#Taiwan Beats

[fyeahcindie]

Taiwan Beats latest issue.  They are on substack now, and I don’t know what that is, but I was able to read the article after they emailed me a link.  =D

[yuchenghong-art]

【Bubble Tea】

I tried to reinterpret the characters I previously designed using a LOFI art style. This time, I chose not to focus on detailed rendering or material expression. I've always wanted to explore a style that I hadn't tried before, especially outside of my usual work.

[arconinternet]

The Pee/Py & GIty Series (DOS, Family Production, 1994/1996)

You can play these cute Korean beat-em-ups in your browser (including the bugfixed Taiwanese version of the first game) here.

Tip: I find they run too slowly in Firefox, and that in Chrome, Taiwanese-1 and Special run best.

[rubberbandballqueen]

my friend got a gf like a month or so ago now and i'm already doling folksy advice like i'm in high school again. like don't worry abt it bro i can tell you genuinely care abt her a lot and you both have agreed to talk abt it when you both have the time to give these thoughts the attention they deserve as well as a bit of room to breathe in-between. go eat some dinner now

[kafkasmelomania]

May 9, 2023: SPIT! by SPIT!

*Bandcamp here.

(via https://open.spotify.com/album/14Lc0BGQ4swWSGHaV6w45Y?si=tRACRTYMRbil6CkQCZYHLA)

[fyeahcindie]

Feature and interviews with all the TW bands that traveled to Austin, TX in March for South By Southwest 2024 =)

滅火器 Fire EX.., The Dinosaur's Skin 恐龍的皮, Mong Tong 夢東, 持修 Chih Siou, and Gummy B

[vrystalius]

Sanemi’s babies

Sanemi has a small collection of rhino-beetles and is raising them in the garden of your house. Now, his favourite one is missing and he is incredibly distressed.

Pairing: husband!Sanemi x married!gn!reader

Japanese rhinoceros beetle: The Japanese rhinoceros beetle are commonly found in continental Asia in countries such as China, the Korean peninsula, Japan, and Taiwan. In these areas, this species of beetle is often found in broad-leaved forests with tropical or sub-tropical climates.

Sanemi barely gets nervous these days. Since the demons are dead and there are no threats except his own imagination and nightmares, he allowed himself to be more relaxed. Less angry, stressed and full of adrenaline. It’s nice to not have your heart beat at the speed of light and constantly feel alert and paranoid. His biggest worry these days is making sure to keep you happy and taking care of his babies.

They’re not human though, his babies, you two haven’t come that far yet. His Japanese rhinoceros beetles— the ones he raised all the way from eggs, to larvae and to full adult beetles. Sanemi feeds every beetle personally, gave them names, kept track of their relationships with other beetles and build them a habitat himself. He keeps them in the garden of your estate underneath the porch so no birds can pick them up. It’s a daily routine for him to pick the beetles up from their habitat and let them roam around in the garden, keeping a close eye to make sure they’re all safe.

But his time, after picking and placing beetles down onto the lush grass and greeting every single one personally, your husband noticed something. His favourite one, the one he named Geya, is gone. It had a beautiful dark brown, almost black shell and impressive horns on his head, with those he managed to win so many fights your husband put him up with! But now, he’s missing. Sanemi was frantically searching the self-build habitat and all the favourite places of Geya. He’s not on the tree stumps, not buried in the ground or inside the small pile of leafs. So, he counted through all the other beetles again; Onabai is present, so is Yogmei, Gakaya, Nemouk, Misuri, Nobushi and Jitanro. Where the hell is Geya?!

You noticed your husband running around in the courtyard like a lunatic. You stopped in your way to the kitchen for snacks to watch him lift rocks, check every tree on all sides, open the ground by digging with his fingers and counting through his beetles over and over and over again. Sanemi looked so stressed, the sleeves of his yukata crumpled up to his bicep, his veins bulging in his arms and threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of tension in them. You stepped onto the porch and watched your husband crouch over your planted vegetables, his hand itching out to rip them out and check in the soil for his beetle. That made you finally call out to him.

“Shinazugawa Sanemi, just what in the world are you doing?! Get away from my vegetables, now!”

He almost jumped out of his skin hearing your stern voice scold him. Your husband quickly straightened up and faced you, his fists clenched on his sides. His brows were furrowed in stress, but his lips were a little pouty. You saw him mumbling something while kicking his feet slightly. You couldn’t hear him across the garden, so you called out to him.

“What did you say?”

“I lost Geya!!”

Sanemi yelled, the shout being directed at himself and not at you, running his hands through his hair, still avoiding looking into your eyes. He looked embarrassed of loosing his favourite beetle, the one he was the most proud of. Geya had trouble walking during the first few weeks of his early developing after the larva stage, so Sanemi made sure to feed him all the nutrients and more, helped him train to walk by bringing him outside more and introducing him to the other beetles wich helped Geya to copy their walking style. You saw your husband sob after noticing how well his little pride and joy is doing and how his beetle is now walking without problems. Seeing Sanemi so distraught at his missing baby, you cannot not offer help.

“Where does he usually hide?”

“I already checked all his favourite places. He’s nowhere.”

