#in the aforementioned Dragon Age From My Head

[catebees]

same anon here and oh yeah bioware making cassandra vaguely probably middle eastern and then also making her the right hand of the pope i mean divine who starts an inquisition and is an ardent church supporter is um. fucked up as hell. not to mention the fact that shes from nevarra ultimately has quite little baring on her character as written in inquisition. its all deeply messed up and while i like cassandra i hate that she was written if that makes sense lol

That last sentence makes so much sense, I also love dragon age and hate the way it was written. When I say anything regarding a character or event that happens in the games I hope you understand that I'm actually referencing the Dragon Age that lives in my head where Everything is different.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

slumber party!

Yandere friend group x fem!reader

Tw: none that I can think of, reader is mentioned to have a childhood author randomly thought of, you can change it in your mind if you like. Not proofread 🌺

⭐you grew up with your friends, having known eachother since diapers! Your parents often left you in a daycare since they were busy with their jobs, and that's how you met Cassidy. A bright and cheerful girl, capable of lighting up a room with her toothy smile. When she saw you crying in a corner, missing your parents, she hastily snatched a couple of crayons and rushed over. Sitting next to you and holding out a pudgy hand, offering the red crayon.

"hi! I'm Cassidy! But you can call me cassie.. what's your name?"

🛍️ skipping a few years, you and Cassidy were in first grade. Obsessing over my little pony and worms, when suddenly you came across Michelle. A prickly girl you've known since kindergarten, but she was always too stuck up and bossy to ever get along with anyone. She held out a chocolate with a furrowed brow, looking flustered as she moved from side to side, the way your choir teacher hated

"can.. may i.. play with you, please..?" You swore you could hear your homeroom teacher cheering in the background

🎀it was 4th grade, you, Michelle and cassidy were in that ripe age where all boys were Icky and gross and had all types of nasty cooties. The constant squabbling and booger picking you'd see from the aforementioned solidly confirmed it. You spotted the new girl, Vivian getting harassed by the class weirdo, some Asian fetishizer. So you bravely stood up, walked over.. and tripped on your untied shoe laces, landing face first into the carpeted floor. Viv gasped and quickly rushed over to you, making sure you were alright before letting out a soft giggle

"you should be more careful.. you're y/n right? You have a very lovely name"

💀 7th grade, the emo and dragon ball z kids were making themselves known. You were laying on the classroom floor, resting your head in Vivian's lap as Michelle dangled a vine of grapes Infront of your mouth. Giggling when you obediently opened and bit one off. The giggling stopped and you opened your eyes to see a hot topic magazine boy standing over you all.

"hey! You on the other girls lap! You're my girlfriend now." "...what."

After the boy almost got his shit rocked by your scarily protective friends, you Introduced yourself "y/n" "kiross.." the girls were glaring daggers at him

💕 9th grade, you were starting to see a pattern, a new member of your group joins every few years. So you were preparing yourself mentally, all while Talking and suddenly turning around to walk backwards. Not noticing the boy you were just about to bump into. Your friends quickly rushed forward to try and catch your ass, but it was no use. You fell straight into.. a soft body. The boy you fell ontop of blinked owlishly, before realizing it was you and giving a devilish grin. surprisingly he looked hotter than most guys in your class

"haha, looks like god answered my prayers to send me an angel, my name's Alexis. Nice to meet you"

🔪12th grade came, soon you'd be free from the hell hole known as public high school. You clinged and sobbed in Cassidy's arms, only 6 more months to go. Whining something about not having a boyfriend, ignoring how offended kaiross looked. You dramatically fell to your knees and held your hands clasped together towards the sky, yelling that you wanted a hot hunk and you wanted him right now... Only for an incredibly heavy object to land straight into your back. Sending you both to the ground as the thing made a grunt. Looking up, you damn near had a nosebleed to see the hottest man you've ever seen, daichio

"ah.. sorry pretty girl, you okay down there?" "yeah.. more than okay.." "alright break it up! No soliciting"

⭐after daichio joined, tensions rose in the little friend haven. Vivian and Michelle would squabble over anything involving you, daichio would purposely provoke kaiross to a fight, alexis would pick on Cassidy for always being so close to you. Until you finally had enough. Giving them the biggest tongue lashing they ever had as you yelled at them to be normal people for once and get along

🛍️...maybe it would have been better if they kept fighting, because now they were a hive mind. After secretly talking behind your back, Daichio and kaiross were like your guards dogs since they had the most muscle. Cassidy was your right hand, Alexis being your tutor. Vivian was your emotional support human, and Michelle was your fashion critic and healthy lifestyle planner. You didn't really mind since now they stopped being little bitches and you had free unpaid workers like Kim Kardashian

🎀you didn't even realize when your group suddenly started gathering attention. Becoming the most popular in the span of a few weeks, how? You didn't know. And quite frankly you didn't want to know. You just wanted a partner, good grades and a scholarship. Looks like your getting all three. People often crowded around your table or desk, trying to get all buddy buddy with you. Just for a little recognition. Your friends were docile until, well, the confessions came rolling in. But that's another story

Fun facts:

Cassidy goes by she/them and is a very friendly person. Naturally, people confess to her everyday but she only has eyes for you, bisexual!

Michelle's mom is a cop, and her dad a businessman so she comes from a somewhat well off family. She likes to go on shopping sprees and gives you any clothes she doesn't want, a lesbian in denial

Vivian is soft spoken and shy, wherever you are rest assured she's close behind, pansexual

kiross is inlove with you and it's very obvious, it's just that nobody brings it up, he goes by he/them and bisexual

Alexis is very demanding, you could consider him a female version of Michelle. Sometimes mich gives him any clothes she doesn't want, pansexual!

Daichio is a playboy and is good friends with kameron, he speaks English, japanese and currently learning Spanish, straight asshole. BORINGG

[n0tamused]

Hi!! Can I request Jiyan from Wuwa with a scary reader? I mean, the other Midnight Rangers might be scared of the reader because of her/his constant smile in ABSOLUTELY any situation.

Contents: Jiyan x GN reader, fluff and a bit of crack ig, hopefully Jiyan is not ooc, lemme know about that

Words: 705

I also have a Ko-Fi now!

The midnight rangers were known for their bravery and resolve, qualities that seems to have been further strengthened when Jiyan ascended to the position of General. It was one thing to boast about the ability to face an enemy, and a whole different matter to stand in front of the aforementioned foe, weapon in hand and ready to strike, risking your very life for the safety of another. Yet, Jiyan found it odd how his soldiers seemed to tremble in your mere presence. They could be chatting, laughing and jesting or even arguing, but once one of them spots you prowling close it is as if all of them begin to share a mind and instinct. As if silence would make them invisible. To them it was scary, although they respected you it was more of a relief that you were on their side and not on the other end of the battlefield; but to Jiyan he couldn’t find anything else but puzzling amusement. He knew you better than them, however, so perhaps he was being unfair to them.

He told you and advised you various times to show at least some ‘mercy’, as he called it, to the fellow soldiers, but that mercy seemed even more frightening when you tried to show it. What you thought was a genuine and reassuring smile often was taken as a looming threat, and at times a brave soul or two would boldly approach you to question whether they had given you offense and if they could make it right. So many attempts were made on your end, as well as Jiyan’s, to soften your image, but that only seems to have had the opposite effect. 

“You still frighten them..” Jiyan muttered, humor lacing his words as he sat at your side, a bowl of some brown and green vegetable stew held between his large hands, the long dragon nail on one of his fingers tapping against the bowl. You could only scoff lightly, your mouth full of the broth and mushy vegetables, but you’ve grown used to the taste by now.

“I did what I could to alleviate this…fear. You know this. I’ve done what I could, but honestly it is not that it bothers me, but it does puzzle me.. I joined the Rangers later, yet there are soldiers ages my senior that fear me. Have they not seen battle?” you muse aloud, feeling comfortable in the General’s presence to speak freely. It wouldn’t be the first time you both gossiped like this. 

“They have,” he replied, scooping a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. 

“They haven’t seen you hurting, nor have they heard you scream, only bark commands and appear like a shadow behind them” he chuckled, “I would be a bit on edge around you too were I in their place. You should be more social with them, offer them aid”

“As if I haven’t already-”

“I meant off the field. You taught them not to fear in battle. They have never seen you tender and fearful when a firework goes off like I have - if they saw you behave more human, I’m sure it would melt their fear”

You could only scoff and indulge in your broth, having found no disagreement in your head even if you wanted to challenge him on the matter. Why should you show fear? For their own comfort to see you more of a person? You understood it, yet felt uncomfortable to do it. It did not feel right.

“Maybe one day, Jiyan, one day. But that won’t be today or tomorrow. Maybe in a year.. or a few, but not today” you let yourself smile when Jiyan looked at you long, noticing the small quirk in his brows. “What, what are you going to do?” you question him, lowering the bowl down in your hands as you gaze at him, daring for him to try and go against your stubborn self. There was no harm in it, he knew, and you’d never done anything to hurt the troops, and you were jesting in the end, so he only shook his head and stuffed his mouth full of more of the broth to spare himself a scolding. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

[scaranation]

Hey! Can I request something about Zhongli refusing to find a partner for himself due to him being an ex archon and a literal dragon (though only half of it) found reader who just landed in liyue in a quest to expand the business reader started in their very own nation, but zhongli found out that reader was also a dragon in living among humans and took interest upon them cuz apart from dvalin, he hasn't encounter another dragon for millennia

That's all ♥️

Thank you for this I had so much fun writing! Sorry this took so long I completely forgot what an inbox was 🥲🥲 (i’m not sorry abt the title tho)

༊*·˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘

Pairing: Zhongli x GN!reader

Content: fluff, broke Zhongli

After ages of being amongst the only dragons he knew of, Zhongli finally finds another like him - a person he begins to hope he can pursue more than the trivialities of mortal love with.

“Hm.” Zhongli leaned back in his seat as he stared at the paperwork in front of him. A new business had recently entered the Liyuen market, specialising in gifts. It was an admirable scheme - the enterprise had taken over many small souvenir businesses, rendering it a prominent influence in Inazuma, the region from which it’d been started. Furthermore, the business was also listed as being part of the gift giving and floral arrangement markets, allowing it to merge multiple companies whilst still abiding by competition laws. Zhongli nodded to himself. Truly, the one who’d headed this ludicrous venture would’ve had to have possessed great ambition.

