#tagging in order of serial number from now on!

[mirrology]

hello, aventurine with a teen!reader who has a similar past like his?

ノ Oblivion .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ Oblivion: (adjective) a state of unawareness of what’s going on around you. "It's hard to understand, 'Cause when you're running by yourself, It's hard to find someone to hold your hand." — grimes

aventurine & gender neutral reader. platonic | wc: 1.3k

tags/warnings: teen reader, reader works for the IPC and under aventurine, they wear gloves, said glove(s) and go missing unexpectedly, readers hair is long enough to cover their neck, reader is a lil fucked up, they really care what aventurine thinks of them. hurt/comfort.

notes: I really love this idea, the second I saw it. IMMEDIATE BRAIN ROT. IM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG, i was busy with finals and I got sick with allergies T_T. Also trying new layout once more. Other than that, thank you for requesting and hope you enjoy ^^

Your breath picked up as you looked all over your room for your gloves that were nowhere to be seen. They were given to you by your caretaker, they were special, the first gift from him. You had promised that you would take care of them, yet here you were. The missing feeling of the soft cloth around your forearms made you anxious, incomplete, Beads of sweat trickled down your face as you stood in the middle of your room and still donned your night clothes, all while processing your current situation.

The palms of your hands grew increasingly clammy and it was uncomfortable to even stand, no, you couldn't go out like this. You wouldn't go out like this, you slid down to your knees, not short after you landed on your legs with a light thump that resonated within the emptiness of your room. You brought a shaky hand up to the back side of your neck, right where a serial number was forever embedded into your skin.

 A constant reminder of the past you oh so wanted to let go of. The racing beat of your heart was prominent in your ears, your chest felt tight and it was getting hard to breathe. 

Yes, you could wear long sleeves but they would not cover the rest of your hands. They are ugly, almost mutilated by the years of torture that you had to endure. Everytime you moved your hand, the scars on your wrists seemingly burned, ached. They stretched across your skin, they stood out from the rest of you, they didn't belong. Salty tears trickled at the corners of your eyes in utter frustration.

 How could you show your face to Aventurine now? What would he think of you once he found out that you lost his most precious gift?

The deprecating thoughts raced through your mind. Your hands moved to your shoulders, hugging yourself tightly in an attempt to bring some comfort to yourself. You squeezed your eyes shut, your eyebrows furrowed. As you were lost in your mind, a series of knocks on your bedroom door brought you back to reality.

 Four fast taps, a small pause then two more followed. It was a special sequence that you came up with your caretaker. Whenever he wanted to enter your room or talk to you, he just had to knock in that order.

Your head shot up in a quick motion and your eyes widened as you registered the sound resonating from your door. You knew it was Aventurine, but he wasn't supposed to be here yet, not until later. You stayed still, staring at your door silently, hoping that he would leave as you didn't want him to see you in this state. 

“(Name)?” Aventurine's voice resonated from behind the door. “Are you there?” He asked as a slight shuffling sounded out. You jumped, thinking that he was going to open the door right then and there. You quickly stumbled up to your feet and reached up to your head, smoothing out your bed head in an attempt to make yourself more presentable.

“I-im on my way! Please wait!” You called out to the man behind the door as you almost tripped on your own feet towards him. You stopped in front of the door, your hand hovering over the knob. You’re hesitating, recalling how your hands felt bare and vulnerable to the world. Clenching your fist, you took a deep breath in and out.

You slowly swung the door open, a nervous smile plastered on your face. As soon as Aventurine saw you in the doorway his face lit up, he was donned in his usual attire with his iconic fedora and rose colored sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “There you are! I was sure that you were still sleeping” he teased, a playful smirk on his face. You sweatdropped at his eccentric behavior this particular morning, “My apologies, Sir Aventurine” You bowed your head towards him, eyes closed. His demeanor dampened at your action, he put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow. 

“You don't have to use sir when referring to me, ya know?” Aventurine's tone was soft and encouraging, your eyes shot open in embarrassment at the correction but they stayed glued to the floor in front of you. Your face flushed hot and you nodded your head, not trusting your voice enough to stay normal. Aventurine opened his mouth to speak once more but stopped when he noticed tear streaks on your cheeks, his eyes narrowed as he noticed more details that were off about you. 

Your eyes were slightly red as well as puffy, clear signs of crying, as if the tears on your cheeks didn’t give that away. The long sleeve of your sleep wear was balled in your fist, essentially dragging the cloth down to cover your hand, one that was littered in scars. The other hand was clutched against the bottom side of your pajamas as your hand shook. 

Aventurine brought a gloved hand up to your cheek, hovering right over it. You tensed up, your head slowly tilted up to meet his eyes. They were hard to read behind his glasses yet you could make out concern in his dual colored eyes. When you didn't flinch away from his hand, Aventurine pressed his thumb underneath your eye, right where a tear was slipping down.

 He flicked the tear away but didn’t retract his hand, it rested your cheek, the glove that covered his hand was surprisingly warm.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice quiet and gentle as if you would run away just like a startled bunny. You stayed still, tensed up from the unfamiliar touch.

 Your eyes flickered to the side, wanting to shy away from Aventurine’s gaze that was focused on your face, a little too intensely.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the one that he wasn't holding. “I lost.. my gloves, I'm sorry” You sighed, your eyebrows furrowed in distress, awaiting his response and expecting a bad one at that. He blinked, seemingly in a dazed manner as his mind was processing your words one by one. A bemused smile crossed his face, “That's what you're so worried about?” Aventurine tittered, the back of his other hand coming up to his mouth to cover up his laugh.

You let out a confused “eh?” as you managed to look him in the eyes. They were filled with amusement and understandment. This wasn't the reaction that you were expecting.

He chuckled, he moved that hand that was once holding your cheek to rest on top of your head. “It's okay to lose things'' Aventurine's hand started stroking your hair “Material things like that can be replaced, and they were getting old anyway.” He shrugged, a laid back smile now on his face.

Tears sprung up once more, his words were understanding, you don't know what you had been so afraid of.

“but…” You muttered, one of your hands coming up to wipe away the incoming waterworks. “But those were special, right?” Aventurine tilted his head, his thoughts aligned with yours as if he was reading your mind. You gave a small “mhm” and nodded your head.

“Hmm, how about this..” He removed his gloved hand from the top of your head and moved it to cupping his chin. “I'll have your new ones custom made, a replica of your old ones. To preserve the memory.” Aventurine gave you a closed eye smile, hand resting on his hip.

Your eyes widened a small fraction, “You would do that for me?” You meekly replied and clutched your fists, your eyes glossy. Aventurine raised his eyebrows in surprise “Why wouldn't I? You mean a lot to me” He reassured you, that same warm smile still present on his face. Your bottom lip quivered and in one quick motion you tackled him into a tight hug.

Aventurine tensed for just a second, then melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you to hug you back. 

“Thank you…” Your voice muffled from where you buried your face in his shirt. 

“Anytime” He patted your back as the both of you relished in each other's embrace.

[gghostwriter]

Hiya! :D

Since askbox is open, may I please order some slight hurt-comfort based off of "From Eden" by Hozier? Harnessing the pure longing this song emanates to me fr.

Something like non-BAU!reader getting hurt by an unsub during a case (non-lethal but it does require a stitch or two) and spencer gets abnormally worried about this one person among the group of victims (maybe serial bank robberies) and when the team notices it and ask him about it he reveals to them that they're actually his roommate?

something romantic-leaning; I just like the idea of him standing outside the hospital room door [OMG LIKE THE SONG] because the doctors told him to wait before he could go inside sitting there like 🥺 "My roommate :(" and getting embarassed when the team calls reader his partner; "You're so worried it's almost like you're dating." sort of feel

Sorry if this is long btw! I tend to go all out on ideas! Pronouns are up to you though, feel free to change anything to your liking as well! :]

Thanks for reading! :D

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Roommates; Comfort, Fluff, Angst w.c: 1.2k A/N: There's so much interpretation for 'From Eden by Hozier' and I had a challenging time trying to capture which meaning I wanted to encapsulate. This is also by far the longest request I've written and honestly this took a life of its own but I still hope you like it! Main masterlist

Eden. // Spencer Reid

The monotone droll in the bank was white noise in your life that you learned to slowly hate. Day in, day out it was the same thing—customers withdrawing, depositing, and claiming loans. You liked numbers, that was how you ended up as a manager, but the cookie cutter business smile you had to keep on your face was a con you wish to part from. 

You sighed. Your roommate turned secret crush, Dr. Spencer Reid, had warned you about the serial robberies that had happened within the state of Virginia and Washington. He advised you to be vigilant and if possible, to keep your phone within your reach and you easily agreed having heard some of the macabre cases he’d been involved in.

You just didn’t think it would happen today.

“Get down on the ground!” A man’s voice echoed throughout the lobby, followed by a series of gunshots.

Spencer’s voice played in your head as if he was a lighthouse guiding you out from the panic. Hide. Don’t panic. Press the hidden alarm and dial my number.

You thanked your past self for programming his contact on speed dial. Volume down and no words uttered, you hid the phone inside your blouse hoping to not get caught.

“You there!” One of the masked men caught sight of you. “Outside. Now!”

You nodded, averting your eyes to show submission. Another tactic from Spencer.

Wishing the call picked up the trio of robbers voices, you stayed facing down on the lobby surround by the rest of the hostages.

Spencer, please. Please, get my message.

Just a few miles away, tension was high in the BAU conference room. The round table littered with folders and cooling coffee mugs. The team was running on a mixture of caffeine and sheer will to solve the serial bank robber case, tagged as priority by Strauss, that had been terrorizing states for a span of months. 

Spencer raked his already unruly hair. So far, the profile was incomplete. They knew there were three in the team but with varying heights and builds in various crime scenes, even that was shaky. What they were sure of was the sick game of Russian roulette they would play with their hostages, always with one bullet in a revolver and who ever is unlucky, dies with a hole between their brows and the remaining hostages are pistol whipped to unconsciousness. 

He knew he should stay objective. He knew that but how could he, when who he considers as his secret flower was at risk every second the unsubs were at large? It was his mission to keep you safe and the chances of you being caught in the line of fire heightened each second.

Vibration from his pocket brought him out of his musings. 

It was you. Right there and then, Spencer knew it was anything but good. You never called during work hours and with the last conversation between you having been about safety, it had settled in his stomach that the worst reality had come to fruition.

He picked up without saying a word, straining his ears to hear any distinguishable background noise. That was when he heard it—the authoritative, cocky voice yelling at you to come outside. His heart dropped. 

No. No. No. Anything but this.

“Sir, we just got a call,” Penelope rushed into the conference room. “There’s a live hostage taking at—”

“—Commerce Bank. 125 Independence Boulevard,” Reid interjected.

The profilers shared a look.

“That’s right,” Penelope muttered.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at him as he hurriedly stood up and collected his belongings. “Wait Reid—” causing him to stop in his tracks and turn to face back at the team. “—How’d you know?”

“Because Y/N works there,” he promptly exits the room, hightailing it to the elevator.

Emily looked at JJ. “Who’s that?”

She shrugged, lost too on who you were.

———

The team had split into two vehicles. Hotch, Rossi, and Reid in one while Morgan Emily, and JJ in the other.

Rossi glanced at Hotch, communicating the tension Reid was releasing from the passenger seat. In turn, Hotch sneaks a peek via the rear view mirror and profiles Reid’s ticks—hands clasped tight together, right leg shaking up and down, eyes shifting from left to right, and deep breaths through the nose and mouth. 

“Reid,” he called out.

Blown wide doe eyes meet his. “Hm?”

“We need you to stay focused. If you can’t do that, I’ll pull you out of this case.”

“I—I can do it!” His voice cracking.

“Are you sure, kid?” Rossi clarified.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just she’s my—” roommate but that singular title wasn’t fitting to describe who you were to him. No classification was good enough, really. “—I can focus,” he declared. 

There was a series of looks exchanged between the two senior agents. They didn’t need to be seasoned profilers to understand that their youngest is one slip away from panic.

Hotch sighed. “Alright, Reid, but you follow my orders. Got it?”

“Yes.” 

———

Einstein’s theory of special relativity was what came to mind as he paced outside your hospital room. The physicist implied that time moves relative to the observer. An object moving very fast experiences time more slowly than in rest and that was exactly what he felt as he paces back and forth outside your room, desperately waiting for any update—the good or the bad. Everyone seemed to be moving at a leisure pace while he, Dr. Spencer Reid, hangs on the precipice of elation and despair. 

The team had sent him away, to you specifically, when it was obvious that his otherwise objective mind was of no help in finishing up the case. Was it dreadful of him that he felt relief course through his veins when it wasn’t you that got the short end of the stick during the unsubs’ Russian Roulette? Yes, possibly but he was only human. A being filled with conundrums and good vs evil. 

The impact of today was eye opening. He could no longer deny to himself that you were more than just a roommate or an acquaintance or a friend. Oh, how hard he tried so hard to push away any thought that seemed any less innocent or chivalrous, but the idea of seeing those beautiful eyes broken and in pain made him want to face the truth. The truth being how deliriously in love Spencer Reid was with you. 

His phone rang, disturbing his mind-altering revelation thoughts.

“Hey kid,” It was Morgan. “How is she?”

Reid licked his lips, eyes trained on the still closed door. “I—I haven’t seen her. The doctors are still inside and I’m still here—outside.” 

“I know this isn’t the time but should we know who she is?” A pause. “Girlfriend?”

“No. No, she’s my roommate,” his sigh coated in despair, murky and sad enough for Morgan to notice.

“You sounded so worried. It’s almost like you’re in love with her or something.”

“I am—” your door opened. “I have to go, Morgan,” he hung up before another word could be uttered.

“Are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” The female doctor asked.

He nodded.

She smiled. “She’ll see you now.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[saintsylestine]

Pit-Born

Angron x Unamed Person (2nd person POV)

Authors note: Angron/World Eaters ≡ New Hyperfixation. This was kind of a "character warm-up". I wrote a 3rd person perspective too (〃ω〃) will probably post it on here or on AO3...

Chapter 1: Old Blood

It started the same way it always did — with screaming and metal.

The forge-pit echoed like a tomb full of dying engines. Down here, sound didn't travel clean — it rattled, bounced, came back wrong. You could hear a chain whip crack a hundred meters away and still not see who screamed.

You didn't look anyway.

That was Rule One: Don't look. Don't listen. Don't care.

You shoved another data-slate into the auto-filer, its screen cracked, half the glyphs glitching. It smelled like promethium and charred bone.

Not the worst thing you’d filed this week.

The Overseer's boots scraped overhead — heavy, servo-reinforced. You tensed on instinct. Not because he always hit people.

Because sometimes he didn’t.