He shrugged and looked around the garden to think of any other places Geya could hide. You nodded and decided to check the inside of the house while he searches the outside again. The beetle was not in the kitchen, nor in the bedroom, bathroom, cellar or wherever else you could think of. While checking the cupboards again in case the beetle was attracted to the foods you store there, starter laughing loudly and parading through the gardens. After lifting your head and glancing outside to the porch, you saw your husband proudly parade through your garden, with Geya sitting on his palms, wich he was holding far over his head. The brightest grin ever spread all over his face after finally finding his beloved beetle.

“Where was it?”

You quickly head outside, watching Sanemi petting and cupping the bug in his palm.

“He was hiding under the porch. You didn’t like the hot sun, didn’t you? Don’t ever do that to me again, okay? Be good now.”

Seeing your husband babytalk a beetle with a quiet, cutesy voice made you want to both laugh and cringe. You know that both reactions will offend him, so you kept quiet and let him have his moment with his so-called baby. Sanemi set Geya down in the grass, reuniting him with his other friends. He proudly watched them all interact and roam around for a moment before gesturing you to come closer. With a sigh, you obliged and stood beside him, glancing down at the beetles. Sanemi wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed kisses all over your cheek.

“I’m so proud of ‘em. So fuckin’ proud.”

Nodding, you placed a return kiss on his cheek. He grinned at the affection and got quiet, just watching his beetles walk around and push each other around. Sanemi broke the silence.

“Let’s have kids.”

“… huh?”

🎃

Fictober prompt: “I can’t find it”

I hope you all get the references with the names XD I wanna imagine Sanemi laying on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air and grinning while watching his beetles fight amongst each other. He’s healing his inner child! Also, I assisted in a school event today and managed to win a couple prizes during a game! I got a chocolate penguin, bread baking cylinders that are designed in different shapes for different shaped bread, an LED lamp and some origami paper!! I love bread so I am very excited about the shape thingies. Also, the chocolate penguin is already eaten and gone.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[mxfistofele]

AND SHE WON GOLD

one good thing to come out of jkr’s bullshit this time around is that it made both me and my mother aware that there was a taiwanese boxer doing very well, anyways go lín yùtíng!!!

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Enigma - Return to Innocence 1994

"Return to Innocence" is a song by German new-age worldbeat musical experiment project Enigma, released in 1994 as the lead single from their second studio album, The Cross of Changes (1993). It reached number one in over 10 countries, peaked at number three on the UK Singles Chart, and entered the top five in several other countries. "Return to Innocence" was the project's biggest hit in the US, reaching number two on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart and number four on the Billboard Hot 100. The music video, which depicts a man's life in reverse, received heavy rotation on European music channels. The song was used to promote several types of media in the mid-1990s, including film and TV commercials. In autumn 1994, the song was featured in an episode of the TV show My So-Called Life. In 1996, the song was further popularised when it was used in a television advertisement to promote the 1996 Summer Olympics.

The song's melodic and talking vocals in English are provided by Angel X (Andreas Harde), and a short talking vocal by German pop singer Sandra, while an Amis chant ("Weeding and Paddyfield Song No. 1") is repeated, which opens the song. Difang and Igay Duana, from the Amis (an indigenous Austronesian ethnic group native to Taiwan), were in a cultural exchange program in Paris in 1988 when their performance of the song was recorded by the Maison des Cultures du Monde and later distributed on CD. The producer of Enigma, Michael Cretu, later obtained the CD and proceeded to sample it. In addition, the drum beat of the song was sampled from the Led Zeppelin song "When the Levee Breaks", played by John Bonham.

In March 1998, Difang and Igay sued Cretu, Virgin Records and a number of recording companies for unauthorised use of their song without credit. The case was settled out of court for an undisclosed amount of money and all further releases of the song were credited (including royalties) to the Duanas. Cretu has stated that he had been led to believe that the recording was in the public domain and that he did not intentionally violate the Duanas' copyright.

"Return to Innocence" received a total of 57,2% yes votes.

[professorgtnt]

[absolutebl]

Dominant Yakuza & Wimpy Corporate Grunt

(Yes, I changed the title to protect the guilty AKA moi. Don't search, follow the link BLabies, that's what it's there for.)

Ore-sama Yakuza to Hetare Shachiku: Kuni wo Koeta Jingi Naki Dekiai, Japan YT.

A 30 min slice of ridiculousness. (terrible sound, some spinny spinny, the usual with grey stuff)

This mini walked out the back of one of my 1999 yaoi (you know those little shorts they always had along with the main story?) and randomly got cut together by some helpful malcontent, tumbled into my YT feed like a Taiwanese prat fall, and I couldn't be happier. It's the Cliff's notes of a story that could have been amazing, but I adored it anyway.

Basically what it says on the tin: office cutie from Taiwan working in Japan runs across hot AF mafia hit man beating up lesser thugs. Falls instantly in love, turns out so does the yakuza. They end up together for...... reasons? (one is cute and the other is cool?). That's it. It's dumb and I loved it.

I'm posting it here right away and not just in the end of week round up because who knows how long that cut is gonna last on YT so you should all watch it now before it vanishes.

@heretherebedork I think you'd enjoy the utter silly.

