#I pulled up so many reference images for this only to use like three of them T-T

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

Grojband, but as a band from an early 2000s shoujo manga

[chocodile]

Amaranthine Magic System PART II: Spellcraft for Wizards

This is Part III of a three-part worldbuilding set.

Part I - Part II (you are here) - Part III

So, what makes a wizard different than a non-magically capable mundane? A few things:

Unusually strong personal magical field

Ability to sense/”see” magical energy

Some unknown characteristic that allows them to manipulate their own magical field as if it were an extension of their body. Possibly a physical difference in brain structure?

The last part is the most important and is truly what sets a wizard apart from every other creature on the planet. Though, of course, without the first two traits, it’s going to be of limited use.

As mentioned in Part I, wizards cast their spells by applying a mental “filter” their own magical output. This is referred to as active casting. Passive casting, which will be covered in Part III, is typically the realm of animals and plants. Being able to filter something mentally is an extremely unique skill only possible by sapient creatures (probably) due to the complexity involved. However, wizards do typically use hand gestures in casting as well. Hand gestures provide an additional optional channel on which you can “filter” your spell. Because it’s easier to do hand gestures than to teach yourself these complex mental filters, it’s common for amateur wizards to use many more hand gestures when casting, while very advanced wizards use fewer of them because they are capable of juggling a larger number of simultaneous “filters” mentally. Additionally, hand and arm gestures are commonly used like the barrel of a rifle, to control and direct the magical energy being shaped by the mind.

Learning how to control magic like this takes many years of study and practice. You must really understand the “physics” of how the waves work and how each puppeteer string will affect the shape of the waves when pulled. On top of that, you need a good understanding of the object you’re interacting with. Magic will move differently through water, air, or stone. If you are trying to create a spell that will create a net of energy that will catch fish in a river, you need to be very familiar with the physics of how magic will interact with water and flesh, as well as have an approximate awareness of how deep the water is, whether the bottom is rocky/uneven or not, how fast moving the current is, etc. Gathering that info will require several steps of study and reconnaissance before you ever get to the “make a net and catch some fish” part.

Healing magic is very tricky for this reason. Flesh can be knit together, but because the blood vessels and nerves and such are so small, and so many different types of material are present in, say, a cross-section of an arm, successfully re-attaching a limb would be something only an expert who has dedicated their life to studying anatomy would be able to pull off. You know those radioactive tracers doctors use before imaging tests? That sort of thing gets a lot of use in healing magic. Healers can train themselves to recognize the tracer (well, a magical energy equivalent) and follow that through a body, then target their spell on the location where the tracer ended up. Much easier and more reliable than trying to guess exactly where someone’s alveoli are from outside their body.

Spellcraft has two primary “branches”. The First Branch is a school of magic based on unleashing your own magical potential in a very basic, direct way. Its rawest form would manifest as something like a lightning bolt: an erratic, jagged bolt of pure, difficult-to-control energy. Pretty much all “attack” type spells are variations on this, as well as any spells that involve pushing/pulling/moving things. This branch of magic is seen as much easier and, ironically more beginner friendly. Though it does have the capacity to cause grievous injury, the concentration and mental effort involved mean it’s very hard mix up a “pull” spell and a “fireball” spell. Western Kingdom schools almost exclusively teach this branch.

The Second Branch deals more with manipulating the world’s “background radiation”. (if First Branch magic can be visualized as a line, Second Branch magic is more of a plane or 3D sphere) The wizard alters and exaggerates the shape of their own magical aura to exert pressure on the “background radiation” around them to produce type spells that are more like buffs/debuffs in a video game. Some examples would include a spell that makes everyone in the area feel weirdly invigorated or sleepy, or slows down/speeds up time in a small area, or makes a room with your dead mom in it really, really cold (cough, cough). These spells tend to be more subtle and frankly kind of weird… it’s a very versatile branch of magic with some interesting potential implications. However, it tends to be the harder type of magic to learn by far and requires a very steady hand and calm mind to maintain.

Though they use First Branch magic as well, it’s worth noting that Second Branch magic is very common in the Eastern Kingdom, where it has been well-studied for thousands of years. Their extensive library of research is kept by the Eastern Kingdom Sultan in his private library. Westerners tend to view the Second Branch as shady and manipulative… who knows what a Second Branch wizard could be doing to you without you knowing? The only Second Branch magic to be commonly used in the West is healing magic.

However, as mentioned before, one important thing about the magic system in Amaranthine is that wizards are not psychic. They don’t have x-ray vision and do not innately know how every object or life form they encounter works, and a lot of specialized magic involves knowing the inner workings of things and being able to picture things clearly in your head. A wizard cannot use telekinesis to pick up an object they don’t know the location or shape of (if they tried, it would likely either not have any effect, or they’d break it/damage it/knock it over by targeting it incorrectly, depending on how “off” they were). Nor could they use magic to pick a lock if they didn’t already know how locks worked well enough to visualize the inside of it.

For this reason, wizards tend to be pretty well-read in general, as you have to know a lot about the mechanics and structure of the world around you in order to make the best use of your powers. Hyden specifically has a lot of esoteric nerdy technical knowledge about how things are put together but also huge blind spots when it comes to how the world works in practice. For example, he may know a lot about the anatomy of a corn plant because he had to study them one time when the Royal Mages tasked him with purifying a village’s corn field of crop blight, but still be unable to identify a carrot or yam. He may be able to draw a detailed diagram of the wheels and axle of a carriage because he helped assemble a fleet of them once upon a time, but not have any idea why those parts go together or what they specifically do.

[kelocitta]

Hey I was just wanting to ask if you some tips on drawing Slugcat legs. I really want to be able to draw these little cuties and I have everything else done but the legs (specifically poses and action) is really tough for me

It'll depend heavily on how you actually wanna do their legs, but since your asking me I'll assume you like how i do them- I draw them digitigrade when in motion, which basically means that the weight of the animal is carried on the on the toes (the other is plantigrade, which means the back of the foot makes contact with the ground when moving.) This is important since it changes how the leg tends to be formed and rest, but slugcats have a lot of flexibility here.

The other thing to keep in mind is that slugcats are *sleek* and tend to be smooth no matter what pose they're in, so you can hide the specifics of the legs under this and squash and stretch them as you see fit. Think about how fur or feathers tend to hide exactly how the body looks (and thats why so many animals look weird when wet and all that stuff lays flat) As for how I do it, I try to keep slugcats to a tube or triangle shape with most of the weight/fat being in the hips and tail. In most cases, you can get away with just imaging the leg as a flexible ball, and treat the foot as a point (like your pulling on a water balloon). The further the foot from the body, the more that ball stretches. The specifics of whats going *on* in the ball can be hidden unless its its really stretched out

Mentally I don't put much thought into it, but if you need more structure think of the bones of the leg as three sections- the foot, fibula/tibia (Lower leg bones) and femur (Upper leg bone/thigh). Digitigrade and plantigrade tend to favor certain positioning, but ultimately the only major focus is on how the foot functions. Digitigrade in particular tends to favor this sort of 'z' formation even when fully stretched (Humans, in contrast, are plantigrade, and our legs can be fully straighten out even if they still fold the same way). So if your going for that you'll always want to keep a bit of a 'z' shape even if your stretching it waaay out. When at rest, I keep the foot of the slugcat flat. But anytime it's in motion or would be active they shift weight to their toes. You could keep them fully plantigrade, but personally I think digitigrade allows for easier shows of motion and more natural looking action shots with the upright posture if you dont want to stretch the leg out fully. Also i just like the look of it more. (If you want to get into biology more, this would normally be hard on the legs weight-wise, but I like to imagine slugcats are mixed tripedal rather than strict bipeds, and make use of their tails as a third grounding point.)

And heres a very quick run over some of the official cutscenes to show similar:

I personally just wing it when it comes to the sizes of those sections, but a general rule of thumb is that everything gets shorter as you go down- the upper leg has the longest bones, then the middle leg, then the foot. A lot of that is hidden in the body of the slugcat, but keeping that in mind might help keep the leg length feeling natural. (But the biggest secret is that your drawing a fake, stretchy blobby animal so you can bs a lot and be imperfect and honestly just do whatever in a lot of cases and not end up with something that noticeably wrong. This DOES get a little harder if you draw them more lithe or cat like, just because that exposes the leg more) And lastly, if cutscene art isnt helping and you might benefit from a real life reference- rather than using an actual cat I would actually recommend mustelid like a ferret, otter or stoat. They're plantigrade rather than digitigrade, but their form and posturing is a little bit closer to the slugcat and it might help with visualizing the way the legs can sink into the body. I will give a heads up that these are little predators so general search results do tend to show them hunting small animals like mice, if your sensitive to that stick to domestic ferrets for safer results.

Just remember to fatten them up- they're way longer and thinner than slugcats are

[chasingcomets222]

I got bored and decided to decipher Rodrick Heffley's music taste to close this years-long debate once and for all.

This post will be on the lengthier side, but a TLDR is attached at the end of the post if you want the basic cliff-notes.

Disclaimer: this is a dissection of the film adaptation of Rodrick rather than his source material counterpart. Comparisons to the books are welcome but irrelevant to this analysis.

Soundtrack

During the roller-rink scene in the opening of Rodrick Rules, Rodrick and Bill take over the DJ table to sabotage Greg's moves on Holly. The song they play is "Cut Throat" by the all-female heavy metal band, Kittie. Aside from Löded Diper's music, this is the only song in the series explicitly used to establish Rodrick's music taste.

However, there's many songs off of the Rodrick Rules soundtrack alone that can be reasonably assumed to fit his music profile as well — for example, those used during the party sequence.

I wouldn't doubt if one or two tracks were intended solely as crowd pleasers, but let's not rule out the entire playlist.