And that was worse.

You could still feel last week’s bruise where he’d leaned in real close and whispered, “Got a sharp tongue on you, scribe. We'll see how long it stays attached.”

You hadn’t flinched.

You just smiled, right in his rebreathered face, and said, “With respect, Overseer, I’m the only one here who can read the requisitions. Unless you’d like another thousand barrels of corpse starch instead of ammo.”

That had earned you a full day scrubbing latrines.

Still worth it.

---

Your cot — if it could be called that — was a sheet of rebar strung between two rusted wall-beams, up in the tech-shed above the arena. The pit was always visible. Always audible. The noise of violence was your lullaby.

You'd long since stopped waking up at the sound of bone breaking.

You'd been born on a ship like this — or maybe it was a hive, or a mining rig. Honestly, it didn’t matter. They all smelled the same. Sweat. Shit. Cheap oil. Despair.

You had no family. Just bruises with dates on them and the memory of learning to dodge a fist before you could read.

Your first language was Low Gothic, spoken through cracked teeth.

Your second was silence.

Your third — learned in the shadows, in whispers — was High Gothic.

You memorized texts like other kids memorized the sound of their mother’s laugh.

You didn’t have one of those.

But you had a perfect copy of the Imperial Hymn etched into your skull, and you could translate six dialects of tribal war-speak from memory.

That made you useful.

And in this place, useful was the closest thing to safe.

---

You were hunched over a dataslate when the click-hiss of metal toes on steel drew close.

You didn’t look up.

Most people looked when Astartes entered a room.

You’d learned early that looking just made it easier for them to decide where to hit you.

The voice that followed was dry. Precise.

A vox-filtered growl wrapped in High Gothic.

"Subject Delta-9-Zeta. Report."

That was you.

Not your name, of course. You didn’t have a name — just a tag on your dataslates and a serial number on your file.

You didn’t stand.

Just looked up slowly, let your gaze drag over the towering figure in red and brass plate. He wasn’t a full Astartes — not anymore. An old veteran, maybe. One eye augmetic, one hand missing.

More administrator than killer now.

That made him almost tolerable.

"Yes?" you said, dry as reprocessed rations.

"Your assignment has changed," he said, ignoring your tone.

Your heart ticked faster — just once.

Reassignment was never good.

"You’re being deployed with the XII Aggression Fleet. Oversector Caduceus."

Your stomach twisted. That was Eater territory.

"Interpreter-class auxiliary," he went on. "You’ll serve under Primarch command."

Silence.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

"I’m sorry," you said, voice flat. "I thought you said Primarch command. I must’ve inhaled too much ceramite dust. Would you mind repeating that?"

He didn’t.

He just handed you a slate with the orders stamped in blood-red ink.

You read it once.

Twice.

Then let out a low, bitter snort.

"So what was it, then?" you muttered. "Did I piss off someone important? File the wrong report? Fuck the wrong officer?"

"Your reassignment is classified," he said. "Report to Dock H in one hour. You will be armed with a Rosette, an auto-transcriber, and a field lexicon. May the Emperor protect."

He turned and left before you could ask what language the Eaters even spoke.

---

You sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing, the data-slate still clutched in your hands.

You felt nothing.

Or maybe everything, just compressed into a needlepoint of white static.

You’d survived pits. Overseers. Starving.

You’d survived Astartes who treated mortals like flies.

You’d survived by being small, useful, and forgettable.

And now they were throwing you to him.

Angron.

The Butcher.

The Warhound.

The broken thing the Emperor couldn’t fix.

You laughed.

Just once.

Short and sharp and not very sane.

"Fuck me sideways," you muttered, dragging your hands down your face. "Guess it’s a good day to die."

You stood, grabbed your satchel, and walked toward the last job you’d ever take.

---

There was dust in the air, curling like smoke, even though nothing was on fire.

Not yet.

The forge-hold always looked like it was dying, but it never did. It just sagged. Creaked. Bled from its vents like an old animal too stubborn to fall over.

You walked slow, hands in your coat pockets, head down just enough to avoid notice — but not enough to look weak.

The air was thick with machine oil and ash. Someone was getting beaten two corridors over. You could hear the crack of a fist. The small, wet grunt of impact. The quickening rhythm. Then silence.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t even turn your head.

That was just Tuesday.

---

You passed the med-station loading vent — the one that smelled like shit and boiled antiseptic — and nearly missed him.

Small thing.

Pit boy.

Maybe twelve? Maybe less. Hard to say, when hunger took years off your face and added ten more to your eyes.

He was crouched under a rusted console unit, shirt drawn tight to his ribs like it could keep his bones from falling out. His mouth was open a little — not begging. Just breathing wrong.

You walked past.

Then, without looking, reached into your coat and palmed two protein tabs from your stash.

Nothing fancy. Just dry, chalky, corpse-reclaimed synth meat. The kind that kept your stomach from eating itself.

You dropped them by his foot as you passed.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t say a fucking word.

He wouldn’t either.

Not here. Not if he wanted to keep them.

But as you turned the corner, you felt it —

that burning little spot between your shoulder blades, where his eyes were pressed like a brand.

You told yourself it was nothing.

That he'd sell them.

That he'd die soon anyway.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your jaw was tight when you reached the lift.

---

The locker room was empty when you slipped in.

Good. You hated witnesses. Especially the quiet ones.

The overhead light flickered, casting sharp silver across rows of dented lockers, a cracked tile floor, and your rust-stained cot wedged up in the corner where the wall never quite stopped leaking.

You didn’t sit.

You just pulled your coat off and hung it on the dented hook that barely held weight.

Your fingers worked on instinct — removing your worn gloves, checking your satchel’s seals, running diagnostics on your auto-slate.

Busy hands made a quieter mind.

But it crept in anyway — the thought you’d been avoiding all day:

You were leaving.

Soon.

For the XII Aggression Fleet.

For him.

The Butcher.

You exhaled through your nose. Rolled your eyes at nothing.

Then you moved toward the locker.

The back one. The one no one else touched.

It took a kick to open.

You liked that about it.

Inside:

One clean dataslate

A bent stylus

Half a rag stuffed with inksticks

A folded rag you sometimes used as a pillow

A shard of mirror, metal-backed, scavenged from an old downed servitor casing

You pulled it out and turned it in your fingers.

It still had a little rust at the edges.

Still smelled faintly of oil.

You raised it.

Looked.

Your reflection was...

Fine.

You looked fine.

Sharp face. Straight mouth. Dark-ringed eyes. Scar across the bridge of your nose where someone had slammed your head into a filing desk last year.

You didn’t remember what for.

You didn’t wince.

You adjusted your sleeves.

The red thread peeked out — fraying, thin, wound twice around your left wrist.

Not a bracelet. Not anything.

Just… there.

You didn’t remember where it started.

You’d replaced it years ago, probably.

But it was the same color. Always that color.

And it stayed.

But your eyes drifted — just a little — to the hollow under your collarbone, where the skin still bore the ghost of a branding scar.

They’d burned the designation into you at seven.

Later, they reassigned you. Gave you the Rosette.

They never scrubbed the mark.

You ran your fingers over it, once.

Then opened your satchel and pulled out the chain.

The Rosette gleamed, faintly. Cold.

You slipped it over your head and let it settle against your chest like a second spine.

Interpreter.

Liaison.

Disposal.

You smiled at yourself — a tired, crooked thing.

"Dead girl walking," you murmured.

The mirror didn’t argue.

--

The walk to Dock H felt longer than usual.

You told yourself it was the weight of the satchel. The ache in your calves. The extra rations you slipped into the locker for the kid — even though you knew he’d be robbed by nightfall.

It wasn’t the fear.

You didn’t do fear.

Not anymore.

Just… managed expectations.

The corridors stretched on, pipe-lined and blistered with rust. The scent of blood and reek-oil clung to everything. The walls sweated moisture that wasn’t water.

You passed two tech-priests arguing in Binaric over a servitor with a bent spinal frame.

You nodded. They didn’t nod back.

Good.

It meant you were still invisible.

---

Until you weren’t.

The World Eaters came around the corner like a pressure wave.

There were four of them — no escort, no fanfare. Just blood-steam and footfalls that shook the grating under your boots.

They didn’t march.

They stalked.

Armor painted in drying gore. Symbols carved into shoulder plates. Chainaxes clipped at their hips like talismans. Helmets off. One dragged a flayed corpse behind him, trailing blood like a bridal train.

You moved to the wall automatically — you weren’t suicidal — but you didn’t shrink.

Not anymore.

Just… still.

Small.

A shadow in the oil-smoke.

And then one of them looked at you.

Long, slow.

His head tilted, like a predator seeing a noise, not prey.

His face was war-scarred, with ritual cuts down both cheeks, teeth filed into points.

He didn’t snarl.

He smiled.

Just like he was already imagining how you’d look when you stopped breathing.

It was worse than a snarl.

The one behind him said something low — in a dialect you almost recognized. It sounded like Low Gothic, if Low Gothic had been spoken underwater by a dying god.

You caught a single word:

“Pretty.”

Your jaw locked.

You didn’t blink.

The third one — older, scarred across the throat, with a chainaxe in one hand and a ribcage strapped to his back like a trophy — let out a low chuckle.

It rattled your bones.

None of them stopped.

They passed like smoke through flame — too big, too loud, too close.

And when they were gone —

when their scent still burned in your nostrils like hot metal —

you realized your hands were fists.

Your pulse throbbed in your ears.

Your throat was dry.

And your left hand was pressed to your wrist.

To the thread.

Still there.

Still tight.

You released it.

And breathed.

Once.

---

The dock loomed.

Metal towers stretched overhead like broken ribs, lights flickering red in the fog. Servitors clanked in dull circles, unloading crate after crate of munitions, medicae supplies, and human bodies wrapped in tagged cloth.

No one greeted you.

A grox-skinned quartermaster waved you toward a loading bay with a metal stylus like he was swatting a bug.

You stepped into the hangar’s belly.

And froze.

The ship squatted on the far platform like a beast half-woken from hibernation.

Brass-plated. Bladed. Covered in kill-scars.

The hull was decorated in chains. Bodies. Rusted prayer plates hanging like teeth.

Red banners snapped in the oil-wind, each one stamped with a single glyph:

XII. AGGRESSION.

And there, carved deep into the prow —

etched like a curse into the bone-metal surface —

THE WARHOUND.

You felt your stomach curl.

Your knees didn’t buckle.

But they wanted to.

You adjusted your satchel.

Pulled your coat tighter.

The chain around your neck was cold.

The thread at your wrist, warm.

You took a step forward.

And the doors swallowed you whole.

---

The air inside the Warhound was colder than you expected.

Not freezing — just sharp.

Sterile.

Like someone had cleaned it, but only after too much had already rotted inside.

The ramp sealed behind you with a hiss and a hydraulic moan, drowning out the dock’s chaos.

You stood there a moment, letting your eyes adjust, heart pounding too close to your throat.

No welcome party.

Just the groan of metal bones and the sound of your own breathing.

---

The first corridor was long, narrow, barely lit — a transport vein designed for bulk cargo and soldiers too massive to care about human comfort.

You walked it like a ghost.

Boots too light. Shadow too small.

The walls were not quiet.

You could hear them.

Something. Someone. Screaming.

Deep down in the ship’s gut.

Not pain.

Pleasure.

Or whatever passed for it here.

Metal screamed too — engine parts groaning in their sockets, servitors shuffling, plasma lines weeping gas like breath.

You passed a hanging banner — black leather, red ink, stamped with the sigil of the World Eaters.

A single glyph burned into the surface beneath it, carved with a blade instead of inked:

OBEY.

You didn’t stop walking.

But your pace slowed.

---

They didn’t bother showing you to your quarters.

Just dumped coordinates into your slate.

Barracks wing. Deck 7C. Assigned scribe’s cell.

You found it after two wrong turns and one narrow hallway lined with skulls that might not have all been decorative.

The door didn’t open until you swiped your Rosette — and even then, it groaned like it hated the idea of letting you inside.

You stepped into a box of cold steel.

No bunk.

No blankets.

No personal effects.

Just a hard floor, one wall-plate for filing, and a single fixture: a half-broken shrine to the Emperor of Mankind, blackened by smoke.

You looked at it.

Didn’t kneel.

Just stood in the center of the room, flexing your hands.

The floor still smelled like blood.

---

They fed you twice over the next two days.

You didn’t sleep the first night.

Too cold. Too loud. Too full of footsteps you didn’t want to track.

No one spoke to you.

Except one of the ship-serfs, a half-bent wretch with broken fingers who shoved a tray toward you and muttered:

"Don’t look anyone in the eyes, not even the humans. And if he calls for you — don’t run. Just go."

You didn’t ask who he was.

You already knew.

---

On the third day, the vox pinged.

It wasn’t a request.

Just three words:

REPORT TO PRIMARCH.

You stared at the screen.

Then glanced at the door.

Your hand almost lifted — a half-reflex — but didn’t reach for anything.

Instead, you exhaled.

Flexed your fingers.

Rolled your neck until something cracked.

No ritual this time.

No satchel clutching.

No thread-check.

Just you.

And the sound of your own breath.

Then turned toward the upper decks —

and walked straight into the jaws of the Butcher.

---

You expected a throne.

You weren’t sure why.

Some leftover delusion, maybe. Some half-remembered pict of how a Primarch should sit — tall, clean, golden light behind him, banners fluttering.

What you got instead?

Chains.

Dozens of them.

Massive iron lengths suspended from the ceiling like a meat hook cathedral, half-rusted and rattling with every engine groan.

And in the center — seated on nothing, slouched against a pillar of blackened steel —

Angron.

No armor.

Just blood-washed skin and scars that didn’t look like they’d healed so much as calcified into the bone.

He wore a shorn-off crimson wrap around his waist, a torn pelt thrown over one shoulder like a trophy.

The Butcher’s Nails gleamed in his skull, still hot — you could smell the metal.

Smoke curled from where some of them met bone.

He didn’t move when the guards ushered you in.

He didn’t even look.

You had the brief, surreal thought that they might have brought you to the wrong place.

Then he breathed.

And the chains shifted.

---

You didn’t bow.

You didn’t salute.

You just stood there, coat grimy, Rosette heavy on your chest, arms at your sides like you were bracing to be hit.

Not for show.

Out of habit.

You weren’t afraid of dying.

Not in the normal way.

You’d seen death.

Served it coffee. Filed its reports.

What scared you was what was behind those eyes — the not-rightness, the way he looked like a man who had once had a name, a face, a soul — and someone had taken all of it and left the shell walking.

You knew that feeling.

That was the problem.

---

After too long, he looked at you.

The weight of it landed like a slab of stone between your lungs.

Not heat — not rage — not at first.

