#it's kind of funny how consistent the pattern is

[corviiids]

it's good im crossposting my shit here because twitter and tumblr feel like different demographics and the stupid bullshit that gets me blank stares on twitter gets me claps on the back here, on tumblr, my hometown where i was raised

[deandoesthingstome]

Gothic Fantasy

Pairing: Vampire!August x Reader

Summary: Are you in over your head, little girl?

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, exhibitionism, oral sex (m and f receiving), spanking, p in v (doggy style), anal toy/anal sex, dom!August, Sir and princess, monster fucking (which involves at least one bite, right?).

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

You took your time with a little extra research, but the ancient myth vibe of the story you created out of your experience with Sy was a hit and your werewolf!boyfriend tale had been picking up steam thanks to the upcoming holiday. Subscriptions were rolling in which left you both excited and anxious. 

sendmeanangel: i have enough to cover at least two more stays even if nothing more comes in at this point MNstrluvr: how could nothing more come in?  sendmeanangel: look, i’m having a great time, but at some point in my life i should probably stop paying for monster sex and get a boyfriend, right? darkgothnightengale: that time doesn’t have to be right now. Besides, how will you ever go back to some regular guy? sendmeanangel: very funny. This can’t be a sustainable way to go through life. I just worry people will start feeling like they are owed new monster fucking tales every week because they subscribed to read the ones already out there. I don’t want to let people down or make them think they got played somehow MNstrluvr: what if when you get to the point where you think you're through, you make that clear to any new subscribers? And just because you aren’t fucking a new monster at the hotel every week doesn’t mean you can’t keep writing amazing stories that your followers will love darkgothnightengale: you can write whatever you want when you want. There’s nothing on the site that promises content on any kind of consistent basis and people can always stop subscribing if they feel cheated, which is stupid because they are still getting quality content. you have a voice that people like to read. It doesn’t have to be about shapeshifters or vampires sendmeanangel: speaking of which MNstrluvr: YES!!! I’m so glad you decided to try him next. I cannot wait. He looks so fucking hot sendmeanangel: yeah, well walter continues to be completely booked. besides, they all look fucking hot lol MNstrluvr: there’s just something even more dangerous in his eyes. He looks totally unhinged. In a good way. darkgothnightengale: the best way sendmeanangel: you guys are crazy

“It's lovely to see you again. Thank you for signing the T&C online this time. I hope you had a chance to look through the extra restrictions on this room. It's very important that they are adhered to.”

Were you being called out? Did the hotel somehow know your two previous hosts had broken rules for you? Hopefully no one was getting into trouble.

“We simply don't want any mishaps,” as if in answer to the questions swirling in your mind. Though it still didn't tell you if they knew.

The desk clerk handed you another heavy iron key. Where the mechanism to open the forest room last month had been fairly plain and rustic, this one was filled with intricate lacy patterns. You wanted to snap a picture of the antique gothic skeleton key and send it to your online friends but decided it might be too much like bragging. After all, this would be the third fantasy visit they'd talked you into. Not that you needed much prodding anymore. That they couldn't partake in reality was making you feel bad, no matter how happy for you your friends said they were.

You made your way down the hall after exiting the elevator and stopped before the heavy wooden arched door full of intricately carved details that matched the key in your hand. The room was dark when you stepped in, but before you could reach for a light switch, a deep voice spoke from across the room, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

"You're late."

"I only just checked in."

"And no apology, I see. It's five after. We were to start on the hour. I assumed that was clear, but maybe I'll need to remind you of the importance of punctuality during our time together."

A finger snap sounded from the place in the dark where you heard the voice and flames lit up a fireplace nearby. Your eyes were drawn there, hoping the glow of the flame would illuminate your host, but no one appeared. All you saw was the carved stone of the mantle and wrought iron candelabras filled with fat pillars that were lighting one by one as if by magic as well.

As the warm light began to bathe the room, you felt a rush of air behind you and heard the door to the room slam shut. You turned to see nothing again, though you heard the click of a lock.

"Did you at least come prepared?" the voice sounded near your ear, though again, no one was to be seen as you spun once more to face into the room.

"I did," you answered into the space in front of you, even as you peered left and right. Where the fuck was he?

“Right here,” he spoke from behind you again, and this time you could see as well as feel the hands that gripped your upper arms and held you tight against the solid form behind you. You glanced at the fingers curled around your biceps and licked your lips, thinking of where you’d rather have them. Caressing your face. Around your throat. Thrust deep inside…”Before we get there, I believe you owe me an apology.”

And now you had a choice. How would that apology go? Remain standing like an insolent brat or kneel to the man you wanted to dominate you this evening? Not that he wouldn’t dominate the brat as well, but maybe you didn’t need it to be so demanding this first time. His fingers loosened as you began to turn toward him but you sunk to your knees before you saw his face, so it wasn’t until you lifted your chin to plead forgiveness that you had the opportunity to drink him in.

He was dressed in sharp black pants with a crisp crease down the front of each leg. A neatly pressed black button up shirt with french cuffs and mother of pearl links sat behind a black silk brocade vest with mother of pearl buttons. In the light, you couldn’t tell for sure, but the pattern in the vest seemed to match the key as well. A blood-red silk tie paired with a handkerchief peeking from the front of his jet black jacket that set off his broad shoulders nicely and was buttoned at the right height to taper his waist.

But his face. You inhaled to keep yourself steady before you spoke the words requesting his forgiveness. The calming breath helped you take in more of his visage without fainting on the spot. 

His jawline was strong. And unlike the fuller beards of Walter or Sy, this man’s facial hair consisted of a five o’clock shadow and a neatly trimmed mustache. His dark hair was swept back to the side, though you could tell if he hadn’t styled it perfectly, the curl would take over. You’d love to see it sometime. Maybe even tonight.

What caught your breath in your throat was his piercing blue eyes and it took you a few moments to realize he was laughing at you. You had to fight to gain control from his mesmerizing gaze, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, he already was.

“I said," Apology accepted” and you can stand now, princess. Show me what you came with.” He helped you to stand, then drew his hand down your arm as he took a step back. He dropped your hand and motioned toward you before he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as if to say “go ahead now.”

You took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if you’d made the right ensemble choice. Though it matched his outfit perfectly somehow, you were hesitant to bare so much to him so soon. But there was no turning back now. Well, of course there was, but you didn’t want to. At best, you could imagine excusing yourself to use the restroom and changing into a different outfit.

You undid the belt on your long, black trench coat, then popped the buttons one by one until you could open the flaps and shrug the coat off your shoulders and down your arms. You were about to let it drop to the floor, but something made you stop and hold the fabric in your hands at your sides.

“May I take your coat?” he asked like the gentleman he was portraying, holding out a hand and you reached it over to him, before smoothing your hands down the body of your black strapless gown, worrying away the non-existent wrinkles. A few blood-red rose embellishments nestled strategically into the delicate embroidery woven along the sheer black lace bodice of the dress, your bare skin visible only in the spots where no design was found. You released the clasps attaching the hem of the dress to the waist and allowed the full length of the black silk skirt to flow to the ground. It sported a trail of matching but larger floral adornments cascading in spiral from one hip across the front and down the other side. With the matching red silk pumps, you were a vision. You felt a rush of air and as you lifted your gaze from your dress back to him, your coat seemed to have disappeared, because it was no longer in his hands. And the look on his face told you you’d made the right choice.

“You look ravishing.” At his words of praise you forgot all about where your coat might have gotten off to.

“Is this okay?”

“If this is the attire you wished to begin in, then it’s perfect. We’ve already lost so much precious time with your late arrival.”

You stood silent, unsure if he was asking for another apology. It seemed like a bad idea to let him actually ask before you offered another, but your voice was stuck in your throat, so taken were you by his demeanor. It turned out you were wrong to wait.

“I don’t like to ask for apologies, but trust that I will whenever they are warranted. Hopefully, you’ll begin to know when you’ve crossed a line. I suppose technically, you have already apologized, so I won’t ask for another. This time.” At the admonishment, you dropped your gaze to the floor with embarrassment. “I also ask your forgiveness for my rudeness. So many lessons you’re learning already and you don’t even know my name yet. Allow me to correct that. My name is August Walker and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally.”

What did he mean by finally? Here, now, in this room when he finally shared his name and lifted your arm to kiss the back of your hand? Or had he heard stories about you too? 

“May I add something to your ensemble?” You could practically hear the subtle tilt of his head in question.

“Of course,” you replied, willing your nerves to allow you to look up at him again.

“It's only, well, you look so delicious. I'm afraid I'll need a reminder, or rather, a deterrent.” His hands raised, something appearing between his fingers as if from nowhere. You noticed a wide band of heavy black embroidered ribbon with metal clasps at each end. Your chin tilted almost involuntarily to allow him room to place the choker around your neck.

“You don’t want to…?” Was he not going to bite you? Did you make a mistake by not actually reading the T&C when you signed, scrolling quickly to the end of the form and checking the box as fast as you could to make sure the room wasn’t swiped from under you before you’d had a chance to complete the online booking.

“I never said that,” he replied, stepping in closer as he traced a finger around one side of your neck, down over your collarbone, and stopping just at the valley between your breasts.

“Is there a rule you’re afraid of breaking with me?” you asked, craning to bring your lips closer to his.

“I don't break the rules darling, I make them.” August returned his hand to your neck, stilling your advancement with the smallest effort.

“Well then, are you unable to actually bite me?” you asked, not sure whether you wanted him to consider this a question that crossed the line.

“Oh, I'm free to bite when and where you want. Many foolishly ask for the neck. In those moments, I usually oblige.”

“But…” you began.

“But there is a sweeter spot, more delicate, most delicious. This,” he let his finger run along the material around your throat, ”will help me make the better choice for both of us.”

You drew in a quick breath through your nose, causing a shudder in your shoulders as you realized you’d been holding your breath while he hinted at where he’d prefer to bite you. You’d chosen the dress specifically because it bared so much of your body near your neck that you’d hoped he couldn’t help but want to taste you. You foolishly never considered how much more bare you’d need to be before he was able to see the spot he wanted.

His dark chuckle unnerved you, but he quelled your apprehension with an invitation to join him at the dinner table. You’d completely forgotten that this experience had promised an evening meal, but honestly you assumed that was just some clever play on words. That you were to be the meal. He escorted you to a corner of the room near the fireplace, where a sumptuous feast had been set, and deposited you on one side of the table before taking a seat across from you.

“Would you care for some wine this evening?”

“Wine sounds lovely,” you answered, suddenly curious if he’d be drinking and eating with you. You watched as he lifted a decanted red and filled your glass, only to replace the crystal container onto the table before pouring a glass of his own from a dark brown glass bottle. He lifted his glass to toast your evening.

You watched carefully as he brought the goblet to his lips and drank, noticing that no obvious fangs appeared as he opened his mouth, though his canines did seem a little longer than you were used to. At least until recently that was. The men at this hotel all seemed to have been genetically gifted with glorious canine teeth and you weren’t complaining in the least.

“Now, what can I offer you to eat?” Cut fruit sat in open bowls alongside a tray of sliced meats and cheeses. He began to lift the covers off several porcelain serving dishes, revealing chicken and beef dishes, as well as vegetables and roasted potatoes. At your hesitancy, he smiled, as if extremely pleased, and continued. “Or would you prefer I choose for you?”

“I’d like it very much if you would recommend something. It all looks so wonderful.”

“Would you pass me your plate?” You obliged and he ladled servings of a few of the dishes. You noted with curiosity that he was choosing everything you would have chosen for yourself and none of the items you’d already determined you didn’t want to try, though you hadn’t said a word.

You thanked him as he handed your plate back and he invited you to begin, which you did. Because he’d asked you to. As you took your first bite, you moaned at the taste in your mouth and you thought you saw him lick his lips. What you didn’t see him do was serve himself.

“Is it to your liking then?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s delicious, thank you August…may I call you August?”

“For now. Now, what shall we talk about at this very civilized dinner we’re having together?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, as the fingers of the other drew lazy circles on the tablecloth. 

“Can we talk about how it doesn’t appear you're actually going to be eating with me?” You knew it was a bold question, but you still wanted to needle him a little, see where the line was.

“You see, it’s the insolence I mind. Not the question. There is a way to go about asking what you want to know without making it seem like you are trying to anger me. Or are you? Hmm?”

���I’m sorry, August,” you spoke as you placed your fork down. You had a sudden, unfortunate thought. What if you weren’t the only one who could call the whole thing off? What if your hosts had just as much right to pull out a safeword and end the liaison? You supposed, even though you were paying for the pleasure, they had to have a say in things as well. Otherwise, they were just…the thought made you shudder and not in a good way. “I am truly sorry. That was rude of me. Are you able to eat with me?”

“I am not. But I’m more than happy to enjoy your company and a more pleasant conversation while you dine. If you agree, of course.”

“Of course. Please, can we start over?”

“Pick up your fork and take a bite,” he commanded. “Continue your meal. And consider what you would like to talk about.” He took another drink and watched you with deeply penetrating eyes.

The meal was delicious and you finally figured out a topic of conversation that was neither too personal nor banal. When you made him laugh, you felt a small weight lift off your shoulders, as if his heavy and dark demeanor had made you nervous that this choice of hotel hosts was a mistake.

You had always been a bit enthralled with vampires. Loved reading Dracula both as published and in chronological order, as you’d heard about on Tumblr. Enjoyed the myriad of cinematic adaptations of the tale, especially the ones that played up the sensuality of the character. You really never imagined them to be real, but then again, you didn’t think werewolves or minotaurs were real either. For a brief moment, you thought back to your previous visits, letting your fork trail down with a slow descent.

“Finished?” he asked when your utensil hit the plate, eyebrow raised in question as he leaned forward preparing to scoot his chair back from the table. Before you’d even finished your nod, he was at your chair, easing it away from the table and offering you a hand to help you up.

“I think it’s quite time to get started on the rest of your lessons. Would you step to the window please?”

You turned and noticed the thick, black velvet curtains and assumed they must cover a window. You were commanded to open them, and you did, peering out into practical darkness only to see your reflection in place of any scenery. You glanced to the side of your image when you felt the fingertips at the top of your zipper, but though you knew they were attached to arms, attached to a body that was pressed right against you, adding more drag to his knuckles against your skin as he pulled the zipper down, you saw nothing in the mirrored window that would tell you another being was in the room with you.