In order of appearance, Rodrick's party mix includes: "Heart Heart Heartbreak" by Boys Like Girls, "Electric (feat. Miss Amani)" by The DNC, "Wait Up (Boots of Danger)" by Tokyo Police Club, "Shake" by Bikini Machine, "Move Like This" by Hammerwax, and "Jump In The Line" by Karl Zéro & The Wailers.

There's additionally three other, albeit more subtle, uses of background music to nod toward Rodrick's preferences.

The first instance is during the scene in Rodrick Rules in which Greg confides in Rodrick about his embarrassment from his failed "100 Years Ago" assignment. It's so quiet that it's easy to miss without a keen ear, but "Light Love" by Free Energy plays in the background, mixed to fit in with the ambience of Rodrick's bedroom.

The second is directly before the Löded Diper band rehearsal scene (somebody farted btw), in which Frank pulls into the Heffleys' driveway. "Rock and Roll Slob" by The Boneless Ones can be heard from the garage, once again mixed as part of the ambience.

The third again utilizes The Boneless Ones' discography, and is inserted during the opening sequence of Dog Days at the municipal pool. Rodrick explains it's "time to sell some CDs" for Löded Diper, and turns on his boombox (more on this later), blaring "Miss Fresno."

With the last two points in mind, one can assume the film universe is some twisted version where Löded Diper originally wrote and performed The Boneless Ones' discography (or something closely resembling it).

Band Tees

Rodrick mostly wears seemingly thrifted or upcycled shirts and graphic tees with witty/edgy prints, but there are outliers at times. For example, there's not one, not two, but potentially so much as five moments in Dog Days that he's seen wearing merch from Dead Kennedys, The Who, and Ramones.

While most of his band tees simply include the band's logo or iconography, the latter design takes it a step further by being specific to a particular song title: "Rock 'n' Roll High School" by Ramones.

There's another moment which this may be the case, but it's purely speculative on my end. The Ramones also have a song named "I Don't Care," which is a phrase featured on one of Rodrick's shirts. It's not an explicit reference, but likely a reference nonetheless.

Room Posters

Guns N' Roses, Brutal Truth (Evolution Through Revolution), Stars (The Five Ghosts), Buried Inside (Spoils of Failure), and Decibel are the most notable.

I assume Decibel is in relation to the 70's/80's Italian punk rock band, although I can't find any association between them and this particular artwork. If not connected to them, there's a possibility it may be to the metal magazine of the same name, but I have my doubts.

In this image giving an alternate perspective to Rodrick's room, just off-screen is a Metallica poster, based on the stylization of the ending A. Beside it is a Hanson Brothers poster, which was later replaced in Rodrick Rules with a duplicate of the Stars poster for some reason.

Among his collage of Löded Diper flyers, there's Danny Echo posters as well as Denounce and Billy Talent stickers receiving the Hidden Mickey treatment (also a cameo from the iconic cheeseburger phone on the table).

Of course, there are many other pieces of memorabilia scattered across Rodrick's room, but several of them are blurry from the camera's depth of field or are seen at angles which make them difficult to read or for reverse image sites to identify. So for now, this is the best possible analysis of Rodrick's room in regards to music.

Miscellaneous

An easy-to-miss detail lies in the infamous Löded Diper van. Within the final few moments of Rodrick Rules as Rodrick drops Greg off at school (01:31:52), there's a semi-clear shot of the van's dashboard. On it are a set of stickers, including one referencing Huevos Rancheros, an instrumental rock-and-roll group from Canada.

In Dog Days, Rodrick brings a personal boombox with him to the municipal pool. Along the top is a large sticker for Street Machine, a Czech hardcore/metal band.

Cut Content

In the second studio draft of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, on page 23, scene 43, more of Rodrick's favorite artists are revealed.

The nature of this may be written off as not canon, as it was added into the script while it was still a work in progress and the posters themselves didn't make it into the final product.

What sells it to me as remaining "silent" canon though is that TOOL and Slipknot are often lumped together with Kittie (previously mentioned) as they share an overlapping fanbase. This was more prevalent during the early 2000's within the mall goth subculture, but it's remained fairly consistent for other variants of metalheads over the years too.

TLDR

To recap, the various genres across all of the bands Rodrick is canonically into include indie rock, pop rock, punk rock, hardcore punk, hard rock, industrial, thrash metal, heavy metal, nu metal, death metal, sludge metal, and grindcore.

His musical preferences are punk, rock, and metal-centric but quite broad and inclusive of countries of origin and lesser-known underground artists (some don't break even 100 monthly listeners on Spotify). This leaves the door open for endless possibilities in terms of headcanons.

He's not emo despite popular fan belief, but I still think there's a chance some of his musical leanings could cross over with bands considered emo adjacent for their presence in the community. August Burns Red and The Devil Wears Prada come to mind with his music taste accounted for, but that's just my headcanon.

EDIT: 9/9/24

I've since made two Spotify playlists from my findings: one being what I imagine would be Rodrick's regular rotation, and the other being an extension of his party mix. I feel I've channeled him well, since a lot of his music taste is basically mine circa 2008/2009.

If you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience, and I appreciate any and all interactions left on this post. Happy listening!! <333

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

At the Cabaret Pt. 1 | Tommy Shelby x fem!character

Summary: Lenore is a dancer at the Birmingham Cabaret when she's approached by an estranged neighbor and notorious gangster, Tommy Shelby, with a business prospect. Seeing him again brings up old feelings and new conflicts that they must navigate in the topsy turvy world of Cabaret.

Warnings: Heavy misogyny (1920s Cabaret... I mean), mentions of sexual assault, and objectification. Please don't read if these topics are upsetting to you- I'm writing from a historical perspective and some of the elements I write about are disturbing. Take care while reading. This story only gets worse from here lol. I use a few modern songs in the story but imagine them in a 1920s style (aka Post Modern Jukebox). I really recommend listening to the songs I have listed below because I reference them in the story.

word count: 4125k

Come with me- Preservation Hall Jazz Band 🎶

Ain't That a Grand and Glorious Feeling? - Annette Hanshaw 🎵

Last Nite- The Strokes 🎶

PDA- Interpol 🎵

Not proofed- my b folks!

She felt powerful when she stepped on stage. She felt untouchable. She performed five days a week at Birmingham’s Cabaret Club during the late night slot when the wealthiest clientele slipped in through the backdoor to huddle around the stage. She was lucky that her life had ended up like this and not working the streets like so many girls she knew had to after the war years. She tried to get them jobs in the Cabaret but their addictions to uppers and downers and strong cocktails made it hard for them to follow the routine of Cabaret. It required discipline to arrive at the club everyday at three in the afternoon and work new routines until the doors opened at eight, and they worked hard. She wasn’t an especially good dancer but her energy and confidence on stage won her the best slot of the night and the notoriety that nicknamed her “Lady Lenore.” 

Her shows were sensual, sure, but mainly they were performances. She sang and sparkled onstage with her elaborate costumes. And sure, men often followed her backstage, seeking an encore in not so polite terms but she was the master of her own image. She was allowed to say no when she wanted to because she was “Lady Lenore.” She wasn’t a stranger to male guests coming by to visit her at night and many times, she allowed them to join her in her dressing room shared with the other performers, offering him whisky and resting her feathered head against his chest. But these were the boys she recognized from the factories her father had worked in, that her brothers had worked in before the war. She flirted with the rich cats who came by to seduce her but only the boys with coal grease still stuck in the curves of their muscles made it farther into the reaches of her corseted costume. She had a preference and she didn’t care who knew it. 

What won her fame, besides her voice, were her costumes. The early twenties offered an exciting new spread of style that she latched onto like Vicodin. She loved red, so she dyed most of her costumes a deep scarlet with millions of beads sewn onto the surface. She pulled on the red bodysuit, fixing the ropes of red beads draped around her shoulders and bare thighs. She didn’t have large breasts so the front stuck tightly to her chest but elegant bodice distracted disappointed eyes. Her blonde hair was bobbed around her heart-shaped face. Lucy, one of her friends, secured the devil cap on her head, the strap going beneath her chin. The horns were stuffed with couch stuffing to stand up straight. She under-drew her lips, creating a heart with red lipstick. The rest of her makeup was minimal, making the lipstick stand out. She buckled her nude-colored dancing heels across the top of her foot and shook out her arms nervously. 

She could hear the announcer out on stage with his squeaky voice. She pulled on her red satin gloves and made her way slowly to the curtains offstage waiting for her cue. Johnny the club manager squealed, “and now, the girl you’ve been waiting for, the queen of our hearts and the sweetheart of Birmingham, Lady Lenore!” He ran off stage and a spot opened against the curtain. 

She lifted her lips into an innocent smile and stuck her arm out through the slit in the red velvet curtain. She trailed her finger down the fabric, teasing the slit beneath the hot spotlight. The audience cheered loudly, feet stomping on the bar floor. 

“Aw come on out, darlin!” A man hollered from the audience and she laughed quietly behind the heavy fabric. Whistles followed his brave shout and she shook her finger naughtily at them, still obscured by the curtain. 

“Now, now boys. That’s no way to ask a lady. I was gonna be real nice to you tonight, and I mean real nice.” The men whistled again and slammed their hands on the drinking tables. 

“Please, honey!” 

“Come on, love!” 

She slipped her arms back behind the curtain and giggled.

“Oh, boys! You really do know how to make a girl feel so good!” She squealed, “open the curtain, Johnny!” 

The curtain swung open on its tracks and she placed her hands on her accented hips. Her bare thighs warmed under the hot spot. She switched into her Lady Lenore facade, apologizing raspily, “sorry about that boys, I was a bit nervous.” 

Men howled in the audience and stood to whistle. She put a dramatic finger to her lips, biting it gently. 