[speedybeta]

Agent00 x reader — insomnia

MASTERLIST , REQUEST

Insomnia — not being able to sleep caused by a specific reason.

warnings — FLUFF! not proof read! If mistakes, just point it out in the comments or something. but also I'm not sure who the hell stays at the amp house besides the actual members, so I made some things up if it's not accurate just please pretend it is. Not long or not that short, just a little fic. Also, the way I described his room kinda made 0 sense u have to watch his room tour to actually understand what I meant but enjoy this little fic

You, being in amp, were basically like a little sister to the others. Well, besides agent. Despite your playful banter and bickering in the gaming streams, you and Agent had always been just friends. But the viewers, ever-attuned to any hint of romantic chemistry, couldn't help but point out the palpable tension that sparked whenever you and Agent were together on camera. Agent's knack for delivering insults always seemed to be directed at you, leaving the audience divided between enjoying your reactions and secretly shipping the two of you together.

Tonight, the amp house was eerily silent. Kai was away in Taiwan for Ray's graduation, leaving the house blissfully without his usual boisterous presence. Duke was nowhere to be found, preferring to stream in the comfort of his separate house these days. Davis was rarely around, spending most of his time at his girlfriend's place. Even Chris, who normally slept at the amp house, was absent. It was just you and Agent the only ones in the house, but it didn't really mean anything to either of you.

—

At 1 am, Agent had finally finished a six-hour stream. Exhaustion and fatigue weighed heavily on his frame as he gently removed his headset, then his hat, shaking his signature dreads. His gaze lingered on the now darkened monitors, a sense of weariness etched across his face. With a weary sigh, he reached forward and began shutting everything off, the room plunging into a temporary state of silence.

Suddenly, his door opened, agent stood up from his chair, not looking towards his door, obviously knowing it was you. But then felt a wave of confusion hit. It was 1 am, why the hell would you be in his room late at night? He heard your footsteps approaching him, but didn't turn around yet. He couldn't help but let out a small sigh and an eye roll, assuming your intentions were to bother him.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he asked a bit bluntly, his tiredness was noticeable in his tone of voice. He waited for a response, still not turning to look at you. His gaze lingered on the monitors in front of him, making sure everything was off before he called it a night.

"I can't sleep." the gentle tone of your voice made agent turn around to finally face you, his expression softened upon seeing you look at him with those tired eyes. He was a bit surprised. Hearing your soft, quiet voice was unusual and even surprising. Usually, you don't speak in such a soft tone, but the tiredness in your voice made him realize that you were extremely sleep deprived.

"Damn...Are you okay? You look tired as hell." he couldn't help but feel a wave of concern at the thought of you not getting a healthy amount of rest.

"hmhm" hearing your soft reply only made him feel more concerned. He stared at you from his desk, looking at you with a gentle gaze. "um" he heard you pause, his gaze lingering on your tired figure. "Can I sleep in here with you?"

Upon hearing you ask that, his expression changed to a surprised look. He was shocked to hear you say that. sleep in his room? with him? he felt flustered. his heart skipped a beat, looking at your tired figure. he couldn't say no. especially if you looked exhausted. he sighed, nodding his head as he looked at you.

"Yeah- you can sleep in here with me for tonight." he responded back to your question, before turning back to his monitors, watching as they finished shutting down. He glanced back at you, walking to his door that led to his other rooms.

"come on" He walked inside the other room, which was connected to his gaming room. His bathroom was dimly lit, and his shower was large and spacious. He turned to look at you, noticing how tired you looked and how you were rubbing your eyes. The corner of his lips turned into a soft grin, seeing how adorable you looked tired.

He led you to his main room, which was connected to his bathroom. He guided you into the bedroom, walking towards his bed that could fit two people. he laid down on his bed, getting comfortable. The room was average size, a red light illuminating the room.

"you can lay down" he mumbled, watching you close his door. He acknowledged how sleepy you were, and found it adorable. His heart warmed at the precious sight of you, all tired and drained.

He smiled gently at you, his eyes looking at your tired body. He saw you come onto the bed, laying down next to him. he was blushing a bit, seeing how cute you looked. it was unusual for him to think about how you look since he usually makes fun of you. He isn't used to seeing you like this.

He then placed his bonnet on, laying down properly on his comfortable bed. He observed you silently staring at his ceiling, noticing that you seemed to be more comfortable now that you weren't alone anymore. He glanced at your tired figure, a small smile appeared on his lips.

He gazes at your features, taking in how pretty you looked laying next to him. He then found himself wondering what was making you so sleep deprived. His eyes scanned your face, and then spoke softly.

"did something happen? Or why can't you sleep?" he pondered, looking at you with a soft and gentle look, staring down at your lips, watching them as you opened them to speak.

"I feel lonely- I just can't sleep with how lonely my room felt" he turned his head to look directly into your eyes now that you stopped looking at the ceiling, holding eye-contact with you. a pang of sympathy hit him when you said you felt lonely. he quietly listened to you closely, noticing your expression softening as you spoke. a silent feeling of pity arose in him as he looked at you, hearing you saying you were lonely

"you're lonely huh?" He said in a soft whisper as he looked at you, a hint of tiredness in his voice, he continued to gaze into your eyes silently, his eyes slowly roaming over your face, noticing how close you two were. he didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes shifting back down to your lips before looking back into your eyes again. he was feeling a weird feeling in his stomach at the moment as he looked at you, his tired mind a bit overwhelmed by your presence and how adorable and cute you looked at the moment. he slowly reached up and gently pushed some hair behind your ear.

