#robust cement

[adoregojo]

↬ two paths 一 ⦁ nagi.s, reo.m

▶︎ sooooooooooooo... this is some rotting dabble i abandoned, and since Im kind of desperate for any glimpse of motivation, i finished it. and surprise, surprise! its a reo and nagi fic lmaolmao.

▶︎ summary: reo have had a crush on you for a good long two years, and when it's the time to word his love to you, but a obstruct of your part says otherwise. ▶︎ context: nagi is your childhood friend, jealousy, idk if this counts as a love triangle? it's more like your a brick head, some angst (ofc) kind of a plottwist !!gn reader!!

"i like you, I've liked you ever since you stepped into my world, i like everything about you, your smile, your eyes, your gentle hands, your laugh, and most of all your soul that kept me hostage. and i-"

the hang up sound cut him off.

silence fell upon the other side of the phone, only the stillness of the disconnected tone nudging him back to reality. his hold on the phone was a robust one, so stout to the point of a crack to echo. the compound of bitterness, remorse, frustration, all were hefty on the little pinning heart of his.

and with that, you rejected reo, without even saying a word.

and the next days were nothing but a grievous duration, to him the most. as much as reo didn't want to see you for a while, there was no escaping you when you were in the same school, classroom, 一hell, even club. you were in every corner and every ditch, and he'll be a dead lier if he said that your appearance alone wouldn't tiptoe on his heartstrings. reo can stay still ever so firmly and yet you'd still be able to prod him out of his ground as convenient.

reo wanted to be mad at you, to hate you even, but he couldn't, he sincerely couldn't. even when the strain was tense, unbearable, but somehow it also felt pitifully suffocated, graciously. it was you after all, where he felt like a fragile creature under your spell, gosh一 you had reo warped around your finger with cement.

nevertheless, what drove him to the edge was how you operated it. while reo handled it by immersing himself in two blankets and eat ice cream to pacified him to crying himself to sleep. however, you on the other hand was having the time of your life. greeting him good morning to saying goodbyes, even asking him how his day went, did his confession meant that little to you?

reo wondered if you bat an eye, you just denied him after all, but some acknowledgment would've been great. or at least have a talk about it. but instead you acted like it never even happened. the idea of you skipping over his feelings made him sick to his core, it sounded so ill-suited, you above all if not the most considerate, thoughtful person he'd ever met. that's how reo fell for you in the first place.

he wasn't gonna apologies for being selfish, he wanted you to himself. reo kept all his feelings for you bottled up for a good old two years, and he just cannot bare with the fear of someone else stealing you anymore 一something that kept him on trails of restless nights一

maybe that's what herd him away from you, the decedent between the two grew by each day. yet reo loved you too much to live with the consequences of his actions, he can't even look at you without screaming 'why don't you care as much as i do', your sudden unfamiliarity stings him slowly and most of all painfully.

for you to blow him away like a dust that burdens your clothes felt it was caused by a clone, or did he just never knew you like he thought he did?

it ached to see you asking him if he's okay, if you did something wrong to drive him away. and goddamn it hurts seeing you like this, he would rather bang his head to the wall repeatedly than see that anguished expression ever again, and worst of all, reo was the reason for it.

you were heavy on his mind 一as if you weren't already一 the recollection of you standing with your sweaty palms rubbing against each other, a bad habit you do when you get uneasy, he really fucked up to the point where you have became a nervous wreck in his presence. your utter was light, questioning if he even wanted to be your 'friend' anymore.

you weren't the one to blame, reo was the one who stopped talking to you, stopped sitting with you for lunch, he even withdrew the club you two shared 一he didn't even have a liking for it, just joined because you were there一 all that and you still tugged on the last tie of faith reo would walk back into your life with open arms.

but reo didn't want to be your 'friend', not anymore. he wanted to be the one to protect you, to understand you, he wanted to be your man, your other half more anything, for him to be your everything just like you are his. you can't just make heaven a living place on earth then walk away when he was on knees for you.

he left you at halt, saying that he needed some time. you never knew time for what because he walked away before letting you word anything out. so now, his hands buried deep in his pockets, he felt heavy, mind and heart on a race track. he felt awful, the image of you standing in confusion, lost on what to do will hunt him to his grave. he tried running his fingers throughout his violet lockes, he was petty, selfish, and reo knew he could've worded it better instead of this.

from the corner of his eye, he could spot a bunch of flowers fluttering under the rush of air, hit by the sunlight to outshine any other plants besides. he could've think of how beautiful they looked, but no, the first thing that popped out his mind was the image of how bliss you'll be seeing them flourish just the way you liked it.

reo contemplating his actions, the pure, straightforward out of his heart gates confession and how far it had driven him. how beyond it had tossed what you two had. something blended with bittersweetness squeezed within his chest, envisioning of your smile made it a challenge to breathe.

so he keeps on strolling, trying to straighten himself until a familiar tall white headed form comes to his view. ranking ahead of a vending machine, nagi was too busy searching for what it appears to be a coin to even notice reo.

nagi was your friend, the one who watched the two of you downfall in silence. he didn't say a thing about it, didn't get involved and much rather concentrate on his phone-games. but there was something else, nagi have been your friend for what reo have been told since childhood. it was something anyone can figure out in the first glance, nagi doesn't leave your side for what it seems like eternally, he remained as your sidekick for decades. he witnessed all your phases, your growth. and he wasn't planning on departure his spot. it was a rare sight to see nagi not glued to your side, did the sky spare him? did his desperation reaches the empyrean?

"hey," reo announced his presence, nagi's bored eyes soaring over him. so the purple head flipped a coin to his direction, nagi tamed it halfway, staring at the single coin then back at his friend. "need another one." he uttered flatly as ever, so reo push out a sigh as he tossed him another one. the snowy head mummers a low thanks.

"listen, i need to tell you something." reo enunciates after a moment of hesitation, caressing the back of his neck as his lilac hues kept on swirling around. his friend just humming in acknowledgment, supporting his chin with his hand while still examining over the endless optionals of drinks.

"it's about yn."

nagi rattled momentarily, your name was like a cold water on his senses.

well, that was easy. reo thought. "i did something a few weeks ago, and i think i fucked up everything." he says, undertone. as if he was admitting an unforgivable crime.

"what did you do?" there was something off about nagi's tone, his grip on the coins was merciless. but his face still seemed boarded, nonchalantly but oddly firmed for some reason.

"i kind of admitted my feelings to them..."

nagi's daze expression shattered in an instant, not anything crazy, but his eyes grew obscure, casing over reo like a giant blacked cloud.

for nagi to carry that kind of aura was eccentric, that face would only arise every time an unnamed got a little too close to you. at that time, reo convinced himself that he was imagining that, because nagi out of all people stood his ground when it comes to dating, he'd always say the same thing 'dating sounds like a hassle'. and sometimes something wild like 'don't need someone else around, I already have yn.' reo wasn't a backstabber, he only confessed to you because he lived under the roof that his friend wasn't even able to handle anything intrigued with romance.

"i just, been liking them for ages. and i found the strength to finally say it to them, they-"

"hung up on you." the snowy head finished his line, which made reo eyes widen a bit.

he shifted awkwardly, "haha, did they tell you? how embarrassing.." he tried laughing it off, trying to avoid nagi's gaze for his sake.

"they didn't." nagi spoke quickly, voice strained than usual.

"oh? so how did you?.."

"because i did it. i was the one who hanged up."

there was a moment of lull, where not even the waves of wind could sooth over the tension. reo stood still, waiting for nagi to stick out his tongue playfully and shout 'gotcha!', praying for whoever might've fell upon to this to be a sick prank.

"you what?" he doesn't even realize he spoke before the words had already slipped.

nagi sigh tiredly, his fingers still at halt to press the numbers of his wanted drink, he didn't like focusing on two thing at the same time. "i thought you'd figure it out already. man, do i have to explain myself now? what a hassle." he let out softly.

"nagi, you-"

reo doesn't get get the chance to speak, to think, before nagi cut him off swiftly handling the conversation, like he knew this was coming. "listen, reo. i like being your friend, but i can't let you have yn." his words kept hurtling reo, it all poured down at his like a sucker punch.

"i don't understand."

"it's not that hard, i liked them first, i found them first. so they're basically mine."

oh, oh.

it all made sense now. reo felt like an idiot, why is he seeing this now? this is why you were clueless, because you didn't answer it in the first place. why, why was he so rushed to say it and not letting what he thought was you speak first.

every time when nagi would drink from the same bottle of yours, when he would twirl around a piece of your hair randomly, when his head would rest on your shoulder in every ride home, when he would shut down every time reo rambled about you, he just got it. why was he just connecting the puzzle? was his feelings for you so blinding that he couldn't see this?

reo wanted to say something, in fact things. but the lump in his throat clogs his attempts to protests. leaving his mouth agape.

and it was like nagi couldn't get a hold of concern about this, in fact he found waiting for his drinks to make it way down more interesting. yet he sensed a blazing breeze from his friend's direction, it was hard not to when they were on the same burden as an elephant. so the snowy head swiftly retorted, "plus, you already are the standard, right? I'm pretty sure you can find someone else, it'll be better if you found one quicker."

after that, nagi bent over to grab what was supposed to be his lemon tea alongside your favourite one. boredom eyes doubled-dyed at the cans, mostly at yours before blowing out a vague breath一did he just scoff?

"why you.."

"sorry, don't like sharing."

and with that, nagi walked away. head empty with the only maintenance thing was a picture of you as he handed you your favourite flavour with the money that wasn't even his. leaving reo dumbfounding at his back, he didn't get a say on this, like this wasn't even meant for him.

this wasn't a stage he can purchase to himself, not even to earn a role. he felt like a third-wheel in you and nagi's love tale.

it loathes him, brings him to edge even. but most of all, reo now wanted you more than anything.

[reasonsforhope]

"India’s announcement that it aims to reach net zero emissions by 2070 and to meet fifty percent of its electricity requirements from renewable energy sources by 2030 is a hugely significant moment for the global fight against climate change. India is pioneering a new model of economic development that could avoid the carbon-intensive approaches that many countries have pursued in the past – and provide a blueprint for other developing economies.

The scale of transformation in India is stunning. Its economic growth has been among the highest in the world over the past two decades, lifting of millions of people out of poverty. Every year, India adds a city the size of London to its urban population, involving vast construction of new buildings, factories and transportation networks. Coal and oil have so far served as bedrocks of India’s industrial growth and modernisation, giving a rising number of Indian people access to modern energy services. This includes adding new electricity connections for 50 million citizens each year over the past decade. 

The rapid growth in fossil energy consumption has also meant India’s annual CO2 emissions have risen to become the third highest in the world. However, India’s CO2 emissions per person put it near the bottom of the world’s emitters, and they are lower still if you consider historical emissions per person. The same is true of energy consumption: the average household in India consumes a tenth as much electricity as the average household in the United States.  

India’s sheer size and its huge scope for growth means that its energy demand is set to grow by more than that of any other country in the coming decades. In a pathway to net zero emissions by 2070, we estimate that most of the growth in energy demand this decade would already have to be met with low-carbon energy sources. It therefore makes sense that Prime Minister Narendra Modi has announced more ambitious targets for 2030, including installing 500 gigawatts of renewable energy capacity, reducing the emissions intensity of its economy by 45%, and reducing a billion tonnes of CO2. 

These targets are formidable, but the good news is that the clean energy transition in India is already well underway. It has overachieved its commitment made at COP 21- Paris Summit [a.k.a. 2015, at the same conference that produced the Paris Agreement] by already meeting 40% of its power capacity from non-fossil fuels- almost nine years ahead of its commitment, and the share of solar and wind in India’s energy mix have grown phenomenally. Owing to technological developments, steady policy support, and a vibrant private sector, solar power plants are cheaper to build than coal ones. Renewable electricity is growing at a faster rate in India than any other major economy, with new capacity additions on track to double by 2026...

Subsidies for petrol and diesel were removed in the early 2010s, and subsidies for electric vehicles were introduced in 2019. India’s robust energy efficiency programme has been successful in reducing energy use and emissions from buildings, transport and major industries. Government efforts to provide millions of households with fuel gas for cooking and heating are enabling a steady transition away from the use of traditional biomass such as burning wood. India is also laying the groundwork to scale up important emerging technologies such as hydrogen, battery storage, and low-carbon steel, cement and fertilisers..."

-via IEA (International Energy Agency), January 10, 2022

Note: And since that's a little old, here's an update to show that progress is still going strong:

-via Economic Times: EnergyWorld, March 10, 2023

[femwizard]

I work for a union that has their office in our local AFL-CIO.

I went to a class the other day & they shared a,,,,,,,, very cheery image of our countries history.

There are plenty of rules against discrimination, but they’re a hiring hall and I’ve seen what happens when people aren’t on the right side of leadership, and don’t have enough seniority.

So I bite my tongue and kiss ass and hope to one day have an iota of the financial security our leadership has

Oh I totally get how it works now

The rich pay the politicians, the corporations pay the media to shill, the media shills for the politicians, the politicians and corporations corrupt the Unions, the Unions work for the oligarchy.

