#its the contrast of two people wearing masks to hide themselves from their people for different reasons while also being so similar....

[lovesickeros]

thought abt focalors + tsaritsa sagau fic bc it'd be funny as hell to throw them in a room together but now its actually got me thinking a little too much.......similar but only in the barest sense and complete opposites..one of them fearing celestia and the other trying to bring celestia down.

[that-ari-blogger]

Wicked's Existential Crisis

Deception is a big theme in Wicked. I don't think this is news to many people. The wizard is a wizard, truth is truth, happy is what happens when all your dreams come true.

Galinda embodies this pretty heavily, but so does Fiyero, although they do so in similar ways. They both lie to others, and realise that they have been lying to themselves later on.

But, you need a baseline before you get to character development. You need a benchmark for everyone to either move up or down from, depending on the genre.

In my opinion, Dancing Through Life establishes that benchmark, while asking a few more philosophical questions as it does.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

"Dancing through life, Down at the Oz Dust If only because dust Is what we come to. Nothing matters, But knowing nothing matters, It's just life So keep dancing through"

Fiyero, buddy, friend, pal... are you ok?

Dancing Through Life is the introduction of Fiyero, and there is a enormous difference between what he is saying and how he is saying it.

That dust line is actually a biblical allusion, with various Judeo-Christian books and prayers claiming that G-d created humans from dust, and that when someone dies, they return to that dust. Hence the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" saying (source). So, Fiyero is nihilistic.

"Nothing matters, so why bother trying" is such a morbid idea, and its usually associated with emo music, either lots of drums and raw emotions, or quiet and sad. So, when Fiyero sings it as a musical theatre, bombastic full orchestra song, his message flies under the radar because it is so dissonant with the style.

That's the key here. Most of the time, people are nuanced, and stereotypes do not encompass the human experience at all. The emotionally confused or depressed or spiraling person isn't the one who sits in the moonlight writing sappy poetry, it's the person who manages to hide it the most easily because they've been doing it for the longest.

Fiyero is putting up a mask to hide his insecurities, and he is doing it by... not wearing a mask?

Lampshading is the practice of softening elements in a piece of media, letting the audience know that something is out of order or farcical, and turning it into a joke. Overly Sarcastic Productions (@comicaurora) has a video explaining the trope in detail.

In a weird way, this is what Fiyero is doing. He is turning his own crisis into a joke. He doesn't have to hide it if he can poke fun at it. He becomes self-referential, and tells people to move on past the words he is saying and focus on the fun dancing and music.

I see where Fiyero is coming from, here. Purpose is difficult to find in this world, and it definitely seems like neither good or bad are rewarded, and luck will do what it will. But I would like to present a counter point.

Everything Everywhere All At Once was easily the most emotionally powerful film of 2022, and it also discussed nihilism in detail. I don't want to get into plot spoilers, but this movie asks the question: If nothing matters, then what?

And the answer to this is clear: Everything. In a Cinema Therapy video on the film, Johnothan Decker states this:

"If nothing we do matters, then the only thing that matters is what we do."

Actions have whatever meaning we ascribe to them, and if we ascribe no meaning to anything, then everything has meaning on the same level. If nothing matters, then everything matters.

This segways into another core question of the musical and especially this song. Do intentions matter?

Galinda and Elphaba have a comedy of errors with the gift giving, specifically when Galinda sets up Nessa with Boq, and Elphaba arranges for her to receive a wand in return, contrasted with the infamous hat.

Galinda does things for personal gain, and accidentally makes someone's life slightly better for a moment, and Boq kind of does the same. Neither of the two cares about Nessarose, but they bring her happiness in the short term.

"We deserve each other, and Galinda helped it come true."

I mentioned in my post about The Wizard And I that this theme comes up there first, in association with meeting the wizard, and I think there is something else to it than just deception. Don't get me wrong, this is deception at work, Elphaba with the Wizard and Nessa with everyone around her. But that lie has a positive result here, for the moment.

It also separates the consequences from the intention. Elphaba sees the wizard and wants to improve the world, her hopes are on rocky foundations, but her actions are strong, and I have already mentioned what Galinda's actions do.

However, I would argue that intentions do matter, and that this musical agrees with me, and that is with Boq, a person whom I despise.

As a character, Boq is fascinating. He is a direct satire of the hopeless romantic of stereotypical fairy tales, think Ariel from The Little Mermaid, or Lancelot from the 1963 movie, Lancelot and Guenevere. Boq is trying desperately to court someone who does not care about him and has someone who does care fall from the sky in front of him, but he can't see past himself.

Now, pining is all well and good, you are allowed to pine, and if someone is attracted to you, there is no law that says you must be attracted back. But Boq goes a step further.

"It's because I'm in this chair and you felt sorry for me. Isn't that right?" "No! No! It's because you are so beautiful."

Boq had an opportunity to back out of the romance handed to him on a silver platter. He could have said it was just a dance, or even confessed that Galinda put him up to it, if he so desired. But Boq made a choice to keep stringing Nessarose along. He may have his reasons, but I think his actions are not excusable, and the gut punch at the end of the musical when he tells her that he never cared is a betrayal that could have been so easily avoided.

Boq and Fiyero go on to become key players in the "death" of the Wicked Witch of the West, and they do so for alternative reasons, and it reframes Dorothy's journey.

For a more nuanced explanation of what I mean, consider this: In 2019, youtuber Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) raised $347000 for a Brittish charity organisation called Mermaids in a livestream of Donkey Kong 64, and he gave a speech in October of that year about why he did such a thing.

"I think secretly, we're always making one of two decisions, and we make that decision even if we don't know we're making it. You're either choosing to make life worse for someone you don't like, or better for people you care about. There is an actual difference, and I didn't realise I made the wrong choice until a lot of people came over and helped change the choice retrospectively."

What you are trying to do matters, because if you keep trying to do good, even if you hit roadblocks, if you are truly committed, you will eventually do some good in the world.

I actually like Brewis' definition of right and wrong here, because it isn't overly philosophical, it pertains to individual actions. You either make someone else's life better or worse.

I have been rambling around my point for a while, so let me make it concise. Dancing Through Life asks philosophical questions about life. What matters? Is it you? Is it your actions? Is it your intentions?

Final Thoughts

There are two other things I need to mention before I finish. First up, the extras are some of the best parts of this musical, and in this song, that is driven home. Everything comes across as so superficial, and not in a "that's bad acting" way, but in a "that's an actor playing a character who is acting" way. This carries over to Galinda's entire style of talking, but the extras knock it out of the park here. It means that the only sincere moments in the song hit with the relevant weight. Those being Elphaba and Nessa's conversation, and the Elphaba dance (something remarkably difficult to find images of).

That dance is the moment I see Glinda x Elphaba (I still refuse to use the Gelphie ship name) actually taking off, rather than in What Is This Feeling, because it's the first moment that the two see eye to eye, and Galinda finally understands Elphaba. She earns her friendship and trust by trying to make up for her mistakes. Galinda talks a lot, but actions speak louder than words, and that dance kicks off a love story.

Next week, I will be diving into Popular, a number that really takes apart the theming to an overt level only matched by one other song, and we will get to that one soon.

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[sepublic]

Disparity between the Knights of Ren and Kylo

           But something about the Knights of Ren, in contrast to their leader, is that they seem so much more… scrappy? Dirty, unorganized, but also used and worn-out, and thus genuine? Like they’ve really put themselves out there into the harsh work with rolled-up, tattered sleeves, and you get this sense of them actually being in the fray and on the frontlines.

           You’ve of course got their dirt-covered boots and whatnot, but also you have people like Vicrul or Cardo, who use the hides of animals as part of their attire… Ap’lek’s cloak is oiled to shed aside water, he’s clearly someone who works within the elements to take advantage of them as part of his stealth, they’re his dirty unglamorous home. Clearly the Knights of Ren do a lot of work putting together scrap metal, like you see with Ap’lek’s mask, Kuruk having those pieces bent around his helmet to help focus his vision, Cardo’s mask is just a repurposed furnace plate! Ushar’s mask has a straight-up dent in it that he’s never bothered to fix, even when he has access to Albrekh; Likely as a twisted memento of honor and tribute to the victim who inflicted the damage. Trudgen straight-up has part of a Death Trooper’s helmet incorporated into his own mask as well!

           Then you’ve got the Night Buzzard, which is dirty and grimy, and has received constant modifications, likely by Kuruk, that cause it to spew noxious gas. Vicrul’s pistol has also been pushed to its limits with alterations, and Cardo is obsessed with modifying and enhancing weapons, keeping them up to date and ready for the next battle; The Knights of Ren have weapons that are a more cold, dull steel and gray, not polished and refined. Their armor and outfits feel much more scratched-out and faded, used and worn in. You get the sense almost that they’re kind of like scavengers themselves, similar to Rey; Making do with what they find, not too focused on aesthetical neatness nor tidy appearance, just getting the point across, salvaging trophies from victories.

          And, it fits with their philosophy, the Ren- Which revolves around basically just living in the moment, unapologetically taking and consuming and resorting to nature and instinct… Letting the ‘Shadow’ guide and feed them, like they’re always on the fringe of society, gathering and appreciating what they can and making use of it, having to make the most of their tools, constantly altering and patching themselves up. They don’t have the access to the best resources, not fancy luxuries or anything like that; It’s almost rather working-class, I’d say! It of course matches with their origins as essentially criminals and a cult-ish biker gang, a ragtag group of mercenaries.

          Even their original, nameless leader kind of fits this more down-to-earth, cobbled-together aesthetic, with a gray mask that he’s customized with a red symbol, amidst the scratches; Not wearing much save for a tattered cloak and glove, and his pants and boots, and that’s about it! Nothing particularly polished nor clean. He’s dirty, roughed-up, and covered in scars, he has not gone unscathed and he doesn’t need to protect himself from the elements, he wears his damage and past on his (metaphorical) sleeve and possibly even has a cybernetic hand, to go with the Vader parallel that Charles Soule intended!

           All of this of course contrasts with Kylo Ren, who… His mask is clearly hi-tech, up-to-date, with a full-on vocoder and mechanical function that causes it to open up and close, possibly somewhat vacuum-sealed as well. The metal is polished and shiny, the mask a smooth, likely painted, matte black. His clothes are tidy and almost prince-like, made of what seems to be more comfortable and fancier cloth and fabrics, a nice deep black that’s clearly taken care of, shiny boots, the works. While the Knights of Ren make do with just their Night Buzzard and weapons they scrounge for, constantly patching up and honing them between battles to keep them almost good-as-new, Kylo Ren has his clean and sleek, modern ships supplied directly from the First Order; He’s got his command shuttle, the TIE Silencer, and at least two TIE Whisper’s.

           His vehicles have red, vibrant and glowing lights and paintjobs, and are likely the sleek pinnacle of First Order engineering, with Kuat and rich backers from Canto Bight to contribute to development. Kyle Ron probably has his entire team of engineers to prepare and take care of his ship before him, even before becoming Supreme Leader- Especially when he tells a pair of officers to prepare his TIE Silencer for him, even before he usurps Snoke. He was clearly the golden child throughout his life in a sense, born into a privileged, luxurious family with a lot of power and fame; And then serving Snoke, who himself had all of the inexplicably vast resources of the First Order behind him, invested everything into Kylo Ren’s training and upkeep… Kept him well-fed and taken care of (at least physically).

           Yeah, Kylo has trained vigorously, and his own lightsaber is a patchwork job, but that was built back when he was ‘just’ leader of the Knights of Ren, newly anointed, and before he’d started serving in the First Order; And as a major political influence, with a LOT of authority and power behind him, serving as a triumvirate alongside Hux and Phasma, right beneath Snoke himself! You get the sense that he always had something to fall back to, a comfortable safety net- That when all was said and done, he had a retinue of medical droids to patch him up, a team to keep his laundry nice and clean and ‘presentable’. That he always had his parents who were welcoming of him, trying to be patient, always offering him the opportunity to go back home; He had SO much, and yet he really threw it all away for some fantasy, didn’t he?

           Kylo Ren really comes across as like… A privileged rich kid, a pampered brat who doesn’t really know what it’s like to work out in the fringes, to have to constantly fight and kill just to survive, to be fed the next day. To not have the luxury of mindlessly destroying the hard work and machinery, the craft of others he’s taken for granted, every time he has a temper tantrum- Leaving people to clean up the mess and replace it good as new. The Knights of Ren couldn’t be so frivolous with THEIR resources, they had to make everything count, reuse and recycle, scavenge from scrap metal, tidy things up at least a little; But they didn’t have the luxury to make themselves sleek and polished, nor access to the most up-to-date technology of an entire military junta.

          They had to get their hands dirty and personal, all of the time, they didn’t have the pride and privilege to turn down jobs; They took whatever mercenary work was offered to stay fed and clothed. And yet they remained just as vigilant and dedicated to the Ren as ever, never wavering as far as we can tell; Even when their original leader was slain, they didn’t throw a fit, but just made do with the situation, accepted that this was all they had left, and had Kylo as their new master.

           While Kylo was no doubt living the high-life at the very top of the First Order pyramid, we rarely see the Knights of Ren, who don’t have Snoke’s personal precious attention and protection. They’re likely out there doing the dark, unknown and unglamorous dirty work, quietly coming back to restock and refuel, no ceremonies nor worship from Stormtroopers, most of whom seem to regard them in disgust as ‘Ghouls’. Unlike Kylo, they fully chose and accepted and embraced their roles, they provided their ‘good’ deaths and earned their spots within the group, not fighting it, not constantly lamenting and whining about how they deserved better, because anything is good.

          Even when Kylo Ren became Supreme Leader, it seems that for whatever reason, the Knights of Ren didn’t embrace the new resources at their disposal- Did Kylo not bother to take care of them, or were they just so used to working as scrappy little mercenaries, that the high-end luxuries of the First Order somewhat bothered them? That they preferred to keep doing things as they did, that this organized, political and polished structure wasn’t for them. Hux regards them as distasteful for it, but while he and Kylo have entire armies and servants at their beck and call and disposal, the Knights of Ren have only themselves and each other to carry out the missions assigned to them, and they do their tasks silently, dutifully, and without complaint.

           To contrast, Kylo Ren has a much cleaner, brighter aesthetic, flashy and red like his lightsaber, and later the Sarrassian iron that puts together the fragments of his helmet. He’s a leader, a political figure, who intentionally draws attention to himself as the heir to Vader, he thinks he’s entitled to Anakin’s lightsaber, and can afford to draw attention to himself, he wants it. But the Knights of Ren, they have to be practical and dark, hiding to survive, Ap’lek especially, although of course some manner of exception is made with Ushar and Cardo. It’s not like they’re just hunters, but also prey as well, like the Mandalorian coverts… Their dirtied, roughened-up appearance, more battered and humble like what you would see with the Millenium Falcon, paints the Knights of Ren as more underdogs than their leader.

           In essence, you get this sense of privileged disconnect between the Knights of Ren and Kylo; That he’s this bourgeoisie rich kid, whose parents bought him everything, that he never REALLY had to work for things, there was no genuine struggle nor danger for him. Work and training may as well have been a hobby for him, he can afford to throw things away, while for the Knights of Ren it very much is a matter of survival, life or death. And with how Kylo wants to join them for some reason after leaving the Jedi Order, even though he only had ONE encounter where they tried to kill him, Luke, and Lor San Tekka; And all their previous leader did was just leave an open invitation…

           And again, you get the idea that Kylo Ren has this idealized, glamorous, almost fetishizing and romanticized view of what it’s like to be a Knight of Ren, that it’s some cool club to join- And not a genuine, forged-in-fire, rigorous existence. That it’s tough and painful and very much a deliberate choice, not something done lightly and for fun, which he finds out when he tries to join them for ‘comradery’ I suppose, only to be oh-so shocked at seeing them kill people, as if he hadn’t always known this. Kylo Ren didn’t really want to be a Knight of Ren, just his cool idea and fun of what it’d be like, how he doesn’t REALLY want the Empire back, just the idealized version of the past. He’s a pampered brat playing pretend, so psyched up for the dream of the job, but when he actually has to do the hard work and unglamorous parts, he caves and hesitates, while the actual Knights of Ren roll their eyes, because of course this little kid does. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into, he’s so dumb and naïve and reckless.

           It’s telling that the Knights of Ren have no issues working with Albrekh, an alien, especially because they know they can’t afford to be picky with their allies and friends, beggars can’t be choosers; While Kylo “My parents didn’t love me enough” Ron is willing to kill an officer for asking a reasonable question, and throws aside all of the people in his life that he takes for granted. Similarly, the only person resembling an alien that we see Kylo Ren actually work with is Snoke, whom he hated and eventually killed, and even Snoke was at least part-human, so given his worship of the Empire, and Kylo Ren likely looks down on non-humans.

           Not to mention, with how Kylo sometimes refers to Rey as ‘the scavenger’, and you get this sense of like… disdain from him towards her more humble, downright impoverished, background and conditions of her home life, and the way she had to keep herself fed. And you can’t help but wonder if the Knights of Ren picked up on this, that part of the reason they never enjoyed the First Order’s resources was because they knew that they didn’t belong in this neat and tidy, posh hierarchy of political society and advanced tech; That they were regarded as savage monsters and ghouls by the First Order, dirty and unkempt. Their own leader didn’t really know or understand them, he only had leadership by virtue of power and affinity to the Dark Side, but not much else; And he was constantly fighting the Dark Side, always in the hand of Snoke, never really leading the Knights of Ren alongside them as equals and comrades like their past leader.

           He probably didn’t care for, nor appreciate them- Kylo probably even looked down on them, even! Not fully and openly, but there was likely this implicit disdain and disgust… Or at the very least, he made an ‘exception’ to them, but with how he regarded scavengers and lower-class people like them… The Knights of Ren could only wonder just how conditional his tolerance was. He praised and elevated them, borderline glorified and romanticized; But he could never truly be one of them, he never knew what it was like, he had no idea, he could only guess and play pretend, and never admit that truth. There was a growing disconnect, likely a dissatisfaction between the Knights of Ren towards Kylo, and it just worsened with his agendas with Rey, forcing them to do the work of capturing her by themselves, forgetting the Knights in his own confrontations, etc.

           Kylo didn’t really feel like one of them, like a part of them- He saw himself as elevated and separate, more like lapdogs and attacks dogs, tools to point in a direction, not true brothers-in-arms on the same level, regardless of leadership role. And this ignorance, this subtle lack of regard and attention, quickly abandoning the Knights of Ren to focus on his drama with his parents, Luke, Snoke, and Rey… It must’ve been frustrating and alienating for the Knights of Ren.

          The closest Kylo ever got was when he repaired his shattered helmet using Albrekh himself, with the dented and scratched-up look more akin to them, uniting the aesthetic more… But again, there was always that fancy, graceful training from Luke and Snoke, and his special little lightsaber. Then the attention from Palpatine… And when he had to go to Exegol, when he confronted Rey, Kylo never did so with the Knights of Ren, because he never truly trusted nor felt like they had his back, he never truly saw himself as one of them, and didn’t think it necessary to bring them alone, to include them all.

           They weren’t special, chosen ones with the cool bloodlines and parentage that gave them special innate talent and Force powers, they were more like Voe if anything else. The Knights of Ren had force-sensitivity, but it was stunted and much weaker than Kyle’s natural, unearned talent and gifts; Everything they got, they had to fight and train and work for, self-taught and without the guidance of some wiser leader, because I doubt Kylo trained his own Knights either. Their fighting style is more brutal and utilitarian, with the use of a wide variety of tools and actual blasters- The Knights of Ren had to make a name for themselves, carve out their own reputation, because they started from nothing, and their original leader best exemplifies this with his lack of name, the closest being the title of Ren that he shares with everyone else anyway.

           The Knights of Ren didn’t have a special destiny, nor a bond as part of some sacred, prophesized dyad- If anything, they were more like Rey, before THAT reveal… Just lowly nobodies who had to make a name for themselves, stumbled across their own version of found family in a sense- Did what they needed to survive, had to go through the grueling agony of existence on their own. They actively looked for new members to add into their group, other lowly and despised criminals and others of society, as could’ve been the case with Karrst. There was no special place for them within the story, and yet they were still relegated to doing nameless, thankless jobs and tasks, not even acknowledged individually, and forgotten and abandoned by even their own leader, for some stranger he’d just met.

          When he turned to the Light Side, did their time together mean nothing for Ben to leave them- Of course it did, because there wasn’t REALLY anything there, and he never tried, or at least never could’ve understood, and never realized this from the position he was in. He tried to force his way in and it just created this uncomfortable, begrudging toleration by the Knights of Ren, until finally their resentment boiled up and bubbled over and burst; And they took their sweet time, vengefully confronting their former leader and beating him up slowly, because they wanted this to hurt. They wanted him to know what it was like to be beaten down with no hope, with no glimpse of light, nobody to pick him up and comfort him, no luxury nor resources or sacred destiny; To have only darkness and shadow to hide and thrive in, to embrace and become grateful towards… As they scrounged up and kept fighting, determined, not entitled by any parentage or destiny, but because they simply chose to keep biting and survive.