You gasped, but he mistook it for shyness.

“I like to show off my conquests to whomever may be passing by below. We’re far enough up that no one could make out a face, but the body they’ll see,” he finished unzipping your dress and pushed it down your sides, letting it drop to a puddle of fabric at your feet. “The hint of red from these barely there panties, the silhouette of these curves.” You could feel but still not see his hands running up and down the sides of your body, his hands gripping your thighs before traveling up to cup your breasts. You watched as they bounced lightly in the reflection and smirked back at where you assumed his face would be before licking your matte red lips.

Your concentration was broken for a brief moment at the far off sound of a melancholy howl, but August didn’t let you linger on the thought. He spun you around to him and pressed you back toward the window, where you hissed when your ass came into contact with the chilly pane. How he missed the clink against the window, you’ll never know.

Then he caught your attention and you lost all concern for how exposed or cold your body might be at the moment. The change was practically imperceptible. One moment, he held your gaze with his dark and stormy eyes. In the next blink, his eyes burned red and held you rapt as he began to grin. Slowly, as his lips drew back, the fangs descended and you could swear you heard a faint click.

You probably let out a whimper when you saw him run his tongue along the sharp points and you definitely tilted your head on impulse, forgetting for a moment that he had already refused to take you there.

“I’d like you on your knees, please,” he asked, a little nicer than you imagined he had reason to be. Once you had obliged, he returned to commands. “Take me out.”

You did so gladly and without delay. Every assumption you made turned out to be right. He was just as well endowed as your other hosts, at least in human form. Which was nothing to sneeze at and you certainly weren’t kicking it out of bed.

You feasted on him as if you hadn’t just already eaten and you were happy to hear the sounds from him that told you he was enjoying it. And then he spoke to you.

“You like sucking on this cock, where everyone can see you, don’t you?” 

Truth be told, it had never occurred to you before. But there was an exhibitionism option on the registration form and you clicked it in a moment of audacity. He was simply giving you what you had asked for, right? It would feel this way for any guest he had in this room, right? That feeling of being out of control while technically being in the most control? You wanted him to take it.

“Yes,” you gasped as you pulled your head back for air before diving forward to take him down your throat again.

“I knew that you would. You like being naughty, don’t you?”

You bobbed your head up and down as you looked up at him, praying he didn’t make you take him out of your mouth just so he could hear you answer verbally. Your prayers were not answered.

“I asked you a question. Would you care to answer? Now? You know how I feel about punctuality, I trust.”

“Yes. Yes August, I’m sorry. I do. I really do like being naughty with you.” 

Another howl sounded, closer this time and you thought you detected the slightest of eye rolls before August got stern again, reaching down to take hold of your upper arm and lifting you to your feet with ease.

“You’re going to call me Sir from here on out and you’re going to be naughty another way now. First, close the curtains.” He spun you around so you could grab hold of the panels and draw them towards one another. You thought you glimpsed a pair of eyes, a deep glowing amber flame in the night before you shut out the world for good for the moment.

August pulled you close and whispered in your ear, “I’ll open them again if you want, if you didn’t get enough of a taste of that. I’ll take that as far as you want to go. But you should know,... he’ll see.”

It both excited you and made you afraid. Afraid of the feelings you knew had been stirring for weeks now. And yet, you were here. In this room. With this man. As much as you thought about what might be, you also knew you wanted to experience what you could. So you’d never have to doubt or question, because you knew you’d be getting the best in the end. Could it really ever be that way? Could he ever feel the same?

“I’m good. Thank you. That’s really kind of you,” you blinked, bringing yourself back to this moment. To August. “Sir.”

“That might be the last time tonight I will be. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, Sir” you answered, with no more doubt.

August took you in his arms and kissed you deep and hard, one time, before he turned you by your shoulders and gave you a firm slap on the ass. “Into the bedroom.” The ‘now” at your hesitation was punctuated with another sharp crack and you were wet, there was no doubt about it. 

The hotel suite was bathed in sheer red curtains, over the window, over the ornate gothic canopy bed, draped down the black walls. Tall black metal candelabras held glowing candles to light the room. Hooks and straps and rings attached to the walls in various spots held your attention for a brief moment. You hadn’t checked that box, and now you wondered why not. 

You could only see yourself trying a few new things at once.

These things tonight would be a vampire. And you’d already exposed yourself. Only one more to go, and the bondage wasn’t going to be it.

August turned you back towards him when you reached the foot of the bed, then proceeded to undress. You watched enthralled as he unbuttoned his jacket, the vest, his shirtsleeves, his shirt. You watched as it all came off, one piece at a time, designed to torture you, you were sure of it. He was fucking with you. Keeping you from seeing everything all at once.

You bit your lip, but all you wanted to say was ‘i’ve seen your dick already it’s been in my mouth please give it back.’

He finally did, ordering you to the bed on your hands and knees as he stepped his fully naked body toward you, halting at the foot of the bed to grab your head and stuff his cock right down your throat. Like he’d heard what you thought.

You moaned around him, squeezing your thighs together for friction as you gyrated your hips and bobbed your head back and forth along his length. It would take barely nothing, just the slightest touch, if he would just, yeah, just…

“Oh, you did come prepared, didn’t you?”

You moaned again when you felt his fingers slide over your ass and pause to rub against the handle of the largest teardrop plug you owned. It came in a set of three, black silicone with a shiny red crystal in each handle. Up until this week, you'd only ever used the smallest while alone, but decided you needed to be ready and so had worked your way up to the largest just last night. 

“Yes, Sir,” you pulled off and answered quickly, eager to get back to sucking his large member.

“What are you prepared for?” He wiggled the handle a little when he asked.

“For you to fuck my ass, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he slapped a cheek again, then smoothed his hand over the sting and down in the dip to find your aching pussy and just like you knew it would, his touch lit you on fire. He had the wherewithal to slide your thong to the side and angle two fingers so you could press back into them on your withdrawal from his dick and pull away from them, though he’d chase, on your approach. You fucked back into his hand like you were possessed and you came once more because you definitely were.

This man owned you. For tonight anyway. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn’t say no. No way in hell.

He pulled away and turned you to face the other direction, ass waving in the space directly in front of him as you imagined and wished and hoped he’d just fuck you, please very much. He chuckled and you blinked, imagining you’d seen him now standing at the nightstand, now right behind you again. You felt him pull your underwear all the way off. And you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and you felt him slide two fingers back inside you, felt him rub the pads of his fingers along your inner walls and you felt him find the right spot, the one that released more lubrication which he gladly gathered on his finger and smeared all over his sheathed cock before he pressed himself into you.

He fucked you for a bit before he spoke again.

“I’m going to give you what you want me to give you, and then you’re going to give me what you want to give me.” With a slap on your ass, he pulled out, grabbed your hips and flipped you to your back. You watched him discard the condom before he climbed on to the bed and stepped his knees between your legs, nudging you further up the bed so that he could lay his body on the mattress, his head on your thigh, peering at your puffy pussy.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” he murmured, dipping his head down to take a taste. His tongue trailed through your folds and as his lips closed you felt a hint of the scrape of his teeth against your delicate skin. He sucked at your clit for a moment before he drew back and looked up at you.

“You still want to feel this?” he asked, and you paused for one moment to consider, that yes, yes you absolutely still wanted to know what his bite would feel like. There was really no doubt in your mind. It’s what you came here for. And you knew you needed to answer him directly or it would all be over.

“Yes, Sir. Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to feel your bite.”

It was all he needed. In a flash he was at the crease in your thigh, just outside your cunt. You felt his mouth open, felt him drag his teeth back and forth before he finally settled on a spot to sink them. Your pussy pulsed around nothing but the brief rhythmic flow of your blood drawn into his mouth. 

You felt a rush of euphoria, a warmth like never before. A million stars lit up in your eyes and you could feel every molecule in your body and every one of them was in a state of bliss. You felt him take one more pull, a wave rushing across the shore of your imagination. When he stopped, it was almost as torturous as before he had begun. At least now you knew what that bliss could feel like.

It scared you a little. It felt like a drug you didn't want to mess around with. As good as it felt, you could imagine never wanting to let the feeling go. Begging for more. Offering up your body and soul to get one more taste, one more drifting orgasm.

Suddenly you were aware of the softest lick. The smallest peck of the lips. When you looked up at you, a stain of blood still remained on his lips and he saw you moan, saw you begin to writhe and strain up, even against the voice in your head that told you it was wrong, and it was all he could do to turn away. 

“Please August,” you begged, forgetting what role you were in.

“Princess, not for a million dollars. Not for ten million. There is literally nothing you could offer me that would make me break that rule.”

“What rule, August? What can’t you do for me?” you pleaded for an answer, pressing yourself up to your knees, unaware that the rush you were experiencing had nothing to do with the way you thought you felt about August in the moment, and everything to do with the essence he used to ease the pain of the skin break, numb the feeling of loss, and reseal the wound in the aftermath.

“I get the feeling you really didn’t read the T&C, darling. If you had you would know, in this room, this suite,” he emphasized, as if he’d had to make that clarification before, “I cannot feed you. Even if what you’ve scented is your own blood. It’s too dangerous for you to taste it. Full of my saliva. Mixed together, it’s too potent for you.”

You were distraught and he was … was he amused?

“But I’ve given you what you asked for. Are you still ready to give me what you want?” He waited a few moments, allowing you to come to grips with the reality of the situation. You had slipped over a line, though it didn’t sound like this was something he hadn’t experienced before. A naive young thing, determined to play out a school girl fantasy, relive the stories she made up about being ravished and taken by the Count, made to be his bride. 

With a small shake of your head, something cleared its way to the forefront of your mind. Of course he couldn’t feed you and of course you didn’t really want him to. It was a fantasy. That’s it. That’s all. You could only take this so far.

Once he saw you understood where the line was, August's chuckle was sinister. “You can still have something new. I’m more than happy to accommodate that request. As a matter of fact, I think that’s really the only reason you came here tonight, isn’t that right?”

Oh, he was good. That’s for sure. The way he was subtly shifting the priority of the night. Technically speaking, the only thing you’d really wanted was the bite. And he’d already given that to you. So if you were up for one more game…

“That’s right.”

He grabbed your chin and stared directly into your eyes. “That’s right, what?”

“That’s right, SIr.”

“Good girl. Lay back down. I’ll be right back.”

You wanted to kiss him goodbye as he let go of your face and appeared to float away from you. When he returned from the bathroom, his face was fresh and free of any temptation.

“Alright, princess. Hands and knees again, darling. Bring that ass right on over here,” he directed you back to the edge of the bed, ass once again in the air while you rested on your forearms. 

August took his time. Warmed you up with a few more light taps that grew to harsh stings that you couldn’t stop squirming for. And you squirmed again when he tugged and twisted and pulled on the handle, teasing the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in and then repeating the exquisite torture. You couldn’t hold still until he’d finally pulled it all the way out and pressed two lubed fingers into your puckered hole, and it was only because you needed a moment. Needed to let the sensation settle. Needed to relax to let him in deeper. Let another finger in. It wasn’t long before you were fucking yourself back on his hand again. ‘Same but different’ was all your mind could cobble together.

“Please, Sir,” you managed to gasp out in a moment of clarity. If you never asked, would he have just kept you dangling like this all night? “Please fuck my ass.”

“There you go, princess. You’ve found your manners finally.” He pulled his fingers out and you heard the familiar tear of another wrapper. Felt more lube. And finally, finally had the tip of what you knew was his extremely large cock pressed against your entrance. 

It was easy to relax. He’d been prepping you for this for what felt like hours. It took nothing more than for you to release the deep breath you’d taken and he was past the now-less-tight ring and moving further inside you, slowly and with purpose. That purpose was to get you comfortable with the feeling, loosen you up further, and get you begging for more of him. Faster. Harder. Please, Sir. Please! More!

He obliged and it was not much longer before you felt the familiar coil tightening in a brand new way. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You were breaking protocol and screaming his name instead of Sir, but as he came himself, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

So so sorry that I continue to beat a dead horse-I was just really curious if Katsuki's continued softening toward Izuku, +say a setting in which they're dramatically recounting their story for a formal documentary, would make it fitting for K to use more BJ-like/polite language. Seems the answer is a resounding no! And with 430 suggesting it's AM's hands in 377, how appropriate would it be for AM to say these lines? eg. use kare for Izk (less a Q abt the joke narration, more abt AM&Izk's rlshp)

Dead horse or not, I appreciate you clarifying what you were trying to ask about. I stand by my statement concerning Katsuki's language and characterization, but since you opened the door to a few different topics, I'll go ahead and explain some things.

In Japanese, formal speech and polite speech are technically different things. They overlap significantly, but one can in fact use formal speech without politeness and politeness without formality.

Take a gander at this little comparison.

From Wikipedia

I conflated the two a little in the way I talked about Katsuki because he uses neither while the 348 narration uses both: plain formal structure (de aru) combined with word choices that do not denote casualness or intimacy and thus read as polite (kare rather than aitsu).

However, this distinction is worth making because Best Jeanist generally does not speak politely, he speaks in flowery language with occasional formality.

The floweriness and formality are key parts of his characterization; he is a fanciful, image-conscious dude. He is classy and chic.

Interestingly, both Best Jeanist and All Might exclusively use watashi as their first-person pronoun, which can sometimes be notable for adult men. In situations that demand politeness (speaking to your superior at work, your teacher, etc.), watashi is standard and unremarkable. In social situations among peers or when they themselves are the boss at work speaking to their employees, many men will switch to ore to casually assert their masculinity.

All Might's use of watashi is actually a bit surprising—it contrasts with Endeavor, who uses the more expected ore. This is one of my favorite details about All Might and, to me, he comes across as a lot more approachable, humble, and gentle than you would expect because of it. I see it as an expression of that deep conviction he holds to be the Symbol of Peace. He views himself as a servant to the people; the need to assert his masculinity is not even on his radar.

Best Jeanist's watashi reads similarly, but he also reflects a very specific flavor of Japanese masculinity that is rooted in delicacy, self-control, intellectualism, virtue, etc.. English-speakers pretty regularly mistake this kind of masculinity for femininity, and it tends to make a mess of discussions about gender in Japanese media. As I said in my post about Monoma's speech patterns, gender and social class are huge factors in how the issue of formal vs. casual language is perceived.