[ai-manre]

Bringing back something I wrote seven years ago back on Reddit:

Jon Snow and Baby Switcheroo

I have an appreciation for Jon's ability to manipulate and scheme. From his first scene in AGOT he showed a gift at manoeuvring a situation into his favor, but the baby switch cements this ability the best I think.

First, its important to note that Jon doesn't rush into his lie and swap out of nowhere, he lays the groundwork and plans meticulously.

“Sire, some claim that you mean to grant lands and castles to Rattleshirt and the Magnar of Thenn.”

“Who told you that?”

*The talk was all over Castle Black*. “If you must know, I had the tale from Gilly.” - Jon I ADWD

He says something of which he'd heard rumors of, but he assigns the blame to Gilly so as to alienate Stannis further from her. By doing this, he deliberately leads Stannis into the conversation where he can mention sending Gilly off without drawing any attention or reprimand from the king who practically controls Wildling lives on the Wall.

“The wet nurse,” said Lady Melisandre. “Your Grace gave her freedom of the castle.”

“Not for running tales. She’s wanted for her teats, not for her tongue. I’ll have more milk from her, and fewer messages.”

“Castle Black needs no useless mouths,” Jon agreed. “I am sending Gilly south on the next ship out of Eastwatch.”

Jon is very good at reading people, and he uses that to his advantage by associating Gilly more and more with the things he knows Stannis dislikes and he does it covertly.

The king was confused. “I thought the wet nurse was this man Craster’s daughter?”

“Wife and daughter both, Your Grace. Craster married all his daughters. Gilly’s boy was the fruit of their union.”

“Her own father got this child on her?” Stannis sounded shocked. “We are well rid of her, then. I will not suffer such abominations here. This is not King’s Landing.”

He plays on Stannis' prejudice to achieve his goal.

Finally-

Melisandre : “Gilly is giving suck to Dalla’s son as well as her own. It seems cruel of you to part our little prince from his milk brother, my lord.”

Careful now, careful. “Mother’s milk is all they share. Gilly’s son is larger and more robust. He kicks the prince and pinches him, and shoves him from the breast. Craster was his father, a cruel man and greedy, and blood tells.” - Jon I ADWD

The above is what he says but in the next chapter this is what he thinks:

Gilly’s boy was older, Dalla’s more robust, but they were close enough in age and size so that no one who did not know them well would be able to easily tell one from the other. - JON II ADWD

He will die at sea, he thought, despairing. He is too old to survive such a voyage. Gilly's little son may die as well, he's not as large and strong as Dalla's boy. Does Jon mean to kill us all? - SAM I AFFC

Jon even swaps the physiques of the babies when describing them to Stannis in order to confuse him further and eliminate a chance of them being identified correctly. He further uses that incorrect physique to push the rhetoric of Gilly's babe being an "abomination" covertly to Stannis. Jon hammers out the details of the lie meticulously, not leaving any scope for failure by being vague. He goes all the way.

I think its an aspect of Jon's character people don't notice or credit much because it isn't at the forefront the way it is for Tyrion, but he too is capable of playing the game. I don't understand when people dismiss Jon's abilities in manipulation or write him off. He's often navigated such situations masterfully and shows himself great at reading people and what moves them from the very first book.

[bamfaholic]

From Eden to Sit at Your Door | Part 3 |

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Kurt Wagner x Reader | 2.6k words

A/N: We're finally getting to the fluff! :3

Support me on my AO3!

As you both enter the desolate building, you curl in on yourself. There are cobwebs everywhere, and the dust has you sneeze.

“Gesundheit,” The elfish man chimes in. “You need not be afraid, friend.” His smile has turned weak, but never left his face. He lifts sheets off some furniture, mostly pews, which kicks up more dust. It irritates your nose, having you sneeze more.

As you reach the podium, the stir has a flock of pigeons pick up and fight to get to the support beams first. You let out a little shriek, caught off guard by the feathery guests. Kurt only chuckles.

“Home, huh?” You say, arms crossed. “I think you need a duster…or two.”

Kurt laughs, but it’s cut short with a choking cough. You think you see blood on the corner of his mouth, but he wipes it away before you could truly know. “Ah, I know. But as I told you, it has been some time since I’ve been home.”

Kurt kneels before the cross and whispers a prayer. He clutches the rosary from before tightly, pressing his hands to his forehead. You stand there awkwardly, seeing the bleeding man pray to his savior nailed on a cross. Once finished, he lights a candle, before rising.

“Come, I will take you away from this dusty room, Sneezy.” His eyes have grown slightly mischievous as he offers you a hand.

You tell yourself you’re only humoring as you chuckle in response, “Oh, don’t insult the spiders’ handiwork, they’re skilled workers.” You gently take his hand.

His grin is back, bringing life and light to his features. His eyes illuminate the dim environment as he guides you through a few hallways. He brings you to a comfortable bedroom, illuminated with large candles that have cooled wax drips pooling at their base. There’s one large bed, and it looks recently slept in. The blankets are kicked to the side, pillow ajar. A bench on the other side of the room is covered in supplies.

Kurt sheepishly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “So... This is where I have been staying.” He heads right to the bench, pulling out a robust first aid kit and plopping down his crimson stained swords. It’s full of creams and vials you can’t recognize by sight alone. So he really did have a barrel of antidotes.

You sit down on the bed, and sink. It’s delightfully soft, and the blanket is rather warm too. You watch curiously as Kurt pulls out a suture kit, first grabbing the forceps. He reaches around his back, attempting to reach the pieces of glass. He struggles, immensely. The tips of his ears darken, a pretty indigo, as the time painfully ticks on.

“Do… Do you need help?” You offer, feeling so out of place in this room.

A beat passes. “A-Aye. That would be… Appreciated.” He huffs, lowering his arms in defeat.

You crawl beside him, kneeling on the ground. His face is that bright purple too, you notice. He gently places the forceps in your hands before turning his back to you. “Please let me know if I hurt you.” You mutter, before beginning. You target the biggest pieces first, knowing they would be easiest to grab. You try to go slow, but with enough force to get each piece out.

Kurt sharply inhales, his claw-nails scratching the cement floor as you pull out each piece. They tink in the metal pan beside you, leaving bits of purple blood behind. The smaller pieces are far more difficult, but you manage just fine. Your heart aches for Kurt, though, as it’s clear this isn’t the most pleasant experience.

“There.” You softly say, setting the forceps down. “Nothing seems to deep to need stitches.

“Thank God.” He sighs, relaxing his tense muscles. “Thank you, friend, truly.”

He begins to get up, but you grab his wrist. “No, sit, let me help. You’ve helped me plenty.” His eyes only stare, mouth slightly agape, but he refuses to protest. He resumes sitting, but stretches out his legs.

You gently blot away the blood and clean the wounds, much to his dismay. “Can you take your shirt off for me?” It’s too late when you realize how intimate that could be, turning a furious red. The blush trickles all the way up to the tips of your ears.

“Ja,” Kurt stumbles over himself, “Of course.” He carefully undoes his suit enough to wiggle his arms free, his back then following suit.

His bare back is now in front of you. You mindlessly delicately trace a finger tip down his defined muscles. His raw strength must be incredible.

Ha, you think to yourself, Incredible Nightcrawler indeed.

You continue to be gentle, barely touching him as you clean his wounds, pulling more hisses from his lips as the alcohol burns away any possible infection. You get the small scrapes and knicks too, and then notice all the scarring. Most, if not all, seem old. Very old. Again, without thinking, you touch him.

“What happened here?” You whisper.

He’s silent, and your heart jumps into your throat. You fear you crossed a line without intending to and are moments away from scrambling before he reaches behind and places a hand over yours. “Whips.” He begins. “Whips, from the circus.”

You swallow hard. Ah, right. He had mentioned the horrific conditions. “They… They did this to you?”

“Aye.” His eyes cast down. “If I failed tricks, if I did not bring in enough money, if they felt like it.” His voice trails off. “What good is a pet if it does not entertain nor make money?”

“Pet?” You scoff. “Kurt you are not some pet. You- You’re-“ That tongue of yours is going to get you in hot water one day, “You are the most awe-inspiring man I have ever met. A legend, if I dare say so.”

He chuckles, turning to face you. You both now sit on the cold floor, your hot breath on the other. He looks so winded, tired, like he hasn’t slept in ages. “I am happy you think so. I know most do not.”

You blame the adrenaline, the chance there’s still drugs in your system, anything and everything as you reach up to cup his cheek. “You saved my life, Kurt Wagner, and I must thank you for it. You showed me kindness, and even took the blow for me.”

You hear his heart pound against his ribcage, his face hot. “Ah, I guess I did-“ He nervously chuckles, leaning away from your touch. “But that is the job of an X-Man, no?” He leans back, pulling his face out of your palm.

Your heart sinks, and you can’t place why. “I suppose…”

You look away, letting your eyes scan the room. The candle light makes it feel warmer, the walls reflecting the flickering yellow flame. Beside the bed you notice a poster with an awfully familiar figure hand painted on it. The Nightcrawler. A part of you wishes to have seen him soar in the air, but knowing the cost you’re happy he’s now an X-Man.

Kurt rises, rolling his shoulders back. They crack as he does this, and then he stretches his arms up, his tail shooting straight out as well. “Stretching is good for you, friend.” He says with a small smile. “I do it every morning, noon, and night.” He snaps himself in half next, touching his toes. He loosens his neck last, and then rummages around in a bag.

“I’m glad you’re dedicated.” You slightly chuckle. “I don’t think I could ever be a trapeze artist.”

“No,” Kurt laughs, “No you could not. Too much… Needing your eyes.” He admits as he continues to dig.

“What was it like?” You pique his interest, the sharp tip of one of his ears flicks. “Doing such feats?”

“Like being an angel.” He admits, sighing dreamily. He pulls a thin tank top out, tossing it over his head. “I flew.” He mumbles softly. “I brought joy and smiles to those who saw me and did the unthinkable. I believe that to be tasks of angels.” He snakes out of the remainder of his suit, and you breathe a sigh of relief seeing he had shorts on underneath.

He returns to digging in the bag, and you chew on his words. He pulls out a few more items, turning to you. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“Huh?” You’re stumped. “For what?”

He hands you a beautiful, handcrafted cane, something you only ever dreamt of owning. It was exactly your style, the grip being comfortable for long use, and adjustable to the correct height. “For making you lose your cane.” Both his sharp fangs peek out in this smile. He really is proud of himself, and his wagging tail is giving it away.

You return the grin, running your hand down the smooth craftsmanship. “It’s… It’s beautiful.” Your smile widens, “Thank you.”

“It was no problem, really. Besides, do not thank me yet,” His nose crinkles, just like before, “I have more gifts.”

He pulls out a change of clothes for you, your white cane, and a few snacks from your cupboard.

“I may have… Snooped. Only a little!” He swiftly raises his hands in defense. “I had a feeling we would have to lie low, and so who am I to make someone uncomfortable when it was me who dragged them into this?”

You’re far too focused on the warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy to even assume the worst of Kurt. He had your trust wholeheartedly. “It’s alright.” You chuckle. “Thank you.”

A yawn worms its way out of Kurt, “Ah, apologies. Too much excitement for one day.”

“You can sleep, you know.” You motion to the bed. “You should, you have done a lot today.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I can’t take the bed from you. I will sleep elsewhere.”

“Where, precisely?”

“…From the beams?” His embarrassment is endearing and palpable.

You snort. “You are not hanging upside down like a bat.” You get to your feet, propping your canes on the wall. “Go on, get into bed Kurt.”

He stammers, turning even more purple. “B-But, where will you sleep?”

You are pushing him gently toward the bed, “I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.”

You manage to get him on his back, reaching for the blanket when he snatches you up. You squeak as his arms wrap around you. “If we are to argue, then we will both bear the burden!” He jokes, laughing.

Your entire body burns, blood rushing to your face. You hear it happening to him, too. He adjusts you both, and luckily the bed is large enough for you both to lay comfortably on your side. He takes the wall, so he can see the door, and makes himself as small as possible, corkscrewing his tail around one leg. He pulls the soft blanket over top and blows out the single candle.

The snuffed light has you limited in where you can focus your gaze. Unfortunately, for you, all you have is the soft glow of his eyes.

“Goodnight, Schatz.” Kurt says through a yawn. His damp curls fall in his face, and his eyes slowly flutter shut.

Your heart does a few flips at the Schatz. He couldn’t possibly mean it, could he? Your insides are warm, you’re melting into the sheets. His breathing slows and remains soft. He so quickly fell asleep; he must have been exhausted.

You try your best to sleep, closing your eyes, but it’s too loud. You hear the faint trickle of a creek, the occasional flutter from the pigeons, the skitters of the rodents. It’s all too much. You had grown accustomed to the ambience of your flat, the water dripping, soft talking, the cars driving by; but this was all new.

You couldn’t even toss and turn, stuck in your one position. You huff.

