#its gone through several title changes

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[dooberific]

Damn that angst Harumasa oneshot was smth else 😭

Could you perhaps write an alternative happy ending? 💔

❝ 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 ➸ 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 ❞

harumasa x afab!reader

genre: hurt w comfort, fluff, you lived bitch 😎

summary: it was supposed to be a routine mission, it's a good thing you are there to help pickup the pieces

wc: 3.2k

this is a hybrid work, the start of new content will be marked with colored text!

There was a ring cut to your size. A thin and silver little band that lacked grandiose ornamentation. Diamonds and frills were never your thing after all, he could still see the little quirk in your lips at the memory of your colleagues rushing in with stones so large you thought them better fit for paperweights than proclamations of their belonging to another under the banner of love and marriage. “Practicality above all else,” you had claimed some months ago, thumbing at the simple band around your index finger. Your late mother’s ring.

He hoped you were the sentimental kind, your voice warbled over the line from the outpost in his ear as he smiled. “I’m just saying to be careful is all.” He asserted, fingers running aimlessly over the silver band resting in his palm. Your initials and his were cut into the inside. 

It was supposed to be your day off, the first you had taken in several months, but when H.A.N.D phoned you that they needed your section of the HSO to assemble for a rescue mission after a Defense Force team had vanished inside of Hollow Zero, well….you didn’t get the luxury of saying no, even if you were the Chief. 

“When am I not careful? Remember which one of us you’re talking to here, Haru.” You chided, the smile on your face so present he could hear it change the lilt of your voice. 

“Right, right, I’m talking to my beautiful, kind, intelligent and all around perfect girlfriend~” Though he hoped that title would be changing very soon, as he held the ring up to the light, the sun filtering through the window of your shared apartment dancing enticingly over its surface. 

You giggled in his ear, the sound warming him to the soul. He could practically see the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled in delight.  “That’s much better.”

The interference in the background of the call amplified, faint callings of your name cutting through the static. You sounded disappointed. “Sorry Haru, I gotta go.”

“It’s okay baby, duty calls. Just try to be home for dinner.”

“Wouldn’t miss a date night for the world, you better not peek in the closet while I’m gone! I want that dress to be a pleasant surprise later.” 

You fell quiet again as you pulled the receiver away from your mouth, yelling a response into the background. “They’re about to have an aneurysm over here,” you huffed. 

“I love you, Haru~”

“I love you too, (y/n)~”

That was a little after noon. It was now nearing midnight and the outpost was crawling with H.A.N.D uniforms and HSO stragglers. Countless outpost scientists shouldered through the crowd, chiming off readings and acting as if they just had a some great scientific breakthrough.

But you were still inside of Hollow Zero.

And H.A.N.D was beginning to withdraw. 

Even flashing his Section 6 badge failed to get him answers despite his insistence, earning little more than the shake of a head and a “this is above your paygrade, kid.”

They threatened to court martial  him if he kept accosting them. But they didn’t have you inside the Hollow like he did. The epitome of his happiness, the one he swore hung the moon and stars, his most constant companion, and the only one he could imagine waking up beside of until the day he expired. 

They didn’t have you, but they had the version of you that made their actions palatable. The “good soldier” and “valiant leader”. The slave to a public that didn’t care to know your name even as you shouldered their burdens as ceaselessly as atlas held the heavens. The one who signed up for a death job.

A chorus of shouts erupted, the flash of the medical units blazing to life under the white spotlights. 

Survivors.

He shouldered his way through the swell of the crowd with little regard for those he pushed aside. In a perfect world he would break from the crowd and see you standing there, a little worse for wear but alive and smiling like you just cheated the world. You would push past the medic teams as they chased you down to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips as you gloated playfully.

“See? What’d I tell you? Safe and sound.” 

But you weren’t there. A cluster of five soldiers stumbled through the outer bounds of the Hollow—no, those weren’t soldiers, they were members of your faction carrying the torn uniforms of Defense Force operatives. They dripped with blood and grime, corruption marring their skin as they limped out, half-dragging others.

“Hey!” He yelled over the roar of the crowd as he grabbed one of them by the shoulder. His name badge shined under the lights. Kimura.

 “Where’s your chief?”

The man shoved his hand away, “Get off me man!”

He didn’t know where he got the strength as he grappled with Kimura before taking two fistfuls of his collar. “Where’s your fucking Chief? Where’s (y/n)?!” 

Multiple pairs of hands tore at his uniform from behind as they hauled him off, legs kicking as he wrestled against their pull.

“Where is she?”

“She’s stayed behind!” 

Kimura’s face was blank, his eyes distant and foggy as he stared at the ground. There were tears streaming down his face as he drew a ragged breath. “I’ve never seen so many ethereals, we were overran so quickly…Chief (l/n) and Deputy Chief Kato created a diversion to draw them away so we could get out.”

Kimura looked up with red rimmed eyes.

“I am so sorry.”

Hollow Zero had mutated. Or that was the story they were telling everyone now. The sensors at the outpost had registered a dramatic spike in etheric energy about 30 minutes after Section 2 had infiltrated, and by the next 20 the bangboo that accompanied you had stumbled out with fried circuits, the carrot it followed now expired as the interior of the hollow rearranged. 

It was supposed to be a standard recovery operation. You had done them hundreds of times in the past.

“I’m sorry, Asaba. My hands are tied.” The officer said with a shake of his head. “No one’s allowed in unless they are operating with their faction. You’re the only one from Section 6 here.”

He gripped his bow tighter. “Then I suggest you turn around and pretend you didn’t see me.” 

~

It felt like an electric current thrummed under his skin as he breached the Hollow. He didn’t bother to call the proxy or wait for the association to form a new carrot. There was no point, even as desperately as he clung to the idea of you being unharmed, alive, there was still a rotten crawl of doubt in the back of his mind that made the thought of wandering forever as an ethereal within Hollow Zero a more palatable choice than leaving here without you. 

He didn’t know how long he had wandered through the hollow, hair matted to his forehead from sweat as he cleared another broken wall, trying to survey as much of the warped landscape as he could. He doubled over, hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He had overextended himself already, his chest constricted tightly as his breathing became shallow, a sharp ringing in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut, focusing on getting his lungs back under control.

In and out.

In and out.

There was a distant cry that met his ears with the sharp and hollow sound of clashing metal, one that twisted his gut in an iron grip as his head shot up.

You.

He didn’t know what he hoped to find when he fumbled over the rubble in your direction. Finding you was the sole focus of his mind for the past few hours, the rush of adrenaline carrying his mind past rational thought.

You. You. You.

It urged his tired legs forward, kept him standing as he rounded the corner and saw the torn back of your uniform jacket fluttering in the etheric breeze. 

You, despite all odds, were still alive.

A Hati screamed as your blade plunged between its armored plating, the etheric shell shattered at your feet as the creature collapsed alongside it, your body pivoting with deadly precision to bring your blade down upon the blazecrawler that leapt into your blindspot before an electrified arrow whistled past your face and knocked it from the sky, it’s body disintegrating before it even hit the ground.

“Haru?”

You looked utterly exhausted, your face smeared with grime and hair matted with sweat, but you’d never looked more alive and perfect than when the veins of acute ether corruption made the healthy pink of your cheeks and lips glow. 

“Haru, what are you doing here?” Your voice cracked, tongue fuzzy in your mouth from dehydration as you limped in his direction, tired eyes blazing with anger. “The ether is too strong, you shouldn’t be--,”

Any ounce of wrath or concern at his lack of prudence died on the tip of your tongue when he swept you up in his arms, face burrowed firmly into the column of your throat. His body trembled unnaturally against you, skin feverish. He clung to you like you were his lifeline, hands fisted into your torn jacket and hair as if he were afraid you would vanish at any moment if he loosened his hold even a fraction. 

His shoulders heaved once, twice before he pushed his face from your neck, hands cupping your dirty cheeks with his own dirt-caked nails. From this close you could see the ether burning under his skin, the fogginess that dimmed his brilliant golden eyes a matte honey as turquoise veins burst within the sclera and seeped into the pupil. His lashes were wet and caked together, face twisted in some hybrid of pain, anguish and relief as he kissed you like you put the very breath in his lungs to do so. Hungry and sloppy, more teeth and whispers of affection burning in millimeters of space seasoned with sweat, tears, and the sharp iron flavor of your split lip nipped and tugged with a tenderness that boiled in the depths of your belly as you cradled his own face in the state of desperation he rendered you in. 

A sharp stink pricked the skin just above his choker, his head snapping back with a hiss as the syringe in your hand clicked with completion. 

“Anti-ether serum,” You reassured, throwing the empty syringe off into the rubble before slipping another from your belt bag and sticking your forearm, lip pinched between your teeth. “Got lucky and found an old H.A.N.D cargo container. It’s old, but it works.”

You tossed it aside, offering him your hand with a smile.

“Let’s get outta here, Haru.”

~

It was a pure stroke of luck that you made it out of the hollow. No bangboo, no carrot, only the whim of walking in one direction and hoping the fissure you happened upon was the way out. The last recovery party stared at you like you had grown a spare head when you came stumbling over the rubble together, your face drawn tight with strain as you muscled the weight of Harumasa, the ether finally having worked him over to the point that his knees gave out and he couldn’t see, his consciousness spotty. How your own body had yet to give in was some blessing of genetics, the roots of corruption seeding deep and black as it began to pierce out through your skin. 

The wet kiss of the morning dew and the blazing of the rising sun warmed your skin despite the electrocharged sensation that left your hands trembling. You watched helplessly as the medical team swept him away from your side, your own strength finally giving out as you crumpled on the concrete before a flurry of hands hoisted you up and onto a stretcher, an oxygen mask forced over your nose. You watched as they shut the door of the ambulance across the way, a flash of dirty orange sneaker soles vanishing behind a thick metal plated door. 

You grabbed the medic nearest your side, his uniform collar bunching at his throat as you pointed and hissed.

“Make sure I’m there with him.”

~

If it was your own physical and mental exhaustion or a pharmacologically induced sleep, you weren’t sure, but the sterile ceiling of a hospital room expanded before your weary eyes like a blanket of snow, the rhythmic beeping of some monitor just out of sight keeping tune with your heartbeat. Your entire body felt stiff and tight, muscles screaming as your fingers twitched into a fist. You rolled your head to the side, staring at the empty bed a few feet away.

The nurses had to restrain you from how wildly you fought, ripping lines from your arms as you pushed yourself upright despite the lancing pain that seemed to ignite every nerve in your body, grappling with them as you demanded to know where he was, how he was, if he was even still alive as hot, angry tears stung at your dry eyes.

You didn’t stop fighting until the bed at your side was filled by a familiar body, albeit worse for wear. You were quite the pair, both looking like absolute shit as tired eyes and pained smiles passed between you. He had about ten more monitors and drips running than you did, his pale face gaunt and covered in a sheen of sweat. But his eyes were clear and dripping with adoration every time he woke up and saw your own scuffed face grinning back at him as if flaunting how you had cheated the world once more with a simple, “Good morning, sleeping beauty” easing past your lips. 

When he weakly reached his hand out to you, you weren’t about to refuse his invitation as you swung your legs out of bed and shuffled like your body had aged 80 years across the few feet that stood between your bed and his. You clasped his chilled fingers, pushing some of the many lines and wires that ran from his body to the side as you readjusted his arm, sliding up in the bed as you cuddled up against him. 

You felt his body relax, hand skimming your back through the thin gown you wore as you pressed your cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was strong under your ear, his lungs expanding and collapsing with a steady rhythm under your splayed fingers. 

“Haru? I don’t want you to dive into a hollow like that after me ever again.” you asserted.

“And I don’t want you going into hollows ever again, period.” Came his cool response, fingers drawing little circles along the curve of your spine. You felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head. “But we don’t always get what we want, so we’ll just have to trust each other to make the best decision, whether the other agrees with it or not.”

You didn’t want to admit that he was right, fearful still of his weakened constitution and the report you received on his care. 

He’s lucky to be alive.

It made you cling to him a little tighter, nestling closer to his side as your eyes screwed shut and you willed yourself to focus on the living, breathing and warm Harumasa and not the weak, confused and fearful one that gripped you with such ferocity even as his senses fled him in the bowels of Hollow Zero.

He played with your fingers for a moment before pressing something warm and circular against the meat of your palm, folding your fingers over it. Your eyes peeked open curiously, head lifting off his chest. 

“What’s this, Haru?” The question tumbled from your lips before you unfurled your fingers, staring at the item nestled in your palm before a harsh breath sucked past your lips.

It was a ring cut to your size. A thin and silver little band that lacked grandiose ornamentation. Diamonds and frills were never your thing after all, he could still see the little quirk in your lips at the memory of your colleagues rushing in with stones so large you thought them better fit for paperweights than proclamations of their belonging to another under the banner of love and marriage. “Practicality above all else,” you had claimed some months ago, thumbing at the simple band around your index finger. Your late mother’s ring.

“I had planned to give it to you somewhere a little more…sentimental than a hospital room, but I’m tired of waiting.” He cupped the back of your opened hand, thumb brushing against your knuckles. 

“I shouldn’t have waited in the first place.” He said with a rueful laugh. “You’re my person after all. Always giving the world your best, always thoughtful and selfless and so, so strong. You’ve never ran from your responsibilities, from yourself, toughing it out all on your own even when you had to shoulder my problems too.”

His thumb pressed over your pulse, his lungs stuttering for a moment as he caught his breath. “You’re everything I’m not. Every strength to my immeasurable weakness. My perfect reminder that the world is worth fighting to be in even when my body begs to give it up. It’s not much, but consider this me begging you to keep being the best half of my existence.”

