#but in any case i have three more to work on for now- i have those skethed and done at least so i just have to finish em

[maximoff-pan]

maybe, okay? | michael robinavitch

summary: after a hard shift, robby comforts you

pairing: dr. michael (robby) robinavitch x resident!reader

word count: 1.2k

warning(s): mentions of death, sad thoughts & roof talks, the usual

a/n: this is my first time writing for the Pitt— I hope you guys like it (and I would love requests if you have any)... Please let me know what you think! ❤️

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Rough night?” Robby’s question lingers. You don’t need to turn around to know he’s smiling – you can hear it in his voice. It’s a genuine query laced with equal parts teasing and concern. 

“You could say that.” You murmur in response, taking a deep inhale. A gust of wind breezes by. It cools your skin, sobers you to your surroundings, reminding you where you are. 

This shift had been something. Trauma after trauma that came rolling in, the hours ticked by, each one more exhausting than the last. You might think after years of med school and residency – with more than three years in the Pitt — the last two under your attending Jack Abbot, it would make it easier. But as you’d learned, the pain from patient deaths never eases, and this night had been no exception. 

It’s hard to forget the frantic nature that had emerged in the ED over the last number of hours. A family had come in around 4am. A mother, a father, and a 5-year-old boy. MVC, T-boned by a drunk driver – both parents were dead on scene, their child was still fighting for his life. You worked on him for an hour before Dr. Abbot called time of death. He let you go longer than he should have, trying to save this boy’s life. Jack, who never lets emotions cloud his judgment, had given you more time — not for the boy, but for you.

He had seen firsthand how much you cared for each one of your patients over the last two years, but this one felt different. You were usually so composed, just like him. This case, for whatever reason, got to you. It broke something. And he knew who you needed right now. 

Robby steps over the railing to stand at your side, the roof giving way to his presence. He’s always known when to find you. Like he’s tuned into your frequency somehow, even when you barely understand it yourself.

“Jack told me I could find you up here. Said something about you stealing his spot – kinda sounded like he was a little worried you might jump, kid.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Nah, it’s shift change.” Your tone is light as you elbow him gently. “If I was gonna jump, I’d do it on Abbot’s watch – never yours.”

“I appreciate that.” He says. “Wouldn’t want to lose my favourite resident.”

“You won’t.” Your response is serious, assuring. “Just—”

“Thinking about that kid?” Robby finishes for you. The first rays of light catch on the edges of his jawline, and you hate how beautiful that looks, here of all places.

“Yeah... I–uh, I don’t know what happened to me.” You admit, your fingers grasping at the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Talk to me (Y/n).” His voice drifts. “Don’t bottle it up.”

You nod, the motion almost imperceptible, like you're afraid acknowledging it out loud will make it hurt more. “I keep seeing his face,” you say. “The way he kept reaching for his mom, even after... even after she was gone.”

Robby doesn’t speak right away. He gives you space, something he’s always been good at. Not filling the silence with platitudes. Just being there, solid and steady. You feel him shift closer, his shoulder brushing yours.

“There was nothing more you could’ve done.”

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face. “I know that. Logically, I know. But emotionally... it doesn’t feel like enough. It never does.”

Robby’s voice softens. “That’s because you give a damn. It’s what makes you good, even when it hurts like hell.”

You glance over at him. His hair is a little messy, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times this morning. His scrubs are clean, unstained, showing no signs of the incoming shift that’s likely to be just as brutal as yours. But his eyes — they’re steady. Kind. And watching you with a kind of care that cuts through the fog in your chest.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for this.” You whisper.

He turns toward you, fully now. “Don’t,” he says, firm but not harsh. “Don’t say that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. If you left, he’s not sure he could continue. Jack might kill him if he can't talk you off this ledge.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He stands firm. “I’ve seen you do the impossible on less sleep and more pressure than anyone should be under. You belong here. The fact that you feel this much? That’s not a weakness. That’s what sets you apart.”

You look down at your shoes, throat tight. “Thanks, Robby.”

“I mean it.” He bumps your arm gently. He watches you for a moment, one, two, then three. There’s something unreadable in his expression — not quite a smile, but close.

“What?” You ask.

He pauses, like he’s weighing something. “Just thinking,” he says finally. “You spend so much time holding it together, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you let go.”

You snort. “What does that even mean?”

He gives a soft chuckle. “It means… I’ve seen you save lives without flinching. Seen you stand toe-to-toe with Jack when he’s in one of his moods. You don’t rattle easily. But tonight—”

“Tonight was different.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t press. Just confirms it.

You sink down onto the concrete of the ledge, letting your head rest back against the railing. “I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t get to me.” You admit. “Like if I act detached enough, maybe I won’t crack.”

Robby sits beside you, careful not to crowd your space. “There’s nothing weak about cracking.” He says quietly. “What matters is that you keep showing up.”

You turn to look at him. He’s closer now, the warmth of his body radiating across the narrow space. There’s a softness in his gaze that you hadn’t noticed before — not the usual sarcasm or light teasing, but something gentler. Something more careful.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Why do you care so much?”

His lips twitch, like he’s debating whether to deflect. But then, he just says, “Because you matter. Because you walk into the fire every day, and I don’t think anyone tells you often enough how much that means.”

You feel your heart stutter, just a little. “You don’t have to fix me, Robby.”

“I’m not trying to.” He tilts his head slightly, earnest. “I just want you to know you’re not alone in it.”

The silence stretches again, but this one feels changed. Less heavy. More charged.

You don’t reach for him. He doesn’t reach for you. But there’s something in the air — not quite spoken, not acted on — just held between you like breath.

You watch silently as the sun spills gold across the skyline, your head now leaning on his shoulder. Your cheek warms where it rests against his scrubs.

“Still thinking about jumping?” He teases, voice low.

“Maybe into your arms,” you murmur, half-joking.

Robby chuckles, warm and quiet. “Careful. You keep saying things like that and I might start getting ideas.”

You smile, more than content. "I think I'm alright with that."

You’re definitely alright with that…

[cosmerelists]

The 30 Most Dangerous Things about Being a Cosmere Fan

If you're thinking about getting into the Cosmere, be warned! Danger is EVERYWHERE! Here are the most dangerous risks that you should be aware of!

Trying to carry giant, hardcover books around

Trying to fit a giant hardcover books on your bookshelf

Trying to fit a giant, hardcover book into your carryon

Getting stopped by TSA, apparently (link)

The risk of dropping a 1400-page book on your toe

Spending too much money on merch. There's always more, somehow

Spending too much money on Kickstarters. There's always another one, somehow

Having a lot of feelings about bridges that you can't really explain

Having a lot of feelings about rocks that you can't really explain

Having a lot of feelings about stew that you can't really explain

Looking around at random, everyday objects and wondering, "I wonder how Sanderson would make THAT magic"

Wanting to use the wiki to help you remember things but not being able to until you finish ALL the books in case you get spoiled

Checking the wiki just for the spelling of someone's name...and still getting spoiled

"Oh, this character is dead so it's definitely safe to check the wiki now!"

"Oh, this series is over, so it's definitely safe to check the wiki now!"

"Huh, that random character I just met named Hoid doesn't seem important...I bet I can check the wiki for him at least..."

Listening to a new reader talk about their favorite character...and needing to bite your tongue hard

Getting the question "So, what is that series about?"'

Getting the question, "So, which book should I start with?"

Hearing someone else give advice about what book to start with...

Watching your favorite character lose a character poll

Needing to understand the inner workings of 47 distinct magic systems

The irrepressible urge to tell people about the inner workings of 47 distinct magic systems

Knowing that if you take a break to read a different series, you'll need to catch up on like three new Cosmere books when you return

Having a slightly skewed view of how quickly a book can be written

Knowing that the next book for your favorite series is five years out

Getting your hopes up for an Elantris sequel

Getting your hopes up for a Warbreaker sequel

Getting your hopes up about any Cosmere film/TV adaptation

Reaching the Sanderlanche at 1:00am...on a school/work night... Yeah, we've all been there.