It reminded the man of his days as a young archon - the youthful drive and greed spurred on by his draconic traits.

“Zhongli! Are you ready? We’re going to meet them now.” Hu Tao’s chipper tone jerked Zhongli out of his thoughts.

“Ah, yes.” He gathered the files on his desk, checking the time. They were supposed to have left ten minutes ago for a meeting with the aforementioned business in hopes of forming a partnership - after all, a floral arrangement specialist was undeniably beneficial to a funeral parlour.

“My bad, I appear to have lost track of the time. Hopefully our soon to be partners aren’t too phased.” Zhongli opened the door, before stepping out after Hu Tao. She only laughed, waving her hand nonchalantly as the two proceeded to the arranged location.

-

“Nice to meet you, Director Hu.” You stood up once your guests finally arrived, grasping the funeral director’s hand to shake it.

“It’s a pleasure. This is our consultant, Zhongli.”

You glanced at the man standing behind the director. A piercing amber gaze, glinting like ancient cor lapis. Despite his shrewd gaze and the way he carried himself - as though he’d been here for millenia - he looked to be a youthful young man, with a pleasantly defined face. You shook away the thought. You hadn’t met another dragon in thousands of years, and of all professions, why would a dragon resort to working as a consultant?

“So, about our potential partnership.” You broke the eye contact you realised you’d been holding with Zhongli, beckoning him and his boss to sit at the table.

“Ah, yes.” Zhongli opened a folder as Hu Tao began to talk, and so the meeting finally started. Between Hu Tao's thinly veiled business ambitions and Zhongli's shrewd remarks, you found yourself preferring the latter. His voice possessed a certain soothing quality, almost making you lose your edge. He talked as if he'd experienced the same meeting countless times before, making suggestions you would've never thought of. With Hu Tao's negotiating and Zhongli's articulate guidance, the exchange flew by. With another firm handshake, you parted ways with Hu Tao and Zhongli, your assistant leaving work early. Both the funeral parlour director and consultant certainly had an interesting character, and the negotiations had gone amicably beyond your expectations.

Similarly, Zhongli also left the meeting in a good mood. He was almost certain you were also a dragon, which piqued his interest greatly. The calculating gaze you'd levelled at him, and the quick-witted contributions you'd made to the meeting. You couldn't possibly be as old as him, but you had clearly experienced much of Teyvat.

Zhongli sighed contentedly. To meet another one like him... Would be an honour indeed.

-

“What do you mean? These antiques have been professionally verified!” Zhongli sighed as the store owner in front of him spluttered in defence.

“Ah, if you say so.” Zhongli only turned away, unbothered with involving himself in such mundane conflict. He'd decided to take a walk through the harbour and indulge a little in the frivolous joys of mortality, and wanted to preserve his high spirits for longer.

“Wait, young man! What about this necklace? I’ll sell to you for half price, I’m sure your partner would love it.” The store owner made one last attempt at landing a sale.

Zhongli chuckled to himself. He hadn’t taken another lover for ages. Somehow, it simply wasn’t the same to commit himself to a mortal, despite the vessel he’d taken on. Something about the way humans loved was inherently fleeting, unlike the millennia-long romances common amongst dragons. The ex-archon couldn’t bring himself to be interested in a short, fiery burst of superficial passion, and he hadn’t met another dragon - aside from Barbartos’s friend - in ages.

Before Zhongli could retort to the store owner however, a new voice cut through the air.

“Even at half price, that necklace is nowhere near worth how much you’re demanding for it.” You stepped forward, tutting.

“What? This necklace was taken straight from a chest buried in Guili, and polished into this state. The fine embossing proves it. Clearly, you have no eye for quality.” The vendor was turning red. Zhongli turned his gaze to you, amused.

“The embossing work on this is indicative of a technique used long after the Guili area was inhabited in its prime. Furthermore, this material appears to be the smelted remains of lower quality ore - hence the dull gleam. If you wish to swindle customers, at least do it more convincingly.” You ran an unappreciative finger over the necklace, flipping it over in your palm. The store owner snatched it back, seething.

“Well, if you don’t believe in our authenticity, you may as well leave.”

“Of course.” Zhongli, sensing the vendor was becoming exponentially more irate, quickly grabbed your arm and led you away. His grip was firm, yet undemanding. A strange warmth emanated from his touch, prompting you to glance up at him in surprise.

“That was some keen observation. Are you perhaps interested in the history of Liyue?” Zhongli asked, releasing you.

“No, it was merely some… general knowledge from my first hand experiences.”

“You were alive back then?”

“And I’m assuming you were, too.”

“Hm, you would be the first dragon other than myself and Dvalin that I’ve met in quite some time.” Zhongli’s eyes gleamed. You cocked your head, until you found the consultant’s hand enveloping yours in a heat that was almost familiar - like the broad warmth of a sun baked stone.

“Come on, it'd be a shame if someone who'd come all the way from Inazuma didn't have the luxury of seeing Liyue's more authentic stalls."

You nodded, slowly curling your fingers around the man's hand, or at least as much as you could - his hands were quite a lot larger than yours. The contact was nice and unforced, unlike the awkward times you'd had to touch humans. It simply wasn't the same, as with them, it was more like holding a delicate glass. Mortals were so fleeting, their lives so precarious.

After winding through the bustling streets of the harbour, the two of you arrived at another stall selling ores.

“Which one would you like? They seem to be of high quality. I’ll purchase one for you, as a gift.” Zhongli glanced over the assortment of brightly coloured jewels.

“Oh, you really don’t have to.”

“I insist. It’s only proper for me, seeing as you’re a fellow dragon.”

“Alright then, I’ll take the one on the far left.” You gestures towards a lump of noctilucous jade. The lustre suggested it was relatively valuable, but not expensive enough to make you appear impolite.

“That’ll be four hundred mora.” The vendor smiled.

Zhongli slipped a gloved hand into his pockets, fumbling for a while - but not in the way a broke person would. Rather, he did it with a practiced grace, leading you to doubt he had any financial troubles at all. Given their long lifespans, dragons usually amassed much wealth.

“Ah, it appears that I’ve forgotten my wallet. How improper of me.” Zhongli chuckled lightly. You blinked a few times, exchanging a shocked look with the vendor, before reaching for your own wallet.

“I’ll take all the items on display.” You said. The vendor hurried to wrap up all the stones, handing you a relatively heavy bag.

“My apologies, it seems I’m still not accustomed to the mortal way of life. Using mora… What a difficult thing to get used to.” Zhongli mused, although he didn’t appear to be embarrassed at all.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning the man. Dragon or not, most had to be well-acquainted with the currency, especially if they were a citizen of Liyue.

“I believe I forgot to mention, I created mora. Hence, actually using it in practice is quite foreign.”

You spluttered in shock. How could someone admit that they’d founded Teyvat’s primary currency so easily? Zhongli’s orange eyes gleamed in mirth at your surprise.

“Y-you’re… Morax?” You stood stiffly for a moment. You were standing and talking casually to an archon. You briefly wondered if you should bow, and began to kneel - before a firm hand came under your arm to hoist you back up.

“No need, I’ve given up that role. Not many know I was Rex Lapis. I guess by admitting that, I’m placing my trust in you.” You could only continue staring as you processed the information, unaware of the way his touch still lingered at your elbow.

“I…” You were certain there was some form of etiquette you were missing. How did people address deities? Lord? Your highness? Your area of expertise was that of commerce, not honourifics.

Zhongli laughed - the sound deep and comforting - gently closing your open jaw with his finger.

“I was going to gift the ores to you, but I’m scared that’d come off as more of an insult to the Lord of Geo…” You trailed off.

“I’d be more than happy to accept. You and I, we’re much more similar than you think. So don’t feel too pressured around me, alright?” His smile was heavenly. For a moment, you pondered the possibility that people had worshipped him for his handsome features, defined as if from stone itself. A heartbeat later, and you realised that much of the distance between your face and his had vanished. Panicking, you shoved the bag of goods into his chest and scurried away.

“It was nice talking with you! I’ll see you at the next meeting.” You blurted.

“I hope we’ll see each other before then.” Zhongli called as he watched your disappearing figure. He shook his head fondly, holding the bag in one hand and resting the other on his chin. You were so reminiscent of his younger, more draconic self. He could only attribute it to you and him being one and the same species - however rare it was.

Zhongli was simply happy to have found someone like himself - a person that shared the memory.

[polarized-bell-goat]

NOTE: THE FOLLOWING LORE CONTAINS MENTIONS OF EATING EGGS. Beyond that, there isn't much graphic-ness contained within it. For the sake of everyone, I will be including the small story that goes with this in a read-more, and I will not be main tagging it. Take care of yourselves!

The specific Egg-Eating lore I'm using here belongs to @hypergryph! If you're in to this sort of semi-horror stuff, go look at their stuff!

Myfi had been traveling for weeks.

He knew why he was somehow still alive, despite the hunger gnawing at his stomach.

Months ago now, he had sought out a rare delicacy that he had only heard of one group of dragons indulging in-dragon eggs.

The aforementioned group was gone at this point, most likely either locked in a prison, or dead somewhere, but hey, Myfi was curious. Curious as to why they'd do that. Why they'd eat another dragon's eggs.

But once he'd managed to crack open that Arcane egg and partake in the wonders beneath that shell, he understood.

Since then, he'd been running through the lands, stealing whatever eggs he could, constantly partaking in that forbidden ambrosia-and not once had he been caught.

Not once until now, his head pinned to the floor by a Fae far too large to be normal.

With a creak like his bones weren't in right, the Fae turned over the ice egg he'd taken from Myfi's grasp.

"My my, friend," the Fae spoke in a way that matched how he moved, "now what were you just about to do?" Spiraled eyes flickered to a nearby sharp rock, and Myfi swallowed hard.