           Nobody seemed to care nor remember the Knights of Ren, they were just disposable tools for everyone, except their original leader, who really did seem to be on amicable relationship with them; Addressing them by name, in a casual manner that alluded to past comradery and shared knowledge, bonding… Someone they felt safe actually speaking up and talking to, asking questions instead of silently waiting for orders and accepting things as they were. There was no special Force powers, for they did not expect anything from the Shadow, and when they did receive, they made sure to venerate it in return, for of course this was owed back, they had to pay back the force that guided and fed them.

          They had a gratitude, and as their Ren codified, the Knights learned to disregard societal norms and obligations, and attitudes, and just live, doing what they needed to survive. No apologies, no glorifications, they just were, that’s all they wanted and needed. Obviously this independent, not-caring-what-anyone-thinks attitude was no doubt ‘cool’ to a young Kylo Ren, which was why he wanted to join them, while misunderstanding so badly how the Knights of Ren even got to that point in the first place, and what came with this. Kylo kept being concerned about how others perceived and looked at him, because he was a sad, pathetic, insecure little child; While for the Knights of Ren, it just didn’t matter.

          They could be hated, or beloved- It wasn’t important at all how others regarded them, because they didn’t heed how outsiders felt, they didn’t apologize nor account for their existence, didn’t try to justify anything. It was Us VS Them, they found solace in just each other, and recognized and prepared themselves for an entire world against them, anyone else as fair game and a potential enemy. Their prior leader rightfully regarded Kylo with suspicion, kept a cautious distance- So nothing was lost when they confronted Kylo on Exegol to kill him, no tears shed nor regrets made whatsoever, besides having not done this sooner.

           But of course, special Ben Solo gets his redemption or whatever, he gets his spotlight and glory as he saves the day, or at least sort of tries to contribute. He is glorified by the narrative and likely in-universe, venerated for his ‘noble’ turn and sacrifice, especially by the real-life fandom; But the Knights of Ren, nobody cares for them. And it doesn’t matter- They’re used to it, they’ve learned to accept and adapt, this is just the normal status quo for them. They don’t need veneration nor hatred, they’re just here to get through the day and only focus on what matters, themselves and each other.

           …In that sense, with all of this meta about the Knights of Ren being more like ‘nobodies’, poor and scavenging, having to work for things; And Rey, the contradictions of her character be damned, feels like she’d be a more welcome fit as a new leader than Kylo. Maybe there could be an AU where she joins them, and the Knights of Ren bond with this new kid, this little sibling, who’s a dirty feral gremlin like them who likes to scavenge and experiment, modify, messily and shoddily cobble stuff together.

          I do have to wonder if Rey calling herself a nobody, initially intended at one point to have no special place nor destiny in the narrative, besides the one she made for herself with her found family- If that was meant to be a parallel to the Knights of Ren and their former leader, who also calls himself a nobody, and goes by no distinctive name himself. I can only imagine, but I bet that a Dark Side Rey would be a much more attentive, down-to-earth, and ultimately preferable leader to the Knights of Ren, as someone who actually bonds with and understands them, and learns to value them; To the point where if she DID make a turn to the Light, she’d probably invite them to come with her out of concern, and the Knights of Ren would be touched enough to even consider, or at least spare, Rey…

           At the very least, I don’t think Rey would immediately throw them aside like the garbage they always were, because she was good now and too enlightened and heroic to be level with these evil monsters; She knew someone who was a masked ‘monster’ himself, Finn, and she fell in love and found acceptance with him, and vice-versa. Rey, for better or worse, has the patience to reach out and give others the benefit of the doubt, to hope for them, to not hypocritically condemn, for she knows her own mistakes and weaknesses as well… So I think the Knights of Ren in this AU would be much more likely to be touched- And that even if they were to lash against a reformed Rey, it’d come from a genuine sense of hurt and betrayal, grief and loss; And not just a relieved desire to get rid of this pesky brat that’s been bugging them for the past several years.

[autistic-girl-academic]

Hypmic OC Crew: Freestyle Angels

so I’ve seen a lot of people posting their Hypmic OCs lately, and that made me want to buckle down and finalize the details for mine!

An all-female team based out of Tokyo’s Minato Ward, the Freestyle Angels are technically an independent crew - they got together to drive out crews who were abusing their claims to the territory, but aren’t interested in winning more territory themselves. (Not that they’d qualify for the DRBs anyway, of course.) Rather, they serve as a foil/rival team to the Chuohku trio.

Sumire Kuino, AKA Queen of Street

“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much” - Helen Keller

Occupation: Humanitarian aid organizer

Birthday: October 7th

Age: 30

Zodiac: Libra

Height: 6′0″

Weight: 165 lbs

Blood type: AB

Likes: Bargains, fixing things, dogs, birdwatching

Dislikes: Wastefulness, unpaid debts, technology, selfish people

Favorite food: Chazuke

Least favorite food: Fugu

The daughter of a corrupt businessman and his mistress. Her father was an associate of Sairo Tohoten, who helped him flee the country when he got in trouble with the authorities, leaving a young Sumire and her mother behind. Sumire’s mother, only viewing her as another mouth to feed, likewise abandoned her daughter once she’d found a new lover. Frightened at the possibility of ending up in an orphanage, Sumire struggled to fend for herself on the streets until she was taken under the wing of an older homeless man named Takayoshi. He would go on to raise Sumire as his own, with her quickly coming to call him ‘Grandpa’ and taking on his family name. Over the years, Sumire became increasingly protective of him in turn, and he and his circle of friends would jokingly call her ‘queen’ for her assertive, take-charge nature; Sumire was always exasperated by the nickname, but grudgingly grew to accept it.

Takayoshi was the sort of person who was always willing to lend a hand and always kept an eye out for those who needed it, and Sumire followed his example. After he passed away, she became a guardian for anyone with nowhere to go, spending her days building shelters, distributing food, and standing up to whoever threatened the people that depended on her. She had fleeting hopes that the Party of Words would remedy some of the ills plaguing society, but found that little changed once the H Age began. Before the formation of the Dirty Dawg, Minato Ward went through a tumultuous period where it rapidly changed hands between many crews who abused their power. Sumire stole a set of Hypnosis Mics off of one such group and began using it to defend the defenseless, forming a duo with Ageha Hinokuchi called the Rough Diamonds, then a trio once they met Kaori Sakuragi.

Her microphone takes the shape of a street sign, while her speakers are a graffiti-covered castle made from debris. Her ability, Bulwark, decreases the damage done to her allies, albeit at the cost of taking it herself. Her personal rapping style is based off of Hime.

Personality-wise, Sumire’s an incredibly caring person under an intimidating exterior; her default stone-faced expression rarely changes and she speaks very bluntly. She won’t really judge or try to control the choices of those she helps, but if she needs to put her foot down for someone’s own good, her naturally commanding presence makes it hard to not do what she says. She’s a quick learner who can fix up just about anything she puts her hands on (with the exception of hi-tech gadgets) and a highly efficient penny-pincher; show her something with a high price tag and get ready to hear a thorough breakdown of just how many groceries it could buy. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn’t always take care of herself as well as she does others, requiring her teammates to step in and force her to take the occasional break.

She deeply respects Jakurai’s work, but finds Hifumi too flashy for her tastes. She’s also helped Dice a few times in the past, but he finds her kind of terrifying and tries to avoid her. The one person who can immediately make her lose her composure is Rei; plenty of his victims have ended up on the streets, and one of them even committed suicide despite Sumire’s attempts to save them. Unless her teammates stop her, she’ll attack him on sight.

Ageha Hinokuchi, AKA HI-FLYA

“Once freedom lights its beacon in man’s heart, the gods are powerless against him” - Jean-Paul Sartre

Occupation: Fitness & self-defense instructor

Birthday: May 6th

Age: 28

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 138 lbs

Blood type: B

Likes: Pro wrestling, action movies, dancing, the beach

Dislikes: Muscle cramps, energy drinks, smoking, conformity

Favorite food: Barbecue

Least favorite food: Sea cucumber

A former member of the Party of Words. As a child, she lost her parents to an armed robbery, leading her to support Otome’s goals of eliminating conventional weapons from Japan. However, she increasingly found herself unable to turn a blind eye to the ways in which the Party manipulated innocent people. Once she learned about the True Hypnosis Microphone, she attempted to sabotage the facility where they were produced, but was discovered. In the fight that followed, a fire broke out; she fell from a great height into the flames and was presumed dead by the Party members who had been trying to apprehend her. However, a friend of hers in the group discovered that she’d survived and smuggled her to safety. After recovering from her wounds, she took on a new name and face, leaving her old identity behind to become Ageha Hinokuchi.

Her goal of stopping the Party of Words remained unchanged, and for a while she was constantly on the move, collecting evidence of their crimes and trying to come up with a way to stand against them. In Minato Ward, she happened to cross paths with Sumire Kuino, who had stolen a set of Hypnosis Microphones and was using them to defend people in need. Though initially reluctant to use one herself, she was forced to when Sumire was outnumbered and lured into a trap. Sumire, who was a firm believer in always repaying what she owed, asked what she could do in exchange for Ageha saving her life. This sparked a deep bond that eventually led to Ageha divulging her past to Sumire, and they formed a duo known as the Rough Diamonds. They later met Kaori Sakuragi and rechristened themselves the Freestyle Angels (incidentally, Ageha came up with both names, the latter because she was a fan of Charlie’s Angels).

Her microphone takes the shape of a portable music player held on an armband and a pair of headphones with butterfly wings on them, while her speaker is a four-sided boxing scoreboard. Her ability, Reverb, allows her to hit her opponent twice in one go, although the second hit isn’t as strong. Her personal style is inspired by Akkogorilla.

In contrast to Sumire, Ageha is fun-loving, always wears a smile, and is overflowing with energy; this is largely due to regretting how she previously lived, as someone blindly obedient who didn’t fully appreciate the joys of life. She can quickly befriend just about anyone and is a bit of a flirt, but only to tease. All of this belies a keen observational eye, though, and she’ll play up being an airhead to make others underestimate her. She knows a wide variety of martial arts, with kickboxing and aikido being her specialties. Because she currently lives and works in Roppongi, she’s also good with foreign languages.

Ageha is a big fan of Sasara’s comedy routines. She's suspicious of Ramuda because she knows he was involved with Chuokhu, but isn’t fully aware of his nature as a clone. Likewise, she detests Rei for having worked on the True Hypnosis Mic, but is much better at hiding it than Sumire.

Kaori Sakuragi, AKA wallflower

“Be not another, if you can be yourself” - Paracelsus

Occupation: Self-employed craftsperson

Birthday: December 5th

Age: 20

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Height: 5′3″

Weight: 116 lbs

Blood type: A

Likes: Homemade things, aromatherapy, reading, gardening

Dislikes: Cameras, busy places, the dentist, controlling people

Favorite food: Croquettes

Least favorite food: Beef tongue

Child-star-turned-idol, lead singer of the wildly popular group ‘Cutie Blooms’, Kaori seemingly vanished off the face of the earth one day. In truth, years of constant media presence, overwork, and pressure to please her demanding stage mother had driven Kaori to have a mental breakdown. Unable to be in the presence of other people without suffering severe panic attacks, she shut herself up in her apartment just before the start of the H Age for two years. When a paparazzi tracked her down and began harassing her for interviews, she fled and became lost on the streets of Minato-ku, but was rescued by Sumire Kuino and Ageha Hinokuchi. Seeing them wield their Hypnosis Mics in her defense reminded her of her original love for singing, and she begged them to make her the third member of their crew.

While her teammates have been helping her work through her trauma, Kaori is still afraid of having her face or voice recognized. She keeps her features obscured by glasses and masks as much as possible, prefers to stay out of sight, and primarily communicates through a tablet that reads out what she writes; she’s very quiet and stammers a lot when she does speak. During her years as a shut-in, she learned to provide for herself in a number of ways, such as growing her own vegetables and making clothes and other handicrafts, the latter of which she sells online.

Her microphone takes the shape of her tablet and stylus, while her speaker is a greenhouse that overflows with more and more flowers as she gains confidence during battle. Her ability, Tongue-Tied, scrambles her opponent’s speech. Her personal style is based off of Haru Nemuri.

Kaori is sensitive, timid, and somewhat pessimistic, but still possesses a very strong determination deep down at her core. She despises the fake persona that was forced upon her by the idol industry and wants to “win back her true self”. The more comfortable she gets around someone, the more she shows her passionate and cheerful side. She’s also very creative and good at memorizing small details, but at the cost of sometimes getting lost in her own thoughts and not noticing what’s going on around her.

She’s an avid reader of Gentaro’s novels, having sent him lots of anonymous fanmail in the past. She’s also recently started listening to Jyushi’s music.

[rassicas]

Splatoon gear information from Haikara Walker

In Haikara Walker, there’s a section in the book that gives some additional flavor text to many of the pieces of gear in Splatoon. I translated these a long time ago and put them on twitter, but it was incorrect in some places, so I corrected those translations here. I also translated info for a few more pieces of gear. Because tumblr sucks, I can’t have every description be accompanied by a picture of the gear without the formatting getting weird. Also its too much effort. Anyway, here’s a google docs mirror, or just keep reading below. Enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Pearlescent Hoodie amiibo A fluffy hoodie that feels amazing, it's the same model as the one Pearl wears. There are two rings shining brightly on the left hand, and three on the right hand. "Pearl-scout” seems to be the generic name for fans of Pearl. Marinated Top amiibo Designed to boldly expose arms and waist, it's the same model of top as the one worn by Marina. There are silver accessories on the left hand, one of which is a digital watch. It seems that Marina’s fans call themselves members of the "Marination".

Rockin' Leather Jacket Annaki A thin jacket with a striking two-tone color scheme, based on the Inky Riders. Even the smiling blobfish badge on the chest shows the sense of style given off by this jacket. 

Fresh Octo Tee Cuttlegear It looks exactly like the official T-shirt made by SquidForce, but  it's a specially-made shirt that Cuttlegear created for Octolings. It has been carefully recreated, down to the reflector print on the back.  Octarian Retro Cuttlegear Like the "Retro Sweat", this is a vintage treated sweatshirt that has a piece of a classic comic printed on it. On the bottom-right of the illustration is the author's signature. Of course, the pale colors are popular. Octo Layered LS Cuttlegear  An octopus version of the squid tee dealt at the Global Testfire two years ago. An expert coordinator superimposed these different shades of red. Many Inklings pair this shirt with the Studio Octophones, and both envy and respect towards the Octolings is something that can really be felt.

Navy Eminence Jacket Enperry This jacket has a straightforward design that completely covers the body from above the knees. The overwhelming presence given off by it hangs in the air, keeping others from getting too close. The lower garments worn with it completely change the impression it gives off, which is appealing. It's possible to remove the hood.

Octoking Facemask Enperry At first glance it seems hard to breathe in, but it's made of a special material that even allows you to complete a full marathon with ease while wearing it. Even if one doesn’t talk as much, the star design around the mouth speaks for itself. Octoglasses Firefin A luxurious design with gold accents that have an "8" motif,  all in a bold crimson frame. If one puts it on their head, they'll totally feel like a celeb. 

Noise Cancelers Forge Headphones used to shut out external noise, such as when maneuvering a helicopter. Because it also has the effect of increasing the wearer's concentration, it is favored by chargers who like to bet on a single shot. Squidlife Headphones Forge In the days when it was prevalent to carry music outside, these handy headphones were sweeping the world. As time passed, it became popular among young people who prefer a cheap yet daring style.

Skull Bandanna Forge A bandanna with a design that has a strong impact. It features an image of an Inkling skull. It's common to it fold in half and wrap it around the mouth. Whether or not Inklings actually have a skull is a mystery. Custom Painted F-3 Forge This perfectly reproduced military jacket has been hand-painted, making it a luxurious item. The squid's silhouettes lined up on the back represents the number that have been defeated. The inner lining prevents body heat from escaping.

Brown FA-11 Bomber Forge A custom model of the FA-01 jacket. The inner sleeve has been replaced with a sweatshirt material, and it's been customized with things such as embroidered badges. It's an extremely rare item that you won't see much of in the city. Forge Inkling Parka Forge It's recommended to dress in a mod-like way with the military parka and a slick, 3-button suit. The jacket hides the buttocks completely, so even in shorts, one doesn't know the cold.

Crustwear XXL Grizzco This T-shirt is from Crusty Sean’s fast food truck in Inkopolis Square. Whether it's genuine or not is a mystery, but one feels better if they wear it. The illustration of the fried shrimp topped with an ample amount of whipped cream is adorable.  Squiddor Polo Grizzco The uniform from iShipit, the company that’s helped us all out at one point or another, somehow leaked out of the company. Highly absorbent and quick-drying, it is comfortable to wear even while sweating. It looks so refreshing that it makes one want to start running. Juice Parka Grizzco It's the uniform of a famous oil company, but somehow it's made it to the streets. It's made of a special cloth that’s easy to move around in, and makes it easy for dirt to fall off of. With a weapon such as a Hydra Splatling or a Goo Tuber, one can perfectly resemble an employee of that company. Shrimp-Pink Polo Splash Mob A polo shirt made in collaboration with Shrimp Kicks in Inkopolis. The shirt features a vivid pink color, and has sleeves that are slightly rounded like puff sleeves. It has a shrimp embroidery on the chest. Whale-Knit Sweater Splash Mob Part of Splash Mob's House-Tag series. It's a traditional knitted handmade sweater with cute designs of whales, squids and coral. It's warm because it uses plenty of wool, and it has a pleasant, moderately weighty feeling.

Takoroka Windcrusher Takoroka An impressive, crazily-colored nylon jacket. The large printed Takoroka logo is a sharp design. The classic design is popular among young squids.

Takoroka Nylon Vintage  Takoroka The second model in the Takoroka Nylon series. It can be summarized by it's carbon color as well as it's shining presence and mixing and matching of colors. The boldy-designed backside is also worth paying attention to. It goes well with sporty and outdoorsy activities. Crazy Arrows Takoroka  Among the popular Arrows, there are many different colorations. Once one sees this shoe's crazy colors, the unforgettable and bold colors will make the personality of the person wearing it shine even more.

Silver Tentatek Vest Tentatek A down vest that aims to be lightweight. Many are also happy with the arm band for squidphones, which can handle heavy exercise. It is extremely popular with runners. Arrow Pull-ons Toni Kensa This is the first in a series of special order Kensa models titled "Takoroka for Toni Kensa." The multiple combinations of materials shows Kensa’s attention to detail. Even the design on the sole is lovely. Inkfall Shirt Toni Kensa The quality of the materials, sewing, and silhouette are uncompromised in Kensa's masterpiece shirt. The way the asymmetrical black smear pattern contrasts with the white background of the shirt is beautiful. One can be sleek and stylish.

Anglerfish Mask SquidForce A familiar, surreal mask that's a party good. As the part of the anglerfish glows, the visibility of the wearer's surroundings is enhanced, making it very convenient in the dark. It smells a bit like rubber when worn. Hockey Mask SquidForce A mask made of a phosphorescent material, designed after the motif of a cut open mackerel.* Because it glows dimly in the dark, the wearer can make their opponent tremble with fear. Keep this mask on, and do not go near the lake. *There’s an untranslatable pun here on how the word for hockey( ホッケー )is similar to the word for a specific kind of mackerel( ホッケ). I think the red arrows on the side of the mask are supposed to resemble fish bones?

Red Hi-Horses Zink An eternally classic model from its popular series that brought a revolution to basketball courts and the streets. The brand logo is decorated on the sole, so even the footprints are cool.

[noeldressari]

Death and Champagne

So I wrote a thing about how Eryn and Leliana met. This takes place 2 years before the 5th Blight. Eryn is between 17 and 19 years old (i havent decided yet) Sorry this is so long

The stars gathered together in the sky above, eager to watch the events that were about to unfold. The moon cast its light down below like a spotlight, illuminating the Orlesian palace in brilliant white light. There was a grand ball being held, and many nobles from all over Thedas had come. The invitation list was a veritable whose-who of the worlds noble elite. The main ballroom was packed to the brim with them. Flowing dresses of the finest silk. Elegantly tailored suits embroidered with silver and gold. Jewel encrusted masks with little eyes peeking out from behind them. All the worlds finery packed into one small space. 

Among them, a Ferelden noble family, the Couslands. Teryn of Highever, Bryce Cousland had been invited as guests of the de Montfort’s. Their names were called out as they stepped into the room, and all heads turned at once. Bryce’s youngest daughter, Eryn Cousalnd, nervously scratched the back of her neck. As she stepped into the room, feeling the numerous eyes upon her, she felt like a wolf stepping into the lions den. She wore a black coat slashed with silver, dark trousers and a simple white shirt beneath; simple and practical, in stark contrast to the vibrate parade of colors surrounding her. This wasn’t her mothers choice. If her mother had her way she’d have Eryn in the prettiest dress he could find; Eryn had overheard her and Lady Isolde talking about it over dinner the night before. And although her mother had made her displeasure clear, she hadn’t made Eryn change. Eryn had good ol’ Nan to thank for that. The old cook had convinced the Teyrna that Eryn was old enough to be able to dress herself and could make up her own mind about what to wear. As if her mother didn’t have enough to be mad about in terms of Eryn’s appearance. She was already twisted into knots about Eryn cutting off her hair so only a few thick strands remained swept over her eyes. It was one of the many things that they argued about almost constantly. And another reason the two had grown apart in recent years. 