[thegingerparty]

I was tagged in Tidbit Tuesday by @sad-girl-hours23 so now seems like a great time to say that I am in fact writing a fic based on this -> https://www.tumblr.com/thegingerparty/782024880658989056/okay-but-why-havent-we-talked-about-dailey-planet?source=share post!! I'm really excited about it and I hope it doesn't take me a million years to write. lol.

______________

"Do you think he had plastic surgery?"

Eddie pauses in his typing. "I'm not even sure I want to ask."

"For his cleft, I mean."

A myriad of expressions cross Eddie's face before finally settling on something like bemusement. "Pretty sure that's natural, bud."

"You think?" Buck rests his chin in his hand, gazing across the room at where Tommy sits typing on his own computer. He watches as Tommy squints at the computer, before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Buck's stomach clenches.

He quickly turns back to Eddie. "What about his jawline?" he presses. "There's no way that is all natural."

The loudest sigh Buck has ever heard slowly releases from Eddie's lips. "Buck," he says. His tone of voice is the same one he uses whenever Buck has started oversharing.

"What?" he responds defensively, pulling back to cross his arms over his chest. "Its a valid question!"

"No, Buck, it really isn't." The clicking of the keys continues as Eddie picks up his typing again. He's been really excited about this week's coverage, since the Rangers are in town. You can't take the Tex out of the mex, or however the saying goes. "I thought you guys really hit it off, when you gave him the tour?"

"See, that's what I thought, too!"

"But then…" Buck can feel himself losing Eddie's attention rapidly. He's even more annoyed Taylor is at the city council meeting today, he could really use someone else to vent to about this.

"But then he reconnected with Hen and Chim from when they worked at the Times and Athena agreed to work with him on a case during his second week! I had to wait months for her to work with me voluntarily." Eddie hums noncommittally, frowning at his document. He probably accidentally made every right justified again and is trying to figure out how to change it back.

"And! I know the two of you have been going to bar trivia together on Thursday's after work." Buck accuses, pulling out the big guns. He sits back in the chair smugly as Eddie freezes. He looks over at Buck out of the corner of his eye, not even turning his head.

"Technically, its karaoke trivia," Eddie says. "And I haven't invited you because…." He trails off.

"Because you-you want to exclude me from fun? You want to keep the new guy all to yourself? Sorry that I still don't understand baseball Eddie, but it's not like you can blame me. I mean, the short stop isn't even short! They're usually tall!"

Eddie has taken to rubbing his forehead, a sure sign he's about to professionally tell Buck to fuck off any second.

"I haven't invited you because you hate singing in public unless you're tipsy, which you don't like to do during the week, and because you can be kind of…intense about trivia. I didn't want to scare Tommy off right away."

Buck scoffs. "I am not that bad." he insists.

"You got us kicked out because you kept arguing with the host about how the answers were actually wrong. At three different bars!"

"Well they were wrong." he grouses, borderline pouting, now, even though he would never admit it. "And if it happened again, I would have made sure to keep my cool in front of Tommy."

"Buck you tripped me when walking into the elevator yesterday so you could get in first and stand between us." Eddie has his patent "Dad Face" on, like he's about to ground Buck for a week.

"You can't prove that." Buck says airily.

Eddie just shakes his head. "Listen, whatever it is you have against this guy, you need to get over it. I mean, you barely even work with him, no one is forcing you to interact with him if you don't want to."

Buck rolled his eyes. Eddie was so missing the point. Because the thing is, Buck had wanted to interact with Tommy, had been looking forward to it. But somewhere along the way everyone else had gotten there first and now Buck was stuck trying to figure out how to either make an impression on him, or find a way to ignore him completely.

(He had been trying that for days.)

(It wasn't working.)

Which meant his only choice was to make an impression.

Tagging @queermccoy @dharmaavocado and @thefixations-ofmine if they so desire and anyone else that reads this and wants to share!

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋆.˚☕︎

miya atsumu x f!reader

you always considered atsumu to be a fairly guarded person — that is, until you hear him crying in the bathroom after a particularly abysmal day.

part three of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

The third time Atsumu served the volleyball into the net, his coach called him into the office.

"I'm worried about you," he told the twenty-two year old, pacing behind his large mahogany desk. "You're showing up late, you're not present during practice — you're making mistakes no member of my starting lineup should be making this close to the start of the season. What the hell's going on?"

Atsumu's jaw flexed at the question, his knee bouncing repeatedly from the barely contained anger thrumming through his veins. This chair was too small, his coach's office too stuffy. He was not, under any circumstances, ready to talk about this.

"Dunno." Atsumu sniffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. What explanation could he give? That he was dumped at the end of last school year? That he was driven out of his friend group, forced to move out, and was now living with a girl who, however kind, probably thought he had some kind of undiagnosed mood disorder?

No, he couldn't admit to any of that. It felt too private, too juvenile to say to a man who, this time last year, believed he had the potential to go pro. Instead, Atsumu kept his eyes trained on the ground and said most palatable lie he could come up with.

"I just haven't been gettin' good sleep lately, is all."

His coach folded his arms across his chest.

"That's all it is, then? Your sleep?" he asked, clearly not buying the excuse, but respectful enough not to push his player's boundaries. Atsumu nodded. "Well in that case, maybe a couple weeks on mental health leave will give you enough time to catch up on your sleep."

"Mental health leave — ?" Atsumu blanched, gripping the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turned white. "Yer bein' serious?"

"Do I look like I'm pulling your leg here?" his coach snapped. "I need you to be present on that court come January, and that ain't gonna happen unless you work out whatever the hell is going on in your head."

Atsumu couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But what about the rest of off-season?"

"You'll stick to your strength training and conditioning plan, same as the rest of the team. But you'll be excused from all practices and scrimmages until November."

He might as well have shot Atsumu in the stomach. Four weeks. No volleyball. Atsumu couldn't even remember the last time he was off the court for that long. Was it middle school?

Upon seeing the anguish on Atsumu's face, his coach said, "Look, Miya. Recovery is a part of off-season, too. There's no shame in that. Take your break, deal with whatever it is you need to deal with, and come back with your head screwed on straight. Understood?"

And that was that.

Atsumu stabbed his straw into the lid of an iced vanilla latte later that afternoon, the university coffee shop buzzing with students, professors, and visiting families. He'd hoped the music blasting through his AirPods was enough to drown out the sounds of them yapping. But it certainly wasn't enough to drown out the sound of his own thoughts.

How dare his coach pluck him out of practice like that — like he was a bad piece of fruit about to rot the entire stand? No one on the university men's volleyball team had put in more hours than he had. Hell, this team needed him more than anyone else on that court. But the second he was no longer useful to them?

Discarded. Dumped. Put on mental health leave.

The label left Atsumu's blood boiling.

"Erm, excuse me?" a voice squeaked out from his right. "Excuse me?"

Atsumu ripped out an AirPod. "What?"

The young student flinched at the scowl on Atsumu's face. She couldn't have been older than eighteen.

Pointing towards the condiment station behind him, she said, "You're blocking the napkins."

"Oh." The young volleyball player's shoulders slumped, heat rising into his cheeks. "My bad."

He stepped aside so she could swipe a few from the dispenser, heart hammering in his ears as he told himself to calm the fuck down. He was never really good at that, tempering his anger. Dealing with it in a way that left him and the people around him unscathed. No matter how hard he tried, it always remained a hair's breadth out of his control.

But before he could open his mouth to apologize, the student asked, "Sorry if this is totally weird of me, but...could I get your autograph?"

He was taken aback by the question. Her eyes shyly darted from his face to the iced coffee in her hands.

"You're Miya Atsumu, right? The setter on the men's volleyball team?"

"I — yea, yea I am," he stammered, face now flushed with embarrassment. "And while I'm, uh, flattered, now's not really a good time — "

"It's just that my friends and I are such big fans," she gushed, glancing over her shoulder at the group of girls giggling together in the corner. Were they...taking pictures of him?

He hooked an index finger behind the collar of his hoodie and tugged, suddenly claustrophobic.

"We tried congratulating you on your championship win last season, but you disabled your DMs on Instagram," she continued, speaking to him as if they were old friends. "You also haven't posted anything recently. Is everything okay?"

"That's really none of yer business — "

"Is it because you and Akemi broke up?" she asked innocently. The name shot him right between the ribs. "I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend. You two were friends, right?"

