you know, there's a saying that's stuck with me...

fire tempers iron,  and temptation steels the just.

[karezaru]

A CLEAR PROGRESSION, A DEFINITE FORM WAS BROUGHT TO LIFE. takayuki yagami ⁽八神 隆之⁾ of rgg studio's 𝒥udgment, as investigated by reyes. personal interpretation, headcanon-based, crossover galore. solving cases with: echosdeath, giriure, vannaspar.

| | | information + verses*, sideblog, spotify, worldbuilding.

standard dnfi + etiquette, low and sporadic, multi-ship. don't take it to heart if there's no follow back from me, as i try to keep my space small to avoid overwhelming myself. mature content and triggering themes are to be expected; yagami's involved in a graphic narrative and will engage in others like it. i'm highly critical of rgg studio. rgg multimuse is available at @zetsubocho as a sideblog. best way to start things is via prompts or plots. where to also find me.

[maurilyan]

they hear a noise in the hallway. they stop writing, with fingers clawed frozen smelling of deterioration and solitude. there is a candle that flickers on the table beside them, their feet swollen and hard curling into their own legs in the plump of the couch. the dim light forever on the verge of going out: a rigor mortis sets, their ears perked at the sound of light footsteps inching closer. someone opens the door behind them without announcing themselves, with feet striking the ground even when they don't want to be heard. steps are like wildfire, and though leitha doesn't turn to look, with back turned and eyes watching the pages of their notebook fall to a close, the steps fill the space with a storming rage. a dark silhouette violating the night. voiding it.

the room reeked of something dense. dementia and confinement. repulsing off the walls. a void. like the color black: an absence, magnetic &. whispered.

their fingers are stained of red ink. it hides the perpetual tint under their nails. they started using red pens only a few months ago, a definitive punishment. constant, as he is standing at the foot of the lounge, as they are in this dream of buckets and rags. the ones hidden away in the closet next to the bathroom, sterilized and bleached. there is something heavy in the way he breaths, and they look at him in silence, understanding. they feel sick with sin, their throat swollen with a contamination. their fingers stained red.

@karezaru , ❝ you can lie to yourself. ❞

❝ hey, fuck you. ❞ then, added, because they are feeling the affliction, and seen, worn, used like an old t-shirt, borrowed, as if from a charity shop: ❝ ━fuck off. who the hell let you in anyways? ❞

a stretched beat. picking at a scab, spreading the ailment. a sad voice, accepting of such terror. ❝ go home. you're not going to find anything here. ❞

[karezaru]

"mm, maybe not." his eyes glance over the room. their notebook. the candle. the smell. bleak; maybe, but the hostility is authentic. familiar, too. nothing about it catches him off guard anymore. "honestly, i've been wrong before. more than i'd like. sometimes i spend too long chasing the wrong lead. sometimes i go into a room convinced something's off and leave feeling stupid." he shrugs, "it happens," then looks back at them. settles on the red staining their fingers. "i'd even be willing to believe that's what's happening now."

for a moment, he sounds sincere. like he's offering them a way out of this. a chance to tell him he's wrong, that he's imagining things, that he's been chasing shadows for nothing—- enough for him to turn around and leave it alone. case closed. "the problem is that every time i start convincing myself of that, you say or do something."

he keeps trying. keeps testing that assumption, again and again. but no matter how hard he tries, it never holds true. and then he's back to where he started.

with a sigh, he walks closer to the couch, circling behind it until he's directly in front of them. "here's the thing." he hums, arms crossed as he leans on one hip. "i don't actually need you to tell me anything. that's what seems to be getting lost here." he looks down at them. the reddened fingers. the candle gutters. "people think investigations are about confessions. they're not. confessions are convenient. they save a lot of time." one hand waves vaguely. "but what's really useful is watching somebody decide which questions they don't want answered. which is why, if i were you, i'd stop telling me to leave." a wry smile, then: "every time you do, i get more curious."