“Gee, thanks. Now let me show you what I can really do.” She chuckled darkly and nodded to the band beside the stage. “Hit it, honey.” She called with a smile. A ragtime track began and she twirled, pulling the hair from her shoulders to show off the back of the costume, her butt just peeking out beneath the underwear-like bodice. She strutted across the stage with a flick of her leg, turning into a jumpy great-vine, tap dancing without the loud clacks. She reached out her gloved hand to the audience and gasped when the music jumped, smirking as she took quick steps backwards. She did the same to the otherside, each action dominated by the sexual squeal of the trumpet. She took slow steps downstage to the drum beat and lowered herself slowly to her knees, playing with her long strand of pearls. 

“I just feel so good tonight,” she bit her lip and shook her shoulders and lay back, still on her knees, her sparkly crotch exposed to the roar of the crowd. When a man wolf-whistled she sat back up quickly, an innocent smile pulling at her painted lips. “Oops!” She giggled and crawled forward on her hands and knees. She reached the end of the stage and swung her legs over gracefully. She went over to the fat cat at the first table and stroked his long white beard. 

“Say, you look like a good boy,” She purred and sat abruptly on his lap, “now what do you want for Christmas? Or more importantly what do I want?” She pouted out her lip, thinking. The men in the audience laughed. 

“Anything you’d like sweetheart.” The man chuckled and she smiled. 

“Ohh, Daddy! That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! But say, aren’t you gonna ask me if I’ve been a good girl?”

“Well, have you?” 

“Hmm, one second, Daddy,” She stood up from his lap and cleared her throat loudly. “Do you boys think I've been a good girl?” She asked the room and smiled when she received stomps and applause. “And do you think I should get anything I want?” She added, biting her lip. 

“You’re all I want, love!” One man yelled from the bar and she clutched her heart. 

“That’s the right answer, boy!” She called back and laughed, returning to the lit stage. A microphone had been set up centerstage while she was in the audience. She shimmied up to the microphone. 

“Y’all ever been to New Orleans?” She quipped in her best southern accent and winked at the band who burst into, “Come with Me.”

A line of feathered dancers came out onto stage, flirting with the audience with their scandalous dance fan dance. 

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

Her raspy voice echoed out into the small club. She scanned the crowd, her fingers cupping the wide microphone. The men in the crowd smoked cigarettes and cigars, separating them by class and income. The day-laborers sat with crushed cigarettes in ashtrays while the fat cats still smoked the same cigar they had light when the night began. 

So

Come with me to the' New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side 

She smiled as she sang, looking down at the audience through her eyelashes. She adjusted her red velvet garter, her fingers trailing up the fabric on her crotch to her stomach. The dancers behind her dipped their fans to show their cleavage. 

Come with me to New Orleans

I'll show you a great time

All your dreams will come true

A' With me by your side

She finished the song with a low voice and the audience roared once again. She took an extra fan from one of the dancers and held it in front of her body. With the large fan, she did look naked, tricking those who were drunk in the audience to believe she was nude like a game of peek-a-boo. “Ain't that Grand and Glorious” marked the beginning of a new musical number and she started singing, traveling to either end of the stage. She moved her fan to her back like a peacock, pushing what cleavage she did have forward with her arms. 

Now is there any one present

Who was ever in love

If it’s so you know how

I’m feeling right now

Everything is so pleasant

She broke out into a brief timestep combination and moved the fan to her chest, just showing her legs and face. 

You’re so full of bliss

You just feel like knocking wood

She planted and shook her hips to the knocking noise. 

And when you naturally say yes

Ain’t that a grand and glorious feeling! 

She spun around and planted the fan on the top of her butt, bending over to show off her ass to the audience who cheered. She spun again and did a quick Cincinnati step during the instrumental break. 

I’ve got something to say 

When that band starts to play

She raised the fan above her head, showing off her costume once again, as everyone in the room sang the last line with her: 

I get a grand and glorious feeling

“That’s all!” She smiled and the spot went out. She hurried off-stage with the others and ducked into her dressing room, returning hugs and hollow laughs with the other girls.

“You were wonderful, Nore!” A dancer hugged her around her stiff waist and she let out a repressed breath. 

“Thank you, thank you. Gee, I’m happy it's over with. Father Christmas in the front row got a little too excited if you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes and the girls laughed. Clara patted her on the back and slipped through the dressing room door to go on with the following act. 

“Break a leg, Clara babes!” She teased warmly and she tittered her thanks. They could hear the crowd grow impatient as they waited for the next round of entertainment. She sat down at her place at the makeup counter and removed the horned cap from her head. Lucy slipped into the dressing room, closing it quietly behind her so the sound wouldn’t carry onstage. 

“Nore, great job as always.” She sat beside her and intertwined her fingers with Nore’s. The dancers switched their tops and bottoms, each barely covering anything of their anatomy. 

“Thanks, Luce.” She wiggled in her seat and slid the large rings off her fingers and put them in her pink jewelry box. 

“Johnny wanted me to tell you that there’s a fella in the audience that wants to see you.” Lucy grimaced. 

“I have another show tonight, I can’t.” She sighed and fixed her lipstick. 

“He said it’s important.” 

“He always says that.” She laughed curtly. 

“Sure but I think he means it this time, Nore. I would do it.” 

“Why? Is it a cat?” She raised her eyebrow at Lucy and frowned, “He is isn’t he?” 

“It's Thomas Shelby, Nore.” She whispered close to Nore’s ear and sat back again, biting her lip anxiously. 

Her heart fell into her stomach and she looked at Lucy through the mirror for a moment. She cleared her throat and looked down at her red gloves. 

“So? He doesn’t own me,” She tried to sound brave. 

“No, but he owns half of Birmingham.” Lucy retorted and started again, “and besides, he used to be a factory boy, you remember don’t you? He used to live on our street!”

“That was before the war, Lucy. He’s changed since then. We all have.” 

“Wasn’t your brother friends with Thommy?” She asked carefully, not wanting open old wounds.

“Like I said, Luce, we’ve all changed. I haven’t spoken to her in ages. The war was hard on everyone, even the Shelbys.” She sighed. Lucy looked down at her naked thighs pressed against the chair and took in a deep breath. 

“You’ll do it though, won’t you?” 

“If I don’t have a choice…” She shrugged and stared at herself in the mirror, “then I guess I will. Help me out of this corset, won’t you please?” She stood and Lucy undid the tough clasps on the back that insured the piece wouldn’t fly open during the act, no matter how many hands probed it. She shrugged the top off, her breasts sitting back against her chest. She put on the white satin bra and short set laid out for her second performance. She rolled on her stockings and clipped them into her garters to keep them from falling down. Lucy fastened a tulle train onto the back of her shorts and fixed the edges. She buckled her heels and fit the glitzy headband around her forehead. Someone switched her pearls for a necklace with small gold stars, and her red gloves for blush pink. She brushed a little kohl behind her eyes and sprayed herself with perfume, sticky and sweet. 

Her second number was more choreographed and started like this:

She and the dancers entered with chairs. The chairs were arranged with her on center stage. The audience applauded and whooped and the girls smiled as brightly as they could beneath the white hot spot. “Last Nite” strikes up with the jumpy stutter of piano. It was a straight-forward dance. The hardest part was singing as she moved, bicycle-kicking her legs above her head in the chair. She abandoned the chair half-way through the song and scat at the microphone, accompanied by the instrumental riff. 

They don’t understand

No, girlfriends, they won’t understand

A cheer went up from the crowd, beer spilling from raised glasses. 

Last night he said

“Oh, baby, I feel so down”

“And it’s turnin’ me off when I feel left out”

So I, turned around

She turned slowly, kicking the tulle train back out as she did with her heel. Her arms were raised above her head, smiling wide. 

“Oh darling no care no more

I know this for sure, I’m walking out, I’m walking out that door

And ain’t gonna understand

She winked and blew kisses to the growing crowd in the audience. She scanned the faces at the tables for Peaky Blinders. Then she saw the tell-tale peaky cap pulled down over his face. She couldn’t see his face in the darkened house but the way his table was separated from the rest in the club, and completely empty save the man sitting there with Irish Whisky told her enough. The crowd’s applause came to an end and she snapped back into character, curseying and raising her hand to the band. 

“Thank you!” She twirled once more to show off her ensemble and curled her finger at Johnny who was still standing off stage. 

“Oh, Johnny!” She called him out on stage and when he waddled over she put her chin on his shoulder, “Get these wonderful men a drink huh?” She smiled innocently. The crowd exploded with hoots and hollers. “That’s for making me meet with Shelby without asking me first, Johnny.” She growled beneath her breath and smiled at the crowd, “sweet dreams, boys!” The men waved from the audience and the girls scurried off stage. 

She was too distracted to speak to anyone right after the show. She went straight to the dressing room and removed the tulle train from her shorts, grimacing as she did though it caused her no pain. Tommy was too smart to fall for her Lady Lenore act and she silently cursed herself for making the character such a staple of her success. He would be able to see through her confidence to her fear wallowing in her eyes. Some of the girls helped her quickly slip into a blush pink dress, the drop waist brushing against her hips. She changed into her normal heels, shiny black mary janes, and pulled off her headband. She left the star necklace around her neck but removed the gloves and extra jewelry. Lucy wiped off her bright red lipstick, changing it for a more casual color. One of the younger girls, Lily, ran in and called for her. 

“Nore, Johnny said to take the spare dressing room.” 

“Got it, thanks.” She nodded and exhaled loudly, pushing air through her nose. “He has everything fucking planned out,” she cursed below her breath. “Is he going to undress me for him too?” She grumbled and wiped kohl fallout from beneath her eyes. 

“He may not want that.” Lucy offered. 