"You should’ve said so…" he muttered quietly, continuing to look into your eyes, feeling a strange and confusing feeling of attraction and desire for you. despite the constant bickering and insults that the two of you give to each other, he can’t deny the fact that you are extremely attractive. he couldn’t deny that he thought you were cute and wanted you bad. he slowly moved his hand and gently touched your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

Agent could see your eyes glance down at his hand resting on your cheek, before looking back into his eyes. the feeling of desire continued to grow in him, making it harder for him to keep his composure and control his thoughts. he swallowed quietly, his voice soft and gentle as he spoke to you "So lonely you had to crawl into my bed, huh?" he joked in a whisper, his soft and gentle touch still on your cheek.

Agent noticed a small grin forming on the corner of your lips, and it only made his heart flutter a bit as he looked at you. he couldn’t help but notice the tired and sleepy expression on your face. he couldn’t deny that you looked adorable at the moment. he slowly leaned in a bit closer and spoke in a even more quieter voice. "Looks like you’re about to fall asleep…"

His gaze fixed at you while you slowly blinked at him, too exhausted to respond. he could tell that you were tired and about to fall asleep at any second by the way you started slowly blinking, your tiredness taking over your entire body. seeing you looking tired made him feel a rush of emotions, from wanting to hold you in his arms to wanting to just keep watching you. he softly chuckled at your lack of response and softly spoke again "Goddamn, you look cute when you’re sleepy."

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, as he looked at you while you slowly grew more sleepy. the thought of holding your body against his own made him want to hold you close. the idea of just slowly running his fingers through your hair as you fall asleep was running through his mind. he slowly moved his hand from your cheek and gently rested it on your waist as he gently pulled you towards him, wanting you closer to him

He slowly pulled you closer to him, your body now closer to his, as he wrapped his arms around your waist. he could barely keep his composure and control his thoughts, the idea of holding you so close to his body made him feel some type of way. he felt the intense desire to kiss you but held it back, he didn’t want to give in to his own wants yet. he looked at you for a moment, his eyes still lingering all over your sleepy face.

He held you close to him, feeling your body against his, the heat and warmth from your body feeling good against him. he had to hold back all the thoughts in his mind of wanting to kiss you and hold you even closer, but he controlled himself for the time being. he gently nuzzled his face against the top of your head, softly closing his eyes and taking in the feel of your body against him. your sleepy expression and cute body made him want you even more

He let out a soft content sigh as he nuzzled his face against the top of your head, his hands slowly rubbing your side gently. he continued holding you close to him, your body pressed against his chest. he slowly closed his eyes again as he spoke in a soft and quiet voice. "You better not drool all over me while you sleep." he joked in a hushed whisper, feeling the tiredness taking over his mind.

"I don't drool." he softly smiled at your response, your tired tone and sleepy expression were still cute to him. he slowly opened his eyes again as he looked down at you, listening to your mumbled reply, quietly scoffing at it "Oh, yeah? You’re lying. You definitely Drool." he said in a hushed tone, poking your side gently, a teasing tone in his voice, his body still holding you close against him

He felt his heart flutter again as you opened your eyes and looked up at him, feeling you cuddling against him and nuzzling your face into his chest. he couldn’t resisting softly chuckling at how cute and adorable you looked at the moment. he wrapped my arms even tighter around your waist, pulling you closer to him and holding you tightly "hm, going quiet now, huh?" he said quietly, his hand rubbing your back softly.

He heard you only humming in response, nuzzling your face into his chest and closing your eyes. seeing you close your eyes and nuzzle into his chest made him smile again to himself. he continued to rub your back gently, his hand moving in soft and slow circles. he could tell you were falling asleep as he held you in his arms, a soothing feeling of comfort washing over him. he closed his eyes for a moment and rested his head on top of yours, breathing in the scent of your hair and listening to your gentle breathing

He held you close as he felt you slowly falling asleep in his arms, your body relaxing, your breathing getting slower and softer, the way you nuzzled your face into his chest making his heart flutter again. he slowly exhaled and spoke in a quiet, whispery tone again, his hand still rubbing your back in a gentle and soothing motion "Just fall asleep already." he whispered, a hint of affection in his voice as he looked at you, admiring your sleepy expression and adorable tired body against his

He continued to watch over you as you slowly fell asleep in his arms, his hand still rubbing your back in a gentle and soothing motion. he could see how comfortable and relaxed you looked, your eyes slowly closing and your breathing slowing down. his heart swelled with affection and a sense of protectiveness as he held you in his arms, feeling your body relaxing as you drifted off into a deep and gentle sleep. "Sleep babygirl…" he whispered softly, continuing to hold you, feeling your body slowly relax and ease into a deep sleep. he gently shifted a bit, pulling you even closer to his body, wanting to keep you as close as possible while you sleep. as he held you, he noticed how cute and adorable you looked when you slept, your face so relaxed and peaceful. he slowly ran his fingers through your hair softly, the affectionate and protective feeling in his heart growing stronger as he watched over you while you slept.