[shekofeh]

her fingers reach for a perfectly round mandarin, lying ripe in a ceramic bowl at the center of the table, its contents switched out based on what’s in season as she feels around for one that’s not too soft and not too solid. when she's found it, her hand retreats. her nails dig into the autumn - red skin as it yields with a soft scent of citrus. she likes it; it reminds her of going to the market with her grandmother after preschool, the air cold and crispy, her hands clad in fuzzy gloves.  one of the few times she'd had a moment of relaxation back then. her head tilts, then, as she moves to look at what's in front of her. yagami's decided to make dinner for the two of them, as a thank you, he said. it's not really a first, for meals to be cooked in her kitchen for everyone to share. what had surprised her was the fact that her favorite persian dish was what being prepared. she remembers mentioning that she hadn't had anything from home in some time— that she misses it, but she hadn't expected him to remember. it makes her feel a little timid, she'll admit, so she looks towards her window.

the winter sun has long since dipped beneath the clouds, a manta ray of golden sunshine thinning out across her shoulder blades. her kitchen is cast in comfortable darkness; shadows slipping down her sweater sleeves, dancing on the tablecloth. she rubs the tender space beneath her eyes. it’s nice to be together like this, silent as if in mediation, a ritualistic practice of peace. in the same room, in their own worlds, no less unfeeling of each other’s presence. well, except that's not really the full case. her eyes move over to @karezaru as she watches him in front of the stove, clear he's struggling. something smooths over her face; her lips are pursed and her brown eyes simmer with something she can't really put her finger on.  swirling like the spots of sunlight on the wall just behind her. it’s brief, easy to miss: a single tug of her lips. the tiniest little smile. as she moves over to stand next to him, she can't help but raise an eyebrow, a mild expression of disbelief painted on her face. as if he's read her mind, he tells her: ❛ it doesn't add up. we're missing something. ❜

she responds instantly, the desire to say something she knows will only annoy him more refusing to leave her. ❛ oh, we? i thought you said you wanted to make us something nice. ❜ at that, she watches him turn his head at her, exasperated. she'll admit it. zereshk polo was never the easiest dish to make, especially if someone wasn't too familiar with persian cuisine. and the barberries that come with it takes an annoyingly precise way to make, but it really is worth it. she can't help the laugh that leaves her as she looks at him, however. truly, she's mostly watching him intently. watches his expression shift, drinking in the twitch of his brows, how the color of his eyes flickers in the light. now she definitely feels more timid than before. she shakes her head, then, knowing what will come next. she's being really annoying now, but she can't help it. ❛ truly terrible for a great detective to have trouble figuring something like this out. ❜

now she knows she's really struck a nerve after she sees the look on his face. and just like that, a burst of giggles bubble up inside her throat, muffled into the cotton of her own sweater. ❛ sorry, sorry. seeing you like this is just really funny. ❜ she tilts her head again, looking at the pots in front of them. ❛ it's mostly just the barberries that are a bit difficult at first. once that's done then we can leave it by itself. the rice and chicken is really simple. ❜ she hums, then, as she looks at the pan he's currently focused on. once that's done it really is much more straightforward. instinctively, her hand reaches out, fingertips ghosting over his skin as she guides his hands to the correct way of stirring the berries; adjusting them. it might have been just an excuse to touch him, that she’d let herself be greedy for once. she knows if chizuru were to see her, she would've rolled her eyes at her. at the thought of her, she thinks of the conversation the two have had and shakes her head.

she lets go after a moment, slowly, and gives him her thumbs up, teasingly. ❛ see? you’re learning. i’m so proud of you, yagami. ❜ she laughs then when she notices the crease of his brows. ❛ okay, okay. last time, promise. ❜ it’s definitely not the last time.