“That’s what men always want, Luce.” She responded and sighed. With one last smile, she opened the door into an adjoining room called the spare dressing room. It was called that but it had never been one. There was a bed against the back wall with wood bed-frame and carved posts. The bed was dressed with clean sheets everyday and draped with a heavy red quilt to keep out the December cold. This was the nicest room out of the lot and it was reserved for our best clientele. A table and chairs separated the bed from the main door to the hallway. A bar cart sat idly against the side wall, stocked with cheap liqueur and towels. On the opposite side was a lounge in dark red fabric to hide stains. The wood floors were cold without the heaters and she could feel the chill even through her heels. She perched herself on the arm of the lounge and settled, waiting for Tommy Shelby to arrive. 

He didn’t know when he came in, he wasn’t worried if he happened to walk in on anyone, and he just didn’t care. He avoided her eyes as he stepped into the room and closed the door, loud voices carried down the hallway like the smell of cigarette smoke. When the door was firmly closed behind him, he finally caught her eyes.  

“Hello Mr. Shelby.” She didn’t move to stand.

“Miss Panning,” he gave her a curt nod, “or shall I call you Lady Lenore?”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Miss Panning unless you’d prefer to call me Lady Lenore.”

“Well Miss Panning,” he walked to the table and lit a cigarette, dropping the lighter and cigarette case on the table, “I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.” He gestured loosely to the direction of the stage, talking around the cigarette. 

She sighed and stood, taking a cigarette that Tommy offered out to her. She held the cigarette between her lips as he flicked open the lighter and the cigarette caught. “Did you like my performance, Mr. Shelby.” She smiled, blowing out the smoke. He looked down at his shoes and exhaled a cloud of heavy gray smoke, his hands in his pockets. When he looked up his smile was pained, his brows furrowed. 

“Eh, not really my thing.” 

“Mmm of course. From what I’ve heard you like it quick and dirty. You’re not one for a performance, are you?” She teased darkly and moved to the bed, sitting at the end. He watched her, his eyes calm and unfazed. She flicked the ash of her cigarette to the floor and crossed her legs, the slit in her dress showing her thigh. He stared at her thigh, puffing on his cigarette.

“What do you want, Mr. Shelby?” She asked him bravely. He tore his eyes from her exposed leg and  looked into her eyes. Exhaling and pulling the cigarette from his lips he rubbed his thumb across his thick lips.

“I want us to be friends, Nore.” He said finally, his voice restrained, holding back a layer of information he wouldn’t easily give up. 

“I’m Nore now?” She almost sneered. 

“We were neighbors once if you remember.” 

“Those days are far behind us now, Mr. Shelby.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down at the ground. 

“Tommy.” He inclined his head slightly and stubbed out his cigarette. “And maybe they are but that doesn’t mean we can’t become friends again now, does it? 

He’d said something like that years before when she was fifteen, he was seventeen, and best friends with her brother. Her brother told him that she had a huge crush on him and he’d treated her kindly, offering to be her friend, though nothing more. Hearing him now brought her back to that moment in the alley between their houses, ducking beneath the laundry lines. He’d told her that maybe when she was older… but he went to war and never came back the same. He hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to her since, plagued by guilt. She’d lost her brother in the war. 

“Why do you want to be friends, Tommy?” She asked slowly, fighting the images of her brother that entered her mind when she looked at him. 

He lit another cigarette and pulled it from his lips. 

“I think we can help each other.” 

“Oh?” She switched legs, letting the fabric slide slowly over her skin. He watched, his jaw clenched, in what she read as distaste.

“I need someone who’s willing to be my eyes and ears inside this club. I know Billy Kimber and his men meet here.” 

“Does this job require more than ‘eyes’ and ‘ears,’ Tommy?” She looked down at her cigarette. 

“It would require anything that gets them comfortable to talk to you, you can fill in the rest.” He looked over at the whiskey. “Whisky?” He asked and she nodded. 

“Yes, please.” 

He took two thick crystal glasses from the cart and poured. He rounded the table to hand her a glass and she took it, looking up into his blue eyes. He took a deep drink from the whiskey and sighed. She drank and swirled the caramel liquor around in the glass. 

“You know, Tommy, I don’t sleep with all of my clientele. Believe it or not but I prefer working boys over men like Kimber. I’m still a Small Heath girl, Tommy. That’ll never change, no matter how many rich men come in here promising me globs money in return for a quick fuck.”

He looked down at his shoes and nodded, thinking. He downed the rest of the whisky and cleared his throat. 

“Will you do it?” He asked. 

“What do I get in return?” She sighed. 

“Money and protection, of course.” He put his glass on the table and leaned against it, sucking on his cigarette. 

“Anything else?” She smiled softly.

He looked at her, expressionless, trying to determine what she wanted from him.

“What else would you like, Lenore?” He asked softly. 

She swallowed the rest of her whiskey and smiled sweetly at him, taking from her character. 

“Well, if we’re really to be friends, I want you to come to my shows.” She stood and reached around his waist to the ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette, looking directly in his eyes. 

“And besides,” she continued softly, “men like nothing more than competition. If Kimber learns that you fancy me, he’ll do whatever he can to get with me.” 

She took a step back and took a second cigarette from Tommy’s breast pocket. He lit it for her without a word. 

“Alright,” he nodded, his face unchanging, “anything else?” 

Her eyes softened and she fought back weak tears.

“Look after my father, Tommy. Make sure he’s safe too. If not for this, for James.” The mention of her brother stilled something in him. He nodded and cleared his throat. He turned and walked to the door to the hallway. 

“Tommy,” she called from the bed. He paused with his hand resting on the door handle, “you know he’s going to kill me before they tell me anything you want to hear.” She said softly, almost sadly. 

He said nothing for a moment and inhaled, looking over his shoulder though his eyes didn’t meet hers.

“I won’t let that happen.” He said evenly and left, the door closing loudly behind him. She tried to still her shaky hands, dragging on the shrinking cigarette.

_______

end part 1 here :)

[should-know-better]

What's in a name?

Thinking about the name "The Last Shadow Puppets" today. We know that Alex has never been happy with the name 'Arctic Monkeys' so it seems reasonable that he would take considerable time and pains to choose a name for the side project with Miles. Indeed, we know that Miles also gets quite involved in wordplay (just listen to Ransom).

The official story for the name, according to Miles in the 2008 Daily Record is:

“We got the name The Last Shadow Puppets because a friend of ours was on the phone lying on her bed and she was doing shadow puppets on the wall.”

Then, the pair also speak about it in the John Norris interview (part one). X

However then, in this 2016 interview (dailymotion.com) Alex tells us that the name was due to them listening to "sixties girl groups, and the Shadow Puppets seemed like it could be a sixties girl group name."

Hmmm... so a totally different story. Had Alex forgotten how they decided the name in that 8 year period?

Also, who is this girl who was on the phone to them? (Three people on one phone call in 2008 also seems odd to me? idk??) So I wondered if this is a constructed story that they came up with to hide a deeper meaning of the name.

I soon discovered via a quick google, that the original story doesn't even describe 'Shadow Puppets.' Images using hand shadows on a wall is called 'Shadowography' or 'Shadowplay' (which surely is referred to in EYCTE, especially as it refers to an ancient impulse, which is described below).

'Shadow Puppets' are flat figures that are placed between a light and a screen, that have been used as a traditional art form for centuries. So, in other words, you DON'T SEE THE REAL IMAGE OF THE OBJECT creating the art. Although it's not until later that we see Alex's different personas for each record, I wonder if he has thought about people seeing the real him for a long time.

Now consider the word, 'Puppet.

Definitions from collinsdictionary.com include:

'a doll that you can move, either by pulling strings that are attached to it, or by putting your hand inside its body and moving your fingers'!!! I promise I didn't make this up! or 'a person whose actions are controlled by a more powerful person even though they appear independent.'

Sexual connotations aside, is it possible that Alex is aware of how controlling the record industry is, even at this young age? I know that in interviews around the time, he's excited about everything that is happening with AM, but is there a little cynicism in there too? Little examples are dropped out, like AM originally wanting the first record out many months before it was (John Kennedy interview), so perhaps he's realised the control that the industry has over him - controlling him like a puppet.

I do like this definition of a puppet though:-

'they are a symbol of transformation and metamorphosis, a vehicle for expression, granting freedom and creativity where we might not be able to find it.' 'Puppets are a mirror that reflect back our own desires, fears and aspirations.' Source: storymaps.arcgis.com

The 'Shadow' side of the name also fits nicely with what we perceive of the relationship between Alex and Miles:

Shadow - 'a darkness in a place caused by something preventing light from reaching it.'

Am I overthinking when I consider this an apt description of someone hiding something? Or a feeling that you have if you're unable to be the real you?

Finally, we come to 'The Last' part of the name. 'Last' also has multiple meanings, some more relevant than others, including, 'the only remaining', 'the most recent' (e.g. last year), 'to remain usable for a length of time' (e.g. built to last). 'Last' applies to something that comes at the end of a series, but does not imply that the series is completed or stopped.

However in the John Norris interview, Alex and Miles explain why they chose this word:-

JN: And the 'Last' part of it?

MK: Cockiness, arrogance...

AT: Arrogance...

MK: Arrogant little bastards.

AT: Stark arrogance.

MK: Yeah.

Why was the word 'last' chosen as arrogance? It could be that they are saying there will never be another us, but that's not arrogance, it's true for everyone.

I wonder if it is referring to them having a youthful optimism that they feel that they won't be manipulated by the music industry. They are aware of what goes on, but it won't happen to them.

This would tie into the timing of the release of the name. Up until only a couple of weeks prior to the album launch, they were going to be called 'The Turner and Kane Project,' (see NME article January 2008 and John Norris interview). Then suddenly it changes. Could it be a ironic nod to the many X-Factor artists who were everywhere during this time and who were manipulated by the industry? The most recent Christmas Number One had been Leon Jackson, who had just won the show (and it was obvious that this would get to the prestigious festive top spot).