Atsumu could feel his throat constricting. "I — "

"It's too bad, honestly," she said, a giggle escaping her lips as she reached out to touch his arm. "You're really cute. Maybe if you give me your autograph, I can give you my number in return — "

Her words died upon seeing the look on Atsumu's face.

Because if there was one thing he could not stand, it was a fan who didn't know her place.

"Like I said," he muttered. Tone flat. Eyes empty. "It's really none of yer damn business."

She immediately retracted her hand from his forearm.

It was drizzling by the time Atsumu shoved open the door to the coffee shop, the aghast looks on his fan club's faces twisting into his chest like a knife drawing blood. He was used to the attention that volleyball had granted him, had reveled in it at one point. Now, it just made him feel small. Violated. Stripped of his own personal space.

Is it because you and Akemi broke up? I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend...

Unwanted memories began to flood his mind. The smell of alcohol on her breath. The guttural bass of the music, thrumming through the house.

You two were friends, right?

Her lipstick on his teeth. His hand beneath her shirt. The sick, sour feeling of bile at the back of Atsumu's throat.

It's too bad, honestly.

Atsumu slammed the front door to the apartment ten minutes later, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He shucked off his hoodie and threw it onto the couch, chest heaving. As if things couldn't get any worse, he realized he'd left his latte at the coffee shop.

Great, he thought, scrubbing his hair out in frustration. Real fuckin' fantastic.

He flipped on the faucet in the narrow bathroom connecting both of your rooms, splashing cool water on his face in attempt to calm himself down. But his heart felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. He hated how that night still made him feel — hated how Akemi still managed to dictate every single aspect of his godforsaken life. Where he lived. Who he was friends with. Whether or not he could play the sport he loved.

It's not fair, he told himself, over and over and over again. As if doing so would undo the past year of life. It's not fuckin' fair...

He shut the faucet off, squeezed his eyes shut, and tilted his head towards the ceiling. He willed himself not to cry, but the tears were already prickling the corners of his vision.

God. His shoulders shuddered, a sob escaping him.

It was going to be a long night.

After your shift at the university bookstore, you teetered across campus in a clunky pair of rain boots, an umbrella in one hand and a recyclable drink carrier in the other.

You'd stopped by the coffee shop on your way home, purchasing a matcha for yourself and an iced vanilla latte for Atsumu — his favorite, you'd observed over the past couple of weeks. Midterms were right around the corner, and while Atsumu was more likely concerned about the upcoming volleyball season than his exams, you needed all the study fuel you could get.

It was bizarre, living with an athlete who played televised games and boasted over thirty thousand followers on Instagram. You weren't big into college athletics — so to you, Atsumu was nothing more than your prickly roommate with the occasional sweet side. But to the rest of the world, he was Miya Atsumu.

Setter on the men's volleyball team. Top prospect for the professional volleyball draft. And, according to a couple Reddit threads, a total heartthrob. (Haruka's finding, not yours.)

After wiping your boots on the door mat and propping your umbrella up to dry, you let yourself into your tiny apartment and nearly tripped over Atsumu's pair of Asics.

Cursing under your breath, you kicked them off to the side and yanked your own shoes off — all while balancing the stupid drink carrier in one hand.

"Atsumu!" you huffed, storming into the kitchen. "I told you to stop putting your shoes directly in front of the door! I swear, I'm going to break a tooth one day — "

You stopped once you'd heard it.

The soft, steady sound of crying coming from behind the kitchen wall. The sound was completely foreign to you, yet recognizable enough to make your stomach drop.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

You immediately placed your drinks in the refrigerator and padded over to your bedroom, Atsumu's muffled cries slipping beneath the crack under the bathroom door. His sobs were jagged, panicky. Almost as if he were gasping for air. Your heart broke ever so slightly at the sound of them.

You debated turning on your heel and leaving him be. After all, Atsumu didn't seem like the type to want to cry in front of anyone, much less the roommate he'd just met a few months ago.

But another, softer part of you willed yourself to stay, willed yourself to reach out with a tentative fist and rap twice against the closed door.

"Atsumu?" you called to him, your voice quiet. Gentle. "Atsumu, are you okay?"

Your roommate's cries came to a sudden halt. The seconds seemed to drag on for minutes before he responded.

"Do I sound okay?" He sniffled, his voice a mere croak. You tried not to roll your eyes at his sarcasm. "I thought yer shift didn't end 'til seven."

"It's five on Wednesdays," you admitted behind a grimace. "Sorry to interrupt your cry sesh. Do you need me to leave?"

"What? No, ya don't have to leave." From the inside of the bathroom, Atsumu leaned his head against the bathroom cabinets and laughed miserably. "Geez, Y/N. Can't ya let a guy cry in peace?"

You mashed your lips together. "Is that what you want?"

A second passed. Two. Then, hesitantly, Atsumu said, "Can ya grab me some tissues, actually? I ran out of toilet paper."

You joined him in the bathroom two minutes later with a fresh box of tissues and a glass of water, nudging aside wads of toilet paper to make space for you to sit. Atsumu had propped himself up against the bathroom vanity, his t-shirt stained with tears, his eyes bloodshot. You sat cross-legged beside him on your fuzzy pink bathmat and offered him the box.

"How was yer shift?" he asked after blowing his nose. You leaned over to drag the waste basket a little closer.

"Good. I got into a heated debate with a professor about why bookstores don't use the Dewey Decimal system."

Atsumu snorted. "Did ya win?"

"Course I did,” you smiled, picking up the wads of toilet paper one-by-one. "How was practice?"

He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms out towards the ceiling, triceps flexing against his cotton t-shirt.

"I left early."

"Why? I thought you were always the last one to leave."

"I know." He released an exasperated sigh. "My coach...he pulled me out in the middle of practice and put me on 'mental health leave' for a whole month. Basically said I was no use to the team if I couldn't play well."

Your expression fell at the dejection in his words, the way he averted his gaze. As if he was admitting to you that he'd failed.

"Oh, Atsumu," you said, resting a hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry. Did you have any idea he was going to do that?"

His lips twitched downwards, eyes glossing over with tears.

"I mean, I knew I wasn't playin' my best, but I didn't think I was that useless." Wincing, he added, "I may have also chewed out an annoyin' fan who asked me questions about my ex."

"Damn," you said, blinking back in surprise. "You're that popular?"

At this, Atsumu barked out a laugh. "Ya really don't watch sports, don’t ya?"

"I live under a rock, apparently."

"It's okay." He rested his hand atop of yours and gave your fingers an affirming squeeze. "I kinda like how ya have no idea who I am."

"I know a little bit," you argued. "I know that you shared a womb — and that you leave your smelly gym socks on the floor. I know how you like your coffee and eggs, and I know you use my body wash because you think it smells nice."

Atsumu snapped his hand back in betrayal. "I do not."

"I also know that you lie."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I may have used it once or twice."

You shook your head at his half-baked confession. "So maybe I don't know everything about you. But I know enough." Pressing your lips together, you added, "Maybe you could color in the rest for me?"

"...the rest," he repeated flatly. You nodded.

"Only if you want to. We can also just sit here and brood."

He peered down at you — at your kind, thoughtful expression — and felt a tug at his heart. Where would he even begin?

"Well, my ex-girlfriend is the whole reason I'm livin' with ya in the first place," he sniffled. "We started datin' my sophomore year of college, and she was my first serious relationship."

You nodded quietly, never breaking his gaze. He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued.

"I don't even know why I dated her in the first place. We fought all the time. I'd slam doors, she'd throw shit. I always accused her of cheatin' on me, but I didn't think she would actually do it.” The words had tumbled out of him before he could stop them. "It happened towards the end of last year, at a fraternity party." His throat bobbed. "It was also with one of my closest friends."

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, it all made sense. The immediate move-in. The weekly groceries from Osamu. The distant look on Atsumu's face — as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.” And, before you could stop yourself, “Your ex-girlfriend is a bitch."

Atsumu winced. "I thought she was the love of my life."

"Well, the love of your life is a bitch," you clarified. "Your friend, too. Who does that? Are they together? Do you need me to egg their cars?"