Just pressure.

Like the whole ship was holding its breath to see if you’d break.

His eyes were red.

Not glowing.

Just… raw.

Like something had been scraped out of him that was never supposed to grow back.

“Interpreter,” he said, voice low and rough, like every word he spoke clawed its way up from somewhere unwilling.

You didn’t answer immediately.

Not to challenge.

Just to remind yourself you still could.

Then:

“Sir.”

The word tasted wrong in your mouth.

---

He pushed off the pillar with a sound like a mountain shifting —

his weight slamming down into the metal with a shudder that echoed through the chains.

He didn’t walk toward you.

He didn’t have to.

He just stood there. Massive. Half-naked. Covered in old warpaint and fresh, flaking blood.

“You spoke to me,” he said.

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“You mocked me.”

You almost smiled.

“Yes.”

A sound broke in his chest.

Not a growl.

Laughter, maybe.

Ugly. Unused.

“And yet you live.”

You tilted your head.

"Not for lack of trying. Sir."

A beat.

No reaction.

Then —

a step.

Just one.

And it was too much.

Your back straightened. Muscles tensed. You didn’t move. But every instinct screamed animal. Run. Kneel. Disappear.

He stopped inches in front of you.

Looking down.

Heat coming off his skin like a forge.

Scars close enough to count.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t lean in.

Didn’t snarl.

He just looked.

And you felt it.

The way his eyes moved — not lazy, not leering — but scanning.

Like reading a battlefield.

Or an old map he used to know by heart.

Your face first.

The scar across your nose —

A rough line where bone had nearly split skin.

Then your neck.

The spot where your coat gaped open just slightly — not salacious, just exposed —

where the edge of your brand still flared faint and red under pale skin.

He saw it.

You knew he did.

You didn’t flinch.

Then your arms —

the sleeves too light, the shadows too obvious.

Old lash lines. Scar tissue where skin had tried to grow back wrong.

And something behind his eyes… shifted. Just slightly.

Not pity.

Not even interest.

Just that silent filing you recognized from men who used to bet on pit fighters.

What hurt.

What healed.

What didn't.

You wanted to say something.

To break it.

But what would you say?

Yes, I survived.

No, it didn’t make me stronger.

Just meaner.

So you said nothing.

And neither did he.

Only—

you watched him watch you.

And knew:

He’d seen more in those ten seconds than most men would in ten years.

And the worst part?

He didn’t look away.

His gaze traveled lower. And landed.

At your wrist.

Just a flick of his eyes.

Not long enough to be certain.

But you felt it.

Like something being filed away.

---

“Why are you here,” he said, voice quieter now.

Not soft. Just... less full of war.

You blinked.

You weren’t sure if it was a real question.

Or if he even knew what it meant.

You gave the only answer that mattered.

“Because someone wants me to die. And they thought you'd be efficient.”

Another pause.

The heat of him didn’t lessen.

But he didn’t move.

“They were wrong,” he said.

You looked up — full into his ruined face, into eyes that had seen more betrayal than the galaxy had names for.

“Why?” you asked.

His mouth moved. Slowly.

Like a man tasting language for the first time.

“Because I haven’t decided yet.”

….

You didn’t say anything after that.

What would’ve been the point?

The god had spoken.

Not judgment.

Not mercy.

Just delay.

And somehow, that was worse.

—

The guards didn't come to collect you.

No vox chirped in your ear.

No voice told you to leave.

But something in the chamber changed.

The air thinned.

The chains went still.

The pressure lifted—not gone, just... redirected.

Like the Warhound had already moved on.

Or begun listening to the next thing.

So you walked.

—

The doors didn’t creak or hiss.

They just opened.

You stepped into the corridor with your hands still at your sides.

Your jaw locked so tight it ached.

Your mouth dry with the aftertaste of blood and something older.

You weren’t sure if you’d been dismissed.

Or released.

You walked.

Slow. Deliberate.

Not because you needed to.

But because anything faster would feel like running.

And you didn’t run.

—

The halls of the Warhound weren’t made for mortals.

They were made for men the size of statues and twice as dead.

Your boots clicked on steel that bore the stains of a thousand campaigns.

Your coat scraped rust from the walls.

And the light overhead stuttered every five meters —

enough to keep you guessing if the shape in your periphery was a shadow, a machine, or a man.

You didn’t look back.

You knew better.

—

Two decks down, you passed an open bulkhead.

Inside: a war-serf chained to a data pillar, his mouth wired shut, fingers twitching over keys he couldn’t see.

His eyes flicked up as you passed.

You nodded.

He didn’t.

You kept walking.

—

The smell changed first.

Oil. Blood. Meat.

The musk of World Eaters lingered in the air like a second skin.

You turned a corner and—

Froze.

A group of astartes stood at the end of the hall like pillars made of hunger.

Their armor steamed with fresh gore. One of them held a helmet under his arm, where brain matter still clung to the visor.

They didn’t look at you. But they didn’t move either.

Like they were waiting.

You inhaled.

Walked straight past.

No eye contact. No quickening pace.

Just small, steady footsteps, echoing like prey walking through a den of sleeping lions.

One of them said something low, in that same guttural dialect.

You didn’t translate it.

You didn’t need to.

You heard the word “pet.”

And you felt the way they said it — not cruel.

Not even mocking.

Certain.

Like they’d already seen how this ends.

----------------------------- to be continued-------

I feel like I need to know more about Angron to write more dialogue for him (／＼) but thank you for reading!! Would love to know your thoughts.

[decayedsword]

Boys Beware

(Electric Guitarist) Ronin Beaufort x (Criminal Investigator) Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Mild Blood, Mentions of Murder, Stalker Behavior, Making out, References to Religion

Reader: Nonbinary (They/them), Second Person POV

Summary:

When you're a rising criminal investigator who finally gets stumped on one of their cases, the only clue you (probably) have is a safety pin left in the middle of an alleyway.

You drown out your sorrows in a bar, only to lock eyes with the lead guitarist of the band on stage.

You can't find it in you to ignore him.

But, you can find it in you to ignore the safety pin tucked by the zipper of his jacket falling from his shoulders.

Read more... below! Cross posted on ao3 under <rottenvamp>

There have been a number of news reports on a new serial killer in town. This is a devastating fact for you, after all, you've spent weeks gathering as much intel you can on him —The Butcher. You kept reading over the list of the clues on the scene, watching videos of the mess of gore and guts he left behind, searching for various motives and connections he may have to his victims, to no avail. He's untraceable. No one would think he existed if it weren't for the occasional body-in-a-satanic-ritual he left every few months.

Your room is currently a mess of papers, pictures, sticky-notes and red yarn because of this new case. As a rising criminal investigator, you believed you could track down anyone, especially after busting down several meth-labs and drug dens. It's as if this guy was testing you, questioning your ego and pride and smirking in your face as he did so.

You sort through the notebooks and documents on your desk. Your laptop lies underneath. Swiftly opening it, a ding comes from your phone. You sigh in frustration. You wanted to go through with this as soon as possible. For someone you didn't know, The Butcher was good at getting on your nerves.

Boss - 17:43
Good evening. You are temporarily dismissed for the week. I request for you to find clues to our “uptown killer.” Thank you.

Ah. Short and sweet, you think as you grit your teeth. Just great.

It seriously doesn’t help how everyone at work says they know the media’s just “lying” and it’s all a big conspiracy. There’s usually no body left behind, and even if there are, their bodies are too much of an amalgamation of blood and bones. Several of your clues are lacking. The only tangible piece of evidence you have in your hands is a safety pin dropped on the scene, and even you’re unsure if it belongs to the killer or not.

The headache bubbles up from your brain to your eyes. You can feel the lack of sleep sinking in slowly. As you massage your temple, a wretched idea forms its way up to your head, pushing away the tired from your mind. Alcohol.

Well, you are of age, and you’ve always seen detectives and police officers drinking in bars during a case, so why not? Your manager basically did give you a week-long break. You knew with how secretive your killer is, you wouldn’t be able to find a trace of them anyway. Might as well put your dismissal to good use.

You grab your jacket off of your chair and head out the door.

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You can’t remember the time anymore.

The lights at the club are bright and almost epilepsy inducing. There’s a band performing on the stage, you don’t care who they are. Sure, maybe they're all somewhat attractive, but you really can't afford a one-night stand right now, and there’s no way in hell that you have time for a relationship. Your grip on your drink tightens in contempt.

You hop off your seat and lean backwards against the counter, taking in the drink the bartender just gave you. It’s disgustingly sweet. You forgot what you ordered for him to make it taste like this. Out of drunkenness, you hope you didn't tell him something embarrassingly edgy.

The familiar numbness nestles itself inside your brain. You’re still exhausted and pissed about the case, and this Strawberry-Shortcake-esque drink is not helping. You bite your lip, running the series of events through your brain again. How the Butcher took lives in the same alleyway, his way of making the victim disappear, the way he tore their stomachs open, the similar trauma marks to the back of the head, the safety pin left behind—

The sharp sound of an electric guitar brings you out from your senses. It’s ruthless, messy, and yet so beautifully mesmerizing. Your eyes move back to the band and maybe you admire the burgundy-haired guitarist and how he presses his back against the blonde singer as she belts out the most melodic tune you could think of. They looked like a match made in heaven, but somehow their aura screamed “just friends”.

You observe how the riffs of the guitar fight against the notes of the singer. It’s a competition that the blonde lets the guitarist win as she rolls her eyes at him. The guitarist only smirks, pressing the pads of his fingers against the strings and only playing harder. He’s truly a sight to behold, the way his jacket falls off his shoulders and pools near his elbows, revealing a black tank top that hugs his toned body. His neck is adorned with a variety of necklaces, but the choker imbued with spikes he wears kind of makes him look like a dog.

Your eyes widen as you move from his neck to his shoulders, seeing a safety pin stuck to his jacket right below a pin with a big red X on it.

You cover your eyes with your free hand as you look down. You’re crazy. This is real life. That man before you is not a serial killer. For a second, the two voices in your head argue back-and-forth about the mystery man. Sure, he's kind of hot, but if he really were The Butcher, wouldn't that put your life at risk? Plus, you just said you had no time for relationships.

You take a sip from your glass and look back up to the stage and find that the blonde is singing again. The guitar is drowned out now, seeing as how it’s overpowered by the harmony of the drums and the keytar.

All is well until you spot a pair of onyx eyes glaring at you from across the room, and a devilish smirk that has you falling for temptation, offering you the fruit from the garden. You swallow. He runs his tongue across his teeth, and you spot a round piece of metal that settled itself nicely on the muscle. You shudder.

After the band finishes their act, the ravenette playing the keytar speaks a few words of thanks into the microphone.

You don’t miss the way the guitarist brings his hand up to his ear, with only the thumb and pinky up, as he stares into your eyes, seemingly prying for information from you. You can physically feel him enter the room in your brain and destroy the months of evidence you've worked so hard on to compile onto one cork-board. He mouths, “Call me.”

You can’t find it in you to turn away.

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You rush home, getting on public transit to avoid being followed. The gut feeling that you’re going to die tonight is unshakeable, and you're more than aware that the chances of you getting murdered on the street only get higher when you're alone. The bus you’re on passes by an alleyway and you swear you see two figures in the dark. Abruptly rising from your seat, you press your face closer to the window, however the shadows have disappeared into the night, reclaimed by the darkness. The bright full moon in the sky laughs at you.

The bus stops. You excuse yourself from the arraignment of people standing. Hurriedly, you tap your bus card onto the scanner and leave, chucking it back into your pocket. Upon entering your apartment complex, you deem the elevator too dangerous. Once it closes, you’re trapped inside with whoever’s in there forever. You opt for the stairs instead, the quick pitter patter of your footsteps breaking the deadly silence of the night.

You reside on the 14th floor. Well, technically the 13th, but due to the city’s fear of superstition, they skipped the number entirely. As you reach your door, there's a package on the ground, and you swear you’re being watched as you stare at it, burning holes into the cardboard. You feel the erratic beat of your heart as you take it indoors, locking the door behind you.

Taking your jacket off and tossing it to god-knows-where, you put the strange box on your kitchen counter. You notice that it has no shipping label, so someone must’ve left this out there for you. You gulp.

You bring out a cutter and tear through the tape sealing it shut. You’re sure you’re sober now, and you feel as though you’re going to release eternal damnation to the world by seeing the contents of this box.

Opening the flaps, you’re met the disgusting smell of rotting flesh. You’re sure of this, this isn’t your first criminal case, you've seen worse than you've smelled. Aside from the foul odor, there’s mix of paper and plastic, and atop the mess is a note in messy handwriting. You concluded the note was not written using someone’s blood after noticing the stains of black ink every few letters. You read.

"Darling detective,

Eager, are we? the desperation and utter obsession you bestow all for this Vicious little butcher? i might as well be your muse, your god even, with the hours you spend looking for me. this is so fucking Invigorating. i wonder if its the same for you, do you Love this? or does it make you want to rot?

see ya in purgatory <3"

Analyzing the text leads you to conclude that whoever-left-this-on-your-doorstep's ego is huge. Claiming to be The Butcher, shamelessly flirting with you, leaving a heart at the end of the note, hell—the act of leaving this package in your very capable hands itself is already prideful. You can feel your eye twitch at the idea.

You don't miss how the capitalized letters spell out "DEVIL." ...What an edgelord.

Moving around the paper and plastic, you're met with a shocking site. The image of a decapitated human hand holding a bleeding heart burns itself into your retinas, and you can feel the smell worsen. You hurry and grab a pair of gloves to ensure that you can send this to the lab for testing.

You go for the heart first. After holding it in your hands you can tell it's fake, a prop, a mere pawn pushed by The Butcher in this silly game of tag. You come closer and sniff the blood dripping off of it, and it's smells like nothing. The realization hits you that it's fucking fake blood that must be made out of cornstarch or some other similar substance. You wish you could crush it in your fist out of anger, but it may be better to keep it as evidence. You hope the hand'll show you better results.

It doesn't. The hand is hallowed out, no bones, no blood, no nothing. The fingerprints and handprints are meticulously scraped off, making it unable to identify who this hand belongs to. You curse under your breath. As much as you hate to admit it, this guy is good.

Stuffing the bloody paraphernalia back into the box, you take off your gloves and wash your hands. You send a quick message to your boss and hope he doesn't reply. You're sick and tired of today. You've created this weird rivalry with a serial killer who might be stalking you, and it's driving you insane.

You punch the wall out of frustration, gritting your teeth as you do so. You shakily breathe through your nose, and decide that this is best resolved tomorrow when you're in the right state of mind. If you tried to look for the serial killer today, you're sure you'd become a murderer yourself and stick a knife down his throat to shut his ego up.