I'm not saying that Alex and Miles were dissing the artists, more so that they were saying, we are not going to be puppets in this world. After all, they got to record their album - Miles said in his interview with Nihal that the label said "let him go and do that with his mate," when Alex asked.

As usual, we will probably never find out the real thought behind the name. Maybe there was a girl? Maybe it was wordplay? After all, Alex told us that the album titles were ironic to him, so maybe it's not too much of a stretch that the band name could be too.

[i-like-turkey]

I announced on Twitter that I was taking a step back from social media and fandom to deal with a personal matter. That’s still true. I just need to barf some feelings into the universe. I’m putting them under a cut. This is NOT an easy read and I’m NOT holding back details. Don’t feel compelled or obligated to share my pain. TW: Pet death & grief.

I said goodbye to my little girl on Thursday. She’s been my world since I took her home at the end of July 2012. It was both sudden and not sudden. So I’m in shock, but I’m also not really surprised. There were signs that something bad was looming and I had this gut feeling as early as January that this wasn’t gonna be a good year for us.

This likely all started a long time ago. I took her to the vet in August of 2022 right before we moved east. The vet told me that her heart didn’t sound 100%, but it wasn’t something that needed immediate intervention. She had a little murmur that could indicate heart disease and if it got worse, then I’d need to get her to a specialist to take pictures and then we’d likely get her on some medicine to deal with whatever the problem was.

So I heeded the advice to take a wait and see approach. My baby was acting fine. She made it across the country well. She had energy and life. Not quite her puppy energy, but she was 10, so that was normal. I took her to the vet again this last August and I heard the same thing. She has a murmur. It’s not quite bad enough to get images. If it gets worse, we’ll refer you to a specialist. Ok. Great.

We keep living our life. She still has energy. Lunging at cars and barking at other dogs and trying to get endless pets from all of the strangers we’d encounter while walking in our neighborhood and riding our building’s elevators. I can’t tell y’all how many people would ask how old she was and be surprised when I told them 11.

So we get to January and she’s coughing a bit more than she usually does. Background: for the last few years of her life, she’d occasionally have coughing fits when she got super excited about something or barked too hard at a car. Worrying. But something I’d disclosed to all of the vets we’d seen and they didn’t seem perturbed by it. But now the coughing was every few days instead of a couple times a month or three days of coughing followed by months without a single damn cough.

It got really bad mid January. I took her into the vet. The same one who’d listened to her heart in August. He listened again. Nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t have fluid in her lungs. Her energy was fine. He sent me home with antibiotics and a cough suppressant and told me to come back if she didn’t improve after a few days of treatment. She improved. Not right away. There were scary times where her breathing was all labored, but after a few days of the meds, she was doing better, and by the end she seemed fine.

And then we get to last Sunday and I hear a cough and that wasn’t good. And then Monday she’s coughing a bit more and I’m getting nervous. I talk to my parents and we agree to not do anything yet because illnesses can linger and her energy was fine. My mom came over that night and we were standing by the laundry closet doors and my pup pulled a toy out of her toy basket and was just running all over the living room with it. She was shaking her head and growling and having an absolute blast flinging that thing everywhere for the entire lengthy time my mom and I were chatting. She didn’t look sick. She looked like a puppy with lots of gray hair.

Then my mom leaves and we sit on the couch and she rolls over for belly rubs and immediately has to roll back over to cough. Then she cuddles up to me and we sit there and watch TV and I pet her and then I take her out and we go through our nighttime routine. She seemed fine.

Tuesday was a good day. She had energy. We played a bit with one of her favorite toys. We had some good cuddles. I only heard a few coughs.

Wednesday morning she seemed ok energy wise. She coughed when she rolled over for belly rubs right after I got home from my morning walk (solo cause it’s long & hilly. She also got one every morning). I didn’t notice anything abnormal during the day. Then we go out for our evening walk and she’s sluggish. That also wasn’t abnormal cause her energy had been fading for the last few years. Sometimes she’d race through our walks. Sometimes she liked to take a leisurely pace. I never worried cause if a car zoomed past she’d lunge and bark and if she saw a dog, she’d lose her mind. But we passed a couple dogs that night and nothing. That had me on edge. But then we get inside and I put on her favorite TV show, Person of Interest, and she was barking up a storm at Bear and seemed fine. I take that as a positive sign and relax a little.

I make dinner. We go to the couch for nightly cuddles. She rolls over for belly rubs. Starts coughing immediately. I pet her through it. Then she cuddles into my side and coughs a couple more times as we sit there. I put her to bed at her usual bedtime. I hear her coughing a few times as I’m struggling to fall asleep. Then I wake up Thursday and she’s in bad shape. I don’t wanna describe it cause it’s too fucking tough to type and traumatic. But I get us scheduled with the nearby vet asap* and I keep an eye on my girl and her scary symptoms. The symptoms subside a bit. Then my mom comes over to help keep me calm as we wait for our appointment time. My baby perks up when she hears my mom knock. She runs from the couch to the door. She’s wagging her tail and barking and jumping on my mom. She goes and chugs half her bowl of water. We sit there with her for over an hour petting her as we talk. She’s breathing ok. Her tail is between her legs, so that’s a sign something isn’t right. But she’s getting all the love from us and seemed happy.

Then we leave. She pees and poops on the way (I didn’t take her out first thing that morning cause part of the scary badness that I’m skipping is that she peed inside). The vet comes in and listens to her. I show a video I took of her that morning. The vet’s reaction said it all. She snapped into action. Took my baby out of the room for x-rays. As that was happening we were going over pricing options with a tech and then shit kinda really hit the fan cause the x-rays were bad. No specialty review necessary. She had fluid around her heart. So we start talking about transporting her to a specialist. They bring my girl back in. The tech just kinda drops the leash and steps away as soon as my girl is through the door. She starts racing directly to me and she collapses. My mom runs for help. They take her away again. The vet ends up doing the procedure she would have sent us elsewhere to do. Basically draining the fluid. It’s blood. They get her stable and hooked up on oxygen and give me the option of trying to get her to the animal hospital for further intervention. But the vet was clear that she’d probably die on the way and it was VERY clear at that point that she wasn’t gonna get better from this. It was a heart tumor. Something had ruptured and started bleeding. There was no fix. So I made the call to let her go. We got my dad and my brother on the line and told them to get their asses over to us. We stood there petting my baby as we waited. Then we said goodbye.

*In hindsight I maybe should have gotten her in the car and driven her to an emergency hospital. But the closest one ISN’T close. And that wouldn’t have changed the outcome. She hated the car enough that she would pant during two minute drives. 40 minutes (assuming relatively light rush hour traffic which is probably a bad assumption so more like 60 min) of that while she was already in breathing distress might have killed her. But assuming we made it, they could have intervened and maybe bought her a day or two. But this wasn’t something she was gonna get better from. That extra time would have been full of pain. So I made the right call. She got more loves from me and my mom at home and got to pass peacefully nearby while she was surrounded by everyone who loved her.

So I’m devastated and completely out of my mind at the moment. I don’t know what’s up or down. I’m keeping myself occupied between sobbing fits by going through all the pictures I’ve taken over the years. It’s a pain in the ass because my storage habits are terrible and my screenshotting habits are worse so I have hundreds of thousands of images scattered everywhere and now I have to dig through them to find my girl.

Here are some painful lessons I’ve learned from this:

Don’t store 77k images in a single folder on an external hard drive. You won’t be able to copy them all over to the iCloud at a single time unless you have a fuckton of available disk space on your Mac. And trying to scroll through the images will push your computer dangerously close to the limits (I really need a new machine 😬)

Don’t rely too heavily on Snapchat to takes pics. It’s fun in the moment, but 5-6 years later you’re gonna cringe & regret that all your cute dogs pics from that era are plastered over with weird graphics. A Happy Mother’s Day pic with my dog on the couch behind me, hearts all above us, and a damn Wookie filter plastered over my face? jfc 🤦🏼‍♀️

Do give yourself a refresher on how Snapchat works lest you go through and favorite a bunch of memories, see a pop up flash about them getting added to a story, and then have a full on panic attack in front of your parents about how you might have accidentally shared semi-naked pics of yourself with the few people that still follow you 😅 (Yes, I’ve been been known to take and share some risqué pics. Yes, I wanted to download them before deleting them. I might be grieving, but I can still see a pic of my 2018 back muscles and think “Damn!” 🫣🤣)

Don’t be so lax and sloppy about your picture storage habits that you’re forced to keyword search your text messages for pictures cause it’s a good way to find out just how many women you’ve texted dog pics to throughout the years 🥴 She was a great wing woman, but she also loved to clam jam me cause she thought she was the one who should be getting kisses when I’d sit on my couch with a woman 😂

Do find a balance between taking pictures of every damn thing and living in the moment. I stopped taking lots of pics since my east coast move cause I wanted to get away from my compulsive snapping. Now I regret not taking at least one daily shot of her sleeping on the couch.

Do have other people take pictures of you and your dog. So far I’ve only found two different occasions on which someone else took a picture of me and my baby together. All other pics of us are terrible selfies or feature just my hand/arm/legs. I have memories of all those moments that I spent with her, but it hurts to not have a father away perspective on them. Part of this is my fault for living thousands of miles from my family, being fairly closed off to human connections aside from shallow hookups and activity buddies, and viewing my home as a sacred domain accessible to people only if there wasn’t another option for where we could hang out.