When Eryn was born, her eyes had been a vibrant blue, but over time they had dimmed to a dull shade of grey, and yet they were still electric. They threw sparks across the room as she looked around at the society that had occupied her country for nearly a century and whose rule had been overturned a few decades before she was born. She wasn’t impressed. It was all so fake. Everyone sounded tough, boasting on about their wealth, and sneering down their noses at those who could only manage. But if a famine or another Blight came to their door, what would they do then? Their money and power wouldn’t deter darkspawn, nor would it make crops grow. And yet Eryn could sense a brokenness behind every mask. They deck themselves in jewels and elegance, hiding their shattered selves as a warrior clads themselves in armor. 

The amount of sparkly surfaces condensed within the room almost made her want to squint. Her father wasn’t kidding when he said the Orlesians were adept at overdoing everything. The excess of it all was overwhelming, and Eryn found herself feeling suffocated. She forced herself to grin and bare it for a whole 20 minutes as her mother dragged her through the room, greeting people and carrying on the usual boring small talk and pointless conversations. She was finding it difficult not to fidget and her eyelids drooped from boredom. Then a blur of red caught her eye, and she allowed her gaze to be pulled away from the nobles her mother was chatting with. They’d completely forgotten she was there anyway. She didn’t find whatever had drawn her attention away, but she did notice a tall woman standing some distance away, her hair a tumble of blond curls that trailed over her shoulders. She wore a backless deep blue dress that fitted her form a little too well. She turned and Eryn allowed her gaze to follow her blonde tresses down, noticing how toned her back was. Her hips curved in such a way that- 

“Eryn!” Her mother raised her voice and nudged her slightly. Eryn blinked several times and looked back at her mother, her eyes out of focus. 

“Um, sorry, what?”

Her mother sighed. “I was just saying, Thomas here isn’t married either.”

“Ah, yeah.” Eryn looked back at the boy who was standing in front of them. She did her best to keep the disinterest out of her voice, “How do you do, sir.”  Thomas Howe was a scruffy looking boy with blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and too much enthusiasm. He was just like a puppy, except he didn’t piss on the floor; that she knew of at least. He was talking animatedly about something, and she was doing her best to pay attention. 

There was another blur of red and Eryn looked again. This time she saw what had drawn her attention. Eryn drew a breath as an arrestingly beautiful woman flitted into her view. Her long bright red hair trailed down her back and over her shoulders, free flowing like silk without a tangle or knot. Her skin was very fair and looked as delicate as porcelain, with scatterings of freckles dotted across her skin like flecks of paint on an exquisite painting. Eryn almost thought they looked like stars against a pure white sky. She wore a mask over her face like practically all the Orlesians here. It was pearly white, with a winged pattern at each side curving upward. Her dress was a delicate pink with gold embellishments, with a plunging neckline widening at the top to expose much of her shoulders and collarbone. Eryn could see more scatterings of little stars. Eryn found herself stunned by the woman's beauty, almost to the point of paralysis. Her eyes lit up with wonder and she couldn’t hide it. 

The woman disappeared into the crowd, but Eryn wanted to go with her. Most of all she wanted to get away from her mother and this babbling boy. Mustering up as much politeness as she could manage she said, “I couldn’t be more interested, ser, but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m gonna go find a drink.” 

“Oh, I can get you one!” Thomas called out after her.

“No.” Eryn held a hand up, stopping the boy dead in his tracks. “Thanks, but I can get my own.” As she moved away, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was fortunate her mother hadn’t tried to stop her.

She moved through the crowds, searching for the woman, but the sprawl of red hair seemed to have disappeared. Eventually, she stopped moving. Allowing the other crowds of people to move around her. That was often how she felt at times. Cut off from the rest of the world, a freak, a weirdo with no place in it, no where she truly belonged. While she may be standing still, the world around her was spinning on, unaware of her existence. 

One of the many servants circulating throughout the palace walked past carrying a tray of champagne in crystal glasses. Eryn could see the tiny bubbles rising in the honey colored liquid. At the last moment, she reached out and snatched a glass. She hadn’t been lying when she said she needed a drink earlier. She found a nice quiet corner to stand in, and leaned against a pillar sipping the champagne. 

As she watched the other Orlesians chatter and gossip, she noticed a familiar blur of red and saw the woman who had previously drawn her away. She had broken away from the crowds and was walking towards her purposefully. Without meaning to, Eryn found herself mesmerized by the way she walked. However ‘walked’ was the wrong word. She didn’t walk, she strutted. There was an almost hypnotic way in which she swayed her hips as she walked. Surely Eryns eyes weren't the only ones drawn by it. At her approach, Eryn awkwardly raised a hand in greeting. 

“H-Hey.” It was the only thing she could manage to say, and even then the words seemed to take an eternity to leave her mouth. She was still reeling from the woman's stunning appearance. 

“A pleasure, my lady.” The woman greeted her flawlessly in the common tongue. Eryn realized she must’ve known she was Ferelden; Fereldens were among the few who werent masked tonight. “I am Leliana.”

“Eryn. Eryn Cousland.” Eryn held out a hand lazily, and the other woman shook it. She moved her hand delicately. Her every movement had the ease and grace of a ballet dancer. Eryn marveled at the softness of her hand, but was intrigued by the vague outlines of old cuts and calluses found there. Noblewomen of Orlais weren’t known to work with their hands, at least not in any way that didn’t involve pen and paper. 

“I must say your hair is darling.”

Eryn snorted, “Funny considering I put little to no effort into it.” A half truth. Her mother had insisted it at least be combed so it didn’t as scruffy as a haystack. Despite her best efforts, however, it was still as coarse as barbed wire. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered why this woman was speaking to her. So far, Eryn had made no attempt to be friendly, and was standing quite aways from everyone else. So what was this woman doing talking to her?

“So what are you doing over here?” Leliana asked. 

“Waiting for the night to end. There’s little else to do.” Eryn glanced around, “No one here wants to talk about anything besides money or politics, or make their damn small talk.” She sighed, “Sorry, it just seems so… pointless.”

“It isn’t all just mindless chatter. You can learn a great deal about someone even with just small talk.”

“Really?” Eryn was sounding doubtful. 

“I’ve already learned a great deal about you.”

Eryn crossed her arms, addressing her with a skeptical smile, “And what’s that?” 

“That you don’t care about politics, nor about your appearance.”

“A common trait among teenagers, isn't it?” Eryn was still smiling.

“And you have a strained relationship with your mother.”

The smile evaporated. 

“Any mother would want her child to look good and proper for an event such as this. But you don’t and don’t seem to care. You are rebelling against her wishes, and thus don’t get along with your mother.” Without Eryn realizing it, Leliana had taken her hand in hers. “And your hands are calloused. Most noble’s hands are smooth. You work with them alot. But doing what, I wonder? Nobles don’t normally do much with their hands.”

Eryn tightened her grip against the womans hand before she could pull away, “Funny you should say that. Because your own hands feel quite weathered as well.” 

“I play the lute. It can be hard on the hands.”

“Yes, but that would only effect the pads of your fingers. Your palms are a bit on the rough side as well.”

“You catch on quick.” Leliana gave her a coy smile and tried to pull her hand away, “And you’ve a strong grip, too.” She said, more quietly this time, and tugging against her hand again to emphasize her point. 

Eryn grinned and released the other womans hand, feeling her fingers linger against her palms for a moment before retreating. 

“Sometimes it’s the little details that say the most. It’s not about the words said, it’s about finding the person hiding behind those words.” 

Eryn nodded soundlessly, and looked around her. Suddenly these Orlesians didn’t seem quite so frilly and foolish. “What’s with all the masks?” She asked suddenly. It was something she’d been wondering about all night, but hadn’t had the chance to ask. 

“It’s part of the Game. You never see anyones true face.” Leliana explained. Eryn had expected to hear arrogance in her voice. It seemed like every Orlesian she met spoke to her in the same sneering, smug tone. But that tone was nowhere to be found in Leliana’s voice. “We all have a face we want people to see, and a face we do not.”

Eryn chewed her lip thoughtfully, trying to make sense of what Leliana had said. Part of her was feeling less at ease, being around a woman who could disarm and see through people so easily. This was clearly a dangerous woman. There was certainly steel behind that smile. And yet, she was intrigued. 

As they talked, Eryn noticed a familiar face drift past. Leliana was still talking, but Eryn’s entire attention was fixed on the man who was moving through the crowds. She had seen his face often enough throughout her stay here in Orlais. He was a massive man, almost 6 foot, and his hands were as big and brutish as a bears paws. Like everyone else here, his face was obscured by a mask, an obsidian black one with flames around the eyes. Eryn had seen him while roaming the city. She’d done some snooping and had a found out a great deal about him. He was a nasty piece of work. There was substantial evidence that he was selling elves to Tevinter for slavery. He brought the elves and Tevinter bought them for a substantial price. It was said he was using the money to buy and furnish a house. He was a bloody criminal, there was no lie in that. But he was a rich, influential man, and no charges had ever been brought against him. No one did anything, no one cared. 

“I’ll be right back.” She said, and left to begin trailing the nobleman through the crowds. She kept a good distance from him, and her stride short. She wasn’t worried about being seen. There were plenty of hiding places. The real danger was that it would be all too easy to lose him, for the same reason. 

A figure stepped in front of her, and she looked up to see a young man giving her a pleasant but crooked smile. She tried to smile back, but only managed a faint twitch.

“Hey, Thomas.” Thomas began talking about something unintelligible that Eryn only just managed to catch bits and pieces of. Something about hunting in the Knotwood Hills. “Uh huh.” Eryn nodded, her eyes over the boys shoulder, pinned to the orlesian man. He was on his way out of the ballroom. She had to follow him quickly before he disappeared. “I couldn’t be more interested, ser, but you’ll-” She tried to squeeze past but he step in front of her again, blocking her path. He reached out a hand, but she grabbed it, and, in the same movement, shoved him to one side. His shoulders banged against one of the pillars in the room, and he starred back at her with a stupidly astonished face. Eryns almost non-existent smile had faded, and her face was hardened by her annoyance. “-have to. Excuse me.” 

Thankfully she hadn’t lost the nobleman. She caught up with him just as he left the main ballroom, the big doors thuding shut behind him. Eryn lingered by the door for a few moments, then continued after him. She rounded the corner and just managed to catch a glimpse of him making his way up a flight of stairs before he disappeared from sight. She made to follow after him, but was stopped at the foot of the stairs by a pair of heavily armored guards. They were unfriendly, and didn’t speak the common tongue. She made no attempt to try and get past them and moved away, disheartened and quietly brooding. She mulled over her options as she moved away and continued down the hallway. The stairs were obviously out of the picture. An elf hurried past, carrying a tray of drinks, her tumble of light hazelnut brown hair pulled into an intricate braid. Without thinking, Eryn looked after her, distracted by her cute pointed ears. Elves always had the cutest little ears. After a few moments she shook herself out of it.  

She walked out onto an empty balcony, and was relieved by the breeze against her face. The cool air was refreshing, and the night was unusually chilly for Orlais. She leaned against the railing and enjoyed the fresh air and open space around her as she considered. She thought about stealing a disguise and trying to slip past the guards as a servant or maybe another guard, but quickly decided against it. All the servants she’d seen here had been elves, and not only would their clothes never fit, she’d never pass for an elf. The guards here were on high alert and would be difficult to subdue out of sight. There was a slight banging noise above her head. She glanced up, and noticed another balcony several floors above her. The balcony’s doors were wide open and one of them was swinging and banging in the breeze. Looking closer at the building itself, she saw a trellis with vines reaching up alongside the palace, and stretching all the way to the roof, passing just beside the balcony above her. Strange, how much like a ladder it looked. And unusual that it passed so close to her destination, as if purposefully put there for her benefit. Of course she was several stories up. If she slipped or a breeze blew her off balance, there would be a long fall awaiting her. It was a foolish idea. 

She glanced back inside to make sure nobody was watching. Then again, a possible fall to her death seemed more appealing than Orlesian steel, and the cold of this breeze couldn’t be nearly as frigid as the soulless company found at this party. She climbed over the balcony railing, latched her fingers onto the trellis, and began the climb it. This had seemed a great deal easier in her head. The trellis didn’t offer much room for her hands to get a proper handhold. There were only square shaped little holes should could fit her fingers through thanks to the unusually tiny size of her hands. But all the pressure was focused on a very small space on her hands and the wood was digging into her fingers, leaving blisters. She did her best not to look down and keep her eyes forward. She told herself it was only a ladder she was climbing. A ladder leading to the top of an apple tree, with a fall of about 6 feet. Nothing to worry about. If she had been thinking about the bone shattering fall beneath her feet, she might’ve been paralyzed by fear. 

The trellis shook and there was a loud snapping somewhere below her. She stopped, instantly. It suddenly occurred to her that this wooden trellis wasn’t designed to carry her weight. For a moment, everything was still. She stayed where she was, the night breeze rustling her clothes as she dangled along the side of the building, her only lifeline a rickety piece of wood. Then, the lifeline was severed. Panic surged over her as the wooden trellis began to fall away from the building, threatening to take her with it down the ground below. She reeled back crazily, trying to regain her balance. At the last moment, she jumped. The trellis fell away behind her as she flew through the air, her legs flailing. Her fingers caught hold of the edge of a window sill and the air was knocked out of her as she slammed into the side of the building. Eryn gasped, and tried to ignore the intense pain pulsing in her hands. Her legs flailed and scrambled to get a foothold, but there was none to be found. She would need to do this with her arms, but whatever she did it had to be quickly. Her hands were loosing feeling. She strained and pulled herself up with all her strength. Her feet found the solid concrete and she hugged the side of the building, struggling to catch her breath. 

As she regained her stamina, she noticed she was standing in front of a window. Thankfully it was half covered by curtains, but there was a slight crack through them. She wondered what someone might be thinking if they could see a mysterious figure standing right outside the window. A ghost, perhaps? She peeked in through the crack in the curtains and saw someone moving around inside the room. It was too dark to tell who it was, but tuning out the noise of the wind, she could just make out a voice. Eryn pressed her ear to the glass, focusing in on the voice. Though she could make out the voice more clearly, she couldn’t make out any words. It was all distorted gibberish, and nothing made sense. Something about someones horse and... a radish? Then she remembered where she was. They were speaking Orlesian. Of course she couldn’t understand them. 

Even though she could understand none of the words, she recognized one of the voices talking. It was the man. She was sure of it. For a moment, she was half tempted to try and open the window and walk in. But there was no latch for the window on the outside. She would have to keep going up and find the balcony she’d seen when her journey had started. She glanced up and tried to find it again to orientate herself. But it wasn’t there. She frowned, puzzled, and scanned the sky above her again. Had she mistaken the balcony for something else? It couldn’t have just vanished. Her gaze drift down, and she realized with relief that she’d merely made more progress than she originally thought. The balcony was right next to her. She only had to shimmy her way across another window sill and she’d be on it. She somehow managed not to slip and climbed over the railing of the balcony, her feet making a satisfying thump upon her arrival. 

She took a moment to shake feeling back in her hands.The open door swung again in the wind, and just as she turned her head, the door decided to slam into her. She stumbled to the side slightly, her legs still wobbly from the climb, and had to resist the instinct to push the blasted door back. Her fingers hooked onto the door handle and she peeked inside. The room was dark, but she could make out a fireplace burning on the right walls of the room, and in the center of the room, the headboard against the wall closest to her, a fancy Orlesian bed without any pillows. That puzzled Eryn. A bed without pillows. Why? She slipped inside and closed the balcony door. She moved silently through the room and noticed there were stairs leading to a lower half of the room. One one side of the room she could see a desk piled high with papers and a globe sitting in a corner. To the other side she saw a couch surrounded by bookcases that stretched all the way to the ceiling. She glanced up at the ceiling and wondered again why the Orlesians insisted on putting gilding on literally everything. Who cares what the ceiling looks like? Why even bother gliding it with intricate rectangle patterns? She heard voices again and the man walked in, an elven servant trailing behind but stopping in the doorway. Eryn just managed to slip behind one of the pillars and out of sight. She was grateful there were no mirrors nearby that might’ve otherwise given her away. They were still speaking in Orlesian but Eryn detected the man wasn’t happy about something. He was speaking to the elf in a sneering tone, and sounded as if he was berating her for something. He began flipping through the papers on the desk, ignoring what the elf was saying. Then a guard stepped in, announced something, then left. The man raised his voice briefly, and the servant nodded and hurried away. 

Eryn knelt down and lifted up her pant leg, unsheathing the dagger hidden in her boot. It was a tanto-like blade with a sharply angled tip, slightly resembling a chisel point. Her target wasn’t wearing any armor, but if he had been the blade would’ve been able to pierce through it without breaking. Her brother had given the blade to her when she was 13. He’d intended that she’d use it for self-defence, of course. Still kneeling on the floor, Eryn peeked around the pillar. He was still there, but now the elven servant was gone. He was alone, utterly unaware of her presence as he. She wouldn’t get a better chance. She had to act now. But how to get to him? He was facing out from the room and there was no way for her to approach him without him seeing her. Normally she would’ve just leapt over the railing and killed him, but that would’ve been messy, and she had to keep her suit clean to avoid suspicion; and the wrath of her mother. She could probably throw a knife, but she wasn’t well practiced with knife throwing, and didn’t trust her aim in the dark. Then she had an idea. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a caprice coin. She remembered someone telling her that these were meant to be thrown into a fountain, and shook her head. These Orlesians threw away money just for the hell of it. Tonight she’d be tossing this coin with a purpose greater than it was intended. She flicked her thumb, and there was an audible click as the coin was flung into the air. The firelight flickered against the coin as it flew. It bounced twice on the stairs, then rolled to rest on the lower floor. The man had heard the sound and looked up. He noticed the coin glinting in the light, and moved to investigate. If he had wondered how it had got there, he didn’t seem to care. Money was money. He leant down to pick it up. That was when Eryn made her move. She broke away from her hiding spot and sprinted down the steps, two at a time. She buried the knife in hers neck just as he straightened up. She was careful to do it quickly and cleanly. She didn’t want to get any blood on her suit. The coin dropped out of the mans hand, and soon after he lay sprawling on the floor right next to it, his blood pooling around the corner. Blood money. The word came through Eryns mind as she wiped the blade clean on the dead mans clothes then secured it back into the sheath in her boot. 

There was a slight squeak of a shoe, and Eryn’s head jerked up. There was a woman standing in the doorway. Her eyes narrowed as she searched through the darkness and Eryn realized she knew this woman. It was Leliana. Eryn also realized that she’d tried to sneak up on her. Leliana hid her surprise well, her voice was poisoned honey, 

“You’re not supposed to be up here.” 

“Yes, it would seem I got a bit... lost…” Eryn said slowly as she straightened up and backed away from the body, “I don’t suppose you can tell me which way to the ballroom?” 

Leliana took a few strides towards her, her voice still sweet as rose water, “Yes, if you’ll just come with me, I’ll show you.” As she moved forward, she stepped into the fire light and something glinted in her hand. She was holding a knife. 

“Ah, no thanks.” Eryn shook her head and raised both hands, “I’ll be just fine on my own.” She glanced over her shoulder briefly, quickening her pace towards the window from whence she’d come. She hesitated for a few more seconds, then turned and ran. 

She made for the balcony from which she’d come, taking the steps two at a time, and all the while hearing the other womans footsteps dangerously close behind. Struggling not to slide of the marble floor, she made it to the balcony and burst back out into the refreshing outside air. She turned and put a foot on a potted plant, grateful that it took her weight. She reached up, her fingers hooking onto the drain, and began pulling herself up towards the roof. As her foot left the ground she could hear Leliana’s footsteps behind her, and she glanced behind her just long enough to catch a glimpse of just out close the other woman was. She was practically on her heels, and reaching out to pull her down, but Eryn acted quickly. She gripped the edge of the roof with both hands and lashed out with her feet. Her heels slammed into the woman, and there was a thud as she fell back from the blow. Eryn immediately began climbing again, and scrambled onto the roof. 

Eryn struggled to get a proper footing on the roofs shingles, but after a few stumbles she finally got the feel of it. Although she didn’t have much time to appreciate, being up here gave her perspective on just how huge the palace was. The rooftops were like their own separate city of the skies, slanting roads of teal shingles criss crossing and rising and falling. The design of Val Royeaux was unlike anything Eryn had seen before or after she’d come to this country. It certainly made getting around on these roofs more interesting. 

The roof slanted suddenly, and Eryn found herself sliding down it too quickly to stop herself. Her journey ended quickly with a smash. She looked up and realized she’d fallen into someone’s living room. The object that had broken her fall was a coffee table, both legs smashed on one side, the cloth covering it had tangled around her legs. Eryn ripped the cloth away and stumbled to her feet. She glanced around the room as she brushed herself off. Why would the Orlesians build their houses like this? A living room with a giant square hole in the roof? What if it rained and you got soaked? Or did Orlesians keep servants with umbrellas for that eventuality? It wouldn’t have surprised her. With Orlesians you never know. 

Then she glanced up and saw her pursuer again. The sight snapped her out of her thoughts and she took off running again. Her feet echoed against the marble floors as she ran through the strangely silent room, heading for the balcony just ahead. She burst through the doors, and without stopping she leapt onto the railing and off the edge, making for the ledge of another part of the palace. She caught it at the last second, but she still managed it, and began climbing back into the roof. 

