanished.

Tempus fugit.

Such a fickle thing it was. Sometimes it flew by so quickly that you barely noticed it was there.

Other times it was moving slow like treacle, viscous, seconds stretching endlessly before they would pass.

But the most painful times were those when you wished, hoped, prayed that you could rewind its passage and re-do the things you have or have not done.

Like not call Sherlock a machine. Like not leave him at Bart’s. Like not fall for the ruse that Mrs Hudson was in danger.

Help Sherlock play Moriarty’s game instead. Keep him off this roof. Prevent him jumping to his death.

John wished he would not have seen what he was just seeing, not experiencing time slowing down to the pace of years, images of a lifetime flashing in quick succession through his brain while Sherlock, his best friend, his only friend as well, was suspended in the air falling ever so slowly, defying gravity.

Minute details were being burnt into his eyes which were wide open, impossible to get closed, unable to look away and stop seeing what could not be avoided to happen any second, death by impact, by shattering to pieces and helpless despair was paralyzing every muscle in his body.

Unable to do anything else but scream his name at the top his lungs when he saw coattails fluttering like sails on a stormy ocean although he could feel no wind upon his frozen skin.

Cold and fear and panic raced through his constricting veins and John thought he might as well suffocate from the burden of the whole world, his whole world crashing down on him, crashing him to pieces before imploding into a black hole and taking him away as well, sucking in all of his essence, shards evaporating into nothingness, into the void, into the infinite loneliness when he saw Sherlock fall fall fall.

And yet, although his own world collapsed and John’s own time came to a stuttering halt, leaving him suspended and running in circles around a never-ending spiral staircase straight to hell, Sherlock’s time suddenly sped up, multiplied its pace and when one second before he was nearly hovering on the spot he now suddenly hurried down with the velocity of a falling star, a comet, burning brightly on its way down to Earth.

Sherlock disappeared behind a roof.

Vanishing out of John’s sight, out of his life and what life would it be without Sherlock? Could there be one at all? Or would it be just endless time, millions of seconds to fill with non-existing life, to endure, to suffer and to trot along towards a timely death?

John would never leave the second when Sherlock fell. He would be caught forever in the flow of time, crawling and clawing his way through the endless sea of sand, never reaching a shore but drowning in infinity.

How John wished he could have stopped time.

But time knows no mercy.

[danglovely]

I really wanted to like Hulu's reboot of Futurama, especially since it basically preserved the voice cast.

I just . . . don't.

It's not funny. I know, humor is subjective, but there are a few objective criticisms I can make:

Copying overdone jokes is always bad. Bender appearing to swat a mosquito, seemingly hitting Zoidberg by accident, Zoidberg complaining he didn't get the mosquito, and Bender saying "there's a mosquito?" is a joke that has been done thousands of times.

Copying episode formats because they were done successfully before is also bad. Futurama had some really successful anthology episodes and some really successful high-concept episodes. "Anthology of Interest" worked because the writers had some great ideas for what-if scenarios that they wanted to pursue. The new anthology episode is based around commercials, which devolved to wind-up toys, hot wheels, and rubber ducks. I don't really get the possibilities that those open up for the writers, but hey, doesn't matter because it's an anthology episode. Same with the high-concept episodes. There were a few brilliant ones that immediately came to mind: A mind-swap machine that didn't allow the same bodies to swap again; a button that could rewind the world for a few seconds, but only for the person who pressed it; a time machine that only moves forward. These are easily digestible yet interesting ideas that really thrive as the kernels to create fun episodes. The new season's contribution was to put everyone in 3bit and see if that turns out some jokes.

No attempt at heart anymore. The episodes of Futurama people remember most are the ones that made them cry. Fry coming to terms with losing his family (and dog) and his connection with Leela sort of became the heart of the show. It was impressive that an animated sitcom was able to gut-punch so consistently. Is there no point to even attempt this anymore? Do we all know this is a show on life support so keeping a through-line would just result in pain later?

I think the totality of my complaints can be summed up by the title sequence:

Hulurama. Yeah, I get it. You're on Hulu now. Are we actually trying to write a story and jokes anymore or are we all just gonna marvel at how many times this show has been cancelled and wonder when the final nail gets hammered? This could've been clever if it was done once, but I pulled this after ten straight episodes of doing it.

Hulurama is a joke for the writers, the executives, and the network. It is not a joke for anyone who enjoyed this show for a long time and was hoping it hadn't started phoning it in.

But hey, it just got renewed for two more seasons.