You rolled the ring between your fingers, tracing the initials carved inside the band before peering up at him from under your lashes.

“In sickness and in health?”

He smiled feebly, his lips chapped and rough against the tender skin of your forehead where he pressed them, a promise whispered quietly into your flesh willed to be shared intimately and only with you.

“In sickness and in health.”

.

.

.

Your favorite coffee cup sat beside the pot in the kitchen, the rim stained pink from your choice lipstick. Your toothbrush sat in the cup beside his, your shampoo in the shower, your shoes by the door. Your picture was perched on the bedside table, your face radiant as your hand rested against his chest, his arm around your waist in front of the New Eridu Janus Quarter courthouse. 

Any more perfect and he would begin to question if soul mates were really determined at birth, given names that matched together like the pieces of a puzzle as beautifully as yours did when you assumed his surname and the title of the only family he ever truly had.

You still glowed, hair tousled and cheeks creased from sleep under the golden light of another morning. You sought out his warmth under the covers, flopping unceremoniously into his chest, your forehead pressed against his sternum as your weight relaxed into his body, sleepy murmurs of “good morning” tickling his skin. 

“What happened to, “good morning my handsome, perfect husband” hmm?” He mused as he threaded his fingers through your own, admiring the matched silver bands snuggly around your ring fingers. 

“ ‘S a mouthful,” You whined, lifting your head as you leaned in and nipped at his lower lip with a lazy, lopsided grin. 

Your eyes blew wide as he flipped you onto your back, trapping you beneath him on the mattress as he straddled your lap. “Well then my beautiful, perfect wife, we’ll just have to work something out then.”

There was a ring cut to your size, and it felt like a perfect adornment on your skin as he drew your hand up and pressed his lips against it with a grin. 

Rey 2025

[snickerdoodlles]

#I think a lot of my dislike of the movie might have been just differences in taste #That movie was NOT my sense of humor and I disliked how they handled some things #Like...it kinda bugged me how they went about Ballister's prosthetic limb I won't lie. #I also don't know if Nimona ''not wanting to be a monster'' yet also wanting to cause so much destruction around her worked for me #Or at least not the way it was done #Like. I'm ALL for a character that wants to hurt others because of the way they've been hurt. That's based. #But that's not...really what they did? Or at least I don't think so #Like she's not REALLY a villain but she did sincerely want Ballister to be. #She values life. But she also wants to murder people? She wants violence??? Idk. It was a weird mix #She's SO sad that child was scared of her but earlier she like. Completely fucks up another kid's game. For no reason. #God and Nimona being 1000 years old makes a lot of her actions kinda weird. She feels so 14 to me yet she's immortal afssf #Also just not that big a fan of the trope where it's revealed ''this ancient legend was actually kids the whole time!!!'' #but I know that's just my tastes #HOWEVER. I also think it made the movie weaker in certain aspects. #Prejudice is learned. So making it feel SO ingrained into the very beings of this world's people #IDK man did not hit it's mark for me #the queer allegory was legitimately very good though. loved that (op's tags)

Nimoma has good emotional payoff and animation but nothing else to really write home about TBH

It's very SPOP in that way, where the arcs and scenes are solid when viewed outside of the media in gifset or clip form but don't work as well when actually watching what they're from

For sure! I think that's a problem she-ra and toh both share with Nimona—they struggle with setup but then go ham on the payoff, which leaves everything feeling somewhat unearned.

The end of the movie bugged me in particular—Ballister's 180 with calling Nimona a monster (something he KNOWS pushes her to the brink) after one conversation with his ex-boyfriend was...I think out of place?

Normally if you have a character make a wrong choice like that you, as the audience, would be questioning the whole movie if they had ever REALLY changed. Was Ballister's loyalty truly to Nimona or to the Institute/Goldenloin? But, by that point in the movie they had really sold me on Ballister's complete acceptance of Nimona and disregard of the institute, so....why would he turn on Nimona then? I'm surprised they didn't do this plot the other way, which would instead have only made it seem like Ballister betrayed Nimona, you know? Like they did in Tangled. That way you don't undo Ballister's movie long arc with one scene, but you can still have Nimona go berserk and make her way into the heart of the city.

There were also a couple of other things that felt kinda dropped by the end. Ballister being the first commoner to become a knight? The Queen's important role in this society? This kingdom's prejudice going SO deep that not even a child would give Nimona a chance after saving their life, yet blowing up the wall changed everyone's minds in the end?

There were a lot of good pieces, but they weren't quite put together in the right ways.

[colasarchive]

Saya no Uta: The coming-of-age drama depicting the lives of ordinary college students

A look at Saya no Uta prerelease, going over early assets and its initially deceptive marketing.

If you can't read the post on tumblr, it's available here https://sayademo.carrd.co/

Madoka Magica’s famous episode 3 twist was not the only time Gen Urobuchi attempted to mess with audience expectations, as Saya no Uta actually had something quite similar. During its initial announcement and magazine appearances the game was advertised completely differently.

Saya's Debut

Dengeki Hime December 2003

Saya would have several announcement articles in the biggest bishoujo game magazines of the time all saying the same thing. This work would be something entirely different from anything the creators had made previous.

After Gen Urobuchi and Chuuou Higashiguchi’s worked together on Vampirdzhija Vjedogonia and Kikokugai - The Cyber Slayer, their next title would be going in a totally different direction. This time, it would be a love story of four people set in medical college. The duo state they wanted to make something more in the vein of bishoujo games, focusing on the feelings and relationships between characters instead of their usual action focus. The work would be much more experimental and tackle the issues of young adults.

The protagonist is a young man with troubles no one else knows about. Through encounters and partings with various people he’ll begin to create a life of his own.

Tech Gian December 2003

 Our protagonist Fuminori has recently lost his parents in an accident and is struggling with the relationships he has with the people around him. Suddenly one day the mysterious girl Saya appears in his house and stirs up trouble. Apparently the reason she came to this town is to look for her father, but right now she’s much more focused on Fuminori. The longer Fuminori stays with Saya, the more his state of mind begins to change.

-In it’s initial reporting, its never stated that Fuminori was also involved in the accident.

-The “love story of four people” is emphasized on, and it’s said other love stories asides from the protagonist will be focused on (this being Oumi and Koji)

This deceptive marketing didn’t last long and wasn’t really planned to be. All the magazines reporting the game like this were in December 2003, and Saya would release near the end of that very month on the 26th. But the reveal would actually come much sooner on the website.

Saya's Website

footage provided by niconico user ぶーにん

The website, initially presents itself as normal as Saya welcomes you to the page. You can look through character bios, download wallpapers, etc. You can totally view the page normally like this and not realize anything. But as you browse, tiny Saya’s will pop up on your screen. As you click the Saya’s an icon on the bottom of the page will appear. Once you click the final one it turns completely red.

Once it reaches this point the front page will violently shake and the music changes. All pages are now changed to the “real” Saya no uta. 

-The story synopsis’ text has been mosaic blurred and unreadable.

-In the character gallery, Fuminori and Saya are totally normal, but every other character has a mosaic blur over them as well as a red tint

CGs in the gallery have changed to what appears in the final game

-Fuminori’s bed cg

-Saya sitting cg

-Saya standing cg

Now that we’ve gone over it’s marketing, it’s time to go over early assets that differ from the final game, these assets come from the website, magazine appearances, and the trailer

Website Cg

PRERELEASE - FINAL

These cg were exclusively shown on the website.

It's not known if cgs like Fuminori's were made for the site or were in an earlier version of the game, but judging by later prerelease cgs I'll go over you can tell the red textured effect present in the final is missing from many other prerelease cg and was likely added later in development.

The difference with Ryouko's cg is so slight I nearly missed it, very simple change in coloring (most present in the skin shading)

Magazine and website Cgs

PRERELEASE - FINAL

-You's choker is missing in the first cg, along with it being added the color of her shirt was altered

-The middle Saya cg was used most in magazine promotions as well as being prominent on the website, the red texture overlay was added in final

-Interestingly, the more ominously lit You cg was used prerelease quite prominently as well. But it's clear that the time of day where the scene happens changed

Demo Movie CG

PRERELEASE - FINAL

-Totally different colors as well as missing red texture, Saya's ribbon is also missing

-Missing red texture

That just about covers it, since you actually clicked and read through everything I'll leave you with a fun fact

Saya briefly cameos in the 2005 Densha Otoko Drama as a poster in the arcade

She also appears in the background of the anime Doujin Work (Episode 2)

Sources

Tech Gian 2003 December 

Dengeki Hime 2003 December issue

Pasocom Paradise December 2003

Saya no Uta website footage

Saya no Uta demo video

Original getchu page sc

[purplephloxpress]

Another year, another Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day!!!! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜

Holidays are all about making traditions, and the bookbinding friends with @renegadeguild once again came together to bind copies of fics for their authors as a show of our appreciation. This year I had the absolute joy of binding Emergency Help Wanted by the wonderful @piyo-13 and even got to collaborate with her on some of the design elements! It's a Modern AU Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen fic that starts with a "help wanted" ad.

EMERGENCY HELP WANTED

I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

Ok. So. I may have gone a little feral with this one. Online "help wanted" ad spiraled into loading wheel scene dividers, spiraled into fake Google search result headers, spiraled into FULLY committing to those authentic looking text messages. In full color. (There are so many. I typeset in MS Word. It was SO worth it, but god what a struggle at some points.) And don't forget the "recent searches" title page! Or the computer cutout on the cover! (It's bluescreening, just like Lan Xichen through this entire fic!) Also that cover/title page image that I just kept adding details to. (It's supposed to be Lan Xichen's desk, so it simply didn't feel right until it had sticky notes on the computer, #1 dad on the mug, scissors and measuring tape, scribbles on the sticky notes) Did I have a ton of fun designing this one? Perhaps. Couldn't say. Maybe just a tad. (This is a lie I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST!)

Historically, I've waited until I finish at least the typeset before reaching out to the author, but not so with this one! I got the idea for the fake google search results from Piyo's authors notes, teasing the contents of the next chapter. But! Those didn't start until about chapter 4! So I reached out and asked if we could collaborate and I'm forever glad I did! Not only does this have teasers for each chapter, I also got to bounce design ideas off of her, including what shade of blue and purple for the text messages. Because my friends, that is a serious matter and changed SEVERAL times throughout the process.

Also shoutout to all my Renegade friends who gave input and encouragement over the past year while I worked on this (what endpages to use? how to make this shade of green perfectly Nie Huaisang? how do we feel about this text message design? or how about this one?) - I love you all dearly and appreciate you so much for putting up with my nonsense at all times.

Binding details below the cut!

Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi

Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen

Bookcloth: Aqua/Purple Dubletta from Colophon Book Arts

Endpapers: Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Ocean pack

Textblock paper: short grain cream from Church Paper

Titling: We R Memory Keepers foil quill

Endbands: leather cording core, DMC embroidery floss for the bands

Body Font: EB Garamond

Title Font: Berlin Sans FB

Text Messages: Roboto

Additional fonts: Times New Roman, Kunstler Script, Magis Authentic

Title page image from Rawpixel and designed in Canva

Various computer graphics from The Noun Project

Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!

[intheupside]

Crosby has privately and publicly said on many occasions — most recently for this article from The Athletic — that he intends to finish where he started in the NHL. Fenway Sports Group, which owns the Penguins, views making Crosby a Forever Penguin as its top priority.

If an extension isn’t announced on July 1, it’ll only be because Crosby might still be shrugging off another disappointing season by vacationing in Europe.

If he signs for three seasons, Crosby will play through the ends of current contracts belonging to Evgeni Malkin and Kris Letang— the two teammates with whom he is closest, not to mention the ones he pushed for the team to re-sign a couple of years ago.

The point is that Crosby isn’t going anywhere else to play NHL games.

If that upsets pot-stirrers who have gone out of their way to push this “Crosby deserves better” than what the Penguins have become — oh well. It might be tough for some people to accept, but they don’t get to decide what’s best for Crosby.

The Penguins are best for Crosby. Full stop.

I’m old enough to have been there when Lemieux didn’t even make it halfway through his 17th season with the Penguins. It was Crosby’s rookie season. Granted, Lemieux was four years older than Crosby is now. Still, he recognized then — as did former Penguins coach Michel Therrien — that Crosby, even at 18, was ready to lead the franchise on and off the ice.

Crosby is still the only guy for that job.

Before Crosby, the Penguins’ brand was built around star power, flashy scorers and high-end skill players. All those aspects remain, but Crosby infused the franchise with a blue-collar sensibility that Pittsburgh fans crave from their teams — even if several generations have passed since the city was a gritty, lunch pail, steel town.

The way Crosby plays changed what it meant to be a Penguin. His skill was obvious, but he hardly relied on God-given gifts. He worked his massive posterior off to win every puck battle, set up each or score each goal, and lift the Cup three times.

Doing that work — setting an example that the best and most popular player is also the hardest working and concerned with the team above the individual — made Crosby an icon. He’s still doing that work, even without a chance for his team to compete at the highest level.

As a student of history, but also someone who is studious when it comes to the franchise he’s shepherded for almost two full decades, Crosby is wise enough to know the chance — even if slight — to shape the next great Penguins team is more interesting than chasing a fourth title somewhere else, even if that somewhere is in Denver with his pal MacKinnon.

It won’t be easy. It might not happen.

But since when is Sidney Crosby not up for a challenge?

from the athletic

[wokeupinmars]

The End of Beginning

Pairing: Sierra Six / Court Gentry x Reader

Summary: Six is forced to face his feelings as he struggles to make amends with you after lashing out.