A shaky laugh tumbled out of him at the deranged image of you, egg carton in-hand, pelting their cars.

"You wouldn't."

"You're right. Eggs are way too expensive for that.”

"The worst part of it is, they looked so fuckin' happy together." Atsumu ran a calloused hand down his face, trying to incinerate the mental image of them in his mind. "I couldn't stand seein' them around the frat house, so I moved. But I couldn’t even bring myself to do all the typical shit people do when they break up with their girlfriends."

"And what do typical people normally do when they break up with their girlfriends?"

"I dunno. Drink. Date around."

"Well, I can only imagine how disappointed you must be, being denied an STD like that."

Atsumu was full-on laughing at this point. "Ya can be really judgmental sometimes, ya know that?"

"Sorry," you said, although your belly warmed at the way the light returned to his eyes. You liked making him laugh like this. "All I meant was that not all people turn to alcohol and rebounds after a breakup."

"Yeah? What have you done in the past?" Upon seeing your perplexed expression, Atsumu said, "Come on. There's no way someone as pretty as you has never had a boyfriend before."

Your face grew hot from the indirect compliment, but you pushed it down as far as you could and tried to answer the question at-hand.

"You're not wrong. I was seeing someone my freshman year of college, but after we split, I...took up dance classes."

Your roommate blinked, trying to process this new information.

"Ya mean to tell me ya could dance this whole time?"

"I'm not great at it, but I hold my own." Sheepishly, you added, "Maybe you don't know everything about me, either.”

"S'pose I don't," Atsumu hummed, reaching for his glass of water and downing it in one go. You watched him tilt his head back, your gaze unintentionally tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his Adam's apple. "Maybe we outta change that."

Silence lapsed over the both of you like a gentle tide — a wordless acknowledgement of the friendship that had developed so naturally between you. You might not have known everything about each other, but judging by the sincerity on Atsumu's face, you knew there would be plenty of time for that.

You stretched out your legs so they were parallel to his. "So what are you going to do on your leave of absence?"

"Dunno," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Probably go the gym. Cry myself to sleep."

"No," you drawled, nudging his knee with your own. "Why don't we start by watching a movie tonight? Your pick."

"Ya don't have any studying to do?"

"I do," you admitted. "But I'm pretty drained after my shift. That professor really talked my ear off." A soft groan escaped your lips as you stood. "We can order takeout, if you like — oh, and there’s an iced vanilla latte for you in the fridge.”

Atsumu was taken aback. "You brought me one?"

"Two pumps of syrup, just how you like it." Pausing, you added, "I even asked for skim milk. You know, so you don’t blow up the toilet like last time."

“You heard that?!”

“I smelled it! I lit all the candles in the apartment because of it.” You bit back your smile as you said, “You’re lucky I didn’t burn the place down.”

Before Atsumu could pick his jaw up off the floor, you were already out the door, laughter bouncing off the apartment walls like sunbeams off a pane of glass.

He didn't understand how you did that so easily — how you always seemed to know what he needed, how you remembered the things he liked without being told. In just a few short minutes, you had sidestepped the walls he had carefully constructed around himself, gaining full access to his tethered heart.

It was unnerving. Terrifying, even. It made Atsumu feel seen for the first time in months.

You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.

He hadn’t realized he’d let you get that close.

And that — that was the scariest part of all.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

good morning! here's a short little second part to this for the @steddie-spooktober halfway to halloween pop-up!

rated: G | 935 words | full work on AO3

The morning of his second date with Steve starts out on just this side of cold, the sun shining down over dew and through the fog curling up from the earth.

A not all that unusual cold night in the still warming summer that is sure to bloom into a clear 70° later in the day.

Their first date (or was this their first? The last was a double technically) went over smooth as butter; Steve and Robin getting on like a house fire over late night pancakes the day of the fair.

Eddie’s feet were sore, there were still totes of merchandise stuffed into Robin and Chrissy’s backseat, but all four were laughing and joking for a good couple hours more in that booth.

Rob and Chris had driven with Eddie to Benny’s, but Steve was the one to take him home that night, pulling Eddie into a kiss in the driveway as the windows started to fog up around them.

Today, however, Eddie is picking Steve up from his place for their second (he’s decided, it’s their second.) date.

Stomach rolling with nerves, even this early in the day, Eddie gets up and starts getting ready.

He’s attempting what Chrissy calls an ‘everything shower’, he doesn’t have the whole shaving things thing to his to worry about like she includes in hers, but he showers as long as he can to scrub every inch of himself clean, breaks out a tub of body scrub Chrissy gave him that smells like grapefruit, does a full wash and dry of his hair to include the damn diffuser attachment on the damn hairdryer AND the curly hair goops Chrissy had helped him figure out originally. Damn, he loves that girl.

He even made sure to take his shirt for today out of the dryer right when it was done so it didn’t get any ridiculous wrinkles in it as he and Wayne’s iron has taken to melting even Wayne’s fire retardant ‘nice shirts’.

“Why do you need your date shirts to be the same material as your coveralls??”

“Sue me for not wantin’ my shirt to fuse to my skin if I have to save some orphans from a burning building mid-date.”

“....Is that a situation you think you’ll find yourself in?”

“Never hurts to be prepared.”

In any case, Eddie was showered, dressed, and as pretty’d up as he could manage on his own, and with 20 minutes to spare.

“You look great, Eddie!!” Chrissy squeals as soon as she picks up the video call, “He’s gonna want to ravish you right there in the park.”

“You sure? My curls aren’t too curl-y?”

“Is that a thing?” he hears Robin’s voice before he sees her, “Are curls not supposed to be curly?”

Chrissy pushes her away with a palm to the face, “They look perfect Eddie, you ran your fingers through them and everything?” He nods, “Then they’re perfect. Maybe just find a light breeze to ruffle them in and you’re golden.”

“And all the food we decided on is good?”

Chrissy nods, Robin’s voice filters back through, “As long as you have turkey on some of those sandwiches, you can’t fail.”

“And no, the chocolate strawberries are not ‘Too cheesy’, or ‘overdone’, they are a classic for a reason.”

“And Steve loves chocolate covered strawberries!” Robin calls again.

“He does?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Okay, okay.. I can do this.. It’s already our second date. No worries, right?”

“I thought it was your firs–”

Chrissy cuts her off, “Right! It’ll be fun! Don’t forget the blanket, and remember: the middle tree of the three, the others had too many roots.”

“Right…” Eddie nods, thanking his lucky stars again that Chrissy was his friend; she’d insisted on scoping out the perfect spot at the park for his and Steve's picnic date days ahead of time. Somewhere not too close to anything of import, somewhere where the parking lot was emptier even on a perfect sunny day, somewhere up wind from the often-used park grills.

“It’ll be great Eddie, now hurry up or you’ll be late!!”

–

Everything goes smoothly, perfect even; he gets to Steve’s right on time, says hello to Dustin and Max, and Their Spot in the park is just as perfect as he and the girls expected it to be.

So everything was great. Except the one thing he forgot. Gum. Mints. Anything to get the onion smell off his breath.

And of course he doesn’t remember he forgot them until Steve leans up over him on the blanket.

“Wait, no.” Eddie says, turning his face away from Steve’s searching lips.

Steve’s face falls almost imperceptibly, “Everything okay?”

“Perfect, actually, except I forgot the mints.”

His brow scrunches in confusion, “Mints?” he cups his hand over his mouth and checks his breath, “Does my–”

“No! No, no, it’s mine,” Eddie explains quickly, “I have onion breath. I always do after I eat them, even just the little bit that was on the sandwiches.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s concern melts into what Eddie can only describe as exasperated fondness. “You had coffee breath the first time I kissed you. Onion breath is nothing.”

“Oh…?”

“Oh.” Steve nods, leaning down to kiss him into the soft grass beneath their blanket, “And I’m sure your morning breath won’t be a problem either.”

“You’re getting my morning breath now?” Eddie laughs around Steve’s lips, “Presumptuous, Stevie dear.”

Steve snorts, then sighs, laying back down on the blanket. “And to think, I almost didn’t even drive those two to the fair.” he pauses, “I think it was worth it though.”

“Oh yeah?”