Onto your question about All Might and Izuku: All Might uses plain (informal) Japanese and the second-person pronoun kimi for Izuku, both of which are normal and expected of him as the social superior in their dynamic. He has indeed used the third-person kare for Izuku.

In his position, All Might has the "right to be rude" to Izuku, so he could easily use casual words like aitsu instead, but I think he chooses more neutral words to avoid coming across as overly harsh or derogatory.

All Might makes considerations to sound gentle and supportive of his young pupils. For his part, Izuku is a respectful young man who idolizes All Might. He consistently and without exception uses polite Japanese towards All Might.

Izuku's politeness makes moments like these really fucking funny.

Chapter 62

"I'M SO SORRY, ALL MIGHT!!" Izuku screams in polite Japanese while unleashing a massive explosion unto him.

Chapter 65

"PLEASE STEP ASIDE, ALL MIGHT," Izuku utters determinedly in polite Japanese before punching the ever-loving shit out of All Might.

I know you're not necessarily asking about 348's narrator anymore, but just for the sake of argument, I can't say for certain that All Might has never used plain formal Japanese, but I also can't think of a time I've seen it.

But admittedly, the appeal of All Might as the narrator is the same as why I thought Best Jeanist would be delightful, except it's maybe even funnier because All Might has lightly scolded Katsuki for insulting Izuku before:

Chapter 217. Katsuki calls Izuku gomi (trash) and All Might tells him not to say that.

Hilarious to imagine All Might epically recounting the tale of the final battle only to suddenly swerve, forced to concede that, yeah, okay, Young Bakugou was right: that boy is a damn nerd.

But are you really one to talk, All Might?

Anyway, I think the social dynamics of Japanese can be hard for English-speakers to understand sometimes. Compared to Japanese, English grammar doesn't have such distinctly defined systems of formality, which leaves word choice as the main distinguishing feature people tend to notice.

But these things don't exist in a vacuum, so it is important (and fun!) to step back and consider the many layers to how people express themselves. :D

[saprophilous]

just letting you know that that ask you rb'd about glaze being a scam seems to be false/dubious. I think they're just misinterpreting "not as useful as we had hoped" and interpreted it maliciously, based on the replies?

not positive but yeah!

Ah yeah, I see people fairly expressing that being “debunked” as in, not a scam; I wasn’t personally particularly aligned to whether or not its “dubious origins” are true or not… so sorry about that.

From what I’ve read, I was more focused upon the consensus that it doesn’t work, and therefore isn’t worth the effort. So having a positive takeaway on glaze outside of its “scam or not status”, as potentially saving us from ai learning doesn’t seem useful to pass around.

Correct me if there’s better information out there but this from an old Reddit post a year back is why I didn’t continue looking into it as it made sense to my layman’s brain:

“lets briefly go over the idea behind GLAZE

computer vision doesn't work the same way as in the brain. They way we do this in computer vision is that we hook a bunch of matrix multiplications together to transform the input into some kind of output (very simplified). One of the consequences of this approach is that small changes over the entire input image can lead to large changes to the output.

It's this effect that GLAZE aims to use as an attack vector / defense mechanism. More specifically, GLAZE sets some kind of budget on how much it is allowed to change the input, and within that budget it then tries to find a change such that the embeddings created by the VAE that sits in front of the diffusion model look like embeddings of an image that come from a different style.

Okay, but how do we know what to change to make it look like a different style? for that they take the original image and use the img2img capabilities of SD itself to transform that image into something of another style. then we can compare the embeddings of both versions and try and alter the original image such that it's embeddings start looking like that of the style transferred version.

So what's wrong with it?

In order for GLAZE to be successful the perturbation it finds (the funny looking swirly pattern) has to be reasonably resistant against transformations. What the authors of GLAZE have tested against is jpeg compression, and adding Gaussian noise, and they found that jpeg compression was largely ineffective and adding Gaussian noise would degrade the artwork quicker than it would degrade the transfer effect of GLAZE. But that's a very limited set of attacks you can test against. It is not scale invariant, something that people making lora's usually do. e.g. they don't train on the 4K version of the image, at most on something that's around 720x720 or something. As per authors admission it might also not be crop invariant. There also seem to be denoising approaches that sufficiently destroy the pattern (the 16 lines of code).

As you've already noticed, GLAZING something can results in rather noticeable swirly patterns. This pattern becomes especially visible when you look at works that consist of a lot of flat shading or smooth gradients. This is not just a problem for the artist/viewer, this is also a fundamental problem for glaze. How the original image is supposed to look like is rather obvious in these cases, so you can fairly aggressively denoise without much loss of quality (might even end up looking better without all the patterns).

Some additional problems that GLAZE might run into: it very specifically targets the original VAE that comes with SD. The authors claim that their approach transfers well enough between some of the different VAEs you can find out in the wild, and that at least they were unsuccessful in training a good VAE that could resist their attack. But their reporting on these findings isn't very rigorous and lacks quite a bit of detail.

will it get better with updates?

Some artists belief that this is essentially a cat and mouse game and that GLAZE will simply need updates to make it better. This is a very optimistic and uninformed opinion made by people that lack the knowledge to make such claims. Some of the shortcomings outlined above aren't due to implementation details, but are much more intimately related with the techniques/math used to achieve these results. Even if this indeed was a cat and mouse game, you'll run into the issue that the artist is always the one that has to make the first move, and the adversary can save past attempt of the artists now broken work.

GLAZE is an interesting academic paper, but it's not going to be a part of the solution artists are looking for.”

[source]

[stanwixbuster]

jynx absolutely fascinates me as a game dev because they're like. inspiration but in the opposite way of literally everything they've ever done

jynx decided they want to make touhou-like shmups, and decided to approach this by building most patterns around extremely fast bullets relying entirely on player reaction or having already seen a pattern before, infamously the most disliked and player-antagonistic way of approaching bullet hells

jynx added a great iteration on touhou-like shmups with flash bombing, an infinitely regenerating way to clear bullets if you put yourself in active danger in contrast to the use of bombs as a safe but finite resource, and then made sure you could only use it if you aren't focusing your shots, which you spend over 90% of a touhou-like doing

jynx created "absurdly extra" stages just as a complete fuck you to the player. half of them are humanly impossible to complete

jynx's version of character development is to add more characters. jynx will drop one of the most fascinating backstories you've ever heard that has groundbreaking and sweeping impacts on len'en lore, yet somehow being entirely consistent with it, and then proceed to do literally nothing and minutes later introduce another character with one of the most fascinating backstories you've ever heard. len'en has 40+ characters and all of them have been in perpetual Big Things Are Coming hell for over half a decade

jynx has spent over an alledged 15 years working on the world and lore in mugenri and the outside world, desperately wants to share this and continually mentions the short stories and lore dumps they write, which we never see, because they have somehow convinced themself the only way to show this story is through touhou-likes, which are notable for showing "story" as an excuse for people to shoot bullets at each other

jynx treats feature creep like an arms race. there isn't a single idea they come up with that doesn't end up in a game or is planned to at a later date. len'en 4 is still technically unfinished despite it having enough paths to dwarf all the previous len'en games combined thrice over and featuring the entire cast of the series in it (i will stress again, 40+ characters), and they've promised a dlc with even more stuff to do

jynx wanted to make a mobile cafe management simulator after having made nothing but bullet hell shmups on pc, just because it sounded fun, realised their previous tools couldn't make mobile games well, realised they'd be going in entirely blind on a new tech stack, realised they'd be going in blind on a genre they have no experience with, decided to tag on a second entire game to the cafe management with a turn-based rpg, realised they also have no experience with that genre, continued anyway, learnt how to use unity from the ground up, realised the multitude of issues unity development brings, decided every single character also needed to be in this one with unique boss battles, realised the problems of having 40+ character assets and 5min+ music themes in a mobile game that very infamously is a platform you need to stick to strict asset and tech limitations, decided to stream in assets from a server, made it a live service game because it would be online and that was an obvious next step, stuck through it, totalling in five years of dev time to make a full "gacha" game that is generous beyond belief and makes them a net zero in ad revenue vs server costs

jynx iterates nothing. literally everything you see in their games is the first go and if it sucks, too bad

jynx creates all their music with default fl studio sounds and the touhou trumpet. everything's unmixed. they earnestly believe that loud = better

jynx, allegedly, "blacks out" when making music after hitting some kind of flow state, and wakes up with a complete track. like everything else, these are never iterated on

jynx wrote the entirety of len'en 4's 100,000+ word script in one week. i don't even have a funny comment for this one

jynx doesn't think len'en would fit the format of a visual novel despite the fact len'en 4 has a 100,000+ word script

jynx refuses to collab with anyone for any reason. motives unclear

jynx did three 12 hour back-to-back livestreams crunching to finish book of the cafe. literally no part of this is a good idea

jynx is like the quintessential representation of everything you shouldn't do as a game dev. they should have burnt out years ago and been remembered as nothing but a random quirky touhou ripoff that was an interesting yet janky interpretation but ultimately went nowhere and YET here we are coming in to len'ens decade anniversary

how the fuck is jynx a real person. why am i so obsessed with everything they've ever made

[korkorali]

I think the worst bit for me about all Those Sorts (you know the type) of fics is that they always take Della extremely out of character in order to make her the 'antagonist.'

And that sucks because it's just not necessary! It's the worst because you can have Della & Louie angst where Della's the 'antagonist,' and it's in-character.

You just have to have Louie be wrong in the end (kind of).

The reason why Della and Louie clash in Timephoon and Glomtales! isn't because Della 'disapproves of scheming in entirety' or something, it's because she's done the same goddamn thing as him.

(And side note- Timephoon is honestly an amazing piece of storytelling, because it allows us to see Della's thought process for taking the Spear of Selene by showing us Louie doing pretty much the same thing.)

She's been through it all before, and she knows how it ends.

And that fucking terrifies her! The idea that one of her kids is making the same mistakes as her, could go through the same thing as she did, and she's the only one who can see it, is terrifying.

The way to start out a story like this is simple; have an adventure go wrong. Not in a deadly way, not in a way that's caused by Louie (at least, not that anyone but him notices), not in a way that costs anyone their life- but in a way that causes them to lose the treasure. The adventure is a failure, and they have to come back empty handed, like New Gods on the Block.

Maybe some people get hurt, maybe it's vaguely Louie's fault (and even then- it'd be better if it wasn't even his fault, it's just his brain connecting patterns where there aren't any), but the most important part is that they don't get the treasure, and it's like- one of those ones that can only be found once every hundred years or something.

Louie feels responsible (I mean all of the kids do, but as it'd be a Louie story he'd be the one focused on) and upset that they want to all that trouble and don't have anything to show for it, so he tries to figure out some way to go on the adventure again.

Turns out, after a bit of research, there is a way to get to the treasure again! Louie brings it to Scrooge's attention excitedly- but Scrooge turns it down. Says it's too dangerous, that they're not doing it, end of story.

...Not end of story- everyone's still obviously miserable. So Louie decides that 'okay, if it's 'too dangerous,' then I'll just go in secret. It'll be fine, Scrooge is just overreacting.'

So he starts trying to put a plan into place to get the treasure in secret- but Della, somehow, seems to know what he's doing (hint: it's because she knows what she'd do if she was in Louie's shoes). And is consistently getting in his way.

And there you go- a perfect setup to have Della consistently and purposefully stepping on Louie's toes, getting in his way, trying to stop him from doing things, and it's even in-character! It'd probably start out with the two acting like everything's perfectly hunky-dory, even though both of them know that the other knows that they know that the other knows why they did this one thing.

As plans get deeper, it'd escalate to Della trying to actively call Louie out, but he always manages to just barely weasel his way out of it, and eventually commence his plan.

It obviously goes wrong. But Della's there to help. And finally she'd actually explain why the fuck she's been something of a thorn in his side for the past few weeks, why it seems like she knows what he's thinking: because she does.

Because she's been through the same thing.

Because she fucked up, and left her stranded on the moon for ten years, and she does not want that for her kid. (And of course everything could've been solved if she'd just sat down and talked to Louie about that at the onset, but it's Della- she only likes to bring up the moon when it's funny. She would've thought 'nah it's fine, I can handle this, I don't need to bare my soul, I shouldn't burden anyone with that' without realizing that oh yeah, no, that's the exact same thought process she doesn't want Louie to think)

And of course they'd argue, because it'd be a high-stress situation and neither of them would have the composure to pretend that everything's alright and they haven't been sniping at each other for the past week or so, and eventually it'd finally come up; eventually, they'd finally bring up that they thought the exact same thing when Louie did this, when Louie took the Timetub, when Della took the Spear.

'...And if anything goes wrong, at least I'm the only one who'll get hurt.' (Because you cannot tell me that that was not the last thought running through both of their heads when they took the timetub/Spear of Selene, you cannot convince me that they didn't think they were doing right by their families in that moment, that they hadn't done their due diligence and minimized risk down to one person.)

And Louie wouldn't understand, because he did the right thing. He minimized risk, he made sure nobody else would get hurt. But that's wrong- because if he got hurt, then Della (Donald, Scrooge, their family, her kids) would get hurt too. That they could fly into a vacuum all they wanted, but at the end of the day, they still didn't exist in one.

Eventually, they'd get out of there and abandon the mission again. Maybe they'd succeed, but probably not. But that's not important- what'd be important is that they were both safe and alive and okay.

There- a Della & Louie thing, extremely angsty, well Della as the 'antagonist,' and it's all in-character. Easy.

[misc-obeyme]

In your opinion, what do you think are the sins of the new side characters? Since everyone is linked to a specific sin.

I've been thinking about this for a while now. Every sin has been claimed more than once besides gluttony and slot. Beelzebub and Belphegor are the only ones linked with their sins, I wonder if there are fewer demons associated with those two sins.

Thst being said, Thirteen gives me 'Pride' vibes, especially for her pranks, but I'm not sure.

Mephistopheles and Raphael are a complete mystery for me.

Bonus: He's not on the list, but Michael is giving me gluttony vibes consistency he likes his kitchen and sweets. He's the only one who fits in the gluttony category.

You know, I'm pretty sure they assigned sins to the side characters in order of the bros. Because they tend to use the same order for the side characters. So I think the initial selection was based on that, rather than because their sins were related to their actual characters or personalities. They just needed to assign a glow stick color to them in the OG.