[karezaru]

he can handle suspects, lawyers, yakuza—- hell, even batshit insane hitmen. yet somehow, standing here in @echosdeath's kitchen with flushed ears and barberries threatening to burn in the pan, this is the reddest yagami thinks he's ever been.

being humbled by persian cuisine was not how he expected tonight to go. honestly, he's taken punches to the face with more dignity than this. especially considering fujiko and ms. tomioka had spent most of the days leading up to now trying to walk him through the basics, patiently correcting his measurements while he insisted he "understood perfectly fine." kaito had been there too, of course, leaning against the counter like he was supervising a disaster in progress, offering what he called moral support and what everyone else would describe as unhelpful commentary. none of it had really stuck. and now, none of it seems to matter at all, because shams is right here beside him with that tiny amused smile of hers, clearly far too entertained by his suffering, and yagami is beginning to suspect that no amount of preparation could have saved him from this.

his pulse is thundering in his ears when she touches him. "okay, one: rude." he is doing an admirable job of pretending this is not affecting him at all, her hands on him. it is not an entirely successful performance. when she lets go, "two: i didn't think it would be this difficult, alright?" thankfully, the chicken's marinated and waiting to be cooked in the fridge. the rice too, which is sitting in a bowl next to shams. he's getting to that first. right...? no. wait. should it be the chicken first instead...? or the other way around...? why is this suddenly a life-or-death decision—- uhhh. shit. okay. fuck. fuck, fuck—-

if he were by himself, he would've screamed. probably loudly. definitely without dignity. but he doesn't. he swallows it down, reins himself in, and sighs instead. "kaito would never let me hear the end of this." he continues stirring the berries. "neither would i, if i were watching this happen to someone else." and knowing shams, with all her antics... she's absolutely never letting him live this down. all this so he can impress the woman he likes, by the way... and he is failing spectacularly. thirty or so seconds pass, and he sets things aside before grabbing another pan. at the same time, he goes to preheat the oven—- well, tries to. he pauses. looks at shams. pathetically.

"how do you prefer to make the chicken?" he blurts. "i've read mixed shit. like, do it this way—-" he gestures at one of the pans. "or that way—-" toward the oven. "or both? or—-" his expression immediately changes. because right. shams already reminded him of this. he's supposed to be making dinner for her. supposed to be impressing her. not asking her how she'd cook her own meal. incredible strategy, yagami. truly genius-level work here. "nevermind," he says quickly. "don't answer that." he presses the oven buttons, then steps around to the fridge before she can watch him spiral any harder than he already is. which, admittedly, feels optimistic.

[karezaru]

which tragic love story are you?

jack and ennis.

[brokeback mountain] you’re quiet about your feelings, but they run deeper than you let on. you crave connection, yet the weight of expectation or fear often holds you back. love, to you, is both sanctuary and torment. it’s something you want to protect but can’t always claim openly. people might see you as reserved, even stoic, but beneath that exterior is a tenderness you rarely show, one that aches to be understood without words. you know how it feels to love in silence, to carry someone inside you long after they’re gone. you embody the bittersweet truth that sometimes love doesn’t need to be spoken loudly to be real. it lingers like smoke on the horizon, persistent, impossible to forget.

tagged by: @sarastuss sawry for the double tag pookie <3 tagging: @echosdeath, @vannaspar, @giriure, @baroviana, @maurilyan, @ategod (or kostya), and anyone else!

[karezaru]

seeing this yagami gif breach containment and go viral is so funny to me bcs people do nawt know where it’s from

[karezaru]

now to be kinda shameless on here: yagami when he sometimes enjoys being submissive bcs he spends sm of his life in control, be it emotionally, professionally, socially, what have you.. like. being with someone he trusts enough to challenge him and take the lead gives him that rare sense of relief and vulnerability he normally doesn’t allow himself