Leliana was relentless in her pursuit. Eryn was beginning to wonder how much longer until she could break free and out of her line of sight. Perhaps she would need to disappear into another one of the rooms? Just then, the shingles crumbled under her feet as she slid down the side of the roof. The roof she was on slanted very severely and stopped. It ended into a wide chasm, with a long drop to the cobbles down below. Ahead of that she could see the ledge of another roof on otherside of the massive gap racing towards her. Electric with nervous energy, she wanted to jump now, but she made a conscious effort to wait, knowing how far she had to jump, and how little time she would have until there would be no coming back. She waited until the very last moment, then leapt forward, her arms stretching out towards the rooftop on the other side. The night air blasted all around her, the stars above flickered as they watched to see what would happen next. Bloody hell. She wasn’t going to make it. Eryn yelled as the edge of the roof raced towards her, then her fingers slammed against it and she gripped it desperately. Her own body weight dragged at her, trying to throw her down to the pavement below. She risked a glance back and saw the woman watching her, seemingly frozen in a moment of indecision. But it could only be a matter of time before she continued the pursuit. 

Eryn strained her arms and pulled herself up and onto the roof. As she did so, she heard the shingles clattered as she woman began sliding down the roof towards her. Eryn had to waste a few precious seconds catching her breath when she made it to the roof, and looked up in time to see the other woman flying through the air, soaring towards her. She remained there watching for a moment. She couldn’t help her self, she was mesmerized by the sight. 

    When the woman reached the other side, the sound of the impact snapped her out of her mesmerized state. She put a foot onto the ground, preparing to bolt away again, but there was an unsettling sound coming from below her. The gutter that she’d grabbed on her way over, and that the woman was now using to do the same, was shuttering and grinding. With sudden disbelief, Eryn realized it was coming loose. She had only seconds to react, and she did so without thinking. 

The smart thing would’ve been stand by and watch as the woman fell backwards into the ground below. End the danger, and she could go home for the night. But there was a little voice in her head that rejected the idea. As much of a rebel as Eryn was, there was still a human part of her that refused to be silenced by sense. A whisper of conscience that only just managed to tip the scales in the opposite direction of sense. As the gutter came free, the woman cried out as she fell briefly through the air. Eryn lunged down and stretched out her hand. As she gripped the womans hand, she had to hold on tightly against the roof with the other, to keep them both from tumbling down. She gritted her teeth, feeling Leliana gripping her arm with both hands. The older woman was staring up at her with wide eyes, and Eryn couldn’t tell if there was shock or fear in them. Glancing around, she could see a small balcony below and to the left of them. It was closer than the ground was, and while a landing onto it would still be rough, it would be survivable. Eryn slowly managed to swing her arm back, and with a grunt she threw the woman onto the balcony. There was a loud crunch as the little table that was sitting there broke under Leliana, but she was otherwise unharmed. By the time she looked back up at the roof, Eryn had already gone. 

Eryn ran on along the palace rooftops until she came to a small garden, empty and silent. She dropped down into the garden, landing in some bushes that broke her fall. The moonlight spilled little shafts of light through the vine tunnel she walked through, silver mingling with the green and other various colors of the flowers dotted on the vegetated walls around her. She found a dark, quiet spot in a corner and knelt down to wait while she caught her breath. The night was chattering with sound. Insects chirped around her, a few fountains trickled emanating the soothing sound of flowing water, owls hooted in the distance, and in the distance she could vaguely hear the noise of the party. Listening to the thud of her own heart, she noticed a new sound she didn’t recognize until she heard it a second time. It was a nightingale. She’d very rarely heard the birds call. They weren’t common in Ferelden. 

When her breathing was back under her control and her heart rate had returned to normal, she stood up and quietly moved to peek out from her hiding place. There were no unnatural sounds in the garden, no footsteps, and aside from the flickering lightning bugs, nothing moved. Deciding that it was safe to move, she left her hiding spot and set about finding her way back to the party before she was missed. Her mother would likely allow her some time to wander, but eventually she’d begin to wonder where she was. 

She noticed a pair of doors leading inside. A few lights were on behind the glass, and she could see people moving around. She started towards it, but then a hand clamped down on her arm and pinned it behind her. In a moment, a knife was at her neck, and a voice whispered to her, warm air brushing against her ear, 

“Aren’t you a little young to be an assassin?”

“You’re not much older than me.” Eryn retorted, “And I highly doubt you were there to help him cut his cheese with the knife thats against my throat.” 

Leliana was completely calm, speaking slowly and evenly, which was somehow even more nerve wracking. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t lying back at the party.” Eryn spoke quickly, allowing a little panic to enter her voice, “I really am Eryn Cousland, Bryce Couslands youngest daughter. That wasn’t a lie.” Her breath hitched as the knife pressed tighter against her throat. She could feel her quickening pulse beating against the blade. 

“And who are you working for?”

“No one.” Eryn said simply. 

There was a pause as Leliana processed this. “Then I suppose no one will miss you when you’re dead.”

“Except my family, looks that way, yeah.” Eryn closed her eyes and waited for death to take her. But it didn’t. There was a long pause. 

“What do you mean by ‘no one’.”

Eryn opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. Wasn’t she going to kill her? What was she waiting for? “Uhhh… No one?... What else would I mean?” 

“You killed him for nothing?” 

“No. I killed him for me.” Eryn spoke easier, suddenly forgetting the knife, bitter anger surging in her voice, “I did my research and frankly I didn’t like him. Slavery is an abomination. The bastard’s just as much a criminal as I am and yet he walks the streets free without fear.” 

“Slavery is illegal. But the elves are not slaves.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Leliana’s grip on her arm had lightened, and Eryn spun around on her heels so that they faced each other. The knife was still at her neck, but she ignored it. She knew this wasn’t the true issue at the moment, but she couldn’t let it go. “Then tell me, milady, what is the difference between slavery and this whole servant thing?” 

    “They’re indentured servants. And most nobles here treat them well.” 

    Eryn scoffed, “And what will they do when it’s all over? Become a knight? Earn a proper wage as a scribe? And who would hire an elf for anything beyond sweat work? As if they could find work or even respect anywhere in a world designed to oppress them. It’s just slavery with a fancy name.” Eryn gritted her teeth, but fought back against the defiant urge to protest further, “But this is besides the point. The man’s still a crook. He was selling the elves to Tevinter, profiting on their misfortune and no one was gonna do anything, so I did. It’s not more complicated than that.”

“Have you any proof?”

“Check out the papers on his desk. You’ll find a few missives detailing the transactions. Do some more digging, and you’ll find even more. Secret meetings, smuggling shipments, money appearing out of thin air. It’d take a while to go into every last detail.”

“I see… You’ve a soft spot for the elves?” 

Eryn felt indignant rage flaring through her, “It isn’t just about elves!... It’s a little that. No. It’s more than that. Look, people get screwed over everyday, and end up dead in a ditch for worse, and the people responsible go on with their lives as if nothing had happened, with no repercussions at all.” She gave Leliana a hard look, “If karma won’t kill them, then I fucking will.” 

“So you’re a vigilante then? Killing people you deem guilty?”

“I don’t see anyone else volunteering for the job. The honor bound law is inept for the simple fact that they play by different rules than their opponents. You can’t win against a cheater without cheating yourself.”

“That may be true,” She paused, “But you’re not always right about who truly deserves to die.” 

“Does anyone truly get that right?” 

The blade fell away from Eryns throat slightly. “Your hearts in the right place, but I don’t know where your heads at.”

Eryn gave her a sly smile. “I’ve got a few screws loose, that’s for sure.” 

Leliana tilted her head slightly to the side, studying Eryn with a pair of stunning blue eyes that Eryn found difficult to look away from. Eryn could see the wheels turning, calculations going on in that head, and wondered if she was about to meet her end. Perhaps she’d just ensured her own death by speaking her mind so honestly. She might seem deranged to this woman, and it may seem a mercy to put her down. “It takes a skilled person to climb up several floors and kill a man with the power and influence such as that.”

“And it takes an equally skilled person to run after someone and do parkour in a bloody dress.” Eryn looked over Leliana’s dress again, and wondered if it was designed in such a way to allow for such things. “Now why don’t you go ahead and kill me. We both know you won’t risk me going to the authorities. Unless,” She trailed off and let her words roll on her tongue for a moment, tasting them like a fine wine, “You need something?” 

Leliana giggled, a rich sound that sent a delightful tickle through Eryns chest. “What makes you think I need something?”

“If you really wanted me dead, you’d have killed me by now.” Eryn took another step forward, and lightly brushed the knife away, no longer fearing its touch.

“And if I do need something?”

“For the right price, I might take interest.” Eryn allowed another smirk ooze over her lips. This trip to Orlais was looking like it was going to be a lot of fun.

[jettremy]

24 for cas :p

( * seven minutes in heaven ~ PART ONE. )

                    ➥  (   24.  )  trailing kisses from stomach to mouth.

           WHEN SOMEONE DUMPS YOU & takes a big fat chunk out of your bleeding heart, you usually don’t end up making out with them on an uncomfortable, tiny as shit closet floor after four excruciatingly languid years of no contact whatsoever, or at least that’s the case 99.99% of the time. that rare, peculiar and quite miserable 0.01% consists of the world’s tallest dweebus & his besotted memey edgelord who are in the midst of producing a well composed symphony of sharp intakes of breath and light humming that might just be heard on the outside of the closet door if a curious ear happened to be in the close proximity of it. even though they’re S O L E L Y making out for the time being, the smooth glide of their mouths, the home-like familiarity cassius’ embrace delivers, and the aching NOSTALGIA for better times lure these obscene noises away from jeremy’s vocal cords, causing the faint moans to slip into cas’ oral cavity and resonate in his lungs, the vibrations transmitting the t o r t u r e d artist’s inexplicable need for the older, equally sexual & emotional. his in comparison two-centimeter-smaller hands trace every available inch of the other’s body, getting REACQUAINTED with all the dents and curves and in a way testing his memory when it comes to the data his tactile senses have previously stored. once they’ve trailed and teased the skin atop cas’ entire spine, jeremy’s salacious fingers become entangled in the soft peachy locks on the back of cas’ head, tugging briefly in order to coax a sound or two out of the one on top before slamming their lips together deeper and deeper each time. he fails to be embarrassed at the telltale whimper he emits once their burning tongues lecherously tantalize each other since this is the man who’s aware of jeremy’s tendencies to get vocal & noisy when at their most intimate, and above all because this is the man in front of whom he has no shame, the man who knows even the dustiest, most moldy corners of his being like the back of his hand. jeremy’s cautiously leaning back inch by inch, his strong abs tensing and allowing him to do so until one of his elbows reaches the floor and he’s slightly propped up. his unoccupied hand gets busy kneading the flesh of cas’ inner thigh when a B I T E to his luscious bottom lip ends their kiss in order for them to take a breather. his other arm joint accompanies the previous one on the floor and jeremy’s stuck gazing at cassius with a leer plastered on his amused face, as if the older put all the stars in the sky for him.         ❛     you adorable piece of fucking shit … you’ll be the DEATH of me, y’know that ?     ❜         a throaty chuckle’s added for the emphasis before he, abruptly and without a warning, drags cas up on his pelvis, where he belongs. his big browns are invitingly flirting, and vomit-inducing butterflies slam at his innards when he detects cas leaning down for another round of desperate lip-locking. except, his digits find a job for themselves on the small buttons of jeremy’s silky dress shirt. sure, they have only a few fucking minutes and they won’t manage to get very far, but who is jeremy lee to stop cas from doing what his little heart desires ?

           ONE QUICK SWIPE of skeletal fingers unveils a highly contrasting dark ink etched into a pasty, fleshy torso, displaying an artistic canvas in the form of jeremy’s chest & hard-to-maintain abs. among the scattered graphics, there’s one inspired by the splendid man atop, and it torments jeremy’s thin, dilapidated HEARTSTRINGS when he dips down to join his lips with that exact spot, the reposing male’s eyes naturally falling shut as he succumbs to the older’s ministrations and the gratification they give him. he can’t say he gives a damn about what he’ll look like when he exits the closet, with a collapsed hairstyle and devastatingly crinkled dress shirt, a suspicious, k n o w i n g look on his visage whenever he so as glances at his ex-boyfriend during the rest of the night, doesn’t concern with brainstorming about all kinds of gossip that will spread like wildfire due to the two of them allowing themselves to enjoy each other’s company in the way they truly desire. he’s jaded, enervated because of all the HIDING they’re doing, as well as concealing their once existing feelings in front of the group. he delightfully wants to inform everyone about cas’ favorite dishes he used to tirelessly, blithely cook for him, their hilarious adventures and the fact that he knows the older’s body better than his own, rant about his adorable, captivating quirks & kooky habits, brag about how he could make him blush without trying much, or please his every need. perhaps not every - if he had been capable, then maybe cas would have stayed, would have made it work, or would have taken jeremy with him, who was pathetically prepared to go to the ends of the world for him and with him, still is. perhaps then it would have been harder to leave, would be more HARROWING for him to be in jeremy’s immediate vicinity, perhaps then all of jeremy’s delicate touches would incinerate his whole being, both gnaw at & heal his ruptured, defected heart. perhaps then he’d feel like jeremy does, perpetually suffer just like him, carry a chest full of separation anxiety & a constant crippling bellyache, like an abandoned child ( which, coincidentally, he was ). it’s insane, worrisome that after all this time he only has HIMSELF to blame for not being worthy, good enough for cas to stay, for him to seek him out, reach out, check whether he’s well and with a pulse, say he misses him, thinks about him, smiles or cries when their memories inevitably surface from time to time, that seeing bikes on the street reminds him of the breezy rides jeremy would take him on, that tattoos will never be the same after him, dial him even intoxicated, out of his right mind. and though jeremy always slept with his sound on and phone right next to his head, never dropped the old number, he didn’t get a single call. too fixated on feeling him right here & right now, savoring his coveted touches while he still can because no one guarantees that this will ever happen again, he doesn’t detect the burning wet trails rolling down his face, paints his battle with suffocation as himself trying not to moan due to cassius’ cushioned lips being too close to his leather belt. he’s terrified cas would vanish if he asks him if he missed him, if he loved him, if he still has a sliver of olden feelings within him, if this means more than just cas needing him physically, more than just their starving bodies being PERFECTLY COMPATIBLE. and even though he dons a convincing mask every day in order not to perturb & plague two and a half people who give a shit about him, as well as not give the likes of han yeseul any material to inhumanely gloat over, he hasn’t been fine for the longest time   ——   he can sense himself slipping more & more, hands itching to burn a joint or an abandoned building routinely, too often for it to be considered normal anymore. a sane person wouldn’t let themself be manipulated, tortured like this, wouldn’t be collapsing under their ex’s spell once again   ——   alas, he didn’t learn & has no intention of denying cassius anything, which he imprudently affirms when he ravenously, anticipatorily grips his styled pastel locks hard as he awaits the businessman’s tongue to come in contact & glide over his sharp v line, causing his stomach to hollow and dip with the gravitational force, towards his spine, his tactile receptors both enjoying the sensation and finding it too much to handle. he exhales some of the pain from his rotten, aching lungs, wistful, hopeless wails for love emitted in the form of moans, his toes curl as arresting ELECTRICITY speeds through his limbs, causing his not expecting muscles to tense & clench powerfully as cas’ immoral mouth makes its way upwards, molesting all the sweet spots he’s aware jeremy has. his plush lip is nearly mangled by his incisors as a response to his hypersensitive nipple being toyed with and he can no longer restrain himself, prevent his hands from h a r s h l y gripping his former lover’s hips and making him relieve them both by grinding on him as more of jeremy’s tears pitifully roll down his pale temples on either side of his face. it’s not long before he’s cowardly tilting his anguish-stuffed head to the side, not only to conceal the fact that he’s crying but also to expose his neck in sheer NEED for cas, a string of vile curses bouncing off the walls of the treasured closet as he gets caught off guard with light suction on his tender flesh, whispering a hoarse, growly you can, knowing cas would immediately know what it means. he wouldn’t mind being eternally branded as cassius’, he’d haughtily wear any expression of love given to him by the adorably taller, just like he, hopefully, at least once, wore the ring jeremy got from his biological mother & gifted him as a symbol of his undying love. though he’d get paralyzed at the visceral memories of cas dragging his lithe tongue over his jawline, all the way to his shell where he’d whisper to him, now he forces himself not to shut down completely as it happens, not even when he gets asked why he’s crying. a deflective just kiss me proves to be enough to avoid the otherwise exhausting interrogation he’d be trapped in if he took the bait & answered that inquiry. 

          A BIG, HEFTY PILE OF DOG SHIT is undoubtedly worth more to jeremy than any of han yeseul’s opinions or words and would consequently evoke more emotion within him than she’ll ever be able to. the human equivalent to an intestinal parasite with an eternal, fat, spiked stick up its rotten ass will never affect his state of mind even slightly, or cause him to doubt himself and his actions even more than a mere millisecond. her little spiel the other day came into one of his ears and immediately exited through the other, safe for a single tidbit of information with which she fucked herself over. if there were any truth to her retching-inducing interest in cassius, she brought jeremy’s attention to it and now he’ll do everything in his power to sabotage whatever she has planned, because he’d rather die than let her defile & corrupt, rob the walking talking piece of heaven called cassius hwang. on top of that, he considers his ex to be highly intelligent & skilled at recognizing soul-sucking, good-for-nothing, money-hungry, skanky snakes. again, why the fuck does kerry hang out with her ? for a moment, he’s concerned about the girl’s neural cells and healthy judgement, or lack thereof. she must be at least half brain dead to hang out with someone with zero positive qualities. furthermore, underestimating jeremy’s ELEPHANTINE ego, unvacillating confidence & cockiness is a rookie mistake no one in their right mind should make since the honey-mouthed rascal is so self-assured that he’s in result convinced that he can woo just about anyone you could point at in a crowd of people. it’s downright pathetic how she ridiculously presents herself as overly self-confident whilst her insecure, attention-hungry eyes always stray to check if HE’s watching whenever she is interacting with cas, that she feels the need to send him taunting texts as if she’s fucking desperate for jeremy’s reactions   ——   FUCK, maybe she’s foolishly trying to make him jealous because she’s obviously fucking obsessed with him & not his ex ?! regardless, her devious plan to demolish what he has with cassius will be nothing short of a FAILURE, which is only further proven by the way the heated pair refuses to make their bodies part even as they’re aware that the majority of their given time has surely passed. ‘ ONE MORE MINUTE ! ’ a voice echoes, disturbingly close to the thin door, as if the meddlesome person has been listening the entire time, to the duet of smooching noises & responding grunts, but jeremy has no more than an eight of a brain at the moment & cannot be bothered to figure out who the owner of it is. with his spidery, inked limbs faster than his awareness of the action being done, he flips cassius onto the ground with determination and cages him, forces him to look at his overweening, lordly face up close before kneeling between his squat-thickened legs & slowly beginning to button up his unfortunate shirt. midway, he becomes bored with the tedious, repetitive task and yanks cassius up into a sitting position to finish that mundane action, only for his shuttered eyes to unexpectedly roll, head carelessly thrown back at the sloppy neck kisses he’s willingly receiving as his rose gold shirt gets fixed into the best state possible regarding the fact that they spent almost full seven minutes messing around on the floor.         ❛     you know birthdays are sacred, right ? … you should spend it with someone who loves you .. if you get what i’m saying … ahm. let’s continue this tonight, after the party ?     ❜         the evocative offer hangs in the air as jeremy’s gifted, elegant digits find those of the lanky male’s in order to hold them   ——   instantly they detect an INTRICATE ACCESSORY around one of the fingers, mindlessly lifting his hand up to inspect it since he cannot for the life of him hold eye contact as he awaits the nerve-racking response that could have painful consequences for his exhausted heart. promptly his orbs shine with recognition, shifting hilariously between cas’ browns and the object of his interest so violently and swiftly that they threaten to turn into an endless slot machine. he’s devastatingly BAFFLED, shook to the core, heart racing & hands blatantly starting to tremble. it’s that feeling in your stomach that only appears when you’re at the highest peak of a roller coaster, cart making a terrifying pause over the edge as it prepares to lunge down, and you’re a millisecond away from screaming your poor lungs out, peeing yourself and puking all over your buddy, but in a good way, you know ?   ——   does this mean anything more than cassius simply appreciating the ring for its aesthetic value, and is there any hope for the emotionally mutilated tattoo artist ? he doesn’t dare open that pandora’s box considering how little time they have in the privacy of solely each other’s company, but he wants to showcase his acknowledgement & gratitude for the fact that cas hasn’t tossed the piece of jewelry in the first dumpster after their parting. he topples over the man, pinning him to the ground strongly and nearly suffocating with a flurry of emotional kisses, those which shamelessly expose just how touched he is by a seemingly small, unimportant thing to the outsider, which means the world to jeremy. what he is yet to learn is that the festive group on the other side of the door is ready to steal this piece of heaven away from them and disrupt what they have going on.        ❛    dae, it’s over, open it~ !     ❜         a particularly ( unnecessarily ) loud blonde amazonian shouts from the ridiculously boujee sofa once her phone startles her by having its alarm go off when no one in particular was paying attention to the device in question. shockingly obedient, daehyun gives the closet another awfully polite knock & announces that they will be letting them outside before poking their little head through the thinly cracked door, eyes innocently peering & needing a bit of time to adjust to the darkness before they yelp at the sight of the ongoing, all but chaste scene before them. embarrassed, with pink hued cheeks, they regretfully shut it and back away a little, whispering a few words of warning to the hot & bothered pair, so that they wouldn’t be discovered by the remainder of the group. they mentally smirk like the evil little minx they are, though, because their INTUITION was right yet again.         ❛     guys ! hurry up !     ❜         daehyun rushes them in now full on panic when their ears pick up on a set of dooming footsteps coming towards them chillingly, and they’re right to do so, making jeremy laughably snap out of it & pull back from cassius in a matter of seconds, as if his ex has been crafted from fucking lava itself. shit. he clears his throat & straightens up, aiding cas to his feet and brazenly winking at daehyun   ——  he’s convinced they’ll be taking this mutually shameful little incident to the grave anyway, partially because of their baseless & quite frankly ridiculous fear of cassius. the cogs in his overflowing brain surprisingly start turning swiftly & he masterfully begins pretending to continue a business conversation with cas, something about promoting his tattoo show on his radio station, as they step out of the closet & join the ogling bunch, not paying them the time of day since he doesn’t want to see their prying expressions and beady little eyes scanning them from head to toe as if they’re america’s most wanted criminals. he simpers victoriously when cas announces that the game should be over in order for them to get to the established birthday venue in time for their reservation, and as everyone casually packs up & moves outside towards the over the top limo, jeremy bluffs being busy looking for something in order to be the last one out with cas who needs to lock up the place, only to steal a sneaky peck & give his irresistible ass a squeeze sub rosa. he runs off to join their friends before he can hear cas potentially complain.