Warnings: Angst with fluff. Flashbacks/memories are italicized. The backstory of what originally made Six and Reader fall out. Claire trying to be Six's wingwoman (she just wants her parental figures to be together). A bad date(?) and Six groveling.

Word Count: 3.6K

Author's Note: Thank you to @elusivewildflower for allowing me to essentially lose my mind in her inbox over planning this. I really appreciate it <33

I also might change the same of this part. My heart is fully set on this title but we’ll see if I come up with something better! (Edit: Title has been updated from Laying Down Roots to The End of Beginning).

This is the third part of the Playing House series.

Part One: The Pretty Nurse Who Lives Down the Hall

Part Two: “I’ll go wherever you go”

Please comment and/or reblog if you enjoyed this!!

RG Masterlist

A thin layer of sweat coats Six’s forehead as he sets down the last of the boxes and grumbles, “Your apartment was so small, how the hell did you manage to cram so much shit in there?” You roll your eyes at him, “I’m hearing a lot of complaining from a man who insisted that we didn’t need to hire movers because “I could do it myself.”  

The sound of Claire’s laugh echoes through the kitchen, earning a frown from Six. “You’re supposed to be on my side kid,” he huffs out. “You’ll live.”  

You handed him a cold bottle of water. “What do you guys want to order tonight?” It’s like you can see the gears turning in Claire’s head, “Can we get pizza?”  

“Sure thing, Sweetheart. Six?” You watch as he nods his head in agreement and uncaps the water bottle. The plastic crinkles and crunches in his hold as he downs about half of it in big gulps. You nod in response and turn your attention to the set of boxes he had brought in. You pick the top one off and drag the blade of your box cutter across the taped seams.  

The remaining afternoon consisted of the three of you unpacking as many boxes as possible and reassembling furniture from your previous apartments. It was until the grumble of Claire’s stomach made its presence known that you all called it a night.  

You didn’t think the first night in the new place would be spent in a misshapen circle with two pizza boxes in the center, but you couldn’t say you were mad at it. “This is really nice,” Claire voices as she reaches for another slice.  

Six lets out a little hum while you just smile and allow the room to fall silent. He found himself just looking at you, noting how your smile didn’t reach your eyes. This was the kind of quiet that Six usually reveled in, but tonight he felt uneasy. You were doing such a good job at pretending everything between the two of you. Several days had passed since your fight and the guilt of the situation was still eating away at him.  

It kept replaying in his head, the panic he felt waking up and realizing Claire was gone, only to have the two of you walk in through the apartment door with a box featuring the logo of a local bakery. He remembers the smile on your face and how quickly it faded once he opened his mouth.

— 

“Why would you take her without telling me?” His voice was booming as he snapped at you. At that moment he hadn’t registered what you were saying to him. He remembers seeing your mouth moving, but the ringing in his ears prevented him from listening. “I’m not doing this playing house bullshit with you! I didn’t want it then and I don't want it now! You aren’t our family and Claire isn’t your kid. You had no right to take her anywhere without asking me!”  

The sound of Claire yelling his name was what finally got him to stop laying into you. The sight of your face was burnt into his memory. You just looked so…sad. Your eyes had glossed over and the second you made eye contact you averted your gaze. It was eerily quiet until your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen and then mumbled a quiet, “Got to go.” You left, giving Claire a kiss on the head on your way out.  

Six felt awful as the realization of what he did finally sank in and the pit in his stomach only deepened when Claire anger seeped through. “Why would you say that!?” He’d never heard her raise her voice until now. “How could you do that? You know I’m safe with her.” 

His voice softens as he speaks to her, “You left without telling me. She’s the adult in this situation; she shouldn’t have taken you anywhere without my permission.”

“It was a surprise!” Claire exclaims.  

“A surprise for what?”  

There’s a visible slump in her shoulders as she opens the bakery box to show him the frosted cake with the words ‘Home Sweet Home’ written in icing. “The closing date got moved up by a few days. She closed yesterday afternoon.”  

He just stares at the dessert. “And I guess it doesn’t matter to you, but I see her as family. Closest thing to a mom I’ve had in a long time. You didn’t need to make her feel like an outsider,” Claire added.  

Six knew he needed to apologize and with the help of Claire, they came up with a way to do so.  

It was close to midnight when you got back to the apartment. Claire had spent the evening with her eye pressed against the peep hole waiting to see you pass by. They were both expecting you to knock on the door just to pop in and wish Claire a goodnight like you usually did on nights you worked late. He could hear the conversation unfold, being the two of you, as he made sure everything was set perfectly at the table. He could hear your comment about Claire's get up as she was sporting one of Six’s blazers with a mustache drawn on her face, “Please tell me that’s not permanent marker.”  

“It’s dry erase,” she assured before slipping into an awful French accent, “Please follow me this way mademoiselle.” She steps aside and opens the door wider to let you in. “Claire, it’s late. I just want to go to bed. Speaking of which, why aren’t you in bed.” 

“Six let me stay up and if you come inside, you’ll be able to see why,” she attempts to use your curiosity as a way to get you into the apartment.  

“Sweet–” You stopped, in the moment he wasn’t sure why, but he later learned from Claire that she had given you her best puppy dog eyes. He listened to the heavy sigh you let out “What happened to the accent?”  

“It just wasn’t me.”  

Six stood tall by the kitchen table as you entered with his hand clasped together in front. He watched Claire nudge you and you take the hint to go and sit down. He could feel your eyes on his hand, you had noticed the subtle way he fidgeted with his watch which prompted him to stop. He waited for you to set your bag down and sit before taking his seat across from you.  

Claire approached the table handing the both of you a sheet of paper. “Welcome to Claire’s.” 

Your eyes scan the paper. At the very top the word ‘menu’ was written in big bold lettering. The paper was divided into three sections; entrees, dessert, and drinks. The only thing listed under entree was ‘lasagna,’ under dessert was ‘cake’ and ‘cookies (burnt)’ with a frowny face beside it. Drinks were simple with the only option being water. It was obvious to him that you knew Claire had a hand in this and didn’t want her efforts to be wasted, so you played along. “So many options, I don't know how we’ll be able to choose.” 

A smile starts to stretch across her face, but she composes herself, “Take your time.”  

The unmistakable sound of foil wrap crumpling fills the apartment. Claire passes the kitchen table with two plates in hand both containing a slice of lasagna, “Don’t mind me,” she chirps as she puts one of the plates in the microwave.  

Your knee bounced as you avoided Six’s gaze. Claire breaks the silence, “How come your home so late? Did you work overtime?”  

“Oh uh, no. Dropped by the house to clean a little before we start moving our stuff in.”  

“Should’ve called us. We would’ve helped,” He speaks up. It was the first thing he’s said since you got here. You shake your head and dismiss him, “Wasn’t necessary.”  

The microwave beeps and Claire sets the first plate in front of you before returning to her spot by the counter to heat the second plate. You pick up your fork and poke at the food. It doesn’t take long for Claire to repeat her steps, this time placing the plate in front of him. She walks away once more but returns less than a minute later with two glasses of water. You thank her and she nods, turning her attention to him and not so quietly whispers “Do not mess this up for us.”  

You watch as she makes her exit into the living room. “So…” you begin, “What was that about?”  

“She’s worried that I fucked everything up and you’ll leave without taking us with you.” 

“I wouldn’t do that.”  

“I know.”  

He notices your focus shift and he follows your gaze to the poster board taped to the fridge with a drawing of the Eiffel tower on it. “I assume this was all her idea?” 

“Making you dinner was my idea but after you didn’t get back at your usual time and we burnt the cookies Claire took some…creative liberties.”  

“I can see that…you told her about Paris or was this just a Paris is the city of love kind of situation?”  

“The latter. I think disclosing anything that happened between us in Paris would scar her for life.” It was his attempt at lightening the mood and in any other instance he was certain you would’ve cracked a smile. Tonight, however, you just nod.  

“I’m sorry.”  

You only hum in acknowledgement, “You don’t have to save face. I won’t stop you from moving in with me or anything like that.”  

He felt sick. Did you honestly not believe he was being sincere? “I’m serious. I should have never lashed out at you like that. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” your voice quiet as you speak, “You were right. You and Claire aren’t my family–” 

He cuts you off, “We are a family.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues talking, “At least I want us to be. I panicked when I woke up and Claire wasn’t here. I got frustrated and it…” He was trying to find the right words. He had never been one for feelings, and it seems that this painful lesson that he’d been teaching you again and again. “I didn’t mean it,” are the words he settles on. “I didn’t mean what I said.” 

You shook your head, “I overstepped. I’m sorry.”  

“You don’t have to apologize. I was being an asshole to you.” 

“Six–”  

“Court,’ he corrects. “I only ever want to be Court with you.”  

“I should get going. Thank you for going through the trouble of cooking for me. We can tackle the logistics of moving in the morning.” He doesn’t stop you when you get up and sling your bag back over your shoulder. You were visibly tired, and he knew pressing the issue had only exhausted you more.  

Claire’s head popped up from behind the couch when she heard the chair scrape against the floor. “You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Have a good night. I’ll be over in the morning.”  

She bids you a goodnight as you open their door to go. He follows close behind you, but you stop him, “You don’t have to walk me back.” You don’t give him the chance to object as we're already walking down the hall. He stands at the door with the tiniest bit of hope you’d look back at him.  

You don’t.  

“So…I’m guessing you guys still aren’t okay.” 

He brushes off her question. It was more than clear where his relationship with you stood. “It’s late, kid. Go get some sleep.”

Claire ignores him and starts to take down the poster, “I really thought Paris would work. I mean she has a mini-Eiffel tower keychain.”

— 

He didn’t know how to make it better.  

The few days that had passed with you keeping your distance and only speaking to him when you felt necessary left a lot of time for him to do the one thing he was dreading; processing his feelings.  

It was clear to him that he was starting to slip; to relax. It was a feeling he’d been anticipating since the night you spoke at the table. He had been trying his best to ignore the familiar feeling that arose in his chest every time you were near. He knew there was no use, you always had this effect on him. He just thought he had a little more time before the fuzzy feeling started to consume him.  

But now…now he was living with you. Sure, you were spending the majority of your time with each other before, but this was different. You’d be evading his senses completely now. Everything he was feeling was shifting into hyper speed and the worst part was, there was no way for him to stop it.  

A part of him believes that's why he snapped at you the way he did. A form of self-sabotage to ruin the bridge that you’d both be working to mend. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something like that to you.  

Claire picks up on his gaze and puts down the slice, “You know…I’m actually really tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.” You squint your eyes at her sudden declaration, “You sure? You never really go to bed this early.” She lets out a yawn and stretches her arms over her head, “Yeah, all this unpacking has been...” Another yawn prevents her from finishing her sentence.  

You nod despite being able to tell she was lying. If her exaggerated movement didn’t give it away, it was the skeptical look on Six’s face. You stand up and reach for the pizza boxes, “Are you also done eating?”  

“Yeah,” he murmurs.  

You take the boxes and head into the kitchen. Claire waits till you're out of sight before she starts whispering, “Talk to her. I’ll go to bed, and you guys and talk and make up.” 

“Claire, she doesn’t want to talk to me.”  

She crosses her arms, “That’s why you'll talk, and we hope she listens. It sucks that you guys are being so weird. I miss when you’d stare at her when she’s not looking, and it wasn’t sad.”  

“I don’t stare–” 

“Yes, you do. All the time. Everyday.” Claire leans back and tries to get a glimpse of you through the doorway wrapping the leftover slices in foil wrap. “Just try. Please. I miss how we were before and it’s obvious you do too.” She doesn’t wait for him to address what she said, instead she gets up and heads into her new room. 

It takes a few minutes for him to work up the nerve to talk to speak to you but once he does, he enters the kitchen in search of you. Except you're not there. He makes his way down the hall to the main bedroom; the door was open a bit, but he still knocks. “Come in.”  

You were kneeling on the floor looking through some of the smaller boxes. You spare him a glance before returning your attention to the box in front of you. He sits down beside you, his shoulder knocking into yours. He opens his mouth to talk but his voice gets caught in his throat once his eyes land on the box's contents. Keychains, a few knickknacks, and a photobooth strip.  

He recognized everything in the box. Keychains and trinkets from every place the two of you had met up in over the years. He used to poke fun at you for insisting that you had to pick up something each time but now he’s glad you did. He picks up the photo strip. He knew exactly where it was from. A mission had gone sideways, and he had been laying low in London. He ended up calling you on his second day there from a burner phone. You were between jobs and being the lover you were, joined him. The pictures were taken two weeks into his stay there; you had convinced him to venture out into the city with you after the food supply in the safe house began running low. On your outing, the two of you passed a photo booth at the entrance of a cafe. You dragged him into it. He remembers arguing with you, emphasizing how reckless it was for him to be seen let alone have his photo taken. You simply told him to suck it up and that it would be safe in your possession. 

The first photo was simply, you perched on his lap, your lips curved into a smile and his chin resting on your shoulder. There was the smallest trace of a smile on his face, one that grew bigger in the next photo. The second picture was a little blurry, you both had the idea to kiss the other on the cheek and it ended with you bumping noses. The countdown ended and captured you giggling and him grinning at you. The third photo was of you cupping his face and kissing him. The fourth and final photo was nearly identical, with the expectation of him leaning into you. This photo was the only tangible evidence of your previous relationship, another version of him and you, a happier version.

“The day we moved in wasn’t the first time I saw you after we stopped talking.” It was a confession you weren’t expecting. You weren’t facing him, but he could see your eyebrows knit together. “I saw you in London a year after we stopped talking. Fitz managed to set me up at a decent hotel for a night and I saw you. Barely caught a glimpse of you going into your room. I smelt you first. Your perfume was lingering in the elevator. Thought it was some sort of punishment for letting you slip through my fingers. But…but then I saw you.”  