As you flop down to your bed, a mess of pillows and a large blanket, your phone rings. Groaning, you pick up the phone.

"Yes, chief?"

"I thought I told you to call me."

Your eyes are force open by the sound of a voice you don't recognize. This is not your boss. You open your phone and there it says: Unknown Caller ID. With a slightly wavering intensity in your voice, you manage to get out "Who are you?"

A cackle is heard in the background, nauseating and revolting. You can hear the smile he has on his face and you can tell he loves playing with you like this, controlling you like his doll, amongst the other dolls he has chewed open and spit out. You wonder if he's going to ruin you as he ruined them.

"The Devil."

The call ends there, and you're left unsatisfied for the night. This guy has it out for you, but now you're sure that the hot guitarist you saw at the club and The Butcher are one and the same.

You're almost disappointed. The guitarist really looked like he was sweet, like he was an angel who descended from the heavens above, but then he decided to twist this imaginary narrative you've created. He's a fallen angel, from an archangel to the devil himself—that was precisely who the The Butcher is, it's what he stands for. He takes lives with no remorse, just as how god has taken his. The intake of information floods your head, making several deductions and conclusions left and right. You reach for the note, wrinkling the paper with how hard you hold it in your hand.

"see ya in purgatory <3"

You grab your jacket off of the floor and leave your phone behind. You're going to track down a serial killer tonight, and that's final, and you're going to see the look on the devil's face when he's met with an angel of justice. 

 

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

 

You rush to "Purgatory", the name of an alleyway Uptown. The stone walls are covered with graffiti, and if you observe closely, you can smell the scent of blood and death carved onto the pavement. There's a strange feeling that you're not welcome here, like the crows themselves would swoop down from the sky to peck at your insides and steal your humanity. You let out a shaky breath and go deeper into the alley.

There's no light coming from inside Purgatory. The other side of the way is blocked by a building, walls overgrown with vines and white flowers. With how beautiful this scene can be, you find yourself a bit surprised that this is where The Butcher's murders take place. You remember you were here a month ago, investigating the death of one of his victims when you found the safety pin on the ground. 

Your breath is taken from you when someone slams you against the wall. Your heart is stolen from you when he stares at you, grotesque and rotten and grinning like the devil he is. There's blood dripping out of his nose and you fight the urge to wipe it off him alongside his smirk. He leans in closer, and you flinch, closing your eyes. The Butcher pulls you close to him, your bodies flush together. He throws his head back and cackles, just like how he did over your phone call. It makes your stomach flip upside down.

The murder of crows caw in unison, acting as a messenger to allow you to finally open your eyes. His gaze, once more, burns into yours, and you're met with the ever-familiar onyx eyes you saw at the club tonight. He's taller than he acts, especially with how his back hunches to level himself with you, admiring your face. 

"Good morning, darling." he whispers, his raspy voice making itself heard in your ears, and you're sure that this is it, this is temptation, this is what Eve saw in the garden that day, this is what made her turn away from Adam and fall for the serpent. He grins and it's oh-so mischievous.

Dawn approaches. The sky's a light purple, and you can feel your sweat prickling down your neck. His breaths are felt against your lips, and maybe, maybe, this is where you fall, this is when you bite the fruit he's bitten into, and this is where your body will rot. You can feel his intention to devour you, to gut you alive and laugh as he does so. You're not scared, you could never be, this is love in its purest form, its sickest form, and this almost-parasocial relationship you've developed finally becomes requited.

You pull him by the collar; his lips are heaven and his tongue is hell. He tastes forbidden, but you're too far gone to notice. His hands slither to your waist, pulling you closer. His tongue piercing is cold in contrast to his mouth, making you shiver. Your hands are now at the back of his neck, begging, urging him for more. There's so much to take from him and so little time to do so. When he pulls away, there's a thin line of saliva that connects your lips, and your face flushes at the indecency.

The Butcher stares at you. You stare back. The tension in the air is thick. The sun's almost up. You two could so easily get caught like this. You swallow the fruit he's given you, and now you're expecting to be condemned to hell.

"You're pathetic." he whispers with a grin. You fiddle with the spikes on his collar. You whisper back.

"You love me for that."

———𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪———

"Good morning citizens! Today's news comes from our local police department. A criminal investigator seems to have gone missing after being given a one week dismissal to find clues related to a serial killer you may know the name of, "The Butcher." Witnesses say the investigator was at a bar the night before they went missing, however no one knows what follows. More recent news about the kille—"

"Hey!" You screech, trying to reach the remote from your boyfriend's grasp. "I was watching that, you know!" 

He holds the remote high in the air as you try to grab it, laughing at your desperation to watch the show.

"Ronin, you dick!" 

It's almost domestic in a way, how the two of you managed to end up in his apartment, hiding from the watchful gaze of the divine and the powerful, but this is not your happy ending. He is a murderer and you are a dead person walking.

[planetofsnarfs]

Peter Dering, the founder and CEO of San Francisco-based company Peak Design, issued a statement Friday after he told the New York Times in a report published on December 5, as soon as he saw photos of the bag, he contacted police. Dering also told the Times if police were to ask for help he would “check with his general counsel about what information he could release without violating the company’s privacy guidelines.”

Dering had told the Times in the December 5 story the person at the tip line who answered his call said there were “hundreds” of calls identifying the gray bag worn by alleged gunman Luigi Mangione as a Peak Design item.

Still, some have taken to social media to call Dering a “snitch.” One TikTok user suggested Peak Design bag owners remove the serial tags on their bags and others have suggested returning bags.

It is standard for a company to share customer information in response to a court order or subpoena, according to Greg Ewing, a data privacy attorney in Washington, DC.

Are companies violating consumer privacy?

Amid data and privacy concerns, users have questioned what tracking serial numbers means for customers re-selling products or buying secondhand.

“What if somebody gave this to me as a gift and now I’m going to jail because they committed a crime, because you wanted to tell somebody that was my backpack? That is very scary,” one TikTok user posted to the social media platform.

Ewing said such a scenario is possible. The issue is companies are limited by the data they collect and, in the case of Peak Design, data is voluntarily registered. If a product is sold and not re-registered, information could be tracked to whoever first made the purchase.

Another TikTok user posted in a video, “nobody wants you to save the day.” The user questioned what information the company has access to.

“You didn’t have to tell anybody about anything,” the user said.

peter dering | peak design

[kiyomitakada]

near for the character ask!

oh god. i'm going to be so real i do not understand near at all (or any of the wammy kids honestly) (the serial killers are much more intuitive). this is a fun challenge and i will Try

favorite thing about them: i love when near is a smug little shit. especially the grin on "you let the kidnappers steal the notebook right under your nose" and also calling light just to say "wrong number" and hang up again.

least favorite thing about them:

can you tell ive been having way too much fun with the manga font

favorite line: i love the entire warehouse monologue so much but if i had to pick a part: "even if there is a god… …and i had his teachings before me, i would think it through… …and decide if that was right or wrong myself."

brOTP: hmmmm. i think near and rester are fun. i like when near says shit like "light yagami is a ladykiller" and rester is like "near please take this seriously." i also like that rester is constantly on the verge of a heart attack because of this eighteen year old who needs him to order flight tickets.

OTP: i never talk about meronia because i feel like the manga has said all it needs to say. what if we were child soldiers raised for a single purpose and what if that purpose abandoned us and what if you left me in the pouring rain and i looked down at my puzzle and told myself if you can't win the game you're nothing but a loser and i wasn't sad and i wasn't sad and i wasn't sad and i snuck into your room afterwards just to say some kind of goodbye and found your photograph there and kept it on me for the next five years like some war widow, which i suppose i am, mello, how funny. i fell in love with a war. no one told me it ended. the next time i could find enough reason to talk to you was when you were negotiating a hostage exchange and you cracked a bar of chocolate in half and you must have known i would have recognized you from that, you must have done it on purpose. you killed almost my entire army and pointed a gun at my head. dear mello. i lived five years without you and saw you once and then you left me without saying goodbye. again. what were you thinking? was it for L? was it for me?

it doesn't matter.

nOTP: none i think! i can't really see near with anyone in the spk but i could be convinced

random headcanon: diagnosed with an incredibly poor prognosis very young (chronic illness etc.) and pieced together the kira case with a deep sense of impending doom the entire time. you see this is funny because near outlived everyone else

unpopular opinion: i don't look at successor tags enough to know if this is an unpopular opinion but it's An Opinion: near can do both snarky piece of shit who is remarkably blase about death AND tragic & pining heir to a legacy that never should have been handled alone. near! is! multitalented!!!!

song i associate with them: teen idle, for obvious reasons, but if i had to pick something else… uhhh. oh god i don't listen to enough music for this.

okay i've spent 15 minutes on this question now so im going to say fuck it and assign near a light song. the killing kind

favorite picture of them: it's a tossup between these two i think

cute <3

[lesbiandeancas]

so @venndaai tagged me a bit ago in this book meme "10 books you hope to read in 2025" (thank you!!)

obviously we are a bit into 2025 at this point so I decided to make it

5 books I have read in 2025 and 5 books I hope to read in 2025

in no particular order:

1. infinite jest by david foster wallace

go ahead and point and/or laugh. I can't stop thinking about this book. I'm obsessed with hal and with pemulis and with joelle and... there are so many good characters. steeply is problematic as fuck but deeply interesting if you read her as a trans woman who is figuring herself out through this assignment. dfw can burn in hell for various reasons though and thosd include what happens with poor tony.

2. annihilation by jeff vandermeer

really quick visceral read. I really enjoyed it. I understand why fans of the book don't like the movie but I saw the movie first so idk. I still like the book more but I think the movie is also good and its own thing and that's okay. also I do see jennifer jason leigh when I read about the psychologist.

3. duma key by stephen king

not my favorite king book but I really shipped edgar and wireman and wanted them to kiss so bad

4. the angel's cut by elizabeth knox

this is the sequel to a book I read back in 2020 after destiel went canon called the vintner's luck. that one came out back in the 90s and honestly if not for that fact I would think it was a destiel fic with the serial numbers rubbed off. it was so good though and I really enjoyed the sequel and the continuation of xas's story. this sequel did come out after season 4 of supernatural however and there are some things that make me think knox watched the show like for example at one point xas puts his hand in a pot of boiling water. anyways!

5. raw dog by jamie loftus

I'm about halfway through this rn. it's half history of hotdogs and examination of their production and problems thereof, and half travel/food memoir that examines not only how the food tasted and hotdogs vary by region but how the consumption of these dogs affect loftus's body and relationship. plus a detailed examination of the competitive eating scene and live reportage from a Nathan's famous hotdog eating contest on the 4th of July. so yeah highly recommended if any of those things sound interesting to you!

6. never flinch by stephen king

I just started this and am super excited to read it. I love holly gibney and know more about her than stephen king does (she is a lesbian) (idk maybe he does know. I havent read it yet.)

7. authority by jeff vandermeer

this is the sequel to annihilation and I'm about halfway through it right now. I'm really enjoying it and I feel like maybe a lot of inspiration for severance came from this series? maybe I'm wrong but it really starts to feel like it in this book and when you consider how heavily brainwashed and hypnotized the southern reach workers were in the first book it's pretty similar to lumon and the severance procedure plus there's literally a character named severance in this book. anyways like I said I'm really liking it

8. legends and lattes by travis baldree

I bought this a while ago and see it recommended everywhere. I think this will be a great camping/beach/picnic read over the summer!

9. lucy undying by kiersten white

I just bought this today at daffodil romantasy in eugene and the woman behind the counter very enthusiastically recommended it. it's about lucy westernra having lesbian sex as a vampire in london

10. acceptance by jeff vandermeer

I'm hoping to continue the series. I would have put the fourth one on here but I ran out of room. anyways I heard the 4th one was a little disappointing? but I'll still probably read it haha

tagging @freakoutgirl @amaralesbian @halftruthsandhyperbole @oldmanpuppyplay @hyumjim @glowfriend @fifthnormani and anyone else who would like to do it!

[the-record]

mine…

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

synopsis: abby’s new to town and you just have to show her around…

pairing: college!abby x reader

warnings: none me thinks

a/n: hi so another smau type bc yall LOVED the last one. im sorry ab not finishing the series, tumblr isn’t the best to write on its been majorly glitchy for me and it would’ve taken me 20 hours to write those

my masterlist

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

you were in college, working part time waiting tables left a small town, never looked back i was a flight risk with a fear of falling wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts

“hi, im abby, ill be your server today, can i get you started with some drinks?”

you looked from your friend as your server arrived, seeing a tall blonde girl you’d yet to see here.

“hi, you’re new.” you smiled sweetly before answering. “ill just take a water,” she nodded before looking to ellie. she ordered a coke and abby left with a nod. “shes cute.”

“not my type.” you rolled your eyes at her, leaning back into the booth. “i know, im not stupid, you meant for you.”

you looked over to see if she was near, findinf her not to be, before turning back to ellie. “where do you think shes been hiding all this time, i’ve literally never seen her here before?”

“a water and a coke.” the drinks were placed on your table along with two straws. “are you ready, or would you like some time to look over the menu.”

you shook your head as you unwrapped your straw. “no, we’re all good.” you and ellie both ordered, but before abby left you stopped her. “wait, where are you from? you new?”

she nodded, stepping into a more comfortable position infront of your table. “yea, actually, just moved last week. im from jackson, small town about an hour from here.” you hummed.

“interesting, so you’re here for college then?” ellie kicked you and you scoffed, shaking your head at her. “just trying to get to know the pretty lady a bit, chill.” abby blushed and you smiled. “so, college?”

“yea, closest college, didnt wanna go too far from home.”

“cute. okay, ill leave you be now, nice to meet you though abby, welcome!”

you left your name and number on a napkin.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

abby: hey, this angel?

angel: sure is babe

abby: hey it’s abby

angel: well hi! was kinda nervous you didnt see the napkin lmao

abby: i was kinda nervous to text you

angel: you’re cute.

angel: anyways i did have a reason for leaving my info

abby: really? i thought u must just give it out to all strangers.

angel: hardy har. good one.

angel: ANYWAYS

angel: wanna go out sometime? i know this super cute restaurant

abby: yea sure why not

angel: cool, ill send you the address. friday at 7 work?

abby: perfect.

ill say “can you believe it?” as we’re lying on the couch the moment i can see it yes, yes i can see it now

yourinstagram

yourinstagram first date, kinda nervy shes a serial killer

tagged: a_anderson

load comments…

a_anderson only u could take this pic and make me seem crazy

↳ yourinstagram its my specialty

dina_nolastname oh u found one that ties shoes? look at you go

↳ elliewilliams i tie ur shoes all the time okay

elliewilliams cute ig

jessesucks ill tie ur shoes for u

↳ yourinstagram please dont. you wear velcro shoes

do you remember we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time you made a rebel of a careless mans careful daughter you are the best thing that’s ever been mine

a_anderson

a_anderson @ the random passerby who took this and airdropped it to me, ill name my firstborn after u

tagged: yourinstagram

load comments…

yourinstagram we r so cute 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

↳ a_anderson wanna makeout?

mannynotnanny i h8 u

↳ a_anderson manny cannot spell: ✅

owenmoore69 been there 2 weeks and already moved on

jerry_anderson So happy for you Abs. Miss you! ❤️❤️❤️

↳ a_anderson miss you more dad 🤍

elliewilliams gag.