          A COLOURFUL DISPLAY OF AMBROSIAL DRINKS decorates the opulent, chic black table of the private booth, the grandest & most exclusive one in the entirety of the polished & tastefully stylized venue   ——   at the very arrival, a frivolous discussion was held about which celebrities might have sat in whose seat, neglecting the fact that KENT, OHIO isn’t HOLLYWOOD per se. jeremy has no doubt that this, along with the posh birthday dinner they attended prior to the nightclub, has only made a small dent in cas’ account   ——   a street rat like jeremy ( one that cassius’ affluent parents accepted warmly regardless of the fact that he wasn’t as well-heeled as them, for which he will carry everlasting gratitude in his heart ) could never imagine having enough money to splurge on a similar event he’d forget anyways if he let himself negligently dive into his notoriously reckless alcohol consumption. with his lonesome prepregaming, the drinking games they played, wine that was served along with dinner and this being their first round of drinks here, the architect equipped with a stomach of steel is still certain on his feet & clear in his mind, enough to pick up on a set of venomous eyes burning holes in his skull as he endearingly follows the birthday boy with his own pair of obsidians. since she’s withing an earshot & the music is yet to reach brain-liquifying levels, he scoffs & addresses her without allowing the others to sense any negative vibes.           ❛     give it a rest with the ogling, yeseul … you’re not my type. but it seems that doesn’t go for that dude over there, so be a p e s t elsewhere,     ❜         he motions vaguely until the literal demon goddess herself, chu yumi, comes to collect her frenemy ( & hopefully drag her back to the frozen depths of hell where they both belong ), buzzing about a threesome & whatever else jeremy didn’t manage to catch her ranting about due to her insufferable, fast speaking manner, and he can’t say he’s interested. though chumi has that same irritatingly-crafted, arrogant, emotionally fucking stupid vixen personality to her, at least he can go without taking her blabbing head off her shoulders whilst they’re together in a room for longer than five minutes, and he believes he could be tolerant when it comes to the other snake too only if she dropped her pitiful attempts to annoy him by messing with someone he obviously cares about more than anyone’s ever cared for her. alas, he was’t about to duel her & disappoint cas by quarreling and ruining his day, so he played it off as if he didn’t know she was staring at him because she was continuing to see through his bullshit, or however she phrased it that one time when she tried to lecture him. a light burn of booze down the throat deletes her presence from his already cluttered brain entirely & for the rest of the night he can’t say that she crosses his mind at all. it passes majorly with daehyun’s whiny, restless tugs & yanks of his silky sleeves towards the dance floor, and he ultimately does cave without being the single grim black sheep of the group, but he frequently goes back to their booth for a calming cigarette & another taste of alcohol, because without an intoxicating sip beforehand he physically wouldn’t be able to make a fool of himself carelessly in a dance circle. currently the artist is on a mini break in order for his feet & calves to recover, two pieces of a minty fresh bubblegum popped into his mouth after his last death stick; all alone in his seat, he’s checking the appointments he has for the next week, since he cleared the schedule for cas’ birthday   ——   the biggest pieces he already has all sketched up and confirmed with the customer, so he’s not too stressed about taking a few days off. he reflexively raises his unfocused pupils from the multicoloured pixels when he feels someone drop beside him, the deafening music preventing him from hearing their hard breathing, but he can see the hyper rise & fall of cas’ slightly sweaty chest. he carefully lowers his phone down onto the table, meticulous about avoiding a couple of wet spots from cocktail spillage, and offers the exhausted dancer his untouched glass of water, watching him gulp it down in seconds, making it disappear like a magician. always being generous ( philanthropic, even ) with compliments when it comes to cas, he leans up to his ear & makes sure to let him know how SEXY he was up on that dance floor, his hand unabashedly landing on his muscular thigh, the shell covered with nips & torturing, languid laps of jeremy’s tongue. light strokes & squishes interchange, as if he’s kneading dough under the table, and his free hand tilts the gorgeous, glowing man’s head towards himself. no one’s looking, he whispers nostalgically   ——   he frequently used to be on the receiving end of those secretive words when, nine years ago, they hung out in their neighbourhood & jeremy wasn’t openly CASSEXUAL, so he worried about kissing him in public in the fear of having his ass kicked by his homophobic friends. tonight, he’s the one to reassure the other that no one but strangers would discover them, and soon lazy, tipsy smiles melt & mold together euphorically   ——   it’s the club atmosphere, he assumes, heightening the sexual desire, since generally he would be more than fine with solely getting kisses for days, but now it’s as if he’ll wither & die if he doesn’t get the older on his lap immediately. a pleading let’s go gets repeated a couple of times in sheer need before the ache for cas’ body becomes so unbearable that he has to speak his mind.          ❛    leave the limo for them, tell the driver to pick us up in a different car. half of them have scattered already anyway, they won’t notice we’re gone. if they do, i’ll tell them i took you home because you were sick tomorrow.   ——   fuck’s sake, we don’t have to explain ourselves to them.     ❜         it doesn’t take too much convincing since when they look around there’s none of their friends in sight, most having found entertainment in each other’s or a stranger’s company. besides, they have the driver’s number shared in their group chat, as well as junhyuk having one of his own, as well as enough money to get each of them an uber SEPARATELY, so jeremy isn’t worried about those grown ass motherfuckers at all. he cannot recall the entirety of the following events, only getting some fresh air with cas before holding hands in the backseat of the car, small nuzzles exchanged as they did their best to keep their manners & not traumatize the poor employee. but he does clearly remember how they didn’t jump each other’s bones as soon as they set foot into the house, how they were both sober enough to know they really wanted each other, how they played it cool for a couple of minutes in the kitchen, or fuck   ——   maybe it was their ancient feelings crawling back, preventing them from doing it unemotionally, and instead setting up a slightly more ROMANTIC scenario than they would for a pure stranger.         ❛     ah, but am i really worthy of your super special, limited edition, exclusive, vintage, valued at approx. couple a’ thousands o’ dollars whiskey ? tsk, you flatter me, cassie.     ❜         a purr tickles the shell of cassius’ ear as jeremy presses his lean body against the older’s back. though he’s slightly shorter, he can still peek over the other’s shoulder and see him pouring some of the amber liquor on the rocks in two pricey glasses at the kitchen counter, and jeremy knows he could make him drop & spill all that money by catching him off the guard with his touches, but he can’t help it when his starving mouth grazes the side of his ex’ exposed neck, impatient hands pulling at the slightly tucked shirt & exploring the smooth flesh below. he hyperfocuses on the spot which elicits the loudest of noises, and he can feel a gulp underneath his tongue as cassius swallows his shot. he gives him enough space to turn around, one of his inklike brows lifting curiously as he gets offered his drink   ——   claiming his hands are awfully busy, he parts his lips ridiculously with the tip of his tongue poking out, bratty, daring but twinkling eyes observing him until he feels the liquid hit his tasting muscle, the excess spilling down the sides of his chin, luring out a few of his signature giggles. it’s as if a sudden switch is flipped when jeremy stops with his shenanigans & you could cut the tension with a knife between them when they both notice a glint in each other’s eye, rushing to collide their desperate lips, greedily suckling at each other & tasting alcohol, becoming braver & braver with each passing second, burning hands wandering, teasing, groping, pulling at the annoying garments as their backs hit the walls and counters in this lustful battle. and it isn’t until he gently grips cassius’ throat that they manage to catch a breath.         ❛     on your knees,     ❜         he commands calmly, unshakable resolution clear in his gruff voice. he knows cassius won’t be able to resist it, he knows his legs will shake at the sound of it. and why not bless a couple of different rooms, when they have the luxurious abode all to themselves ?

          ALL SPREAD OUT ON HIS EX’S BED, jeremy’s cozily resting on his v-shaped back with dormant cassius all curled up and preciously molded into his side. the younger’s swollen lips are abnormally, attractively crimson in color, all the hemoglobin rushing to those overworked, puffed petals which are now gingerly pressed in a nurturing, soothing pucker against a smooth, golden patch of skin on the SLEEPING BEAUTY’s no longer sweaty forehead   ——   he’s been awake for the past nine minutes, putting his all into convincing himself that he’s not lucid dreaming or perhaps high as all hell, painting the unreachable picture he’s been yearning to see for the past four years. he’s whispering the sweetest of nothings as loving, no longer held back pecks get delivered to the comatose features of the adored individual, yet he knows not even those would wake the snoozing giant after how badly, triumphantly jeremy has tired him out, combined with the numbing spirits they consumed during their celebrations. thanks to this unlimited  ‘cassius - vital information’  bank, he dexterously sneaks out of his embrace & dreaming nest, covering himself by a pair of fitted black boxer briefs which leave nothing to your devilish imagination, and heads out of the room in order to prepare one of his unmistakably appetizing culinary creations, which raise from the dead, obtain a glass of water & painkillers for a potential headachin’ beanstalk, but his quest is derelict once he hears commotion & a cacophony of bangs, hums & steps coming from the floor below   ——   it dawns upon him that cas isn’t the singular inhabitant of this chateau-esque manor and that having his studious, virginal mansionmate catch him at his peaceful dwelling this early in the morning and so scantily-clad would be a grand calamity. with a low curse murmured under his perfectly face-appropriate nose, he makes a swift half ballerina twirl & returns to his ex, an endeared smile blessing & stretching his pillowy lips when he sees the drowsy, dazed man blindly investigating the crinkled, still warm yet empty spot beside him in search for something or someone. HIM ? should he allow himself to dream that cas is needing him & thinking of him right as he lifts his heavy eyelids, and that he’s not hunting for an item as simple as his phone in order to check the time ?         ❛     hush, i’m here … i tried to go and make you some breakfast, but junhyuk’s causing a ruckus downstairs and i doubt you want him to know i spent the night …     ❜         jeremy thoughtlessly gives himself the right to assume cassius wouldn’t be overjoyed if anyone found out that they hooked up, let alone learned about their past. though the forlorn, anarchic tattoo artist himself has no problem with it, he’s convinced that cas would be devastatingly ashamed to admit his heart once belonged to someone as woeful, wretched, toxic & eccentric as jeremy, so he’s eternally thankful that taemin hasn’t squeaked to anyone about it yet. he dives deep into the softness of the most comfortable, homely mattress in the world, unlaxing on his side this time as he pulls closer the man who’s mirroring his position, the thick white duvet covering their nude bodies, safe for jeremy’s underwear slipped on in a rush. his restless, greedy hand finds its place on cas’ narrow waist and travels lower on its own accord, stroking & soothing each and every muscle it eventually reaches.        ❛    sore ?     ❜         an unhesitant nod lures a complacent, yet not too wide or toothy grin onto his amused features   ——   jeremy really did a number on him last night, but neither of them were complaining whilst in the heat of the moment, unbothered & unaware of both physical & emotional, inexorable consequences of their indomitable arousal & sweet sin.         ❛     tired ? hungover ?     ❜         the additional unreluctant affirmations cause a childlike coo to strum his vocal cords, and he brigs some needed moisture to his lips with a singular swipe of his proficient tongue before connecting their rosiness with his favorite pair in the world, heart pouncing humiliatingly when he feels a hand on himself as well, encouraging him to resume the session for at least a few minutes. here, right here, is his SERENITY, his SAFETY, his HEAVEN, his HOME   ——   right here in cas’ arms, where everything is okay, where the one who’s holding him is the one who’s to be credited for jeremy’s pulse not flatlining yet, for his insides twisting & curling, his palms sweating & toes curling, the one who makes him nervous & blissful, the one he wants to cry with and laugh with and live with for the remainder of his days on this cursed earth, the one he’ll love until the very last breath leaves his lungs, and even longer if anything awaits after death. he knows that a lifetime with this man wouldn’t be enough, that he’d be a REBORN BELIEVER, that he’d pray on his bleeding knees that death wouldn’t do them part. as the waltz of slippery pink muscles meets its end with a timid titter, jeremy’s caring thumb comes up to hastily wipe at cas’ bite-mark adorned lower lip, pecking over it as if to heal the lightest of imprints. he harmoniously entwines their fingers on the disrupted mattress between them, tracing the meaningful ring cas is still wearing, fondly, recalling seeing it in the closet, having flashes of his cerebration from back then, remembering their breakup, and the idyllic little bubble of bliss he’s been captured in since last night BURSTS without warning. gingerly, warily he brings their joint hands up to his quivering mouth & kisses the ring before wordlessly resting them down & gazing lamentably at the man he loves, as if he’s in mourning. he has no right to still be here, or talk about making breakfast and nursing him through a hangover, or even imagine hanging out for the rest of the day, cuddling, watching movies and maybe going for round number whichever. he yet again recalls their text exchange where cassius questioned if jeremy still had feelings for him, and he made it clear last night, whispering hushed I LOVE YOUs to him while they were making love repeatedly, and all jeremy wants to ask now is if cas has them too. he wants to beg him to spare him of all the misery, of tragic hoping, to help him either come to terms of it being fully over and aid him in moving on, or give him a reason to work on them, on getting back to what they used to be to each other, an improved version of THEM. but he can’t. and he has no right to try & sabotage whoever wants to get with cas, because he’s a free man with a mind of his own. all jeremy wants for him is to be happy, and he tries to convince himself that he’s been attempting to keep him away from bad people, but if they are the source of cas’ happiness, he’ll gladly step back.       ❛     have i overstayed my welcome ? should i go ?     ❜         he asks directly, eyes glassy and leaking onto the pillow below his tragic head. but all he wants to know is   ——   do you still love me ? can i have another chance to make it right ?

[release-the-sheep]

Thanks to @curriebelle for the prompt, "masquerade ball". I did a bit of research for historical accuracy and proper Venetian-ness, but I make no promises. Also, there's a bit of Italian throughout this that I didn't bother to footnote, so you may want to have google translate open, or you could guess, you'll probably be fine, it's not very involved.

Venice, 1724

Ah, there he is.

A bit on the nose, perhaps, the devilish red Volto-style mask, complete with sculpted horns, but then Crowley has never been all that subtle. It's been said that Carnevale is where people show their deepest, truest selves, hearts on sleeves and all the rest of it. A shame, Aziraphale thinks, that humans need the security of a mask to hide behind before they'll let themselves be truly free. A shame, but entirely understandable to Aziraphale. Humanity is often cowardly when it comes to profound emotion, and he can certainly relate.

Which is why it has been nigh on a half hour since he showed his invitation at the door - addressed only to Il Putto in a quirk of charming and enticing secretiveness - and he has yet to take a single step forward since noticing Il Diavolo. Well, in all honesty, "noticing" was probably not the best word for it. He had been fairly struck by the sight of Crowley in his crisp red velvet coat with its black brocade and gleaming gold buttons, vest and breeches in sleek black silk, a jaunty but elegant black tricorne hat adorned with a plump red feather perched on his head, and the look finished with frankly outrageous varnished red shoes with massive gilded buckles. The vision had rooted Aziraphale to the spot. Ever the flash bastard, was his... counterpart. A waiter had soon come by with a tray of drinks, to which Aziraphale had almost unknowingly helped himself, and he had been standing there ever since, sipping from it and watching Crowley prance and twirl from dance partner to dance partner, temptation to temptation. The latest song ends and the dashing demon bows low to his latest conquest, snapping up at the waist just as the musicians lift their bows from their instruments in unison, before removing himself to the edge of the dancefloor and disappearing among the crowd of revellers.

Aziraphale's corporeal feet suddenly remember how to move and begin to carry him through the crowd, not toward Crowley, heavens no, but to somewhere he can hope to catch another glimpse of that impressive red mask, the bob of a scarlet feather. It seems the feet in question had grown restless during his prolonged motionlessness, and they pull him along rather more zealously than the rest of his body can handle. It is only a matter of a few steps before he tumbles headlong into the arms of a fellow partygoer, spilling his white wine and dignity all over the stranger. "Oh dear, terribly sorry- or ah, scusa..." He straightens and brushes himself off, then nearly jumps at the fearsome sight of the Medico della Peste before him. He manages to turn the fright into a respectable chuckle, though, remembering that certain individuals have in recent years taken to making a costume of the plague doctor's dark robes and odd, beaked mask. He had thought it rather tasteless initially, but confronted with one now, close-up, he has to confess that it is rather impressive; dark folds of heavy cloth envelop the man like a panel of thick, black, night sky, a cowl fully covering the head and neck, the odd flat hat and characteristic white beak painting up a singular silhouette. "Ottimo costume, signore," he says, remembering his Italian. A terse nod from the other, and silence. "Ah, where are my manners, I've spilt your drink, too. Cameriere!"

~~

Crowley is stunned.

He had come here off-duty, with no intention of inciting, aiding, or abetting any sort of sin, for a few reasons. Firstly, humans were rather good at doing all that themselves without him; doubly so with alcohol present, triply or more from behind the anonymity of masks. Secondly, while temptation could be fun, it had been a long year of wiling and he was uncharacteristically tired. Wiled-out. Wild-through. Wiled-thin (and if there was more to it than that, if it had been an awfully long time since two adversaries met on a misty battlefield and talked about war and peace and the fomenting thereof, and if he was starting to feel the weight of those years empty of a particular bright smile and endearingly questioning eyes, well he certainly wasn't going to admit it).

The third reason was that it was Carnevale, da- bless it, and if no one else had to work for these few merry weeks, then he certainly wasn't going to. That was just basic sloth, that. Straight out of Sin 101. Besides, Crowley rather enjoys simply watching people, and there are many to watch here in this city, at this time of year. He likes posting up in the corner of a crowded room and letting the full spectacle of human virtue and vice and everything in between unfold before him, as dramatically or discreetly as it pleases. There has always been something fascinating about humans, Crowley thinks. They are clever things. Ruthless and tender, full of contrasts. They never fail to put on an entertaining show, and now they are even dressed as performers.

This is why he had pulled the great black cloak on, donned the pointed mask, miracled up a party invitation for Il Dottore Peste and set up camp here in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, where he can see widely without needing to be seen - though he is utterly unrecognizable in the doctor's guise. He likes this costume. It amuses him, somewhat morbidly. Humans had started to wear it to remind themselves that life was short, a message which fit seamlessly into the spirit of Carnevale. Crowley rather enjoys the irony of an eternal being walking around dressed in memento mori. Besides, it is warm. He is cold-blooded, and it is impossible to escape the way wind comes up off the water and snakes its way into your bones here, in this city of waterways. It is December for Hell's sake, he isn't about to go skipping about without a sturdy outer layer on.

So he had prepared, in a manner of speaking. But not for this. He had not prepared for Aziraphale to be there, let alone for the blasted angel to trip and fall literally into his arms like some tragicomedic heroine. And yet there he was, all wrapped up in soft pinks and blues, and a generous helping of cloud-white in the form of a flowing cravat and dainty tricorne. A white-feathered Colombina half-mask, too, which left his round little apple-red cheeks and soft-lipped pink mouth unhidden. Absolutely bloody cherubic.

Crowley had frozen in place at the sound of the familiar mortified voice, the scrambled apology threaded through two languages and pulled taut by fretting hands. Crowley had just had the time to blink a couple of times and ensure that he wasn't hallucinating when Aziraphale swept back around to face him again, brandishing two fresh glasses of wine, one of which he places in Crowley's gloved hand.

"There you are my dear fellow! Ancora scusa."