He shifts his gaze back to the photo, “I ended up standing in front of your door for a few minutes before leaving. I wanted to talk but I just froze. You were right there. All I had to do was knock.” A dry laugh escapes his lips, “I couldn’t justify talking to you. You thought I didn’t love you; I made you think I didn’t love you. I hurt you so much. I didn’t deserve to talk to you then, I don’t deserve for you to be so welcoming to me now, not after I made a mess of us.”  

His voice is hushed, you can hear the small crack as he bears his heart. “I’m so sorry,” he comes out in huff. “For everything. I’m sorry for what I said and how things ended. I would take it all back if I could…I’d give anything to go back to that night in Havana.” 

That night in Havana was the last time you saw him before he moved in down the hall. It was a night that remained hazy in your memory. Now years removed from it, you almost found it humorous how an absentminded inquiry had crushed the delicate little fantasy you conjured up in your head.  

“Have you ever thought about leaving the CIA?” It was pillow talk. You didn’t think it would snowball the way it did. “Why would I do that?” That response alone should’ve been enough for you to move on to a different topic, but you didn’t. “You’ve never thought what it would be like? The thought of leaving this all behind and living in some coastal town somewhere never crossed your mind?”  

“Has it crossed yours?” Answering a question with a question, you expected nothing less from him.  

“It has.”  

Your memory gets fuzzy from there, you remember him asking about, “Yeah? Tell me about it?” But you failed to remember the tone in which he said it. It was more than likely he was being sarcastic, but you were too sleepy to notice, so you answered. “I think since we both have money stashed; we could easily pool it and get a little house somewhere. Just us…maybe a cat…maybe more. It would be a boring and peaceful life but it’s a life I’d like to live with you.”  

“We?”  

“Yeah.” 

“I would never want that.” 

You know your drowsy state has warped your memory of the night, but his response felt instantaneous. “Oh”  

“That’s the kind of life you live with someone you love. That’s not us”  

“Oh.”  

You’ve suppressed everything that unfolded after that, but you knew that you two fought and it ended with you waving your white flag and leaving early the next morning.  

“I wish I didn’t let you leave,” his voice draws you out of your head. “I wanted that life; I just didn’t think that it was a life I could have or deserved.” He puts the photo back in the box, “I think I’m always going to wonder about what would’ve happened if I was honest.”  

The room falls silent. The weight of his admission weighs heavy on both your head and heart. You close the box and push it under the bed. Your knee knocks against his as you change into a crisscrossed position.  

“I’d like to think we would have been happy,” you whisper. 

“I think we would’ve been.”  

You started picking at the skin of your nails, unsure of what to say. His hand reaches over and stops you digging into your cuticles any further. “I think we’re living a version of that life now,” he divulges. His thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. “Might not have a cat but if you were willing to...I’d like another chance to do things right; to make you happy.” 

You lay your head on his shoulder and quietly say, “I’d like that, Court.” 

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [2/…]

- OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"Do-mi-ti, why not me? Why not me?"

— Mitski, "Washing Machine Heart"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstance.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Slight Canon Divergence, Buggy is an asshole, The reader used to go by "Cross-Hairs" in the past, hot tension, resentment and love, flashbacks, Reader is strong AF

A/N: Buggy's behavior in this chapter kinda gives off Yandere-vibes, but he's not. He's just really desperate, and a general asshole, (and lonely).

He's dead.

Gol D. Roger, captain of the Roger pirates, your captain, is dead. Pierced through the back by the Marines like a pig for slaughter, a death unworthy for someone of his rank. He deserved to live a long life, drunk on rum, surrounded by his friends and crewmates, before being finally laid to rest in a casket and shipped off with the waves as per tradition.

As chaos ensues and all hell breaks loose, his corpse remains on the same stand where he met his end, left to roast in the warm sun. At the very least, he did not leave this world without flipping one last bird at the Marines.

His final words leave such a domino effect upon the witnesses, one that will last for years to come. Sailors, pirates, men, women, and children all head toward the vast oceans in a hurry, ships pushing off the docks at record speed as they prepare to hunt for his legacy. To claim his title for their own. A title he earned and subsequently put up for auction.

The Marines were hoping that his death would mean the end of Piracy, but as though fate itself had something else to say about it, it had the exact opposite effect.

You're not moving with the swarm of people. The race goes on, but you do not. 

You're still standing in the same spot as you were when you watched the officers drive their spears through your captain's back, having ceased to function as you saw the man who practically raised you, succumb to the same fate that claims all in the end.

Even as people are pushing their way past you, shoving you in God-knows how many directions on their way to the oceans, you can't find it in you to move on your own accord. 

The world has gone deafly quiet now, everyone else is gone, and you're its sole occupant now. Despite the unrest going around, and the wind that brushes against your neck, Roger's last words echo in your ears like the whispers of a ghost.

"Wealth. Fame. Power. I found everything this world has to offer. Free yourselves! Take to the seas! My treasure is yours to find!"

Someone - whether accidentally or not - thrusts against your stomach, and you take a tumble to the ground. The world finally perforates your consciousness, yet it leaves you exposed to its chaos. You attempt to stand up, but the ongoing movements from all around halt your efforts. 

You raise your arms to shield your face from further damage, suffering several pairs of feet and a handful of scratches from the crowd. Nothing too bad, but you don't dare to try and get up just yet. Your initial plan is to just stay put until the storm is over.

That is, until you hear a voice calling your name from somewhere in the crowd, muffled by the ruckus, but still audible for you to make out among the many others.

"COME ON! HURRY!"

You're hastily pulled up to your feet and collide face-first into a chest. Looking up, you only manage to register Buggy's hand tightly clenched around yours in a near-painful hold as he pushes you both through the ongoing crowd. 

While trying to navigate through the masses, you raise your head to gaze at his face.

Not unlike your own, his eyes are stained with tears.

------

Nothing is in its correct shape when you blink your eyes open. For starters, the room is spinning at an incredible speed, and for seconds, there is twice of everything. Two coats are hanging on the rack just on the edge of your vision, the same color and length and everything. You discover you have two pairs of hands and feet as you sit up, and at least over a dozen iron bars are separating you from the rest of the room.

In a minute or two, your sight establishes yourself. The world has become one again, but to your chagrin, you discover that the number of bars caging you remains the same. 

Shaking off the dizziness and nausea that accompanies your waking, you get up to your knees and discover that, once again, you're fucking trapped. This time, it's in a metal cage hanging off the floor by a hook and chain, swinging you lightly back and forth with each fraction of movement you commit yourself to. 

Exhausted from simply waking up, you clash your forehead against the bars. "Shit."

"Well, good to know that your colorful vocabulary remains the same."

You snap your eyes up to see Buggy striding into the room, and your gaze immediately narrows.

"And your eyes." His right hand dislodges itself from his wrist and hovers over to you with an outstretched finger, where it lands right in the space between your eyes. "Sharp as ever, if not even sharper. Careful, you could kill someone with those."

"Wishful thinking," you murmur indignantly and raise your hand to wave off the offending appendage. Like a fly will with sugar, it merely withdraws for a few inches before returning to the same spot. 

You elect to ignore it as best as you can.

He feigns a horrified gasp at your words and clutches his chest with his remaining hand. "Such harsh words! I thought we were friends, you and I. I mean, what kind of friend would threaten the other with their life so cruelly?"

Friends? That's rich coming from him. You haven't considered him as such since the day he left. You won't even dignify that with a response, and so you merely turn your head to the side and rest your cheek against the bars.

His voice lowers a few octaves, enough for you to differentiate between the real him and the act he puts on for a performance. "Then again, what kind of 'friend' leaves the other behind?" His footsteps come closer, each one weighing heavier than the last. "What kind of 'friend' abandons the other?" 

Your eye twitches, but you still refuse to look at him, much less speak to him.

"What?" the Showman farce has by now ended and been buried as he takes one last step forward. "Nothing to say? I'd thought that after twenty years, you'd be happy to see this handsome face."

As much as you want to admit that, yes, the years have done wonders on his face and he most definitely would've been categorized as 'handsome' in your dictionary, you don't. 

"What do you want me to say?" You tilt your head marginally to the side so that merely one eye is aimed at him. "That it's good to see you? That I've missed you?" Even though both of those statements are true to some extent, he doesn’t need to know that.

"Well, I could go for all of the above if you insist on being cordial, but for starters, an apology might suffice enough on its own." If you weren't already looking at him, you'd think that he’s joking. He isn't. He’s as serious as a heart attack, and he’s not smiling this time. All you can think at the moment is that it's strange not to see a clown smile.

"An apology?" You withdraw the impulse to scoff. "What, exactly, do I have to apologize for?"

He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, he doesn’t do or say anything at all. You can't even hear him breathing, and it’s twice as eerie as his general demeanor. It's a foreboding omen that signifies he's on the edge of his temper like a bomb sizzling just before it goes off. 

"What do you have to apologize for?" he echoes.

That's all the warnings you get before the cage rattles with enough force to knock you back against the other side of the cage. Buggy's hand curls around the iron bars with such vehemence that it almost looks like he's about to break them right off the hinges.

He leans forward until his nose barely brushes against the cold steel placed between you, his bright-blue eyes near-bloodshot with the way they glower. Even now, with the few feet between you, you find yourself almost drowning in those blue irises of his. 

"You left me. You betrayed me!" he shouts loud enough for his voice to reverberate throughout the room, all thoughts of maintaining his composure thrown out the window the moment you inadvertently admitted your own cluelessness. "Just like all the others! Shanks, now I could've predicted that, but you?"

His hand dislodges yet again to point an accusatory finger at you, but it maintains a safe distance this time. Probably afraid of what you'll try to do with it if you get your hands on it. 

You have to give yourself some credit. You've not lost your temper once since you ended up here. In your adolescence, you would've torn him a new one fo the trouble, but you can't be bothered this time around. You’d have thought two decades of separation would’ve led to some pent-up fury like it has done to him, but all you feel is … well, nothing.

Nothing yet, anyhow.

"What you did to me, now that was cruel. That was something I did not expect, but you did it, and for what?" The cage continues to shake as his fingers dig into the rods. This time, you observe, he’s keeping his head slightly tilted downwards, rendering you unable to detect his eyes. "For Red-Haired fucking SHANKS!"

With all the movement going on in your limited space, you’re jolted forth again like a ball and cling to the front bars with your hand positioned right above his. Even with the gloves and the short distance keeping you separated, you can feel the scorching heat emitting from him.

How long has it been since you were last this close to him? It was underneath the stars, you unexpectedly recall. You were clinging to him, crying your heart out as the death of your captain had finally been processed. He was holding you close, whispering something you could not make out at the time.

It was during a time when it was just you, him, and Shanks. The three of you, against the rest of the world, ready to live up to Gol's legacy and become the Pirates of the New Age. With  Shanks’ leadership, your strength, and Buggy’s general unpredictability, nothing could stop you.

But now you're here, a captive. No longer a friend, no longer a... 

It never went that far, anyhow. No use bringing it up now when it’s hardly relevant. 

When Buggy’s raspy breaths slow down and his hold on the iron rods lessens, you decide to finally speak. 

"You're the one who left, Buggy," you say, your words laced with such apparent apathy that no one would’ve guessed what you’re feeling. In reality, you want to scream until his ears literally pop. 

Your chest constricts just to say it out loud, but you won't even stop and address the tremble that threatens to claim your voice the more you go into it. "I went with Shanks, because who else was I supposed to go with? The Roger Pirates were spread to the fucking corners of the earth, Gol D. Roger was dead, and you left. I had no one except for him. You closed that door, not me." 

Silence reigns loudly upon you as you're left there, nearly breathless after your little rant despite having kept your voice even throughout it. You feel pathetic, childlike, small. People say that admitting something is the first step towards overcoming it, but you feel neither achieved or relieved of any burdens.

You just feel ... small. As small as you were the day he disappeared from your life.

Buggy doesn't say anything, his countenance empty of any tell-tale signs regarding what he might be feeling. It's almost ironic. The man who used to wear his emotions on his sleeves, the same expressive man who used to spend hours bragging about his capacities and capabilities on the Oro Jackson, has now been rendered mute like a mime instead of a jester.

His eyes find yours again after an unknown amount of time, only now, it's not just bitterness and resentment you have to salvage from them. For a second, just a brief flash of the moment, there's something else. Something vulnerable. 

It goes as quickly as it came. 

He shoves himself from the cage, his indecipherable gaze – now laced with both anger and regret – lingering on you before he starts pacing around the room, having calmed down from his outburst but being no less agitated by the turn of events. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands, sounding a tad more curious now than accusatory. "You were already going to leave with Shanks before I booked it, I just beat you to it."

This time, it's your turn to point an accusatory finger toward him, lowering your voice just enough for him to hear you recount the most painful memory you have, save for Gol D.'s death. The memory you had spent almost two decades trying to bury deep down inside you. 

"The last thing you told me was that you wished that you'd never even met me, and then you fucking left me behind to go do who the fuck knows what. Which, apparently,— " You gesture to your surroundings with a dismissive wave of your hand. "— Includes enslaving people and keeping them in cages."

"Hey, people are allowed to have side-gigs!" he retorts, almost boyishly as if you didn't just have a serious argument moments ago. "Don't judge me! You used to steal shit when we were kids, but you didn't hear me bitching about it!"