[karezaru]

alr making ocs for stranger than heaven. god help me

[karezaru]

vgen and skeb are such lifesavers but i just sent these refs in for yagami comms

[karezaru]

he was late. later than he said he’d be, later than he meant to be. held back, as usual, by another case: tōkyō, sendai, back again—- after a point, everything bled together; he didn’t have it in him to pick it apart again. they got what they came for: evidence, arrests, a client who walked away satisfied. that’s what mattered, at least on paper. the rest was harder to ignore; still, he and kaito came back worse for wear... and he didn’t need to see it reflected back at him to know it wouldn’t go over well with @echosdeath. by the time yagami got home, kamurochō had already fallen into those in-between hours, somewhere past midnight, not yet morning. he shrugged out of his jacket, wincing as he moved through the apartment, the city filtering in through the blinds. down the hall, their room cast a low light, guiding him toward it—- toward her. he found shams with her back turned to him, facing his side of the bed. asleep, waiting, her laptop open beside her. he set it aside before sitting down, one leg half-crossed on the mattress, and reached for her—- brushing back a soft disarray of curls from her face, his thumb slowing over her fluttering lashes, the shadows beneath them, then the wounds from chiyoda that hadn’t quite faded yet. his own still weren’t fully healed either; he’d only made it worse while he was away. something in his expression tightened, something in his chest following suit, but before his mind could turn back two weeks, the way it often did, she opened her eyes. in the haze of sleep, she looked up at him. took him in, eyes widening a fraction as she studied him—- bruising blooming in deep, ugly shades of reds, blues, purples, blacks across his eye and cheek, peppering along his jaw, the scrapes and cuts and bandages beyond that, and then lower, to his chest, where what was visible only implied what wasn’t. her mouth pressed into a thin line. wordless judgment—- clear concern beneath it—- as she reunited with his equally-jaded gaze. “got messy,” was all he said, appearing apologetic. “sorry.” she hummed. the silence that followed stretched—- full to the point of strain. something unspoken lingered where reprimand might have been, where anger could have taken root and become easier to confront—- the same shape it always took now, threatening to spill over for either of them. instead—- she moved. “come here,” she murmured, no less commanding. her arms wrapped around him without hesitation—- drawing him in, close and closer still, before her hands found him properly; one settling at his back, the other snaking upward, fingers threading into his hair, anchoring him there, as though to keep him from slipping away into whatever part of the world insisted on taking him from her. he followed her lead, already yielding before the motion finished, his weight shifting as space was made for him—- covers tugged back enough to let him in, her legs tangling with his as he leaned in. close, closer, until there was nothing left between them. his mouth met hers once, lips aching. it hurt—- fuck, it hurt to kiss her. but he didn’t stop. because doing otherwise would hurt even worse. they’d talk about things when the sun was up... maybe.

that’s about the last thing he remembers—- stirring awake now, daylight washes over his face. it’s near-afternoon, or maybe later than that; he can’t quite tell. what he can is afterpain, dull and spreading, the chain on his jeans digging into his hip where his shirt has ridden up in his sleep—- and shams. her warmth beside him. her fingers ghosting over his skin. her eyes on him, already awake to him in a way he isn’t yet.

like the sea trying to remember the surface, yagami blearily meets her gaze—- and she is the sun over him, spilling light where everything in him is still half-submerged. behind her, it gathers, forming a soft halo at her shoulders. he doesn’t say anything. neither does she. she sees him seeing her. she continues what she was doing anyway. he lets her, feeling her touch move in small, careful returns against him, drifting, pausing, circling back. there’s a heaviness to it that wasn’t there before... or maybe it was, and he’s only just noticing it; that he can’t ignore anymore... or maybe he never could, and only now she makes it impossible to speak of.

like she’s trying to settle something in herself. something that won’t ever settle.

he knows this version of her. from before it was anything more than this. when he didn’t yet understand what she kept hidden beneath—- what she came from, what shaped her, a history of violence that never fully left her body, her life, no matter how much she tried to scrub it away until there was nothing left but raw skin. the one that stays close without fully staying. the one that withdraws without ever really leaving. the one that keeps everything just out of reach. she won’t say it. but he hopes she would. he doesn’t ask. but he wants to—- before it becomes something he no longer gets the chance to. rather, he’s been trying—- not as just her confidant, but as what he always is: a problem-solver, drawn to the center of things, to cutting straight to the heart, no matter how messy, how bloody it gets. but every door he reaches only leads deeper in, and before he can find the right entry, the right lock, she’s already pulling him under again. back into the deep end. frustration is too small a word for what he feels, after everything.