And with that he's gone, tottering off between the fine suits and frilly dresses, neck craned toward the dancefloor. Crowley's mouth opens behind the plague mask, then shuts. He didn't know it was me. He slumps back into the plush upholstery of the seat he's claimed, sprawls out over it as is his custom. Of course Aziraphale didn't recognize him like this. What would there be to recognize? His face? Mask. His hair? Cowl. The shape of his body? Cloak. His voice? He hadn't breathed a word. Crowley grits his teeth and scrunches his face up in a frightful expression of dissatisfaction, which no one sees. This is just as well, because it is entirely inwardly directed. He lets his gaze drift to the dancefloor, where bodies are beginning to gather once again, following the orchestra's quick break. A sea of masks filling up once more, white Bauta and black Moretta, the likenesses of Zanni, Arlecchino, Pantalone, and the rest of the cast of the Comedia dell'arte, old gossips and military captains and monsters and animals and - oh.

There, nearing the very centre of the dancefloor, is a dandy dressed in a vibrant red coat, with a blood-red devil mask to match. He is twirling and peacocking about in front of a row of ladies, an absolutely ridiculous puff of a plume lazily following his movements. What a prick, thinks Crowley bitterly. His eyes trace a line to the other side of the room where a cloud-white hat is poking up eagerly, angled directly toward the detestable man in red. Fuck. Now that will not do.

~~

Aziraphale has finally managed to push to the front of the crowd and get a clear few of the dancefloor. His eyes scan it for a moment before once more alighting on the vivid red shape of Il Diavolo. He jostles slightly, adjusting his position for prime Crowley-viewing, and prepares to drink his fill of the way the demon moves, the way the light plays on his flamboyant clothes. He finds himself wondering how long Crowley had been based in Venice; he seems to have picked up certain Italian idiosyncrasies since they last spoke, little locally inspired changes to his manner, new flutters of his hands. Aziraphale really has been away too long. He sips his wine and watches the show, keeping his hat low as if that would have any effect on Crowley's ability to recognize him should he happen to glance Aziraphale's way. There doesn't seem to be much of a chance of that happening anyway, frankly. Il Diavolo seems determined to dance the night away, and as such is quite distracted with his apparently endless parade of partners. At that thought, Aziraphale notices a suspiciously orderly row of people on the edge of the dancefloor behind Il Diavolo, and is that- it is! He's got them queuing up!

Demonic stamina, he marvels, surreptitiously shaking his head. What if he were to- no, no, certainly not. But after all... why not? It wouldn't be all that difficult to make his way around to the other side of the dancefloor, to join the queue. He'd continue to have a good view and in a while, he could take his own turn dancing with the demon. He wasn't usually one for dancing, but he hadn't known Crowley to be particularly either, and yet there he goes, nimble feet somehow managing not to tangle with those of the handsome Capitano now on his arm. Maybe it isn't so hard, he thinks. What does he have to lose?

He stifles a laugh. He has a great deal to lose. He has... missed Crowley, in a way, and he cannot allow their reunion to be marred by some clumsy, literal misstep. No, it would be foolish. Definitely foolish. He is happy to watch.

Il Diavolo's dance takes him across the dancefloor again, and again Aziraphale finds himself twisting his neck uncomfortably to see him clearly. He starts to shift back again the way he came, toward the silent plague doctor chap in his darkened corner.

~~

Crowley is propulsed out of his seat by the sudden pang of jealousy. And then, as soon as it came, the heat is gone.

What exactly would he have done, he asks himself as he settles yet again in his corner, body melting back against a cushion. Stormed over there and shouted at Aziraphale through the mask, something about "not him, me!", or pulled off his getup in the middle of the party to reveal himself, going against every unwritten code of Carnevale and drawing a mountain of unnecessary attention to the two of them, probably getting them both booted into a canal for the imposition? And even without considering the practical aspects of delivering such a message, what was the point of the message itself? Minutes ago he would have been perfectly content (well not quite, but never mind that) for the entire evening to pass without him seeing head nor tail of Aziraphale, and now here he is, scrambling to make himself known to the angel. What sense does that make?

No, he shall stay here, and let Aziraphale go on thinking whatever he thinks. He considers taking a drink from the glass in his hand, then remembers the mask. Just an accessory, then, this wine. Let Aziraphale have this, he thinks, he's clearly enjoying himself, watching the overstuffed fop put on his show.

It is an easy enough mistake to make, Crowley supposes. He is a bit hurt that Aziraphale could mistake him for such a- pompous, puffed up- arrogant- son of a- ahem. The point is, as much as it may hurt his demonic pride to admit, there could be said to be certain - minor, superficial, and only in a certain light - similarities between himself and the fellow in the red. Crowley knows he can scarcely be counted among the humble, that his style could certainly be described as showy, if not typically colourful, and he can even concede that there is something of his usual temptations in the way the man takes each new partner by the hand, as though he is about to show them a brand new world. But it's exaggerated and crass, almost a caricature of his own way of doing things, and he can't help but feel somewhat miffed in the face of Aziraphale's obsession with the bloke, obvious even from a room away. Or it was- at least, he was-

"You've got a good view of Il Diavolo from here, haven't you old chap? Ah, I mean, come si dice- oh bugger it all, it isn't as though you were much of a conversationalist earlier. I hope you'll excuse me, but the drink is rather impeding my ability to make myself understood in your language, and by no means do I wish to sober up at this time."

Aziraphale drops down into the seat next to Crowley, folding his hands in his lap as he turns his head back toward the blur of red controlling the dancefloor. Crowley forces himself to recover quickly from the minor shock of the angel appearing so suddenly again at his side.

"I know him," Aziraphale says, pointing, a proud little smile on his face. "I've worked with him before. He's a colleague."

Crowley tilts his head in what he hopes looks like an interested gesture.

Il Putto takes the encouragement. "Lovely fellow, really. A bit... stubborn, at times, but quite pleasant, deep down." Aziraphale looks to the dancefloor with wistful watery-blue eyes. "I quite like him."

Behind the safety of the mask, Crowley gulps. Is that so, then? He opens a gloved palm in a curious gesture. Go on.

Aziraphale's cherub cheeks darken further, and he chuckles. "Yes, I rather enjoy his company. It has been some time since we last spoke, and I was happier to see him than I had expected I would be, if you can believe it." At that he flexes one of his doughy hands, toys with a ruffle on his sleeve. "Do you know, I was considering going to line up for a dance with him? That must seem to you an odd thing to do, dancing with a work colleague at a masked ball. I'm not even much of a dancer really. Don't know where the idea came from." His eyes remain fixed ahead for a moment, and then steal sideways, to Crowley, briefly. For a moment Crowley is afraid the gig is up, that Aziraphale has worked it out and that he's going to have some uncomfortable explaining to do. But then he sees something in the heaven-blue eyes, a sort of question, a need for... is it assurance? Permission?

He drops his head to one side, letting the beak of his mask point toward the man in red, still dancing up a storm. Off you go, then.

Aziraphale lights up. "Do you really think so? It's not... silly? Foolish? You don't think he'll laugh?"

Don't push it, Angel, he thinks, but points his beak more sharply toward the dancefloor.

"No, you're right. You're absolutely right. It's Carnevale, after all, no inhibitions, all that business. Thank you my dear fellow!"

Aziraphale bounces off the seat and disappears back into the crowd in a cloud of pink and blue frills and ribbons. As soon as he is gone, Crowley drops his masked face into one gloved hand.

~~

Aziraphale is fairly buzzing with excitement. Here he is, at the edge of the dancefloor, next in line. And there is Crowley, twirling a young woman in a cat mask with his long, strong fingers, scarlet coat swishing behind him. At last, the furiously spinning pair approach the edge of the dancefloor as the music swells to its climax. He dips her on the final, sustained note, then draws her back up, kisses her hand, straightens his cravat and strides toward his next partner.

Which is Aziraphale. Il Putto steps forward, holds out a hand. "Posso avere questa danza?" he asks, and it comes out more sheepish than he intended by half.

"Beninteso," comes the reply and it's... wrong. This warm, rolling bass is not Crowley's. The hand reaching forward to take his is not Crowley's either. The curl of black hair slipping out around one ear and contrasting against the red of the mask is certainly not Crowley's.

Aziraphale stumbles back. "S-sor- ah, scusa," he manages, pulling away from the dancefloor and the stranger and back into the far more comforting press of bodies surrounding it.

Dazed, he makes his way back to where he was last. The plague doctor is still there, holding the same wineglass he was earlier. He welcomes Aziraphale back with a half-nod. For someone whose language Aziraphale hasn't been speaking this entire time, the fellow certainly does a good of job of seeming like he understands. Pretending, perhaps.

"It wasn't him," says Aziraphale quietly, mostly to himself. The plague doctor puts a comforting hand on his back and- Aziraphale tenses. Behind his eyes flash the brown dirt of Mesopotamia, the sands of Judah, the white tiles of Rome, the misty hills of England. A feeling of calm inspired by the soothing drag of black and red scales over soft skin. That touch... it couldn't be. His nerves calm, sensation returns to his muscles. He turns to face his adversary, his counterpart, his... friend.

There is no one there.

[fashionreplacementtherapy-blog]

Clothing tips for trans men

Ever found clothing you like but when you put it on it just doesn’t look or feel great at all? If you’re trans like me that probably happens way too much. With these tips I hope make choosing clothes easier for those who might not fit into the limited body types off the rack men’s clothes are made for.

Mainly I’m going to talk about how to dress more masculine with a feminine body shape like mine. I’ll talk about what I look for in clothes and how to hide or emphasise aspects of your body for a more ‘traditionally masculine’ look.

Maybe you’ve already found pieces you love, but do you know exactly why they work so well? If you do, it makes finding more like it much easier.

First, a disclaimer:

One of the most important clothing tips I can give trans men is that you like what you wear. It should make you feel more confident and true to who you are. People are able to tell when you like your clothes, that you belong in them, so to speak.

I talk about masculine and feminine looks or clothes, but that’s purely about how that’s generally perceived. Not at all to say what you ‘should’ wear as a man, or anything along those lines. Wear whatever you like. If it’s from the men’s or women’s section of the shop doesn’t matter, as long as it works for you. My personal style goal is on the masculine side, for now.

Above all, it should make you feel better about yourself. I’m two years into transitioning medically and am still misgendered 99% of the time. But I’ve reached the point where people are starting to read me as male at first glance. My face and voice give me away, which I doubt will change until I can grow a beard or my voice deepens enough, no matter what clothes I wear. Finding the right clothes that make me closer to what I want to see in the mirror helps an awful lot in how I feel, however.

Body shape

That first glance where people read me as male for a split second is in part based on my silhouette. Whether my body shape is instinctively assumed to be male or female.

In general men tend to have a more top heavy, blocky or rectangular silhouette than women. Think wide shoulders and a body that tapers down to the waist, like an inverted triangle. Others are more straight up and down, or carry more weight in the stomach area, above the waist. Women tend to have narrower shoulders and wider hips. They tend to carry more weight around the hips and thighs.

Now broad shoulders and narrow hips may be the male ideal for some, but a blocky, more rectangular silhouette is easier (and plenty) to aim for using clothing. You can emphasise your shoulders and de-emphasise hips, for example, with the type and fit of clothing you pick. Use them to create a more blocky, ‘male’ silhouette.

I have narrow shoulders, a short upper body and wider hips. I carry weight mostly on my hips, bum and thighs. These are also the parts of my body I’m most self-conscious about. So what I aim for is to create a more rectangular silhouette by adding bulk around my shoulders, creating straight lines to my hips, de-emphasising my hips and lengthening my upper body. I also would like to look taller. While I’m not particularly short (5′8″), I do live in the Netherlands where a lot of people are Very Tall.

So, what do we need to pay attention to?

Fit

A good fit is hugely important. It’s easy to go for baggy hoodies and jumpers because they’re comfy and hide you, but baggy clothes also tend to make people look smaller and younger. We trans guys often look young enough already! If you’re a larger person, baggy clothes might make you look like you’re carrying more weight.

Clothes that fit well don’t need to be tight or uncomfortable either, they just need to be proportionate to you. If they fit well and are proportionate to your body you’ll avoid looking like you borrowed dad’s clothes. A feeling I’ve had far too often!

As my goal is a more masculine look, I tend to go for clothes from the men’s section. This isn’t always necessary (the blue hoody below is from the women’s section), but women’s clothing tends to be tailored to make people look cute and small. It tends to emphasise curves and a narrower waist. Of course this does depend on the style that’s trendy at the moment.

Here are some questions I ask when I’m trying on clothes:

Shirts, jumpers, jackets etc.

Do the shoulders fit? This is often the most important as the shoulder area is hard to adjust.

Is it loose enough around the chest / waist that it doesn’t emphasise curves? Masking the hourglass dip of a slim waist will do a lot to de-emphasise wider hips.

But is it still slim enough that it’s not baggy?

If going for oversized, does it look deliberately oversized and not just baggy?

Is the length right? If it ends at the widest part of the hips it will emphasise that width.

Are the sleeves fitted; not too tight or too loose? Baggy sleeves make arms look smaller, too tight and they’ll be either be constricting or emphasise skinniness as well.

For example, this blue hoody fits me well. The shoulders fit, it’s not too long with the hemline sitting on my hips. It’s not tight around the hips either. The band at the bottom of the hoody doesn’t cinch in like other hoodies do. It doesn’t emphasise the width of my hips, or bunch up around the stomach. I like to push the sleeves up because it makes it look like there’s more bulk up towards my shoulders.

This black tunnel neck sweater is a little too small. It fits just fine around the shoulders but is too tight around my hips, which means it has a tendency to creep up and bunch up around my middle. The body of this sweater isn’t roomy enough to hang free, so it doesn’t create as straight a line down as the blue hoody above.

This knit hoody is too big and too long. It makes me look shorter and does little to de-emphasise my hips. The bottom hem cinches in a little and with the pockets there it adds bulk around the hips. Exactly what I try to avoid.

This Star Wars sweater is deliberately blocky. The design is relatively wide with shoulder seams off the shoulder, but it’s not too long. The bottom hem falls above the widest part of my hips and overall this sweater gives the impression of bulk to my upper body, especially with the sleeves rolled up.

Trousers, jeans etc.

Are they streamlined around the hips & bum, but not too tight? I want to minimise bulk around the hips, but also not have them be so tight that everything’s on show.

Do the trouser legs give the silhouette I want? Personally I like trousers to be snug around the thighs and calves, and tapered below the knee. They follow the lines of my legs but don’t cling to every curve.

Does the position of the waistband make my upper body look right in proportion with my legs? Low rise trousers with a shirt tucked in makes my upper body look longer.

If going for oversized, does it look deliberately oversized and not just baggy?

The trousers on the left fit around the waist and hips, but the legs are too baggy. On the right a pair of the same trousers in a different colour where I took in the legs a bit. They look more slim and tidy.

These are my favourite jeans. They’re low rise, slim fit with only a little stretch and tapered towards the ankle. Snug around my hips, upper legs and calves but don’t cling anywhere else. They’re comfortable and minimise curves without drowning my legs.

These skinny biker jeans hide little in terms of silhouette, but they get away with it as they’re a dark black, not too stretchy, have added detailing above the knee, and don’t cling to my skinny ankles.

Skinny jeans by themselves aren’t ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’, but they do show off curves, which I am self-conscious about sometimes.

Structure

By structure I mean how well a piece of clothing holds its shape. This has a lot to do with the fabric. A denim jacket for example is far more structured than a hoody, because denim is a stiff fabric that holds its shape well.

A hoody made from a thicker fabric that holds its shape a bit is more structured than a hoody made from a thinner fabric that just hangs off you. Even a little bit can make a difference.

More structured clothes make for cleaner lines and make it easier to mask bumps and curves.

This green hoody on the left, for example, is too large and made of a thin stretchy fabric. The blue hoody on the right is a little large but is made of a thicker fabric which holds its shape better. It does a better job at bulking up my shoulders a little and masking my waist.

Woven fabrics are more structured than knits as they tend to have little to no stretch. Denim jackets are more structured than hoodies because of this. And it’s why button up shirts tend to be better at hiding the curve of a waist or binder than t-shirts.

Colour

I’m not going to talk about what colours might be more ‘masculine’ than others because that’s subjective and not useful. Wear what colours you like and suit you! I do have some tips on how to use them to your advantage.

Darker colours hide the shadows of dips and curves better and make you look more slim:

If you’d like to look taller, like I do, then try not to wear contrasting colours on the upper and lower parts of your body. That divides your body into clear sections horizontally, rather than drawing the eye up all the way. The same goes for shoes and belts.

For this example I’m wearing the same trousers and two t-shirts of the same size.

Patterns & prints

Patterns can draw they eye to certain parts of the body. You can use this to your advantage to emphasise and de-emphasise what you want. Blocks of colour at the shoulders, for example, can make your shoulders look wider and draw attention away from the chest area.

This t-shirt does that with the floral print at the shoulders.

Regular patterns such as stripes and checks are best avoided when you don’t want curves to show. Regular patterns make any bump stand out. Irregular patterns on the other hand (floral prints!) mask any irregularity they might be hiding. 

The print on this hoody masks whatever is going on in the chest area a bit.

This shirt’s pattern is also irregular enough to work.  It’s important to keep the pattern in proportion with your body.  Too large a pattern may make you look smaller than you are.

Layering

As you probably know, layering is a trans guy’s best friend. Layer a shirt or an open hoody over a t-shirt and you’re creating straight lines down the front of your body. It masks your chest and any curves you may want to hide. Do this with more structured jackets, such as denim, and those lines will be cleaner.

You’re also adding bulk to your upper body as well. Push up the sleeves to give more emphasis to your shoulders. Make sure the bottom layer isn’t oversized or too bulky, however. That can make it look messy or bunch up around the hips or waist, adding size where you may not want it to.

Tailoring

Everyone you see on TV or in magazines whose clothing always looks great will almost certainly have had their clothes tailored. Since that’s an added expense not everyone can afford, I’ll talk about making do with off the rack clothing as much as possible.

I will however let you know what is possible to have tailored if it’s an option. In the future I’ll write about how to make some adjustments yourself as well.

How to find what works for you

I hope these tips help you find clothes that work for you. The best advice I can give is to try clothes from different shops and brands. Hopefully you’ll come across one where the sizing and fit is somewhat consistently right for you.

Also look for fashion bloggers or vloggers who are a similar size and body shape to you. That way you can see what you like on them before spending any money and they’ll likely be showing clothes that are available in the shops right then.

Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or requests!

See my original article with links to some of the clothes I’m wearing, their sizes and my measurements for comparison, here: Clothing tips for trans men

I have some articles that go into more detail published there already as well.

[paradife-loft]

alright, here we go.... did anybody want a write-up on my (initial/current/main) Fallen Hero protagonist? because I sure have got one, and an obsessive need to talk about this game!! :’D

they’re actually more intentionally a self-insert than most characters I play, since I didn’t really have any pre-game time in which I was considering what sort of person to play and what their name/background would be. eyyyyyy impulsivity!

anyway, on with it. some facts, as they were, about one Ishvah Bakker, formerly known as Sidestep...

Basics

Probably mixed race of some sort, or otherwise on the liminal edge of (not?) white - other people’s perceptions are crucial, and more defining than they’d like, for as long as they can remember. (Good thing they’re a telepath!)

Nonbinary and genderless and generally salty about it. (Dysphoria makes every other body-related trauma response even more fun!)

Long-ish dark brown hair, which they usually wear down or in a simple ponytail. Better than needing to think about styling it, anyways...

Aromantic bisexual. Full of angst. (Aren’t we all.)

Supervillain codename: Iconoclast

Says fuck! :D

Psych profile

Generally quiet and watchful and cautious - a thinker, a planner, a tactician, at least as far as their comfort zone goes. Curious (sometimes morbidly curious) as all hell, in a “killed the cat” sort of way. Alas, not much satisfaction has been had. More just worry about what it says about them that their curiosity can “override” alleged basic human reactions like “empathy” or “getting freaked out by gore”.

Despite the control-freak tendencies, the more a situation slips away from, or otherwise can’t be planned and controlled, the more they do Impulsive Shit. Reckless, adrenaline-junkie, can’t-sit-still-because-then-the-anxiety-will-know-where-you-live, self-endangering impulsive shit. Anything to get the situation back under their immediate influence, if not control.

Speaking of which, attitudes toward bodies? They’ve got a callous disregard for physical sensations like pain, & the (temporary) structural integrity of bodies, especially once that aren't theirs.

They’re very dissociated from bodies in general really, their own included; thinking of them as tools, and willing to let them get fucked up in the service of "more important" goals.

(Shoutout to when they had to perform surgery on themself! :D Totally not fucked up or anything. Especially that they hated seeing themself naked, especially through “another’s” eyes, more than they hated having to actually do the surgery. Nothing to see here folks, just a normal person.)

When needing to improvise interpersonally, they try to head for whatever reveals the least about who they actually are & what they're capable of - using others' preconceptions and biases to fill in blanks with whatever they're expecting. They’ll use appearing weak, tired, unassuming as a shield, but it... grates. Still, feels less dangerous and attention-grabbing than being confident.

Relatedly, they do hate losing their telepathy - the lack of sensory overload is nice, but that doesn't outweigh how... naked they feel, exposed and cut off and unsure if they can trust what they see. (Only what they see.) It’s easier in their puppet’s body, Alex, since everyone else just sees an obvious young white man and there’s no need to manage those expectations, but even so, a loss of information never feels good. (Objectively useful to learn how to manage without, but not their emotional preference.)

Yeah, even if their puppet body goes around in a binary gender, they still prefer to have a name that’s genderless to their own ears at least. Alex is common and unassuming. (And leaning into the private supervillain grandiosity in-joke with themself as far as other notable Alex(ander)s is.... entertaining. Hush, it doesn’t mean they need a life.)