Thank you anyone who has made it this far. Please go hug your pets and tell them that you love them. If you would like to leave me a note, that’s very welcome. I don’t have the energy to engage, so it’s unlikely I will respond until the day my energy returns. Idk when that will be. Right now I’m still in the sobbing hysterically as I process my new reality phase. I need to get through that before I’ll be ready to start communicating normally. I’m hopeful that I’ll only need a week or two in this phase. But who knows. Grief is hard to predict. All I can do now is stay patient and work through it.

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Master Post and Intro

Hi, I’m so glad you’re here! This started out as a small writing blog but has developed a horrifying (^jk) life of its own over the past two years, so it was about time I just faced the facts:

A Sandman Blog it is!

I organised the links and tags to all my Sandman stuff for you to make it easier to find your way around.

I love getting asks, about analysis, about my fics, prompts or generally just to chat, so see this as an encouragement to slide into my inbox…

[For quick reference:]

[The Ultimate Sandman Character Tag Library]

[The Women of the Sandman Tag Library]

[Sandman Comics: Original Artists Library]

[Sandman Reread (Comics)]

[Sandman Rewatch (Netflix)]

[Sandman S2 News, Casting and Speculation]

[Sandman Reference: How to Collect the Comics, Companion Books, Annotations/Reference Literature etc]

[Sandman Movie Concept Art by Jill Thompson & John Watkiss]

[In Light of Recent Allegations]

Ordered by topics (recommended):

Sandman Meta-Analysis: My literary/conceptual/psychological analyses. I have also written some musical and art metas. You will find further links via all three.

The Sandman Book Club Community: Just follow the link if you’d like to join.

Sandman Fics & Poems: My own work, mostly m/f and f/f canon pairings and OCs, both long fics and shorter works.

I’m also Dream’s Therapist. I think we all agree he needs one.

Sandman Art (general tag that contains all art posts, from fan-art to gif-sets. Separate tag for official Sandman artists. Plus the very few pieces of my own art I’ve ever posted on here).

Sandman March Mania was an event we specifically ran for the comics art lovers, so check it out.

Sparkle Content Curation (a not-quite-serious collection of Dream/Morpheus thirst-trap fan-art and unhinged posts). Please also peruse the tags #contraceptive sparkles, #glitter herpes and #murphy and his cool hat (yes, I am sort of responsible for the #muhulhu tag on here) if this hell-site has left you in a state of being desperate for laughs

A Little Intro…

…and why this blog will keep on existing

Once there was a girl with so many words, so many images, so many songs in her head that had no place to go. So she decided some of them will just go here…

Well, that sounds a bit contrived, but it’s not entirely untrue. Apart from the “girl”-part, because I’m at the younger end of Gen X. Or the “no place to go”-part, because some of my work actually *did* go places. Just not the stuff I decided to put on here…

Which is mostly Sandman stuff right now, let’s be honest (I fell in love with it when I was 16, and it still has a tight grip on me three decades later). And the fact that my blog a wild mix between my metas, my fanfic and a bit of my doodling already shows the pull in different directions I have experienced for most of my life:

I guess I’m just a multi-hyphenate who can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life, so she tries to do it all and ends up burned out half of the time.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to publish a few novels under a pen name, and only a select few people know about it. And I intend to keep it that way.

I used to draw much more (mostly pencil and ink), but between working and having a family, something had to give, and if I have to choose, writing always comes first. But I doodle and experiment a lot in Procreate, and it usually helps me when I procrastinate on my writing. I drop the odd drawing in here (like my profile pic), but I don’t see myself as a fine artist, and I’m in perpetual awe of the talent I see on here.

This is just an account for unapologetically being me, with all my hyperfixations—and undoubtedly some pointless shitposts just for fun…

In light of recent happenings, I explained my personal stance and, by extension, why this blog will keep on existing.

[the-olympics-olympics]

Because of the way the Weird Olympic Moments Tournament is structured, we're going to have a lot of dead air for a few weeks while waiting for polls to finish up. So I decided to do a..

Olympic Medal Mini-Tournament!

Which Olympic medal design will win its own (imaginary) gold medal?

(these are not all of the medals; there's an image limit)

More info and the bracket lie waiting for you beneath the cut:

Some things to note about the tournament:

These are both Winter and Summer Olympic medals. If y'all like this, maybe I'll do a Paralympic mini-tournament later.

Since this is a mini-tournament, the voting time for each poll will be only one day. Check back often (or turn notifications on, if you want) so you don't miss any!

I'll be queueing these polls for over the next few weeks... probably like three or four polls a day.

Several of the medals over the years have had the exact same design, called "Trionfo" on the front and back. It'll be referred to a lot, since many of the medal designs have interpretations of Trionfo or use it alongside a unique design.

Related to the point above: the original Trionfo medal will be in the tournament as "Amsterdam 1928", the first year it was used. The other years the design was used without significant alteration will not be in the tournament.

The descriptions of the designs are pulled straight from Wikipedia and I haven't really checked them against the photos. Fingers crossed they're accurate! If not, I'll probably edit them if I notice lmao

The bracket:

Matchups chosen by random number generator

(please don't judge me for being lazy and using a template lmfao)

@tournament-announcer <3

[fromashesweriseuphiddenones]

Cosplay on a dime

So, I have gotten a lot of compliments on my Jacob Frye cosplay I did this Halloween and I wanted to share how I put together a cosplay like that.

1) the most important step is to pick who you want to cosplay as. A general rule of thumb I use is that I try to stick to my height, hair color, eye color and skin tone for the easiest cosplays. Then all I have to focus on is my outfit. However you can find wigs that help give you a different color of hair if that's the only issue. Same goes for eye color but I don't do contacts so I try to stick with blue eyed characters, that said as long as you love the character and do your best to capture the essence of the character it shouldn't matter if you're not six foot eight, and built like a brick.

2) locate good reference images. I can't stress this enough. Don't just grab the one image of the outfit you are going for, grab other outfits and if you can find rigs, face models etc it will help you pull the entire look together.

3) start in your closet and other previous costumes you may still have. Ever since I was 13 all my costumes have been sustainable and reusable. I don't often buy actual costumes the one exception is Scorpion from Mortal Kombat because of how rare it is.

4) after seeing what you have put together a list of what you need. So in the case of my Jacob Frye cosplay all I wound up needing was one additional belt, a tie, and a pair of boots as I picked up the hat trying to do a different costume of Dr Faciliae from The Princess and The Frog.

4a) that being said sometimes grabbing something for a different costume may inspire something new.

4b) if you have family members that can help you ask. Is dad weeding out old ties, ask him if you can have a look before he donates or throws them out you can save your self a few bucks here and there.

5) always keep an eye out. I shop year round at stores like Salvation Army and St Vincent De Paul where I constantly pick up belts, pants, tops, and scarves for cosplay. I once built an entire cosplay at St Vincent De Paul.

5a) also it helps sometimes to go in what you have already to match what you need to what you have, and don't be afraid to ask for help.

6) okay so you have the costume now look back at your reference photo, does your character have scars, tattoos, anything else that you need make up or wigs for? Great!

6a) for scars and tattoos I recommend starting with the temporary tattoo pens Spirit Halloween sells, or if you are doing this after Halloween Bic sells body markers. If you are more skilled with makeup then with the scars I would recommend scar putty, it's a clay like makeup that you can use to make realistic scars and such but I suck at makeup so I cheat.

6b) with tattoos I recommend the body markers or the fake tattoo sleeves that Spirit Halloween has in one of three sections, Military, Cop or the Punk section. Party City can be hit or miss depending on when you go.

6c) there is a tutorial I found right here on Tumblr for making your own tattoo sleeves, I have a photo of my Desmond Tattoo Sleeve right here on my page as well.

7) now that you are already, it's the day of the event do yourself and anyone else who is curious a favor and take a picture of you in full get up. Yes including any makeup and extra props you need. Also keep your main reference photo on hand so you can show people the inspiration.

Lastly truly is to have fun. If done right you can have a costume/cosplay you can continue to bring out for many years to come and hopefully you didn't break the bank. Honestly the jacket for Jacob Frye was my most expensive piece this year. But the compliments were well worth it.

Also please feel free to add additional information in the comments that I can add to this post or to ask me questions about anything in specific. Like I didn't get into too many details but I can help with sizing, look, proper wearing of a wig etc.

[mrworldwideshoulders]

on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable​)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot. 

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?” 

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth. 

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.” 

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him. 

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right? 

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.” 

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp. 

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.” 

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.” 

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.” 

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin. 

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further. 

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training. 

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice. 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?” 

You scoff. “I get by just fine.” 

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks. 

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand. 

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.” 

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer. 

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.” 

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him. 

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.” 

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow. 

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?” 

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far. 

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?” 

“Well, someone has to, don’t they? 

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.” 

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?” 

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.” 

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?” 

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?” 

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction. 

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.” 

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?” 

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?” 

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.” 

“Then why did you agree to it?” 

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk. 

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.” 

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”  

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?” 

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?" 

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.” 

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?” 

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.” 

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank. 

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all. 

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own. 

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it. 

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes. 

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him. 

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much. 

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests. 

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?” 

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed. 

previous || part 2 → 

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[identifying-guns-in-posts]

welcome!

i'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to guns, and thought randomly at some point that it'd be fun to start this gimmick blog and try to identify guns in various posts. however I do still kind of consider myself to be in the dunning-kruger valley, and gun identification is a bit more complex than car identification due to just how many variants of individual gun patterns there are, and how much easier it is to do modifications of them...

(ask / submission rules and other guidelines are further down in this post)

I'll try to at least identify the general pattern of the gun or any recognizable parts and cross reference with images and articles to make a decision. If your post or submission is from a particular piece of media, it's extremely likely for it to already be documented on the Internet Movie Firearms Database wiki website, so some answers will probably be pulled straight from there.