You roll your eyes. Some things don't change, that being the childish bickering, not the enslaving and caging bit. Your lip inclines upwards for just a second, and it declines just as quickly. You lean back against the other wall of your cage and heave a breath, tired of it all

"Speaking of kids," he rests his arms atop a crate to his left. "What's up with you and Rubber-Boy over there? Luffy, was it?"

Your lip drops to a scowl. Looks like the kid's Devil Fruit powers have come to light, one fruit eater to another. "What about him?"

Buggy smirks and pulls out a knife from inside his coat. He turns it playfully in his hand, balancing the sharp edge at the tip of his finger as though in deep thought. "He yours or something? 'Cause, I gotta admit, I never took you as the white-picket-fence type."

He’s joking, right? 

Right?

"He's not mine.”

The look that befalls his face almost seems like … relief? He’s quick to mask it though with a half-assed smirk.

"No?" He tips his head to each side and lets the knife lie on the crate. "You sure as hell seem protective over him, and I know for a fact that not just anyone earns the favor of the legendary Cross-Hairs.” He puts a hand under his chin, feigning a motion of deep thinking. “What'd he do? Save your life? You found him in the trash? Or did you shag up with his daddy or something?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I made a promise."

At the mention of this, he promptly ceases with his ridiculous guesses and his words turn sharp. "To whom?"

"None of your fucking business." You're pretty sure that if he learns that you made that promise to none other than Shanks, he'd unleash a different kind of hell not even the death of Roger could hope to spark. 

Rather than pushing the matter, he shrugs with an air of indifference. "I just find it funny, that's all." He chuckles, but his tone lacks any visible sense of comicalness. "You, one of the most notorious pirates to ever cross the East-Blue, disappeared for a decade to do what, exactly? Look after a simple-minded brat who talks shit about becoming King of the Pirates." 

He snaps his attention back to you and moves closer to the cage again, crouching on his knees to gaze up at you instead. "Sorry not sorry to burst that little bubble, but that title will belong to me. Once I get the map your stretchy little runt has hidden, I will find the One Piece. I will become King. I will be known, and I will be loved."

("You were loved,") a part of you wants to tell him. The part that still lingers in your shared past. ("You were always loved.")

But you keep your mouth shut.

He perceives your silence as a sign to continue. "You know, despite everything that happened, I'm opening my heart to forgiveness, for old times’ sake."

"Forgiveness?"

He smiles, but this one, you discover, is genuine. At least, in comparison to all the other ones he's flashed you beforehand. It's a lukewarm feeling, but familiar. You're almost tempted to reach through the bars and feel his cheeks, trace the edges of his lips, and smudge away the red make-up just to know if it is real or just a figment of your imagination. 

"If you convince Rubber-Boy to hand over that map of the Grand Line, I might consider opening a special spot in my crew, just for you. I know better than anyone what you're capable of. Hell, it'll be just like old times, like nothing ever changed. You and me, against the rest of the world."

Slowly, he reaches his hand up and towards you through the bars, palm open for you to take.

"Don't you miss it?" he whispers, wistfully. "I do. Save for the One Piece, it's been the one thing I've wanted more than anything else."

You blink, and a feeling settles over your chest. Not uncomfortable per se, but not kind either. Like being enveloped by a warm yet tight blanket, staving you off the cold but suffocating you all the same. 

Your dream. You remember your dream. The one you thought gone forever, now seemingly resurfacing from the depths in your heart where it initially drowned. To travel and explore the seas, the three of you by each other’s sides until the very end. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Now, Buggy is opening up the possibility of that dream coming back to life again. 

You're tempted to take his hand, feel the warmth that once held you so openly when you were younger.

You raise your hand to him ever so slightly.

"Fuck, Rubber Boy can come too for all I care.” He proceeds to add. “He's a special case, and there's nothing I appreciate more than special ones." 

Your hand stops and promptly withdraws.

Buggy raises his eyebrows in shock, his fingers curling as they were about to grasp at yours only to find empty air. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" 

Luffy.

You shake your head. "He won't give up. He won't give up on his dream." 

"What, Rubber-Boy?" he scowls like the name itself tastes like bitter venom on his tongue. "He's just a stupid kid, he'll grow out of it. Once he sees that there's no way he would last in the Grand Line on his own, he'll get in line."

You take a deep breath, preparing for the confrontation that's about to come with your next words. "He won't, and no power or authority on this earth is ever going to be able to change that."

A flash of hurt crosses his facial features, only for a second, yet it feels like longer. Then, it stops, and all that's left is the same bitterness he showed that very day.

Snarling, Buggy pulls his hand back and gets back up on his feet. “I should’ve expected this. You never choose me!" he flares and pulls both his hands to his chest, gesturing to himself. "It's always someone els- Always someone fucking else. First Shanks, then this damn brat! Why?" He briefly pauses, as if weighing his next words. "What did they ever do that was so special that you decided to stick around for them that I didn't do?"

You’ve just about had enough of his self-pitying attitude. 

"I never 'chose' Shanks!" you hiss back at him. "It was never a choice. Why was I supposed to 'choose' anyone for that matter? What made you reach the conclusion that there had to be a choice at all?!"

He parts his jaws to answer with what you can only expect to be yet another sneer when the curtains behind him parts, and a member of the troupe enters. A dark-skinned man with a Mohawk of sorts, with filed teeth resembling a shark more than a man.

"Boss, the kid ain't saying nothin' about the map." The man ("Sharptooth", you decide to call him for now) says with a deep twinge of aggravation. "We're already at nearly thirty-damn-feet, and all the little shit does is fuckin' laugh at us."

Buggy does not even turn to address the man, his attention solely at you, but you can tell he's irritated by this interruption.

"Sharptooth" turns to you, having just realized you’re here. A sinister grin spreads along his cheeks, and he licks his upper teeth lecherously. "What do we do 'bout her? Is she up on the menu yet? I'm starvin'."

You crouch down, one hand positioned between your knees like a predator ready to lunge at the slightest movement. Truth be told, despite your reputation, killing someone has never been one of life's greatest joys for you, and it's been a while since you last committed a murder. However, the years have done little to weaken you, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty if the situation demands it.

You'll be sure to let him know first-hand that if he dares to try anything.

"No," Buggy replies, voice void of any tangible emotions. "She'll snap your neck like a twig before you can get within a foot of her." He turns to face the disappointed performer, and before the latter knows it, a severed hand clamps around his throat and dangles him above the ground with what you can only expect to be a bruising grip. "I am, on the other hand, not limited by such proximity."

The man's face begins to pale as the blood flow to his brain is cut short, but the grip does not lessen at all.

Buggy speaks like he’s having a normal conversation. "She stays here, and no one, and I mean no one, is going to touch her. Understood?" His soft say leaves no room for opposition.

You watch as "Sharptooth" struggles to form a coherent sentence as he desperately clings to the hand keeping him afloat. "Y-Yes si— Yes, Captain. W-We won't!"

With a bored swish, the hand shoves the performer back a good two feet, where he crashes to the ground and clutches his neck in search of air.

"Splendid!" Buggy attaches his wrist back and claps his hands together, his Show Man act replenished. "Now, be sure to tell the others of that little fact, and while you're at it,—" he draws his palms away from one another in a straight motion. "Add another five feet."

The crew member wastes no time shuffling from the ground and all but books it out of there.

Buggy heaves a deep and dramatic sigh, exaggeratedly slumping his shoulders, and swings back to you again.

"Supporting casts, am I right?"

You don't bother with a reply.

He takes this with a lackadaisical shrug. "Now, as much as I'd like to continue this intriguing, little tête-à-tête, I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. The show must go on, but I’ll come back before you know it."

It doesn't matter when he'll be back. You don't plan on waiting for him. You've already waited twenty long years, and as your temper simmers evenly under your skin, you intend to get one thing across.

"Just remember this, Buggy," 

You lean against the bars, pressed so tightly that it feels like your body is about to push through the narrow gaps. "If you do anything to the kid, anything at all, and you can consider our past six feet under. I'll come after you, and when I'm finished,—"

Fist clenched; you deliver a solid strike to the bar that rattles throughout the room to the point where it feels like even the ground is quacking from the force. Buggy jumps a few steps back in retreat, and when he looks up again, his breath halts. 

Where there was once a straight bar keeping you contained, there's now a prominent curve pointing out towards him. Not nearly large enough for you to squeeze through, but it's there, nonetheless.

When you lower your fist, knuckles red but intact, you finish your warning. "— Not even your Devil-Fruit powers will manage to keep you intact."

His eyes flicker between you and the now-deformed iron bar. Unexpectedly, he only stares, neither returning a threat nor even a joke to ease the tension. He doesn’t say anything at all, and the absence of words leaves nothing up to interpretation.

Buggy knows better than anyone that you don't make half-assed threats. Never you. Once you’ve set your eyes on a target, you don’t rest. He recalls the look of pure bloodlust in your eyes from back when you were young. It was neither cruel nor sadistic, but it felt cold to witness. Ice incarnate. 

A predator just following its prime instincts.

Whenever someone posed a problem to either you or your crew mates, you would counter it with a threat. It didn't matter how bold-faced it sounded, you always made sure to see it through. 

As a teenager, he begrudgingly thought that it was hot as hell. You were. Watching the way your eyes would almost glower as you made good on your promises, it did things to him.

Now, even when he's on the receiving end of it, it still does.

He can't deny that the feeling hasn't diminished. For what it’s worth, it means that you’ll keep your focus on him. He’ll have your eyes, all for his own now. Those very eyes, always so sleek and ready to cut and by God, he realizes at that moment just how fucking much he’s missed them.

How much he’s missed you.

“Well,” he says as he makes his way to the exit. “I guess I’ll see you in the front row.”

[androgynealienfemme]

At the direction of the Trump administration, the federal Department of Health and Human Services and its agencies are purging its websites of information and data on a broad array of topics — from adolescent health to LGBTQ+ rights to HIV.

Several webpages from Centers for Disease Control and Prevention with references to LGBTQ+ health were no longer available. A page from the HHS Office for Civil Rights outlining the rights of LGBTQ+ people in health care settings was also gone as of Friday. The website of the National Institutes of Health’s Office for Sexual & Gender Minority Research Office disappeared. (Most of these pages could still be viewed through the Internet Archive.)

The changes at the CDC and NIH are examples of a broad push by the Trump administration on gender issues under an executive order titled "Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government." That order directs agencies throughout the government to stop offering "gender identity" as a choice on government forms and to end funding of “gender ideology.”

Another order, signed by Trump, takes aim at “diversity, equity, and inclusion” across the federal government.

On Friday, however, many pages that did not seem related to “gender” or “diversity” had also been taken down, such as AtlasPlus, an interactive tool from CDC with surveillance data on HIV, viral hepatitis, STDs and TB. Also gone missing: a page with basic information about HIV testing. The CDC’s Social Vulnerability Index, a tool that assesses community resilience in the event of natural disaster was also taken down.

“The removal of HIV- and LGBTQ-related resources from the websites of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and other health agencies is deeply concerning and creates a dangerous gap in scientific information and data to monitor and respond to disease outbreaks," the Infectious Disease Society of America said in a statement. "Access to this information is crucial for infectious diseases and HIV health care professionals who care for people with HIV and members of the LGBTQ community and is critical to efforts to end the HIV epidemic. This is especially important as diseases such as HIV, mpox, sexually transmitted infections and other illnesses threaten public health and impact the entire population."


What the fuck is going on.

[voidcat]

— [ 01:36 ] (but if you’re too drunk to drive, and the music is right…)

characters: narumi gen, you, first division (loosely mentioned)

a/n: mentions of drinking and alcohol. can be read as part of the hedgehog's dilemma series bc ngl i kinda wrote it with that in mind. i hate you mari please let my soul be free and take your rabid little brother away from me. sorry for being such good in-law material ig — 1.5k

inspired by mari's bullying comment: "but have u considered the way he looks at u when he's slightly tipsy?"

The dim lights of the bar fall gently on the eyes- something you're more than grateful for.

It's not often the teams go out together after work; let alone even just one section within a division but you'd like to hope the changes within the first division has become somewhat of a routine by now.

The place is warm enough to be of comfort but cold enough to ensure nobody falls victim to alcohol and the sleep it lulls you into. As hours have passed since your arrival, the lively chatter has spread within the space, several booths occupied, everyone divided into similar groups of those they get along well more, or those they wish to converse with. It is calmer now, with the weight of work place regulations and titles gone, just the comfort of a bunch of people, spending their night, taking some stress out in the form of sweet drinks and sour tastes, vibrant colors and heavenly smelling fries, games played with one too many rules broken and words slurred, bodies slowly losing their functions.

You spot Shinonome easily with your eyes, away by the corner, bent by the pool table and holding the cue stick like she came up with the game herself.

A pity, you think to yourself. She was so excited for tonight, especially picked the night and asked to get ready with you, even asking your opinion on her outfit and what accessories she could tweak and add or not. Instead, now hogged with the rest of them, she's teaching them a lesson they'll never forget, ignoring Tachibana's swaying walks and poor attempts to hold his ground.

Still, you think, despite the errors and trials of the evening, you're content by yourself so far. Your seating is near the bar, lest you wish for another cocktail, the volume of the music just right, a soothing and gentle melody carrying you away, reminding you of old days.

A sudden movement by your side startles you just as you bring the glass to your lips. And you notice much to your dismay that what you've assumed to be a pile of several coats and bags is certainly too human-shaped to be that.

From the slouched-over form, rises Narumi Gen, wobbling and swaying in his spot.

Rolling your eyes and breathing through your nose, you still take your sip, bigger than you were planning, and think to yourself that your proximity to the bartender will surely prove itself to be useful.