They tend toward being perpetually un(der) satisfied by accomplishments as soon as they’ve just come out of the oven, as it were - a restless mind always moving onto the next step, the next thing that needs to happen. They didn’t used to be like this, did they? But it’s better like this now, considering all that’s happened. 

(Perhaps because of that, perhaps in contrast, their personal apartment is done up in a surprisingly cozy way. Soft carpet and dark encompassing furniture, fabric on the walls, understated lamps and indoor string lights, and only a small window in each room. It’s one of the few things they can find calming, especially when it comes with some coffee.)

(Delicious self-medication with minor stimulants~)

And hey, the coziness is probably also nice because of how disgustingly touch-starved they are. Starved and averse all at once, really, which is just the best. (And uh, also sexually frustrated.... not that they let themselves think about that, hahahaha....... Moving on.)

The lack of sleep involved in maintaining two lives? Is absolutely getting to them, even if they don’t realise it. Sure, they think their body is getting all the rest it needs while they're in Alex's, but their brain is still active in maintaining the telepathic link such that the sleep isn't quite as restful and rejuvenating as it otherwise could be. (Well, assuming they didn’t constantly have nightmares.) Hence some of the increasing emotional instability & inability to hide their feelings when confronted with actual stressful situations.

Background

LA was the first place they ever tried to make a home, really. Or multiple different home iterations. They feel tied to the city, not least because of how the change in the place and its name feels like a macrocosm of what they’ve done switching sides themself.

Because this is a self-insert (and I do what I want, Thor), and to provide some justification for their first name, I’m thinking about their first (failed, aborted) attempt at being A Person (after getting out of whatever X-23 situation is getting teased for their origin story?) and joining any sort of community, being with a local shul. Perhaps after being helped out by people involved in a community service program? There’s a fair bit that resonate(d) with them, or at least felt good - the idea of being wanted and cared for and responsible for each other, of improving the world and doing positive deeds, of having a fucking family... They probably poked some feet into the idea of converting...

But that definitely crashed and burned. Half of it was coming to realise just how much self they’d have to put into the community to become a part of it - and they either had no self to speak of, or couldn’t risk, couldn’t feel comfortable, revealing what bits they did have. Peace was hard to come by. Comfort with uncertainty, with simultaneous opposite-seeming truths, never coalesced, and in fact felt actively threatening - as did the idea of being able to achieve any sort of relational parity with a higher power of some sort. It’s in the name, after all - a higher power is something you’ll never be able to live freely under with respect. So as that all came to a head, all the paranoia and feelings of inadequacy, they just... left. Don’t really think about it much now, don’t like to think about it, because it felt perhaps even more naive than trying to play masked hero, but... the name stuck.

As apparently did the desire to Be Good And Make Things Better, despite themself, because there they were back again with this stupid hero scheme, meeting Julia Ortega and making friends, being naive and trusting and thinking the whole damned system didn’t need to be burned down for anything to change. That other people could help protect you, that being part of a system could help protect you even if you weren’t one of the bastards at the top pulling the strings, helping nobody but themselves and their own power and pocketbooks.

Well, that sure isn’t going to happen again. This time, they’ve learned their fucking lesson.

[pinkevilbobdoesthings]

I wrote this back in April, but I didn't finish it and I forgot about it until today. So yeah, I'm totally obsessed with superheroes and super powers. Also I probably intended to have more for this AU, but eh, this is all I got.

So here you guys go. “If I Were A Superhero”.

______________________________

Superheroes, Caleb Widogast had determined long ago, were a nuisance. Everyone assumes that if you have superpowers you must be a superhero or have plans for going down a darker path, which just encouraged people like Caleb and Nott to hide their powers. Heroes were loud, flashy, and generally a danger to themselves and others.

For example, the hero that decided to fight a giant frog monster right outside of the alley Nott and Caleb were were trying to avoid the rain in. Caleb knew it really wasn’t the hero’s fault, but it didn’t stop him from being annoyed with her. She wore green cloak that obscured her features and a pastel dress. It looked like she was a new hero and just starting out, but Caleb avoided that sort of thing on purpose.

Nott watched the hero with awe though. She was newer to having powers than Caleb was, so it was still new and exciting for her even with the side effects. Caleb was lucky all he had were powers, but for some powers came … extra features. Inhuman qualities: odd colored skin, tails, fangs. He even met someone covered in feathers once. They were called Altered and Nott was one of them. With her green skin, batlike ears and pointed jagged teeth it was hard for Nott to blend in with a crowd, so it was up to Caleb to be their face and keep them safe. And this hero was not making it any easier for him.

Though to be fair, this hero was doing her best to keep the monster away from civilians and probably had no idea that Caleb and Nott were there. All Caleb and Nott could do was wait out the fight. "She's winning, right Caleb?" Nott asked.

Caleb shrugged. He didn't care much one way or another. "Maybe." The hero was starting to show exhaustion, but the monster had been bloodied up, so she could dish it out as well as take it.

The monster then lunged at the hero and knocked her to the side sending her tumbling into a garbage can with a loud THUMP! Her hood was knocked askew showing the hero's blue face. Blood dripped off of her horns and Caleb flinched. An Altered. But it made no sense. Altereds were typically targets for violence and most of them avoided superheroes. An Altered hero was a rare sight to see, but there she was taking a beating for people who liked to pretend that she didn't exist. She tried to get up, but she stumbled at the monster's feet. The monster raised its fists high into the air ready to bring them down on the hero.

Without thinking, Caleb dug into his power and summoned a giant cat's paw right above the hero catching the monster's blow. “We’re helping?” Nott asked with excitement.

“I suppose we are now, but stay back,” Caleb said.

With a flick of her wrist, Nott summoned some sort of illusion next to the monster’s head distracting it.

The hero managed to roll away from the great frog beast and summoned a big lollipop next to the monster and clobbered it over the head.

Nott tugged on Caleb’s coat. “She’s like you.”

“Not really,” Caleb said. For one thing, she was dumb enough to want to be a superhero, and he had abandoned those wishes long ago. “Come on, they’re distracted. Let’s get out of here.”

********************************

Jester knew that she wasn’t seeing things; the first day she went out as a hero someone saved her with a huge cat’s paw. When she told Beau about it, Beau said that it was probably just her imagination. But Jester knew that it had to be real that she would’ve been killed without it. So the question was where was the rest of the cat and who was responsible for it.

The problem was that there were no witnesses for that part of the fight, and even online there was no one that had heard of a hero or villain or anyone that could summon cat’s paws. And it could just someone whose power was summoning things, but for most people there was a pattern, like how Jester could only summon lollipops(which she would never complain about). So it could be a new superhero or someone who just came into their superpowers or maybe they were just super shy. It was frustrating. Jester was supposed to be the great hero Lollipop Lass and she couldn’t even thank whoever it was that helped her.

She was in a bad mood on her way to meet up with her friend, Fjord. Jester couldn’t shake the feeling that she should’ve done more to find her rescuer. Or maybe it was rescuers. The frog monster seemed oddly distracted, so maybe there was something more going on there. Shaking her head, Jester tried to drive those thoughts from her head, but it was no use. Her thoughts kept going back to that fight. Beau and Fjord both chewed her out for not waiting for help and even Jester had to admit that it was a bad idea, but the monster was going after a kid and there was no way Jester was going to turn a blind eye to that.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jester noticed something. Down in the alley next to her was a familiar cat paw floating in the air. It was holding up a small woman up to a fire escape. The woman dropped down the ladder and the paw lowered her back down to the ground.

Jester ran up to the woman. “It’s you!” Jester blurted out to excited to hold herself back. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” The woman’s eyes grew wide and they were very cat like. The yellow of her eyes contrasted well with the green of her skin. She wore an oversized hoodie, but there was something under the hood that kept it from lying flat, so she might’ve had horns like Jester did.

“What me? No, I’m not worth looking for at all,” the woman said backing away.

“But, your power. Your cat paw. It saved me last week,” Jester said. “I wanted to thank you.”

The woman looked up at Jester with surprise. Her hood fell back revealing two large pointed ears. “Cat paw? That wasn’t me.”

“But I just saw you use it just a moment ago.”

“Nein. That was me,” a dirty man said stepping out from beside the wall. Jester hadn’t noticed him until he had spoken up. He was wearing old shabby clothes and smelled a little bit like a port-a-potty.

Jester was a little bit disappointed that her hero smelled so bad, but he had nice blue eyes so at least that was a bonus. “Then you were the one who saved me! Thank you!” She tried to hug him, but he ducked away from her.

“You were sloppy and nearly got killed. I just did what anyone would do.” He headed towards the ladder the small woman had already started climbing.

“Wait!” Jester shouted even though he was still only three feet away from her. “Why aren’t you a superhero? Or are you one under deep cover? Is that why you’re so smelly?”

He scowled at her. “Just because someone has powers doesn’t mean they want to be a hero.”

“But you were my hero,” Jester said weakly and his mask of a scowl cracked. He gave her a soft frown.

“Then you have a terrible hero.” He climbed up the ladder.

“Wait! Please. Can I know your name?”

He gave her a long hard look. “You can call me Caleb Widogast.”

His friend poked out her head from higher up. “And I’m Nott the Brave!”

“It’s nice to meet you Nott and Caleb! I’m Jester!” Jester called up. “And I think that you’re a better hero than you think you are.”

Caleb gave her the saddest looking smile and kept going up the ladder.

Jester hopped up and down with excitement. She met another person with powers! And not only that but the one that saved her. Fjord was going to flip when she tells him about this.

******************

A sigh left Caleb. He had been sighing even more than usual. Which was saying something because his natural state of being was a subtle simmer of melancholy. But Nott knew her friend well enough to catch even the smallest changes to his demeanor. “Are you thinking about that girl again?”

Caleb startled out of his thoughts. “What?! What girl? I wasn’t thinking about her.”

“The girl from the other day. The superhero.”

Caleb frowned. “Her. Well, she might cross my mind, but that’s because she’s reckless and endangering lives. She could be out there getting herself hurt right now.”

“Are you worried that you’re going to have to save her again?” Nott asked.

Caleb’s frown deepened. “I’m worried that I won’t be around if she needs saving again. Really, a young hero like her shouldn’t be on her own.”

“Then why don’t we join her then? We could be superheroes.” The idea always tempted Nott and even before she had powers, she would sometimes daydream about what it would be like.

“Nein. It’s dangerous and stupid,” Caleb said. “And I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to you, Nott.” He grabbed onto her hand and held it gently.

Nott squeezed his hand back. “You have nothing to worry about. I know how to hide.”

Caleb smiled at her. “You are very good at that.”

“You could be Cat’s Eye and I would be Nott the Brave.”

Caleb frowned in confusion. “But that’s your name.”

“Oh, like there’s any point in me having a secret identity? I don’t think there’s enough green woman here that slapping a domino mask on me and calling me something else is going to do us much good,” Nott said.

“You do have a point there,” Caleb said. “I’m not going to wear a mask. They’re uncomfortable and always make my face itch.”

Nott looked up at Caleb. “So we’re going to do it?”

“We’ll have to be careful and if it’s too dangerous, we’re getting out of this game,” Caleb said.

Nott jumped. “Just you wait! You and me and Jester going to be amazing heroes.”

Caleb chuckled, which coming from him was a sad sound. “Ja, we are.”

[sepublic]

Luz’s Air VS Belos’ Earth

           So remember what I said about Luz having Air motifs? Well, this applies to Eda as well, but in particular…

           …I think Belos can also be associated with Earth as a contrast! He’s a character who grows living constructs from the earth, manifesting from the ground! His castle is deep into the chest of the Titan, inside an abyss… He’s a rigid character with ideas of conformity, of ‘shaping’ others into specific forms, be it his own body on a literal sense, or others! This fits into the idea of how earth and mud can be shaped when malleable, only to eventually harden- Just as Belos’ form shifts, or how he fits young minds into the conforming mold within his Coven System! And then there’s him literally petrifying others and turning them into stone…

           In contrast, you have Luz and Eda, who as I said before are free-spirited thinkers who bring about the winds of change! They’re not bound by anything like Belos, who is bound to the Titan’s underground heart and his position as a ruler… They welcome all ideas and are openly themselves, while the true Belos is hidden beneath the ‘surface’ of his mask, cloak, and armor! They are their own people and encourage others to be free individuals who can operate on their own, while Belos encourages people to be dependent upon one another in the Coven System, bound like a flightless bird!

           Luz and Eda ascended up the Titan’s knee, while Belos descended down to its heart! The Owl House isn’t rooted to a singular location like Belos’ castle, it can uproot itself and move around! But at the same time… These two also cross-over and are each other’s elements in their own way, too! Luz and Eda are more ‘grounded’ individuals, who have thrown aside flighty ideas and fantasies in favor of just getting to know people as they are and being with them!

           Whereas Belos has angelic motifs of ascension, of being above others and communicating to a higher being… His Coven System stresses the idea of a hierarchy, of uplifting the worthy above the rest! While Luz and Eda see everyone as being on equal, common ground. But the Air and Earth motifs return to their respective owners… Belos wants to put others beneath him, while Luz is only interested in uplifting those around her and encouraging them to be the best, regardless of her own standing! Belos believes himself as worthy and above others, the one with all of the attention and art, but Luz? Luz is humble and fine with playing support!

           Belos contradicts himself, being rigid and more earth-like, yet presenting ideas of heavenly ascension… He projects ideas over the reality of them, hence his conforming masks placed over himself and his Emperor’s Coven! Whereas Luz and Eda acknowledge things as warts-and-all, and are more flexible and open-minded because of it! Belos doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth of things, he keeps them buried beneath his image of what he wants, while Eda and Luz leave it bare, flying high above everyone else for all to see!

           Belos’ light obscures and blinds, distracts and acts as an illusion to the reality of a situation, to what people are like in favor of a ‘front’ they present themselves as and try to live up to, while Luz’s light reveals and illuminates… It truly enlightens as it reveals people for who they are, allows them to self-reflect, and be themselves while recognizing a bad situation and any abusive lies they’re falling into!

           Luz and Belos’ first interaction has Luz flying around while Belos remains rooted to the ground, growing from it… And when they leave, it’s literally Luz ascending above Belos, whose fleshy constructs are very much rooted to the ground! Belos talks a lot of ascension, but the dude is a walking contradiction, with his heavenly and angelic motifs contrasted by demonic imagery with his creations and potential true form…

          His ‘Light’ actually obscuring as Belos’ appearances are frequently in darkness! Him speaking of Unity when his Coven System sets others at one another’s throats, and of helping others ascend when in reality he creates an artificial hierarchy that restricts most! Belos’ clean, white aesthetics contrasted with the ugly metal pipes of his castle…

          Belos is a hypocrite, and then you have Luz, who just isn’t. She wears her heart on her sleeve, she is up-front about her intentions to the point that some people aren’t sure if she’s telling the truth (like Amity for instance), because the kind of culture and system that Belos has set up has encouraged people to hide!

          Belos is buried, hidden intentions, while Luz is flying, free, and open, for everyone to see! She has no shame in who she is and she’ll let others know, while Belos hides the truth like a dead body… And considering his implied genocides, he probably HAS in a literal sense! Luz presents herself as a regular down-to-earth human but ends up uplifting others and flying, while Belos shows himself as a heavenly figure above all with angelic motifs, but lurks in the darkness in caverns below like an underworldly demon!

          His golden aesthetic also works when you remember that gold is something that is mined and linked to the Earth itself, which in turn connects with Belos mining his way into the Titan’s heart, implying a form of invasiveness and not respecting others’ boundaries- While in the open sky, everyone has space to be themselves! Luz lets people be and exist, while Belos forces his way in and is an invader who imprisons and shackles people. They are very much to the antithesis to one another…

           …Which naturally, it makes me wonder if Luz will get an Air Glyph, and an Earth Glyph later! It’d definitely be interesting to see… There is the idea of Belos actually being VERY ancient, essentially a ‘blast from the past’, like someone is ‘digging up the past’… As ancient history is linked with the ground, with stone, with being uncovered and dug up! Whilst the future and the present is a flighty thing, it’s not set in stone like the past was, it’s variable to change at any moment based on a whim!

          Luz is the hope for a new generation, but at the same time it’s ironic because she brings up and old form of magic and way of living… While Belos is the older generation, but his constrictive reign is a young and new one, relying on a more recent form of magic and just-established rules!

          Luz is someone with fresh, wide-eyed idealism and beliefs in others, while Belos has motifs of decay and deterioration, of rot, which of course is associated with being in the ground and buried… And THAT ties to his castle being within the ribcage of the Titan! Belos invokes images of the undead, and what do they do? They rise from their earthen graves… Which, if Belos IS trying to revive the Titan through its heart, plays into undead motifs of resurrection!

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Waltzing with the Wallflower

I give you this humble offering of a tale bought to you by a writers brain that would not let her go to sleep until a rather ungodly hour. 

A period(ish) era AU. A warlord in a mask and a Princess very much out of her element.

Masterlist

---

Waltzing with the Wallflower

The venue was a pulsating decadent display dripping in fine damask and brocade silks. The rich colours added to the overindulgent opulence of the night. This was the biggest night of the year and the most sought after one to receive an invitation for. This was a time when it didn’t matter who you were, if you didn’t know someone who could get you in, you weren’t getting past the entrance.

The high vaulted ceiling shimmered with the light reflecting from the fine crystal chandeliers and shadows danced as elegantly as the ones taking a turn on the dance floor courtesy of the many candles lit around the room for added ambience. The orchestral music harmonised with the murmurs of conversation giving way to an overtly sensual undertone being created.

Everything felt amplified tonight as people mingled hidden comfortably behind their ornate masks. Here was the one night the silent battle of the class system crumbled. Conversation flowed freely between the people gathered alongside the wine and champagne. Platers of exquisite finger foods travelled on gleaming silverware as it was transported around the room by the hired help.

As beautiful as it was and as mouth-watering as the food looked one hapless princess had found she had lost her appetite entirely. This was a far cry from her usual environment working as a maid in a governor’s house. To say it had been a shock to be handed the invitation would have been an understatement.

It had felt like a fantasy to see such intricate embossed golden filigree on the expensive cardstock displaying the venue’s address in bold calligraphy that almost send a pre-emptive warning of things to come. She was aware that her employer had a predisposition to play games and this was clearly another way for him to seek enjoyment witnessing someone struggling to tread water so clearly out of their depth. She had pushed those thoughts to the side and was determined to make the best of the night. It was after all a once in a lifetime party.

Of course, that was what she had planned. But naturally, there is a reason why there is such a saying about the plans of mice and men. Nervousness had taken its root in her stomach and even behind her ornate mask, she could feel herself crumbling under the pressure of the extreme shift in social rank. It was a concern severely lacking in foundation as for this one night she along with the other guests were all stripped of their positions and prestige. Tucked safely behind their masks for one night only they were all equal. Still, the feeling of an outsider looking in was a hard one to shift and she found herself edging more and more towards the candlelit recesses of the venue.

She was thankful to have been lucky enough to borrow a gown for the evening. The plain burnished silver bustier clung to her giving a comforting sensation of being hugged. The silver fabric travelled elegantly over her hips gathering like tumbling waterfall to one side revealing a contrasting black fabric that when it moved revealed a hidden pattern that was picked out by the changing light and movement as she walked. To be honest, everything she had on was currently on loan from the governor’s daughter. Once she had found out that her maid had received an invite to the masquerade, she began excitedly dressing her up like a giant doll.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she watched the prestige of the evening swaying to the harmonics of the string orchestra in a Venetian waltz on the dance floor. The gentlemen leading the ladies in the swirling dips and twirls as they enjoyed their night's dalliances.

“Pardon me but I believe you dropped something, my dear.” An elegant monotone voice disrupted her daydream and she turned to find a gentleman standing next to her. His crisp white formal wear accented with teal embellishments was breathtakingly striking but it was his mask that drew her attention most of all. Unlike the majority of the other guests, his seemed to be a homage to an animal spirit. Crackle glazed tones of cream and burnt gold. Highlighted in subtle shades of brown blended out in such a way that almost made you wish to touch it and see if it was real fur. Its pointed ears and elongated snout covered just enough of his face to keep all but his chiselled jaw and bowstring lips covered. A gloved hand was being extended to her and she noticed that he had hold of one of her silver hairpins.

“Oh! Yes, thank you.” She reached out only to have her own hand miss its mark. The lips of the masked man had been pulled into an alluring smile. The eyes behind the mask sparkled as they remained locked on her.

“Allow me to fix it for you. I would hate for you to lose such a fine piece again and I fear it might be too difficult for you to do so without some help.” His voice was soft and slow. It felt like a spell was being cast as her body apparently moved of its own accord and turned to allow him access to her long black hair. The briefest of touches brushed over her neck as his long fingers combed through her locks, arranging it so as to attach to the pin more securely.

“You have beautiful hair, my dear.” His voice was so close that it felt almost as if it was being dripped like honey directly into her ear. A pleasant if unexpected sensation tingled down her spine in response to him.

“Thank you, Sir. You are too kind.” Blushing slightly, she turned to him again and gave a polite bow with her head.

“Are you not dancing tonight?”

“I fear I would be too clumsy in a place such as this to do any song justice.”