"Hungry," Myfi croaked out, deciding to take the route of pretending he was desperate for food. Somewhere else, his Dreadwolf was being kept at bay by the Fae's Pronghorn. The Fae's smile creaked open wide, needle-like teeth poking out of drawn back gums. At that moment, Myfi realized this very much was not a normal Fae, if his size was any indication.

"Well I suppose we should introduce ourselves, hm?" the Fae fluttered his crest and chuckled, the birdskulls around his neck clacking together, "my name is Skink," he paused for a moment to step back off Myfi's head, "and yours is....?"

"Myfi," Myfi shook himself off, deciding to play through the lie, "I...I've been lost for ages, and I was so hungry that one time I...I ate a dragon egg," no one else was around, and it was clear if this...'Skink' wanted to kill him, he'd already be dead, "But now...gods, if I don't have them, my body gets these....awful aches, and I...I have to. I have to eat them or-"

"Hm, addiction is a nasty thing," Skink seemed to glare through the shell of the egg he was holding, "but I suppose magical ones can't be fixed, can they?"

Myfi caught the egg as it was tossed back to him, and he stared at it, then at Skink, who waved his talons.

"That one tries to kill me when he's older, have at it, consider it a gift."

The Fae turned away, and Myfi immediately turned to whack the egg against the rock with a CRACK, slurping up the minty fluid inside. Clearly his false story had been taken face-value, and he wanted to laugh to himself, not even thinking of what Skink had said when he had given Myfi the egg back.

"When you're done with that, feel free to follow me home," Skink offered, "My clan is very fond of misfits. Oh! And one more thing, Myfi,"

Myfi looked up from his meal, allowing his Dreadwolf to take her fill, seeing Skink staring over his shoulder at Myfi.

The Fae's face had dropped, bright red eyes staring right towards him.

"Don't ever lie to me again."

[knackeredforever]

So with the owl house ending I thought I should admit something on tumblr, the fact that kikimora is unironically one of my favourite characters in the show.

She’s such a pathetic angry gremlin women that does in order:

•Becomes basically the secretary to the emperor of her whole world.

•Starts beef with a literal 16 year old child despite being a grown ass women because she thinks said child is getting better treatment from the emperor than her (he’s not).

•Attempts to murder said child on multiple occasions including using a fucking dragon.

•becomes ultra paranoid of literally fucking everything because she thinks the child is trying to steal her position (he’s not).

•upon failing all her missions due to her aforementioned Child obsession gets demoted and then balls her eyes out while she gets comforted by a different 14 year old child who try’s to redeem her and kiki then basically temporarily joins the resistance against her former boss but then immediately does an Italy and switches sides again because boomer poison ivy told her she was getting a promotion (the promotion is not dying).

•Becomes depressed and a caffeine addict.

•Depression cured as she is given a mech suit by the parenting antichrist immediately turns back to her favourite pastime attempting to murder children.

•kidnaps who she thinks is the 16 year old she’s been trying to murder but is actually the 14 year old who tried to redeem her but before she finds out her boss tells her to kill herself now.

•In the pit of corpses of clones of the 16 year old she’s been trying to murder unknowingly tells the god that her boss has been pretending to be able to understand that her boss threw the walkie talky he uses to communicate with a different elder god into said corpse pit.

•Said elder god is unleashed starting the literal apocalypse meaning she is partially responsible.

Season 3 for the future spoilers in the next bits so if you haven’t watched it yet stop reading now:

•While the literal apocalypse is going on she dresses herself and her mech suit like children and sneaks into a school (SERIOUSLY WHY THE FUCK DOES EVERYTHING SHE DO INVOLVE CHILDREN SHE IS AN ADULT) and convinces angry lesbian school bully whose crush ran away with a girl from another dimension to help her rule the school so they can start their new empire( this plan somehow works for months) then the main characters come back and she decides the best course of action is too drug them and throw them in the ultragore nest.

•She then try’s to murder the SAME children with the SAME mech suit however is stopped by the only thing that she’s never faced before, a person over the age of 18 also known as gods gift to parenting who critical bonks her on the head by throwing a baseball bat at her and mispronouncing her name.

•The last we see of her in the episode is she is attacked by a horde of angry kids including the angry lesbian she coerced into helping her and if that’s how kikicumfuckororororora dies it would be a fitting end.

And that’s the end of my summary while everyone else is obsessing and overanalysing Luz,hunter,amity,Eda or belos you know actually good characters here I am obsessed with the 4ft tall pathetic sad child endangering gremlin who is unintentionally one of the funniest written villains in any peace of media I’ve ever seen I fucking love this character so much yes I know I’m probably the only one who thinks this shut up I’ve written way too much and should just stop now.

[ozs-twink-boytoy]

(SCRIPT PREVIEW)

Hey ya'll. Hope you're all having a great afternoon! I'm here to bring you a little update about this post.

After watching some video essays for inspiration, I began developing a draft for a script about Robin: Son of Batman (2015). Analyzing the story implications, themes and motifs! :)

And because ya'll been so supportive of my nerdy endeavours, you guys are getting a special preview of the aforementioned draft! (criticisms accepted of course!)

Part of the script avaliable under cut

tagging in: @fancyfade @fluffykitty149 @cleoeatsit

The first issue of the comic run starts with Damiam returning some sort of cultural artifacts to their rightful owners; an order of monks in mainland China.  So, immediately, we got this Tomb Raider/Indiana Jones kind of plot point.  

(Man I sure hope it doesn’t get abandoned halfway through and pivots to portraying  the replacement of an autocracy with another autocracy where the head of state its not even from the country as a good thing)

ahem…

He gets interrupted by League of Assassins members which he fights off with the help of his pet, Goliath the Bat-dragon. He wins said fight and is lavished for returning the sacred object by the locals

All while a masked figure is observing the scene while saying: 

“(...) there cannot be redemption for the year of the blood”

This introduction to the comic is interesting because it highlights the main narrative theme and framing device of the whole story: The Quest for Redemption.

Before we even know exactly what Damian is doing and why he's doing it. We know he's looking to mend a rift. To make a past wrongdoing right. And then we find out someone wants to stop him…

This forms an interesting parallel with real life survivors of schoolyard abuse aka bullying.

Now, hear me out…

 Many kids (especially those with conditions such as autism) are manipulated by their bullies into doing bad things to other children. They generally do this by preying on their loneliness and desire to be accepted by their peers. And so said kids carry out acts of hazing to other children, perpetuating a cycle of harm.

A cycle which is hard to escape from. Because if you hurt someone, regardless of if you were manipulated or not, that person will probably not trust you after the fact. And if you add into account the environment of a school, where rumors spread like wildfires, there's a high chance you develop a bad reputation. Cause other people have no way of knowing you did it while being threatened into being a social pariah. It's a no win situation.

Damian's story is simile to this. Sure, the acts he carried out were far more extreme and he was not manipulated by an outsider but by his own grandfather, Ra’s Al Ghul.  But the effects of his psyche, development and public perception are all the same.

Think about it: His claims to being either the Blood Son or the Grandson of the Demon  are basically him trying to justify his existence  to a family that, for all he knows, could abuse him again. Which leads him to having a thought process where he has to be the best of the best in the room, cause the only other alternative is death. and for that he’s punished. Even though no one ever bothered to teach him the normal social protocols for a boy his age. 

So when you make that reading of Damian, and put into the context of a story where he, by his own volition, decides he’s gonna try and reverse all the harm he caused while being essentially groomed. You get something really powerful.

Well…kind of…

There’s a few things that stuck out with the framing of this arc. The most glaring one being: this arc takes place after he comes back from the dead. After being trapped in hell for the better part of a year after being killed by his own clone.

By making Damian’s journey for redemption take place after he’s been through literal Hell, there’s the subtle implication that he’s not doing it out of his own free will, but to avoid some sort of celestial punishment.

And that’s not a bad idea per se, if the comic acknowledged that implication. Because it does put an interesting question into the table. “Does it matter why we do good things? As long as we do them?” Does it matter if Damian doesn’t kill anymore because of “selfish” reasons. After all, why would an orphan he saves from a fire care if he used to be bad or not? Should that matter to anyone?

That last part is a testament, I think, to how much better executed some ideas that writers at DC have would be if they played them straight. If they acknowledged the implications of their writing instead of just doing something because they thought it would be cool or dramatic. 

[bigasswritingmagnet]

An Illustrative Update

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Hawke/Varric Summary: One of the author's portraits on Varrics books depicts him surrounded by many beautiful women. It could perhaps use a little updating, now that he's a married man.

AO3 Link and matching art by snuffes go look look look!!

Hawke lowered her book and listened.

It had gone very quiet in the other room. Far too quiet. Varric had received a letter from his editor, which meant there should have been another hour at least of grumbling, muttering, and the occasional ‘oh come on!’ playing counterpoint to furious scribbling. 

Instead, there was silence. 

Hawke set the book aside and swung her long legs off the bed, biting back the groan as she levered herself up off the dwarfishly low bed. She stuck her head around the corner. Varric was still at the table, surrounded by the detritus that always accumulated when he was working -- loose paper, half-empty glasses, ink pots, crumpled blotting paper. 

Varric wasn’t hunched over writing, or staring thoughtfully into the distance, or flicking crumpled up scraps of paper into the fire. He was holding a thick piece of paper and staring at it with an odd expression on his face. 

“Something wrong?” 

“No,” Varric said slowly. “Just uh… unexpected.” 

“Mm-hmm…” Hawke prompted. 

“Do you remember Apples?” 

“That woman who illustrates your books, yes, I remember. Very nice woman, lovely smile.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “More than willing to help you convince me that Avaar name their children after food.”  

Varric did not respond, apparently transfixed by the paper in his hands. Hawke crossed the room and leaned on the table casually. She was going to give him about a minute before she snatched it out of his hands, and thought that was very generous of her.   

“Right. So, the last time I wrote to her I made a joke about how I’d have to change the author's portrait on the back of my books now that we’re married.” 

“Mm, it is a bit gauche for a married man to depict himself being pawed at by half-dressed women -- especially when they aren’t even the same species as his wife.” 

Varric finally looked up from the paper to grin at Hawke. 

“You’d be less jealous if they were half-dressed human women?” 