"H-hey!" Narumi says with a coarse voice, a hiccup mixed in the small word somewhere, sounds like a sore throat, or just dry.

"Fancy seein' you 'ere." He tries again, words still a struggle for him to get out and you try to recall how many drinks he had to end up such a babbling mess already.

"Congrats on your discovery of shapeshift, captain." you say and turn ahead again, a finger grazing over the rim of your glass.

He doesn't seem to pick up on your words and gives you a confused gaze, head tilted to the side so much, he almost falls, a sudden arm shooting up to the table to balance himself, not noticing your vacant hand moving to his direction in case he fell as well.

You take your arm back before he can notice.

In thought, you grab your glass and down the rest of its content in one go, looking at the bartender to notice and making a gesture his way.

The taste of zesty orange still rich on your tongue, you lick your lips, thinking. For some reason, you always overthink when it comes to him.

You doubt the count is much since he doesn't look all too bad. And you are aware, even when these after-work hangouts were barely a thing, he still rarely went out- and his joining rate to them a zero already. From what you know of him, of his life before, it's unlikely he had experience with alcohol to begin with. When you put two and two together, it doesn't really come as a surprise to see him like this.

One part of you is still unsure if he's coming to these as out of some self crafted necessity- that he should be there as the captain if he's invited, or because he genuinely enjoys the company.

The lack of a portable game console or a phone implies the former, and the thought brings a smile to your lips.

Some rustling and movement from the peripheral of your eye and you can somewhat make out Narumi changing his posture, but heed him no mind.

In the midst of your running thoughts, someone comes to take your empty glass away and bring your order.

Two glasses of sparkly, bright orange, a dark and thin straw inside, and you sigh, Narumi's hands working faster than your own, pulling one before himself.

Happily taking a drag of the drink, only to grimace at the sudden taste of alcohol, he coughs a little and you lightly pat him on the back, "there, there" you offer in half concern, half out of habit.

Yellow lights dancing among the corners of the place, it gives the impression of a space hidden and old- nostalgic, in a way. But then again so does the decor, a get-away of sorts.

Typical stools and cushions one could run into pubs back in the day, the never ending sounds of a faint coffee machine working there, clanks of knives from the kitchen here– a haven that is lived and loved. A chance for normalcy, even just for few hours.

Here, you can pretend everything is the same. In the comfort of old posters and within the reflections dirty, rusty bathroom mirrors; you can pretend you are still just a regular person. No life altering events, no losses.

No grief and no prove of lost love to begin with. Here, now, you can pretend you're still young and have someone waiting for you to return home before the sky darkens. Right now, you can let your eyes roam the sticky floors for a cat that looks well too fed to be a stray, fur soft and glinting, a hint of michief in its eyes.

"So~ come here often?" the slurred voice speaks from your side again, earning a 'pfff' from you at the cheap pick-up line.

When you turn to face him, you don't expect to see Narumi half lying on the table. Head resting snug against his palm, a stupid smile on his face– boyish, is best you can muster to decribe.

Rosy cheeks and half dropped lids, and the smile of a young boy still innocent, lost and ready to take on the world if he must looking at you with glee– like you're the most interesting thing he has seen tonight, or in his entire life- the pub the entire world, and you at its center.

This new change to him catches you off-guard. You were ready for anything. Be it a drunken mess, an overly clingy tipsy mess, a little all over the place yet a ted steady despite sleep pouring out of his eyes like the last time.

Nothing, you think, could've possibly prepared you for pink eyes glowing under the dim lights with specs of gold trapped inside the orbs– a smile so genuine, so vulnerable dancing on his lips and his free hand playing with the hem of your sleeve. Dusty pink cheeks that match his eyes and the expression of a fool you fear you might never see in your life again, Narumi Gen stares into your eyes as if there's nothing else in this room right now.

You can feel your mouth open and close with nothing to come out- muscle memory carrying you until so far.

This is bad, your brain signals you, running at a speed too fast for you to catch on- a loss of words, no idea what to do and dreading the very possibility of just sitting frozen there in silence like a deer in headlights.

Seeing movement on your part however, Narumi tries leaning in closer, moving with his folded arm and head still rested against his palm, almost knocking his- now empty, glass off in the process.

The slight tilt of the glass and its clink against the table brings you back to your senses. Hands shooting up towards his direction- to the glass and nowhere else obviously, or so you try and reason, you stall for a second with your hands still in the air.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you give him a gentle squeeze, gaze softening at his reaction– heat rushing to his face, the smile morphing into a small expression of surprise,

Your voice comes out in a soft whisper he is certain he never heard of before: "Come now big guy, let's get you home." you say it like this has always been an usual occurance– and for a blink of a second, he sees the outlines of a stranger he just met.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Heroes of Olympus but when Jason returns to Camp Jupiter, he's pissed.

He doesn't cower at the sight of his camp but stands taller. A steelness in his eyes no one at Camp Half Blood has ever seen before.

But one those in Camp Jupiter know all to well.

"Twelth Leigion Fulminata, stand at attention."

He doesn't even need to raise his voice as every single Roman demigod stops what their doing to look at him.

The only thing on their faces is fear.

"Oh would you look at that, you do know how to follow orders." Says Jason, strolling forward and.

Two centurions scramble to get a seat for him, Jason sits down nodding in thanks and dismissing them.

"Does anyone care to explain, just what the fuck has been going on here in my absence?"

Octavian raises a hand and Jason snorts.

"Augur, why am I not suprised? The floor is yours."

Octavian nods, a grin on his face and began to explain what had occurred.

All the while Jason listens, his expression giving nothing away. When Octavian finished, Jason sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair.

"If there's one thing I can't tell you idiots off its for making my life boring. Your dismissed...actually one last thing Augur?"

Octavian paused, turning back around to face Jason. "Yes, sir?" Jason frowned "wipe that smug look off your face before I do it for you."

Octavian went pale, all traces off amusement gone from his face.

"Thank you. Your dismissed, get out of my sight." Octavian left without a second word.

"Jason"

"Praetor Ramirez-Arellano"

Reyna winced, and she wasn't the only one. Jason never called her by her title unless they were in the Senate.

He was hurt.

"Do tell me, has Augur Octavian missed anything in his explanation?" Reyna shook her head, for as pretentious as he was Octavian had spoken the truth.

Jason rose to his feet.

"Oh but he did, he neglected to mention that there were 3 Praetors standing before us. Now, unless the rules have changed their are only supposed to be 2."

Jason looked past Reyna, his gaze resting on Percy who waved awkwardly. "State your name."

Percy, feeling very much like he was intruding in on something answered him. "Percy Jackson."

Recognition flashed in Jason's gaze, and he softened momentarily. "Percy Jackson, son of Posideon? Formerly apart of this Camp?" He asked, gesturing to his orange Camp Half Blood top.

"Yup."

Jason nodded "apologises, Jackson. Your friends and I traveled here, you may wait in the Senate. I will release them to you momentarily." Percy grinned "thanks, erm... Sorry about all of this I really didn't know."

Jason held up a hand "that's quite alright, you are not at fault for this." Percy left and Jason's smile vanished.

"Tell me, when did the Senate allow for a new Praetor to be reinstated? And why someone so new? I'd get if it was due to an it emergency field promotion, but that wasn't the case."

He couldn't even look at her and it hurt.

"I thought you were dead, Jason.

Jason laughed, but there was no humour in it. It sent chills down everyone's spines.

"Really? Than please, show me the search parties, point me to the evidence you collected that bought you too such a conclusion. For that matter, where's my funeral pyre?"

Jason shook his head, anger and sadness in his eyes. "Don't bullshit me. You didn't think I was dead, you didn't even look. And frankly I don't think you cared too."

He looked Reyna in the eye. "You replaced me, with a Greek. I get shit for being named after a Greek hero, but none of you had a problem with this. You wanted to replace me, Reyna. I'm sorry it didn't work out for you."

He shook his head, turning his back on her.

"Jason, wait I-"

"We have several guests at our gate that we need to welcome. I've already had their weapons checked but you've proven how little you trust my authority so you might want to hurry up on that."

And with that he left to the Senate.

Jason swapped his outfit with Percy who apologised once again.

"Really man, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. My Leigion had been trying to get rid of me since the day I showed up. Unfortunately for them, I'm more valuable alive than dead." Explains Jason, Percy frowned.

"Well, fuck em." He grinned when Jason laughed in suprise. "You are definitely something else, Jackson." Percy grinned wider "see you're learning fast. I think we'll be good friends you and I."

Jason raised an eyebrow "you sure? Most of my friends stab me in the back." Percy nodded, a sincerity in his eyes that made Jason almost believe he wouldn't.

It felt too good to be true.

"Well, I'll just have to prove you wrong." Percy put a hand out "Percy Jackson, son of Posideon and former Praetor." Jason shook his hand. "Jason Grace, son of Jupiter and current Praetor."

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

[sophswritingthings]

I Just binged your apothecary wife series (SO GOOD BTW) and hear me out

Mizu x reader, but reader is kinda similar in the sense that they pretend to be a man in public , OR fem presenting woman who knows how to fight. And basically them being a power couple

(Imagine reader has something like dual swords instead of a katana, or like something fun and cool) 👀👀

Also i want mizus gender so Bad

pairing: mizu x fem!warrior!reader

warning(s): swearing, blood, injury, uhhhh a little nsfw? I made it as sfw as I could with what my mind wanted to do 

a/n: dude. you guys are so SMART. and yes, I want mizu's gender as well. i already am having thoughts about fuckin next halloween 

summary: you had been mizu's dueling partner for years; and only recently had the two of you gotten together. you joined her on her quest to kill the three white men in japan. and you two are absolutely a power couple, ready to kick ass at all time—and your passion for one another grows day by day.

word count: 874 words / 4,710 characters 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mizu came back up from her fight, covered in blood; severed limbs scattered around her. and there you were, her lovely partner, on the other side of the fight.

you were also drenched in blood, your hair tied back and a flower (which she had given you) tucked in your hair splotched with blood. you were wielding two swords in either of your hands, smiling at her.

she walked over to you, each step concise and filled with purpose. she gave you a quick kiss on the lips, making you drop your weapons at your sides. she always found it cute how you let your guard down so much with her.

“you still manage to look so beautiful, even like this,” she murmurs against your lips, brushing a hand through your dark hair. 

“as are you,” you whisper, titling your head back to give her access to your neck. she takes the gesture happily, pressing soft kisses on your neck. it drew soft sighs and smiles from you.

“we need to get cleaned up.” she murmurs, dragging you down the cliff. you still wore a kimono, to which you tucked you swords under.

you still needed to be seen as a lady, to pass by. underneath that little facade was the ass kicking badass that mizu loved so much.

you stopped at the ocean, a small tide pool closed off by rocks. she was stood behind you, slowly removing your blood soaked kimono and dropping it to the sand.

you shivered as the cold wind brushed your skin. your partner was behind you, breathing in your presence, kissing and biting the skin of your neck.

it felt so damn good, little soft moans and sighs escaping your lips as she did so.

mizu chuckled against your neck, standing up straight. she pulled your hair down from its updo, doing the same with hers. she tugged off her own blood soaked clothes, taking your hand and leading you into the warm tide pool. 

you hummed, sitting in your partners lap, your forehead pressed against hers. her fingertips gently caressed your waist.

you were so beautiful, like this. so kind and gentle on the outside of the that fighting persona; so sweet, so beautiful.

you had gone from being so serene and sweet to pissing her off.

you splashed water into her face, giggling as you did so.

she wiped the water from her eyes, opening those gorgeous blue eyes with an unimpressed expression. she raised an eyebrow, only slightly.

“I will kill you.” she hissed the words, but there was no truth behind those words. you knew what she said was bullshit, an empty threat.

she’d never lay a finger on you, well, not in that way, at least.

“ah, uh-huh, sure you will, my darling,” you giggle, wading backwards through the pool. “I would like to see your attempt.”

her expression changed with a smirk across her face now, her hair dripping wet as it felt on her face. the sight was one to behold.

mizu waded under the shallow water, grabbing your ankles and dragging you under with her.

you let out a little squeak of surprise, laughing as the bubbles floated to the surface. 

the two of you popped up from the water again, your body now pinned against the rough rocks. her soaking wet body kept you pinned there; your wrists firmly in her hands.

you giggle, “how the tables turn, I see,” you murmur, gazing up at mizu with hungry eyes.

mizu didn’t say a word, brushing your hair behind your ear. 

“uh.. mizu..?” you were getting worried from your partners silence, gazing back at her. she typically had some stupid thing to say in these kinds of situations.. but here she was, silent as the wind. “I-is everything okay?”

“I love you.”

those three little words left her mouth. 

your eyes went wide, gazing back at her. she had never said anything like this, not to you, not to anyone. you weren’t sure she even said it to herself.

“I love you more than I think you could even phantom,” she whispered, leaning into the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly. her body pressed yours, drawing a soft moan right from your chest.

“I..” your voice trailed off, trying to return the passion in which your lover showed you. “I.. I love you too..”

you whispered the words. you were too wrapped up in the moment, with the ‘I love you’ and the way she were pressed up against you.

you could hear her whispering tiny little I love you’s in between passionate kisses. It was clear she meant it; and she was going to make that clear. wether it was with words or actions, it didn’t matter.

you loved her so much.

you would most likely follow her to the ends of the earth, if she asked. and you knew she would do the same for you.

you were devoted to one another. as partners, as lovers.

devoted to your love, to your passion. It wasn’t an obsession, a worship, one sided.   you were equally devoted to one another; and that was clear from miles away.

she would tell you she loved you to her very last breath. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: mizu is the person to get so devoted to her lover that she dies protecting them and I need that. I need it now

[dooberific]

Hiiiiiii!! Can I ask for Harumasa x Reader angst? They are lovers and the reader is also Harumasa's colleague. Then the reader got commissioned(?) to fight hollows but she got stuck in that place and (idk if they went to fight hollows alone but for this request, they have like underlings(?) that would go with them for the mission) the people/fighters that the reader went with to the hollows came back heavily injured and Harumasa saw that the reader is not there with them. That is all hehe, it's up to you if you want the reader to be found or if they would be a hollow and Harumasa has to fight them knowing that that is the reader (I'm a sucker for angst)

Take your time doing this request and stay healthy, dear author!