↳ a_anderson go away.

↳ yourinstagram yea, go away.

flash forward and we’re taking on the world together and theres a drawer of my things at your place you learn my secrets, and you figure out why im guarded you say we’ll never make my parents mistakes

abby: i have no hoodies

abby: you have any idea why?

angel: …

abby: angellllllllllllll

angel: THEYRE SO COMFY THO

abby: so ill buy u some

angel: but theyre yours i dont want new ones i want YOURS

angel: please you cant take them

angel: they’re mine now

abby: babe i need one

angel: you have one tho

abby: okay but it doesn’t go with my outfit

abby: just the grey one for today and ill bring it home tn

angel: promise?

abby: promise.

angel: fine. bring me a slushy

abby: whatever you want babe

abby: omw.

but we got bills to pay we’ve got nothing figured out when it was hard to take yes, yes this is what i thought about

abby: come over

angel: i cant love

abby: fine, ill come over

angel: no i cant come over bc ive got work in 30

abby: nooooooooooo

abby: call out.

abby: please.

angel: i would but i have rent due this weekend and my car payment the next

abby: just move in with me

angel: mhm yes whatever you want love

abby: no, like im serious

abby: move in

angel: isnt that kinda stereotypical

abby: what moving in after 2 months?

angel: yea yk uhaul lesbians??

abby: and? move in

angel: okay i actually really want to but i still have work so i gotta get ready

angel: but ill come over after and we can talk ab this????

abby: yay! see you then, have a good shift, text me if u need me 🤍

do you remember we were sitting there by the water? you put your arm around me for the first time you made a rebel of a careless mans careful daughter you are the best thing that’s ever been mine do you remember all the city lights on the water? you saw me start to believe for the first time you made a rebel of a careless mans careful daughter you are the best thing thats ever been mine

yourinstagram

yourinstagram best thing to ever be mine 🤍

tagged: a_anderson

load comments…

a_anderson come over i miss u

↳ yourinstagram i left an hour ago 😭

↳ a_anderson UR POINT?????

elliewilliams cringe.

dina_nolastname where r u

↳ yourinstagram cali… we got bored

↳ dina_nolastname GIRL

jessesucks y wasnt i invited??!?!

↳ yourinstagram bc ur u?

↳ dina_nolastname you’ll get em next time

↳ elliewilliams HA

and i remember that fight, 2:30 am as everything was slipping right out of our hands i ran out crying, and you followed me out into the street braced myself for the goodbye ‘cause its all ive ever known and you took me by surprise you said, “ill never leave you alone.”

“maybe i shouldnt move in,” you said, testing how far the both of you could go.

abby sighed, throwing her hands in the hair. “maybe you shouldnt!”

you watched the regret make into onto her face as your heart sunk. you headed out the door, grabbing your keys as you went. you almost made it to the car when you heard abby yelling your name.

“angel, please!” you turned to face her, just feet from your car. you heard thunder start as you waited for her to get closer to you. “im so sorry, please i dont mean it and you know it.”

“im never gonna leave you alone.”

you said, “i remember how we felt sitting by the water and every time i look at you, its like the first time i fell in love with a careless mans careful daughter she is the best thing thats ever been mine.”

a_anderson

a_anderson officially all moved in 🏡

tagged: yourusername

load comments…

yourusername i made her vaccum

↳ a_anderson u didnt make me do anything

↳ yourusername hmmm

elliewilliams housewarming party when

↳ a_anderson never.

mannynotnanny happy for you abs

dina_nolastname MY BABY SHES SO HAPPY MWAH MWAH MWAH LOVE U ANGEL

jerry_anderson My girl is so grown up, love you Abs ❤️❤️❤️

↳ a_anderson love you too dad, miss you ❤️

hold on, make it last hold on, never turn back you made a rebel of a careless mans careful daughter you are the best thing thats ever been mine

yourusername

yourusername happy 1 year baby. i love you 🤍

tagged: a_anderson

load comments…

a_anderson so lucky to love you 🤍

dina_nolastname happy 1 year dorks, love u both sm im so happy for u ur perfect

jessesucks yall r so cute omg

jerry_anderson Abby picked a good one, love you Angel. Happy 1 year to you two! ❤️❤️❤️

↳ yourusername thank you jerry 🤍 love you too, we will be visiting soon promise

elliewilliams photocreds where?!?

↳ yourusername i hate you.

↳ a_anderson up my butt.

↳ elliewilliams ur so immature goodness.

do you believe it? we’re gonna make it now and i can see it i can see it now

[seidenbros]

Bloom

Pairing: Wylan van Eck x Jesper Fahey

Summary: “You’re not gonna take me home, empty my bank account and let me vanish into thin air, so nobody will find me again?” Wylan raised his eyebrows in question, making Jesper stare at him for a moment, because he caught him completely off guard with that. “Sorry, I watch a lot of true crime documentaries and listen to Podcasts about that topic.” “Whoa, wait, so now I’m giving off serial killer vibes?” Jesper tilted his head to the side, equally amused and concerned. “You asked me out, remember.” “Fair.” Wylan let out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down Jesper’s spine, because it sounded like he was loosening up a little bit, which was a good sign. “It’s just… dating can feel so high stakes.” or Wylan asks Jesper out on a first date and he's more nervous than he would have thought possible, but Jesper manages to ease that tension a bit. First dates are allowed to be awkward, right? Inspired by the song Bloom from In Pieces with some of the lyrics worked in.

Warning/Tags: fluff, first date, first kiss, modern AU

Read on AO3

They hadn’t exchanged numbers, and right now, it felt a little ridiculous that he was really here, in front of this fancy restaurant to meet up for a date with a stranger. Well, not a total stranger, because he’d known his name for weeks, had seen him come into the coffee shop every second day, and he’d even memorised his order. He’d tried to flirt with him as well, but at first, he hadn’t realised it, and once he had, he’d only blushed and hadn’t really reacted. Not that Jesper was complaining, because he looked even cuter with pink cheeks, that showed him that his words had an effect on him, but at the same time, he’d thought that he wasn’t interested. Until this afternoon when Wylan had asked him out on a date. It had been so unexpected, so bold, that Jesper had only nodded at first, trying to regain his composure while Wylan had told him when and where to meet him. Luckily, Inej had listened in, because Wylan had been gone so quickly, that it had seemed like some sort of fever dream. Especially because Wylan was coming from a rich family, had been brought up here in the city while Jesper had grown up on a farm with his father after his mother had passed, had always used his hands to work, and while he was here now, he was still a country boy deep down.

Standing here now, waiting for him, Jesper had a feeling that he’d imagined all of that, that it hadn’t really happened, but then he appeared. There was this fluttering feeling he’d had before when he’d looked at him, that he always pushed aside because he didn’t want to deal with it, think about it. It had no business being there, so Jesper just smiled and looked Wylan up and down as he approached.

“Sorry, I hope you didn’t wait too long,” he said as soon as he was standing in front of Jesper, taking a step closer then stopping himself again. Wylan raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, but then his fingers lingered a little on the tie he’d put on that was in Jesper’s opinion a little over the top. Or maybe, he was underdressed considering the restaurant Wylan had chosen which was rather fancy and expensive.

“Not at all.” Jesper watched him for a moment as Wylan licked his lips, seemingly nervous. “Is everything alright? Or do you regret asking me on a date?” It was a possibility after all, since it had seemed so spur of the moment that Jesper was still surprised that Wylan had asked him at all. He was usually so quiet and shy and all of a sudden, he’d done this.

“No, no! Definitely not, I’m just.. I guess I’m just a bit awkward.” The sigh that fell from Wylan’s lips made Jesper smile softly. He was nervous, more than that actually, but he didn’t have to be.

“First dates are allowed to be awkward, so don’t worry.” Placing a hand on Wylan’s shoulder, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not here to play games with you or anything, I’m genuinely interested. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” With anyone else, yes, but not with Wylan, who was so interesting, who lured him in so easily, that he hadn’t even thought twice about coming here. It wasn’t about getting Wylan into his bed or ending up in his, it was about getting to know the person better that had been on his mind for weeks.

“You’re not gonna take me home, empty my bank account and let me vanish into thin air, so nobody will find me again?” Wylan raised his eyebrows in question, making Jesper stare at him for a moment, because he caught him completely off guard with that. “Sorry, I watch a lot of true crime documentaries and listen to Podcasts about that topic.”

“Whoa, wait, so now I’m giving off serial killer vibes?” Jesper tilted his head to the side, equally amused and concerned. “You asked me out, remember.”

“Fair.” Wylan let out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down Jesper’s spine, because it sounded like he was loosening up a little bit, which was a good sign. “It’s just… dating can feel so high stakes.”

Yeah.

Jesper really got what he was talking about. He hadn’t dated anyone in a long time where he’d thought, hoped that it could be something more, something meaningful. He’d met up with people, some of these meetings could even be called a date, but all of these had only served the purpose of having some fun together. Nothing more.

“Look,” he said, carefully reaching for Wylan’s hand to make him look up at him again. “It doesn’t have to be deep or hard, we can just enjoy the evening together and see where it takes us, alright? But you need to lower your guard for that.”

“I know… and I want that.” Wylan raised his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, disheveling it even more like this. “It’s just not that easy, and I haven’t had that many dates.”

Jesper didn’t ask how many, and he wasn’t going to judge anyway, but it seemed like he needed to take the lead here. Not that he was the most experienced considering proper dates, but he knew a thing or two about loosening up, and that was what Wylan needed.

“Alright, then let’s skip this restaurant.” Pointing his thumb at the door behind him, his lips twitched up into a smile again.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a nice restaurant, don’t get me wrong.” Wylan had obviously put a lot of thought into the choice of place and of his outfit, which Jesper appreciated and admired, but it was just a tad too much, and that put pressure on this whole date in his opinion. “But a little too uptight. I know a nice place where we can sit outside. And where you won’t need that.” Jesper took a step closer and reached out his hand. Wylan didn’t budge, but he held his breath while Jesper loosened his tie, before he took it off him and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. Wylan would get it back later on.

“Okay, better?” Tilting his head to the side, there was a smile appearing on Wylan’s lips that lit up his whole face. He was probably still nervous, but at least, he seemed to be feeling a little calmer than before.

“Better. Come on!” Without hesitating, Jesper grabbed Wylan’s hand and started walking with him. At first, Wylan’s hand was stiff in his, but then his fingers curled around Jesper’s to hold onto him. “It’s the same direction as the coffee shop.” To which Wylan definitely knew the direction, just like Jesper, so Wylan kind of started leading the way. At least until they had to abruptly stop while crossing the street, because a car was honking at them.

“Hey, we have the right of way here!” Wylan shouted at a car after they’d nearly been hit by it. Jesper’s heart was still thumping against his ribs, because he’d been so focused on Wylan that he hadn’t paid that attention to where they were going.

“No, we don’t,” Jesper realised with a start, chuckling to himself. “Being with you seems a little dangerous.” He wasn’t being completely serious, but it had been a while since he’d last nearly been run over, and he could definitely do without it. Still, adrenaline was rushing through his veins, and the same seemed to hold true for Wylan judging by his next words, because they were so unexpected.

“Hit by a car right as we’re finding love.” Wylan grinned up at him, but upon realising just what he’d said there, his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I promise I’m not hearing wedding bells. Yet.”

Jesper let out a laugh, crossing the street with him as the traffic light turned green for them. “I mean, we barely know each other.” Which hadn’t stopped other people from getting married, but since they were both a bit nervous about this whole dating thing, they were really very far away from thinking about marriage or anything of the like.

“Exactly like… what’s your favourite movie or your midnight treat?” Wylan seemed to be genuinely curious about this, which was the best part.

“I can’t really tell you a favourite movie, there are just too many.” Depending on the mood he was in, what he was going for, there were too many to choose from. In addition, if he named one, he’d change his opinion a moment later, so he couldn’t give him a good answer. “As for a midnight treat, I usually go for strawberry ice-cream. Or a bag of crisps.”

“Oh I’m right there with you, but I prefer mint chocolate chip ice-cream.” Wylan grinned up at him, seemingly loosening up more and more, which was a good sign.

“And you? Do you hog the covers or do you overheat?” Maybe a bit more personal than Wylan’s question, but it was kind of fun to get to know this.

“Definitely hog the covers. What about you?”

“I am my own furnace,” Jesper said with a laugh. They reached the restaurant he’d talked about, so he let go of Wylan’s hand to hold the door open for him. “After you.”

“Sounds like we’d make a good couple.” As if he’d said too much, Wylan blushed again, but quickly walked past Jesper, who couldn’t stop grinning, because the same thought had crossed his mind.

For now, he followers Wylan inside, but then took the lead and walked straight through to the little garden that was part of the restaurant but had a more relaxed flair about it. There were tables set between the plants, the tables only lit with candles, which cast the table in a warm glow. It wasn’t too dark due to the lights surrounding them, in fact, it was just right, a bit romantic even.

“This is really pretty,” Wylan said as he sat down, casting his eyes around once more, before ultimately looking at Jesper. “It was a great idea of you to come here.”

“You haven’t even tasted the food yet.” With a chuckle, Jesper took his seat as well. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

They decided to share a bottle of wine and get a platter with different things to share, so that Wylan could taste a couple of dishes. Jesper approved of this choice, since they had so many wonderful things that he was never really able to choose or ordered more than one anyway. Sharing with Wylan was the perfect combination.

“So, what are your passions? Where are you headed with your life?” Wylan asked, lifting his wine glass again to take another sip.

“That’s a big leap from the first questions.” Jesper tried to hide his smile behind his glass, because Wylan was blushing once again.

“Sorry, getting ahead of myself again.”

For a moment, Jesper wondered just how many dates Wylan had had, and how those had gone for him, but all that mattered was that Jesper wasn’t running away. He was right here with Wylan and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, because he was enjoying himself. In the end, Wylan’s questions only showed that he was interested and that was a great feeling.

“No need to apologise.”