Here's how I believe the order goes:

Diavolo, Barbatos, Luke, Simeon, Solomon

I think they went demons, angels, and human. Then they just went down the sin list: pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust. This is why there is no second character with gluttony or sloth because those are the last two sins and there just weren't enough characters.

In Nightbringer, there are no glow sticks, so we might never know what colors the trio would have been assigned. And nowadays I think most people only use this as a way to additionally flesh out and characterize some of the side characters. Especially Barbatos and Simeon.

But if we consider the pattern, it would likely go demon, angel, and then reaper. And if we go in order of the sins, it'd probably end up with Mephisto as gluttony, Raphael as sloth, and Thirteen as pride. Just because the sins would then reset.

All that being said, I don't think those are the sins those three should have if we're going on personality and characterization alone. (I could make arguments against some of the other side character sins, but this ain't about them.)

I'm not sure if I know enough about the trio to assign them sins. Every time I try to explain why I would choose one, others come to mind and I'm like okay, that could work too. Like I could see Mephisto as being pride or wrath or even envy all for various reasons.

The reason I think it's tricky is because these characters were likely created without a sin in mind, so there isn't one sin that really stands out as belonging to them. And technically, I feel like I could make arguments for various sins when it comes to all the side characters, even aside from the ones they've been assigned.

So I think you can pretty much go with whatever sin you feel fits them best. I don't think we'll get any kind of official indication on it.

For myself, I would probably give Mephisto pride or wrath. (He's prideful, but he's also ~spicy~.) I might assign Raphael wrath or greed. (Quick to rain down spears, but why does he have so many spears to begin with huh?) And I'd probably give Thirteen lust or envy. (She seems to pick up on others' emotions quickly the way Asmo does, but she also seems annoyed that MC spends so much time with the bros.)

Buuuut that's just my initial thought. Really you can go with whatever you like! And I have to say that I love the idea that Michael would be gluttony lol. Although I think gluttony could also be about overindulging in any vice, rather than just being about eating a lot, it's funny to think of Michael's penchant for sweets as a manifestation of the sin he would possess.

Er uh anyway, I apologize for this ramble, but those are my thoughts!

[immabitqueer]

Watching House MD for the first time in 2024 full SEASON 1 Review-

- I had learned from his Wiki page before I even started the show that he had a couple of divorces, but Wilson is really bad at marriage, isn't he? His wife is having company and she makes dinner. House calls once and he totally abandons those plans to meet him at a bar. Wilson lies to his wife and says he's working on christmas and then he goes to Houses apartment instead. House continuously implies that wilson is having affairs around the hospital. He's very funny, he's clever, and he can be sweet, but I would NOT want that man as a partner. That being said, whenever House and Cameron were going on a date and he goes to Cameron to tell her not to hurt House was crazy. Everyone is just so worried about Cameron getting hurt and he does NOT care about her. He's like "huh?? why would I care about you i'm here about house??"

- Cameron's crush on House hit me like a ton of bricks. Even before it was revealed that she had a crush. I thought that they were so good as friends. It seems that now at the end of the season. It's kind of been packed up? And i'm glad for that I hope they can go back to being just besties. You kind of begin to see some of the more flawed parts of Cameron in the latter half of this season, which I appreciate. Such as her need to fix things or people. It makes her feel a bit more human and not just a very angelic being.

- Chase also has a lot of flaws shown in the latter half of the season, and a lot more than Cameron. Don't get me wrong, I still love him, but he was one sidedly enemies with a ten year old girl because she was overweight? Also I picked up on a consistent habit that Chase seems to have where in general he's a pretty nice guy, but when things start to go wrong for him, he will say the most out of pocket things to patients. It's a writing quirk that showed up early in the season with the nuns and has been a constant part of his character since. Also, I made a post about this when I watched the episode. But canonically has seen a dominatrix???? More and more ragged pieces of fabric are stitching themselves together to show me a quilt of Chase.

- I hope in the future we get more focus on Foreman as a character. I would like to know everything about this man. And I know that it was a joke at the beginning, but this man really does try to tie every case back to neurology. Him stepping in to tell House not to hurt Cameron by being nice and giving her hope was nice.

- Time for Mister Gregory House himself. Noticing a pattern of him very much being good with children and having no room for idiot parents who are hurting their kids or are weary of medicine. Love to see it. He has a very distinct relationship with everyone on screen. Every person he interacts with, he interacts with the differently. He's pretty hard on Chase, especially after the Vogler incident. He is continuously hard on Foreman as well with an unhealthy dose of micro-aggression mixed in. Generally, he's hard on Chase in a fatherly way and hard on Foreman in a motherly way, if that makes any sense. He is much softer with Cameron. He and Wilson are co-dependent and at the same time can be very cruel to each other, while also supporting each other. It's very interesting to see these dynamics play out.

- Stacy is complicated. Her trying to convince House to do a treatment her husband doesn't want him to do, mirroring how Housebecame disabled was painful. I can see why she would want the treatment for them in both scenarios and I can also see why it can be selfish or wrong. She found someone that doesn't make her feel alone and is willing to forgive her, so in the end I guess she found her way to a happier life. I still think House has the right to be angry, of course and she isn't owed House's forgiveness but she's at least understandable.

Random extra thoughts and things I've noticed:

- THE KID FROM SPY KIDS WAS IN AN EPISODE??

- So was the girl from mean girls, les mis, mama mia, and Jennifer's body, can you tell I don't know peoples names?

- House has the saddest little eyes but they also pierce my soul and make me feel horrible for him, almost like I did something

- House has an array of toys all over his desk, and he plays with his cane or rubber bands all the time

- I could not STAND Vogler. I'm glad they wrapped up his arch this season because I was getting tired of him

Some context:

I'm watching the show mostly because my Twitter and Tumblr were very adamant that I do, but also because I have a running thing where I very rarely finish a show that I start. I've started several shows and finished very few of them. I started watching House on New Year's Eve The day before the first day of 2024 and plan to finish it before the first day of 2025. This is actually a big deal for me because usually I can't finish a show over 3 seasons and the farthest I've gotten is five seasons. I will be posting as I go and also doing a halfway point and a full season review of all 8 seasons.

[canmom]

i probably would call myself a consequentialist, but not a utilitarian. my objection to utilitarianism is similar to my objection to the absolutist Bayesianism practiced in That Subculture: it's a philosophy that claims to be based around a certain computation, but actually performing that computation is completely intractable. there's no way to actually update your probability assignments of all possible statements in response to new information, any more than it's possible to aggregate the total happiness/suffering/whatever across the entire future for each imaginable course of action.

so this calculation is entirely notional. what you're actually doing is coming up with verbal arguments and vague heuristics for how you think this notional calculation would work. perhaps it's as good an entry point as any. but the supposed mathematical rigour is just rhetoric! you can talk about utilons this and QALYs that, but there is no way to calculate this shit, it's just a mathematical coat of paint.

the second objection is the 'seeing like a state' objection (or seeing like a company/NGO): the 'utility function' is a construct used to make economic models. it doesn't model humans particularly well, who have a variety of competing impulses that don't lend themselves to nice formalisms. and to demand that you should live according to a utility function is accordingly to strip the world of its complexity to make it more tractable. instead of specific people with specific desires and needs and relationships into which you fit, which aren't necessarily commensurable, you have abstract fungible units of pleasure or suffering or whatever else you're trying to optimise.

this worldview appealed to me as a teenager. I imagined that you could model an agent as a some kind of surface between it and the world - a sphere, perhaps, inside your head; the course of your life would be the movement of particles in and out of this sphere, and theoretically there would be a pattern for every instant of time that would lead to the best possible impact on the world, solving 'life' much like a tool assisted speedrun solves a game. the goal would be then to approximate this optimal run as much as possible. then I'd think of problems with this model: couldn't you just spawn high energy photons on the sphere to melt shit like a laser? we'd have to put some restrictions on it, obviously. what if the optimal run was really close to a harmful run, so a small mistake would lead to disaster? perhaps you'd be better to find a stable local maximum instead. and so on.

I'm not sure what good it did me to imagine this funny (or if you prefer, terminally STEM-brained) thought experiment, but it was very nice and mathematical-looking, and back then I really wanted my philosophy to be impossibly demanding for some reason. some weird combo of depression and autism and a self image very much dependent on being told i was good?

these days my feeling is that the pretense of mathematical rigour where it doesn't exist is untrustworthy, and particularly where people are concerned, abstracting too much loses important information. I'm not a court of law where strict consistency matters for the sake of stability or whatever, nor a government trying to figure out which levers to pull to create the ideal society - I'm an organism embedded in a bewilderingly complex system, and I can take each situation as it comes. treating the people I interact with well is important to me. I still sometimes think along utilitarianish lines sometimes - particularly 'this person could use this money more than me' - but I make no pretense to rigour or optimisation with it.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 15

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings: Still fite nite

A/N: Dividers by me! I want to thank everyone who has liked, commented, reblogged, and enjoyed this fic so far! Chapter 15 marks the end of Act I, and I hope you enjoy it. It's got some things I know y'all have been waiting for...

series masterlist

chapter 15: all's fair

Mr. Wise entered the ring like the bishop of bloodshed, impeccably dressed in a spotless pale yellow suit. She looked back at the balcony as Wise gave his benedictions, but nobody was there. For some reason, it made her heart pound. The next time she saw Qimir, he’d be in the mask.

Kana followed her gaze upward. “The brawlers are moving through the crowd right now. You can’t see ‘em, but I can.”

“Yeah, how’s the weather up there, Kana.”

He nudged her playfully to get her to ease up, but she kept smiling through her nerves. “Hey, you’re not gonna see shit from down there, Osha. Want up on my shoulders?”

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded. Within a second, her vantage went from about five feet up to nine. She tried her best not to cling to Kana’s head, finding her balance and settling in just in as Wise introduced the first three fighters. The fourth broke the typical order of introductions, but Wise seemed as irreverent as he was slimy.

“We have two reigning champions in the cage tonight. If one win’s a fluke, and two are coincidence, then three’s gotta be a pattern—your three-month champion, Daybreak!”

Her jealousy from Kana’s earlier insinuations (and Medora’s, though they were unintentional) threatened to rear back again, but she made herself clap along with the others. The few times they’d crossed paths in the gym, Qimir never acknowledged Idise, but she would always bend a nod of hello towards him and Osha. What on earth had happened between them?

“…and in this corner, filling out the northern edge of the cage, in green—”

Osha cursed.

“—Sour Patch!”

He’d taken off his shirt before coming in. His entrance consisted of bouncing around the ring, radiating that same overconfidence that spelled the downfall of every other rookie before him.

“Kana, do you gamble?” Osha asked.

“Only when it’s funny.”

“Smiley’s taking him down.”

“Why do you say that?” Kana laughed. 

“Because Sour Patch has been flirting at me all night.”

“Not with you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He let out a long whistle. “You know, you looked like I kicked your puppy when I told you about the rumors with him and Idise. Glad to know you’re smarter than you look. You and Q.”

“W-what?” she said, a little bewildered.

“I take it back; you’re both idiots.”

“But you’ll take the bet?”

“From what you said, Smiley’s taking him down regardless. It’s just a matter of how fast you think he’ll do it.”

Osha hummed. On one hand, Qimir wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to waste his own time. Efficiency is an underutilized talent, he told her once, under the cafe lights. On the other, he once said he’d always prioritize doing things correctly—when they concerned her. The only thing that stood in the way was what she learned about his mentality when fighting in the cage: he doesn’t think about anything, but he feels everything.

Would he choose to handle this quickly or correctly? Would he even have a choice, with his feelings and instincts at the wheel? She made her prediction in line with how she wanted things to play out. “He’s gonna play with his food. But he won’t let him win. He’ll take him out last when it’s just three left.”

Mr. Wise called Smiley into the ring to the song of bloodthirsty cheers. Qimir had no trouble seeing her from atop Kana’s shoulders—he found her in the crowd like magnets found iron.

Unfortunately, Sour Patch also found her. He spoke her as Wise vamped. 

“Hey!” he called out, waving at her. “Godfather!”

From the other end of the cage, she felt the burning gaze Qimir shot between her and the idiot in green. She tried her best to ignore the heat, knowing she’d forget to breathe if she let herself look at him for too long.

You know he looks good, girl. Leave it.

Osha gave Sour Patch two sarcastic thumbs-up and tapped on Kana’s shoulder. “What’s your wager?”

“I say he knocks him on his ass in the first twenty seconds. If I’m right, you owe me ten bucks. If you’re right, I’ll let you off the hook for the second half of your shift.”

Osha laughed and reached down to shake his hand. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

Wise went through the rules, showing the sounds of the bell, the whistle. He had the contestants put their hands on the cage, and Sour Patch looked over his shoulder to wink at Osha, blissfully unaware of the doom per square inch that had him in its sights.

Osha waved.

The cage door locked.

The bell dinged.

And Qimir descended.

Where most fighters typically took the first few seconds of their matches to size up their opponents, Qimir was made of raw, instinctual movement. She saw ten dollars flash before her eyes when he planted his feet and slugged Sour Patch so hard, he did a full two spins in place before falling flat on his back like a cartoon character.

She noted, perhaps smugly, that he hit Sour Patch in the same spot Osha had gotten Qimir that first spar. Kana laughed and squeezed her leg in victory, ten dollars richer. The crowd hissed in response to the force behind the hit, but he’d moved on already, throwing himself at Dizzykid.

The crowd to her left started going crazy, and she broke her concentration to see why: Idise had gone down, knocked out cold by the competitor in blue. “Holy shit!” Osha exclaimed, head whipping between the two focal points of the fight as they happened.

Kana cursed beneath her. “Wise fuckin’ cursed her with that three-times shit.”

Qimir didn’t disengage from his opponent, didn’t even see what happened.

Another few seconds passed, and to her delight (and dismay), Sour Patch got to his feet just before the whistle blew, signaling the fighters to grab the cage with both hands.

“I don’t care what you say; I still won my half of the bet,” Kana said quickly, looking up at her.

“Fight’s not over, Loharne,” Osha protested.