Anon….who hurt you on Christmas? 😭. Hope this is close to what you were envisioning!

❝ 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 ❞

harumasa x afab!reader

genre: hurt no comfort, major character death

summary: it was supposed to be a routine mission, now he’s left to pick up the pieces

wc: 2.3k

There was a ring cut to your size. A thin and silver little band that lacked grandiose ornamentation. Diamonds and frills were never your thing after all, he could still see the little quirk in your lips at the memory of your colleagues rushing in with stones so large you thought them better fit for paperweights than proclamations of their belonging to another under the banner of love and marriage. “Practicality above all else,” you had claimed some months ago, thumbing at the simple band around your index finger. Your late mother’s ring.

He hoped you were the sentimental kind, your voice warbled over the line from the outpost in his ear as he smiled. “I’m just saying to be careful is all.” He asserted, fingers running aimlessly over the silver band resting in his palm. Your initials and his were cut into the inside. 

It was supposed to be your day off, the first you had taken in several months, but when H.A.N.D phoned you that they needed your section of the HSO to assemble for a rescue mission after a Defense Force team had vanished inside of Hollow Zero, well….you didn’t get the luxury of saying no, even if you were the Chief. 

“When am I not careful? Remember which one of us you’re talking to here, Haru.” You chided, the smile on your face so present he could hear it change the lilt of your voice. 

“Right, right, I’m talking to my beautiful, kind, intelligent and all around perfect girlfriend~” Though he hoped that title would be changing very soon, as he held the ring up to the light, the sun filtering through the window of your shared apartment dancing enticingly over its surface. 

You giggled in his ear, the sound warming him to the soul. He could practically see the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled in delight.  “That’s much better.”

The interference in the background of the call amplified, faint callings of your name cutting through the static. You sounded disappointed. “Sorry Haru, I gotta go.”

“It’s okay baby, duty calls. Just try to be home for dinner.”

“Wouldn’t miss a date night for the world, you better not peek in the closet while I’m gone! I want that dress to be a pleasant surprise later.” 

You fell quiet again as you pulled the receiver away from your mouth, yelling a response into the background. “They’re about to have an aneurysm over here,” you huffed. 

“I love you, Haru~”

“I love you too, (y/n)~”

That was a little after noon. It was now nearing midnight and the outpost was crawling with H.A.N.D uniforms and HSO stragglers. Countless outpost scientists shouldered through the crowd, chiming off readings and acting as if they just had a some great scientific breakthrough.

But you were still inside of Hollow Zero.

And H.A.N.D was beginning to withdraw. 

Even flashing his Section 6 badge failed to get him answers despite his insistence, earning little more than the shake of a head and a “this is above your paygrade, kid.”

They threatened to court martial  him if he kept accosting them. But they didn’t have you inside the Hollow like he did. The epitome of his happiness, the one he swore hung the moon and stars, his most constant companion, and the only one he could imagine waking up beside of until the day he expired. 

They didn’t have you, but they had the version of you that made their actions palatable. The “good soldier” and “valiant leader”. The slave to a public that didn’t care to know your name even as you shouldered their burdens as ceaselessly as atlas held the heavens. The one who signed up for a death job.

A chorus of shouts erupted, the flash of the medical units blazing to life under the white spotlights. 

Survivors.

He shouldered his way through the swell of the crowd with little regard for those he pushed aside. In a perfect world he would break from the crowd and see you standing there, a little worse for wear but alive and smiling like you just cheated the world. You would push past the medic teams as they chased you down to throw your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips as you gloated playfully.

“See? What’d I tell you? Safe and sound.” 

But you weren’t there. A cluster of five soldiers stumbled through the outer bounds of the Hollow—no, those weren’t soldiers, they were members of your faction carrying the torn uniforms of Defense Force operatives. They dripped with blood and grime, corruption marring their skin as they limped out, half-dragging others.

“Hey!” He yelled over the roar of the crowd as he grabbed one of them by the shoulder. His name badge shined under the lights. Kimura.

 “Where’s your chief?”

The man shoved his hand away, “Get off me man!”

He didn’t know where he got the strength as he grappled with Kimura before taking two fistfuls of his collar. “Where’s your fucking Chief? Where’s (y/n)?!” 

Multiple pairs of hands tore at his uniform from behind as they hauled him off, legs kicking as he wrestled against their pull.

“Where is she?”

“She’s stayed behind!” 

Kimura’s face was blank, his eyes distant and foggy as he stared at the ground. There were tears streaming down his face as he drew a ragged breath. “I’ve never seen so many ethereals, we were overran so quickly…Chief (l/n) and Deputy Chief Kato created a diversion to draw them away so we could get out.”

Kimura looked up with red rimmed eyes.

“I am so sorry.”

Hollow Zero had mutated. Or that was the story they were telling everyone now. The sensors at the outpost had registered a dramatic spike in etheric energy about 30 minutes after Section 2 had infiltrated, and by the next 20 the bangboo that accompanied you had stumbled out with fried circuits, the carrot it followed now expired as the interior of the hollow rearranged. 

It was supposed to be a standard recovery operation. You had done them hundreds of times in the past.

“I’m sorry, Asaba. My hands are tied.” The officer said with a shake of his head. “No one’s allowed in unless they are operating with their faction. You’re the only one from Section 6 here.”

He gripped his bow tighter. “Then I suggest you turn around and pretend you didn’t see me then.” 

It felt like an electric current thrummed under his skin as he breached the Hollow. He didn’t bother to call the proxy or wait for the association to form a new carrot. There was no point, even as desperately as he clinged to the idea of you being unharmed, alive, there was still a rotten crawl of doubt in the back of his mind that made the thought of wandering forever as an ethereal within Hollow Zero a more palatable choice than leaving here without you. 

He didn’t know how long he had wandered through the hollow, hair matted to his forehead from sweat as he cleared another broken wall, trying to survey as much of the warped landscape as he could. He doubled over, hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He had overextended himself already, his chest constricted tightly as his breathing became shallow, a sharp ringing in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut, focusing on getting his lungs back under control.

In and out.

In and out.

There was a distant cry that met his ears, strangled and distorted, one that twisted his gut in an iron grip as his head shot up.

You.

He didn’t know what he hoped to find when he fumbled over the rubble in your direction. Finding you was the sole focus of his mind for the past few hours, the rush of adrenaline carrying his mind past rational thought.

You. You. You.

It urged his tired legs forward, kept him standing as he rounded the corner and saw the torn back of your uniform jacket stretched unnaturally over your crumpled form. 

Even with your back to him he would have recognized you anywhere, even as your body contorted unnaturally, muscles spasming wildly as a distorted cry pierced the air. Your hands clawed as the ground, ugly black shards piercing your skin from within, nailbeds black and bloody where your fingertips had rubbed raw in the dirt.

He knew better than to approach you, to roll you to your back as your body seized and writhed in his grasp, more warbled cries piercing the air.

Your eyes were glassy and unfocused as his hands cupped your cheeks. Your skin was hot to the touch, corruption running thickly in your veins and curling out of your skin like ugly black horns. 

He shushed you gently, cradling your head in his arms as your hands tore at his sides, teeth gnashing wildly as the corruption ate away at your humanity before his very eyes. 

“When I turn into an ethereal one day, I want to you promise that you’ll kill me.”

You lifted your head off his chest. “You sure have a strange idea of pillow talk, Haru.”

He snorted, hands tracing down the curve of your spine as you shivered. “Yeah, I know but still…I don’t want to wander in a Hollow forever like some mindless husk. That’s no way to live.”

You bit your cheek, stretching up to peck him on the lips, his hands gently brushing your hair aside as he grinned against your lips.

“Then I trust you to do the same for me.”

He hated himself. He hated that he remembered that conversation you had over a year ago, begging himself to twist the truth, to convince his own mind that you didn’t know the weight of your words. But deep down he knew he couldn’t deny it, deny you, of the peaceful passing he had asked you to offer him. 

This shouldn’t be an issue for him to face. It shouldn’t be you in the throes of corruption, screaming and tearing at him like an animal as your senses fled you body. 

You were supposed to outlive him. The scales of nature were stacked unmistakably in your favor.

Tears wet your cheeks, but they didn’t belong to you. Hot and salty tears poured down his face as his breath stuttered. Everything about this was wrong, like his worst nightmares spawning into a hellish reality as he begged any god that might exist for an easy way out, begged you for forgiveness, for you to answer him with that same gentle smile that was reserved just for quiet moments with him. 

Apologies burned him from the inside out, like venom on his tongue as he peeled your hands off of him and backed away. His hands trembled so violently he could scarcely nock an arrow, his entire body weak. His vision swam, whether it was from the ether corruption that had dinned his hearing or from the tears that didn’t seem to stop he wasn’t sure.

His lip quivered, breathing unsteady as he stared down at you, your form clawing at the earth before pushing shakily onto your knees. You moved more like a marionette than a human, the skin on your neck crumbling under a sheen of black as the core began to manifest. 

Mournful cries dripped from your cyanotic lips as a hand extended in his direction. It was a moment of lucidity, fingers flexing against the veins of corruption under your flesh.

“Haru, I’m so s-sorry.”

The arrow whistled sharply as his fingers released the bowstring.

.

.

.

There was a ring cut to your size. A thin and silver little band that lacked grandiose ornamentation. Diamonds and frills were never your thing after all, he could still see the little quirk in your lips at the memory of your colleagues rushing in with stones so large you thought them better fit for paperweights than proclamations of their belonging to another under the banner of love and marriage. “Practicality above all else,” you had claimed some months ago, thumbing at the simple band around your index finger. Your late mother’s ring.

They both sat on the table on your side of the bed, the metal cold and lifeless under his dull gaze. 

“Asaba, I know this is hard, but there are people who you can talk to. That can help you.” The voice of Yanagi echoed from the answering machine in the hallway. He let his cellphone die weeks ago. 

“We are just worried about you. Please, call me back.”

Your favorite coffee cup still sat beside the pot in the kitchen, the rim stained pink from your favorite lipstick. Your toothbrush still sat in the cup beside his, your shampoo still in the shower. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the bag hanging in the closet, you didn’t want him to spoil the surprise of the dress you bought in excitement at the prospect of going out to dinner after all.

His medicine bottles sat empty in the bathroom trashcan, the contents lost to the sewers of New Eridu by now.

His lungs heaved tiredly, a deep wheeze whistling in the back of his throat. His vision never stopped swimming, even after he carried you out of the Hollow, an arrow embedded between your glossy eyes as your blood stained his clothes.

His thumb pressed the space between your eyebrows, your nose wrinkling, eyes warm as you stared at him from your side of the bed, hair fanned across your cheeks. 

“Haru, it’s not good for you to lay around all the time.” You whispered, leaning into his touch as his hand drifted to cup your cheek, thumb teasing your lower lip before you pressed a kiss to the pad.

 “Get up, you need to eat.”

He knew it wasn’t real, that you weren’t real, but he smiled like you were anyways. Like your lips were warm as you leaned in and brushed them against his, like there was weight behind the pull of your hands as he rolled out of bed for the first time in days.

There was a ring cut to your size, and for a little while longer he would pretend it was nestled on your finger. 

Rey 2024, crossposted to ao3

[bellaofthevalley]

Pomefiore: Family Ties

i love my delusions lmao ne ways this is also another cutesy platonic one ig? def not yan or romantic but for content warnings: abandonment, surgery but it's not detailed at all dw and that's about it me thinks. reader is described using she/her. truthfully speaking this was written for a friend but for them we just usually use Darling instead of y/n, but i changed it to [name] here lol. ne ways ENJOY

Eric Schoenheit is merely walking back home from work when his life is forever changed.

During his whole life, Eric has been many things; a son, a friend, a student, a graduate and then the owner of his own successful business. But if he was asked him which title is he the proudest of, he'd pause for a few seconds, and then smile fondly. 

Eric Schoenheit’s proudest title is that he is a father. 

And being a father, one that dearly loves his son, Vil, is the very reason he pauses his steps halfway home. It's late at night, heavy snow blanketing the empty streets as everyone remains in the warmth of their home to prepare for their winter breaks, and that's when he hears the cries. 

Heartbreaking, weak, childish cries and sobs echo through the street, coming from between two abandoned buildings. He shouldn't check, he should simply inform the police… 

But he is a father now, and those sobs strike a chord deep within him. 

Many years later, he'll still pat himself on the back for going into that alleyway. 

Because if he had not gone inside, how else would he have found his second child, his sweet daughter, his dear [Name]? 

+++

What Eric finds first, is an egg. 

The egg is bigger than an ostrich egg, and it's also in shades of what could have once been pink and white, but now it was too dirty for him to be fully sure of its colour. The egg was also cracked- 

And there was a baby held within the broken shells, the one causing the cries. Eric’s eyes had widened upon seeing her, quickly kneeling down with his hands hovering over the egg. “Oh- oh dear-” he mumbles in frantic worry, unsure what he should do. This was a fae child, but… 

No chance for him to overthink it, because the baby heard him and was now reaching her skinny, emaciated little hands up towards him, her cries desperate and weak. 