“Struggling to sleep?” You could have jumped seven feet. Kurt had one eye open, analyzing you, that devilish grin on his face.

“How did you know?” You whisper back.

“I have my ways.” He chuckles. “Also, I can feel how tense you are.”

A few moments pass, the only sound is both of your breathing.

You open and then close your mouth, swallowing. “I… Yes. It’s too loud.”

“I can imagine.” He sounds so sleepy, like he could drift away in an instant. “It must be so difficult to be so in tune with sound.”

You give a small nod. “You could say that.” You sigh, closing your eyes. “I can hear a creek, the mice, the pigeons…”

Kurt doesn’t offer a reply, instead gently running a hand through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

You must bite your tongue to prevent any squeaks. “A-Anyway-“ You putter out. “Since I can’t sleep… Do you mind if we talk?”

“No, go on. Speak freely, you are safe in the house of God.”

You begin with a burning question. “How do you do it?” You adjust yourself slightly, trying to make yourself comfortable. “Walk around in the open?”

“Ah well… There are plenty of sympathizers. Many who keep to themselves and mind their business. Most are too cowardly to enact on their hatred and biases.” He pulls his hand back to himself. “I have long ago learned to ‘mind my own business.’” He laughs. “A friend of mine would disagree, he would say ‘give them a piece of your mind, bub.’” He effortlessly says those words in an Americanized accent, you can’t help but giggle.

“I hope to never cross that friend of yours.”

“Ah, well, he is soft at heart.” Kurt rolls onto his back, his shoulder brushing up against you.  “It takes much for him to bare his claws.”

“Mmm…” You gently chew the nail on your thumb. “Have you… Always been blue? I hope that doesn’t sound insensitive.”

Kurt lightly chuckles, “Ah, you are alright friend. But, yes, I was born like this. Blue and fuzzy.” He gently wraps an arm around you and pulls you close, having you rest your head on his chest. “There, you can listen to my breathing and heart instead of the scampering of our fellow squatters.”

You feel like air has gotten thicker, you can’t seem to breathe right. You aren’t certain if he’s being flirtatious or genuine. You hear the thump thump of his ventricles opening and closing, the rushing of blood through his veins. Softer is the air filling his lungs.

He is fuzzy, like a teddy bear. You mindlessly paw at it. “Mmm… Soft.” You mutter, sleep finally clutching you in its grasp. If Kurt heard you, he pays it no mind. “Do you like being a mutant?” You yawn.

“Of course.” He begins, softly smiling. “I could not be without it. I am a mutant, and without that I would cease to be.” He ruffles your hair, easing you further into sleep. “I find joy in my identity, and I regret taking so long to do so. I only hope you experience the same some day, friend.”

Your eyes flutter closed, the warmth radiating from him was intoxicating. You tried to ask more, this was your chance, after all, but slumber was the ultimate victor. You both drifted off, in the old church, huddled together.

It was the best sleep you had in a very, very long time. The only sour note was that when you woke up, the bed was empty.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Follow this work and read my others on my AO3

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

Wyrdwood wand

this is a wizard game with an alien invasion plotline in it

Touchstones: Wizard School media, Lovecraftian Mythos, Studio Ghibli, Chuubo, Final Fantasy Tactics, Sports Anime

Genre: Wizard School tactics Game

What is this game?:  Wyrdwood Wand is a tactics game heavily inspired by D&D 4e, where players play as young (usually) mages growing up and studying in the prestigious [citation needed] Wyrdwood academy

How's the gameplay?: Wyrdwood Wand is heavily based on D&D 4e, its a crunchy tactics game with really fun and intuitive character creation which splits up characters between their party role, and the nature of their magic, one giving you broad strokes of a role, and the other cementing it's specifics, if you're familiar with how 4e plays you're familiar with how this game plays, and if you're familiar with 5e there's a little bit of a learning curve but it's still a pretty easy to learn game, Wyrdwood also features a fairly robust roleplaying system, that has a clean split between tactical and goofy spells, meaning characters can have silly spell options without having to break their spell bank

What's the setting (If any) like?: Wyrdwood is set in the world of Gliss, a setting with quite a bit of interesting lore and tidbits, but for now all you need to know is that Gliss is currently recovering from a massive war against an alien species known as the Wix, the world got kinda screwed by this invasion, population is small at around 300 million humans, towns are small, and technology hasn't quite reached the height it did before the war, think your stereotypical ghibli setting, but with more aliens and cthulhus. the Wyrdwood verse also has something called "Destiny", a mysterious force protecting humans from deadly blows, this is something that's mostly a gameplay term but it bleeds over into lore sometimes. Oh right I forgot to mention, in this world hats are incredibly important, if you don't wear one, good luck casting spells!

What's the tone?: Wyrdwood's wand is mostly fairly lighthearted, it can touch on topics of warfare and imperialism, but its a silly world full of goblins that can turn any object into a gun, and nigh-immortal reptilian orbs

Session length: Fairly long, 3-4 hours is not uncommon

Number of Players: 3+, 5 is recommended

Malleability: Wyrdwood's mechanics are actually not very tied into its setting, if your setting is primarily consisting of spellcasters you could run it in Wyrdwood probably

Resources: As wyrdwood is a fairly new, obscure, and in development game there's not too many resources, there's a google spreadsheet that works wonders, a few scattered bits of homebrew, and other such things

I REALLY like wyrdwood, its lighthearted and silly aesthetic combined with genuinely fun gameplay and character creation sell you into its world where really weird shit happens casually and where hats are vital for spellcasting.

[sorbeau]

what are your like essentials/you have to put in accessories or traits for drawing the bad kids?

BOY OH BOY DO I HAVE A LIST FOR YOU PAL

i have so many designs for these guys but there are certain cornerstones that MUST be upheld.

for Adaine, i love giving her huge round glasses, more often than not with some cute glasses chains or dangly accessories with them. im my heart she's also very tall and lanky, perfect awkward teen girl build. i like to keep her facian features very oval shaped, a sharp chin with a rounded jawline and a straight and thin nose.

for Kristen, I like to make her hair curly and cover her in freckles. she was the chosen of helio!!! she's kissed by the sun!!!! she's always looking sunburnt and tan in my heart. I also love making her rather stocky, just a stout girl with a big smile. i like to give her very rounded and robust facial features, chubby cheeks, a big button nose, and very expressive eyes.

for Fabian, his design is the one that changes the most imo. i could put him in one million different hairstyles and one million different outfits. i think his cornerstone design aspect that cements him as Fabian is his eternal smirk and general prettyboy aura. also the eyepatch is a pretty big tell. i like to give him sharp rectangular features, a strong jawline, defined cheekbones, and a straight nose, occasionally dropping in some cheeky dimples.

for Gorgug, i really like to give him a longer haircut, as well as part his bangs to sort of cover one eye. he's very rectangular to me and has a very long but toned build. i like to keep his face very rectanguler but rounded and soft, a square jaw and defined cheekbones, but soft brows and eyes with a large downturned nose.

for Fig, her design is also one that changes a lot, but that in and of itself is a huge part of her character!!! she's spontaneous and rebellious, and I always make sure her design reflects that. her hairstyle hats lots of subtle changes, but i like to stick to alternative microbangs a lot and making her horns curve inwards slightly. a little demon tail is optional for her, but always fun. i like to give her very heart shaped features, with a pointed chin and round defines cheeks, as well as a pointed button nose and expressive but sharp eyes.

for Riz, i really like to lean into the feral/animalistic side of goblins that we see in fh. sharp teeth, big sharp catlike eyes, and large expressive ears. im also a huge fab of giving him digitigrade legs and paws and a fuzzy tail. in my heart he's sharp and scratchy and covered in fuzz. i like to keep his face sharp but round and cute, he's got round cheeks but a sharp jawline, a small downturned nose, and wild expressive eyebrows.

[teratocrat]

When I first came to Ajax, when I stepped out of the red-and-yellow shuttle to plant my feet in the planet's sand, what I noticed before anything else was how pale the buildings are. On Mars, even in the warmest and most equatorial provinces, human habitation is universally black (or its best approximation), built from fulcrete and basalt and painted wood, to absorb the warmth of the sun against the bitter cold. On Ajax, far closer to its sun than Mars or even Earth, and with its 39-hour days, they must build for the opposite, towers of white or reflective silver with burrowed basements and sub-basements and sub-sub-basements underneath. The Ajactes live in cities the color of bone. The second thing I noticed, the thing that probably any other person would notice first, was the surfeit of salt in the air. I noticed this because it stung my eyes, like the threat of tears. As it happens, Ajax's oceans are significantly more saline than Earth's or Emieni's, and even its topsoil is a kind of hardpan composed of sand and dust cemented in a salt matrix. For the first several centuries of its habitiforming, it hosted an extremely carefully managed tight ecosystem of halophilic algae, bacteria and lichen painstakingly shipped from Earth and Mars, fed upon by a few species of brine shrimp. Gradually, the Hesperides introduced more species as the previous ones found their foothold: turtleweed and saltbush and cordgrasses, periwinkles and blue crabs and flamingos, suites of genetically-modified mangroves whose knees whistled in the morning and evening hours, bananas and maize and halotolerant rice. Most recently (within the last two hundred and fifty years) the Ajax Planetary Authority had grown increasingly bold and experimental: a breed of sheep brought out of cryogenic vaults on Old Earth to eat the masses of seaweed that washed ashore around the Southernmost Continent, whitetail deer both to manage the turtleweed scrubland that was covering the northern half of the Great Continent and to provide a stable meat source more robust than flamingos and periwinkles, a kind of gopher tortoise/diamondback terrapin hybrid that had proved encouragingly robust in the prairies of Mars, and even tigers to laze about in the shade of the forests that bordered saltmeadows full of bounding deer. All the Ajactes I spoke to seemed both personally invested in and extraordinarily proud of these tigers, showing me images and videos on their utility wedges, and several of the state television channels would cut away to live feeds of the animals sleeping or bathing their cubs or stalking prey.

[daisiescomelate]

⚠️ Spoilers for Dabi's origin story.

Night Lullaby

Prompt: post-orphanage, pre-League nights with Dabi. He has to stay as still as possible while his new skin pieces heal.

Content: Dabi/Reader, homelessness, Reader nursing Dabi, blood, Dabi's scars, angsty.

masterlist

It was late at night, the streets were quiet as you walked hunched down down the sidewalk of a dead intersection. A drunk guy bumped into you while carrying his groceries. He mumbled an apology as he wobbled on his tracks and you adjusted your hoodie so the brightness of the lightpols wouldn’t catch your features.

The place was far away from the central roads and you turned to get deeper into the darkest part of the hollow neighborhood. A worn down factory, a candy store that had seen better days, an empty lot that used to be a department store, a barber shop with a sign to a dermatologist’s office on the second floor, and before the antique shop that followed, an alley.

You turned into the alley and walked towards the end. An old mix of german shepherd and pitbull waved his tail from his place over an old dirty blanket and you winked at him. Next to the blanket in the space between a wear down box and an overflowed garbage bin, you eyed the cut down bottle that served as a water container. It needed to be refilled.

The heavy metal door up front was wide and covered in rust on the edges. It didn’t hold properly at the brick walls anymore, one of its sides scratched against the floor cement and it had to be pushed with greater strength to open a gap to be able to get through it.

You tapped over your pockets and pulled out the set of keys. From the looks of it they could be the keys of a Victorian mansion, dense, heavy and robust. You tried a few of them before finding the right one in the dark. When you pushed it, it roared and whined at being bothered, like an old monster that wished nothing but to sleep in peace.

The scandal of it was sure to make your presence known. You took your time on the first floor, taking off your jacket, throwing it over the dirty sofa and grabbing a can of soda from the fridge, before going up to the next floor using the dilapidated wooden stairs.

You peeked your eyes over the floor of the attic with your hands grabbing on the edge of the square hole, dust getting caught on your fingertips and the smell of iron prickling your nose.

Most of the windows of the building you occupied were either cracked or shattered. Someone before you had taken their time covering them to not let the sunlight nor the cold pass through them. There was one tiny window you allowed yourself to uncover over the kitchen area to be able to see what you were doing, while everything remained thoroughly shielded upstairs.

On the second floor the only thing that allowed anyone to see was the nightstand light with no lamp shade, raw copper cables at the base and a yellow bulb, right next to the bed; and it wasn’t up to you if the light remained on or off.

“Toya…”, you whispered, in case he were asleep. The room was a dense mass of black until the light blinked back to life and you saw the shadow of a man –a kid– tucked under the white covers of the bed.

“How did it go?”, he said with a raspy voice that hadn’t healed yet. You tried to focus on the blue of his eyes, instead of the fog that blurred the gaze of someone who was so, so tired.

Under the flared up gleam, a dry trail of blood that hadn’t been properly cleaned trickled down from the edge of dead flesh under one of his eyes. The staples bit on his skin and pulled the healthy and dead pieces together.

The scars didn’t reflect the dreading change he had undergone recently the way his eyes did. They had morphed into something so foreign, not as you both left the orphanage, or as he set it on fire with all the other kids inside, but when you followed him home to meet his family again.