“My dearest Varric, I pride myself on not being the sort of wife who gets jealous of any fictional wenches, regardless of species.” 

“Hey, those fictional wenches have rich and varied personal lives. Show a little respect.” 

“And this is your new author portrait?” 

“Apparently she painted it the day after we met her,” Varric said, finally handing it over. “She’s been waiting this whole time to send it to me.” 

Hawke barely heard him. 

Varric's editor had commissioned a few different portraits of Varric, to be used depending on the genre (something about pandering to an audience). In all of them, Varric was depicted as looking outwards, his smugly raised eyebrow directed at the reader. This even -- or perhaps, especially -- in the portrait containing the aforementioned wenches, who, in turn, had eyes only for their cocksure Lothario from the neck down. 

Conversely, in this new portrait, Varric and Hawke seemed to have forgotten there was an audience; their attentions were wholly consumed by each other. 

And the look they were giving each other. 

It was the look of a man about to ravish a woman who expected and intended to enjoy every second of it. Hawke wondered what sort of Avaar magic Apples had used to keep her paintbrushes from catching fire. 

Varric’s shirt was open, exposing his broad chest and famed chest hair. One arm was raised, a quill artfully poised. His other arm was around Hawke’s waist, holding her in a pose that would probably be possible if Hawke went down on one knee and Varric stood on a box. Hawke’s breasts strained at the confines of a ruffled pink, and were apparently the only thing keeping said dress in place. 

 Hawke could see the next moment in her mind’s eye: Varric bringing his hand down, the sharp metal nib of the quill slicing through the flimsy dress material like tissue paper, the pieces fluttering to the floor as Varric pulled her in the rest of the way. 

She very carefully set the picture down on the table, and immediately slid onto her husband’s lap, her eyes shining. 

“It’s perfect.” 

link again to the art

[aliasknives]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

omg this is so kind!! I only started posting my writing in like, march, so I only actually have four fics out there right now (and so many wips sitting in my drafts), but I’ll still join as best as I can! everything I mention here is a part of my durgetash collection, all we ever wanted. I’m also working on some dragon age stuff but nothing is anywhere near done yet

I’m probably most proud of sacrament (3.7k), and it’s also the second shortest I’ve written. I truly can’t explain this one better than I did in my endnotes: sometimes you have feelings for your evil coworker and you decide to eat a human heart about it. I’m really proud of it and slowly in the process of writing what I think is basically its sequel.

the first I ever posted was my angsty hurt/comfort (but they’re evil) one-shot, slow hands (6.1k). I named it after the interpol song that is still somehow stuck in my head months later. it’s currently the only from Isoldt’s point of view (although the aforementioned wip is as well). I was so nervous when I posted it but I’m very happy with it!

hunter’s mark (2k) is the shortest, and is my guess as to how on earth bhaalists and banites would make first contact with each other and how that would go. I’m a big fan of the idea of durge having a little bit of an uncanny valley effect on people, so I emphasized that a lot in this one.

and finally, king’s gambit (4.3k) is the one I was posting about under the pseudonym “unethical science fic”. Honestly one of the comments explains it best: it’s two people who both they’re in total control of a situation, and they’re both wrong.

thank you for the ask :) <3

[elder-sister]

And finally, my favorite Puyo/Madou character, Schezo.

A boy who at age 14 was lured into a mirror realm and corrupted by Runelord, the curse of his power placed upon him, making him into The Dark Mage.

An insatiable hunger for the power of others, plenty of magic abilities, and the inability to age from what we've seen, this is an immortal teenager (in my opinion, calling him an adult is the same as saying "I know she acts and looks like a child but she's actually a 10 thousand year old dragon-")

Anyway, he starts out evil, capturing Arle to take her power. She decapitates him, he keeps fighting until she finishes his head, he somehow survives, this is never spoken about again. But throughout the series he develops into a better person. Never truly good, but often leaning that way in modern times. He's a nomad who lives in caves

But also, he is socially inept, and says things that are...very easily taken the wrong way. Basically, this guy is the KING of accidental innuendo. And he never means it that way. Saying I WANT YOU meaning I want your power.

He hates being called a pervert, creep, etc. Because he can come across like that due to the aforementioned stuff.

Arle, Rulue, and The Dark Prince tease him about this. He does try to correct himself when he realizes his mistake

He's one of those characters that can work as both a serious and comedic character, but leaning to far in one direction can ruin him

Klaus Hargreeves is that you /j

[catcas22]

Time to throw my hat in and ask a question too- so.

How does Godwyn feel about his kids? Like, it was probably pretty obvious that Godrick was building a major inferiority complex to Godefroy, and they both seem to idolize grandaddy a LOT. Did all this just spring up in Limgrave?

There were a number of factors contributing to make Godrick and Godefroy the terrors they eventually became.

For one thing, Godwyn and Fia's parenting. Godwyn grew up as the family Golden Child, constantly pressured to conform to an impossible standard of perfection. He overcorrected with his own children, letting them get away with far too much. There was a crucial point in which someone needed to metaphorically knock their heads together and tell them to get over themselves. And given his own harsh upbringing, Godwyn just couldn't bring himself to do it. Fia/Fortissax was in completely over her head. Ancient dragons don't really raise their young, like at all. She had the vague idea that you need to feed and water human children to keep them alive, but her parenting knowledge stopped there.

For another, they ended up in a sort of one-way feud with Malenia and Miquella. The twins are about the same age as Godrick, with Godefroy being a bit older. After their curses manifested, Godwyn started splitting his time between the twins and his own children. He had to step up even more as Radagon got a lot more depressed and withdrawn and Marika became increasingly paranoid and unstable. While Godwyn was just trying to be there for his little brother and sister when they desperately needed a stable adult in their lives, Godrick and Godefroy read it as "Dad loves the twins more and wishes they were his kids instead of us because they're freakishly talented prodigies." That planted the seed of Godrick's inferiority complex, and the rest is history.

And finally, Godrick and Godefroy grew up steeped in the culture of the modern Golden Order. They fully embraced the might makes right, will-to-power philosophy that the Order (particularly the holdovers from Godfrey's tenure) runs off of. Add that general philosophy to a pair of rather spoiled lordlings with a massive inferiority complex and... Yeah.

Godwyn genuinely does love his boys, but he overlooked a lot of early red flags. Due to the aforementioned Golden Child syndrome, he couldn't bring himself to give them the discipline and structure they so desperately needed. He realized his mistake after his sons were already grown, but by then they had come to look up to Godfrey -- or more accurately, the version of Godfrey still worshipped by the Golden Order -- more than they ever looked up to their own father.

Of course, this is just the interpretation I settled on for the Prince of Death-verse.

[hottakehoulihan]

I'm considering a differentiation in nomenclature: yuri and yaoi fiction distinct from queer fiction from love stories distinct from other queer relationship fiction.

But I haven't worked out the details of what word would go with what. So I'll ramble on it for a moment while it's fresh in my head.

It's just...in some WLW or men-loving-men (I'm avoiding acronym puns) stories, the story is set in a world where queerphobia doesn't exist. Women date and get married to each other, nobody bats an eyelash, and nobody spends months or days agonizing about whether they might be gay because that's as important as wondering if you like maple syrup on waffles.

And in other WLW / queer stories, part of the story is the characters overcoming their own internal resistance, gauging whether the person they're attracted to is safe to approach and if so how to do so, dealing with the queerphobia of family/friends/authorities, and even coping with systemic queerphobia.

And the queer-accepting world of the first sort, which is the sort of comforting escapist fantasy (approbation x3) we need and want sometimes, where flavor-of-queerness doesn't matter because people aren't scummy about it and while we're at it we also don't have nazis it's a romance story but without all the depressing ugly bullshit and instead with representation of a sort; a blanket to wrap around oneself and squee.

Valuable and needed.

Then there's an actual exploration of the bullshit society has; showing life-as-reflected-in-art so you get multiple perspectives on what is because that's ALSO representation, and that's part of what art is needed for.

And then there's the fact that stories need conflict and love stories need (no pun intended) friction or else there's...not really a story it's just "Little Red Riding Hood went to her grandmother's house and grandmother was fine and the wolf was her friend and all three had a nice dinner and lived happily ever after." (Cute, but only because it's a novelty.)

And I adore the friction (still no pun intended). Cherry Magic wouldn't have the delicious erotic suspense if it weren't set in a world where queer pairings were more difficult in all the aforementioned ways.

This ain't just true about queer pairings. I'm fond of My Queen both despite and because of its absurdity, and it's a fun TV show in which a 33yo high-level professional finds herself pursued by a 25yo gentleman and he's great but she's totally (initially) not okay with the age gap (and she's Taiwanese, and it's an older show, so the bullshit women have to deal with is more enhanced in some arenas)

...and of course there's a reason we've got the "meet hate" trope, the "it was all a misunderstanding!" trope and so many others; you need some reason for the leading pair to not snap together instantly like rare-earth magnets.

(I think it was Ebert (his negative reviews were once a guilty pleasure of mine) who said something like "if you have a meet-cute, they might be together in two hours. If you have a meet-hate, they'll be together in 45 minutes")

Back-of-the-envelope, I'm considering using yaoi/yuri for the trope-heavy "but can a girl love a girl!?"

"queer-friendly love stories" stories where romance decisions are as low-orientation-consequence (as they are in Dragon Age / Mass Effect games, where some characters are pan, some are unavailable, and some only go for specific gender and/or background) as seems plausible to ever reach IRL.

"Queer literature" (or cinema or some other potentially pretentious-flavored indicator), which reflects life as it is or was, and where the happy conclusions are those that happen because of judicious placement of "The End".

IDK.

It is to be strongly desired, a world where (as in an Arthur C. Clark book a friend of mine kept stealing from the school library) there's no societal expectation driving the need to even have the distinction represented by the word "queer" because they're as par for the course as finding out what foods someone likes or won't eat.

But there is something lovable and titillating in the queer stories where folk are struggling through the various plinko of internalized phobias and ignorances, and those of society, in order to finally get some wonderful handholding or sex in.