When their food arrived, Jesper thanked the waiter, before glancing over at Wylan again. He’d taken off his jacket, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, and he looked even softer in the warm glow of the candle. Everything in Jesper screamed to reach out his hand and brush some curls from his face or even get up and finally figure out if his lips were as soft as they looked, but that would be highly inappropriate, wouldn’t it? After all, he didn’t want to send the wrong signals, because he really wanted to get to know Wylan better, and not end up with another one night stand.

That was why they talked over dinner, about their mutual love for music, the first time they’d broken a bone, the first time they’d gotten drunk, and they even scratched the subject of their families. Jesper quickly realised that it wasn’t an easy topic for Wylan, so he steered the conversation into a different direction.

“Do you always have something to draw with you?” Jesper asked once they’d finished their dinner, pointing at the satchel he’d never seen Wylan without. Sometimes, he came to the coffee shop to just grab his coffee - tea in the afternoons - and a muffin or cookie - muffins during the week, cookies on the weekends - but sometimes, he spent his afternoons there with a notepad in front of him, drawing away. Jesper had no idea what he was drawing, but he seemed to find some tranquility in the coffee shop when it wasn’t so busy.

“Yeah, so I have it handy whenever I get inspired.”

“So you get inspired at the coffee shop.” It was a mere observation, but the way Wylan looked at him, paired with the heat that rose to his cheeks once more, already told him more than he would have thought.

“You could say that,” Wylan mumbled, but then he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. “I used to draw with my Mum before she passed, so I always feel close to her in a way. Drawing brings back great memories, and I just love drawing people in everyday situations.”

“So does that mean you’ve drawn Inej?” Oh, he was curious about something else entirely, but he was going to start with this.

“Yes. I can show you if you want.”

“Please do!”

Wylan reached for his satchel and opened it up to take out the notepad. After turning a few pages, he handed it over to Jesper.

“Are you kidding me?” Eyes wide, he looked at the picture, then at Wylan. “This is amazing. It looks just like her.” He’d captured her perfectly, the way her hair fell over her shoulder, the soft smile she reserved for people she was close to like him.

“Thank you. If you… if you want, you can turn the page.”

Now, Jesper was even more curious, excited as well, because he was hoping for something specific, and he wasn’t disappointed. Once he’d flipped the page, he saw himself in the coffee shop, leaning back against the counter, wearing the apron he had to wear for work. He was grinning at something, which wasn’t a rare occasion, and it was happening again right now. There was something fluttering inside his chest, a spark that Wylan had ignited already, that was beginning to grow.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t stop myself.” What Wylan didn’t tell him, was that it had been the first drawing but definitely not the last.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Sorry if it’s a bit creepy. I swear, I’m not a stalker or anything.”

“Wylan…” Jesper suddenly had to laugh as he reached out one hand over the table to take Wylan’s. “I didn’t think you were. I’m just in awe of your talent. And flattered that you drew me and made me look this good.” Oh, Jesper knew that he was good-looking, but seeing this drawing was still something else, because it showed him from Wylan’s point of view.

“It’s easy with a pretty model.”

“Oh you do know how to flatter me.” Unable to wipe the grin off his face, Jesper leaned forward, but before he could do or say anything else, he felt something wet on his hand. A drop. And then another, and then even more. “Ahh shit. Come on!” Jesper quickly put the notepad beneath his jacket to shield it from the rain, pulling Wylan to a stand so they could run inside to seek shelter from the rain. It was so unexpected that everyone was fleeing inside, making the restaurant feel a little cramped. It was a warm summer night, but nobody really wanted to spend the rest of the evening soaked to the bone.

“How about we pay and leave?” Wylan asked, looking up at Jesper.

“It’s still raining, do you really want to go out there?”

“I have an umbrella in my bag that we can share.” When Jesper handed him the notepad back, Wylan put it away and exchanged it for the umbrella, as if he wanted to prove to Jesper that he wasn’t making this up.

“Is this some sort of magic satchel? What else do you have in there?” Jesper tilted his head to the side, studying Wylan for a moment.

“A lot of secrets,” Wylan joked, putting a finger to his lips before he burst out laughing. Jesper joined in, so at ease with Wylan that it almost scared him. Almost.

Wylan insisted on paying for tem, since he’d asked Jesper out, telling him: “You can pay next time.”

“Does that mean, there will be a second date?” He hated how hopeful he sounded, but he’d thoroughly enjoyed his time with Wylan, and he felt like there was something blooming between them. Something wonderful, beautiful… colourful even. As if Wylan had brought back some colour into his life where it had been different shades of grey before.

“If you want it, then yes.”

“Yes!” Jesper’s answer was immediate, his heart leaping in his chest at the mere prospect of repeating this, because as much as he wanted to spend more time with Wylan, it was already late, and they both had to get up early in the morning. “But this time, give me your number, so I won’t worry whether you’ll show up or not.”

Both of them shared a laugh, but Jesper could see the pink hue on Wylan’s cheeks. Whether it was because of his words or the bottle of wine they’d shared, Jesper couldn’t tell, but either way, he looked way too cute like this.

“Can I walk you home?” Jesper, once they’d stepped outside into the rain, huddling together beneath the umbrella. He really wanted this, to end the night by walking Wylan home and making sure that he got there safely.

“It’s not that far.” Looking up at Jesper, Wylan thought for a moment, but then he smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Jesper took the umbrella in his right hand, but instead of taking Wylan’s hand with the other one, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder to keep him as close as possible. Of course only to shield him from the rain as best as he could, there was no other reason. Oh, who was he trying to fool here? He enjoyed having Wylan this close way too much, umbrella or not. Still, he had an excuse to do so, and Wylan didn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary judging by the way he was leaning against Jesper, sneaking his arm around his middle as well.

The rain had already soaked his shoes, but Jesper didn’t mind, not with Wylan in his arm. When they reached the apartment complex where Wylan apparently lived, though, Jesper was ready to walk another mile with him, wet shoes or not. But it was time to let him go, time to go home as well and get some sleep.

“I really enjoyed myself tonight. You made it so easy for me to… be myself. Not put up an act.” Wylan turned so he was standing right in front of Jesper beneath the umbrella.

“I’m glad, because I really liked seeing the real you. And you don’t have to pretend to be anyone else with me.” Still, Jesper knew that all too well. Wearing a mask, not showing every side of yourself in front of others, because they might not like what they’d find out. It honoured him even more that Wylan didn’t feel the need to hide anything from him, because he felt the same way in his presence.

“Thank you. For that and for a wonderful first date. But one more thing is missing.”

“Oh?” Jesper felt his heart flutter at the way Wylan was looking at him, the way his eyes lingered on Jesper’s lips a moment too long to be considered appropriate - not that he minded, in fact, it was all he needed.

Up until now, his hand had still rested on Wylan’s waist, but he snuck it onto his back to pull him closer, while he was holding the umbrella with the other hand. He leaned down a bit, meeting Wylan halfway and when their lips touched, it was almost like lightning hit him, lighting him up from the inside, his lips tingling with the sensation when Wylan’s hands almost burned through his shirt or his chest. His fingers grabbed a handful of Wylan’s dress shirt at the small of his back.

Pulling back, Jesper had to draw some air into his lungs, his lips still tingling a little, when he looked at Wylan. Wylan who looked back at him with widened eyes, but then he started to smile, pulled himself up to kiss Jesper once more, short, soft, and sweet.

“I should…” he said against Jesper’s lips, slowly dropping back down onto his heels.

“Yeah… me too.” They should both leave, and while he would really love to go upstairs with Wylan, peel him out of his fancy clothes and make himself acquainted with lots and lots of flawless skin - which would give him the opportunity to find out whether or not his freckles extended to other body parts as well - he really shouldn’t do that. He didn’t want to risk what was blooming between them, so he carefully retracted his hand from Wylan’s back and raised it to finally push some curls from his forehead.

“Good night Jesper.”

“Good night Wylan.” Jesper stepped back from the door, wanting to hand over the umbrella, but Wylan just shook his head.

“Keep it. You can bring it back for our next date.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He wouldn’t mind getting wet while walking home, but this way, he had something from Wylan along the way.

“Text me when you get home?” Wylan called after him, while Jesper was still walking backwards.

“Will do. Now get inside before your clothes are soaked!” Jesper chuckled, and he could hear Wylan laugh as well as he eventually vanished into the building.

All the way home, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and didn’t even want to. This had been the best first date he’d ever been on, and he couldn’t wait to have more with Wylan.

Getting a little bit closer

Going beyond what’s on paper

Unexpected life can happen when you make room

[cruel-as-sin]

get to know your mutuals

thank you so much @flowersforbucky for tagging me!

what’s the origin of your blog title? it’s two of my favorite taylor swift songs put together! cruel summer (my all time favorite song ever) + guilty as sin? (one of my favs from ttpd) = cruel-as-sin aka cas!

favorite fandoms? i only write for x-men right now but some of my other fandoms include star wars, marvel, critical role, six of crows/shadow and bone, genshin impact (don’t look at me), once upon a time, anything hugh jackman is in, and taylor swift!

favorite color? blue! specifically a darker blue but im not picky

favorite game? on the basis of it being top tier i have to say minecraft, but also- jedi fallen order and jedi survivor, starfield, skyrim, genshin impact, and a way out

song stuck in your head? disease by lady gaga

weirdest habit/trait? i talk too much. get me going and i will not stop. i talk to myself all the time too

hobbies? writing of course, reading when i find the energy (which is not often), video games!! dnd (as a player and a dm), tv and movies, music, editing, and i’ve been trying to get into some more artsy stuff lately as well

if you work, what’s your profession? i’m a full time college student majoring in creative writing- but on breaks, i work as an office assistant at a university

if you could have any job, what would it be? a fantasy author! (shocking i know)

something you’re good at? supporting others- i try really hard to be there for the people i care about. buying them treats to make them feel better, seeking out videos that i think will make them smile, being a shoulder to cry on, taking care of tasks for them, etc

something you’re bad at? anything requiring physical strength/exertion. you’ve got the wrong guy

something you love? the beauty of life. making someone smile, laughter, babies/newborn animals, watching different species connect with one another, nature, gently falling snow… i could go on

something you could talk about for hours? anything, and i mean anything. i am a serial yapper and everyone who knows me is a victim of this. please ask about my life i will never shut up about anything

something you hate? oh god so many things. i mean the obvious in todays society but more specific to me, people who are insincere. if you’re a hater just say that, don’t be fucking fake about it, don’t act like someone you’re not. pisses me off fr. oh and also loud people. i’m talking like no respect for others, banging on doors for shits and giggles, yelling and screaming while throwing parties, blasting music… all that stuff. that loud ass car won’t make your dick any bigger

something you collect? mementos! ticket stubs, receipts, little drawings, notes my friends and i passed back and forth during class, cards, letters, etc :)

what’s your love language? big fan of all of them but quality time is my number one

favorite movie/show? logan is my fav x-men movie but x1 is my comfort film for sure, tv show would probably be the mandalorian

favorite food? pasta is my go to, but i go CRAZY for some chicken and rice

favorite animal? cats :3

are you musical? yes! i’ve played guitar and ukulele for a few years now, and i also sing!

what were you like as a child? autistic. and no i am not exaggerating.. i spent a lot of time playing by myself as opposed to with others, had very few friends, and got bullied for seemingly no reason bc i was the weird kid 😭

favorite subject in school? english (no surprises here)

least favorite subject in school? math. no question

what’s your best character trait? loyalty. i am ride or die for the people i care about and i will go to WAR to defend them

worst character trait? i’m a chronic procrastinator… like, it’s BAD y’all. i’ve vowed to never have planned release dates for my chapters/fics for this exact reason

if you could time travel, who would you like to meet? david bowie! absolute icon

no pressure tags: @logansbaby @dilfverines @wlwloverwrites @thinkinonsense and anyone else who wants to join in!

[fragileizy]

family and i just played a game that took about thirty minutes.

here's the deal: my dad and i really want to get into snorkeling. my dad used to have a scuba license way back in the day but he hasn't been able to go scuba-ing since we moved to the states, which at this point is a very long time ago. he misses scuba-ing. but my mom would rather kill me than let me attempt to get a scuba license, and would rather kill him than allow him to regain his scuba license, because she's afraid that we will both drown, so that whole world is completely off limits to us (for now.) so we're going to snorkel instead. fun. soft. easy. a kit on amazon costs $35 a pop, which is pretty cheap comparatively. it's a first-time hobby, so we don't need anything fancy, and the kit comes with two flippers (duck feet), one snorkel tube, and one mask each.

my dad buys two, one for me and one for him. one size small (for me) because i have small feet, one size medium (for him) because he is a grown man.

my dad, for whatever reason, misclicks and orders two orders of the exact same thing.

four packages arrive at our house a few days later. he's aware that he needs to return two of these packages because we don't need four snorkel gears.

now, the game begins: how do you ensure that you open one small and one medium, without having to unnecessarily open an extra bag?

my dad takes a chance, and opens one at random: a small, for me, leaving three packages behind. 66.6% chance of getting a medium when he opens another package, a 33.3% of getting another small. but this family has a curse. 33.3% of getting something wrong always indicates that he has a 100% chance of getting it wrong. it's just always like this. (i unfortunately used all of our luck at a hotel resort bingo in the summer 2009, where i proceeded to win every single bingo game that night for four hours straight. i was then banned from participating in that hotel's bingo night ever again, as they were convinced— somehow, someway— that an 11 year old Child was cheating. at bingo.)

this is our predicament.

three giant plastic bags line our dining table. in one corner, a seniored more-salt-than-pepper-haired man, chewing on a cuticle (bad habit of his), looking over his glasses, attempting to figure out which one to open. in the other corner, me, tapping my nails on the wooden table (bad habit of mine, always stimming, annoying everyone around me with how much noise i make), trying to decipher the hieroglyphics both usps and amazon stamp across the surface of each package.

the game, of course, is not this serious; amazon won't kill us if we try to return a package that we've resealed. but it's a game. and my dad likes probability. he's always said he'd love to blackjack and poker if it wasn't so upsetting that you actually have to lose money in the process. i like probability, too, and why not make something as mundane as easy into something so difficult?

my dad and i, on opposite corners of the dining table.

"shouldn't each package have a transit ID?" i ask. "look at the order on amazon and we can match the number to the serial code."

an idea. a good one. my dad is rushing for his phone. it's under my mother's account on amazon; she pulls up the receipt. a number. a path. we grab the bags and search for this tracking number. there are no less than four individual serial codes on each tag, all in an attempt to dissuade us.

none of them match any of the tracking IDs. i'm grateful, even for a moment, to not be a bar-scanner machine at the amazon facility. i would be fired immediately.

my mom looks a little unimpressed with our lack of motion. it's been thirteen minutes. she's given up on trying to convince us to just open it, because she's seen the sparkle of good fun shining in our eyes. "theoretically, your dad's kit should be heavier because his flippers should be a size bigger so there's more plastic. we should go get the bathroom scale."