Inside that sterilized white tomb where you met, while talking about how much he missed his parents and his siblings, Toya had promised you they were people of good hearts that would have no doubt in taking you in. He was trying to convince you, talk you through it so you would follow him out in his escape plan.

You had refused at the beginning, but how tempting it was the promise of a family so loving. Of a mother, and a father, and Toya. Forever and safe. A place to call home. You let yourself be convinced by his promises because you needed them. But as many other times, life didn’t turn out to be in favor of promises.

When he came back out that day, you were expecting him to waive at you to tell you to get in, you were expecting the family he had talked to you so much about to be in tears grabbing at his clothes and crying their thanks to God. But what came out was a dreadful shell and the face of someone who had finally given up all hope.

He wasn’t sad, he was… empty. Done.

You didn’t blame him. He wasn’t lying, he was lied to. They convinced him they were good and they weren’t. That’s how people work.

At least, you thought, he had you and you had him and you could pick up the pieces together.

Your memories before the orphanage were blurry, featureless faces of men and women, and confusing scenes and locations. None of it mattered to look into. As soon as you were out, hope flared back into your heart and breathing felt lighter, even after what turned out to be of Toya’s family.

You could build more life together now, like the books on the reading corner of the playing area: tiny houses with pretty colors and baking and morning coffee and going out to the cinema. You were excited to finally be out, to finally be free, to finally feel your wings after being clipped for so long.

Toya would need time to mourn, but you would be there to hold his hand and help him keep his head out of the water, and dip down to pick him back up to the surface as many times as he would need, to one day be free too.

And then start again, a clean sheet, a brighter what if.

You move up the few steps left on the stair, tiny pieces of debris crackled under your weight. The room was narrow and besides the nightstand, the bed and a slim closet cabinet, it was empty. You moved forward to sit on the mattress next to him. He didn’t smile, but he rarely did so. You extended your hand and fixed the hairs that fell over his eyes and in every other direction.

“It was okay”, you said.

He was asking about the errand the doc had for you that day.

You looked at the scars on his jaw, running down his neck to his chest just before the edge of his white, worn down shirt. The tiny pieces of metal lining up in shaky rows would eventually rot and poison his blood or fall and open a wound.

Your throat closed once again at the dreading question of why didn’t the asshole of a doctor sew on the patches properly and had to use that thing on him instead. Not a surgical device, not a sanitized tool, but the stapler over his messy desk he glanced at while looking around the improvised surgical room in his office –while his hands clawed Toya’s chunks together.

The man had agreed to do the procedure after being promised a little too many favors. You had been working on those favors since, because you wanted them to be over by the time Toya was able to stand up again.

You knew he would insist on taking care of it as soon as he got on his feet, but you needed his injuries to recover. He looks too close to death for your own comfort. You could only get some rest at night by thinking that maybe the fire had burned all his nerves and the pain wasn't as bad as it should be.

In general, the tasks were very simple, but that was pretty much the reason that made them so sketchy: ‘wait for someone at the train station and give them a package, don't open the package’, ‘wait in front of this house and call me if someone leaves, then get out’.

Nothing insane, but certainly odd.

“You have done enough of those already, tell the old man I will do the rest when I recover. He won’t get full pay until we know his work wasn’t as shitty as it feels.” An excuse to you so you would stop going.

“He said that won’t be possible.” A lie to him because you couldn’t afford to do anything else. “And the last thing we need is an underground bully to come to collect any debt from us.”

You moved your arm behind him to reposition the pillow supporting him. Over the nightstand to the side laid towels, gauze, a jar with water and a bottle of raw alcohol. You picked up one of the cleanest towels –all of them had a degree of blood stains– and damped it with water. Carefully, you tapped the cloth on his face and arms, catching whatever trace of blood you could see under the light.

You made sure to be careful and patient with your work. Toya stayed still, and the rhythm of his breathing, steady. No signs of struggle, no wince in his face. Toya doesn't scream, he doesn't complain, but you didn't know if it was due to his stubbornness or for your own good. Regardless, you kept your attention out for any sign of distress.

Being as it was at the very top, through the walls of Toya’s room the wind roared louder and messed with the roof tiles. Loud bang's and rattling sounds came from everywhere and nowhere during storm days. In there, Toya sat in silence when alone, and talked a few scattered words when you sat next to him, but nothing that would tell you what was going through his mind.

Moving to the side to damp the rag with water again, from the corner of your eyes you saw the bottle of painkillers empty on the floor. They lasted less than a week. Your hands trembled slightly as you debated with yourself if it would be wise to get him another one.

You held Toya’s hand in yours to turn his arm around, but your weak grip must have given you away. A warm hand caressed your cheek and lifted your chin. Toya’s gaze met yours and the anxious tingle of your skin turned into heartache.

“I like your new hoodie.” He stroked his thumb under your eyes as if taking care of invisible tears. You felt the cold of the metal staples at the base of his palm scratching your skin.

You let go of the rag and cupped his hand into yours, then turned your face to the side to bury your nose in his palm. The healthy skin was still soft and under the lingering smell of blood there was the smell of lavender soap.

“I picked up some new clothes for you too, I left them downstairs.”

“So you went shopping, that's nice.” Silly jokes and dark humor was all he had for you, but they had stopped being useful to you as desperation began to sink in. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him anything, however, too scared to make it worse.

You leaned over and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“People are mean, Toya. I know what it is like to be discarded and forgotten. Please don't get bitter. Now we have each other.” The light of the lamp flickered. A second past, and then two. Toya’s arms moved around you and held you close. His breath tickled the back of your ear when he sighed.

“I know.” His lips brushed your temple, tender despite the scar tissue. “But I can’t move on just yet.”

He pulled you away, and then his palms were on your cheeks once more and the tip of his nose brushed yours.

“There’s a man out there lying to everyone about being a hero.” He whispered, pained. “I can’t let that be.” A flame burned in his eyes, but you didn’t like the color of it.

You didn’t know what that meant.

You felt his pulse, steady despite all, when you put your hand around the collar of his neck. Questions were again heavy in your tongue, but you couldn’t voice them.

"It's going to be okay," he reassured you under his breath, and kissed you softly over your brow. You didn't like the sound of his promise.

On the nightstand, the lamp flickered once again and then left you in the dark.

[tmwcs]

ƎᗡIꙄЯƎHTO ƎHT - Cₕₐₚₜₑᵣ ₒₙₑ

Here we go......

Warnings: Gore, torture, threats of torture, murder, gruesome acts, mentions of smut, smuttish vibes.

Clink…..clink…..clink…..clink

Opening your eyes, you blink them back to clarity as you shifted your sights to the left and right, trying to regain stability in your breathing. The sharp ache in your head lingers. Slowly, you start to recollect the memories of what had happened….

“Excuse me, miss?....”

Turning your head to the voice of an unknown female, you peaked your brows as you answered, “Yes?”

At that very second, your vision was shrouded in darkness as someone breached you from behind and placed a cover over your head, covering the key features of your identity and muffling your screams as you felt the strong hands restraining you.

The moment the individual had dragged, shoved, and pinned you to the seat of the vehicle you were forced in, a sharp puncture on your neck was the last thing you felt before succumbing to the effects of whatever it was that was injected into your body, rendering you unconscious.

“W-where am I?......How long has it been since I was taken away? Who was that woman?”

Your mind beckoned nearly every question that appeared during your recollection of events as you surmised that the woman who addressed you earlier may have been in some sort of partnership with what you suspected was a man that detained you.

Looking around, you observed your surroundings as your vision became less blurry. To your horror, you suddenly grasped the gravity of your situation as you closely studied the dark red splatters on the walls, the amount of moisture coating the cement flooring, which indicated that someone had used a hose to spray the area clean, yet the residue of the rusty brown and red coloring indicated the worst of your fears as your eyes met with the harsh display of various tools….tools that were decorated with jagged edges, seared teeth, and grinding motorized equipment, all left unsanitary as the evidence of blood, tissue muscle, and skin was left behind from what you surmised were previous victims of the person who snagged you.

Your breath hitched as you attempted to move, yet the sudden realization of your wrists and ankles detained by tight ropes, wrapped in a series of coils that were tight, leaving you no room to wiggle your way out for freedom. Within the limitations you were binding by, the steel surface you felt beneath your frame gave you the sense that you were on a unfurnished hospital bed or possibly a culinary prep station table. With your hands extended above your head, fully stretched, it was impossible for you to view where the rope had started with its knot, making it an uneasy feat to try and untie yourself. It didn’t help that your palms were tied facing outward, with the rope looped in between each finger before securely fasted to the base of whatever it was that you were tied to.

₵ⱤɆɆɆ₳₳₳₳₳₭

The sudden sound of the door scratching open startled you to still and causing your breath to lose tempo. With tears building up, you felt something that was far past the feeling of fear within you as you watched a rather largely built figure make his way over to you. He had on a black ski mask, wore a long sleeve black turtleneck and black jeans. He was rather robust in stature, and seemingly tall, despite being forced to remain in a laying state. There was no question about it, the man was a brute, regardless of the fact he lacked muscle and was built mostly with soft tissue and had a lot of water content in his body, giving him a heftier appearance.

Still, unless you found your way out of the binds that sustained you to the metal surface, there was no way for you to fight him off or to run free.

Now that you think of it, where could you even run?

After examining the area, the room was large yet there was only one door that could be made out, meaning your exit for escape was severely restricted. Your eyes continued to migrate from one corner to another, forgetting about the stalking figure that was making his way closer to you. It wasn’t until he spoke, that you nearly gasped for air, realizing that you were holding your breath in from terror.

“You’re awake. That’s good….that’s good…..I held off on everything until you came back to consciousness.”

Your eyes glistened with blobs of moisture as you processed his words. His hand reaches over to feel up your arms and wrists, grazing his fingers over your skin. You turned your head away as the tears left their mark across your cheeks. Burrowing your nose into the underside of your arm, you wiggled your fingers and shift your wrists out of desperation, yet it was useless, you were already at a disadvantage with your hands tied above your head, much less secured with a stabled form of restraint.

“There….there…..there….don’t be sad…try and understand….I had to wait for you to come back…..because if had gotten started while you were asleep, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy what you sound and look like when I use my special toys on you.”

You gasped out, bursting into a panic of sobs as your body regained oxygen by taking in deep inhales all the while the man kept feeling you. Leaving you with just your sundress on, your shoes removed and your hair sporadically cradling your shoulders and decorating the metal table, you could only imagine the man feasting his eyes on you, looking like a fallen angel at his mercy.

His hand reaches up and caresses your face, you peeved a glare from a side-eye’d stance as you figured, should you die, you might as well put on a face that he wouldn’t appreciate, even if you knew it wasn’t going to last long considering his ‘toys’ were all types that were used to inflict the most horrid pain and torture anyone could imagine.

“W-why?.....Why are you doing this?” You sputtered out, your voice soft and your tone nearly breathless, all of which he found pleasing.

“When you speak…..its just…..I cannot wait. I can’t wait to tear you apart. There are so many ways….how should I do it? Which way should I do it first? You’re so beautiful….the prettiest out of all of them…..that’s why we have to go about this carefully, since I only have one chance. God…I wish you had more lives you pretty thing….I wish I could saw you to pieces every day, if only….right?”

Your eyes widened with fear as you developed an expression of sadness, despair, and hopelessness. “Don’t….just don’t…..” you whispered out.

“Oh but I have to. I’ve waited for so long…y/n.”

Developing a stoic expression, you were stunned to hear the man call you by your name.

“H-how…?......How do you…?”

“Know your name?” he finishes for you. “Well let’s just say that ever since I first saw you at your favorite coffee shop…..I just…..I’ve never seen a face like yours….your body is also very…..delectable. All those nice dresses you wore to work….the subtle showing of your gorgeous skin….and your long flowing hair……..I just knew that you were going to be my number one…….the moment I waited and stood by the counter, I saw the cup you grabbed…marked with your name….what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman…..to think….that I waited three months for the right moment to get you.”

“Three months?.....” you gasped out.

“Yes y/n, three months. I surprise myself sometimes, no matter how many times I nearly fell into carelessness, you women never suspect a thing. Maybe its because I’ve done this so many times that I’m just too damn good……you know?”

At the last bit of his sentence, he reaches over your head and grabs on to power tool, one with a jagged blade powered by a motorized device similar to that of a power drill.

Your breaths heightened and speed up, gasping out, your whimpers assist them as your chest heaves deeply at the sight of the tool in his hand.

“Oh keep doing that….your breasts look amazing when you breathe so deep. I like it a lot….y/n.”

Setting your fearful look at his face, which remained covered by the black mask he adorned, you could only make out the blue color of his eyes as you issued your despaired tone of mercy through breathless whimpering.

“Oh my God….you really truly are…..so damn beautiful……….let me just….let me just get a taste of what its like to see that pretty face in pain…..”

Hovering the tool above your face, he leans in, just slightly, yet it was close enough to make your skin crawl.