He stayed there, holding you close to his body, your body pressed up against his as you slept peacefully. he softly sighed to himself in content, his eyes roaming over your face as you slept. he continued gently rubbing your back with one hand, the other hand softly continuing to play with your hair. he couldn’t help but marvel at how adorable and beautiful you looked while you slept, his heart feeling both affection and protectiveness towards you

He continued watching you sleep, a wave of tiredness washing over him. he was fighting the urge to fall asleep, he wanted to stay awake and keep his arms around you, continuing to gently rub your back. but the sound of your gentle breathing and the soothing feeling of holding you in his arms were slowly coaxing him to sleep. he gently sighed, his eyes closing for a moment as he tried to resist the sleepiness but he knew it was futile.

The quiet room was illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, the silver moonlight streaming through the glass of the sliding door and creating a gentle and soothing ambience. the two of you were cuddled up against each other, your bodies close together and his arms still holding you securely against him. his chest rose and fell gently as he slept, his breaths soft and steady. the room was still and peaceful, the only sound being the sound of your soft breathing and the occasional sounds of the night outside.

Your body was catching up on the sleep you missed out on. This brought you a sense of calm and contentment that you rarely felt. neither of you or agent had expected to end up like this, cuddled together in his bed, the warmth of agents body against yours feeling like a cure for both your sleepless nights. Now you know exactly who to go to for comfort whenever you struggled to sleep.

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ ‘sayang’ is a double-edged sword — kuroo x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.

content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness

word count: 3.5k

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.

Aku sayang kamu. I love you.

Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.

Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!

Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.

Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.

That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).

Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.

That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.

It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.

The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.

“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”

There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.

Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.

“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.

“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”

“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”

Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.

“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.

“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”

“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”

“That’s how I like it.”

He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.

“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.

The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.

“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

“What did you say?”

“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”

“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”

He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.

The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).

And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.

The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.

The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.

“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”

Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.

“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.

You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.

“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.

“Yes?” You answer.

His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.

“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.

“You called,” you reply.

It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.

“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.

“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”

“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.

“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”

He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.

The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.

So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.

“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”

And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.

“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.

When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.

Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.

Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.

Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.

He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.

Sayang sekali, he says.

I love you, and also, what a waste.

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥

[celestie0]

Hey!! Do you have any ihm headcanons for gojo and y/n?

I honestly love them both so much especially reader. Your writing is amazing

suuure!! i mean they're not like officially in a relationship yet so these will just be kinda random facts about them i supposeee, some separate and some together :0 but i hope they're still interesting haha <33

in holy matriphony headcanons

ᰔ note. for anyone new here, these headcanons are based off of my gojo x reader long fic series called "in holy matriphony"!! header art by @/3-aem

ihm!gojo woodworks in his free time. he’s building a coffee table right now. he passed out in his workshop last weekend because he accidentally inhaled too many wood stain fumes

ihm!gojo already has a college fund set up for his future kids (he started it when he was 26 lmfao)

ihm!gojo on that note is veeery financially responsible (unlike ihm reader hahaha)

ihm!reader only chose nursing for her post undergrad plans because she dressed up as a nurse once for halloween and it drove choso crazy and that’s basically what she ended up rolling with for the rest of her professional career 👍🏼 (a questionable yet relatable decision)

ihm!gojo’s ex-wife, who shall still remain mostly a mystery, is actually someone he’s known since he was four years old (childhood friends to lovers type beat)

ihm!gojo’s favorite weekend pass times are hanging out with juno, taking his boat out to the lake, and watching SNL

ihm!reader secretly really wants to go for a ride on the lake on ihm!gojo’s boat but she’s spent so much time yelling at him for parking it halfway across her driveway curb that she feels like asking would be damage to her ego

ihm!gojo & ihm!reader were actually veeeeeery civil with one another when they first met, like very sweet neighbors, but then obviously things became sour down the line haha

ihm!gojo eats a generally pretty clean diet other than the occasional takeout on a friday. he PIGS out when he’s sold a house though. also, he’s a massive slut for home baked goods especially if they were made just for him. one time juno brought him a plate of (very burnt) chocolate chip cookies and he damn near cried (it’s the thought that counts)

ihm!gojo became a real estate agent fresh out of college but his actual major in college was entirely unrelated to marketing, sales, or business (shall be revealed later) 

ihm!reader was voted prom queen not once but twice when she was in high school and she believes that’s when she peaked in life

ihm!gojo gets sent on business trips to foreign countries pretty often by his brokerage firm to assess new housing markets and he always tries to bring back souvenirs for everyone in the neighborhood (except reader because he once brought her a stuffed animal from the airport in taiwan but he saw her throw it away in her garbage bin on trash day :( …she’s so mean sometimes)

whenever ihm!gojo & ihm!reader have arguments over things, they always vent about it to their neighbors in passing, and reader gets so pissed off when neighbors take gojo’s side because she’s literally lived there her whole life and yet they have the audacity to advocate for HIM

ihm!reader holds a lot of resentment towards her father because he was a heavy smoker for the entirety of his marriage to her mom, and so she suspects the reason her mother has cancer in the first place is because of the secondhand smoke 

ihm!gojo is obsessed with avocados. he eats avocado toast everyday. and he makes a meaaaaannn bowl of guac. he only has one avocado tree in his backyard right now but he would like to have a whole farm of them someday

ihm!gojo is really social, he loooves to talk to people and get to know them and ask them for their whole life story even if he just met them like two minutes ago lol, but his actual close knit  group of friends is only like 3-4ish guys

ihm!gojo gets frequently invited to his clients’ dinner parties, christmas parties, thanksgiving meals, kids birthday parties etc lmfaooo but he often has to politely decline

ihm!reader’s doctor is very concerned for her symptoms of insomnia (due to her abnormal sleeping schedule from nights shifts) because she already has risk factors for alzheimer's from her mother and insomnia only increases that risk

ihm!reader’s favorite store ever is costco. she wants her ashes to be spread across a costco parking lot

a/n. hope u enjoyed :0 much love!!