Yeah, I'm not satisfied with any terminology choices. Gonna abandon that for a bit. Reminds me of a quote:

"It is better to debate a question without settling it than to settle a question without debating it." - Joseph Joubert

There's more to say (something I pulled from Contrapoints (yay!) and her choice of name), but I'm reaching diminishing returns on trying to chew down to it so I'm putting this blag entry to bed.

But anyway, there's romance in the friction, there's friction in the romance, and there's beauty in queer fiction that has queer friction and there's beauty in queer fiction that has only the ordinary romantic friction and allows queer romance to be as free from phobia as we'd desire.

And maybe it's good we don't have names for all the flavors.

Gonna go back to my WLW monster+Jewish Gal romance now. : 3 ...and then to my high-stakes overdue chores. : /

[somanyjacks]

9 people you'd like to get to know better!

Tagged by @andreaphobia -- thank you! I haven't done one of these in forever!

three ships: hmmm I'd have to go with Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus from Dragon Age Inquisition, Joker/Akechi from Persona 5, aaaaaaaaand, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Wow. My life is so bereft of shippable content I'm having trouble thinking of another franchise that grabs me enough to make the blorbos kiss in my mind. Hm. On a related note, no, I have not yet started BG3, but I did pre-order the fancy-pants collector edition coming out next year as a birthday present for myself.

first ship : I got into contemporary fandom very late in life so the concept of shipping wasn't something I grew up thinking about. I guess the first ship I was really invested in was probably The Doctor/Rose Tyler.

last song : omg my parents watched a Les Miserables concert last night in the other room while I was putting together a puzzle so now I have about four songs from that running through my head simultaneously. It is unpleasant, especially when Master of the House wins out because invariably the damn soprano sax line gets stuck on a loop.

last film : I don't go to the theater very often for sensory reasons so I think it might've been The Favourite? But the last movie I watched in general was Kenneth Branagh's Death on the Nile, because it was literally the only movie that I was remotely interested in which was available on a very long flight. And apologies to Mr. Branagh but it was not to my liking at all. In my world there is only on Poirot and he is played by David Suchet.

currently reading : I'm in between books at the moment! I read Ultra-Processed People: The Science Behind Food That Isn't Food recently and that was very interesting.

currently consuming : lol just some water. I really want another cup of coffee though. Might have to make that happen.

currently craving : in addition to the aforementioned coffee, I would love an almond croissant. I will have to be content with the coffee though.

Tagging @butwhatisit @not-poignant @opal-bee @dancinggrimm @mevima @forceofcalm @watch-grok-brainrot but obviously no pressure and anyone can do it!

[the-peddito-and-doise-show]

🅱️oise, you've got to stop the "🅱️oise's Doise and Peddito takeover" or whatever!

"Why should I? Those suckers didn’t deserve a show! I’m on a roll expanding my lil’ old 🅱️usiness—🅱️Y USING THIS CHEESE DRAGON TO FLAME ALL MY COMPETITION AWAY! 🅱️OAGAGAGAGAG!"

—————————————————————

> As the aforementioned cheese dragon continued making the city go up in flames, Doise & his friends watched it all unfold—trying to figure out what to do.

"I suggest we look for its weak points; that way we’ll have an easier time defeating it."

"Every part of it looks like-a its-a weakpoint, how are-a we-a supposed to-a know which one is the-a weakest of them all?" "…Uhhh, just keep senselessly attacking it?" Doise-Chan: "Well, that would work, if only if it wasn’t made of cheese—our attacks against it might as well go through thin air!" Dorigin: "Looks like the writing has really gone bad now…"

> While all this arguing occurred, a familiar face slowly crept to them from behind. > Having a sign that showed a question mark on the top of their head, Doisey was the first one to notice the shadowy figure, turning around—instantly emitting mechanical and robotic sounds that were reminiscent of a scream; alerting the others along with it too.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"—Pizzamancer?" Doise said, just as the group recovered from a sudden spook like that. "What the HELL do you want? Weren’t YOU working with that bastard over there in the hot air balloon?" Doisette then interjected, clearly angry at the pizza-faced sorcerer—obviously being in the right. Doise-Chan: "Wait, Pizzamancer was working with him?" Dorigin: "I thought that you already knew, Doise-Chan, since you did tell Doise that ‘it’s a long story’ after he asked what was going on." "Yeah, what’s up with that?" Doise-Chan: "…Well, I, er—" "NEVERMIND THAT NOW! Give-a us one-a GOOD reason why we-a shouldn’t beat you to a PULP." "Look, look, look—I only worked with him, because he knew a way to revive the dragon I had alongside me in the medieval ages!" "And what was that ‘way?’" Doisette said, being suspicious. "…Using the power of taunting in a ritual by repurposing Doise’s clones to do so." "So that’s why we felt so weak…" Both Doise and Dorigin said in unison, hearing about the truth now.

"Well, why couldn’t you just have asked Doise himself to see if he’ll let you use his clones?"

"I barely had any time to do so, since I was busy trying to hold the TV network that Doise owned together with RIDICULOUS ‘wacky hijinks’ happening almost EVERY day! Plus, he asks me to use my magic to do such nothing tasks and not anything else! I couldn’t bear to be with him any longer! But then he came… and promised me that I’ll get the respect I deserve, as long as I served under his rule. So I did." "…Isn’t he-a annoying as Doise-a is?" Doisette: "Peddito, again—NOT. THE. TIME." "He had tricked me by showing an interest in what I did; being my magic beyond the crust of human dreams. After all, he seemed to know more about ‘taunting’ more than I did, and he perfectly adjusted it just so that I would agree to his deal. Yes, he was indeed annoying at certain points, but he was otherwise more focused onto executing his own plan that he didn’t have the time to be annoying all the time in the first place. After the taunting done by the Doise clones now repurposed to look like him, the one thing I treasured the most was indeed revived as he had said—only for him to betray me by kicking a bomb towards me just as my cheese dragon flew off so that it couldn’t turn on him because he had turned on me first. Now he’s commanding them to whatever he wants! And I want revenge!" "Hell you are! After we’re done dealing with him and your cheese dragon, we’re dealing with you NEXT!" Doisette said, threatening Pizzamancer. "I know, I know, I KNOW! Do that, and I’ll fix everything; I swear on it! The only way to defeat my cheese dragon is to use brains against its brawn, as, admittedly, they aren’t very… smart in the least sense. Just don’t hurt them too bad—PLEASE!"

"…Alright, fine, but you need a good beating up too after all the shit you did. Peddito, you wanna do the honors?" As you could probably guess, it was Doisette saying this—again. "Of course." Peddito himself said, cracking his knuckles in the process. Seeing that there was nothing else left to agree to, Pizzamancer sighed a deep breath, both cautiously and dreadfully preparing for what was about to come. (At least, for him.) "…I suppose so. Let’s get it over withAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!"

[mangoisms]

like the part of the song where it falls ━ miyuki kazuya

━ part four: mostly, i want to be kind / read part three

━ wc: 7k

━ warnings: none

━ masterpost

“How’d your appointment go?”

“Three months. Three months and I’m cleared for rollercoasters!” 

“I thought that was a joke.”

“Whaaaat? No! January twenty-fifth —” you clap a hand on Miyuki’s shoulder, grinning; he shakes his head, pulling into the parking lot of Birch Aquarium. “That’s our day.”

“Our? No way.”

“Yes way.”

He groans melodramatically and makes a perfect right swing into a parking spot. “So, what? Disneyland? Universal Studios?”

“What? Screw those guys! I’m talkin’ about Six Flags, baby! It’s Batman time!”

“How are you even cleared for that?”

“Well, I’m not yet. I’ll schedule an appointment for the week before and if my doctor clears it, we’re good to go. Speaking of, we should settle on a date.”

“A date for our date?”

He’s doing that more often. Mostly because the press has gotten a lot of pictures of you two hanging around the city and the more sensationalist tabloids are saying you’re dating. Framing your whole meeting as one big meet-ugly that leads to a love story for the ages. You’ve both denied the rumors but mostly, you try not to think about it. 

You flush. “No jokes or I’ll drag you onto Viper.”

“And what’s that one like?”

“Terrifying enough to have you coming off appreciating life and loving your neighbor.”

He snickers. 

Realistically speaking, you probably won’t be able to ride that one. Too much G-force. You’d either grey out or just straight up blackout. 

Hector would kill you. If the coaster didn’t do the job, anyway. 

“You’re all healed, then?” he asks as you approach the entrance. 

“Brain bruises are gone and so is the fracture.”

“Good. That’s good.” He hands the tickets to the attendant. You watch him. 

You’ve been thinking about what Jerry told you for the past few days. About the incident with that little girl in Georgia. You aren’t sure if you should say something. Anything. It was already a few years ago. Truthfully now, you’re just…

Well, you’re wondering if he is doing this stuff because he feels guilty. You don’t want him to feel guilty. You want him here because he wants to be here. You want —

Nothing. 

You shove the thoughts away and follow him. You’d both come early because you wanted to see the penguin feeding at one. 

And plus, there aren’t as many people around. Kind of a bonus. A Tuesday at noon. The second week of December. Empty. Or, well, mostly empty. 

Inside, the air is cool, smelling faintly fishy. It is dark, with the light coming from the tanks, shining blue on your faces. You’ve come prepared with your camera, taking pictures of whatever catches your eye. You two walk through the Hall of Fishes, showcasing the diverse marine life of the pacific. The Giant Kelp Forest, with kelp swaying in cool blue water, Leopard Sharks, Moray Eels, and Giant Black Sea Bass gliding through them. Then the Sea-dragons and Seahorses display, with the aforementioned marine life as well as pipefish and other unique species. 

“Seahorses mate for life, you know.”

“Don’t the males also get pregnant?”

“They’ve got it all figured out,” you sigh wistfully; half of you wants to climb in that tank. “I mean, seriously, that’s some soulmate shit.”

“Isn’t it kind of… not?”

“For me, soulmates are created, not found.”

“What’s the criteria?”

The question shocks you. You look at him. 

He’s already looking at you. 

Your chest warms and you look back at the tank, where a light green seahorse speckled with black dots swims through the water. 

“Why are you asking?” you ask, a little teasing, though your heart is suddenly beating out of your chest. 

Quiet for a moment. Then… “I’m curious.”