“Now…..what should I take off? …..I can take out one of your breasts. I think I have a jar somewhere in here so I can keep it as a memento….my precious souvenir….I have one for your eyes definitely. I even have one for your heart and your uterus, but don’t worry, I won’t fuck you now…..not until I take out a piece…or two. I prefer my dolls to be in some pain before I give them…..pleasure.” the grin display of yellow stained teeth through his thin lips set off a sensation of your chest sinking in. You felt nauseous and lightheaded, almost as if you were going to pass out or faint from the sight of his words alone. Since you had no means of getting out, you hoped that your body would just fall into a blacked-out stage, at least then, you wouldn’t have to feel the pain through the means of his torturous methods.

His finger flicks the switch of the power tool on, you watched through half shut lids, the jagged teeth of the blade vibrating from the battery the cyclic base of the setting he had it on, which was low…..low so that it would cut slowly…..saw into your tissue and skin in a protracted rate, all for his enjoyment.

“Maybe…since I have a tourniquet here, why don’t I just take a piece off your kneecap…that way it’s not taking too much….I need to preserve you for as long as I can so I can enjoy you….savor the moments. I’ll take off a piece…. stop the bleeding and wait for you to calm down and then we can continue…..how does that sound?”

You shook your head in defeat as you closed your eyes, softly sobbing as you turned your head away once more, dreading the second he would cut into you.

The motor of the power tool was all you could hear. Gaining volume as he closes the distance, you held your breath in and bit down on your tongue……

“God……..please just kill me now……”

…………………………………

You waited…..a few seconds goes by and yet you still felt nothing……you kept your breath held, your tongue pinned between your teeth, and your eyes glued shut.

………………………………..

Still, nothing…..

Yet the motor of the tool was still on…..the jagged edges of the saw was still moving….the length of the blade was still vibrating……and yet……there was nothing….

Opening your eyes, you remained facing off to the side, when your peripheral vision caught just a slight bit of an unfamiliar sight…something that wasn’t there just a minute ago when you had expand your sights over the horizons of the room.

There was also….a scent…the fragrance of a male…a different male. One that didn’t smell of stale detergent and carpentry tools like the fellow in the black ski mask….no….this one was different. It was a scent of a strong musk, semi-sweet and pleasing to the nostrils.

Widening your eyes, you shift your head closer to center, and that’s where you saw the source of where the scent derived from……

Standing off to the opposite side of the robust male, you had a clear under view of the one that had his arm reached over and across your body, with his hand grasping the other man’s wrist, inhibiting him from proceeding with his infliction of torture.

The man who had suddenly appeared, well out of nowhere, was built the exact opposite of the other. He looked to be just as tall as the masked kidnapper, yet this one was lean, built with muscle and from what you could see in the underlying viewpoint, he looked to be of the same age range as you, possibly a tad bit younger or older. He had on a baseball cap that casted a shadow over his define face, allowing you to only view his nose and mouth, yet you could see that he was of Asian descent, with an olive skin tone, black wispy hair that laid freely from under the cap, and a protruding Adam’s Apple. You couldn’t make out his features entirely with the restricted view you had since the man was standing overhead, but what you could see, as the slight sly smirk he had on his lips.

Admitting a quick chuckle, he extends his thumb and quickly flicks it upwards, flipping the switch to the power tool off. The man in the ski mask didn’t have any time to process that the machine was off, because the moment the lean male had moved his thumb, he simultaneously grabbed hold of the base handle, and yanked it out of the other man’s hand, pulling the cord and plug out of the outlet.

Swinging the device over to his side as his arm reaches over his chest, the man swings once more, only this time he moves in the opposite direction, as if he was about to admit a back hand slap, except the tool in his grasp was used to inflict a rather large and painful gash on the man dressed all in black.

With the ski mask partially torn, blood coating his skin and the horrendous cry of pain and frustration, the hefty man makes a run to the door, all the while holding onto his cheek.

With a swift and effortless motion, the younger man slams his palm on the surface of the table, right beside your hipbone. Placing his weight on the palm, he gains leverage as he jumps and lands in a crouching position next to you, grinning a twisted smile and exposing his teeth.

“What the Hell?....Is….is he enjoying this?....What’s with that smile?”

Mentally denoting the young man’s countenance, you watched as he leaps over the table and your body, executing a perfect land on both feet as he merges a running start with the graceful landing. Sprint across the cement floor, the young man reaches the stumbling kidnapper and yanks his collar from behind, swerving his frame around and plastering his backside to the wall.

He moved and did everything so elegantly, so much in fact, you were starting to wonder if he had prior military service under his belt considering the man moved with a combatant flare, yet also had style and grace that of a choreographer, or an athlete. He also displayed strength that was somewhat deceiving considering that, despite the lean muscle he had in his forearms, which was the only part of him aside from his neck and face that remained exposed, the man had power and sturdy competence that did not match his slender stature. At least not enough to swing a much heavier fellow around like a rag doll.

Watching the two go at it, the younger man had the upper hand as he pinned the other to the wall. With a dark chuckle, the man finally speaks, and just like the tone of his mischievous laugh, it was no different with the way he spoke out his words, in fact, it may have even been lower.

“Well now….what should I take off first, hmm?”

Your eyes widen once more, you were stunned and confused at how twisted and dark his words were. Surely, the kidnapper was a cruel man, but from the sounds of it, so was this fellow. Was it perhaps because of what the man was going to do to you? Was that what triggered for this slender fellow to become dark and murderous in the most monovalent manner possible? What was this?

You watched as the slender male looks up and down at the other, mimicking the words the kidnapper issued to you, the one with the upper hand throws it back to him as he admits the same words, with a similar tone, with that sadistic smirk never leaving his face.

“I can take out your eyes. I think you have a jar somewhere in here so I can store them as a memento….a precious souvenir.” His smile widens as he giggles and bites down on his bottom lip. Leaning in to the other male, he whispers in his ear, something that you couldn’t hear or make out from where you remained stationary.

“But don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck her….not until I take out a piece…or two. I too…. prefer my dolls to be in some pain before I give them…..pleasure.”

Widening his eyes, the younger man tightened the strength of his grip around the kidnapper’s neck, before he reached up with his free hand and began to dig out the latter’s eyeballs with his bare fingers.

You couldn’t see what was happening to the kidnapper, all you could see was the backside of the slender male as he reached up with his other hand. Whatever it was, you could only imagine what the younger fellow was doing as you winced your eyes shut upon hearing the horrendous screams and painful cries coming from your abductor.

The cries all died down to a slow and unsteady pattern of breaths as the slender man harshly tossed something off to the side…not once…but twice.

“What was that….that he just threw?”

You continued to observe the two, yet the moment the younger man reached up once more, you looked away and continued to shut your eyes as you tried your best to block out the continuation of painful screams. Unsure if you just wanted everything to stop, or perhaps you just prefer to not be present while your abductor succumbed to such grueling methods of torture, which he deserved, yet the humanness in you wished you didn’t have to be around to hear it. It was unsettling and caused an uneasy feeling to roll in the deeper part of your gut.

“Hold still now, you’re just making it worse for yourself.” the younger man chuckled out. Much to your dismay and fear, he lacked any sort of regret, compassion, or sympathy….no hesitancy or even the slightest sign to reflect any discomfort of his morbid performance. Instead, he remained smiling, chuckling, and appeared to be pleased with the amount of pain the abductor was admitting out as he continued to receive the unspeakable of murderous acts.

The screams grew louder, and much more desperate as you saw from the corner of your eye, the abductor wiggling around trying to break free from the other man’s grasp. Yet he remained trapped against the stone wall, eventually falling to his knees as the young man remained a firm hold, inflicting pain while he continued to flick something off to the side. What was it that he kept throwing or flickering away?  

Your wandering gaze was disrupted by the answer to your pondering question….much to your gasping horror.

After a certain point, the young man flung the contents in his hand for what you suspected to be the tenth time now, yet he flicked it more so behind him, rather than to his side as he had done previously. The splatter landed nearby on the wall closest to you, and there it slid down the wall before it plops on the ground. Watching it, your eyes widened as you made out the blood, the tissue, the skin and form of the piece that the young man removed from the abductors face…..his tongue.

With the abductors screams merging to incoherent moans and groans of painful mercy, amidst the dark chuckles of the younger man, you wiggled fiercely trying to break free from the restraints. You reached a level of panic. This wasn’t normal…nothing about this was normal, no matter how revengeful someone could be, this was not the behavior of a sane man…it was almost as if he had done this before....it was almost as if he was…….

˙⊥∀Ǝ ∩O⅄ ⊥∀HM˙˙˙Ǝᴚ∀ ∩O⅄˙˙˙ᴚƎᙠWƎWƎᴚ S⅄∀M˥∀ ᗡN∀ ԀƎƎHS ƎH⊥ WOᴚℲ˙˙˙N∩ᴚ ˙⅄ƎᴚԀ ƎH⊥ SI ᴚƎ⅁NO˥ ON ԀƎƎHS ƎH⊥ 'ᴚƎ⊥N∩H ƎH⊥ '∩O⅄ SƎƎS ⊥I ⊥NƎWOW ƎH⊥˙˙˙⊥I S⋊˥∀⊥S ⊥∀H⊥ NOI˥ ƎH⊥ SI OS 'HSƎ˥Ⅎ ᗡƎΛ∀ᴚƆ ᗡN∀ 'ᗡOO˥ᙠ '⊥NƎƆS ᴚIƎH⊥ O⊥ NM∀ᴚᗡ Ǝᙠ ⅄∀W ∩O⅄ Ǝ˥IHM ƎS∩∀ƆƎᙠ  ˙N∀Ɔ ∩O⅄ Ǝ˥IHM ƎԀ∀ƆSƎ ᗡN∀ 'ƎᗡIM ᗡN∀ ᴚ∀Ⅎ N∩ᴚ ˙N∩ᴚ ᗡN∀ 'ƎℲI˥ ᴚ∩O⅄ ᴚOℲ ᴚ∀ƎℲ ˙ԀƎƎHS ƎH⊥ ᴚ∀ƎℲ ˙⊥I ᴚ∀ƎℲ ᗡ˥∩OHS ⅄ƎH⊥ '⊥Ɔ∀Ⅎ NI ˙ԀƎƎHS ƎH⊥ Ǝ⊥∀WI⊥SƎᴚƎᗡN∩ ᴚƎΛƎN ᗡ˥∩OHS ᴚƎ⊥N∩H ∀

Without any loophole to break free, you were forced to bask in the frightening sounds of malicious torture and pain, the tears streaming down our face was never ending, and you pondered the most fearful thought that came to mind so suddenly as you listened in on the man dying slowly…..

“What is going to happen after he’s done with him……what is he going to do to me?.....There’s no way he came here to save me….not….not unless…..is he…is he going to want to kill me instead?”

“AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

The piercing scream snapped you out at mid thought. Terrified by the abrupt volume and the sound of flesh being torn off the dying man’s face, piece by piece, you glanced over and witnessed the younger man’s backside as he continues to fling off flesh from left to right. Silently sobbing, you bit down on your bottom lip, not daring to be overheard as the leaned figure continued with his assault. Submerging yourself to the soft sounds of your tears drifting down your face, your ears caught wind of the young man’s tone as he spat out to the dying man.

“Come on now….don’t get so weak on me…not after all that shit you said earlier….where’s all that vigor? Where’s all that spunk you had when you were about to saw into her? Hmm?”

The panic moans and grunts of the abductor reflected a desperate cry for mercy, all the while the other male continued to chuckle darkly as he delivers the finishing blows by tearing the remaining flesh from the man’s face.

“Theeeeeeeeere……that’s better…….open your fucking mouth, let’s get rid of those fucked up teeth of yours.” Wailing in pain, you sensed the man’s last breath was near as his moaned cries come to soft and low volume.

“Nnnnnnnnng……mmmmmmmmmmmrraaaaah!!!!”

“I said….hold still.”

“Ng….nhh…….mmmmmmraaaaahhh!!!!!”

“There’s one, let’s move on to the other ones, hmm?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

……………………………

The room became stagnant with the scent of rusty blood and sour pitch of flesh rotting by the second. You kept your face turned away, trying not to wonder what was in store next for the young man.

The air became soundless as the last breath spews out with the lingering moan that eventually halts within a beatless form. The screams cease to exist, along with the painful groans and the tearing of flesh. The clunking sound of the lifeless body dropping to the floor as the other man releases his grip from the dead man’s neck echoes against the cement floor and stone tiled wall, causing a stir of emotions to rile up as you hear the man let out a prolonged sigh.

Everything remained quiet…. that was until you heard his feet pivot, shifting his frame to a one-eighty-degree turn, completely facing your direction. Not a split second later and his footsteps could be heard making their way to you, causing your breath to lose momentum.

Facing away, you remained still and mentally noted to compose your breathing to a steady pattern as you sensed him being merely inches away. Furrowing your brows, you developed a panic expression as you heard him taking in harsh inhales through his nostrils.

“Oh my God……please get away from me…..”