[apollo-likes-writing]

LAPIS LAZULI - 2. Opulence

Character(s): Veritas Ratio/Lapis Lazuli, Jelena/Topaz

Tags: Long fic, mentions of sex (not explicit and not between Ratio and Topaz), arguments, Ratio's backstory.

Word count: 2,787 words

Summary: He missed an important meeting after a night out and Topaz is incredibly pissed at him for it. Lmao.

Author's Note: I know I said I'd post this at the weekend but executive dysfunction decided to beat my ass so y'all are getting it on Thursday instead lol.

Just want to note I am not writing explicit smut in any of this fanfiction. Read my boundaries if you'd like to know why. This was inspired by the incredible @havanillas with her roleswap!AU! Have a look!

This is off topic but, as someone who has family near Florida, I wish anyone affected by Hurricanes Helene and Milton and the Super Typhoon in Taiwan/China safety and peace.

Account Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Prologue

10:39am - Wednesday

The sound of a phone ringing wakes him up, which is strange because he could have sworn he put it on Do Not Disturb the night previously. His arm reaches blindly for his phone on the bedside table. As he does so he smacks his knuckle against the corner of the wood and swears loudly as pain shoots up his arm. He continues his hunt regardless, the tinny jingle of his ringtone starting to bounce around his skull irritatingly. It takes him a while, but he finds his phone and grasps it tightly, bringing it in front of his face and promptly blinding himself as he turns it on. Topaz is calling. Of course she is. 

The man grumbles and sits up in his bed, squinting at his colleagues name for a few seconds before begrudgingly tapping the green button to answer it.

“Topaz! My friend! To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man begins with forced positivity, placing his forearm over his eyes and willing his phone to suddenly have a crappy connection.

“Lapis, where in Qlipoth's name are you?” Topaz’ exasperated voice rings out. “You were supposed to be at the meeting over an hour ago.”

“Oh shit, that was today?”

“Yes, Lapis. It was.” He can hear how clearly she wants to throttle him through the phone. The idea makes him suppress a laugh. “Where are you?”

Lapis eyes the other side of his bed. There, the tanned shirtless back of his chosen boy-toy of the night lays there peacefully, facing away from him in a blanket of black curls. “That doesn't matter. Fill me in on the important, definitely-not-going-to-bore-me-to-death stuff.”

Topaz sighs. “Diamond and Jade are throwing a business party on Friday and they want us to attend.”

“Sounds dull,” Lapis replies simply, grinning slightly at the snort his colleague lets escape in response. “Do I have to go?”

“Yes, Lapis Lazuli of Stratagems, you do,” she answers irritably.

“Ooh, my full title. Am I in trouble?” he teases.

“You will be if you don't show up. Meet me at HQ in thirty minutes.”

With that, Topaz hangs up and Lapis throws his phone back onto the bedside table frustratedly. He crosses his arms and rubs the bridge of his nose, feeling the makeup he forgot to take off last night on his fingertips. The sensation of a hand soothing against his thigh meets his senses and Lapis looks down at his current companion, who has now turned around to face him. He's cute, Lapis admits, which is the main reason why he decided to spend the night with him. His dark skin is littered with lovebites and his coily hair fans out below his head, now slightly messy. It was his eyes that struck Lapis when he first saw him though: a beautiful hazel with flecks of teal dotted about in them and large pupils. 

Those eyes are currently looking up at him from where he lays next to him, gently massaging his thigh in a surprising show of domesticity.

“Are you alright?” the man asks, slightly guarded.

The Stoneheart nods. “Yes, just work stuff. None of it concerns you.” He sneaks his hand onto his companion's head and plays with his hair absentmindedly.

“I don't think I'm smart enough to understand it anyway, Mr. Corporate,” he teases. “But a party? That sounds fun. Are you going?”

“I'm going to have to,” Lapis replies, sighing. “Don't get me wrong, I like parties as much as the next man, but this one is for work and I have to save face which is boring.” He tilts his head back and pushes his palms into his eyes, groaning loudly as he watches a kaleidoscope of colours burst behind his eyelids. The man beside him chuckles warmly.

“You're Lapis Lazuli. A party is no big deal to you, right? Just go there and rub shoulders with whoever you need to rub shoulders with then drink until you do it willingly.”

He has a point.

“Good idea,” he answers, taking his hands away from his face. He pulls the duvet off and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering at the cold air of the surrounding room now hitting his bare skin. He sits there for a while, head lowered, as he musters the motivation to stand up. He does so after a few moments and then hunts around the room for his clothes so carelessly thrown about the night before. He's half-dressed when he turns to his company. “Unfortunately, I've got to go out and attempt to be a human being to prevent my colleague from murdering me,” he says, receiving a laugh from the other man. “You're welcome to anything in the kitchen. The door will automatically lock when you leave, so don't worry about that. Please don’t steal anything — it causes a great deal of hassle that I wish to not be caught up in.”