his hand shifts beneath hers, finding her uneasy fingers and closing around them. he brings their joined hands to his cheek, resting there against the pillow, and closes his eyes. he would believe almost anything else, if only it didn’t lead there again—- if only it didn’t end with it’s too dangerous. it’s for your protection. and as if she can feel the current of his thoughts, she says, “if there’s anyone i’m convinced completely about, it’s you.”

he tenses, inhaling through his nose, then exhaling like he’s trying to push the reaction back down. “...don’t do that.” his expression sours anyway. he ignores the pain that thrums after it. “you put that much faith in me, and yet you—-” he runs his free hand through his tousled hair, palm to temple, deliberately looking away from her by looking to the window—- then squints, immediately regretting it and annoyed at himself for it, but doesn’t move back onto his side.

even like this, he hasn’t let go of her hand. “...guess i’ll just have to keep proving you right.” because it’s the only part of this he can control.

[karezaru]

yagami’s love tastes like sea water.

being loved by you is like diving into the ocean. it’s a limitless, deep feeling. it’s scary but soothing at the same time. it burns on open wounds, but it’s what makes them heal too. it’s a taste that lingers on your lips, so unexpectedly good. you crave deep, intellectual connection. maybe you’re not good with words, expressing your feelings might not come easily for you. it’s your actions and attention that let them know, they feel seen and heard. your primary love language is probably acts of service, small little things, like untangling your lover’s jewelry without them asking, that when added up speak volumes. like the impression that the sea gives with its vastness, you also might seem distant, inaccessible; but that’s just the way you are, a little cold, right? your lover probably got scared at the beginning, it had to adapt to it by taking little steps at a time before confidently leaving the shore behind. you crave peace and stillness, because you know how an agitated sea can be frightening even for the most experienced sailors. it looks so quiet but your love can get loud, like the roaring sea. you hate fighting. you’re always scared the waves might get too big, too tall to overcome; that your lover might run away, unable to contain and hold you. you’re not asking to be tamed; just to be trusted, to be stayed with even when the waters rise. you wish nothing but to hold them tight and be their lullaby, to rock them as if they were asleep on a floating mattress, gently carried by the waves, drifting slowly towards the center of your heart.

tagged by: @echosdeath smiling insanely tagging: @giriure, @sarastuss, @vannaspar, @baroviana, @ategod (or kostya), @maurilyan, @asidhara <3 if y’all did this alr, then... idk. just shoot me

[citrinekay]

What made you do this? I gave you every opportunity to make the smart choice, didn't I?

Episode 11 | The Manipulated 조각도시

[karezaru]

been consuming all of ji changwook’s work and i keep going “yagami core” “yagami core” for most of his roles

[karezaru]

“you got a light on you?”  she shakes the box of cigarettes at him, backside of the package facing, because this are the ones she may have lifted from the pocket of his jacket. she forgot hers in the car; doesn’t feel like getting it. can’t even if she wanted to. they’re busy working tonight. and she can’t leave without getting them caught for something so simple as a hit. but he offers just as quickly, fingers already showcasing the slim metal and flicking it to life. 

they don’t feel like leaning in for it— smile stretching and hand slinking out to pull the lighter closer, all while holding onto his hand to do it. then let’s go like it’s nothing. turns sideways just enough to blow out the first drag in a direction anywhere but at him, “thanks.”

can see him out the corner of her eye reaching for the box that isn’t where it should be, hidden behind her back, and starts to shake her head. “mm–mm, i‘ll be nice,” another pull, inhales the smoke and nicotine as deep as she can hold it. pulls it back ‘twixt two fingers, and reaches up, offering it, right before him. index and middle pressing it to the seam of his lips cloyingly, “here.”