For example, the wiki clearly outlines that, in the above blog header, which is from the anime/manga Lycoris Recoil (IMFDB link here), Chisato (left) canonically uses a Detonics CombatMaster (variant of Colt 1911 pattern, chambered in .45 ACP), specifically one that incorporates elements of the Tokyo Marui Strike Warrior Airsoft replica (notable in the strike face compensator and modified rear sight). Takina (right) meanwhile uses a somewhat generic Smith and Wesson M&P9 PRO, chambered in 9x19mm, with the extended 5" barrel.

To make up for how garbage I am at getting specifics right, I may also offer some bits of trivia about the gun(s) in question and/or their implementation. For example, although Chisato's gun seems based off of the Tokyo Marui design, it notably has three port holes at the top of the compensator as compared to the single port in the original; it might be a bit more effective as a real compensator than the very-Airsoft cosmetic fixing of the TM replica. It also lacks the accessory rail in the anime. Additionally, Takina's signature sidearm, the M&P9, is extremely common in modern law enforcement (you might even recognize the handle of it in the "(A) Steal Officer's Service Weapon" meme), so it's a bit of a "cop gun" in a sense; which possibly matches how Takina essentially serves as the by-the-numbers half of the pseudo-buddycop pairing formed by her and Chisato. Interestingly enough, all other Lycoris agents are seen wielding Glock 17s instead...

asks

I'm always open to asks if you want to ask me anything, but if you want me to identify something, you should probably make it a submission!

submissions/tags

Only submit requests for identification of guns OR fictional gun reviews (more on that in another section)! Preferably memes and posts. You can also submit things from media like video games and anime, but you could probably get a faster answer through IMFDB than me >~>

If your submission or tag is for a "cursed gun" then some special rules apply. If it's a real life picture of some effed up monstrosity, I will do my best to identify it with a real, pre-built gun; otherwise, I'll try to identify parts that may have been used for it. If it's clearly an edited picture or some other form of drawing, concept, or very clearly fictional gun, this will be treated as a "Fictional Gun Review" instead.

Generally speaking I'm looking at "small arms" guns; I'm not super well-versed on artillery pieces and aircraft weapons and the like. I know a handful of rocket launchers and might be able to pick out a couple but those are also pretty hard for me.

Fictional Gun Reviews

I'm also a bit of a hobbyist game designer and like creating weapon designs myself! I can take a look at strictly fictional weapon designs and give some cursory criticism on whether or not the gun would actually function in the configuration it's in (checking things like barrel/bolt/magazine alignment, etc.), what parts of it I recognize from real guns, and an overall subjective rating.

about me

i'm a 21+ trans woman (she/her) and pansexual/biromantic disaster married to a hot butch wife. i'm also an independent game developer and secretly a streamer on another alias of mine. i like guns! i like the history of guns and the engineering of guns. personal favorites are sniper rifles, particularly the L96A1, the first military-specification sniper rifle made by Accuracy International, which served as the prototype of the Arctic Warfare line of rifles, popularized by Counter Strike's AWP (though the classification of "AWP" is incorrect for the particular weapon featured in the series, it's actually an AWM .338). favorite pistol is probably the Beretta 93R, a 3 round burst fire pistol with a similar pattern to the iconic M9 pistol. i also like the MP7 PDW (obvious half life 2 fan is obvious), the MAC10 (by far the coolest machine pistol to fire in akimbo lol), and the G36C (one of the first guns I ever decided to look up more information about many years ago after picking it up in Garry's Mod of all places).

[oathbreakerapologist]

Sortie Sad Sack Thought Journal 3: Food, Eating, Consumption

You know, it's kinda funny how many of the various Sad Sack intros/epilogues revolve around food.

It's actually quite a lot of them:

SADS #1 outro (not quite the epilogue but close): the gang talks about getting hotpot.

SADS #2 epilogue: Sal and Stone eat brunch (?) at the restaurant at which Evan works.

SADS #3 intro: Bar scene, though this barely counts and the actual consumption of drinks is SO far down the list of important images/motifs happening here, but I'm a completionist so it's going on the list.

SADS #4: Sal and Stone talk about making dinner (among other things), and the gang eats at the restaurant at which Evan works. Also Stone drinks quite a lot, but that's got a lot of plot function outside of the consumption motif, so that's an item of dubious inclusion like the SADS #3 bar scene.

SADS #5 is, I think, the only one in which this is largely absent (not counting #3.5 and #4.5).

That's a lot, right? It's pretty consistently present, right? It's also there in the nicknames used for the victims—Fleisch ("meat"), Fish, and Feast—explicitly reference food, and it shows up between Sal and Stone in the way that Sal uses the word "meat" in sexual contexts (there are so many different ways to linguistically reduce a person to their body, so the choice of "meat," linking to food specifically, is quite noteworthy).

Food/eating/consumption motifs in media generally do at least one of three things: (1) reinforce or deny the humanity of the eater, (2) suggest desire or compulsion (I'm putting "food as a sex metaphor" in this category), or (3) serve as class commentary.

Question 3: What does the food motif in SADS do for the narrative?

I'm going to rule out purpose (3), class commentary, right off the bat (and I'm going to do that without talking much about it because this isn't the post for that).

Purpose (1), the humanity thing, is plausible, but there's something to be said for the fact that SADS is already exploring affirmation/denial of humanity in ways that are both significantly more nuanced and significantly more interesting (in my opinion) than your standard food-motif-for-humanity. The showing/concealing of faces (see previous posts in this tag) is (again, in my opinion) the strongest one here, and I think it's fair to say that that pulls a lot more narrative weight than the eating motif because the face thing is MUCH more thoroughly interwoven into all parts of the narrative, while the food/eating scenes are generally framing scenes, not particularly integrated with... the main events. So, I don't know, you could make a case for a humanity reading of food/eating in SADS and I wouldn't fight you over it, but I'm not convinced that's the primary purpose.

Purpose (2), the desire thing, is also deeply plausible. A major psychological thread running through SADS is the question of the degree to which each character is killing because they want to, rather than out of some higher purpose (justice, vengeance, healing, etc.).

(This is a tangent, but if I had to rank the characters in terms of the degree to which I think they're desire-motivated, my list would be (from least to most desire-motivated) Mal, Stone, Jake, Sal, Garv.)

Anyway, when desire-as-motivator is such a major thematic element, it wouldn't be unexpected to see it appear as the content of a motif. But I have three problems with the idea that desire is the primary thing communicated by the food motif.

(Haha, surprise, that "tangent" wasn't actually a tangent at all. That's about to be relevant.)

The first problem is that you would expect the motif to be most strongly associated with the characters whose relationship to desire is most narratively significant. That's Garv, of course. But he's notably absent from quite a lot of the scenes focused on eating/consumption (see, for instance, his almost total absence from the conversation about hotpot in SADS #1), and the (relatively slim number of) scenes focused on him generally have nothing to do with food (see, for instance, his date with Namrata in the intro of SADS #4). This might actually be relevant to the food-as-humanity-indicator thing—perhaps a relevant topic for a forthcoming post on The Haunting and Perplexing Question of the Ontological Status of Garv—but that doesn't resolve my general suspicion that humanity signaling is not what food is doing here. Point being, if that's what the motif is doing, then it's attached somewhat weirdly to characters to whom we wouldn't expect it to attach.

The second problem is a bit more minor, but it's still there, and that is that the showing/revealing of faces thing also accounts for the desire component of the narrative in a way that's more nuanced and more interesting than the food-as-desire-signifier thing. That comes about through the Levinasian reading (again, see previous posts in this tag), which is perhaps a bit of a niche and speculative interpretation of SADS, but I think I've got sufficient grounds for it.

The third problem is the near absence of food from Sortie. (Oops, I lied, this isn't really about Sad Sack, or at least it's not about Sad Sack anymore.) Sal is, interestingly, one of the characters in SADS that occurs most often in food-motif scenes. And yet, the food/consumption motif very nearly drops off the map in Sortie (at least in #1–#3). Notably, in Sortie #3, nothing at all gets eaten during Sal and Mary's "brunch date."

There's a couple plausible ways to rectify this discontinuity. One would be to say that Sal has changed quite a bit between SADS and Sortie. But has he really? (I'm not convinced.) Another would be to take the absence of eating as a new absence of humanity indicator, possibly to do with his metaphorical—and somewhat literal—rise from the dead at the end of SADS; dead men don't need to eat. But he does eat, albeit briefly. In Sortie #1, he's seen eating a banana (paging Dr. Freud). So the absence isn't really an absence but a substantial decrease in presence of a motif that may still be there.

Interesting. Suspicious.

Question 3.1: What feature of Sal's narrative arc accounts for the diminishment of the food motif between SADS and Sortie?

Not sure yet. To be determined, maybe.

[gay-jesus-probably]

it would be really funny in hywar for ruto and darunia to recognize the "hero of termina" but probably be confused because why is he tiny. wait there's more of them. okay i guess this isn't the guy we know (it is)

Oh yeah, I'm thinking Ruto and Darunia are 100% onto him, BUT they're the adult timeline versions, so they haven't seen the baby Hero of Time in years, so they're not 100% sure if that's actually him, or if the kid just happens to look like him. Besides, the kid says he's just the Hero of Termina, and the Hero of Time definitely didn't scowl that much when he was younger so... they're suspicious, but not confident enough to try and address it. And since all the sages except Sheik ascended into non-existence or something after sealing Ganon, Ruto and Darunia must have been pulled from somewhere in the middle of OOT, so they're used to the teenage Link, and unlike Sheik they have no reason to think he's going to return to being a kid. So as far as they know, it makes perfect sense for the Hero of Termina to just have a strong resemblance to how the Hero of Time looked when he was younger... but man are they ever identical.