The thing is, he doesn’t sound like he’s joking or even teasing you. No, he sounds… well. Curious. 

“I don’t know,” you say, deciding screw it and looking at him. Your hands grow clammy around your camera. You let it fall, hanging from your neck. 

You tug distractedly at your shirt. It’s a comfortable day, so you’re in an outfit similar to the day you and he had Rico’s, with your Docs, your over-the-knee black socks, denim shorts and black cherry lip lacquer. Except it’s not your Wonder Woman shirt, but the Padres jersey you’d been generously gifted by the team. A rusty brown kind of color, with golden trims and San Diego written across the front. Nothing else on the back. You wear it unbuttoned, though, with a black lace trim cami underneath; the jersey is a tad oversized at your request, so the ends fall down a little bit past your hips. Your nails are painted black again. 

When Miyuki saw you after picking you up from your apartment, he said if you were going to be friends, you had to have his jersey, too, so he was getting you one immediately. You said that wouldn’t help your dating rumors at all. He said Do you really care what they think, tomcat?

“I don’t know,” you say again. Unsure if it’s to his question about criteria or your own thoughts. 

(But you know — your answer to whether you care what others think, you mean. Not the press, not the media, not the fans who think you’re trying to steal his money — and they can die mad about it, too, because nine out of ten times, he’s insisting on paying and since you only make enough to pay rent, feed yourself and your pets, and sustain a Spotify subscription, well, why the hell are you going to say no? You don’t care about them, not really. You just care about him. About this. Whatever this is. Real friendship or just his guilt. 

But god, you really hope it isn’t that.)

“I don’t think there’s a specific criteria for what classifies a soulmate. That’s the beauty of it. I think Jerry is my soulmate but I think Batman and Robin are my soulmates, too. My pets, I mean, not the actual characters.”

He smiles. Your heart does that funny thing again. 

“But you know how I am. I love love. I love humanity. I love the strangers I see on the streets being kind to one another, the baby who smiles at me on the bus. It’s just… it’s not hard. It’s easy.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?”

“What’s life without a little heartbreak? Yeah, I’ll get hurt and I’ll lose a little part of my heart but at the end of the day, I’ve got people to help me fill it back up. I don’t think you can go through life and get a fulfilling experience if you try to protect yourself constantly, never be willing to let someone else handle it.”

You pause, a question on the tip of your tongue, unsure if you can go ahead with it. 

“Ask,” he says quietly. “We’re friends. Friends ask each other questions.”

You smile at him repeating your words from last week. 

“Well… do you have people like that?” 

He looks ahead, pensive. Quiet long enough that you know you won’t get an answer. Not now, anyhow. And that’s okay. 

He’s spoken of his old friends from high school. Told you plenty of amusing stories from that time. Told you about how they lost Nationals in his first and second year, then won it in his third. Told you about Kuramochi Youichi, who ‘is sharper than he looks and surprisingly reliable, too,’ and Sawamura Eijun, who is ‘obnoxiously loud and passionate and won’t ever leave you alone, but he’s one hell of a guy.’

Miyuki bared a lot to you. But there’s still more to him. You think that’s how it will always be, you peeling the layers back one by one, discovering who he is. Then perhaps one day, you might get the privilege of holding his heart in your hands. 

You continue to explore the aquarium for a little while longer. 

Outside, they have tide pools, with sea stars, sea anemones, hermit crabs, sea cucumbers, lobsters, and other little creatures swim around. You can even dip your hand inside and feel them. 

Miyuki refuses (“My hands are my life!”) but you get him to join you, only by guiding his arm under yours, your hand pressed over the back of his. He squirms at the feeling of the creatures brushing up against his palm and you beam. 

Afterward, you check out their penguin exhibit, where they have a feeding show as well. Then you start to feel hungry. 

“They have a cafe here, don’t they?” Probably exorbitantly priced but you know the aquarium is owned by UC San Diego and they’re doing lots of conservation efforts so you don’t mind. Even if the tickets were twenty-five bucks a pop. 

“Not necessary,” Miyuki says.

You chuckle at his matter-of-fact tone. “Why not?”

“I brought food.” He opens the messenger bag he’s had over his shoulder, showing you two bentos. You’d been curious about it but didn’t ask. Now you know. 

“Are you allowed to bring that in?” you ask curiously. 

He shrugs. “They didn’t say anything to me about it.”

Well. You can never say no to his cooking. 

The two of you find a picnic bench near the cafe. Not many people are outside but you still sit with your backs to everything else, anyway. 

He made thick club sandwiches with mayo, ketchup, cooked ham, bacon, cheese, an over medium egg, lettuce, and tomato. It is paired with spam musubi, made of mixed grain rice with furikake, spam, egg, and nori, then wrapped with seaweed. It’s delicious, as usual. 

You eat in a companionable silence. You feel a little sleepy, too, since you slept intermittently while running the show last night. It runs on weekdays but not weekends, but since yesterday was Monday, you had no choice but to stay up late, then get back to your apartment at four where you slept until eleven. 

Overhead, the sun is out, shining down warmly on you, mitigating the effects of the cool breeze that rustles your hair occasionally.

This is nice. 

It’s always nice but… 

You find yourself increasingly appreciative of these stolen moments of peace. 

You finish your food. Miyuki wordlessly offers you his water bottle, which you gladly accept, washing down your food with still-cold water. You pass it back afterward unthinkingly. You don’t quite realize what you did until you see him looking at something in the corner of your eye and you turn to see, too. Only to wince when you realize he is staring at the rim of the bottle, where a dark imprint of your lips lingers behind. 

“Shit, sorry —”

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head a little, then swiping a thumb over it. But the attempt to clean it doesn’t work. It smears over the white of the water bottle and on the pad of his thumb instead. He blinks and stares at his thumb, the stain darker than the light brown of his skin. 

“It’s… long lasting,” you stammer, embarrassed as you turn to rifle through your tote bag, pulling out a small pack of makeup wipes. 

You pull one out, then lean over to clean the rim of the bottle, black cherry staining the wipe. He doesn’t let go, so you just move into his space to do it, embarrassed for the most part. 

Once the bottle is clean, you turn to his hand, cleaning the lacquer from his thumb. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, lifting your eyes to him. 

You freeze as you realize how close you two are. You’re in his space. Your legs pressed against each other, your hand on his. The heat of him bleeds through his jeans, warding off any chills from the cool breeze. And he’s looking at you. 

He’s looking at you. 

This close, you can see how thick his lashes are, amber brown eyes flecked with gold, burning through you, and you can see the faint tan lines on his face, from his glasses or from his catcher’s mask, who knows, but it’s a decidedly endearing tidbit of information that you tuck away behind your ribcage. 

Your heart pounds fast. Heat rises within you, ballooning in your chest. You don’t know what to do — you should pull away but…

You don’t want to. 

The realization is enough to make you feel dizzy. Or it could be that you’re so close, you can smell his shampoo, something spicy and warm. 

“You asked me earlier,” he begins quietly, surprising you, making you pull back a fraction and your hand jerk (the two of you are in public and granted he has a cap on but still; if the press caught this, they’d have a field day). But he doesn’t let you go, plucking the wipe from your hand with his left hand, while his right, the one that had the stain, closes around yours. 

“About whether I have anyone,” he goes on. “The truth is, I’m not sure I do.”

You soften. “Why not?”

“It’s only me over here. Well… there’s Chris but he’s in Toronto with the Blue Jays. He’s… got his own life to handle. My friends from school… they’re all back in Japan and truthfully, I’m not as great a friend as I should be to them. They’re good, they’ve always been, but me…”

He finally looks away from you, sighing. You’re pressed to his side since he has your right hand clasped in his right, your arms and legs pressed together. It’s a bit of an awkward angle but you ignore that, happy to be this close. Happy to have him opening up even if it makes you sad. 

“I’m the variable in the equation. And the fact that I’m here and not there… after everything… next to impossible.”

The new information you’d learned from Jerry about his second season with the Braves springs to the forefront of your mind. 

“After everything?” you ask hesitantly. You don’t want to assume. 

He looks at you. “You know.”

Guilt curls in your chest. “I only found out recently. I didn’t… Before that, I had no idea that had happened.”

He looks away again, fingers tugging the bill of his cap. 

“Her name is Mia. She was six when it happened. She just turned ten a few weeks ago.” He digs out his phone. Shows you a picture of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile, dressed in a baseball uniform, with a glove on her hand. “She still wants to play baseball. Be the first girl to join the Majors. After everything, the least I can do is make sure she has every chance to.”

“That’s… really nice of you, you know.” 

He doesn’t respond to that, putting his phone. “I assume you know how that season turned out, then.”

The worst slump of his career.

You don’t say that. You don’t say anything. You just look at him, heart aching on his behalf.

He leans back, looking up at the sky. “They tried. They did. But up until then… accidents like that didn’t happen for me.”

You stay quiet. A slow breeze flutters his hair. 

“When I was a kid… I was smaller than most of the kids on my team. Much smaller than them. I said things — the truth, it was only ever the truth, to make us better — and they didn’t like that. I saw no use in fighting back. I’d show them on the field. But what that taught me… violence has no place in baseball. Not that kind of violence. Say what you want on the field, in your plays, but… you ruin the game by doing anything else.”

Your heart aches; it feels like each beat it takes is harder than the last. “Miyuki…”

“I know,” he sighs. “I didn’t try to hit her. I didn’t. But indirectly… it was my fault, my actions. More than that… why didn’t they have netting there? Why were there no precautions in place? Why’d it take so long for someone to get to them?”

Tension bubbles in the air. Everything about him sharpens in that moment, anger taking over; a dormant anger, the kind you hold onto, brutal and unforgiving. Not something new. 

He looks at you. Sunlight turns his eyes honey brown but they’re hard, burning. 

“Do you know what they told me? The park, MLB? They just said, that’s just how things are here. Fans didn’t want netting there. This is America. But that’s too easy. They just don’t want to lose the money in the initial stages. But people would come. They always will. But how could they make that expense? Of course not.” He lets out a slow exhale, some tension unwinding from his shoulders. “I didn’t let it go. They threatened suspension.”