Steve turns his head to smile crookedly at him, “I met you, didn’t I?”

and then they live happily ever after the end 🥰

[zalrb]

What’s funny is this appears to be backfiring on Moss & writers astronomically, and that June is looking horrid in all of this, not Nick. I am seeing a lot of opinions dragging her and reading her to filth for how many times she’s risked Nick’s life and even is the sole reason for why he was in that predicament to begin with.

I think that's what's confusing about all of this because not only did they put Nick in an impossible situation, it's a situation he would not have been in if not for June. I saw the back and forth between one of the EPs and the blogger Glasskey about how the difference is Nick gave in to save himself but in 4x03, June gave in to save Hannah and I just don't think that difference matters as much as they think it does because June still chose her daughter over the handmaids and Nick also has a daughter and is about to have another child, the point is that it shouldn't be a choice to begin with and June is supposed to understand that about Gilead, "Gilead makes it really hard to be good", so for me, the character assassination is June not Nick because how is she looking at this man who turned spy for the Americans to see her in the hospital, who worked with Marthas to get her out of Gilead twice if not three times, who did everything he could to get her information on Hannah, who saved her husband and her best friend, who had been working with Mayday prior to her and not understand him. That doesn't make any sense. A blog said that they think Nick will do something else that will be an actual character assassination and that will be what June finds unforgivable and I'm not looking forward to that if that's the case but outright destroying Nick's character to push a Luke/June love story makes more sense to me than this -- not that I want Nick's character to be destroyed but at least it's like oh OK, so you had to make Nick act in a way he would never do just to push a contrived storyline, sure. I've seen many a showrunner do that. What they're doing now is just nonsensical.

[mission-light-if]

Mission Light - Lawyer Path Part 2 - Out Now!

Hello guys, it's me again :)

First of all, I know I said that I would try to upload the update by the 8th of April, but yeah, that didn't happen, obviously.

Before my top surgery, a lot happened, and I had no time to finish everything.

I also lost some of the things I had written because I was careless.

I was frustrated about that, and after the surgery, I needed some time to recover. I also had a few complications, and university started again.

By now, I've managed to rewrite a lot of what was lost, but not everything.

Since I finally want to put something out there, and it's been six months since I originally wanted to finish the lawyer prologue, I've decided to upload what I have so far.

Which, in itself, is also a lot—I'd estimate it to be around 170,000–180,000 words :)

Now, there are still about 3-4 things missing, but when you play the new update, you'll notice that I added a short text/info when that's the case.

I will add those sections in the future. There are also some more minor things I want to add here and there, so my work on the lawyer prologue isn't finished yet.

However, since I have worked on it so much, I’m really tired of seeing it at the moment. So maybe I'll start working on the next chapter first and then get back to what’s missing in the lawyer prologue later on to regain some motivation/fun in writing. I've been wanting to start the next chapter for so long; I finally want to write all the scenes I've been planning and more.

Honestly, it’s been an up-and-down process. Sometimes I was really motivated, sometimes I wasn't, and there were just parts I kept putting off because I had no fun writing them, but I needed them for the progression of the story. So, the quality of the writing may differ in some parts.

I also have to fix the scaling and the relationship/flirt points for some characters/parts, but that's something that only concerns me for now since they aren’t really relevant at the moment, but yeah.

Starting now, I want to do weekly updates. That means, at the end of every week, I’ll upload a new version with everything I’ve written and done during that week, so please remember that. It could be a new choice, just one new paragraph, or maybe a lot of new content.

I will always tell you what I added/changed, though.

If you find any bugs/code problems, please let me know on Tumblr :)

I also try to answer the remaining asks at some point, but it may take some time since I have an important exam coming up that I can’t fail because it's my second-to-last chance to pass.

Nonetheless, I’m really proud of what I’ve achieved.

It’s been almost a year since I started working on this project, and even though I would have liked to have published more by now, I’m really happy with what I’ve done so far.

The way it’s going right now, I’ll probably be writing this for like 5 more years, but that’s okay—art takes time, and I know I function differently than others, in the way I work, think, and how my energy levels work.

I’ve worked for at least three hours almost every day on this project, at least on the days I was home and not out, and it's the most, the longest, and the most consistent thing I’ve ever done.

Even if my writing, storytelling, progression, and choices aren't perfect, I’m happy I started this. Otherwise, it would have forever remained a dream of mine.

This is the project I always wanted to do: writing, game mechanics, my art, and my characters. So, I think this will be sort of my life project.

It's really, really far in the future, but at one point, I would love to add maybe a mini webtoon, mini-games, a better sidebar, more lore, game mechanics like a diary or letters, a timeline, some voiced lines, etc., stuff like that, and maybe even a character creator drawn by me, where you can create your own character.

That way, when I finish everything, I’ll truly have my dream work of art, incorporating all forms of art I like and everything I mentioned before.

I am grateful for every person reading and liking my story; it means so much to me.

Now for the update

This update includes:

Updated Prologue and First Part:

I changed a lot of the writing/internal struggles of the main character

I added the possibility to play matchmaker between Hongyu and Marcos/Maria

I added more depth to the main character's past with Noel and the lingering effects

I also changed a lot of the choices and their outcomes

I added a new system for Noel and the main character's dynamic (hate him, believe in good/nostalgia, afraid of him)

The New Second Part:

Meet Noel again and deal with him in different ways

Learn about your coworkers' superpowers

Pick one of two choices, leading to two entirely different fight paths

Awaken your own powers

Decide how to approach the fight with Noel (on both paths), leading to many individual fight outcomes (the two different broader paths with 4 main splits and even more choices on one, and 2-3 splits on the other)

Meet another agent, Min, in the aftermath of the fight and deal with everything that happened

Ask more questions and figure out more about what’s going on and went on behind the scenes

Prepare/start to get ready to confront Noel and his group in the next chapter to finally end things once and for all

Meet more agents (Sinan and Nayla) in the end and meet your group's pet dog, Vin :)

That’s it for now :)

Take care,

Jakob

Play here

[gm-warlic]

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ANDOR SEASON 2

Smaller warning: this is gonna be political.

Giving you time to scroll away now. Alright, let's get into it.

So, Andor has never been afraid of being political. The show is basically an anti-fascist manifesto (and even includes a literal anti-fascist manifesto). It has addressed capitalism's role in maintaining and supporting fascism, the effects of colonization and exploitation, the prison industrial complex, and more. But from the first three episodes of season 2, it seems Gilroy is taking things up a notch.

The scene in which an Imperial officer attempts to rape Bix, an undocumented migrant worker, is clearly an intentional parallel to modern America with the border patrol & ICE. This scene has already caused a great deal of drama and debate in the Star Wars fandom. But I am pretty sure Gilroy is just getting started.

In these first few episodes we also got a scene showing a meeting between Imperial leaders discussing the "Ghorman problem." We know already that this is setup for the Ghorman Massacre, an event previously mentioned in both canon and Legends but never fully explored. But I don't believe the Massacre will happen in the way it is described in Legends. I think it is going to be much worse. I suspect they are setting up another deliberate parallel to real world issues. In this case, the Gaza genocide.

Dedra's plan to find “Ghorman rebels [they] can depend on to do the wrong thing" parallels Israel's role in the creation of Hamas, both through their decades of human rights abuses creating the conditions that led to the formation of rebel groups like Hamas and how Israel helped finance Hamas as an opposition to the PLO, as well as how Israel has used the events of October 7 to justify their ongoing genocide of Palestinians. The Empire has already been hard at work on propaganda to turn the people of the Galaxy against the Ghormans, much like American propaganda around the War on Terror has resulted in many Americans viewing all Arabs as terrorists. The similarities are everywhere once you start looking.

I believe the Ghorman Massacre is going to be used in Andor as a direct parallel to the Gaza genocide, with the Empire putting greater and greater pressure on the Ghorman people until Ghorman rebels enact an October 7 like raid, which the Empire will use to justify committing genocide against the people of Ghorman.