"it would, yeah. but the difference wouldn't be in kilograms," my dad tells her. "it would be grams. the bathroom scale isn't precise enough."

"the kitchen scale is in grams," i offer.

"the kitchen scale is too small for this," he counters. "we can't weigh these."

so, how do we win?

the solution, in theory, is simple: ask someone who wasn't born into the family name to open the second bag, meaning that the family curse isn't used to open it.

we both turn to my mom. pleading. asking for help. a family curse is one you can't break just because it's inconvenient, after all.

my mom looks. the packages are identical. she stares. the bags do not move, and offer no solace. she picks up the unwrapped kit that we already know is mine, and tests the weight in her hands. she moves to the next, scrutinizing, in the same way i've always seen her calculate something imaginary to me while she weighs her options on potatoes and cherry-tomatoes at the grocery store.

then, she settles: "this one weighs more."

we scramble to tear the plastic off, a pack of wolves descending on prey, something akin to the fervor of a delicious black-friday sale picked apart for scraps. the plastic bag is ripped, out the kit goes, and we search the surface for the size number on the front of the nylon mesh that incases the flippers, horrified for a brief moment that we might be wrong. our fingers trace the surface, fingertips against the plastic cover as if searching for braille.

medium, the bag states. bold letters, made tiny along the surface, but clear enough to read.

my mom has gotten it right.

all is right in the world. my father and i can sleep easy. it is time for rest. and to return the other two back to amazon and make sure my dad doesn't miss-click again. the family curse still stays, but we have mitigated around it for now.

[rontra]

i know yr abt the girlfailure teachers rn but do u perchance have any more thots on that rhea and edelgard comic from a bit ago where Edie said she needed a healer and woke up rhea??

are you ready for a long ass post? because this is a VERY! LONG! POST!

tl;dr yes i have a fair amount of thots, and theyre all serial-numbers-filed-off chop-and-screw-it final fantasy fourteen thots. i will recap that first, and then the AU itself (final warning for Long Post)

enjoy (or avert thine eyes. it's up to you)

oh, yeah! so that au (tagged "SETR" because they can't resist an unreadable acronym tag*) began with mostly just riffing on the Scholar job quests from final fantasy 14 before veering off in order to separate from "being in ff14" (<- i simply don't feel like keeping up with all that) (<- he's just now getting to stormblood). so it's pretty much a crossover where one half of the cross had its serial numbers filed off HAHA

so obviously people who are familiar with ff14 SCH lore have a head start on this one, but let's see…from the top, let's TL;DR the stuff from the game proper:

in ff14, Scholar is a type of healer you can play. lorewise, the original scholars belonged to an ancient civilization that fell centuries before the game begins, so their art is completely extinct and lost. but back in the day, their like, marine city-state nation was at Big Magic War with a couple others (bigger nations with stronger/more plentiful mages). their smaller nation's sorcerers, too precious and few in number to risk putting on the front lines, took up dual duty to serve as both healers and tacticians/commanders. to that end, they learned to form pacts with faeries; relying on these familiars to act as their co-healers, the casters were able to give more of their focus to Studying The Art Of War (and were given the new title of Scholar for their big brain tactical caster schemes)

however, this nation and their brilliant military tacticians were wiped out by calamities (the Big Mage War they were involved in ended in huge colossal devastating floods and stuff) and their arts lay forgotten……until centuries later as [PLAYER CHARACTER] gets involved…. because of course you do <3 that's not really important though

what IS important is that at the tail end of this civilization's existence, they also had to juggle a Fucked Up Arcane Plague that one of their enemies strategically infected them with. the plague ("green death", or simply the "sickness from the sea") transformed the people into monsters and more or less demolished the standing army. the mutant plague was contained by quarantining the infected behind magical wards, but attempts to find an actual cure were unsuccessful. tormented by their prolonged isolation and the outside world's rejection of them, the plague's victims gradually became consumed with resentment, eventually depriving them of all reason. after the calamitous floods, the sealed temple--protected by its warding spells--has remained intact, but lays submerged. its transformed population has been trapped inside, alive, for centuries. yikes!

(gameplay wise, what this means is basically you have a fairy pet from the bygone era who automatically casts a basic healing spell called Embrace whenever you or anyone in your party is missing HP (<- in easy content she can sometimes do your job by herself which is very funny) and also, there's a dungeon full of monsters you feel kinda bad about killing)

the main important materials here for us are the "ancient civilization" aspect, the familiar/caster bond, and the simultaneous war/plague problem . <- list of ingredients to add some 3H sauce on

(

*here's the connecting tissue that got us from A (ffxiv) to B (fe3h)

my funny NPC retainer in the game is an au'ra woman named au'rhea (here is a pic of her). she does my banking and sells wares for me. beautiful dragon woman

while dicking around with glamourer i accidentally disguised my character as au'rhea. it was rly funny to see her running around doing stuff for once (because retainer NPCs normally Just Stand There)

i (scholar main) started glamouring my fairy to look like au'rhea so i could drag her with me on adventures (she does not get paid for this extra work)

scholar fairies can't be glamoured in this way so i had to use the ingame petglamour function to change mine into a carbuncle first. i chose topaz carbuncle because yellow is cool

somehow in the intersection between everything that's going on with my game at this point, the log window begins referring to this entity as "Topaz Au'rhea"

the groupchat starts making jokes about topaz au'rhea and scholar edelgard (apropos basically nothing). because it would be funny for rhea to run around getting super busy and stressed about keeping edie's health up while edie is aggroing every enemy on the map or whatever. you get it

Scholar Edelgard + Topaz Rhea. "SETR". incomprehensible? absolutely

)

----

so with all of that context out of the way,

this story is not set in the normal fodlan setting, so it's unclear what everyone's up to / what the current societal climate (and international relationships) of each country is (<- this would probably be ironed out if the AU was more fleshed out than it is)

adrestia and hresvelg's shared history is also a bit different, namely due to incredibly heavy losses suffered during the war of heroes. after barely surviving the war with a devastating pyrrhic victory, the newborn adrestian empire was probably uh not powerful enough to rise up and control all of fódlan lmao

without the support of either seiros OR any big Ws to pick them back up, they're probably still a smaller country (and . maybe not really an "empire" since…idk if they have the means to take and control several territories unless they 1) made a Huge Recovery since then and 2) nobody else on the continent minded that sudden expansion enough to corral them back into their pen HSBHFDF)

^im spitballing here, obviously this would also get ironed out more thoughtfully if i did more work. but that's kind of the vibe it has atm. like idk how big they would be without any strong Ws, without seiros, and without the church

it would also be an AU where there is no empire-church war to fuss around with (due to the absence of. well. the church of seiros--at least in its canon form) and rhea is not a figure in anyone's lives at all, so edie's list of priorities is much different

however because she is still an edelgard and it's important to her swag, her predicted life span is incredibly short due to an Evil Blood Curse(TM) woven in her childhood by the ancient enemies of her family (the nefarious slitherers…)

her condition is unheard of and utterly arcane to adrestia's mages and healers, and attempts to reverse its effects have been futile

after finishing up whatever other shit she had going on in this AU (<-???) (again, would be fleshed out if i had more than 1 post in the SETR tag lol), with no big wars or anything on her docket, she's already free to pursue leads on how to remedy her situation and possibly brighten her prognosis

in a handful of surviving archives private to the hresvelg family, wilhelm I wrote about the old pre-"adrestia" hresvelg territory, the war of heroes, and the allies that shored up the first army's faltering strength

he also made notes about their enemy's tactics, which included sending Curséd Plagues Most Foul, a tactic that all but demolished the pre-adrestian forces

it's not much but it's the best lead anyone's got at this point

wilhelm occasionally referenced his contemporaries' progress in combating these arcane plagues

this and the war combined take up more than 100% of their resources. they are working at a noticeable deficit, war is going rapidly downhill, and wilhelm's notes become more fragmented as the situation becomes increasingly unsustainable and dire

around this time, he also writes about mages forming pacts with "[word untranslatable to modern fódlan languages]" (but edie uses context clues to figure out it's some kind of magic familiar or something) to aid them, primarily in healing

while much of his text is either obliquely phrased or just straight up faded by time, he does pass down a swaggy amulet to his descendants, which is now in edie's possession (the "crest of seiros", if you can believe it)

edie starts investigating, referencing the texts for Important Places To Search For More Clues. starting with a place wilhelm wrote about very often: the last standing stronghold of the first hresvelg army and their allies

the red canyon.

the ruins there are thousands of years old and entirely forgotten by time. but one stubborn emperor (or whatever her title would be) is determined to search every inch of Old Fódlan for Curse Clues

deep in the lost ruins of zanado is a warded sanctum, still protected by an ancient spell. according to wilhelm the first, this was the very last and most hidden warded zone in the red canyon, erected in absolute secrecy just before their forces left the canyon for the final battle at the tailtean plains

the warded zone was left behind to protect the victims of the plague and keep the curse quarantined while the few remaining mages continued working on a remedy

despite the ward still being active, it has grown quite weak and allows edelgard to pass through (likely due to her blood connection to big wilhelm)

exploring deep into the warded zone, she finds it pristinely safe but utterly untouched for god knows how long. eerily quiet, preserved in time but abandoned by it…

at the heart of the warding spell is its caster, who edelgard initially mistakes for a human mage but quickly realized is the "familiar" wilhelm wrote about. she is Not in fact a funny heehoo imp of some kind, but in fact, a tall as fuck , Whole Ass Woman

(the untranslatable word in wilhelm's writing on the topic was obviously nabatean, a proper noun, the long-forgotten name of a people who once lived alongside humanity but were wiped out)

(the nabateans, few in number but possessing astonishing magicks, invited the battered army to take shelter in what remained of the nabateans' home in zanado. wanting to help beat the agarthans back, they offered to join their own power with humans in "pacts"--special contracts between a human mage and a nabatean caster that was beneficial for both partners and allowed them to work in great synergy)

(the pact magic, innovated by the nabateans, greatly enhances the human mage's capabilities, and imparts a certain degree of mutual mind-to-mind awareness of their partner, which the two can use to strategically coordinate their movements. although very few were left alive at this stage of the war, the nabateans were extremely powerful and could flex into any role on the battlefield--but they were also greatly prized in the sick bays and quarantine zones for their potent healing magic)

(the tactical advantage of pairing a war mage and a nabatean caster is credited by wilhelm as the key to many victories that would otherwise have been crushing defeats. also, the remaining nabateans had a vested interest in allying up to beat the agarthans down, as this was their ancient enemy who recently laid waste to the red canyon and decimated most of their population--and was about to conquer humanity as dessert)

wilhelm, the leader of the hresvelg army, formed a pact with the leader of the nabateans . the two of them combined were a force to be reckoned with (excelling in both tactics and raw force, but also defensive maneuvers), but due to how thinly stretched their manpower and resources were, the two commanders were forced to part ways at the very end. one commander was to depart with their army and finish the war, and the other was entrusted with staying back to defend zanado and keep their most vulnerable people safe

for thousands of years, rhea has been casting the same spell, maintaining the final barrier around the sanctum. the plan was for wilhelm and his (hopefully victorious) army to return here, but that uh, did not happen, due to him and his forces being annihilated in the massive effort it took to bring the war to an end

and it did end. only barely. wilhelm's descendants and whoever was left of their supporters founded adrestia proper and continued the hresvelg line into the future, but big wilhelm was absolutely dead and never came back and neither did anyone else sorry

anyway.

edelgard knows that this woman is one of the healers who were working directly on the Curse Problems back in ancient times, and is hoping she will know a solution to the "wretched curse is killing me" problem

the crest of seiros edie carries breaks the centuries-long casting trance and wakes rhea up

the first words out of her mouth are, in essence, WILHELM THANK FUCK YOU'RE BACK, DID WE DO IT? DID WE WIN?

(edelgard voice) erm about that

she basically has to explain to rhea that the last thing she remembers before beginning her Long Watch was, in fact, thousands of years ago, and that wilhelm and everybody else she knew is dead (on top of all the nabateans and allies rhea already knew were dead ofc). the world did manage to survive the war thanks to their efforts, but that's like, the one positive note in all this, lol

rhea understandably distraught and more than a little bit overwhelmed

also quite at a loss for what to do, being a magic guy from an era that in its entirety doesn't exist anymore (and hasn't existed for a very long time)

for all she or edie knows, she might be the very last of her kind (since all records are lost, wilhelm's notes obviously stop kind of abruptly, and no one's heard anything in the millennia since then)

obviously the amount of time that has passed means the people she was holding the ward for are also long gone. she's pretty devastated about that too as they're going through the sanctum and quarantined zone

edelgard trying to tactfully rummage around for clues for her own problem while the big lady spirals

i straight up feel like one of those plants that evolved for a type of bee that doesn't exist anymore

however rhea sadly must return the favor when edelgard is like. so you guys had this curse problem. and you were a very prominent commander/healer at the time. it so happens that i have curse problem. what is the solution to curse problem. i need it badly

and rhea is forced to be like . well we very much did not solve curse problem in my time. sorry. i don't know it. i don't have the solution. we didn't find it in time before our whole shit collapsed

so it's really bad news all around

but because edelgard is wilhelm's blood descendant and has used the crest of seiros (which marks the pact between wilhelm('s blood) and the nabatean rhea), they are pact-partners now, Just Like Old Fódlan Used To Make

rhea can't crack Terminal Blood Curse right now, but she does have a lot of knowledge about it and its course/symptoms (and she can confirm edelgard's problem as being The Very Same Indeed)

she feels pretty strongly about finishing her work, and is suddenly edelgard's funny pact partner, and third of all has Nowhere Else To Go And Everything She Knew Is Gone--so she says she'll help lmao

edelgard is more or less used to not finding concrete answers to her curse problem at this point given the difficulty level of this investigation. so she p much just moves on to the next lead on her checklist. gotta keep it moving if she's gonna crack this thing in time

road trip!

rhea basically provides her with palliative care while they look for ways to break the curse. she does feel noticeably better with a more specialized healer (<- kind of an understatement) and it is buying her more time to work with which is good

strangers separated by millennia of history but slowly bonding!

maybe on the way they'll also root out the bitches who put the curse on her to begin with

if you are out there slithering in the dark. you better not be

finally,

edelgard is a big axe guy. she does not do healing magic. she is basically face-tanking everything and rhea is so busy casting heals and shields she barely has time to do any DPS of her own

im sure they run into other characters n stuff on their funny road trip too but that all is the basic concept

(rhea voice) i'll Embrace but christ alive

[arthdoesart]

“What the hell is happening now?!” 