The feeling of his fingers delicately trailing along your cheek, jawline, and down your neckline caused you to shut your eyes in a sudden notion. Gasping out a crying moan, your body reacts by shifting away, or it tried to, yet the restraints kept you fixed in steady position, slightly leaning against your hipbone was all you could get out of your restricted state. It wasn’t enough, your frame remained fully exposed for him to eyeball as he affectionately grazed you over from head to toe.

Sitting on the edge of the metal table, he leans in as he continues to drag his fingertips down in between your breasts. His face closes in, breathing steadily, you felt the warm puffs of air released through his parted lips as he gently glazes your neck with each vapor.

“Hey there beautiful……you don’t have to hide…..you can open your eyes now, the bad man is all gone….took care of him.”

With blood still coating the pads of each finger, he decorates your skin with a glorified trail of crimson stains as he paints a picture of death.

“Red…..looks really good on you…..has anyone ever told you that?.....I guess they had since your lips……you’re wearing red lipstick aren’t you?.....My kind of girl…….my girl….”

“P-please….just….don’t…..just leave me alone…please……please don’t….”

At your bidding, he leans all the way through, closing every inch of distance that remained and nuzzles his face into your neck. The tip of his nose was semi-hard and stabbed your skin as the softness of his lips puckered against the center of your throat…..leaving small taps of kisses in a remote area.

“….S-stop….” You mumbled out. You remained calm despite wanting to burst out, yet something told you that wouldn’t have worked out in your favor. “Please……don’t…..don’t….”  you whimpered out.

Releasing a subtle gasp against your neck, a low chuckle accompanies it as he scoffs out each breath, coating your skin with it. Laying helplessly at his mercy, your heart sank as you heard him spoke once more……inserting the future of your fate.

“Come on baby don’t be like that…..we’re going to be happy, you and I.”

Turning your face out of shock, you shifted to face him straight on. His hat still hovered a dark shadow over his eyes, yet the glistening shine and reflection of light bounced off the black hue, making them somewhat visible in close proximity.

“………W-what?.....What did you say?” you issued a concerned and shocked expression as you bid him to elaborate, which he did…through that twisted grin that seemed to permanently reside on his face….his dashingly handsome face.

“You’re coming with me……I’m going to take care of you…….I’m the only one that knows how to……my beautiful…..beautiful girl……..” taking a deep breath, he shifts upwards from your neck and with wide eyes, he aligns his lips with yours and issues a deep kiss…not once closing off his gaze at you.

Breaking free as you jolt your face away, you spurt out “Stop!” all the while you desperately wiggled and moved around, hoping the ropes would loosen up and grant you freedom.

Delicately grabbing onto your chin, he shifts your face back to his full view.

“Hey-hey……don’t be like that…I'm not gonna hurt you....far from it….I just want a bite…. just a taste……” leaning in once more, he kisses you yet again, only this time, it was more passionate and less demeaning. “…….Let me take you home….let me take care of you…..”

Another peck on your lips, and he finishes his wording….

“Let me fuck you.”

"Take care of her....." - SMAU

Taglist: @nshmrarki , @lprww , @baekxo07 , @m7omo @nctsslut

[slayingfiction]

The Intricacies of Crafting Character Deaths in Storytelling

Elevating Narrative Through Character Deaths

Character deaths wield the unique ability to transform the narrative landscape, serving pivotal roles that extend beyond the confines of plot advancement. They are moments ripe with potential to:

Deepen Plot Dynamics: The departure of a character can catalyze significant plot developments, altering the course of the narrative and presenting new challenges and dynamics for the characters left behind. This not only propels the story forward but also introduces complexity and unpredictability.

Enhance Character Arcs: The ramifications of a character's demise are felt most acutely in the evolution of surviving characters. Witnessing or grappling with loss can reveal hidden depths, trigger transformations, and redefine motivations, thereby enriching character arcs with nuanced layers of growth and introspection.

Amplify Thematic Resonance: Character deaths can serve as poignant reflections of the story's underlying themes—be it the fragility of life, the inevitability of change, or the nature of sacrifice. These moments offer a mirror to the thematic heart of the narrative, inviting deeper contemplation and emotional engagement from the audience.

Forge Emotional Connections: At its core, the impact of a character's death hinges on its ability to evoke a profound emotional response. This connection not only cements the audience's investment in the narrative but also elevates the storytelling experience, making it memorably resonant.

Discerning the Whys and Why Nots of Character Deaths

The decision to write a character out of a story should stem from a place of narrative integrity rather than convenience or shock value.

Valid Reasons Include:

Narrative Necessity and Integrity: A character's death should feel like a natural culmination of the narrative's direction and themes, serving as an essential link in the chain of the story's development rather than an arbitrary twist.

Emotional and Thematic Depth: If the demise meaningfully enriches the narrative's emotional landscape or underscores its thematic concerns, it justifies the inclusion.

Conversely, character deaths can detract from the story when:

Solely for Shock Value: Utilizing death merely as a tool for surprise can undermine the narrative's depth, leading to moments that feel unearned or manipulative.

For Plot Convenience: Eliminating a character simply to untangle complex plot threads can be perceived as a shortcut, cheapening the narrative's overall craftsmanship.

Crafting Deaths with Lasting Impact

The resonance of a character's death is profoundly influenced by the narrative groundwork laid both before and after the event.

Prior to the Death:

Robust Character Development: Investing time in developing the character ensures that the audience forms a meaningful bond, amplifying the impact of their loss.

Strategic Foreshadowing: Implementing subtle hints about the character's fate can enhance the sense of inevitability and poignancy of their demise, while still preserving the element of surprise.

Narrative Integration: The potential death should be deeply intertwined with the story's fabric, ensuring it feels like a consequential event rather than an isolated incident.

Following the Death:

Showcase Reactions: Illustrating the emotional and practical aftermath of the death through the eyes of surviving characters adds layers of realism and depth to the narrative.

Honor the Legacy: Exploring how the deceased character's influence persists, whether through the memories of others, the impact of their actions, or ongoing storylines they set in motion, can enrich the narrative's continuity and emotional resonance.

Mindful Tone Setting: The narrative tone in the wake of the death should reflect its significance, allowing both characters and audience adequate space to navigate their grief and find closure.

Navigating the Ethical Landscape

Writers must tread carefully, mindful of the ethical implications and the messages their stories convey through the depiction of death. It's crucial to handle such moments with sensitivity, avoiding the trivialization of loss or perpetuation of harmful stereotypes. Moreover, understanding genre expectations and audience sensibilities can guide the frequency and portrayal of character deaths, ensuring they enrich rather than detract from the storytelling experience.

Conclusion

The decision to conclude a character's journey through death is a formidable aspect of storytelling, demanding careful consideration and thoughtful execution. By anchoring these moments in narrative necessity, emotional depth, and ethical sensitivity, writers can craft deaths that not only serve the story but also offer a lasting impact on the audience. Such carefully navigated departures not only underscore the stakes and depth of the narrative but also foster a deeper emotional connection between the story and its readers. Ultimately, the art of writing character deaths is about balance—between advancing the plot and honoring the emotional journey of the audience, between the shock of loss and the narrative necessity, and between the finality of death and the enduring legacy of a character’s impact.

Happy Writing!

See Slaying Fiction for more fun content.

[osharenippon]

Shoujo Manga's Golden Decade (Part 2)

Shoujo manga, comics for girls, played a pivotal role in shaping Japanese girls’ culture, and its dynamic evolution mirrors the prevailing trends and aspirations of the era. For many, this genre peaked in the 1970s. But why?

Part 1

The Year of 24 Group

Some of the best-selling work by the Year 24 Artists (l-to-r): Yasuko Aoike's "From Eroica with Love," Ryoko Yamagishi's "Arabesque," Mineko Yamada's "Minori no Shoujo," Toshie Kihara's "Yomie no Ishibume," Yumiko Oshima's "The Star of Cottonland," Yuuko Kishi's "Tamasaburo."

Back in the early '70s, there was the prevailing notion that manga was for young kids. Despite the variety in themes, big magazines like Margaret, Shoujo Club, Nakayoshi, and Ribon were theoretically aimed at elementary school-aged girls.

In practice, the reality was more nuanced. Due to being published in Weekly Margaret, "The Rose of Versailles" was for kids. And it did very well with them. Yet, its revolutionary romance also appealed to broader audiences, exemplifying the crossover potential of shoujo manga. It was the title that opened the door for what is known as "the golden age of shoujo," which was further cemented by several other groundbreaking hits.

These hits widened the shoujo manga field, and soon, other editorial houses also wanted to cash in. Shogakukan, which published the powerful Weekly Shonen Sunday, entered the shoujo market in the late '60s. Shueisha and Shogakukan also partnered to form a keiretsu and open the Hakusensha publisher which deals mostly with shoujo manga.

That is the context in which a batch of artists known as "The Magnificent 24 Group" rose. And they were another key reason as to why '70s shoujo made such a mark. These manga-kas introduced themes such as sci-fi and homosexuality to the segment, revolutionized its art, further explored historical and terror narratives, and generally broke barriers of what was possible in shoujo manga. Their work was intellectually challenging, philosophical, and, above all, fundamental for male manga critics and connoisseurs to finally take shoujo seriously.

The Year 24 Group refers to the fact most artists were born around 1949, which is known as the year 24 of the Showa era in the Japanese calendar. These women came of age during the time artists like Hideko Mizuno were debuting and doing revolutionary work in the shoujo field, and they were eager to follow their lead. The success of unorthodox hits like "The Rose of Versailles" and the emergence of new magazines enabled them to be bold.

The two artists who led the movement are Moto Hagio and Keiko Takemiya. Their shared house in Tokyo, known as the Oizumi Salon, became a gathering place for several young artists keen on breaking new grounds for shoujo manga-kas. These women became the Year 24 group. But there were other two people, besides the artists themselves, who were just as crucial for their collective rise.

Firstly, there was Junya Yamamoto. Yamamoto was a young male editor at Shogakukan who had risen through the ranks of the successful Shonen Sunday weekly manga magazine. Noticing they were lagging behind Shueisha and Kodansha in the manga segment for their lack of a robust shoujo presence, the editorial house appointed Yamamoto to launch Shoujo Comic (known as Sho-Comi) in 1968 and Bessatsu Shoujo Comic (known as Betsucomi) in 1970. However, he quickly ran into an issue: most successful shoujo artists already had exclusive contracts with the competing houses, and aspiring names were vying for positions at the already established titles.

In 1969, the "God of manga," Osamu Tezuka, introduced Yamamoto to Keiko Takemiya, then a university student living in Tokushima City. Takemiya had spent her school years dreaming of becoming a manga-ka and participated extensively in the readers' corner section of COM. COM was an avant-garde manga magazine Tezuka founded to nourish young talents and publish stories without the typical restraints of more commercial shoujo and shonen publications. In her first year of college, Takemiya won a Shueisha's Weekly Margaret newcomer competition and had a work published in the magazine. Still, she was persuaded by her parents to focus on her studies instead and to leave manga as a side hobby.

Yamamoto, in turn, was impressed with her talent and convinced her to chase her dreams. Quickly, she found work in all three publishers and started simultaneously publishing in Kodansha, Shueisha, and Shogakukan's shoujo titles.

Meanwhile, Moto Hagio also grew up enamored with the manga world. During her college years, she had a work selected by Shueisha's Bessatsu Margaret (Betsuma) through a competition, but she could not find a fixed slot in the magazine. Then, she got introduced to Kodansha's Nakayoshi editors, who were impressed by her talent. While she did start publishing short stories there, editors rejected most of her submitted work as they did not fit the magazine's mold. One day, an editor introduced her to Takemiya, who, overworked while working for several magazines, was in dire need of an assistant. The two hit off, and Takemiya, who until then had her permanent residence in far away Tokuma City but was planning a move to Tokyo, proposed they both live together. She also decided to introduce Hagio to risk-taker editor Yamamoto, who, impressed by her talent, encouraged her to pursue her path instead of trying to fit into the expected shoujo template.

Then there was Norie Masuyama, who first became acquainted with Moto Hagio before becoming Takemiya's manager. Hagio was from Fukuoka, while Masuyama was from Tokyo, but due to their similar interests, they became penpals. When Hagio first moved to Tokyo, Masuyama hosted her in her home in Oizumi. Eventually, Hagio introduced Masuyama to Takemiya, and the three of them became close. Because both were artists from outside of Tokyo, Masuyama was the one who first circled the idea they should live together (something Yamamoto presciently warned it could turn into a problem), and she was the one who alerted them of a house in her Oizumi neighborhood being up for rent.

Keiko Takemiya and Moto Hagio, estranged since the late '70s, revealed details of their feud in autobiographic books: Takemiya's "Shonen no na wa Gilbert" (2019) and Hagio's "Ichidou kiri no Oizumi no Hanashi" (2021). The dispute, stemming from Takemiya accusing Hagio of plagiarism, was fueled by Takemiya's jealousy during a challenging creative and personal period. While Takemiya appears self-aware and analytical in her account, Hagio's book indicates she hasn't forgiven Keiko, revealing unresolved feelings. The publications triggered intense online debates.