Now, I could be completely delusional. After all, this is a Disney project. The same Disney that only recently had Sabra as a major character in a Captain America movie, played by a former IOF soldier. But Andor has already gotten away with far more than I would have previously imagined Disney would allow. It seems clear to me that the success of first Rogue One and then season one of Andor have given Gilroy very nearly infinite leeway. After all, if there is one thing Disney cares about more than anything else, it's money. Or perhaps Disney execs just weren't smart enough to see the clear parallels and Gilroy was able to get away with it because the Ghorman Massacre is already part of Star Wars canon.

If I am right, we are about to see the most politically controversial piece of Star Wars media by a LOT. Zionist Star Wars fans are going to have to face the fact that their favorite ethnostate is the Empire, and they are not going to like that. That is of course assuming that the chuds even realize the obvious parallels being made. I guess we will have to see.

Oh, and important note: If I see any zionists in the replies I am blocking you.

[valeriefauxnom]

Leif's age is, well, weird, because canon still seems to want to frame it as though he were in a senior enough position that he was expected to teach Leonidas even if that's not how it worked out...

Then again, Leif also frames their meeting as when he was young and in school, so who knows. Maybe he has a few years to where he was expected to be a 'mentor'??

But yeah, I dunno. Either way I'm not sure Leonidas would be all that happy! Somehow I think people would get a rare glimpse of his more protective side the second one of his siblings was dating/involved, between his general mistrust and suspicion of foul motives (and in Chelle's case, maybe stealing Leif for herself.)

After all, all the eldest three will use 'dear' as a little tidbit to add occasionally, both sincerely and insincerely. Chelle will 'dear x' to many whether they are family or dear at all, Phares will do so to Euden with surprising frequency in a trend I did not notice before but I'm not really seeing much else from him immediately (except once in vague reference to Nedrick, 'our dear "younger brother" and one to Chelle), but Leonidas is overall pretty rare with his 'dears', and does so once to Euden, once to Chelle... and twice to Leif.

Jokes aside, I'm starting to think the 'dear' thing must have been drilled into their head as habit, for how many will pull it out. Even Emile will use 'dear': 'my dear sister', 'I am come, my dear flunkies'... even when Emile doesn't exactly hold many dear to him in any capacity. It's still funny to analyze who they use it to at what frequency, though Chelle is the obvious shoo-in were this a competition, with her rampant use of it!

Also, in the course of this meandering path that ended with me analyzing the family's 'dear' habit, I will say, I wonder what the heck was going on in Aurelius' reign if there were upsets enough to give Leif and co war stories:

Ahem, in any case...

Leonidas: I smiled genuinely once, as a baby. I didn't like it. Now I can only do self-pleased smirks.

I find the pointy ears idea funny especially if there's not so so egregious that Euden still has room to not immediately notice that his are different than everyone else's and then wondering how impossibly quickly he gets recognized all the time. Like sure, he understands there's probably descriptions of him going around as a blond young dude with green eyes and all that, but how is even the most common peasant able to ID him so fast?!?!

...His friends point out the slight points on his ears, the ones he just thought were normal.

Regarding the draft Eudens, I think I've joked that the hula-belt one is actually Aurelius' that he either took or was granted, because Euden (and other members occasionally do, too, see their obsession with belts that have the extra protrusion on one side) as it is already take cues from Aurelius and Alberius' outfits, why not go the extra mile and just steal your dad's belt???? Someone needs to teach him in general about finding fitting clothing, because as everyone joked the second they saw it, Summer!Euden's trunks are on life support with his belt.

Oh, and to add to the draft family with the Zethia there, there's also what seems like it might have been an early mock-up with fox!Luca and, impossibly indistinct, another earlier design for Euden, in that same source (illustrator interview at ~6 month anni).

Between the Apostles and the Soulpacts in Hinomoto, I just find it funny how much it forms a 'look what they need to mimic a fraction of our power' for the fam. Like people in Hinomoto are greatly shortening their lifespans by offering up their soul to get a dragon that takes over their body in shapeshift, the angels have made themselves dependent on Sigil-ing and so it's not a true true 'trial' to 'earn' for an Apostle, since it's a given that they need to Sigil, the question is just to whom... and then the Alberian fam, while pacting and shapeshifting isn't easy (far from it), doesn't need to give up their literal lifespans to do so or die if the dragon does.

Maybe you could frame the Uranus thing as him having to work really really hard to keep Phares going, between the Progenitor and his own lingering pact causing issues? There's also the aspect you could spin on Phares' side of him not being willing to accept Uranus is gone from what he did under Xenos' influence/control for extra angst, and maybe is using it as a self-punishment like his attitude of repentance in his story! A means to maybe cheat the Progenitor of being able to use him anymore, if this is what it brings (unknowing that the Progenitor seems to be able to use corpses regardless, see him speaking through Euden in 25 speaking post-mortem).

No matter how you spin that little add-on idea into canon, it's prime angst material!

More Dragalia Minor Mistakes (Or, when Dragalia's writers and/or translators failed a lore check)...

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Dragalia was surprisingly astute to the general mass of lore it had. That being said, it's only natural that a few mistakes or lore contradictions would slip through the cracks over years of development, perhaps staff coming and going, yadda yadda. Consider this just the second of small logs of whatever I've noticed, throughout my meanderings through the wiki and more!

First up, we're starting today's category with 'technology', namely, the humble abacus. Dragalia's mishmash of technology is understandable, since they've been artificially kept in a state of technological limbo until canon time. And of their technology, we know that the abacus is something that's been lost to most of the world, it seems.

It's Xiao Lei's whole thing, for the rest of the cast to be amazed at how fast she's able to do math with, how cool that is, etc etc. It's this special Taiwuan thing that might save the scientists in Alberia a lot of work!

One problem: this random NPC, very Alberian, shopkeep also is randomly using one, to no amazement by the cast.

Whoops.

More relevant to the main story, though, Phares once incurs a small case of brainfog and mistakes the name of his own terminal illness:

This one I think I can reasonably provide a rationale for this being a translator's error, perhaps one who hadn't dealt with Phares or at least dealt with him for a while. Why? Wyrmscale is more literally in Japanese 'dragon scale - itis', (or, 竜鱗病, ryu urin byou, ryu=dragon, urin=scale, byo = character for 'sickness'), so a translator might have read that and just translated it literally instead of checking whatever lore docs they might have had that they'd already called it 'wyrmscale' in English!

Also related to the lore, this next one's more of a case of later lore contradicting the earlier one, and boy is it petty quibbling on my end.

In short, take a look at this dialogue from Elysium:

See anything wrong? No?

Well, my problem is the use of the word 'young' here! It is the singular word that goes against lore here, as I can't exactly argue against his opinion claim of 'immature!'

We've no less than three other canon sources at least that instead frame humans as a species as among the first in the universe, right along with dragons!

So, yes, Elysium, you're not wrong to call humans 'immature', but to call their species 'young'???? You know better than that! (no he didn't, since this dialogue came before any of the other contradictions here, I believe, but it's still technically an error!)

If we're on a dragon kick, pop quiz: who was Alberius' first pactbound dragon?

Some of you might be yelling 'MIDGARDSORMR' as others yell 'CHTHONIUS', and then you both might hypothetically look at each other and feel confused. Well, you may be glad to know that this was a genuine lore contradiction instead of one of you being 'wrong'.

It's understandable why people thought both options, even aside from the lore confusion. Midgardsormr as the first to really start hanging out with him, or Chthonius as the dragon he was tied body and soul to in the end, who literally merged with him?

Overall, I'm more of the 'Chthonius' side for what they ultimately intended, as we also see other descriptions painstakingly spell out that Mids was the 'first dragon to personally meet Alberius' instead of just saying 'pact with Alberius', and one slipped through the cracks, but still! These minor lore slip ups are what I'm cataloguing here. Honestly, between this, the non-pact slip-up with Brunhilda in the previous post I made, and other things like Alberius slapping Jupiter, he sure had a lot of pacting 'fun' and drama, huh?

Now I'll return to the royal fam lore drama. A long long time ago, I made a post explaining how the family says their names, as is said by their siblings. Some (Phares, cough cough) shooketh me greatly, as the aforementioned example's name might more phonetically be rendered 'Farez' to me instead of the 'Fairays' I was running with more since in my brain I was connecting it to words like "pharaoh" instead.