Eric did not stop to think, to look closer to see if she was injured or- or if he could try to see what type of fae she at least might be. All his mind could focus on was her cries, and that she was alone and too thin, far too thin and light and he needs to get her to a hospital- 

She was gnawing on his clothes. Desperately, hungrily, gnawing on his clothes and sputtering on her cries as she realizes that there's no food. Two, strange… things keep poking Eric’s chin, but he doesn't give them much thought for now because he's too busy wrapping the little baby within his coat, shushing her softly. 

“We'll go to a hospital now, sweetie,” he mumbles to her, beginning to walk much, much faster after ensuring she's covered. She's back to gnawing on his clothes despite knowing it's not food, and his heart aches for her. “And you'll feel much better. I promise.” 

+++ 

Eric truly feels as if his life has been upturned in the last few days. 

The little baby- the little girl he had found is apparently a dragon fae, and that, by itself, was already a big shock. And then he is told, while watching her be hooked to several machines with nurses attempting to calm her because he wasn't allowed to be in the room at that moment, that she isn't a baby- an infant. She's barely a toddler, almost the same age as his own son who is being watched by his trusted nanny. 

From what Eric had understood, she had severe growth issues. Dragon eggs only hatch from the love and care of their parents, but she was all alone for at least long enough that her body forced her to grow- and grow twisted horns in a desperate, last attempt to break out of the egg and call out for anyone to help her. The same twisted horns that they'll have to do reconstruction surgery on to avoid any problems in the future for her. 

It was too soon for him to consider it, but… Eric thought that Vil perhaps would not mind a sibling, a little sister. But he wouldn't rush; if Vil really, truly didn't want to, Eric would simply ensure child protection services and the hospital would take good care of the little girl. 

In a few days, if no one comes forward about her, he'll bring Vil to meet her. He hopes it'll go well, but for now… 

“You may enter now, Mr. Schoenheit.” the nurse tells him, and he is quick to step inside, immediately coming close to the little girl.

She looks even smaller now; most of her body has been wrapped in a warm blanket, and the rest was only bare for the many needles and IVs hooked onto her. But she was also asleep, her fingers twitching slightly when Eric held her tiny little hand. 

“Tell me everything.” he demands, voice quiet as to not disturb the little girl’s rest. Even if she may not join their little family… he'll take care of her for now. 

+++

“No, no!” little Vil pouts, shaking his head and a little furrow to his brows. “Not like this!” 

Eric watches the scene with a small, amused smile, not saying anything yet. 

His sweet daughter, [Name], also pouts. “But how?” she whines, stomping her foot. He's glad to see her slowly return to her liveliness; her horn reconstruction surgery had not been easy, and he knows she'd been stressing about how they'll look once they can take the bandages off, whether they'll match her tail or not. 

The doctors had told him dragons were naturally on the prouder and vain side. This also applied to his daughter, even if she may not ever reach a particularly imposing height for dragons. 

Regardless, Eric loves her all the same. Not once during these years has he regretted adopting her, and he knows Vil absolutely adores her and loves having a sister he can play and act with- even if she doesn't want to be famous like he does. 

“Here, hold this.” Vil says, pushing her favourite plushie into her arms so she can hold it. She's immediately smiling, her milky white tail and pink spikes at the end of her tail swishing behind her, and hugs her plushie warmly. Vil also beams, proud of himself. “Perfect! Papa, take our picture now!” 

Eric chuckles, bending down and holding the camera at the right angle. “As you wish…. And there you go.” 

Quickly, both Darling and Vil rush towards him to look at the pictures. [Name] makes an ooh’ing sound, while Vil only smiles. 

“Can we hang this one in my room, please papa?” she asks sweetly, not letting her plushie go. But her other hand is intertwined with Vil’s, always finding comfort in her brother. “I like it.” 

“Do you, now?” he chuckles, gently cupping her cheek rather than patting her head like he would've usually done. “We'll pick a frame and then we'll print the pictures out, alright?” 

“I want this printed, too!” Vil decides, smiling at the forehead kiss he gets. “I'll… add it to my albums, though. I don't want to hang it.” 

“That's alright.” Eric nods his head, and then reaches to pick both of them into his arms. It makes them squeal and laugh, and gets a chuckle out of him as well. “How about we get some ice cream before Vil's audition?” And before Vil can lecture him on the over consumption of sweets with [Name] backing her brother up despite her own love for the treat, Eric clarifies more. “The healthy kind of ice cream we have, not the ones in the shops.”

And just like that, both of his children are eagerly nodding their heads. 

“I'll hold it for you!” [Name] promises Vil when they're at the audition hall. His hands are clammy, despite him constantly wiping them with clean tissues offered by his father. That's why she is offering to hold his ice cream cup for him, her plushie forgotten in the face of helping her brother. She'd even forgone her shyness in crowds and isn't hiding behind Vil or Eric like she'd usually do. 

He's done many auditions before, but this one… this one is the most important for him. He's happy his sister and father are with him, for this moment. 

Eric bends down, gently squeezing Vil’s shoulders. “Breathe with me, champ. You got this, alright? [Name] and I will be here for you regardless of what happens, I promise.” 

“Y- yeah!” [Name] can't help but stutter, her tail curling around herself because some of the staff were looking at them. But she has to do this, for her brother Vil. She reaches her hands out for him, squeezing him in a hug. “We'll always be here for you, brother.” 

And Vil… Vil does not hesitate a single second before he is hugging her back, soothed so much. Their father's arms wrap around them both, pulling them into his embrace. “...Love you, sister.” 

He does not think it, but a part of him knows that this moment will remain in his memory forever. 

+++

“You look pretty.” Vil reassures his sister, gently tugging on the hood of her custom ceremonial robes. He can sense her nervousness simply by seeing that she's hidden her tail and her nails are tapping her own stomach. “You'll be fine, sister. I'm right here with you. We're both going to get sorted together. ” 

His sister nods, aiming to give him a confident smile. He isn't lying; she truly looks pretty, her makeup simple but enhancing her, and her beloved horns gleaming. They were also milky white, with a pink gradient at the tip that paled as it came down to the base. What was special about them were the golden-filled lines from the surgery, gleaming prettily and a source of pride for her. 

She’d pulled herself free from her egg, and her horns were proof of that. 

Her face falls as more people slowly enter the hall, preparing for the sorting ceremony. Her hands quickly latch onto his sleeves, eyes nervously shifting. “Vil…” 

His face softens, and he pulls her into a hug, her face buried in his chest. Though he does shoot a glare at some of the freshmen that stare a little too long. “Deep breaths, [Name]. Don't stress, your big brother is here.”

She nods her head shakily, shudders going through her. There are too many scents, too much talking and murmuring, but Vil's embrace muffles it all. She feels so wholly protected, one of her favourite feelings in the whole world. 

“Always?” she asks, just to be sure. Her voice wavers, and her eyes are pleading. 

Vil smiles, and kisses her forehead. “Always.”

Masterpost

[moontyger]

At the direction of the Trump administration, the federal Department of Health and Human Services and its agencies are purging its websites of information and data on a broad array of topics — from adolescent health to LGBTQ+ rights to HIV.

Several webpages from Centers for Disease Control and Prevention with references to LGBTQ+ health were no longer available. A page from the HHS Office for Civil Rights outlining the rights of LGBTQ+ people in health care settings was also gone as of Friday. The website of the National Institutes of Health's Office for Sexual & Gender Minority Research Office disappeared. (Most of these pages could still be viewed through the Internet Archive.)

The changes at the CDC and NIH are examples of a broad push by the Trump administration on gender issues under an executive order titled "Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government." That order directs agencies throughout the government to stop offering "gender identity" as a choice on government forms and to end funding of "gender ideology."

Another order, signed by Trump, takes aim at "diversity, equity, and inclusion" across the federal government.

On Friday, however, many pages that did not seem related to "gender" or "diversity" had also been taken down, such as AtlasPlus, an interactive tool from CDC with surveillance data on HIV, viral hepatitis, STDs and TB. Also gone missing: a page with basic information about HIV testing. The CDC's Social Vulnerability Index, a tool that assesses community resilience in the event of natural disaster was also taken down.

"The removal of HIV- and LGBTQ-related resources from the websites of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and other health agencies is deeply concerning and creates a dangerous gap in scientific information and data to monitor and respond to disease outbreaks," the Infectious Disease Society of America said in a statement. "Access to this information is crucial for infectious diseases and HIV health care professionals who care for people with HIV and members of the LGBTQ community and is critical to efforts to end the HIV epidemic."

Data on adolescent health missing

One striking example of the vanishing information: The CDC pulled down the website that houses data collected by the nation's largest monitoring program on health-related behaviors among high schoolers.

Pages related to the CDC's Division of Adolescent and School Health, which administers the program, were also unavailable.

The Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance System tracks key metrics on nutrition, physical activity, tobacco and drug use, sexual behavior and other areas. The program was created 35 years ago and includes a national survey that researchers rely on to measure how behaviors influence health and design prevention measures.

"It's the way the nation understands adolescent health," says Stephen Russell, a sociologist at the University of Texas at Austin who studies adolescent health. "The disappearance of that data is stunning."

[pendwelling]

hiii been getting interested in twsb, planning to read after looking at ur posts. would you recommend starting it with the novel or the manhwa first?

OH ABSOLUTELY THE NOVEL!!! Like Please. I am actually begging for most people to start the novel first before reading the webtoon hahaha........

I love the webtoon dearly, but there are very obvious problems with it (especially if you read the adaptation on the official WEBTOON platform—the translation team clearly have no idea what they're doing and don't seem to have a good quality checker on the team which leads to mistakes on the most basic things such as name romanization (which has already been provided for FOR FREE by the novel author on their Munpia page 😭) and the wrong use of pronouns/titles of address for several characters)... Many readers in the comments have even expressed confusion because of the botched "official" translation, and despite having gone on for several episodes, they haven't bothered to go back and correct these errors :')))

The adaptation also skips over many details, and while some changes do a decent job in reorganizing the narrative flow into a smoother visual experience format, TWSB is actually quite a lore-heavy and emotionally compelling story driven by a lot of the subtle relationship development between characters through their many, MANY interactions, and elevated through the inner narrations of the characters themselves (which is obviously tricky to translate into a visual medium). A lot of such interactions do unfortunately end up getting cut from the webtoon (especially in Season 2, although the art definitely captures the novel's atmosphere better than the first season), so webtoon-only readers unknowingly end up missing out a LOT on the very strongly built characterization and the setting of foundations for the relationships that will be so fundamental in the long run.

All in all, the webtoon is decent. It's not the best, it's actually quite enjoyable, but as an adaptation, it very unfortunately suffers in many aspects, and since the webtoon is often the first impression of TWSB that many new readers are introduced to, it often leads to the belief that TWSB is just some simple and silly story without much depth (it is very much NOT. If you are familiar with ORV, TWSB is actually quite similar, just thrown into a RoFan, directed towards a different target audience, and with the promises of offering a lighthearted fun story. Think ORV on light mode, with its own unique spin. "Kim Dokja" and "Jung Eunseo". You'll get what I mean.)

Anyhow, Season 1 probably adapts the novel the best in terms of the story and scenes, but the atmosphere leans more towards the silliness and doesn't capture the balance between comedy, tension, and drama as well as it should, and is very simplistic, leaving out many relevant visual details. Season 2 on the other hand is near perfect when it comes to visual design, mood, and atmosphere, but is lacking when it comes to adapting the story and character interactions, with a surprising number of important scenes being left out. Both seasons are good in their own ways, but both are still ultimately lacking when you know what you're missing out on..... 🥹

Oughhh sorry I kinda went on a rant, but my point is, the TWSB novel is actually very deceivingly complex. At first glance, it seems like a comedic and lighthearted story, but the more you read the more depth you find is actually present, many of which are between the lines or very blatant, but presented in an initially unassuming light which makes you take it at face-value (making rereads a very enlightening experience). The novel manages to balance several different kinds of tones and moods in a way that the webtoon struggles to juggle the fine line of, and I should note that throughout all 920 chapters of the novel, it is clear that, from the very start, the author has always had an extremely clear vision, direction, and ending for the story. Each character you meet is important. Each of their stories is important. It is actually quite meta, but, this is something you'll only fully understand upon reading the novel haha. Everything is written in confidence and as a reader, you can actually feel this the more you read, and it's frankly impressive because there are other fantasy stories that feel like they drag from one arc to the next leaving you wondering how the story will even be able end, but with TWSB, the structure and end goals are always there. The writing of the protagonists definitely contribute to this, as TWSB is, to its core, an very character driven story.

Oh and in addition to a great main cast, the way the story treats its supporting cast is also so impressive. Most of my favourite character are actually not even part of the main cast—but even though they're only in the background, supporting the protagonists from the sidelines or even the shadows, the story treats their roles with great importance and depth, and even though they're minor characters, their presences are absolutely integral in their own ways, and it's nice to see a story treat its characters with such respect (so it's a shame that the webtoon doesn't seem to place as much importance onto all of its characters, focusing mainly on the MCs). TWSB is so well crafted and it will always pain me to see that the webtoon cannot do full justice to the amount of care put into the universe..... TvT

But yes, please read the novel first haha... 🥹 The webtoon is fine on its own, but is somewhat superficial compared to the novel. It's lovely, and the artists have definitely worked hard on their project, but the adaptation writers truly cannot live up to the full original experience presented by Sookym themselves! So yes, I would definitely recommend the novel first 🥹🥹🥹👍