@giriure is a bloodthirsty hound—- and he’s learned, too well, how precisely her and her monstrous needs align with the parts of him that answer before he can stop them. an inevitability; a visceral exposure—- not visible nor tangible, and yet undeniable—- sinking in with the certainty of teeth that don’t need to tear to be understood. only to be felt; her touch finds him. travels from hand to wrist, the warmth of her skin seeping through his.

the lighter burns between them. they meet eyes over the flame, and it catches reds, oranges, and fluorescent greens off their faces; a blur of neon, turning the surrounding city into nothing more than color—- a dissolution of environmental coherence into perceptual excess, where kamurochō exists less as a place and more like light itself. yagami’s heart races in the moment—- and he’s sure she feels it too, quickening beneath the pads of her fingertips. but it ends as quickly as it began, or so he thinks... she thanks him and lets him go, he steps back when she does. he chews on words he doesn’t articulate, and finds no clear distinction between not knowing how to say them and not wanting them to exist in spoken form at all.

instead, he reaches for the same, familiar pleasure of a vice that’s in mana’s grasp. dipping his hands into his pockets, automatic, thoughtless, he searches through leather, denim, the worn familiarity of himself, until he realizes what he’s looking for isn’t there but missing.

better yet, stolen. yagami huffs and rolls his eyes, following the outline of his culprit’s hand tucked behind their back, the glimpse of a pack of seven stars peeking through. of course. there’s no chance to ask for it back because something else intercepts. it is only after this that he becomes aware of the cigarette at his mouth. the taste of a filter wet with spit that’s not his own. it leaves him heady, coaxing him open in spite of himself. lips part and close around the offered cigarette—- even if it was his to begin with—- and the inhale folds into mana, his hand finding theirs, closing over it as he draws her closer.

closer than necessary, pressed flush against him. his other hand follows, sliding behind the small of her back, fingers brushing the fabric of her jacket, then knuckles and cardboard, then lingering just a beat too long. he doesn’t take it. not yet. he keeps them there. his pulse picks up again; he puts on teasing indifference.

“we’re bold tonight,” yagami says, exhaling the smoke into the night air. his eyes are half-lowered as he looks down at her. he almost forgets why they’re here. “should i be flattered or concerned?”

[karezaru]

what celestial identity are you?

satellite.

you are an intuitive and analytical person, capable of translating the unfathomable into the comprehensible. you seek knowledge and experience and are willing to venture to attain it. satellites make space into something concrete that can be shared and interpreted by those who will never see it. you are able to make sense of that which is frightening or abstract. you know how to make something not fit for consumption digestible. you're the one willing to do the nitty gritty work— to get up close and personal until you understand how something works. you're not afraid to ask why. the way your mind works is an enigma— calculated yet open to all the different possibilities. you notice the small details that slip by most. you are the feeling of discovering the mistake you made in a math problem then finally managing to get it right. the feeling of someone remembering your preferences even if you only mentioned them once. the feeling when something finally clicks in your brain and it all comes together. you have a tendency to investigate, just for the sake of making sense of things. people like to be understood and that is one of the things you're best at. you're good at making people feel seen. not just in what they say or do, but who they are. you are orderly and logical, but still benevolent. grounded in reality but still able to see beyond. you don't care what people think about you— you're too focused on your goals. people are astounded when you manage to accomplish what was previously considered impossible. they can count on you to see things through even if you are a bit of a perfectionist + procrastinator. you're striving to be great and know that, that in itself means something. your accomplishments aren't the only thing that make you worthy. sometimes it's enough just to show up and be there. make sure you're taking care of yourself and don't let your ambitions consume you. progress is progress, no matter the speed and it's important to recognize how far you've come. your strong sense of self and attention to detail make you a stable object in a ever-shifting universe. i hope all your hard work pays off and that you're proud of yourself.

tagged by: @sarastuss, @echosdeath <333 tagging: i think most people have done this atp but if not, do it NOW!

[karezaru]

oomf just sent this to me. what the fuck WHAT THE FUCKKKKK

[karezaru]

replaying rn and if there's one thing i love doing, it's rping as yagami as i open up photo mode

[karezaru]

once again on my shit about this fight bcs there is nothing, and i mean NOTHINGGG, that can top it for me. at least yakuza-wise