Mask avoids them like the plague, because he knows they could bust him... and he also knows they're basically going to die shortly after they go home. He really doesn't have the emotional bandwidth to try and deal with that, so he just keeps his distance. But Ruto and Darunia are having many quiet debates in the background about "is that our Link or not". They are constantly pressing X to Doubt.

(Marin is also a solid member of the Press X To Doubt club, because she's like 90% certain that Ravio guy's voice is identical to her Link's, and even though she can't be sure with all the robes she thinks they might also have the same build, and the few glimpses she gets of the bottom of his face looks like Link... but also he doesn't seem to know her at all, and is just generally acting kind of off, so she's just... not sure what's going on there, but it bothers her. And she doesn't even have anyone to compare notes with.)

Also, please consider for a moment that Ganondorf knows basically nothing about the whole Majora's Mask debacle, so he only knows Mask as being the Hero of Time, and could out him literally by accident. I have this mental image of Ganon attempting to do a big dramatic showdown, only for the mood to thoroughly ruined by Mask frantically cutting him off mid-sentence, because if he gives any details right now, Mask is fucked. The exchange is something like "We meet again, it's been awhile, Hero of T-" "TERMINA, YES, that's me, how about we stop talking right now and try to kill each other instead". Ganon then delays the boss battle to try and work out what the fuck is going on, and also because Mask's obvious panic is hilarious to him.

(Meanwhile Captain Link knows that something is up, but he is literally always having a minimum of three simultaneous mental breakdowns at any given moment, so he's pretty happy just not acknowledging his suspicions that Mask's real hero title is very well known, he really doesn't need more stress in his life. He's trying so hard not to hear the extremely incriminating argument Mask and Ganon are having, and trying even harder not to connect the dots and realize what Mask's real title is. He's not succeeding. After that particular battle, he goes back to his tent and spends a solid ten minutes screaming into his pillow before he can successfully repress the knowledge that he's been fighting alongside the literal Hero of Time and affectionately referring to him as a demonic little gremlin. As long as Mask doesn't acknowledge it, he doesn't have to either, so it's fine. Everything is totally fine.)

[yunoteru4ever]

Big Order's Frustratingly Random OVA

Until yesterday, I'd never bothered to look into the "Big Order" OVA.

It was originally a giveaway with a volume of the manga and pre-dates the actual anime series — just like Mirai Nikki/Future Diary's OVA. And also just like Mirai Nikki's own OVA/series and the Big Order anime series that arrived later, it's an Asread production. Given all of those similarities, I thought this would be a case much like Mirai Nikki's OVA. Mirai Nikki's OVA is just an abridged take on the series' Episode 2 with slightly different animation/angles in spots. With that in mind and given all of the similar setup, why would Big Order's OVA contain anything interesting for me? Especially since I didn't even like the Big Order's anime series.

So yeah, I pulled said OVA up on the Blu-Ray and was greeted with THIS. I was NOT prepared.

"Random Order" is a trippy watch, though I can't say it's not interesting while it's running. It's full of random scenes from the then-upcoming anime (scenes that appear largely identical to the ones used in the finished episodes... barring a few exceptions) as well as a few alternate-reality scenes that have no parallels in the series proper. And weirdest of all? The eventual anime series seems to specifically call back to this OVA during its final episode. I never would've known that if I hadn't just finished watching the series again, but... yeah, there are references in that finale to scenes that ONLY exist in this OVA. Bizarre.

The framing device is that lead protagonist Eiji Hoshimiya — usually, but it might also be Rin or Iyo or Sena at times, depending on the scenes you get — is sitting in a supernatural café while Daisy (she's the mysterious being who grants the characters their "Order" superpowers in response to their wishes, if you didn't know) is waiting for him/her to make their wish. But Eiji-or-whomever is struggling to make a wish because they're totally tripping out, seeing either (A) alternate realities that already exist due to various wishes they made in different timelines OR (B) dream-like illusions of what they might be able to make happen based on wishes they're considering in their minds OR (C) flashes of memories they've already experienced prior to this moment.

Not that I've seen all the scenes in here, mind you, because of course I fucking haven't. After 12 run-throughs that took me back to the above image's first "C" each time, I haven't managed to land on that magical "11" even ONCE, so I've yet to see ANY of the three random outcomes that lead ot the long credits. But I've sure seen plenty of outcomes that lead to the short credits...

I'm watching this Blu-Ray on a PS4, and I can't find any way to skip around various titles/chapters on the disk via the PS4's interface. I also can't find that anyone has uploaded the entire complicated series of options; this thing is MUCH too complex and niche for people to bother. It seems like the existing uploads only contain the mandated first 23-or-so minutes, completely ignoring all the optional variations thereafter.

As for the unique scenes in this OVA? Out of what I've seen, there don't appear to be many. But if nothing else, any die-hard Eiji/Rin shippers who might be out there will definitely get their juice during those first 23 minutes.

Yup, it turns out these are straight-up having sex in whatever reality/dream/memory we see during the outset of the OVA. So there's plenty of flirting, kissing, seductive talk, etc. And... I guess that flower in her hair never comes off?

[novankenn]

Holding Back

Chapter One (4/7) (992 Words)

/== Chapter List ===/

“Doctor?” Pyrrha questioned.

“This is Mr Arc, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing, but can it be true?”

“Doctor?” Yang asked this time.

“I'm sorry, but you've just dropped something very special into my lap. The style Mr Arc is using is something I have only read about. Most think the style no longer exists.” Oobleck turned a page, and then flipped back, “Yes, I am more than certain. I am positive this is it.”

“What is it?” Pyrrha inquired.

“Shadow Skill.” was the response.

“Shadow Skill?” the pair of young woman asked in unison.

“That is what it is referred to. It has no official name, and many scholars feel that it vanished before the Great War, and other feel it is just a flight of fancy... but to see it...” Oobleck looked up from the two items on his desk, “I assume this is you, Ms Xiao Long?”

“It is.”

“What are your observations, seeing as you actually faced a practitioner.”

“It's fast, agile, and he hit hard. Plus, some of the multiple kicks he could land were dizzying. I mean his first attack as you can see was three on point kicks, before he even started to fall back towards the floor.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, it felt like he was holding back. I did find it hard to counter him, though I did get a few shots in. If it had happened in Combat Class, he would have been declared the winner.”

“Anything you would like to add, Ms Nikos, as I assume you either witness the spare or watched the video.”

“It's a very mobile style, and simple... I know that's not the right word.”

“Explain what you mean?”

“He's using no weapons, no armour, and by the screenshot of the aura meters, I would say he wasn't even using his aura to empower his strikes. I would guess that it was a style for those without means. Who couldn't rely on having weapons, armour or aura to protect themselves.”

“Very good observations. Though simple is not a word, I would use to describe it. I would have said 'Pure' but even that is not correct.” Oobleck shifted his gaze from Pyrrha to Yang, “I would say, though I'm amazed he is a practitioner... so I agree with you, that Mr Arc was holding back, if my reference material is correct.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pyrrha.

“Even though Shadow Skill has no official name it is considered, or was classified as a killing art.”

“Killing art?” Yang asked.

“Please, one moment, I want to pull up a lesson that you would be seeing in your second year.” The young ladies watched as Doctor Oobleck shoved some papers off his desk to the floor, so he could turn his monitor base around. On the screen was a stone relief showing obviously naked chained women. “Slavery used to be a widespread practice on Remnant; in fact, for quite a length of time until recently, it was the very backbone of the Kingdom economies.”

“Recently? How long ago was that?” Yang asked, feeling a little dirty at seeing the carved imaged of chained, naked women.

“The practice of Slavery was outlawed in Vale about forty years prior to the Great War. Now keep this in mind. This was not just Faunus, this was anyone. If you couldn't pay your debits, if you were found guilty of lesser crimes like theft or vagrancy. If you were born to a slave. It was a dark time, and the lives of people deemed slaves were brutal. Abuses of every kind were heaped upon them.” Oobleck tapped some keys and various slides appeared, “in some areas male slaves were pitted in gladiatorial fights... fights that ended in death. The female slaves suffered even greater indignities.”

“But it was outlawed?” Pyrrha questioned, looking at the images on the screen showing a relief of a gladiatorial fight; something that looked remarkably similar to images of her tournament matches.

“It was, and still is... only after the Revolt happened did the Kingdoms finally all step in and completely abolish the practice.”

“The Revolt? I've never heard of it.” commented Yang.

"I would have brought this up next year as well. The Revolt was actually coincidental uprisings in Vale and Mistral, which authorities believed would be contained in short order. They would be proved wrong as those spread into a worldwide revolt which lasted two bloody, bloody years." Oobleck again manipulated his keyboard, bringing up a couple more slides. “It was during this uprising that two unique fighting styles appeared. Both styles were exclusive to the slaves. There is not much known in specific, but records indicate that the male slaves used a style based around hand techniques and throws. Some references of questionable authenticity called the male style Bright Skills.  The female slaves used kicks and footwork, which those same questionable resources called Shadow Skills.”

“Why only kicks?” asked Pyrrha.

“To prevent them from defending themselves, females were often manacled at the wrists. Both styles were outlawed, and designated Killing Arts; which is an apt description. They were developed to kill, and both were reported to very efficient at it. There are even tales of aura unlocked individuals being taken down by these former slaves.” Oobleck shut down his holographic display, “Most of what we have to go on is hearsay and stories. There is very little properly and authenticated recorded evidence. With the Revolt forcing the cessation of the practice of slavery; at least in the open, these Bright and Shadow Skills vanished. The practitioners fading into the masses.” 

“So if the male slaves used Bright Skills, and the female slaves used Shadow Skills, how is Jaune trained in the female style?” Pyrrha asked.

“Obviously, one of his ancestors was a slave. And she passed the knowledge of the style to her children, and they taught their children, and so on. It is the only explanation.” Oobleck offered.