[wowbright]

Also you could totally destroy a cassette tape or VHS tape by rewinding it/fast forwarding it too much. I know because I would rewind over and over again to listen to the same song/watch the same scene over and over again, and one of the following things would eventually happen:

The machine ate the tape (sometimes this happened after only a few obsessive rewinds)

The quality of the recording went down (visual / audio blips at the spots where I would most rewind from, diminished quality of the entire segment that would be repeatedly rewound)

If the machine ate the tape, you basically had to surgically remove it from the machine. Then you could try to rescue the tape by winding it back into the cartridge. No idea how people did this with a VHS tapes, but with cassette tapes it involved sticking a wooden pencil or your finger through one of the two plastic gear holes and winding winding winding.

Younger writers. Please, just know that you could not skip to different songs on a cassette tape, that’s CDs. With tapes you pressed fast forward or rewind and prayed.

Also, VHS tapes did not have menu screens. Your only options were play, fast forward, rewind, pause, stop, or eject.

Y’all are making me feel like the crypt keeper here, I’m begging you 😭

[lighthailstorm]

album review #2

All Directions (1972) by The Temptations

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

genres: soul, psychedelic soul, funk

favorite song: The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face

least favorite song: Love Woke Me Up This Morning

playlists: essential soul, the funk pharmacy, black struggle, required listening, black love, dancing in the refrigerator light

Age Ain't Nothing But A Number (1994) by Aaliyah

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

genres: r&b, pop, new jack swing

favorite song: At Your Best (You Are Love)

least favorite song: Old School

playlists: ~smooth~, essential modern r&b, oldies but goodies, quiet storm, soulshine sessions, urban dreams, sedate me, black love, oh to be young gifted and black, for the function

The Night I Fell In Love (1985) by Luther Vandross

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (~4.5/5)

genres: Contemporary R&B, neo soul, classic soul

favorite song: 'Til My Baby Comes Home

least favorite song: Wait for Love

playlists: contemporary r&b rewind, essential soul, ~smooth~, it's a slow jam, black love, drama in the key of r&b

Hurry Up Tomorrow (2025) by The Weeknd

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (~4.5/5)

genres: R&B/Soul, synth pop, trap

favorite song: Sǎo Paulo (feat. Anitta)

least favorite song: Reflections Laughing (feat. Travis Scott, Florence + The Machine)

playlists: the weeknd, spooky (not szn), international pop!, VOGUE, DANCE, ho anthems, mirror ball, groove, summer renaissance, sunset drives, evening escapades

MUTT (2025) by Leon Thomas

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (~4.5/5)

genre: R&B/Soul

favorite song: ANSWER YOUR PHONE

least favorite song: SOONER OR LATER (feat. Axlfolie)

playlists: coco & leon, groove, summer soul, distant echoes, rnb rainfall, after hours soul, soulshine sessions, the funk pharmacy, post-party wind down, black love

Superfly (Original Soundtrack) (1972) by Curtis Mayfield

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (~4.75/5)

genre: r&b/soul, funk

favorite song: Superfly

least favorite song: Think - Instrumental

playlists: essential soul, black struggle, required listening, the funk pharmacy, studying like a victorian child

BALLADS 1 (2018) by Joji

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

genres: lo-fi, trap, pop, contemporary r&b, downtempo

favorite songs: SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK, CAN'T GET OVER YOU (feat. Clams Casino), YEAH RIGHT, NO FUN, COME THRU, R.I.P. (feat. Trippie Redd), I'LL SEE YOU IN 40

playlists: joji, just background noise, distant echoes, sedate me, i'm just so...tired, evening escapades, space odyssey, stargazing, musical melatonin, synthwave?, it's getting bad again, sunset drives, summer renaissance, post party wind down

CHROMAKOPIA (2025) by Tyler, The Creator

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

favorite songs: Rah Tah Tah, Darling I (ft. Teezo Touchdown), Tomorrow, Thought I Was Dead (ft. ScHoolboy Q, Santigold)

playlists: alt rnb, On my Way! (to beat a ho up), sick beats baby, weird girl rap, summer spittin', stories from the soul, black struggle

The Firstfruit (2025) by MARK

overall rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

favorite songs: Watching TV (ft. Crush), 1999, Fraktsiya (ft. Lee Young Ji), Righteous, +82 Pressin' (ft. HAECHAN), Journey Mercies

playlists: mark lee!, (k)POP, (k)rap, (k)r&b, smcu