Masuyama came from a sophisticated family that was very involved in arts and, from a young age, got familiarized with the world of music, literature, and movies. Her refined taste impressed Hagio and Takemiya. At a time when Japanese girls dreamed of Europe, Masuyama actually had friends living there and was up-to-date on the latest European trends. She also had a lot of knowledge of European cinema and literature.

As their rented house was old and rusty, Hagio and Takemiya started spending a lot of time at Masuayama's house across the street. She introduced them to films, songs, books, and paintings. It was Masuyama's taste -- including her interest in movies and books depicting gay romance and her desire for girls' comics to have bolder and riskier themes -- that helped to instill a passion in both artists to go further than the safe cliches usually depicted in shoujo works.

In 1970, editor Yamamoto convinced Takemiya to sign an exclusive contract with Shogakukan. The following year, Hagio also started publishing for Sho-comi and Betsucomi. Their work would attract a loyal fanbase, and aspiring manga-ka would flood their mailboxes. So Takemiya made a decision: to select female artists around her and Hagio's age to mentor and train at their shared home. Thus, the Oizumi Salon was born.

Despite attracting attention, Takemiya and Hagio's works were not always popular. In fact, they'd often rank last in readers' popularity polls, which tend to be all-deciding in manga magazines. But they persevered, and Yamamoto trusted them.

Keiko Takemiya aimed to establish herself with a top-rated series through "Pharaoh no Haka" (left) in order to garner the necessary respect from editors to write the series she wanted, "Kaze to ki no uta" (right). Despite her resolute efforts, "Pharaoh no Haka" never secured the top spot in Sho-comi's readers' poll, peaking at #2. Nevertheless, the series succeeded in elevating her fame and earning her the respect she sought.

In 1972, Hagio had an idea for a serial focused on a male European vampire. However, as she wasn't a famous artist, Yamamoto only allowed her to publish one-shots. So she came up with a plan: to write three interconnected standalone stories. To circumvent another restraint - shoujo editors' avoidance of male leads - she put the first story focus on Marybelle, Edgar's sister. Once Yamamoto realized what Hagio was doing, he was amused and allowed her to continue. And so, "The Poe Clan" series began. In 1974, Shogakukan finally started publishing their shoujo titles in compiled paperback format. In another proof of trust, Yamamoto chose Hagio's "The Poe Clan" as the first title of the Flower Comics imprint.

To everybody's surprise, "The Poe's Clan," in paperback format, was a groundbreaking success, almost instantaneously selling out its initial printing. At the time, Hagio had just started a new serialization, "The Heart of Thomas," a tragic gay love story set in an all-boys German school. As usual for her, the story wasn't all that popular with Sho-Comi's readership, and its lackluster results in the reader's poll almost got the series discontinued. But the notable success of "The Poe's Clan" tankobon assured editors, who allowed Hagio to continue the series. "The Heart of Thomas" went on to become another best-seller and a seminal shoujo title. It also attracted critical acclaim and a loyal fanbase to Moto Hagio, which in turn helped put the Year 24 artists -- who were pretty good at self-promotion -- in the spotlight.

Hagio, Takemiya, and several other "Year 24" authors drifted between being popular and underground. They had a sizable, loyal fanbase that followed them and turned several of their works into best-sellers. On the other hand, by finding a way around the usual shoujo traditions, they weren't particularly popular with the average shoujo reader, ordinary young girls across the country.

Their peculiar position forced them to be clever, so they could fulfill their creative desires as well as their editors' expectations, who were there to make sure the stories published were satisfying to the core readership. Takemiya wrote "Pharaoh no Haka," an Egypt-set romantic adventure, to be well-accepted so that she could then dedicate herself to doing what she truly wanted in "Kaze to Ki no Uta," a gay love story set in a 19th Century French boarding school.

Initially overlooked in popular shoujo magazines, Moto Hagio gained success with "The Poe Clan" in compiled format, launching Shogakukan's Flower Comics imprint. Over time, she became a highly respected manga artist, the only manga-ka alongside legendary filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki to receive a Person of Cultural Merit recognition. In 2016, marking 40 years of the conclusion of her first hit, she released a new "The Poe Clan" chapter in Flower magazine, selling out the increased print run of 50,000 copies in a day. This success marked a significant shift for Hagio, who, despite not being a major magazine seller in earlier years, became a valuable asset to the struggling magazine publishing industry decades later. Following the one-shot, she released three more chapters and, in 2022, began a new sequel series.

Besides Takemiya and Hagio, several other notable shoujo artists who went on to become huge names used to frequent the Oizumi Salon and were part of the "Year 24 group." In the early '70s, most published their work on Shogakukan's titles, which had a "free policy" on storytelling compared to Margaret, Shoujo Friend, Nakayoshi, and Ribon. Then, as Shogakukan started being more strict to properly compete with the market leaders, several moved to newly launched Hakusensha titles Hana to Yume and LaLa. Influential names that were part of the movement included Yumiko Oshima, Yasuko Aoike, and Ryoko Yamagashi, among several others. 

Despite their unorthodox preferences, they weren't necessarily trying to rebel against the system, they simply wanted to put out good quality work they believed in. Like other Japanese girls from that era, they were fascinated by Europe, and plenty of their stories took place on the continent. In 1972, Hagio, Takemiya, Yamagishi, and Masuyama made a 45-day trip to Europe, visiting the Soviet Republic, France, and several other countries, which had a profound impact on them. Still, their narratives were widely innovative. They often had male leads, introduced sci-fi, "boys' love," and other bolder genres to shoujo manga, and contributed to the evolution of shoujo illustration. Above all, this group of artists was the one who made clear to naysayers, once and for all, that shoujo manga is indeed an art form.

But while their influence in manga history is undisputed, other significant -- and much more commercial -- manga movements also shook the shoujo manga world during that decade.

A Need for Drama

When talking about '70s shoujo manga, it's common for minds to drift directly to iconic series from that time, like "Candy Candy" and "Rose of Versailles." But, unlike in present times, in that decade, the manga industry's focus wasn't on successful, long-running series but on the artists themselves.

As opposed to the struggling publishing marketing of today, major shoujo manga magazines all sold over 1 million copies during that decade. Manga in tankobon (standalone paperback) format was turning into a money-maker field, but being able to sell paperback was very much secondary compared to being a name capable of selling magazines. Keiko Takemiya and Moto Hagio, from the Amazing Year 24 Group, would go on to become household names and had best-selling series, but, at the time, they couldn't compete with the actual shoujo manga superstars who were the signboard artists of the Kodansha and Shueisha's shoujo titles, the ones who actually moved publications. These artists' work was the most significant indicator of what the mainstream readers wanted and aspired to back then.

In a December/1975 issue, weekly Josei Seven spotlights the new generation of superstar shoujo manga artists: (l-to-r) Moto Hagio, Machiko Satonaka, Ryoko Ikeda, Yukari Ichijo, Keiko Takemiya, and Ryoko Takahashi. While contemporary manga-kas are highly discreet about their lives and do not even tend to show their faces, in the '70s, they were treated like superstars, and, in the article, the manga-kas openly discuss their love life and details of their high incomes, including how much they had in the bank and how much they spent on rent and daily utilities.

For Kodansha, the top shoujo artist was definitely Machiko Satonaka, who won the Best New Artist competition in 1964, when she was still a freshman in high school. There have been several high-schoolers making their debut in the industry throughout the decades, but, as the first, Satonaka caused a media frenzy. Her ascent gave confidence to countless other young women -- from "Glass Mask"'s Suzue Michi to Keiko Takemiya (who also won a smaller prize in the same competition) -- to pursue their manga careers.

The attention surrounding Satonaka, who went on to become a public personality with TV hosting gigs and other appearances, is another interesting, nostalgic phenomenon. In the past, it was common for manga superstars to have a strong media presence. Nowadays, the norm is the complete opposite: for manga-kas to be highly private, no matter how famous their work is.

In any case, Satonaka quickly proved herself to be more than a sensational news story as she created extremely popular mangas for Kodansha shoujo titles like Shoujo Friend and Nakayoshi. Her style, widely accepted by readers, became symbolical of the story-telling the '70s girls craved: extremely dramatic with emotionally driven plots and lots of bombastic twists and developments.

In his book on subcultures and otaku culture, sociologist Shinji Miyadai notes that '70s shoujo manga can be divided into very few categories. There is the category the Year 24 artists dominated -- which he defines as the "Moto Hagio domain" -- of works with a lot of artistic value, up-to-par with literature. And then there's the far more commercially viable "Satonaka domain," which represented the mainstream taste.

In the "Satonaka category," the artist depicts a stormy life story as a proxy experience for the readers. Of course, there are universal elements of love, friendship, and insecurity that girls can directly relate to. Still, these stories provide adventures that readers could never experience in the real world. 

These facets of the "Satonaka domain" are present in almost all the best-selling, mainstream shoujo series of the '70s, like the revolutionary historical romance of "The Rose of Versailles," the dramatic rags-to-riches story of the beautiful orphan in "Candy Candy," and the rise of an ordinary girl to the top of the sports elite in "Ace wo Nerae." In all of these titles, you'll also spot other defining characteristics of '70s shoujo: the death of beloved characters and well-liked female characters with voluminous blonde hairs and huge, sparkling eyes (a legacy of Macoto Takahashi, the illustrator who, throughout the '50s, created the art that directly influenced subsequent shoujo history).

Yukari Ichijo was the most prominent Ribon signboard artist throughout the '70s, creating popular mangas like "Suna no Shiro" (left) and "Designer (right). Young girls across the country adored her work despite the adult drama in it.

Since these stories are extraordinary and dream-like, many of them use Europe or the US as their setting, another reflection of a time when Japanese youth dreamed with the West.

While Satonaka was Kodansha's star, Shueisha also had its top shoujo artists. For Margaret, it was Ryoko Ikeda who kept creating memorable dramatic manga after the conclusion of "The Rose of Versailles." Other classic '70s dramatic works published in the weekly included Kyoko Ariyoshi's ballet drama "Swan." Meanwhile, over at Ribon, no one shone brighter than Yukari Ichijo. Ichijo's works, which young girls across Japan devoured, contained a lot of adult drama with adult characters. Her 1974 manga, "Love Game," had a bed scene. One of her most celebrated works of the decade, "Suna no Shiro" (Sand Castle), dealt with incest. While Ichijo is the one who stood the test of time, another artist who also enjoyed great popularity in Ribon following this formula was Kei Nogami. 

These mangas served as an escape for girls, who left their ordinary school life behind for a few hours to embark on extraordinary adventures. In contrast, one of the main genres in contemporary shoujo is unassuming, everyday high school romance. How could the shoujo segment go through such a drastic transformation? The reasons for that also dates back to the 1970s.

Part 3

[omgthatdress]

The really frustrating thing about the “Meghan and Harry lost their Spotify deal and everyone is losing interest in them and their whole “hollywood empire” is crumbling” thing is like....

All Meghan really had to do was go out on the red carpet and absolutely EAT. Like for real. Keep us interested in you by making some absolutely amazing fashion choices and use that to leverage your stardom.

So many people shit on fashion as being frivolous and like and shallow but like no, it’s incredibly powerful. Absolutely slaying at the right time can be the thing that can launch your career into the fucking stratosphere and it doesn’t deduct from your talent or intelligence. If anything, it adds to it. Look at Zendaya and Lupita Nyong’o. They both absolutely leveraged fashion as a way to cement themselves as in-demand a-listers. In Zendaya’s case, it helped her go from just another Disney star to landing the complex adult roles where she could fully display her talent. Lupita used fashion to prove that her Oscar win wasn’t just a flash in the pan, that she had a lot more to show the world, and she used it to sustain interest and build a robust career.

UGH. I guess the frustrating thing about Meghan and Harry is that I really, really wanted the rebel royals to be cool and fun and sexy and it’s like.... no you’re just as bland and edgeless as the rest of the fam, who are only interesting by virtue of being royal. Once your not royal, you need to have something else to be cool about you, and Harry and Meghan have not delivered.

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

somewhere only we know

—or, herc visits captain fairbairn’s new office.

They walk through the terminal, the same way they once did all those years ago, though now Herc can sometimes be a little unsteady on his feet. It should be difficult to reconcile with the robust captain Linda remembers from the beginning of her career, who had been a bit of a health-nut even before it had been overly trendy, but—everyone who has loved Linda, and she has loved in return, is getting older. Such, she reckons, goes the arc of life.

“All right?” she asks him, who has a hand looped through her arm. He sends her a positively sappy look, and she rolls her eyes. Beside them, a respectful distance away, walk the two other pilots on this long-haul flight. The first officer operating out tows Linda’s flight kit along with hers.