“Wow, it’s like I’m in a hotel,” he giggles.

“Yeah, well room service isn’t included. Sorry.”

He’s followed out of the room by a hearty laugh. He heads to his bathroom and goes about his morning routine, brushing his teeth and his hair before rooting through his makeup bag to wipe off the old and do his skin care before renewing it. He nearly pokes his eye out with his eyeliner in the process and groans as he smudges the red under his eyes. He finishes soon afterwards and pointedly ignores the hickeys on his own chest and neck (his colleagues have seen worse anyway). He leaves and nabs a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter on his way out of the building, shoving it in his pocket.

It’s raining when he gets outside, raindrops splashing on cement and dirtying the bottom of his trousers. He sighs irritably and rings up his chauffeur to collect him. He draws upon his Imaginary energy and creates a black umbrella for himself as he waits impatiently in the rain, eyeing the sky every now and again when thunder rumbles nearby. 

To his chauffeur’s credit, a slick limousine pulls up only two minutes later. He enters smoothly and wrings out his umbrella before he closes the door behind him. He takes a seat at the back of the car, not bothering to put his seatbelt on.

”Good morning, Sir. Where will you be headed?” his chauffeur asks on the other side of the window that separates driver from passenger.

”Morning, Connors,” Lapis replies, running a hand through damp hair to neaten it. He debates in his mind whether he should piss off Topaz even more or actually do as she asks. He decides on the former. “Take me to that coffee shop on 4th Avenue,” he asks. Connors nods his head and puts his foot on the accelerator, pushing the car forwards.

Lapis watches the buildings of Pier Point fly by as they drive past. Tall skyscrapers touch sturdy bubbles that float above them that act as buildings in their own right. Billboards and screens advertise various IPC products that Lapis knows definitely do more harm than good but are still being sold regardless. Neon signs point to bars and restaurants with the aim of drawing the eye but only succeed in forcing the viewer to look away to prevent themselves from losing their eyesight. It is meticulously blinding and doesn’t do any favours with the slight hangover the Stoneheart is nursing. 

Connors turns a corner and travels on a road away from the cacophony of light and sound, slowing to a stop outside an easy-on-the-eyes building. He states, “We’re here, Sir,” and Lapis gives a non-commital grunt of affirmation before reaching for his umbrella and leaving.

”Stay here, Connors. I’ll be five minutes,” he directs before shutting the door and heading inside.

The coffee shop is a homely one. Mismatched chairs are tucked under old wooden tables and there is, oddly, a wide variety of clocks dotted around the walls. Cool browns and soft whites meet Lapis’ eyes as he scans the cozy place. A kind-looking woman stands behind the counter, blending a coffee mixture and pouring it into a cup. Once done, she turns and hands it to the patron on the opposite side of the cash register.

“That will be £5.50. Scan or swipe when you’re ready,” she says, her smile evident in her tone of voice despite the obscene price of her drinks. The customer mutters their thanks and turns away, giving a wide berth to Lapis as if he was poisonous to the touch (with his reputation, he probably was). Lapis pays them no mind and strolls up to the counter with the manner of a man much more care-free than he actually is. Once the barista looks up, her wide smile turns into a grin. “Lapis Lazuli, my loyal friend! Nice to see you again.” The way the woman looks him up and down as if he were something tasty does not go unnoticed by the executive, but he ignores it.

“Morning, Oti,” he responds, matching the smile of the woman opposing him.

“The usual?” Oti asks, already reaching under the counter for a cup.

“The very same,” Lapis replies easily. While his order is being made (a large salted caramel frappé with coffee and cream. Fancy and expensive – just like him), the feeling of dozens of eyes digging into the back of his neck reach his senses. This is not an abnormal occurance. Lapis Lazuli is a top dog around these parts; there will be several people who work under his chain of command in this cafe alone. There's a kind of power trip that occurs whenever he thinks on it. Money talks, as the saying goes.

A plastic cup (not biodegradable? Naughty boy-) filled with a delicious-looking iced frappé, whipped cream placed perfectly on top in a swirl that pokes out the hole in the semi-circular lid, is placed on the counter. A paper straw is poked inside it and is then pushed towards him. Lapis looks at it for a moment and smiles.

“Looks as delicious as ever, Oti,” he comments, picking it up and taking a sip. “Mmm, and tastes it too.”

“I'm glad you like it,” Oti replies, smiling. “That'll be £6.60.” Lapis digs in his pocket and fishes out his phone, tapping the top of it against the pin machine without paying any mind to the price.

“Brilliant. Thankyou, Sir. Come back soon!” the barista calls as the bell to the door rings out when Lapis leaves.

11:25am - Wednesday

IPC headquarters is as busy as it always is. Busy-body staff briskly walk past him with respectful (and scared) nods of acknowledgement as Lapis strolls through the main entrance. Soldiers and guards stand to attention and salute him. which he ignores in favour of heading to the secretary’s desk. There is a line that stands between him and the workers, but they all shift out of the way with terrified looks on their faces at a simple clearing of his throat. Lapis shoots them all a superficial smile and steps forward, reaching the desk and leaning on it comfortably.