Like before, Qimir stalked up to the place closest to Osha and held on facing her. Behind him, Idise was dragged out with another contender. Her name chattered a little through the room, but Qimir didn’t look away. She was certain he’d find out once he turned around. She waved at him, and he wiggled his fingers in response before tilting his head back. Her lizard brain translated:

Baring his neck. Showing his loyalty—who he belongs to.

She probably shouldn’t have been thinking the thoughts she was while sitting on someone else’s shoulders. “Playing with your food, Smiley?” she jeered, feeding the flames.

He widened his stance a little, peering over his shoulder at Sour Patch before looking back at her, tilting his head to the side. Should I be? his body language asked.

She blew him a kiss.

The bell rang.

The match resumed.

Back into chaos.

Kana shook her leg a little. “Aren’t you the arsonist, playing with fire like that!”

“It’s a cold winter; what can I say?” she laughed in delight.

The fighter who took down Daybreak tussled with Sour Patch a little, and Osha noted with a wince that the annoying guy wasn’t all that bad of a fighter. Even stunned six ways to Sunday, he held his own. She supposed Qimir was right—the organizers wouldn’t stage a bloodbath, especially for the last fight of the night.

Qimir, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed by Idise’s departure. He took on two at once, hips swiveling back and forth as he dodged and jabbed at his opponents. When he managed to kick one of them back a few steps, he practically climbed the other guy, sending him crashing to the mat in a devastating takedown with the crowd groaning in sympathy. Poor White-Top.

“Oh, this is a treat. Smiley hasn’t done matwork in a few months,” Kana narrated. “He’s pretty lethal just with hits and kicks, but he can wring submissions out of a goddamn rock.”

Osha craned her head to see him situated almost sideways against the other fighter in his grasp, one arm wrapped around his head. White-Top shouted as he struggled, legs kicking but going nowhere on the blood-slick mat. “Do you know what he’s doing?”

“Kesa-gatame, probably. Masqueraders don’t do a lot of groundwork except in the final few left; it’s pretty easy to stomp someone in a grapple, so they gotta get that submission fast—he tapped!” The crowd raged, and White-Top rolled out of Qimir’s grasp to curl in on himself against the fence.

Rolling with his momentum, Qimir kept low, sliding across the slick mat on his knees to trip up the other fighter. Time felt untethered, happening all at once and spread out over an eternity as Osha watched from on high. Just as Qimir was preparing to pound his current opponent into the mat, he looked over—

Sour Patch had knocked out the fighter in blue.

Three left.

The crowd surged with energy and noise, and Kana had to grip Osha’s legs to keep her from tilting off in the sudden press of bodies. He tried finding somewhere safe for them both to stand, laughing. “I can’t believe I’m about to lose and win to you.”

“I can!” Osha shrieked, throwing her fists in the air.

Qimir abandoned the fighter on the ground and rose to face Sour Patch, taunting him with a ‘come get it’ motion. He said something that made the green-masked fighter balk just for a second, and it was then that he took his chance, surging forward.

“What’d he say?” Kana said, ears a little blocked by Osha’s legs.

“He said, ‘Let’s go, Godfather.’”

Osha screamed her head off, drunk on the energy all around her. Qimir was a beast, taking the extreme offensive against Sour Patch. The fighter he’d abandoned staggered to his feet, intending to join the action—

Qimir kicked Sour Patch in the chest, sending him stumbling back three steps. It was far enough away for him to turn to the remaining opponent and point a bloody finger in his face. Above the crowd, she heard him snap, “Second place wins.”

The fighter jerked back a step and froze, but Qimir had already jumped onto Sour Patch, twisting them both to the floor with him straddling the guy’s chest. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Left, right, left, right, he swung his fists back and forth on either side of the guy’s face, batting away the weak attempts at blocking.

She watched the crowd cautiously. Was this what it was like when he’d sent that Lance guy to the hospital? Was this what Kana would call brutal?

Very quickly, Sour Patch couldn’t keep up the blocks, his arms falling limply to the mat at his sides. Once they had, the whistle blew four times for the final drag-out. It froze Qimir’s fist just a few inches from the blood-stained mask, but he shifted his momentum and rose, clinging to the fence and seeking out Osha.

“That was fucking awesome!” Kana shouted, almost jumping in place before he remembered Osha was on his shoulders. He started wading through the crowd, moving nearer to the cage door.

“What are you doing?” she protested, twisting her torso and craning her head to watch Mr. Wise announcing the winners.

“He’s not gonna wanna fight through this crowd to get to you,” Kana said. “And nobody’s gonna want to be in his way, either.”

Before the fight even starts, I think of what I want most, something waiting for me outside the cage. And then, when the fight is over, I ensure there’s nothing in my way between me and what I want.

She was set on her feet just as the crowd began to cheer, a final round of applause for all fighters. Kana lightly slugged her shoulder. “Hey! I’ll get that tenner from you next shift. Enjoy the night, Osha!” With that, he knocked her a few steps backward.

She turned to yell at him, “What the hell are you—!”

A large shoulder pressed into her middle, and Osha’s world tilted on its axis as she was hauled up into the air. “What the fuck?!” she shrieked, a moment before coming face-to-face with a very familiar spine—a very familiar scar.

Qimir walked far too quickly for her to make sense of where they were going, but the general direction was away from the crowd. He didn’t bother with the stairs, instead finding a dark corner to set her on her feet. She grunted as her shoulders knocked against a cement wall.

He towered over her, chest heaving. She couldn’t see anything but his eyes with the Smiley mask on, and even then, the hallway was so dark that she could only make out the faint glint in them. Osha’s indignation flared, and without thinking twice, she pulled off the mask to yell at him. “You’re such a damn—”

But she didn’t get to tell him what he was, because he was more focused on kissing her than hearing it.

He was sweaty and hot and reeked of blood and adrenaline. Qimir caged her in against the wall, kissing her like they both might die if he didn’t press as close to her as possible. They wasted no time, giving into their hunger with every slick slide of lips and each sweet little pain from tongues meeting teeth. They each made little noises far beyond their control, soft whimpers on her part and low growls on his.

His hands found hers, lacing their fingers together before he pinned her back against the wall. Their hands were slippery with sweat and other men’s blood, which only made her hold on tighter. He breathed harshly, still high on the thrill of victory, of the bloodsong. She swore she could hear its aria just from touching him.

There come times for each of us where primal instinct drives us—when what you want is at risk of being lost.

She could taste his ashen, wrathful jealousy in every slide of his tongue against hers. She could taste it as clearly as she could taste his blood—she dragged her attention (and her teeth) to his split lip. He hissed at the small bite but didn’t pull away. In fact, he dragged her closer, practically begging for her to do it again.

Could he taste her jealousy? Could he taste the sinful way her primal instincts had surged and burned like lightning when her (alleged) competition was dragged away from him unconscious? She bit down harder and licked into his mouth to make him taste it.

They’d both gone mad. That had to be the only explanation for their unhinged behavior. He still had blood on him, and she was ready to pull his shorts down and make things happen right here on the gym floor. More than a month and a half of yearning and desperation had led to this moment. They’d danced around (at times, with) each other in a spiral that shrank and shrank until there was no moving without touching, no touching without wanting, no wanting without breaking—no wonder the intensity was so devastating.

One of Osha’s hands broke free to grab at his hair and pull him closer. He snarled, nearly growling against her lips as his body responded in kind. He must have made her filthy by now, with all the blood and sweat rubbing off onto her every second they touched. Osha didn’t give a single fuck. All she cared about was more, more—

Qimir breathed out in a shaky sigh, giving a playful nip at her lips as payback for biting him. The hand she’d escaped roamed up her side territorially, claiming mine, mine, in each inch conquered beneath it. His hand pushed beneath the cropped edge of her shirt. Her goddamn heart nearly stopped when his fingertips brushed the lace edge of her bra, teasing just beneath the elastic before retreating, switching directions so abruptly it made her head spin.

Down, past her ribs. Down, past her waist. Inward, to touch that jeweled piercing he’d grown so fascinated with. Again—down, to her hip. Down, to her thigh—until he pulled her leg to wrap around him. That wandering, claiming hand rested itself beneath her ass before squeezing and pulling her closer to him, arching off the wall like a cat.

Like a lion.

The burning press of his need against her lower belly only cranked the heat in her blood. She just barely stood on her tip-toes because of how he held her. All that kept her from toppling over was the fact he didn’t want her to.

His hips rolled against her in an open, wanton search for relief. Flashing memories of his fight came to mind, visions of those same hips pivoting and shifting to drive more power into his hits. There was no ignoring how hard he was against her core, no explaining away the heat that amplified her own.

Her next moan was startlingly loud against his mouth, and his hand squeezed her ass again. He ground his hips down on her again, lips breaking apart to pant loudly. His forehead rested against her cheek, a smear of sweat keeping him from finding purchase.

Music starting up in the gym jolted them out of their primal reverie. He leaned back a little to rest his forehead on hers, catching his breath and letting his hips come to a stuttering halt.

His hair hung in black tendrils between them, some even sticking to parts of her face. He’d been moving with ferocity for the entirety of the ten-minute brawl. She’d seen him exert himself before, but had only witnessed him this wild twice: after their first swim session, and during their spar a few weeks later. He was riled up; his body still wanted to fight.

Or maybe there was a different primal urge driving him. One separated by a couple layers of fabric.

Osha murmured his name, the syllables slurring off her tongue—she was drunk off this feeling. Hearing her say his name brought him down to kiss her again, the chastest kiss they shared so far. She brought her other hand to his shoulder, holding him with her fingers linked around the back of his neck. The sweetness of this moment, threaded by all this tenderness, was easier to break than the previous, fueled with passion.

“Osha,” he breathed, nose brushing against the side of hers. It was the first word he spoke upon leaving the fight. “Osha…” His throat sounded scraped raw, like all that was left of him was her name.

She looked up at him with a giddy smile, one he half-returned. The fire in his blood wouldn’t let him soften more than that. When she toyed with the hair around his ears, he leaned heavily into her touch—a tamed wolf seeking out affection.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello.” This close, she could feel the rumble in his chest almost firsthand, like his heart was speaking directly to hers.

“Hi,” she said, lips curling up in a helpless smile.

“Hi…” he laughed. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead more firmly against hers. When he found whatever center he’d been looking for, he nuzzled his nose against hers.

She tried her best not to pout as he let go of her ass, guiding her leg down so she could stand on her own. His hands fluttered across the rest of her body like butterflies unsure of where to land. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know he’d claimed her as his and that he could hold her as he pleased?

He settled on cupping the sides of her face, giving him the perfect way to tilt her head forward and press a kiss against her forehead. “Hi,” he said lastly.

She let her hands drop to his hips, tugging him closer by the waistband of his shorts. He made a pleased noise, one foot still in the dangerous door that had borne them here. This far from the bustle of the crowd, the sweat on his skin had cooled enough to make him shiver. But Qimir hardly ever shivered from the cold outdoors, so it had to be for another reason—something to do with the brand-hot heat still pressing against her belly.

“You have a shift to finish,” he groaned softly. He pressed his face against hers, cheek to cheek—this gesture somehow felt more dauntingly intimate than the kisses, than the touching, than the whole grinding his erection on her.

She bit her lip, but her grin broke through anyway. “Kana gave me the rest of the night off. Won it betting on you.”

His posture changed again, returning to that sharp-eyed, prey-stalking creature he became when he fought—the kind he didn’t suppress around her. She still recognized him through the beast.

“The rest of the night?” he repeated, voice dropping to a low timbre.

“Yep.”

“Off?”

“I could go tell him you don’t—oomf!”

He pinned her to the bricks again in another kiss. His hand came to the back of her neck, dragging her up to him like he’d hand-picked her for heaven—and his mouth came damn close. “Do not put me over your shoulder again,” she mumbled against his mouth.

Qimir looked like he was considering the caveman option for half a second but changed his mind. Instead, like a gentleman, he took her hand to lead her up the winding stairs to the dressing rooms. 

They zoomed past the other open doors like the hounds of hell nipped at their heels. He pressed her against the dressing room door the moment it was shut behind them, the earlier confidence returning to his hands as they explored her body. She moaned into his mouth, hunger clawing back up her throat with a vengeance—one that would only be sated if she consumed him, body and soul.

He groaned at the leg she returned around his hip, resuming their positions from downstairs. “Osha…” he whispered, grinding against her. He kissed down her neck to mouth at her shoulder.

“Bite me,” she panted. “You can bite me.”

Her hands went to his shoulders, and she moaned softly when his teeth sank into the soft spot where her neck and shoulders met. His hand had come up beneath her shirt to grip the back of her bra with enough desperation she worried the clasps would fail. The deeper he bit her, the more the room spun. The lamplight on the table made the room seem soft and ethereal, elevating the feeling into the perfect high.

His hips rolled against her as he shifted from biting to sucking—soothing what little hurts he made with kisses. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she hauled him back up by his hair, demanding his mouth on hers yet again. He groaned as she sucked on his lower lip, her teeth tugging at the cut on it once more. Through the kiss, he cursed softly, the word half-trapped behind his teeth.

“Oh, did you not want me to bite you back?” she teased, pulling back to lean her head on the door. She loved how much taller he was than her, how his body could wrap around her and blot out the rest of the world in his shadow. 

Qimir smirked, idly tracing over the throbbing, wet bite he’d left on her skin. His tongue poked out at the cut, and he hummed indulgently—like he was tasting her and not the pain. “Didn’t I tell you?” he rasped, eyes bright. “You have no idea what I want with you. Biting and fighting are the least of them.”

The fight. 

Playing with your food, Smiley?

She flustered a little, unsure of what to do with herself in the face of such desire. Rather than embarrass herself by trying to one-up him, she said, “Don’t you need to do your cooldown?”

“What if I’m just warming up?” he countered, running the tip of his nose against her cheek. She shivered.

“Would you like it if I helped out?” she asked. Qimir groaned and pressed his face against her shoulder, melting. He was heavy, but she was strong enough to hold him. At first, she thought he was reacting to her playing with his hair again, but after what he said, it seemed like only part of the reason. 

“I’ve dreamed you saying that before,” he grumbled. “In a very different scenario.” He pressed another kiss to her shoulder and drew back before she could dissolve into a wanton puddle beneath him. “When did you get so responsible, hm?” He kissed her nose, then her lips, unable to stop.

She had no answer for him, still rendered speechless. He dreamed about her?