“You’ve come such a long way, my dear,” Herc tells her as they continue down the terminal to their gate. He hasn’t been flying for a little over two years now—he had seen his last student to a multi-engine certification before hanging up his hat and bowing from the flight-school enterprise that Carolyn’s airline had metamorphosed into, the one Arthur had inherited and was currently managing back in Fitton. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“But you are to thank for…a lot of it,” she returns, focusing on guiding him onto the moving walkway ahead of her first officer and relief pilot.

“I’m honored to have been part of your journey, in that case.” He pauses, and Linda looks aside and sees the twinkle in his eye. “Captain Fairbairn.”

She feels her ears grow a little warm, and she ducks her head with a shy smile. It has taken some getting used to, but after moving from short-haul legacy A320 to long-haul A330 and subsequently bidding into one of the inaugural A350 captain positions, she finds that it’s less of a foreign title than when she began at Swiss. It’s just that when Herc calls her Captain, or her dad…those are the only times it makes her blush.

They approach the gate; a gate agent comes up to them. “Good morning, captain. You requested a non-rev seat for a guest today?”

“Yes,” Linda nods aside at the man on her arm, who’s now staring outside the terminal windows at the glistening A350 on stand at the apron, its fuselage narrowing into a daintily pointed nose and its wings gracefully curving up at the tips. She doesn’t blame him—the A350 is objectively a beautiful aircraft. “Hercules Shipwright,” she tells the gate agent, and Herc tears his gaze away from the airplane to acknowledge the agent with a nod.

She can’t wait for him to see inside of her aircraft.

“Wonderful,” the gate agent says. “Welcome, sir,” she says to Herc. “We’ll give you priority boarding, as requested.”

“Thank you.” Herc disengages himself from Linda, and she misses the comforting presence of her friend at her side. “Linda, I’ll find a seat by the window. I’ll see you out there, yeah?”

“See you,” Linda tells him, and leads her flight crew down the jetbridge.

The previous crew has left the plane turned around and ready for them; Linda pops her head into the galleys while her first officer starts preflight checks, greets the flight attendants, and reminds the purser about her guest.

As preboarding approaches, the first officer excuses herself to do the walk-around, and Linda is left alone with her thoughts in the flightdeck.

She peers out of the wide windows, past the six touch-screen LED displays. Though kitted out with more technology than she could ever have dreamed of, the family resemblance is clear in the design philosophy of the flightdeck—it’s very clearly an Airbus, from the fold-out tray tables to the blatant absence of a yoke. There had been a time when she’d thought she might make the switch to Boeing, but when Swiss had decided that the A320s it had taken in the merger with Cal would stay in the fleet, Linda’s future as a true-blue Airbus pilot was cemented.

Not that she’s complaining about it, when some of her happiest memories are framed by an Airbus-designed flightdeck.

Herc, true to his word, has taken a seat by the window of the terminal and is staring out at her with a smile.

Linda gets up, leans over the displays, and holds a hand up to the window in greeting; in return, Herc languidly waves at her. She grinned as he holds up a finger, one minute, and gingerly takes his phone from his pocket to snap a picture. Once finished, he lowers his phone, checks the photograph, and flashes a thumbs-up at her through the terminal window.

A knock at the doorway, and Linda turns to see the redcap peeking inside. “Captain?”

“Yes,” Linda acknowledges, and rises from her seat.

Before long, her first officer has returned, and the boarding time is flashing on the chronometer. Linda feels strangely nervous.

“You okay?” the first officer asks. “You look a little…” she trails off.

Linda shakes her head. “I’m fine, it’s just…” she casts a look out the flightdeck windows. Herc is no longer at his post by the terminal window. Her heart begins to pound.

“He’s…” The first officer ponders a little. “He’s not your dad, right? I forgot. I know you told me earlier.”

“He’s my best friend,” Linda replies automatically. “We haven’t been in a flightdeck together in—years.”

“I see. Well, I’ll just greet passengers outside,” her first officer tells her sympathetically, squeezes outside, then Linda hears her say, “Oh! Welcome onboard, sir.”

“Thank you,” says a voice she would know on any frequency, anywhere in the world, and Linda is immediately at ease. A second later, Herc pokes his head through the door, bracing a hand on the doorway. “Hello there, Captain. May I enter?”

She rises from her seat. “I’m coming, Herc.”

Linda stands at his side once more in the doorway, and he stares all around the A350 flightdeck with an expression of wonder on his face. “Good Lord, Linda, so many screens. How do you manage?”

“You pull the stick for up and push the stick for down,” she replies dead-pan, and Herc lets out a laugh so loud that several flight attendants and boarding passengers look in their direction. “Herc!” she hisses reproachfully.

Still grinning from ear-to-ear, Herc loops an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. “Yes, Linda?” he asks, maddeningly innocent, and she rolls her eyes.

“Come on, let’s sit,” she says, and begins to lead him further into the flightdeck.

“You’re on the wrong side,” he points out, and Linda realizes she’s automatically drifted to the right seat and her first officer’s already-configured chair.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Captain Fairbairn,” Herc returns with the patience of a primary school teacher.

“I want you on my left.” She knows she sounds like a child insisting it, though she’s got several strands of silver running through her hair and glasses on her nose, but—she knows also that having Herc on her right in a flightdeck like this is not what she had envisioned when dreaming of bringing him up here. “Please,” she adds, as an afterthought.

He cracks a smile. “How very silly,” he says, and it doesn’t sound patronizing from him—it’s got all the affection she remembers. Yet he sits anyway, situates himself in the captain’s seat next to her, and—

The technology is so different from the ancient A320s of Caledonian, and yet—the flightdeck is so familiar.

Like they never left it.

Herc looks across the console at her with a breathtaking smile, and it’s like he’s de-aged about twenty years—maybe more.

“We should have done this,” he says softly, and despite the smile on his face, his eyes are suspiciously bright. “Even if it had been just once.”

“Done what?”

“Long-haul.” He casts a glance over the screens, the evolution of the same instruments that must have guided him for longer than Linda has existed. “Linda, I’ve half a mind to steal this plane,” he changes the subject.

She laughs at him, knowing that regret and Herc are two things that she’s careful not to let mix too much, and goes along with it. “I’m sure you could figure it out if I set it up on the ground,” she says lightly. “If I weren’t concerned about such things as, you know, keeping my job.”

“True, that is of slight importance.” Herc looks behind him, then curls his left hand around the sidestick lightly. The sight sends a wave of nostalgia through Linda—he could very well have been preparing to lift the nose at V1 on Bristol’s runway. “In any case…” He lets go of the sidestick, turns to Linda, and smiles gently at her. A single tear is tracing the groove of a smile line. “I wouldn’t steal an A350 with anyone else in the flightdeck but you.”

Linda reaches across the flightdeck, brushes the tear away with her thumb, and rests her hand on his face.

He leans into it, still smiling.

[d2sejanus--plinth]

@snowalwayslandsontop

A charcoal suit felt fitting for the occasion, along with the black tie, for it was by far not the jolliest of occasions. He debated on skipping the wedding, but at the same time they decided it would look a bit strange if he did, since people knew he was part of Coriolanus' circle. Coriolanus looked magnificent, and he had to make a robust effort not to look at him constantly, with so many other eyes around. He looked handsome, and affable, he was being charming, talking to everyone, cementing more connections, discussing affairs at his own wedding.

It was a wedding of convenience, a business transaction, so Sejanus supposed it was only natural for him to take advantage to mingle like that. As for him, he stuck to corners most of the time, opting for non-alchoholic beverages, trying to ignore his heart breaking to pieces. It was a suffocating atmosphere, and he was only a man, able to watch the man he loved with his beautiful bride curled up to his side only for so long. Even as it all made sense for Coriolanus, as this was the natural next step in his career, Sejanus couldn't help but feel the sting of it, of all it entailed. The preparations, the presence of Livia in their lives from now on, inevitable, the even tighter, compulsive secrecy.

Seeing Coriolanus kiss Livia turned his stomach inside out, he didn't know how he managed to not empty its contents onto the floor. There was a tear or two falling hot down his cheek, that people surely mistook for him feeling touched. He stepped out into the garden, loosening his strangling tie, breathing in the overwhelming scent of roses. He felt sick, but he swallowed hard when he heard footsteps approaching, ready to show his most unruffled, poised face to whoever it was.

It was Coriolanus.

His shoulders drooped, and his face twisted, there was another tear slipping down his cheek. "Sorry. I needed to step out. I'll be in again soon," he tried for his most supportive tone, even offered up a quivery smile. He approached Coriolanus, and grabbed one of his hands self-indulgently, for a little squeeze.

"You really look gorgeous, Coryo," he'd told him already, quite a few times, but it bore repeating. He couldn't breathe, he looked beautiful, untouchable. "How are you faring?" The wedding ring on his finger made Sejanus squirm.

[yandereinc]

Isekai - Yandere!ShalnarkxFem!Reader 03

Prologue Chapter 01 Chapter 02 Chapter 04 Synopsis: You have an unfortunate encounter with Truck-kun which leads you to wake up in the HXH universe.

Shalnark POV

Cute, that was the first thing he thought when he saw you standing there holding a game guide. The way you gasped at it as if it were some priceless treasure.

You were cute. And he was bored. So he came to the totally reasonable conclusion that he should start a conversation with you. You two already had one thing in common after all.

The fear that flashed in your eyes when you got a good look at him just cemented the fact that talking to you would be a good idea. He wondered how you knew about him. From the fear in your eyes you must know he was part of the phantom troupe. He doubted he met you during the hunter exam after all. He still had tabs on his fellow 'graduates' from that year and you weren't one of them. On top of that, you were obviously not a nen user.

For a moment he thought the troupe might've wronged you in some way. But as quick as the fear flashed in your eyes it disappeared. The casual way you spoke to him made him brush off that idea. You clearly weren't a good actress so it was probably from mouth-to-mouth advertisement instead of direct contact.

As the conversation kept going you kept piquing his interest. When he first saw you standing there with that Fortress Watch game guide in your hand he thought you reacted that way because you loved the game. He couldn't blame you if you did he quite liked it as well. But turns out you never heard of the game.

Which was odd for someone who was shopping here. It was odd for anyone to not know the game. It was an amazing game but pretty infamous for how hard they went on the advertisement campaign. Even if you never played it before you would've heard of it.

Then you proceeded to call him by his first name. Which could only mean a couple of things. You either knew him as a hunter or as part of the phantom troupe. From the fear in your eyes when you saw him he bet it was the latter.

But you clearly didn't mean to do that. He doubted you even realized you did. Because he didn't want to scare you away he decided to ignore it. He wanted to keep talking to you while you kept up your cute brave facade. It was adorable to him.

Especially when you proceeded to rave about a game franchise he never heard about. It would be one thing if it was just a small indie game but you claimed it was one of the biggest game franchises. At least until you backpedaled when he told you he never heard about it.

Lying about the game being bigger than it was would be an odd thing to do. And he already marked you as a bad actress. This meant you really did think of it as one of the biggest game franchises.

He couldn't help but notice the way you dodged his question about the content of the game. Nor the fact that you changed it from one of the biggest games to one even rarer than Greed Island.

Unfortunately for him, duty called. But this did give him an excuse to ask for your number.

Only to hear that you didn't have a phone. It wasn't a lie either, and he could tell, you just didn't have one. That fact made him want to laugh. Everything about you made him want to put you under a microscope to find out every little detail and secret.

But that would have to wait. While it was a bit of pain he couldn't text or call you it wasn't that big of a problem. He was quick to run that errand for Paku though. He wanted to know everything about you.

Only to quickly find out there was nothing about you anywhere. After hacking into the surprisingly robust security camera system of the store he managed to get some clear shots of you. Only to find that you didn't have any records at all.

While that wasn't unheard of, he came from Meteorite City after all, and having no records there was par for the course. But you clearly weren't from Meteorite City. You seemed too soft for that.

Still, as he told you, he wasn't one to back away from a challenge. So he used the footage of the nearby security cameras to follow you around. Not surprised to see that you stayed at a hotel.

From there on it was back on easy street as he initially thought things would go. He hacked into the hotel's database and found your name, the room you were staying at, and the payment method you used.

What surprised him was that you used a prepaid credit card. He was quick to look up that company and hack his way inside. His smile widened when he saw your card's history.

It looked like you bought the card yesterday evening as the card wasn't activated until then. But within minutes of you owning it, you put 1000 Jenny on it. That wasn't very odd, but then you proceeded to add more money until you had 100 thousand Jenny.

Again this wouldn't be odd but for some reason, you insisted on not putting more than 1000 Jenny on your card instead of doing it all at once. But then you changed that up again to 50.000 Jenny until you had a million Jenny.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to decipher why you did this he went after a clue you gave him.

The Sims.

You claimed it was one of the biggest game franchises after all. But once more, he found nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a small fan forum. With the way you raved about it it should at least have one of those. But there was nothing.

But not for a single moment did he entertain the thought that you were just talking out of your ass. You were so sure of yourself when you talked about that game.

He thought that researching you would be easy. It clearly wasn't. And he found himself loving that. It would make finally getting to know everything about you feel more like a victory.

Somehow a non nen user caught his attention and he decided to let himself enjoy the ride.