But I realized I overlooked their father's name. From what I'm seeing, only Audric says his own real name, as everyone else wants to call him His Majesty, Father, or the King.

And here's the doozy: his dementia aura he gives everyone has also been affecting he himself, because he says HIS OWN NAME two different ways!

Here's the relevant soundbites to demonstrate what I mean:

Here, we see one 'Or - Ray - Li - Us' and one 'Or - Rel - ii - Us'

I thiiink we see 'Ray' version twice vs the one time of 'Rel', but this more seems to be a division between his base form and Gala form.

I did a bit more digging, and we've also Gala Gatov... but his pronunciation is so foggy that it's remarkably hard to tell if he's saying 'Ray' 'Rel' or 'Ril', though I overall lean towards 'Rel' on a slowdown!

So... yeah. I guess it's ultimately up to you guys how you wanna say his name, because they sent mixed signals in English!

(As a bonus I'll just throw this other soundbite out here for any of you guys curious about how to say Vio Rhyse Alberia, since it's become a minor battle cry for the fandom in their grief)

Huh... you know, that might actually be a great place to meld into my final example!

'Vio Rhyse Alberia' is suggested once to mean 'Glory to Alberia'. Presumably, it's not just their modern language nor another real one, since we don't really see them bust out other similar phrases. Heck, even Audric's pronunciation here is a slight warp from the standard 'Al-beer-ia' with whatever little roll he's doing with the 'r' in there.

Specifically, it's likely 'Ancient Alberian', a language that Elisanne ID's as existing in ch.13, and one Phares is also likely able to read for him to be able to get the stuff it's written on up and working (+the fact he's specifically talented in 'ancient languages' plural).

This is... well, a big 'Hum' moment, in that while I cannot think of a way in which it makes sense, it's not as cut-and-dry as the others for 'this says x, this says y'.

If we're talking early Ilian church, specifically, this dates this machine to about 1k years ago, during the golden age of humanity and Ilia. It makes sense, since alchemy was also in its heyday then.

The thing is that Alberia just flat-out didn't exist until 300 years ago, until Alberius created it. With how similar 'Alberius' and 'Alberia' are in name, one might have presumed he named it after himself. But let's excuse that little bit, and just say it's a root that stems from earlier language in the same way humans are often named after objects even to this day.

It's still a bit confusing - this puts Ilia in a weird place to where she's fully comprehend-able to our modern crew and vice-versa despite seemingly speaking this different language. Ilia even seems to share a similar slang culture, with her joining the crew in occasionally butchering French on purpose (toot sweet in place of tout de suite). I might be tempted to excuse it like how English has developed, from a point where its written variety has greatly developed even when most of the words they were saying/writing are understandable, but this again is troubled by the existence of 'Vio Rhyse Alberia', a phrase that is clearly not a 'normal part' of their language.

This is giving me weird ideas where Ilia is speaking in this really ancient dialect that's just barely understandable to the modern day crew, kinda like how we can kinda piece out even some Old English or Latin with vocabulary even when it's written entirely differently. Take the good old people doing Old English covers of songs, where we see 'Irish-made' in a Pumped Up Kicks translation turned to 'Írisc-worht', which to me I can piece together 'Irish' from the first word and get reminded of 'wrought' from the second, which is a word that means, well, made from.

I digress. The best way I can really excuse the name is honestly a bit funny: that historians and all those scholars retroactively decided to call this language they (re)discovered 'Ancient Alberian' just because the land that they discovered it on or something is now Alberia, long enough before that the Church was able to pick it up again and start teaching kids it.

Alternatively, that there was a historical Alberia that Alberius stole the name from, that Euden would then go on to steal from Alberius when naming his own kingdom. "That's Alberia, this is Alberia, are there any more Alberias I should know about? Meow (says Leonidas' 'Alberia' reformed under his sovereignty)"

Sigh. Make of it what you will. But there's something funky going on in the linguistical history of Alberia here. The way I've personally decided to sweep it under the rug is treating them as spoken similarly enough for Alberius-Ilia-Euden to all mutually comprehend (Alberius additionally trapped in a cave and serving as a perfect time capsule of his language at the time), but the written form has warped far too much for any of them to understand each other. Still doesn't explain Vio Rhyse but hey, blame other lost language's influence or something and boom.

That's enough rambling on my end, however. If you've any other plot holes or lore failure checks, though, please let me know!

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! This question came up when I had family visiting, and I am genuinely unsure of how common this is

[todayisafridaynight]

old man yaoi comm on yaoi day... woAgh.....

Commission Info

[front-facing-pokemon]

[fragmentedblade]

Also, Ruan Mei was the one who lent the Phase Flame to Ratio, wasn't she?

[booasaur]

Something really amazing happened in France, and I think it'd help us in the US to learn about it. Forgive the long read, but I think this is genuinely great both because of what happened and how.

So as some of you might have seen, in a decision historians will debate for years (mostly to figure out just WTF he was thinking, even though he is alive right now and can be asked), the French president, Emmanuel Macron, currently in power and THREE YEARS before the scheduled election, seeing the far right rise in popularity decided to dissolve the assembly and hold snap elections.

577 seats were up for grabs. Remember that number. Since half of that is 288.5, 289 seats are needed for a majority.

The first round happened last week and boy, was it bad. The far right made HUGE gains. It won or was in first place in so many races. And Macron's party ended up third!

Overall, this is how things ended up after the first round:

Far right bloc: 33%

Left bloc: 28%

Macron's centrist party: 20%

Conservatives: 7%

The way the French system works is that if a candidate gets over 50% of the vote, they win outright, and some of the far right did manage that. But, many races went to a runoff.

Immediate projections after were that the far right bloc might win anywhere from 240 to 310 seats, a catastrophe.

A shameful swing to the far right leading to the first time they'll be in power since the 1940s? Yes, but maybe not??

This is where things get interesting.

Unusually, a lot of these runoffs are 3-way, instead of a simpler 2-way choice. And in pretty much every case, that helps the far right.

So on June 30th, the night of the first round, this is how things went down:

Immediately, the left parties put out the call: anywhere they were third, they withdrew and their voters would go over to whoever was running against the far right candidate. Their goal: form a "republican front" to block the far right. The far right cannot get 289 seats.

Macron's bloc was not so...motivated. Different people put out different instructions: in some places, if they were third, they should drop out, but only to help the center left, not far left, in other places, see how far you are, only then drop out, that kind of thing.

The conservative party simply said they won't drop out and won't give their voters instruction either way in races they're not involved in.

Late night developments:

More people in Macron's party are now beginning to realize the situation and starting to coalesce around whichever candidate can beat the far right one. Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, from Macron's party, says clearly the priority is to block the far right. BUT, some Macron spokespeople on TV say they'll form a coalition only with the center left and conservatives, splitting the left bloc if needed. Some individual Macronists still saying they won't drop out, even if there's no hope of winning.

Lol.

So, now July 1st:

Only half so far. In one race, where the sister of Marine Le Pen (the far right leader and the face of their movement) was leading, the third place Macronist refused to bow out.

Excellent quote from another Macronist:

Perhaps realizing the same thing, that Macronist in the race against the Le Pen sister now drops out.

In some places, third place Macronists are dropping out DESPITE Macron bewilderingly telling them NOT to?

Halfway through the day:

Of the 311 3-way or 4-way runoffs, the number is down to 135 because of these candidates dropping out: 121 Left, 56 Macronists, 1 conservative.

Oh, there was this, in case people had any doubts about how terrible the far right are:

And to show the selflessness of the left:

July 2:

The deadline to decide if they want to stay in a runoff is today.

A dozen new third place Macronists who said they'd stay in have now dropped out. One got a call from both the PM Attal AND Macron to drop out, signalling the dawning understanding of the importance of this moment.

Even some conservative party members are now backing the left candidate who faces the far right.

A Macronist who had 30.55% of the vote in the first round and came in third to the far right's 33.11% and left's 32.73% and who would have been tempted to stay has dropped out.

The deadline to stay in or not has now passed.

Look at these far right shenanigans!

Macron still being a freaking loser:

July 3rd:

In the end, of the 311 3- or 4-way run offs, only 91 left. Some polls come out that have the far right getting between 190 to 220 seats.