Qimir took one giant step back and inhaled deeply. His absence didn’t leave her cold so much as it left her breathless—he’d taken all the air with him. “I am going to shower,” he said. He was doing it again, convincing himself to take the right course of action. “Then you’ll help me do cooldown. Are you alright in here to wait?”

It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him since he was in the cage. She had no idea where the Smiley mask had gone after she took it off him, but she didn’t want that fucked-up thing anywhere near the masterpiece of his body right now. Still fresh from the fight, every plane and contour of his body practically gleamed—whether smeared with blood or shining with sweat.

The blood concerned her, of course—now the threat had gone, the aftermath remained. She couldn’t help peering closer, reaching to thumb away the blood on his arm—good, no cuts. There were a few bruises here and there, but—

“Osha.”

His voice was tight, and every muscle in his neck and chest was tense. She was testing his resolve by continuously tempting him. It made her a little lightheaded to know she was so thoroughly desired.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she whispered, about as loud as she could trust herself to speak. She tried for demure, attempting to reflect any desire to help her case.

It backfired spectacularly.

She was driven back to the wall again, their best-laid plans dashed to the side in favor of kissing. These kisses were intense, but not as harsh as the ones downstairs. She gripped his hair and kissed her way down to his jaw, leaving a bite over the place she now deemed her spot. He panted, open-mouthed, as she nipped and kissed over his throat.

When she dragged her teeth across his pulse, he shuddered, hands coming up to brace against the wall. She bit him in the same place he bit her, in the crook of his neck. He tasted like salt and adrenaline and goddamn heat lightning. A guttural moan, half-garbled around the syllable of her name, ripped free from his lips.

“If Wise comes up here while I’m like this, I might actually fucking kill him,” he gasped, bringing a hand to the back of her neck. It wasn’t to tug her back, nor to pull her closer. It just was.

“Then,” Osha panted, leaning back to look in his eyes. “How can I help?”

A near-vacant look crossed his eyes—fuck, he’s so horny he might fucking pass out, won’t he? Qimir breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and systematically disentangling himself from her. His expression was adorably devastated, like his whole world would crash down to rubble if he didn’t keep touching her.

“I am going to shower.”

“You are going to shower.”

His glare told her she was very far from helping the situation. She didn’t care.

“And then I am going to do my cooldown. And you are going to help me do that cooldown.”

“The cooldown you’re going to do after your shower.”

“Yes. Exactly. And I’m going to go shower right… now.”

Qimir… didn’t move. He looked rooted in place, but attentive—ready for instruction, she realized.

“Go, stranger.”

He went.

She didn’t dare to move until she heard the shower start. Only then did she breathe; only then did she attempt to wrangle her composure back from the edge. Osha went to put a hand to her chest, but saw the blood smeared around her wrist—whose it was, she had no idea.

She could clean herself up a little bit without going into the bathroom. But how tempting it was to open the door to innocently wash her hands, just a few feet from where he was naked and wet and—

“Osha, come on,” she hissed to herself, scrubbing the blood off her hands before she cleaned up her lipstick. Medora would have said something about the impressive staying power of a drugstore product—

A knock came at the hallway door, and it took a few seconds to recall what he said. If Wise comes up here…

His payday.

Mr. Wise didn’t seem surprised that she answered. He flicked his beady eyes above her head like Qimir would materialize in the small gap she left in the door. “You might want to come back later,” Osha said.

“He’s not the only one I have to make rounds to,” Mr. Wise said, looking a little annoyed.

“Well, what do you need?”

“I need to deliver the champion purse.”

“Okay.”

“To the champion.”

“He’s busy.”

“This is a matter of principle.”

“You can give it to me. He’s in the—”

“I need to make sure it goes to him.”

“I’m just going to put it in his bag. You don’t need to—”

“This is a very serious part of the night, young lady...”

Osha was debating the merits of socking an old man in the face when Qimir shouted from the bathroom loud enough for them both to hear. “Don’t give her shit, Wise! Just give her the money!”

Wise didn’t look too pleased to hear it, but handed the cash over with a sigh. “Maybe someday I’ll be handing this money to you, for you.”

“You think I’ll fight in the brawl?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You think I’ll win in the brawl?”

“There’s a reason I’m called Mr. Wise, Osha Aniseya,” he said. The way he spoke her name sent chills down her back. “Ah. Before I forget, you… left this downstairs.”

He handed off the Smiley mask through the door.

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure if she should thank him, and chose to stay silent through her discomfort.

She suddenly had an image for Kana’s earlier story because Wise just… smiled at her before walking off.

The mask felt just as heavy as the money, laden with a different kind of gravity than the one that held her body. When she ran a thumb over the thick knit, her skin came back red—the same stain she’d just washed it off.

Blood. That’s what gave the mask and money their uncanny weight.

No honor or glory, indeed.

Most of the people invited to the brawl were like Sour Patch. They wanted two things they’d never get: fame and fortune. The purse was handed off where nobody could see it, and the attention was waylaid by the existence of the mask.

Even though they all knew who was beneath it.

She shuddered and set the mask face-down on the chair. Osha was coming to realize she had very little choice in the matter if the crowd and fight organizers wanted to see her in the brawl. Qimir, for as ignorant as he seemed to it, inspired quite a bit of chatter among the ranks. Very, very few fighters had ever held their masks for twelve consecutive months, and he was one moon away from doing just that. If that weren’t enough, his bloody spectacle from two months ago meant most eyes were on him.

And now that he’d hauled her away like the spoils of war, she was part of the game.

Holding the money in both hands, she looked back at the bathroom door. She couldn’t imagine herself in the cage with him. Wise made her seem more like a knife dropped between opponents than an actual contender. Would Qimir grab her, use her as an advantage against the six others? Or would he see her as a distraction, a hindrance to his ability in the brawl?

She remembered the way that fight had gone earlier in the night: the armed fighter getting grappled by the unarmed one, then turning the tides to draw blood.

If you recognize when the winds shift in each moment, you can make almost anything work to your advantage.

Which brought her to Idise. She’d been dethroned tonight, which gave Osha some measure of shameful relief—past the seething jealousy she felt upon hearing the rumors of her and Qimir. Kana had said the crowd—not just the crowd; he’d said everyone wanted to see what would happen if they were dropped into the cage together.

The crowd wanted a love triangle, but Osha could only imagine a massacre.

What would victory even feel like after that? She knew the people here more and more every day. They seemed to want to get to know her, as well. How the hell did they sign up to beat the shit out of one another month by month and remain friendly?

Osha could only hope that Idise didn’t want to fight her as much as she didn’t want to fight Idise.

She stuffed the cash at the bottom of his backpack, past a bundle of clothes.

The shower turned off, and her heart kicked into gear. Osha heard him bustle around on the other side of the bathroom door for a few seconds before sighing. “Osha?” he asked.

She stepped close enough to feel the steam from under the door. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I didn’t grab my clothes before I came in. Can you give them to me?”

Her face flared with heat. Her thoughts from earlier returned, now imagining him naked on the other side of a door she may or may not be able to break down in a fit of nymphomania. “Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly.

Don’t be weird, Verosha. What the fuck.

She cleared her throat and knocked on the door before twisting the handle. She shoved his clothes through the two inches of space she allowed herself to open the door. She felt a little silly keeping her eyes squeezed shut, but when he laughed, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Their hands brushed at the exchange, and her eyes popped open anyway, meeting his through the gap. “I’ll be right out.”

The bastard didn’t close the door again, leaving it slightly cracked.

He’s practically inviting you in.

She quickly retreated to her seat on the other side of the room. “I’m sorry about Wise,” he said through the gap. She couldn’t stop staring at it, so she distracted herself by unrolling his yoga mat for him and—oh, she offered to help him stretch, oh no.

“Did he give you trouble?” he asked, when the silence went on for too long.

“Wh—no. He’s just an old man. Being difficult is their number-one hobby.” She chewed on what to say next. There was so much to tell him, to ask him about. Nominations. Idise. His absence from the gym. Shit, the Lance thing. Indara’s conversation had somehow gone from unignorable to back-burner. She went for the weakest conversation topic. “I think he insinuated I’d be invited to the brawl. Kana said something similar.”

“Why’d they say that?” he asked.

Her doom emerged from the bathroom in a burst of steam, still scrubbing a towel over his head to dry his hair. I thought that only happened in soap operas, what the fuck. 

She couldn’t tell him why Wise and Kana (and the rest of the gym, for that matter) wanted her in the brawl. She couldn’t tell him her own goddamn name. Qimir let his towel fall to his shoulders and pressed his elbows to either side of the doorway. She thought he was using it as a come-on, all look how big and muscly and strong I am, look how wet my stupid fucking abs are, look at my huge goddamn chest, look at how low my sweatpants are and look at how easy it could be to just tug them—

“Fuck, my chest is tight,” he groaned, head falling forward. 

Oh. It’s just a chest stretch. You need to exorcise your horny brain, Osha.

“I rolled your mat out for you,” she said, gesturing pathetically at the floor.

“Thank you,” he said after a twenty-count at the door. He stalked forward, coming to kneel on the mat before her. He pulled her in for a kiss: slow, deep, and thought-disintegrating. “Missed that,” he sighed against her mouth.

“It’s been like five minutes,” she laughed, playing with the towel around his shoulders.

“Even so.” He snatched her hands from the towel to kiss each knuckle, then started his neck stretches without letting go. “Wise gave you the money, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in your bag.” She settled across from him. “What do you want me to do?” she asked. 

His eyes held all sorts of salacious possible answers.

“To help you stretch,” she huffed, getting flustered.

He pouted, but conceded.

“…fine.”

He talked her through what to do, starting with him on his front to stretch out his quads. She was more used to their positions being flipped, with him helping her stretch after a training session. Once she’d pushed his heel nearly all the way toward his ass, he said, “I didn’t expect to grapple tonight.”

“Kana told me it’s not common in the brawl,” she said. “Said it gets you stomped.” She clung to the conversation because clinging to his body was proving detrimental to her sanity.

“Mhm.” He breathed slowly and relaxed into the stretch, allowing her to add more weight. “What else did Kana say?”

So, so much.

“He called what you did kesa-gatame,” Osha said, hopefully not bungling the pronunciation.

He groaned loudly. “I love hearing you talk about fighting.”

“I-I have no—you’re so ridiculous,” she muttered, feeling the urge to lean down and bite him—again.

“That’s so nice,” he murmured to himself.

She was going to die.

Every time they switched sides or positions, he would praise her.

Good job, Osha.

Oh, that feels amazing.

Thank you, Osha.

That’s it; you’re doing it right.

You can push harder than that; come on—there we go.

Attagirl.

That’s my girl.

Perfect.

“It’s so easy to fuck someone up like this,” he said near the end, oblivious to her suffering. 

No. Goddamn. Kidding.

“Good to know,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Laid out like this, she could see the blooming contusions across his body. He’d cleaned away the blood just as she had, but the marks of his time in the ring wouldn’t just wash away.

He wears marks from you, too, her horny brain whispered. And you from him. Their matching hickeys made her want to sigh all dreamy-like.

“You’re good at this,” he complimented.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” she parried.

He hummed. “They still don’t do assist stretches in the Temple, then?”

She was surprised he brought up the Temple himself. She rolled with it, but kept things vague. “We don’t—the Temple doesn’t like when fighters touch each other. Outside of fights, that is.”

“Probably a liability thing,” he mumbled. “I wonder why.”

His scars stared at her.

Osha only felt like she could move again when he rolled onto his back for the rest of his stretches. He wriggled around as he adjusted to a more comfortable position. Luckily, his eyes were already closed, so he didn’t see whatever face she was making—but Osha couldn’t quite erase it. When he opened his eyes and saw the tension in her features, he lay a hand on her thigh. “You okay?” he murmured.

She stopped herself from nodding on reflex, settling on a half-truth. “I’m sorry I brought up the Temple.”

His expression drew tight in confusion, then softened. “You didn’t bring it up. I did. You’re fine, Osha. I’m fine, too.”

“But I know it—”

“I do not blame you or look down on you for being a member of the Temple,” he said, squeezing her thigh. “Until recently, it’s all you’ve known. And you only just found out things could be different if you wanted them to be.” His thumb rubbed side to side across her knee. “I know that’s where your fight strategy comes from, and I still wanted your thoughts on the matches, didn’t I?”

She nodded, still frowning a little. She had been worried about that, yes, and in some ways still was. Her main problem these days was that she could hardly dedicate time to worrying about one topic before another, worse thing interrupted her life. 

God, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything she’d found out from Indara and Kana. She wanted to ask him all the questions that burned down to the marrow of her bones. Who is Idise to you? What happened two months ago? Where did you disappear to? Why did you disappear, and what brought you back?

Qimir was an optical illusion—the more she looked at him, the less she seemed to see.

His thumb tapped twice on her leg, reeling her attention back in.

“The dogma we were both raised in is not infallible, no matter how much we were taught it is. Vernestra isn’t God; I am not an angel cast from her light.”

Some people feel like gods to a child. And you can worship and worship them, but their judgment will still leave scars.

Osha exhaled shakily, giving him a small smile—all she could muster. Qimir kissed her hand again and shrugged.

“It’s probably not good to continue avoiding talking about the Temple if I ever want to move past what happened. So, really, I think you’re doing me a favor.”

“Really? I would’ve thought I—”

It was like he disappeared; his eyes went black. I said, ‘This is the last round, Qimir.’

His hand tightened, expression growing serious again. “You’re not Mae.”

How had he known she was thinking that? Did he know her well enough to guess, while she knew him less and less the more she learned?

Osha closed her eyes, putting her hand on top of his. When she opened them again, she turned to look at the Smiley mask. “Do you ever think… do you think you’ll ever stop?” she whispered.

He turned his hand over beneath hers to lace their fingers together. “I hope so. I have something now that I didn’t, before.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

It didn’t escape her notice that he left his chest and neck wide open for her. Belly-up, the primal side of her said. He was making himself vulnerable for her, an open target.

“I’ve got a very good reason to leave the cage.”

How do you let go?

When the decision is called, I think of what I want most outside the cage.

How long had he gone, making up flimsy reasons to leave the fight? She may accept her place as his reason to leave the cage, but would she ever be enough to keep him from going in at all? Her heart ached.