“What?”

“Her mom told me to let it go. The park would put up netting, but it would just be them. No one else would follow suit. Not until one of their fans almost died from a foul ball or a broken bat flying into the stands.”

“That’s…”

“I’m biding my time,” he says, speaking with a kind of ruthless finality that raises the hair on the back of your neck. “A few more years before my age catches up with me and they start putting me on the back-burner. I’ll do it then.” 

He is prepared to scorch the earth and salt it behind him, too, for this. You can’t say you disagree with him. 

“Anyway,” he sighs, thumb idly rubbing over your hand; you suppress a shiver at the feeling, catcher’s callouses ticklish against your skin. “All of that happened that year, that summer. My friends, they tried, but… nothing could be done. Things got… better when I moved out here. But the damage had been done. I couldn’t try turning up pretending everything was fine. A younger me would’ve but I can’t do things like that anymore. We made some progress but… like I said. They’re there and I’m here. The variable in the equation.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a call from you. Anything, really. I don’t get the sense they’ll abandon you.”

“Maybe.” 

“Everyone has their issues, Miyuki,” you say softly. “No one is perfect. But you’re trying, aren’t you? Right now, you’re trying. You don’t have to. You could’ve just told me to go to hell and that… well. That would’ve been fine. But you’re trying.”

He looks back at you. The look in his eyes makes your stomach flip-flop and your heart pound. 

“You remind me of them, you know. Both of them.”

“Naive?”

“You and I both know you aren’t naive. No… you’re hopeful.”

Warmth spools like cotton candy in your chest. Your face warms and you smile, leaning your head on your shoulder. 

“And a little annoying. Admit it. It’s okay. Everyone should be a little annoying and off-putting every now and then.”

He chuckles, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he looks down at you. “A little annoying sometimes, yes. But it’s fine. Think I need to be annoyed every now and then. Probably payback for all the people I’ve annoyed when I was a kid.”

“You were just a kid. Let yourself off the hook. Though, I do agree that you should be annoyed every now and then. You certainly are annoying now. Well. A bit more than every now and then.”

“Don’t lie to me. I rarely annoy you. You’re just so… impossible to get worked up.”

“I let it go. I know you’re just like that. No reason in getting bothered about it.” You elbow him gently. “But there are limits, alright? You’re a grown man. Act accordingly.”

He laughs hard, for a reason you don’t understand, but you don’t care. You like the way his eyes crinkle. 

“You aren’t wrong!” he says when he finishes, grinning down at you. “Starting to think I should. Like maybe talking to my friends more. Maybe… give them a call like you say.”

You smile. “That sounds like a good start.”

“And I think… I think I should be a little more appreciative of the friend I have here with me right now.” 

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, beyond pleased. 

“So… you should start calling me Kazuya.”

“Wait — what —” you jerk and he quickly lets go of your hand to sling an arm around your shoulder and pull you low against his chest. It’s not particularly romantic because he kind of has you hunched over against his stomach. 

“Miyuki, what — hey, this isn’t comfortable…”

“I’m sorry, who are you talking to? That bird over there?”

“That’s a squirrel.”

“Question still stands. He doesn’t look like a Miyuki to me. He looks like a… Nori.”

“Miyuki.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Your face burns. You groan. You should be happy — you are happy. You know how big this kind of thing is. But you’re also embarrassed. Why are you embarrassed?

Being given the privilege of his name doesn’t mean anything other than you two are friends. And he said it himself. 

You’re friends. This is just what friends do. 

(Yeah, you know this sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. 

You are.)

“Kazuya.”

“Now we’re talking about me. Very nice.”

He lets go. You glare a little at him as you come back up. He just smiles. It’s far too bewitching for you to really be annoyed with him. 

“Have any more room?”

“For?”

He rifles around the bag next to him, pulling out an orange. 

You melt like butter in a pan. 

“Sure, yeah.”

Kazuya (gah, that’s weird… but not in a bad way) proceeds to peel it expertly by hand, dropping orange peels into the now-empty bento box. Citrusy orange tickles your nose pleasantly. 

He splits off a few wedges for you. You take it, pulling one free. He pulls one free for himself. You sit side by side eating the orange together wedge by wedge.

Yeah. You’re thinking about it. 

You know — the poem. 

You know the one.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Do I need a reason to smile?”

He eyes you and the look on his face is both amused and fond but mostly fond. “I guess not.”

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:31 — 12/15/2022]

Tee: I just… I love poetry. I think poetry is great. Mouser’s rolling his eyes but that’s just ‘cause he likes nonfiction better, which is fine. I like both. Oh, someone on Twitter is asking what brought this on. Um. Nothing in particular at all. [Laughs]

[DNCE’s “Unsweet” starts playing in the background]

Tee: But if you guys have any favorites, send them my way. I’m always happy to get new material. 

[“Unsweet” starts playing] I want you unsweet You satisfy me That brutal honesty Won't you pour your heart out on me?

[Off-air recording starts] Mouser: What are you smiling about? Tee: I just think… the universe is great. Mouser: Right. Sure.  Tee: Soooo.  Mouser: [Laughing] What? Tee: I’ve come to a realization.  Mouser: And that is? Tee: I like Kazuya. Mouser: Jesus Christ. Tee: I mean, look at this queue. It wasn’t intentional but… Angel Baby. Attention. I’ll Be Waiting. It’s so… Mouser: [Laughing] You’re in love with this guy! Tee, Mouser: [Laughter] Tee: Ohhh. That is so… It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s chill. We’re chill.  Mouser: Hehe, wait, are you, like, just realizing this? Like actually? Tee: Yeah.  Tee, Mouser: [Laughter] Mouser: [Laughing] And you’re spending the holidays with him! Tee, Mouser: [Laughter] Tee: I know! I know… but it was just convenient. When the plans were made, I mean, ‘cause my sister and Hector are going out of the country and I could spend it with the family but… then he’d be alone.  Mouser: What do the kids call that? Down bad. You are down bad.  Tee: [Laughing] I know! It’s just… you don’t even realize it, the way he gets to you. It sneaks up on you. And then one day — today — you’re just like… Huh. He tries to seem so aloof, like he doesn’t care, but he does. A lot. I think that’s partially why he is the way he is.  Mouser: He’s also nice to look at it.  Tee: Really nice.

[Lolo Zouaï’s “Blur” plays next] Last night was a blur I stayed till the morning Let you call me your girl That don’t mean I’m falling (But I think I might) You’re every single thing that I deserve Maybe that’s too boring

Tee: Hey, you know I love you, right? Mouser: I know. I love you, too.  Tee: Good. I don’t want you to think… I mean, I know you don’t but, like, let me just reassure you… just ‘cause I like Kazuya like that won’t change anything between us. You’re my Mouser. My guy in the chair. The Donna Troy to my Dick Grayson.  Mouser: You geek. You’re the Chewie to my Han. Tee: I think I’m more Han than you but since we’re having a nice moment, I’ll let it go.  Mouser: Andddd the moment is over. 

You have no idea if Kazuya listens to the show. 

You don’t really know how to feel about it if he does. 

Mostly because, around him, you’re already feeling a whirlwind of emotions. More so because you’ve planted your white flag and given in. Given in to the fact that you do like him. That you like when he smiles, those rarities that make you appreciate them all the more, that you like the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs that stupid laugh of his. 

That you like his thoughtfulness, that he goes the full nine yards even when you tell him he doesn’t have to. He stopped buying shellfish for himself, even though you’d adamantly told him he didn’t have to do that, that all you asked if he hung out with you when he had it was wash his hands and if you were eating at his place, avoid cross-contamination. No. He just got rid of it completely. Not like I’m cutting out fish entirely, he told you. I still have my seafood. 

You like how he pays attention to you, he remembers things, like when you mentioned, a month ago, that you were trying to complete your collection of the Batman: No Man’s Land omnibuses by getting the second book and you also wanted to get the Batman: Road to No Man’s Land omnibus, too. They’re just ridiculously expensive — Volume 2 of NML is $150 and RTNML is $125. He surprises you with them a few days after your realization, says he was just passing a comic book store and braved the geeks to get it for you and that it looked mildly intriguing, so you have to let him read Volume 1, it’s only fair.

It’s so surprising, so unexpected and emotionally overwhelming for you that you throw your arms around with him without thinking it through. 

“And what will the press think?” he teases, but he still wraps his arms around you and there, in his embrace, everything feels right, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

You would know. You’re, like, the leading authority on puzzles. 

“Screw the press,” you mumble into his hoodie. 

You don’t want to say something like, Well, this is just a platonic hug between friends. It aches too much. Like you can pretend you don’t want to stay here forever. Like you can pretend the urges to touch him freely aren’t growing stronger every day, minute by minute. 

But that won’t happen. You know it won’t. You’re a hypocrite for doing this, really, but the truth is, you’re selfish enough to want to keep him as a friend, if anything else. No use in ruining things by inserting feelings into the equation. You don’t want to lose him. You really, truly don’t. 

You’ll just wait for it to abate, for it to go away. It will. It’s the third week of December. The new year is creeping closer and closer. On February fifteenth, he is due to report in Peoria, Arizona for spring training; pitchers and catchers report on that day, before the rest of the team. From there, he won’t be back in San Diego until late March. Opening Day is April first. And from there… well. One-hundred-and-sixty-two games in the MLB’s regular season, from April to September. 

That’s only two months away. The thought is… sobering. Makes something inside you stiffen up but you tell yourself it’s fine. The distance might help. It will. 

You surely won’t compromise your relationship with him to get rid of these feelings, no way, they’ll just… be there. And if you get help in moving on from them with his busy season, well. That’s just how the cards fall.  

You let go before you get carried away, leaning down to deposit your gift in the car. A cool breeze flutters through your hair; you shiver a little. The breeze is cool but the day is pleasant enough with the sun is out. Still, you find yourself dressing a little more conservatively today, in a pair of mom jeans and a brand-new eggplant purple Night Owl crewneck.

Yes, you’re wearing your own merch. But this is more of a test-run, to see that it actually is comfortable before you release it. 

The ocean sprawls out ahead of you, gravel leading to soft white sand, overgrown grass and weeds sprouting from the fence that separates the parking lot from the beach. 