“Good morning,” he begins, winking at the woman behind the desk. She looks up and startles at the sight of him, her face turning an ugly shade of red.

“Ah! Lapis Lazuli, Sir! What can I do for you, Sir?”

“Nothing much,” he replies with vague condescension. He takes an obnoxious sip of his coffee before continuing. “A little birdy told me that P45- Topaz is looking for me. Where is she?”

With trembling fingers, the woman taps on the keyboard and looks something up on her computer. “Sh- She's on the 57th floor, Sir. Room Six.” Lapis gives a hum of affirmation and leaves, slinking back through the queue and heading for the elevator.

When he finds Topaz, she looks like she's ready to strangle him.

“Does your watch work?” she asks as soon as he opens the door.

“Mmm, yes. It works perfectly fine, thankyou for asking. Why do you ask?” Lapis answers after another long sip of his coffee, finding great joy in the anger of his colleague.

“Okay, next question.” She strides up to him and plants herself a few inches away from him. She's a foot shorter than Lapis and has to look up at him, the irate look on her face reminding him of an angry bird. He decides not to point that out. “Do you know how to tell the time? Because I could have sworn I told you to meet me fifteen minutes ago.” She has the audacity to take the coffee out of his hand and slam it on the table beside them. He shoots her a small glare before fishing into his pocket and pulling out the banana he retrieved earlier, peeling it with a controlled slowness that would annoy anyone (including him if he wasn't the one doing it) and taking a large bite.

“Topaz, I have a PhD in mathematics. I can assure you that I know how to tell the time,” he says, mouth full.

“Then why, in Qlipoth's name, are you only here now?”

“Because I find great enjoyment in pissing you off. Was that not obvious?” he replies, gesturing between the two of them with banana in hand. Topaz opens and closes her mouth several times, finding the choice words she needs to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“The party is at 8pm on Friday. Black tie, so wear something decent for once. Opal is breathing down my neck to get you, Sugilite, and Obsidian on board and, surprisingly, Obsidian has been the most agreeable. Unlike you and Sugilite, she was actually there at the meeting this morning. I now see why you weren't in attendance.” She gives him a once over, gesturing to the lovebites on his chest and neck. 

“Y’know, I do actually have a social life, Topaz,” Lapis states. “You should try it some time.”

“I'm not saying you shouldn't have, uh- hobbies, Lapis. What I'm saying is that your job should come before them, or did you forget that?”

Lapis shrugs. “I'm here now, right?”

“That's not the point. You have duty here as one of the Stonehearts. Not a duty to your favourite casinos and clubs.”

“Let a man live a little, alright? I spent half my life in academic squalor seeking the attention of an Aeon that clearly wanted nothing to do with me. My life's work was made entirely useless. I might as well have received the attention of the Nihility if the Preservation didn't snap me up first.”

“Oh boo hoo, cry me a river,” Topaz snaps. “At least you have people here who give half a rat's ass about you.”

“That's becoming ever more debatable by the day,” Lapis seethes, demeanour now serious.

“Well too bad. You're here now. The only way you're getting out of this place is in a wooden box.”

“I can say the same for you, Topaz. How deep has Jade's manipulation really gone? I can't tell what's you and what's her anymore.”

“You don't know anything about me. You've been a Stoneheart for - what - a year? 10 months?” Topaz jabs a finger into his collarbone. Lapis doesn't move an inch.

“I don't need to know you. Your denial of it is proof enough.” Lapis smiles again, this time less cheery and more angry. The movement of his lips more a grimace than anything else. Topaz steps away from him, glaring daggers into his very soul. If Lapis wasn't, you know, Lapis, he would have wilted on the spot at such a murderous stare. She turns and stalks to the tall window of the room; a dreary view that shows the cityscape of Pier Point through the gloomy rain. 

“At the party,” she begins, facing away from him. “At least try to present yourself as a decent human being, alright?”

Lapis gives her a long, hard look, watching her through the reflection of the window. “You and I both know that's not possible for either of us. We've got too much blood on our hands.” He snatches his coffee from the table and heads for the door. His hand rests on the handle before he turns back to face the woman, who is still facing away from him. “Oh, and Topaz?”

She twists around and looks at him this time, watching him with a weary look that makes her look decades older than what she is. 

“What?”

“This could've been an email.”

He ducks out of the door before a stapler is launched at him from across the room.

--

Reblogs appreciated! <3

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

This woman, Angela Carini, is crying because her dream of winning a medal for her late father was destroyed in 46 seconds.

Male boxer Imane Khelif beat up Angela Carini and punched her in the face.

C'est le visage d'une femme obligée de combattre un homme en raison des règles qui nuisent aux femmes. Le jour le plus sombre pour le sport féminin. Angela Carini (Italie) a été privée de ses rêves olympiques victime du wokisme représenté par Imane Khelif (Algérie)

Tout comme Adrien Quatennens qui a remporté l’OR en boxe féminine.

Certains sont persuadés que la boxeuse algérienne est bien une femme

August 2 2024 Lin Yu‑ting (Taiwan) a male with XY chromosomes defeats Sitora Turdibekova (Uzbekistan) in the women’s boxing category.