“There was a period where I could see myself staying there and never returning. I pictured myself getting stuck in the fighter’s mindset and burning into ash. And I almost...” He trailed off, fear and shame hardening his features.

“Does that scare you?”

He squeezed her hand. “Of course it does. I worked too hard to get to a place where I wasn’t fighting to stay alive each day. I’m ashamed that this is the only outlet I trust to regulate myself right now.”

“Did therapy not work out for you?”

“Did it work out for you?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I never went to—oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He let go of her hand to bring one of his knees up to his chest with a sigh. “Let’s keep going.”

With gentle words and gentler touches, he showed her how to assist with the rest of his routine. Whenever she leaned close enough, she would kiss whatever part of him she could get at. He did the same, just mouthing kisses on her at any opportunity.

She told him about the bet she made with Kana.

“…And now I owe him ten dollars, because you Looney Toonsed that guy right out of the gate.”

He laughed sharply, amusement cutting deep. He leaned over to his backpack and rifled through it until he pulled a ten from his winnings. “There,” he said, handing it to her. “On me.”

“It’s not fair for you to pay when I’m the one who lost betting on you.”

“What is it that makes you think I’m a fair person, Osha?” he asked.

She took the cash from him. “I don’t mean to insult you by implying you’re mild-mannered and polite,” she snarked. “It’s a fairness that’s… more like balance. You pay things back in kind when you perceive an imbalance. Even if there isn’t one.”

“Keep going,” he said, snatching the money back from her.

She tried reaching for it again, but he was faster, holding it out with his much longer arm. She pouted at him, still leaning over his body with her arm outstretched.

“You haven’t convinced me,” he shrugged, stealing a kiss because he could.

“I don’t think you’re fair like a judge. This isn’t judge behavior.” She gestured to the petty game of keep-away.

“I’d agree with you. So what fair am I like, Osha?”

“You’re fair like… like the law of the jungle. Fair, like when hikers ignore the signs and then get eaten by wolves. You impart a much wilder brand of justice than the kind that comes from laws.”

“Like?”

“You burn me, I burn you. That kind of thing. It doesn’t follow code or custom—if you never follow the rules, you never have to break them. But if you feel crossed, you’ll cross right back. You’re that kind of fair.”

He gave her the money.

CHAPTER 16

[loregoddess]

some general observations as I put together notes for analyzing the Octo1 characters weaknesses from the extra battle update to Octo2. Some minor spoilers for late-game stuff.

weaknesses are definitely mechanics-driven, every character has 3 weaknesses, except Primrose and Ophilia, who each only have 2 weaknesses, which is interesting since they're each the main "support" character for their respective teams, so it's apparently harder to hit and take out the support (and from what I've heard so far about Ophilia's battle kit, she is the one you wanna take out first which is SO funny considering that like, story-wise Ophilia is just the sweetest, even if she doesn't take shit from anyone)

the rest of the travelers being balanced at 3 weaknesses each (and having access to the secret jobs), makes me think the extra battle takes place in Octo1's post-game as well, as they'd be more experienced (less weaknesses) and also work together more cohesively as a team (hence why this extra battle is so hard, ignoring the fact that it's a special post-game bonus superboss-esque fight)

like what we see with the Octo2 characters' weaknesses, every character who uses long-ranged weapons has a weakness to a short-ranged weapon and vice versa. Daggers seem to be treated exclusively as long-ranged weapons, which makes for an even balance of 3 long- (polearms, bows, daggers) and 3 short-ranged (staffs, axes, swords) weapons. The fire-ice, lightning-wind, and light-dark weakness patterns are also consistent.

there's some fancy balancing with the weapon weaknesses again, every weapon is strong against at least 2 characters, with the exception of polearms which are only strong against 1 character (Therion), and daggers which are strong against 3 characters (Ophilia, Cyrus, and Alfyn)

likewise we have some interesting numbers for elemental weaknesses, as each element is strong against at least two characters except lightning and light, which are only strong against one character each

I'm assuming the balance of weaknesses is for battle mechanics balancing purposes, since it fairly equally spreads out the potential weaknesses (and the player is expected to be using secondary jobs and secret jobs at this point, and should theoretically be able to hit any weakness), but it is interesting that polearms, lightning, and light are unpopular choices for weaknesses

for character specific observations:

Ophilia is weak to daggers (ranged counter against her melee staff), and dark (counter to her light), which makes sense overall (her main antagonist was working in the shadows along assassins, so the dagger specifically makes sense as a weakness). Nothing too surprising about her except her lack of weaknesses (despite her kindness, she is incredibly capable and aware).

Cyrus has no elemental weaknesses (makes sense given his general mastery of elements, even if he's not a magic scholar specifically), and instead is weak to swords, daggers, and axes. The daggers make sense as the ranged counter to his melee staff, but swords and axes fill out the rest of the melee-ranged weapons for his weaknesses which is very interesting (and entirely opposite from Osvald's "ranged-weapons only" weakness set). But if we consider the fact that all of Cyrus's story's major beats occur with people close to him betraying him in some way (Therese telling a lie about him, Yvon kidnapping him, etc.), it does make sense that he would have a weakness to weapons a person would need to get close to him to use.

Tressa is weak to staffs to counter her ranged polearm and bow, as well as fire and lightning. The lightning makes sense, given that Tressa's main element is wind, but the fire is interesting. Tressa does live in a coastal village, so this could be the idea of fire being the natural opposite to water, the same way we see how Ochette (who lives on an island) is weak to fire.

Olberic's a fun enigma, because he's weak to axes, ice, and wind. As a warrior (master of arms), I'd expect him to have nothing but elemental weaknesses, similar to Hikari, but we don't see that here. Axes counter Olberic's ranged polearm, and wind is Erhardt's main element in CotC (Olberc also notably has access to lightning skills in CotC to allow the player a way to break an elemental weakness w/ Olberic, and as a tie-in to the fact that Olberic is Brand god of battle thunder's chosen traveler), so the wind weakness makes sense, albeit in a somewhat tragic way. The ice weakness is surprising though, especially given that both the Highlands and Hornburg are mountainous regions (high elevations tend to be chillier), but if I had to hazard a guess I'd say it has something to do with Olberic's burning passion to protect others (ice being the counter to fire).

[It should be noted that, in-game Erhardt is weak to swords, axes, ice, and dark, so Olberic and Erhardt share the axe and ice weaknesses (Erhardt is the "Blazing Blade" so the ice weakness isn't as surprising); swords probably exist as a weakness for mechanical purposes to ensure the player can break him during the forced fight in Olberic's Ch3, although dark is surprising--perhaps it hints at Erhardt's eventual heel-face turn?]

Primrose is weak to swords (to counter her ranged dagger) and light (to counter her dark), which more or less checks out with her narratively as well. Her quest for revenge requires her to live and operate in the shadows, and shining light on it would only show the truth of the violence of her quest. I was under the impression that Simeon stabs Primrose with a dagger at the end of her Ch3, but for all I know it was a sword, and even if it wasn't, some daggers are long enough to be considered short swords.

Alfyn is weak to daggers and bows (ranged counters to his melee axe), and fire (counter to his ice). It was interesting that polearms weren't amongst his weaknesses, given the whole situation with Miguel, but if we assume the extra battles take place in a hypothetical "post-game", maybe Alfyn's lack of weaknesses to polearms is testament to his character growth over the course of his story.

Therion is weak to polearms and bows (ranged counters to his melee sword, although it is interesting to note that this may be the only case when dagger is treated as a potential close-ranged weapon). The fact that he has only weaknesses to ranged weapons is consistent with his characterization--Therion won't let anyone get close enough to hurt him (emotionally) again, so the only way to hurt him is from afar. He's also weak to ice as a counter to his fire affinity, although this makes the fact that his final chapter takes place in a cold and bitter place rather symbolic (he must go into his weakness--the cold, and also trusting Heathcote--to fulfill his quest).

H'aanit is weak to staffs (melee counter to her ranged bow), and more interestingly to wind and dark. Wind makes sense, given that H'aanit's main element is lightning, but the dark is surprising, since unlike Castti (who also had a weakness to dark because of story events), we don't see H'aanit struggle against anything "dark" except Redeye, who she's entirely triumphant against. However it's interesting to note that in CotC, Z'aanta has access to light attacks, and given that he raised H'aanit, it's possible she has an affinity to light despite not having access to it as an elemental attack. Additionally, H'aanit works alongside Eliza closely during the events of her story, and Eliza also has access to light as her main element in CotC, making most of the characters H'aanit works closely with light-aligned.

[In addition to Z'aanta and Eliza, Alaic has a weakness to dark as well, either in connection to his backstory and/or because he too has an affinity for light--potentially. I don't have a good guide to all NPC's weaknesses for either of the games, so I can't go and double-check all of H'aanit's NPC weaknesses, but it is interesting that at least 3 of the major NPCs in her story either share her weakness to dark or are definitely linked with light.]

Again, no specific direction or point I'm trying to make with these notes, just jotting them down for the sake of thinking about game mechanics and characterization ties.

[burning-sol]

me typing a post abt gaslighting and then deleting it because i think "surely no one wants to hear this" but also of course no one wants to hear it, nobody REALISES they need to hear it. here's a quick and informal PSA.

I'm telling you, if your perception of gaslighting is that of exaggerated arguments where one person is clearly wrong and where all context has been stripped away, that is not what it's like from my experience. We really need to talk about gaslighting as more than just a joke, because once I saw what was most likely a REAL case of gaslighting being downplayed by people who didn't realise they were using the EXACT language that's symptomatic of a real story and also that PERPETUATES the abuse.

The biggest thing people tend to leave out is context. Gaslighting happens between the victim and a person who they hold in regard, someone they've known for a while and love. By the time gaslighting starts to occur or is noticed, you're likely in a position where you're trying to take the other in good faith and characterise their behaviour as honest mistakes. Victims don't necessarily BELIEVE the lies are reality, in fact, it's more likely you tend to just shrug it off and drop it because you value the person above disagreements.

And next is the scaling. By the time you get to any disagreements where someone is outright saying that you're crazy or denying that abusive events happen, you are deep in the process of being gaslit. But how it starts out is that you'll have disagreements recalling smaller things whether it be what your favourite flavour of icecream is, whether they had already told you something you're sure you've heard before, slightly altering history in ways that aren't that far off but still feel wrong, explaining your feelings of uncertainty back to you in ways that COULD be plausible... When you try to explain these disagreements, it can feel humiliating or like the longer you talk about it the more wrong you start to feel and that you're sure that you're just being overly critical...

This ties back into what I said about the language that is symptomatic of real gaslighting stories. The story I read had people say the person wasn't being gaslit because, "it was just over video games?" "your friend sounds like they're just misremembering" "you seem kind of petty"... While yes, it is normal for disagreements and mistakes to happen, they shouldn't be happening to the extent that you're noticing a pattern. If it's a persistent issue in which you're starting to feel insecure and like an unreliable narrator, that is a BAD sign. It also shouldn't be entirely one sided - if you find you're the one consistently having to compromise their reality to satisfy the other, that is ALSO a bad sign.

And it's really important that, again, this is how it may just start. All these smaller things wear you down until you either start to believe the other or you're too demoralised to argue anymore, and the other may continue to escalate UNTIL the arguments become more stereotypical portrayals of gaslighting - and the person may even start to introduce other forms of abuse into the relationship. The period of "trivial" disagreements isolate the victim, especially when they go to their friends for support and their friends downplay the emotions they're feeling, resulting in the victim pulling away when they start to think their issues aren't worth bringing up.

You really just have to experience it for yourself to have tried to communicate you were being gaslit and had your issues shrugged off, to know how awful it feels when you finally get out of that abusive relationship and the people around you will say they, "didn't even know that was happening".

Like, I admit, I do find gaslighting jokes funny. They make me go heehee. But it is very very bad that we aren't actually teaching people what gaslighting realistically looks like, because you're usually only seeing the later stages of gaslighting and not all the smaller things that built up to that! You're not actually catching the signs when it's most critical to be getting out of the relationship.

But yeah. There's my rant.

[sinfulsalutations]

This might be a little weird but i always am wearing mismatched socks(color and type not height) and imagine the bad batch all have a bunch of pairs of the same kind and color so how would the batch react to their consistent mismash of socks

𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ⋆*･ﾟ𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

⋆ ★ ʜᴍᴍ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ꜰᴜɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀ! ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴄᴋꜱ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡʜᴏ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴏꜱᴇ ʜᴀʜᴀ. ʏᴇᴀʜ ɪ ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜱɪʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜰᴜɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ ᴄᴜᴢ ɪ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ (ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴏꜰᴄ).

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇꜱ, ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀʟʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛᴜꜰꜰ ʜᴀʜ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

Okay, some of them think it's weird, but it makes sense in Hunter’s head logically; he matches his bandana with his socks.

Meaning he only wears red socks.

Doesn’t matter if they’re different shades; a crimson and vermillion red doesn’t make much of a difference.

He’s a bit of a color coordinator, let's be real.

It’s funny, cause Hunter’s really not that vain about his appearance. I think we all headcanon that he uses 13 in 1 shampoo and conditioner in the shower so like he really doesn’t care that much–

But something about having red socks… dunno, they just gotta be red, okay?

One time he couldn’t find another red pair, and he was scrambling around the Maurader for one.

“Has anyone seen another red sock??”

“No, Hunter. You’ve asked this 10 times, you’re not going to get a different answer.”

“Oh shut up Echo!”

Then Tech threw a pink one in his direction, and it landed directly in his face.

Hunter sputtered in shock and threw it back.

“This isn’t red!”

“Well technically, it is red, just a very tinted shade of it–”

“Nope, not gonna take your smartassery right now.”

Then he proceeded to dig up the laundry basket until he found another red one.

Tech

Hates it with a burning passion.

Always tries his best to make his socks coordinated while the others wear mismatched ones.

It’s incredibly difficult.

He always ends up getting the colors pretty close, but slightly off from each other.

Suddenly he whoops in triumph and pulls out two separate socks and its just two shades of black and he throws them across the room.

Do y’all see a pattern here with the throwing aijerlakjdf

Crosshair meanwhile is laughing in the corner because he has one of the matching socks on right now and he’ll never know muahahhaha!

Wrecker

Is probably the one that started it and caused the chain reaction.