While you carefully put away the bag, behind you, Kazuya types on his phone. 

He called them — Kuramochi, Sawamura — a few weeks ago, finally taking that leap. Things are on the mend for them, you think. The thing is, they text a lot. 

“Texting your friends?”

He hums absently. You turn away from the passenger side and creep up next to him, deftly stealing his phone. 

“Wh — oi!” He sounds vaguely panicked for a reason you aren’t sure of but he has nothing to worry about.

“Relax, dude. I can’t read any of this.”

He snorts, looking relieved, then he switches gears, trying to look sternly at you. “Give me back my phone, brat.”

“Just for that?”

Despite everything being in Japanese, you know the symbol for the camera anywhere. You click it, opening the front camera, snapping a quick selfie of you, your wine-purple lips (you gotta match, man!) spread in a grin, peace sign thrown up, while he tries to grab you in the background. 

You send it just as he steals his phone back, laughing and pushing you gently. 

“Bothersome.”

“I get it from you.”

He rolls his eyes, still grinning, types a few things, then puts his phone away. You two go back to the car, where he uses you to balance himself as he rolls up his jeans and pulls off his socks and shoes. 

As he straightens, his eyes find your crewneck. He blinks, head tilting. He puts his shoes away. 

“So, you guys aren’t being shut down, then.”

You plant a hand on his offered arm and bend down to do the same with your shoes. Since you’d agreed to stop by the beach, you’d chosen a pair of sneakers rather than your Docs. Your camera hangs around your neck. 

Things are going well. Whether Night Owl is doing well because you’re constantly photographed hanging out with Kazuya (and constantly being accused of dating) or because the people who listened to you out of curiosity or word of mouth decided to stay because they liked the content and the music, you have no idea. 

But you don’t care. Both work just fine in your opinion. Either way, KCSD isn’t going to shut you down. No way. Not with the kind of traffic you get. 

Questions about merch increased, which pleased the company beyond end, but you had to go in there and negotiate. They didn’t get to take all the money. No. You think, after you and Jerry manning this show for several years, that you two deserve a pay raise. And updated equipment. You could probably ask for a bigger studio but you like it the way it is, honestly. Cozy. 

They’d agreed, of course. The reason they’re getting money is because of you and Jerry. You two are in positions to negotiate like that. 

So, you and Jerry have been creating all kinds of designs and ideas over the last few weeks. You’d settled on shirts, crewnecks, hoodies, and stickers. It’s eggplant purple, with a cartoonish owl and one of those old-world microphones, the silver ones. 

(You couldn’t do a Tom and Jerry thing, since, you know. Copyright issues. Thankfully everyone is aware of that and also don’t want you guys to be slapped with a cease and desist.)

“No,” you say, bare feet sinking into the sand; it’s not warm but it’s not cold, either. Somewhere in the middle. “They aren’t shutting us down. Things are going well.”

“Had me thinking otherwise since you’re wearing your own merch.”

You laugh. “Just testing it out. Making sure it’s fit to be released to the listeners. Can’t give them shoddy work.”

“Does your fan base have a name? Since you’re releasing merch…”

The two of you start walking. 

“There’s actually this organization in the comics called the Court of Owls. There’s no real name for the members themselves but they do employ these superhuman beings called Talons.”

“Naturally.”

“But we nixed that one. They’re kind of… evil. Organized crime type situation.”

“Probably for the best.”

“The best we’ve come up with is Owlers.”

He snickers. You laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. Not great. Night Owl’s name itself is pretty self-explanatory. There isn’t a lot to pull from it.”

“Well, this —” he tugs at your crewneck “— probably makes up for it. Where’s mine, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize —”

“You should’ve realized. I don’t accept your apology.”

You laugh loudly, your eyes taking in the tan sand and the blue waves stretching out into oblivion. Foamy tides lap at the shoreline. One part of you wants to dip your toes into it but you know you’ll be disappointed. The water is too cold to enjoy. 

A salty breeze kisses your face. You’ve missed the beach. You haven’t been in a while. This one is fairly empty, with only a few people around. At Scripps Pier, a quarter of a mile from Torrey Pine, that’s where you two are. It’s the same area as Black’s Beach, which is clothing optional but you know that if you continue south of the lifeguard tower, almost no one is around. So, no accidental eyefuls of naked people. 

He grins at you, looking all kinds of dashing with the breeze ruffling his hair, his dark blue crewneck pretty against his skin, the sun shining down on him. 

“So, then,” he starts casually in a way that has you raising an eyebrow, “you won’t be taking that offer.”

You cock your head, confused, before he nods at the camera in your hands. 

“Oh. Oh. God, I completely forgot about that. God. That was weird.” You raise the viewfinder to your eye, capturing the swaths of empty beach ahead of you. 

“Why?”

“It just is.” 

Click. You let your camera fall back to your neck. 

“Well, if you take it, you’ll definitely be spending more time around me and since you want to be best friends forever —”

You grin, face warming. “You can just say you want me to take it. That’s fine.”

“Hm.” He tilts his face up thoughtfully. “I do want you to take it. I mean, I think it’d be nice. But I also know you’re happy with Night Owl, which is admittedly cooler.”

“Hey, don’t disrespect your photographers like that.” 

He shoves you gently, rolling his eyes. “I’m trying to compliment you and this is what I get.”

You grin, falling back a few steps and raising the viewfinder to your eye again, moving until he’s in your frame. 

“See?” he says, lips quirked, hands tucked in his pocket. “Aren’t you having a great time taking pictures of me?”

Click. 

“Well, if I want to take pictures of you, all we have to do is this.”

He laughs and it sounds genuine. Click. “Touché, tomcat. Touché.”

Warmth unspools in your chest, ballooning there until you feel like you might float up. His eyes twinkle with something warm as he looks at you. The urge to feel his arms around you swells with vicious intensity, until you’re choking on it. 

“Hey. Let me see that.”

You let him tug the camera from your neck, resisting a shiver when his fingers brush the skin there. 

“You need merchandise shots, don’t you?” he asks, backing up, eyes on the screen. He knows his way around it. For the most part. You taught him that. 

“I think I need merchandise shots of you. You’ve been great for business.” You still toss your tote bag to the side. 

He barks out a laugh. “As soon as I get my own patented Night Owl merch. Then I’m yours.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. Like it wants to go to him. 

If only. 

He raises the viewfinder to his eye. 

You smile, holding out your hands. “What am I supposed to do?”

Click. 

“Aren’t you the one into photography? Shouldn’t you know?”

You laugh. Click. “Aren’t you the one whose face is plastered all over GQ, Sports Illustrated, and TIME right now?”

“So, you’re the person who bought all my copies at that one Whole Foods?”

“Look, you look good, but there are enough pictures of you primped and preened out there. The fact is, those guys would kill for the ones I have. You know. Candids. The natural state of being. You stuffing your face with black bean noodles from that one restaurant —”

“Those were good noodles! And I looked great!”

“The professional guy in the magazines is great, don’t get me wrong. But I like this version of you, too. You know. Just… you,” you say, smiling as a breeze ruffles through your hair. Click. That one surprises you. 

It’s maybe too honest on your part. But that’s fine. You think he needs to know that. You like the oh-so-professional Miyuki Kazuya on the field and you like him off the field, too, behind closed doors, teasing you constantly with rare, unexpected bouts of sensitivity, recipe testing in his kitchen, his competitiveness coming out when you try to complete thousand piece puzzles, and binge-watching episodes of House (because of course he likes that show). 

Despite what he likes to think, he is… good. Truly. 

Click. He adjusts something. 

“You should get your bag,” he says instead of responding to that. You don’t mind but —

“What?”

“I said, you should get your bag. A seagull is digging through it.”

“Wha — HEY! Get out of there!”

The seagull flies off. You snatch up your bag. Kazuya laughs so hard, you think he might bust a lung. You can’t help it, either. It only takes a second for you to start laughing, too. 

“Did you get that?!”

Still laughing, he nods, holding out the camera. You hurry to his side, uncontrollable giggles spilling out of you. 

Sure enough, in perfect clarity, he documented the entire thing. 

A few days later, Night Owl’s merchandise goes up, on a brand new website for the segment. The pictures before tragedy struck you on the beach go up, along with some of Jerry, and then one of Kazuya. Theirs get taken at the same beach. The Padres’ socials post them, too. 

And yours, documenting ‘Seagullgate,’ go up on Twitter as a bloopers thing. It becomes your most liked Tweet. (Especially when people find out who was behind the camera.)

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:48 — 12/21/2022]

Tee: Thank you guys for your continued support with the merch stuff. None of you are obligated to buy anything and honestly if you listen, that’s pretty much all we need but still. Thank you. 

[Pale Waves’ “My Obsession” plays] You're such a mess but you're always beautiful to me Run your fingers across my mouth I'm not prepared to stay here without you

[Off-air recording starts] Mouser: Hm.  Tee: What? Mouser: Today’s queue… Tee: Let me live, Jer. I’m pining.  Mouser: Well, don’t just admit it! Tee: Hey, we’re not live, right? Mouser: No.  Tee: Thank god. Could you imagine? Mouser: I would laugh.  Tee: What? My best friend… my Mouser… my Donna Troy… how could you betray me like that? Mouser: Admit it. It’d be hilarious.  Tee: In hindsight maybe. If it didn’t blow up in my face. Like the kind of thing you laugh about when you’re eighty.  Mouser: Oh, come on. That guy likes you. Why else would he agree to taking pictures for us? Tee: Um. We’re friends? Duh.  Mouser: Sure, but he also looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. Tee: Hmm.  Mouser: Why do I even try?  Tee: Hey, if this is being recorded, where does it go? Mouser: I… actually have no idea.  Tee: We should find out. We’ve talked a lot of shit about the supervisors on here. Mouser: [Laughing]

[Seulgi’s “Anywhere But Home” plays next] Baby 그런적없니넌? 아무런계획없이떠나고싶은밤

Please take me anywhere but home Take me anywhere Please take me anywhere Gotta take me anywhere Take me anywhere but home

Slowly

the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.

You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it’s the same old story-- a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world.