July 4th:

New polls say the balance of the voting itself isn't transferring between the left and center and predictions have risen for the far right, now predicted to get between 210 and 250 seats.

July 5th:

New polls again, left voters now predicted to do better transferring vote to the centrists, decreasing the far right projections again.

However, scandalous reporting emerges: while Attal was trying to fend off the far right, Macron was not only NOT taking the far right seriously, he was undermining efforts to defeat them. His team shrugged off the first round results and celebrated a BIRTHDAY as the results were still coming in?

July 6th:

A few runoffs happened yesterday, nothing much unexpected, some left and center wins.

July 7th:

The day of reckoning. At this point, the expectations are that the far right won't come close to that 289 number but could still easily have the most seats.

GUYS.

It's over and the left are in the lead!

A LOT of cases where a leftist or centrist was 2nd in the first round and now won.

Amazing:

SO many lessons to take from this.

First, you have to vote! You have to. You can't do anything without voting. The freaking French, who'll protest for anything, are showing up to vote. If you're trying to achieve any kind of result and it's not going to happen by January 2025, you have to vote now.

But just as importantly, the left and center (and even conservative) parties made very key decisions. They were all lucky that Attal, who Macron chose, saw the big picture, bigger than indeed Macron could. A stupid selfish centrist leader could have still ruined everything if it were up to him.

TL;DR: After a disastrous first round in the national French elections where the far right was on the cusp of taking power, the left and center formed a strong coalition and through the power of voting and unity, overcame the far right AND their selfish centrist president to win.

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s been in the training room for hours now. Sweat trickled all over his body as his arms never stopped swinging.

“Sukuna, you’ve been here for more than an hour now. That punching bag will break any moment.” Toji voiced out as he walked in.

“What’s wrong with you?” He tried to ask Sukuna.

“She’s mad at me. Been ignoring me for two days now.” Sukuna dropped his arms and sulked. Fucking hell, he misses you so much.

“Ah that pretty doll? Couldn’t imagine her staying mad that long with your annoying ass.”

“She’s my pretty doll. Don’t call her that.” Sukuna grumbled at Toji but the man ignored him.

“What’d you do?”

“Her medical director was being a misogynistic ass, so I punched him on her behalf.” Sukuna smirked, remembering how gratifying it was to punch the bastard in the face.

“Heh, would’ve done the same if I was there. But didn’t it occur to you that she might not want you to fight her battles for her?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I could send that man in a hospital without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s exactly why asshole. Besides, you’ve seen how she handles herself in her own field. So go apologize instead of breaking our goddamn equipment.”

boxer!sukuna who corners you in your office so you can’t avoid him anymore. Locking the door close and closing the blinds so nobody could interfere. He went looking for you right after finishing his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here Sukuna, I’m working. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You can see where this was going, tears already threatened to fall in the corners of your eyes.

“No. We need to talk right now, or else I’ll go crazy-“

“You’re going crazy? You haven’t talked to me in two days Sukuna. Now you’ll stroll in here and break up with me?”

“Break up?“ What the hell?

“Can’t handle the emotional part of the relationship? I should’ve known since you’re-“

“Since I’m what?” His voice was loud and angry. It was the first time he got mad at you.

“How could I even dare to break up with you when you’re constantly in my mind? When I’m trying my best just so you could notice me? When I’d surrender at your feet if you’d only say the word? I’ve pursued you for months and waited for you to see me. Even with countless rejections, I would’ve continued to wait for the rest of my life as long as there’s no ring on your finger yet. God, my infatuation even turned into obsession.” He sounds dejected as he chuckled to himself in pity.

“Now you’re saying I’m here to break up with you? No baby, I’m here to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind if I don’t have your attention on me even in a split second. Why can’t you see it? I’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of leaving wouldn’t even cross my mind.” He continued on and sighed in agony.

“Y-You’re what?” You were stunned. It was the first time he said that three lettered word.

“I love you so fucking much. So please, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have interfered because I know you could stand up for yourself. But I can’t say I regret punching that motherfucker in the face.”

“I know you won’t, ‘kuna.”

“Fuck, don’t cry baby. I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He got on his knees and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. You leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Yeah but thanks to your little stunt, that man was fired and I won’t have to deal with his misogynistic comments anymore.” You just finished talking to the higher ups and the HR a while ago, they assured you that they’ll handle the case and that your medical director will be terminated immediately.

“I’m sorry too Sukuna, for avoiding and ignoring you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve reached out. It won’t happen again baby, I promise.”

“Ryo.” You called him and caressed his face.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” His brain stopped functioning when he heard you say that.

“A-Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you just because I said it earlier-“ Ears turning red, he was now flustered and asked just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“I love you Ryomen Sukuna, I’m very sure.” You expressed lovingly, together with a quick peck on his lips.

“You sure know how to make me crazy for you, sweetheart.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage

The thing is, Tim didn't mean to put it on. He was just kind of playing with it to keep his hands busy while he was thinking about the recent murder case. GCPD had their hands full with the serial robbers that didn't rank high enough to catch Batman's attention, and Tim never had a problem with helping the police if he had time.

And the ring was a perfect fidget toy, if he is being honest. Small and plain enough not to distract him, but the round stone in the middle was loosely attached, making it able to spin inside the frame. Which is what he did, again and again, like those fidget spinners.

Of course, he was just destined to drop it sooner or later. And then, when he reached under the table to pick it up, his finger caught inside the ring, and, well.

The ring was now firmly on his finger.

The problem was that he couldn't take it off.

It wasn't stuck, at least not in the general sense of it - Tim could easily spin it around, and it wasn't tight. But it wasn't loose either, and as soon as he tried to move it past the knuckle, the ring heavily disagreed, almost like shrinking down and absolutely refusing to be detached.

Barbara suggested soap, which didn't work. Dick tried for a more mechanical approach, first with pliers and then with a laser, which the ring resisted with no effort. Cass, who was actually the one who brought the damned thing into the Cave after one of her adventures in Hong Kong, just smiled and shrugged, which was of no help either. Damian offered to cut the finger off, which probably would have helped, but Tim rather liked all his limbs attached.

Bruce called Constantine. The magician took one look at the ring, barked a humorless laugh, and pat Tim on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Congrats, mate," he said, a wry smile on his lips, "I hope you file for divorce."

Although, while all the rest of the Bats and Birds devolved into fits of hysterical laughter (Steph), indignant sputtering (Damian), and cries of outrage (everyone else sans Alfred, who was pointedly unimpressed), Tim couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Really, his life had been a shitshow since he was around ten. It's not like he didn't expect himself to be accidentally married to some otherworldly magical creature by this point.

The worst part - worse than the actual engagement, that is - was that Constantine couldn't exactly tell them who the spouse was.

What he did say was that the Ring belonged to the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, and Eyes of Universe. But those were only titles, and, as John Constantine begrudgingly admitted, there has been a change in the management recently, so no one really knew what the new almighty monarch looked like or what they were, much less their whereabouts.

"You can't blame me for not being keen to find out, though," John said, wincing, "The last one was a bloody tyrant, and the Realms operate under the right of conquest rule."

At least, the mage assured them that since the being had not yet come to collect their shiny new spouse, they might never show up at all. The Ring has been lost for ages after all, so maybe the King didn't even remember having one. Or, the previous King didn't, and the new one didn't know about or didn't care.

The first week after the incident, they spent anxiously researching and worrying. Bruce even went as far as making Tim wear a tracker at all times, which was not great, but he did appreciate the gesture. Kind of.

After the first month with no sign of any changes, the worry started to abate. In half a year, most of the family stopped trying to keep an eye on Tim at all times lest he suddenly disappeared. Two years later, even Tim himself treated the Ring as a natural part of his daily life. The stone inside was still a great fidget toy, engagement or not.

Three years, one month, and five days after Tim first put the Ring on his finger, when the world was falling apart and breaking in front of him and there was not a single thing he could do to stop it anymore, Tim pressed his lips to the cold, dark strip of unknown metal on his finger.

"Whoever you are, I don't even care, please," he whispered in a useless prayer, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, "please, help."

And the world came to a stop with a short, amused chuckle.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

[part 2 ->]