It’s literally just socks and no one sees them it doesn’t kriffing matter if the colors match–(even if some of his brothers disagree)

He’s got like hella holes in his socks though, so he’s ended up kind of having his own.

If one of them is sorting laundry and sees a hole in one of the , welp its Wrecker’s now.

He’s like the only one that doesn’t care about holes in his socks. C’mon, he’s a simple man! He doesn’t need all these intricacies, thank you very much.

Same sentiment goes for the type of socks. He does prefer to have them go over his ankles but he doesn't care if the socks are fluffy or itchy and closely cropped to his skin, as long as it covers his feet he’s fine.

Crosshair

Doesn’t seek comfort, for some fucking reason.

Avoids fluffy or comfortable socks like the plague.

Might explain why he gets hella calluses on his feet.

But it helps him stay on his toes (don’t mind the pun), instead of in a comfort zone that’ll make him possibly mess up his performance when he shoots.

His socks end up being the most mismatched.

Nobody knows how but he always manages to have his socks with such ugly and contrasting colors it hurts Hunter’s poor little brain–

Like he’ll end up with some bright orange and then a soothing lavender and holy shit it’s so ugly dear lord.

Echo

Fluffy sock wearer all the way.

This man prioritizes comfort in lots of ways the rest of the batch doesn’t, mostly because of the chronic pain and daily discomfort he experiences since Skako Minor.

So yeah, the colors don’t matter to him; fluffiness does.

However, despite being a fluffy sock enthusiast, he doesn’t like them all the time.

There are situations where it's simply too hot or irritating for those kind socks.

But they still have to be some semblance of soft, or comfortable.

[thesweetnessofspring]

You mentioned you had thoughts on how Mr Mellark's play into Peeta feeling unwanted and unneeded, I was wondering if you wanted to share them ?

Because I just never know what to think of him (except that it is kinda funny to me that he is essentially "the Gale" in the parents's love triangle), he seems very kind like Peeta but also incredibly passive in his own family.

and also if you had any other headcanon surrounding the Mellark's family ?

TW: domestic violence, child abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, emotional abuse

Right this is going to get long 😂 So, my headcanon about the Mellark family/Mr. Mellark is sort of a mix between a family I have a personal connection to and a few families I've had to call child protection on. One physically and emotionally abusive mother, and one father who is caught up in domestic abuse himself, but would be labelled as failing to protect his children.

First, I'm going to clarify that I think Peeta believes he isn't loveable, which makes him feel unwanted and unneeded, but that is his core childhood wound. (see more about Enneagram Type 2, which is how I read Peeta's character).

There are a few components to Peeta getting treated the way he was. First is that while I do think the Mellark parents started their courtship and marriage believing they were in love, they both lacked the ability to effectively resolve conflict. She's aggressive and he just wants to make peace, which often leads to him placating her rather than standing up for himself. Their fights will often turn into Mrs. Mellark verbally and emotionally abusing her husband (he's bigger than her, so she doesn't physically abuse him, but the verbal and emotional abuse do damage). It doesn't help that they've both struggled to get by financially their whole lives and getting married doesn't solve that problem.

This brings in the boys. They're ecstatic about their first baby boy, but parenthood brings more challenges and there's more strain. Their first has a preference for Mr. Mellark, so when their second baby boy comes, Mrs. Mellark lays her claim on him and he's her golden child who can do no wrong. The stress of running the bakery, being parents to a toddler and baby, and their consistent fighting continues with Mr. Mellark getting the brunt, cruel end of his wife's words and emotional violence.

Despite her reputation, Mrs. Mellark doesn't enjoy this dynamic, she's stuck in patterns from her past. She gets especially unhappy when that hunter comes by to trade squirrels and Mr. Mellark asks after his wife, a girl he used to court. So when Mr. Mellark wants a little girl, Mrs. Mellark agrees to have one more to try for a girl. To try and save the marriage.

And then Peeta comes. Mr. Mellark has a big heart so he loves him anyway and Mrs. Mellark loves him as any parent does, but Peeta isn't the magic solution to her marriage that she wanted. And a couple months after Peeta's born, Mr. Everdeen comes by and boasts about his new little girl. His wife, the one her husband once wanted to marry, had a girl where she had failed. All of this gets redirected to Peeta and he becomes the scapegoat child. While Mrs. Mellark gave her older two corporeal punishment (spankings) she goes harder on Peeta than the other two, especially her golden middle boy. The older two take their mother's lead at times, though their feelings are a little more complicated. Sometimes Peeta's one of the brothers, but when Mother gets in one of her moods, they'll use Peeta as a shield.

Now Mr. Mellark tries to make up for all of this by being Peeta's buddy, giving him all the love his mother doesn't give him. That makes Mrs. Mellark more resentful, who wants her husband to love her like he did when they were courting and first married. And it also confuses Peeta more, because when Mrs. Mellark comes after him whether verbally and/or physically, his father never fights her. He might come in-between and try to calm her down, but if that doesn't work, she'll press on anyway and go after Peeta. His father doesn't even chastise her for what she's done to him. Time after time, Peeta gets the message even from his father that he's not worth protecting, which means he's not loveable. His personality, though, is convinced that if he learns to appease Mrs. Mellark and not anger her, and if he keeps doing helpful things for his father, and make jokes with his brothers, that they'll come to love him and treat him that way. The way he sees that miner's daughter love her little sister and the way he's watched her parents love each other. And he learns how to keep a lid on his mother as he gets older and bigger, but there are still days her anger has nowhere to go but with her hands on him or calling him names.

And still, all his father has is empty words his mother never listens to. Because if Peeta left the family, he wouldn't be missed, because he'd never truly been loved by them.

So yeah. That's how I headcanon Mr. Mellark and the whole Mellark family dynamic affecting Peeta and his subsequent relationship with Katniss.

Thanks for the ask and letting me explain all of this!

[neiptune]

congratulations on your one year bb!!! excited to watch you keep growing.

for your event, if you aren't too overwhelmed with requests, i'd love to see love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right with one barou shouei to give you some good bllk practice. okay love u !!!! thank u!!!! also the red theme of this event is giving me life as a red girlie through and through!!!

barou shouei x love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right

Honestly, you’re not annoyed by Isagi’s sudden intrusion: Shouei doesn’t really have many friends he invites over or hangs out with so, even if you definitely had other plans for the afternoon, you’re kinda happy you’ll get to peer into his closed off social world a little.

Shouei, on the other hand, isn’t really making an effort to hide just how irked he is. Which means the hosting part in a house that’s not even yours, soon becomes your responsibility.

Isagi is all friendly smiles and genuine appreciation as you brew some green tea and lay different snacks on the coffee table, careful to only bring the ones Shouei’s sisters don’t deem as their favorites. Come to think of it, it’s kinda funny, the amount of details you have memorized by now. But then again, it’s probably what being in love feels like for normal people in normal situations.

“Ah, thank you! M’sorry for showing up unannounced, you guys were probably busy but Barou wasn’t picking up my calls and I was just nearby and I really wanted to discuss this strategy I came up with last night—”

“Isagi, it’s fine! It’s not like we had anything special planned” you ignore Shouei’s grunt “besides, I’m really glad I can finally meet you. The man who changed Japan’s football”

The man sitting next to you on the couch tenses up right away, his thigh flush against yours feeling like concrete. What you’re willingly disregarding Isagi chooses to acknowledge instead, stiff smile splitting his face as his eyes dart to Barou.

“Uhm, yeah, thanks” he clears his throat, cheeks already tinted with a pink so pretty “it’s nice meeting you, too. I didn’t know Barou had a girlfriend”

“Oh, I’m not his—”

A big hand, far too warm and rough, closes around your knee and you know that’s your cue to shut up.

“Tell me about the fucking strategy” he growls and you wish you were sitting on his lap, back pressed to his chest hard enough to feel the rumble of his voice. Your legs instinctively clench ever so slightly but you’re certain he notices, because his grip grows tighter.

So you just sit there, listening to Isagi’s new interpretation of the verrou system, one his team seems to have already tested out back in their blue lock days. It’s surprising, really, how compelling he can make it all sound: you’re genuinely invested in the way his mind works, the general idea he’s explaining consisting in players switching not only positions but also roles, depending on the game’s pattern. You know Shouei is still annoyed but, as you glance at his hardened profile, you can’t hold back the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He’s listening attentively and sharing his unfiltered opinions, soon enough engaging in a full on debate on what kind of players they’d need for a team to successfully apply Isagi’s tactic, all while his other hand casually reaches for the bowl of corn nuts but only after slightly pushing the still untouched cup of tea towards his nemesis, it’s gonna get cold grumbled under his breath.

You pretend not to notice how he glances at you, too. Just to check if you’re drinking your tea as well, just to make sure you’re not too bored while they keep rambling athletic nonsense.

“Pair this shit with total football” Isagi’s face lights up at Shouei’s suggestion.

“With the 4-3-3 sequence? That’s it, Barou! I was missing offensiveness in my scheme!”

“Damn right, you were. Sucker”

You hold back your chuckle and bask in the comfort of something you almost never get to experience: being there, just being there as the man you’re desperately smitten for has a casual discussion over the one thing he loves more than his sisters. It’s nice, feeling like there’s a little corner of everyday life for you to squeeze in for once. It could so easily become routine, it could so easily feel right. It already does.

Isagi leaves shortly after and you say goodbye with a smile and a gentle wave of the hand he reciprocates, enthusiastic promises of updating Shouei on the results of the scheme they have developed swallowed by the door slammed in his face.

You’re leaning forward as he returns to the living room, keeping yourself busy by tidying up the coffee table, two empty cups and a chocolate bar wrapper in your hands as rough fingers grip your hips to abruptly pull you back.

You let out a yelp he almost finds endearing as your butt lands on the firmness of his thigh, arms caging you against his body as treacherously soft lips press to your shoulder blade.

“Shouei, I’m gonna drop these!” you try to wiggle your wait out of his embrace but he tightens his grip, warm breath fanning over your neck.

“What was that little stunt you pulled?” his voice is so deep it sends a shudder down your spine. But you’re not gonna let him win this, not today.

You inch forward enough to place cups and wrapper back on the coffee table and then manage to turn sideways, so close your nose almost brushes against his.

“The man who changed Japan’s football. You wanna fuck him or somethin’?”

“Don’t know” you bite back “maybe, if I did enough times, he’d call me his girlfriend”

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“S’that what you want, pretty?” one of his hands rises from your hip to your neck, thumb pressing to the column of your throat “thought we’d started this as a game”

“Well, you know what else can be a game? Love. Love is a ruthless game” you drop your had to escape his crimson gaze but he’s quick to tilt it back up by gently grabbing your chin.

“Unless you play it good and right. Pretty girl” he coos with a smirk “you already know how good of a player I am”

[johnslittlespoon]

HI I'M ALIVE i swear this is a pattern at this point, i post a new fic/chapter and disappear for a phat day (or two) lmaoo i literally get The Fear and i have to avoid notifs/comments for a bit <33

that being said, wept reading the comments on TAS, i'm so so thankful y'all are vibing with it because i was NERVOUS about posting my first ever modern au and i wanted to make sure it still felt true to the characters but everyone's been so unbelievably kind i'm so wahhahhhh :')) i appreciate the sweet words SO so much, it's so reassuring and so motivating <33

so motivating actually that i'm already halfway done ch2... whoops? litch rally buzzing with how excited i am to write, i don't think i've ever experienced this which sounds strange but like. okay hold i can already tell i'm gonna go on a tangent so let me cut myself off with a read more lmaoo

idk, does anyone else ever sometimes feel like even though obviously we all write fic for enjoyment because we do it for free, sometimes it feels like a chore? not in the sense that i feel obligated to write, but just that even though i feel passionately about what i want to write, it's just hard to get my brain into gear (adhd aside) even when i really want to. i'm just thinking out loudddd now but my concerta just kicked in so it's inevitable LOL word vomit and thought processing is apparently a necessary part of my writing process smh

writing yad(iym) has honestly been so helpful with this because one of the biggest things that i struggle with when writing is that i have a super vivid imagination and can picture exactly what i want to portray/convey, but sometimes i don't know how to get there, but with the dog coded fic i have the timeline of the actual show to follow, so it takes a lot of pressure off in that sense! it's sorta like filling in the gaps because i have something base level to work with.

but 99% of the time when writing, i don't have that, so i end up avoiding my docs often because i feel stuck in terms of progressing the storyline, and my writing process drags on so longgg. i'm finding too now that i'm writing my first (and second oops) actual long fic that oneshots are actually more difficult for me to finish for some reason despite most of mine being shorter than a singular chapter in my fics, which is funny because i was so terrified of commitment starting a chaptered fic but i've ended up being more consistent.

anyway point is, i adore writing yad(iym) and it's been the most fun experience i've had fic writing, but now that i've sorted out the world building aspects for tough and sweet, everything is just flowing and instead of having to sit myself down at my desk and kinda just force myself into the zone, i cannot drag myself out of my docs?? and i've never had that happen but i'm definitely trying to take advantage of it while it lasts and get as much written as possible!

i think it also helps that it's so lighthearted compared to the angst of yadiym (tho i've got some angst planned for tas too lol sry) so i don't have to think as much about the weight behind certain dialogue, or carefully plan out the progression of the relationship dynamic the way the time period/setting of yadiym requires. it's a nice breather from the constraints of the mota–verse (as much as it's still my favourite thing to read/write with these boys), but i also enjoy getting to sink back into that doc when i want something deeper than the little biker boys.

i'm still very much working away on yadiym tho to be clear!! i was scared to start tas before i finished it in case i hyperfixated on tas and my updates got slow on yadiym, but it's genuinely helped me find a balance because i'm always working on one if i'm not working on the other <3 i'm about half done ch6 too for yadiym (how many times can i type that in one post jfc), i'm just at an internal emotions heavy part which i Hate. writing lmaooo give me dialogue or smut and i can type away for hrs but introspection?? internal conflict? hell

ok that's all my fic related rambling thank uuuu/apologies if u sat thru all of that LOL lmk if your writing process/mindset is similar or not bc i'm always curious about how other people's brains work with this stuff!! also how does one get over feeling obnoxious about rambling on their own acc like. this is my acc. i could post 100 times a day if i wanted. i need to Relax good god