Effie held the drunken victor back from hurling a chair towards their only working television. While she was not made an account by the anonymous people that have kidnapped the children, the former escort was still highly upset, like the rest of them were, when all of their voted scores have all been outright denied. 

In order to score Tribute zero-zero-one, please make sure to input the serial number first. 

Now, you don’t have to manually apply this for District Three is already assigned to unlock the security pass so that everyone can be allowed to vote—

“They’re asking us for a passcode…” Peeta said tiredly, looking at the screen with silent glowering contempt. "It was easier when they would just announce it on television." 

"Yeah? Well, I have a feeling they're not exactly making it easy on purpose." 

Haymitch spat, backing away from the broadcast of a struggling seventeen-year-old Capitol child, who by any means, did not possess the same level of skill as Careers when it came to using a sundry of knives and spears. 

It was pathetic watching the teenager even make an attempt on his part. But what else could the boy do, really? 

"...what happens if he doesn't get a score?" Katniss grimly brought up beside Peeta, her knee bouncing in trepidation for the potential consequence if they're unable to rate him on time. 

Her sharp, ashen seam-like eyes scanned the countdown needed for all the Districts to give their votes. It ran for 60 seconds at least, but now it's down to 40. 

"It won't come to that," Peeta tried to assure her, looping an arm around to pull her close by the shoulder so he could plant a comforting kiss on the side of her forehead. "They all need scores, Katniss. I doubt the people behind this won't give them any—" 

"But it's up to us to give them something!" 

Chapter 2 of Royale Capitol Games will be posted now on ao3 :)

And as always this series is dedicated to @plvtarch

The Royale Capitol Games (18625 words) by PinkMuseSundays Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - Suzanne Collins Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Alma Coin/Plutarch Heavensbee, Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair (mentioned), Katniss Everdeen & Peeta Mellark, Katniss & Primrose Everdeen (mention), Haymitch Abernathy & Plutarch Heavensbee, Caesar Flickerman & Plutarch Heavensbee, Fulvia Cardew & Plutarch Heavensbee, Alma Coin & Plutarch Heavensbee Characters: Plutarch Heavensbee, Alma Coin, Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Effie Trinket, Beetee Latier, President Paylor, Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta, Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair's Son, Finnick Odair (mentioned), Enobaria (Hunger Games), Caesar Flickerman, Coriolanus Snow, Coriolanus Snow's Granddaughter, Fulvia Cardew, Gale Hawthorne, Original Characters Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Thriller, Mystery, Kidnapping, Romance, Drama & Romance, Quarter Quell (Hunger Games), Fourth Quarter Quell, Inspired by Black Mirror (TV), Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, 76th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe, Child Death, The Capitol (Hunger Games), Capitol Hunger Games, Suffering!Heavenscoin, Funny!Hayffie, Veteran!Everlark, Canon-Typical Violence, Hunger Games Victors, Victors as a Family (Hunger Games), Plutarch and Haymitch bromatism, Plutarch "I'm so stressed out" Heavensbee, Alma "This is what I fucking deserve" Coin, Caesar "That's how you put on a show" Flickerman Series: Part 4 of The odds came with blood and peppermints Summary: "To remind the Capitol that their nefarious deeds will never be forgotten, twenty-four children are reaped from their families to participate in a Battle Royale. Unlike its predecessor, the tributes are chosen at random despite their age, sex, and societal status." The voice chuckled over the last line, as if disbelieving any of the kids from the Capitol were beyond poorer than the high middle-class citizens. "…of course, tributes who refuse to participate within the rules of the game will have their shock collars activated. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first ever Royale Capitol Games, with it also being the Fourth Quarter Quell from the discontinued series of the Hunger Games." The announcer laughs, unaware of the sheer number of Capitol parents that have fainted from the live announcement. They were giddy for a while at having to recite the dreaded line, along with a sickening twist added by the end. "And may the odds ever grant you their favors."   Pairings; Heavenscoin with a side of Hayffie & Everlark.

[adazoninc]

How Barcode Label Printers Are Revolutionizing Warehouse Operations?

Think about how daunting it would be to walk into a massive warehouse filled with thousands, maybe even millions of products. You see workers rushing to pick, pack, and ship orders at lightning speed. Now, while you have that image in your mind, imagine trying to manage all this without an efficient tracking system. Sounds like a nightmare, right?

Well, that’s exactly why barcode label printers have become a lifesaver for warehouses. These printers don’t just work by spitting out labels; they are the backbone of effortless, error-free operations. Whether it is about organizing inventory, improving accuracy, or bolstering efficiency, barcode label printers are revolutionizing the way warehouses work.

Why are Barcode Label Printers So Crucial?

Barcode label printers are a warehouse’s best organizational tool because these devices generate scannable labels that contain product information- like SKUs, serial numbers, batch details, and expiration details.

Once the barcodes are printed, they can be placed on products, shelves, and shipping boxes, which allows workers to track inventory in real time with a quick scan. This means that no more manually logging numbers or searching for misplaced items; instead, you get just fast, accurate inventory management without any hiccups.

How do Barcode Label Printers Transform Warehouse Operations?

Wondering how exactly do these printers revolutionize warehouse efficiency? Here you go!

#1 Speeding Up Inventory Management

Without a barcode system, counting and tracking inventory is painfully slow. However, barcode label printers can allow warehouses to generate thousands of labels quickly while ensuring that every product is tagged and traceable. When workers scan a barcode, these systems can instantly update stock levels, by eliminating the need for time-consuming manual entries.

#2 Reducing Human Error

Manual data entry can be quite a disaster. Even a simple typo or misplaced decimal can lead to shipping the wrong product, miscounting stock, or causing costly delays. On the other hand, with barcode labels, everything is scanned electronically, which significantly reduces errors and ensures that the records are kept accurate.

#3 Improving Order Fulfillment Accuracy

Customers expect fast and accurate deliveries. A mislabeled package can mean delays, returns, and unhappy customers. Barcode label printers help prevent mix-ups by ensuring that every item gets the right label, which makes it easy to pick and pack orders without any mistakes or delays.

#4 Streamlining Warehouse Organization

A messy warehouse is a warehouse that bleeds money. Barcode labels create a structured system, making it easy for workers to locate items in designated sections. Instead of wasting time searching for products, employees can simply scan the barcode and they are directed to the exact location.

#5 Bolstering Supply Chain Efficiency

Warehouses are just one part of the supply chain and products move from manufacturers to store facilities to retailers. This is where barcode labels ensure that this process runs efficiently without any roadblocks. With each scan, businesses can track shipments in real time, hence reducing bottlenecks and improving logistics.

Looking for custom label suppliers for your warehouse with barcodes? Find them only at Adazon today!

[kayrwt]

gs1

Understanding GS1: The Global Standard for Supply Chain Efficiency

In today's interconnected world of commerce, GS1 stands as the backbone of global supply chain standards. Known for its universally accepted barcoding system, GS1 plays a crucial role in ensuring seamless product identification, traceability, and operational efficiency across industries. This article explores the significance, functions, and benefits of GS1 standards, shedding light on how they facilitate global trade and enhance supply chain transparency.

What is GS1?

GS1 (Global Standards 1) is a non-profit organization that develops and maintains international standards for supply chain efficiency. Founded in 1974, GS1 is best known for creating the UPC (Universal Product Code) barcode, which revolutionized product identification and retail operations.

GS1 standards are now widely used across industries, including:

Retail

Healthcare

Logistics and Transportation

Food and Beverage

By providing unique identification codes for products, assets, and locations, GS1 enables businesses to streamline operations, reduce errors, and improve data sharing across global networks.

The GS1 Identification System

The GS1 system revolves around unique identification keys that allow products, locations, and assets to be tracked globally. The most common identifiers include:

GTIN (Global Trade Item Number): Identifies products globally.

GLN (Global Location Number): Identifies physical or digital locations.

SSCC (Serial Shipping Container Code): Tracks logistics units.

GRAI (Global Returnable Asset Identifier): Identifies returnable assets like pallets and containers.

GIAI (Global Individual Asset Identifier): Tracks specific assets within an organization.

Each identifier is embedded in a barcode or RFID tag, allowing automated data capture and sharing.

Key GS1 Standards

GS1 provides a suite of standards that cover multiple aspects of the supply chain:

Barcodes:

UPC (Universal Product Code): Used in retail for product identification.

EAN (European Article Number): Similar to UPC but used internationally.

GS1 DataMatrix: A 2D barcode commonly used in healthcare for detailed product information.

RFID (Radio Frequency Identification): Enhances tracking and visibility for goods in transit.

GS1 Digital Link: Connects a product's barcode to online information, enabling a bridge between physical products and digital data.

EDI (Electronic Data Interchange): Standardizes business documents like invoices, purchase orders, and shipping notices.

These standards work together to ensure seamless data exchange across global supply chains.

Benefits of GS1 Standards

Global Consistency: GS1 standards are recognized worldwide, enabling smooth cross-border trade.

Improved Traceability: Enables end-to-end tracking of products from production to final sale.

Operational Efficiency: Streamlines inventory management, warehousing, and logistics.

Error Reduction: Minimizes human errors in data entry and product identification.

Enhanced Customer Trust: Ensures product authenticity and reduces counterfeiting risks.

Compliance: Meets industry regulations for product labeling and traceability.

For example, in the food industry, GS1 standards help trace contaminated products during recalls, ensuring quick and precise actions to protect public health.

How GS1 Standards Work in Practice

Example: Retail Industry

A manufacturer registers with GS1 and receives a GTIN for each product.

The GTIN is encoded into a barcode printed on the product packaging.

At checkout, the barcode is scanned, retrieving product information (e.g., price, stock level) instantly.

The same barcode supports inventory tracking, sales analysis, and reordering processes.

Example: Healthcare Industry

Medications are labeled with GS1 DataMatrix barcodes containing critical information like batch number and expiration date.

Hospitals and pharmacies scan these barcodes to ensure correct medication administration and reduce errors.

GS1 in the Digital Age

With the rise of e-commerce and digital supply chains, GS1 is evolving to meet modern demands:

GS1 Digital Link: Connects physical products to rich digital content, enhancing product transparency and consumer engagement.

Smart Labels: Combine GS1 barcodes with IoT and RFID technologies for real-time product tracking.

Blockchain Integration: GS1 standards are being integrated into blockchain platforms for immutable product traceability records.

These advancements ensure GS1 remains at the forefront of supply chain innovation.

Getting Started with GS1

For businesses looking to implement GS1 standards:

Register with GS1: Obtain a GS1 Company Prefix to create unique product identifiers.

Generate Barcodes: Use GS1-approved tools to create GTINs and associated barcodes.

Label Products: Apply the barcodes or RFID tags to your products.

Integrate with Systems: Ensure your inventory, POS, and logistics systems support GS1 standards.

Train Staff: Educate teams on barcode scanning and data entry best practices.

Adopting GS1 standards not only ensures compliance but also positions businesses for scalable growth and global market access.

Challenges in Adopting GS1 Standards

While GS1 standards offer immense benefits, businesses might face:

Initial Setup Costs: Investment in registration, labeling, and system upgrades.

Compliance Complexity: Adhering to different standards across industries.

Training Requirements: Educating staff about GS1 protocols.

However, these challenges are outweighed by long-term operational efficiencies and business growth opportunities.

The Future of GS1

As technology and global commerce continue to evolve, GS1 is focusing on:

Enhanced Data Transparency: Providing consumers with more detailed product information.

Sustainability Tracking: Helping companies measure and report environmental impact.

AI and Machine Learning Integration: Improving predictive analytics for supply chain optimization.

GS1's adaptability ensures it will remain a cornerstone of global trade and logistics for decades to come.

Conclusion

GS1 is not just about barcodes—it's about global efficiency, transparency, and trust in supply chains. By providing universally accepted standards, GS1 simplifies complex logistics, enhances product traceability, and fosters global trade.

For businesses aiming to scale operations, reduce errors, and improve customer trust, adopting GS1 standards is not just an option—it's a necessity.

[zosonils-art]

THEM! who built them? what sort of weapons do they have? what's the weakness cycle?

-THEM!!!!!

-i'm not sure who created them [aside from drum, who's obviously a wily bot], but i'm thinking they'd mostly be from different scientists! tide man in particular i'll probably make either a lalinde or cossack bot, since he's based on the design for ocean man the same way vesper is based on honey woman both in-universe and in real life and i like the idea of light giving all his friends his unused blueprints to have fun with hnfjkbn

-the weapon wheel looks like this! i imagine drum would be a wily castle boss in the fangame for them but i'm not sure what she'd be weak to. maybe psychic cry?

i am absolutely bonkers for coming up with weapon ideas but even repressing the urge to ramble as much as possible the post got way super long so those and some charmingly bad ms paint illustrations are under the cut!!

rhythm man gives beat drop - a stomp attack that sends out a shockwave to hurt any enemies touching the ground. probably accompanied by some kind of bass boosting noise.

pixel man gives pixel firewall - a shield weapon with three orbiting pieces. it can absorb up to three attacks, or the remaining pieces of the shield can be fired by shooting. as projectiles, they home in on the nearest enemy rather than being fired directionally.

cool woman gives sleet foot - an attack that replaces the slide like charge kick in mm5. when rock kicks an enemy that doesn't die in one hit to the damage, it gets encased in a block of ice and slides away until it either hits a wall and shatters or slides harmlessly offscreen or into a pit.

care woman gives psychic cry - a blast of white noise, too high-pitched for humans or most robots to hear. it doesn't do any more damage than the mega buster outside of weaknesses, but it stuns enemies it hits for about a second.

tide man gives harpoon shot - imagine the hookshot from zelda but in a 2d platformer and you've got the basic idea. a harpoon gun that can be fired left, right, up, or diagonally up. if it hits an enemy or the side of the screen it bounces back to rock, if it hits a wall he'll be pulled to wherever the harpoon landed.

sweet woman gives sugar rush - a glob of icing shot in an arc similar to flame burst from mm6, but without the explosion. honestly it's kind of a joke weapon, but given how much use i got out of flame burst thanks to its trajectory it's probably useful for something. it can be rapid fired by holding down the shoot button.

hex woman gives eerie pulsar - a charged area-of-effect attack with three levels of charge increasing in range, damage, and energy cost. uncharged it's a quick zap within social distancing range, partially charged it goes further, and fully charged it's a screen nuke. rock can't move when he's charging and it takes a couple seconds to fully charge, so it isn't a get out of jail free card like other screen nukes, but it's still pretty helpful i would hope. also this one was the hardest to draw i know this doesn't look clear at all sorry hjwnkjgdbn

glass man gives molten shard - a shard of white-hot glass that explodes when it hits a wall. if it hits an enemy that it destroys in one hit, it keeps going rather than disappearing on impact like most bullets.