“Nonsense. If anything is to be at fault this evening it would be the man who failed to showcase your beauty.” His tone was so adamant and sincere it caused her breath to catch in her throat as she looked at him. “If you are concerned with crowds perhaps a turn in the garden would help calm your nerves. It seems such a shame to cloister yourself away in the shadows when you were obviously meant to move in the light.” Once more he elegantly extended his gloved hand to her. Accepting his hand in a veritable trance-like state the pair moved to the large baroquian windows leading to the gardens.

The chilled night air caressed her skin as she was led down the stone staircase of the balcony into the beautifully manicured gardens. The scents of the nocturnal flora carried on the wind like the music from the ball, wrapping around her mind like an irresistible piece of trickery that tempted her to forget herself completely.

Stopping in an area that seemed to be planted mostly with roses and a large fountain, the gentleman released her hand. The loss of connection brought her out of her befuddlement. The light of the moon above eerily lit the area touching the flower petals around her making them look more delicate and otherworldly. Caught up in her observations she had failed to notice the gentleman until the movement of him was caught reflected in the water beside her.

“Are you feeling better my dear?” He was maintaining a respectable distance from her but somehow observing him on the surface of the mirrorlike water made her feel like he was embracing her.

“You bought me here because you were concerned for me?”

“Naturally.” His eyes behind his mask almost appeared to glow by moonlight. She had thought it was a trick of the light before but those eyes really were like finely crafted yellow glass.

“Pardon?”

“Cultivated beauty pales in comparison to natural creation. Take these roses for example.” He removed his gloves one finger at a time slowly enough that the movement of it made her swallow thickly aware of the subliminal sexual desire it stirred inside her. His bare pale hand touched the very edge of the blooming flower tilting it towards his masked face. “There is no denying their elegance and beauty but any fool can cultivate that kind of thing with enough time and money.”

“They are beautiful.” She unconsciously moved to his side gazing at the same flower sighing.

“Are you aware of the saying beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my dear?” He paused for a few moments. Her large upturned eyes moved from the rose to him the stars from the sky above them swimming in the two pools of ink. “To me, these flowers are nothing more than poor man’s delusion. The real beauty can be found beyond the confines of such a thing.” He guided her towards the garden wall brushing aside the trailing ivy and clematis to reveal a hidden window. The small hollow arch had a sprawling view of a meadow that appeared to be right out of a fairy tale. “Wildflowers are always so much more alluring to me. After all, they are the ones that fought to survive against the odds of the fates themselves. No two are alike and the uniqueness of them tells a tale that binds one’s heart.”

“That is very poetic.”

“It is but one man’s truth.” There was something painful in his tone. As he looked out at the meadow sharing the view with her, she felt as if she was observing for the first time in her life a tortured soul. “Well, my dear. Would you care to dance?”

“You wish to dance with me, Sir?” He dropped the blanket of flowers back hiding the secret window once more.

“Why are you so surprised?” His question floated in the air over the rumbling chuckle that tumbled from his lips after it.

“I fear I am not good enough to be a very good dance partner.” The nerves she had felt at the ball were back with full force except this time her heart was also thumping in her chest as if providing her with a beat to march to her own destruction.

“I told you before my dear it is the responsibility of the man to showcase his partner’s talent. You need merely to entrust your body to me and let me take the lead and let me show the world how brightly you can shine.” The imperceptible shift as his body aligned itself to hers was so smooth, she did not realise they were dancing until she felt the slight warmth of his hand in hers.

She was lost in the soft spell he appeared to have cast over her. Even the faint sound of the fountain in the garden had melted away as she handed over control of her body to him. His body kept perfect time with hers as he drew out an elegance form her that she had no idea even existed. He was holding her like she was a delicate piece of art so fragile that she might break at any moment but he was also firm and commanding enough to guide her body effortlessly around the flowerbeds in a silent waltz in the moonlight.

---

[illegiblewords]

Stillborn

Summary: It might as well be goodbye. Emet-Selch/WoL

It is nearly time, when she’s spoken to the Crystal Exarch. Preparations for the golem are all but complete. The sky blazes white, flickering sunless and hot and unrelenting.

The grass is brittle underfoot, but there is something familiar and reassuring in the taste of salt on a Kholusian breeze. Not so different from when she bade Aldenard goodbye from a port in Limsa Lominsa. From the months spent on a creaking boat, where waves would rarely spray high enough to touch. As there, so here seabirds scream overhead.

They all know better than to stray near Mount Gulg.

“I’ll return before long enough,” says the Warrior of Light, and there is warmth as she says it. “Just need to clear my head a while.”

“Do you want company?” asks Alisaie, young and sweet and wholly unaware.

She shakes her head. “No no, that’s alright… but thank you. There’s a loose end that wants for my attention. I doubt there will be another opportunity.”

And so she goes.

Past the ladder, past Tomra, over the jagged landscape of Scree to where one might briefly forget this horizon is not infinite. Here she stands, searching. Waiting.

She shuts her eyes.

“Are you there?” she asks quietly.

Only the wind and the distant sea, the birds and a rattle of stones-in-motion.

“Emet-Sel-” she begins more loudly, then stops, then smiles. Brings her fingers to her lips and sets loose a high, piercing whistle.

One moment goes by.

Two.

“That isn’t always going to work, you know,” says the Ascian, stepping from a plume of darkness. Stark contrast against the world in his Garlean finery. Of course he casts no shadow. From how his lips quirk she can see he, too, remembers his instructions in Rak’tika. “I’ll have you know I was nearly a malm off this time. It’s practically finished, now.”

“I know,” she says, and despite everything the humor which sparks her eyes is sincere. “My apologies for tearing you away… would you sit with me?”

Emet-Selch frowns, and that alone is enough to make his question obvious.

“I’ve spoken to so many people already,” explains Norvrandt’s Warrior of Darkness, “and you’ve made it perfectly clear you will not be left out. Thought I might beat you to it, this time.”

A smile in-turn, reflexive. Yellow eyes dart down and then return to her.

“Oh, very well. It wouldn’t do to turn my nose at such consideration, now would it?”

One step. Another.

He finds her side, and when he does it is Emet-Selch who sits first.

She follows.

For a moment, they only watch the pull and push of dwindling tides. Were circumstances otherwise, they might have been mistaken for an ordinary pair enjoying one another’s company.

“What do you know of me?” she asks after a while. “Not the Warrior of Light… me.”

“You do have the most peculiar habit of separating yourself from your deeds,” says Emet-Selch, and for all the signs of weariness he wears he does not sound unhappy then. She wonders if he made such expressions as the emperor of Garlemald, too.

“…what I know is less than I anticipated, but more in ways you remain yet unaware of.” He stops. Considers carefully. “You may be closer than I gave you credit. It reminds me… no. I only wonder if things would be different, if the rest met your standard. There is no denying you are endowed with such admirable qualities as kindness, bravery, altruism. But outside of an adventuring capacity, I must confess to having grossly underestimated your cheek.”

She laughs at that, loud and unapologetic. “I know not what I expected to hear, but… gods.” When she manages to reply, it is accompanied by the slight flush that often accompanies such admissions. “After Elidibus and Lahabrea, I must confess to having grossly underestimated you as well.”

This appears to please the Ascian, who goes so far as to smirk in turn. “Good. It’s why I kept them for so long.”

For a while, they remain content with that.

Then the Warrior says, hesitant, “What you told me, before… the ones you lost. I want you to know I believe you.” He turns, and she finds his expression has shifted. She is being studied now, searched. “…has there truly been no one since?”

His brows knit, and he glances away. “The sundering may not have broken me, or my… associates,” he says. “But while we seek a common goal, what other ties we had have grown strained across millenia. There is a reason I keep my own counsel.”

“You ran nations,” she says quietly. “You married, sired heirs. I expect it was more than once.”

Emet-Selch closes his eyes, and it strikes her that this is the most exhausted she has seen him.

“Can you imagine,” he asks, and there is no trace of bitterness in his tone this time, “what it means to seek someone you can trust, to suppose not once, not twice… hundreds of times over, that in your need you can be supported by creatures too fragile even to maintain themselves?”

The lines that edge his lips did not develop through joy.

“Man crumbles under his own sins, his own selfish desires” says the Angel of Truth. “For the most trivial of reasons he will embrace his baser instincts. Each and every one of you hides horror in your breast, and no matter how you strive against it this cannot be erased. Not so long as you remain thus divided.”

She places her hand over his.

“Emet-Selch.”

The Warrior speaks softly, and although this is not his name it’s the best she can manage.

For a moment, between the warmth of her hand, his blindness to the world, the familiarity of her voice… perhaps he forgets.

She rests her cheek against his, and he leans into the contact.

When her fingers contract, gently, he only exhales.

They linger that way for some time, pretending a moment’s comfort will matter against what must inevitably follow.

When she kisses him, this too finds his cheek.

Careful. Chaste. Like a friend.

She does not release her grip.

The Warrior has only begun to look again when his free hand finds her jaw, drags her back. Locks her mouth to his.

It isn’t a matter of experience but of desperation. Emet-Selch kisses her hard, their teeth bumping inelegantly, fingers winding through her hair. He struggles to channel himself through a body that can’t contain him, his breath coming fast even as she brings her remaining arm around his back. Holds him close. When she meets the Ascian with her tongue a tight, pained sound crawls from his chest into his throat, into her mouth in-turn. It almost scares her enough to stop.

Instead, the Warrior searches for him in the grooves of his spine beneath his coat. In how he continues to reach whenever they part, as if he is chasing something on the brink of escape. It reassures her to find him no colder than she is, betrayed by the same telltale pulse anyone might endure. The same give under touch.

Well, rest assured that if your heart can be broken, then so can mine!

Emet-Selch is only a man. Whatever mask he wears in his immortality, even he is not invulnerable.

It ends as suddenly as it began.

He stops trying.

She tastes salt.

When she pulls away he lets her.

His eyes are open now. Unseeing.

What she finds is not anger or even indifference.

Emet-Selch looks empty. His expression is slack, his lips slightly parted. Silent as a corpse, he seems wholly unaware of his own tears. It is in this disconnect that the Warrior remembers what he is.

Even now, she does not release his hand.

“Are you alright?”

Fingertips at his mouth. Self-reproach. He blinks.

Slowly, he focuses on her again.

She feels his departure even before the familiar black tendrils begin to snake their way across his body, leaving her with little more than smoke.

“Don’t disappoint me,” says Emet-Selch, his voice low. Harsher than his expression suggests possible.

 Please.

And so the Warrior of Light is left alone at the edge of a cliff, in a world with no future past its borders.

Eventually she must abandon this place as well.

[tatticstudio55]

Daenerys as an anti-Cinderella?

Another asoiaf/fairy tales meta

It’s always fun to wonder which fairy tales goes best with which asoiaf characters (especially the girls, for some reason). For Sansa and Arya, the references are overflowing. With Dany it’s… trickier. Only two – or maybe three – classic tales really fit. Two of those I’ve already talked about in previous posts (Thumbelina and The Fire Bird). There are some general “clues” pointing to Cinderella…

-Viserys, the Anastasia & Drizella duo to Daenerys’s Cinderella

-In ADWD, Cleon the “butcher king” of Astapor make a marriage offer to Daenerys and gift her with a pair of slippers, but

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany’s feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? “King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift.” Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

-Cinderella is named as such for her habit of retreating close to the ashes-filled hearth once her work is done (from “cendres”, the French word for “ashes”). Bettelheim view Cinderella’s behavior as a product of sorrow and grief for her dead mother. For Dany, ash is also linked with sorrow and, first inverted trope, with the mother mourning her dead child:

She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin. – Daenerys, AGOT

There’s also the “Queen of ashes” nickname Dany is sometime dubbed with (more so in the show) and the fact that Cinderella herself is a “queen” of the ashes, somewhat (hence why she’s called “Cinderella”).

-Mirri Maz Duur is an inverted fairy godmother to Dany.

But these are details. Overall, Dany comes off as the anti-Cinderella of asoiaf. This becomes especially apparent in ADWD, where she’s, essentially, a glorified slave to her duties who dreams of escapes with her “prince charming”, i.e. Daario. This all reach a culmination point when she goes to the “ball”, i.e., the grand reopening of the Daznak’s pit. Unlike Cinderella, who’d give anything to attend the ball, Dany would give anything to skip it:

“Even if the pits must open, must Your Grace go yourself?” asked Missandei as she was washing the queen’s hair.

[…]

She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself. – Daenerys, ADWD

Whereas the ball meant dreams and freedom for Cinderella, for Dany, it’s the perpetuation of a nightmare. They both present themselves at the event under a veil: a literal one for Dany,

“And over it, the long red veils.” The veils would keep the wind from blowing sand into her mouth. And the red will hide any blood spatters. – Daenerys, ADWD

A metaphorical one for Cinderella, garbed so elegantly that her step mother and half sisters don’t recognize her. This idea of disguise is interesting. For a start, it contrasts with Dany’s refusal to put a veil between herself and Astapor in ASOS. To borrow Clapton’s words on Dany’s white garments in the show, the purpose of the veil is to “remove herself (Dany)” from the situation. Dany’s choice of clothes is a mean of non-attendance, while Cinderella’s costume allows her to go incognito and enjoy the moment. There is the contrasts of colors: Cinderella wears an immaculate, pure white dress (at least in the Disney version), whereas Dany wears yellow silk and a blood-colored veil. Finally, in some versions, the ball attended by Cinderella is a masked ball. This could be significant, since the reopening of the pits prove to be its own kind of masked “ball” (and even more so in the show, where the sons of the Harpy creep inside the pits wearing literal masks):

At the base of the Great Pyramid, Ser Barristan awaited them beside an ornate open palanquin, surrounded by Brazen Beasts. Ser Grandfather, Dany thought. Despite his age, he looked tall and handsome in the armor that she’d given him. “I would be happier if you had Unsullied guards about you today, Your Grace,” the old knight said, as Hizdahr went to greet his cousin. “Half of these Brazen Beasts are untried freedmen.” And the other half are Meereenese of doubtful loyalty, he left unsaid. Selmy mistrusted all the Meereenese, even shavepates.

“And untried they shall remain unless we try them.”

“A mask can hide many things, Your Grace. Is the man behind the owl mask the same owl who guarded you yesterday and the day before?

How can we know?”

“How should Meereen ever come to trust the Brazen Beasts if I do not? There are good brave men beneath those masks. I put my life into their hands.” - Daenerys, ADWD

Behind the drum marched Brazen Beasts four abreast. Some carried cudgels, others staves; all wore pleated skirts, leathern sandals, and patchwork cloaks sewn from squares of many colors to echo the many-colored bricks of Meereen. Their masks gleamed in the sun: boars and bulls, hawks and herons, lions and tigers and bears, fork-tongued serpents and hideous basilisks. – Daenerys, ADWD

In fact, some descriptions of the event, when taken by themselves, almost make it sound like there’s an actual ball happening inside the pit:

Across the pit the Graces sat in flowing robes of many colors, clustered around the austere figure of Galazza Galare, who alone amongst them wore the green. – Daenerys, ADWD

We could even dig further: dancing, in asoiaf, is often used as a euphemism for dying, or is used in scenes going heavy on the death-related subtext. What do people do in a ball? They dance. What do people do in the pits? They die.

“Barsena is very quick,” Reznak said. “She will dance with the boar, Magnificence, and slice him when he passes near her. He will be awash in blood before he falls, you shall see.” – Daenerys, ADWD

Cinderella’s ball is a dream and Dany’s “ball” is a nightmare, but both are woken from it, for the twelfth stroke of midnight will lift the charm. Fun fact, if I’m not mistaken, there were twelve fights planned that day: Khrazz, the Spotted Cat, a “Lysene youth with long blond hair”, an elephant, a bull, a mock battle, a folly with dwarfs, Barsena, a folly with old women and “three more matches”, according to Hzdahr… yup, that makes twelve. Each fight is a “stroke of midnight” for Dany, pulling her from the nightmare, urging her to wake up. At Barsena, she snaps. The charm falls, her carriage turns into a pumpkin and her gown into rags:

She lifted her veil and let it flutter away. She took her tokar off as well. The pearls rattled softly against one another as she unwound the silk.

“Khaleesi? ” Irri asked. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my floppy ears.” – Daenerys, ADWD

In her haste to flee, she loses a shoe:

“Let me go!” Dany twisted from his grasp. The world seemed to slow as she cleared the parapet. When she landed in the pit she lost a sandal. Running, she could feel the sand between her toes, hot and rough. Ser Barristan was calling after her. – Daenerys, ADWD

The aftermath finds her alone in the grass sea, wearing literal rags (again, not unlike Cinderella), in a dream-like state and wondering what just happened. Unlike Cinderella, Dany has no desire to relive the ball and would much rather stay where she is, with her rags and her animal companion. Both girls experience an unpleasant return to reality. Cinderella must go back to being a slave to her step-mother and half-sister, while Dany knows she must go back to Meereen (which doesn’t quite work out, but).  

Yet for everything nightmarish about it, the reopening of the fighting pits meant something Dany deeply dreamed for and desired: peace. No more bloodshed in the streets of Meereen. The safety of her people. She wanted it and she got it, until the whole farce blew up in her face and the pit of Daznak turned into a pumpkin. I think that’s when she realized it: that the peace was never real, that Hizdahr’s “peace” was an illusion (as many before me have pointed out), a veil that got lifted with the twelve death blows of the pit.

[gobydana]

Amazing Quotes from the comics

Below are some of my favorite quotes from each person. Sorry this list is long. 

Bruce Wayne/Batman

- Death is powerless against you if you leave a legacy of good behind. Death is powerless against you if you do your job. My father saved the lives of over four thousand people, one at a time... with his bare hands and his mind. Death was with him the entire time.

-  Clark, I'm sure anywhere you go in the universe, you'll find stupid people.

-  You don't know how I question myself and everything I've become. The right of it. The wrong of it. Not allowing myself any reward for the good. Damning myself for every mistake. Thinking of everyone who's sacrificed themselves in my war. Everyone close to me. Everyone who cared.

- Our greatest glory is not in ever falling, but in rising every time we fall.

-  Sometimes it’s only madness that makes us what we are.

Selina Kyle/Catwoman

- Live fast. Love hard. Die young. Leave a good-smelling corpse.

-  A long time ago, before I put on this mask, I was afraid of everything

-  "Your ex-lover, a murderous psychopath who has repeatedly made our lives a living hell, nearly burns my new home to the ground and all you can say is 'gross'?!

-  Show a man what he expects to see, and he won't look beneath the surface.

Alfred Pennyworth

-  I fear sometimes, dear boy, that if you don't give this up, you'll have nothing. You can't have darkness and light at the same time, Master Bruce..

-  Everyone has a vulnerability

-  Hnn. At least when Master Richard snuck out, he had the decency to construct a pillow dummy.

-  Pirate Stories-why did I love them as a boy? Because at heart they're about children who rebel against their parents to create new lives for themselves. They're stories of defiance. But the trick is, when you look at them as a parent, you see, they're actually written as cautionary tales. The child comes home in the end, just before doom strikes the ship. But in this tale, Bruce, the one I've helped make for you, Batman...I worry it has gone on too long...that I've kept it going with you long past it's natural end. That's what I was screaming about when you were on the wrecked submarine. Not the ways you've failed me but the ways I may have failed you.

Kate Kane/Batwoman

-  You coming? Or do I have to smash this bitch in the teeth all by myself?

-  You think I'm afraid of you? Any of you? You gave me a bulletproof suit, you morons! What can you do to stop me?

-  You will never get these years with her back, and a daughter needs her mom. I know I did. And I would've done anything to have more time with her. I can't be the reason for doing that to another kid. I can't

- So there is someone new in town ... Who the hell wears white?

Luke Fox/Batwing

-  I really should lead with the knockout gas instead of conversation.

-  You're leading me around through this nightmare like it's business as usual. Like I'm supposed to accept the supernatural. I accept it, okay? And now I'm going to kick its ass!

-  This night sucks. And now I have no choice but to run and hide because "Mary Psycho Poppins" just handed me my ass.

Dick Grayson/Nightwing (including his time as robin)

-  With you guys, it seems like I'm hot stuff … a know-it-all … but I've been back with The Batman again, and next to him I feel like I'm a stupid kid repeating fifth grade … for the third time.

-  Try to understand our position here, Batman. You began training to be a hero as a young adult. For me and a lot of the other Titans -- like Vic -- that training shaped and influenced most of our childhood. Unlike the JLA, the Titans aren't just about a promise to the world -- it's also about a promise to each other … to ourselves. We swore on our childhood nightmares that we'd be there for one another. If I don't honor that I don't honor who I am.

-  Sometimes I'm surprised I can even stand on a high ledge after what happened to the Flying Graysons. Boss Zucco could have sabatoged Haly's Circus any number of ways to drive down business and get his protection money. Instead he gave the crowd that night a show they'll never forget. I know I won't. When my mom and dad died, attendance actually went up.

-  Okay Mom and Dad, your 'Flying Grayson' is about to take the great leap. Or as they say in French, Le Grand Saut. Down, down, and away. I'd say I wish you could see me now, but I know you're watching me - I can feel angels on my shoulders. And probably a bat too. You said some records aren't meant to be broken, Bruce. But more than anything, I wish you were down there right now watching with Alfred and Tim as I break this one.

-  I had a good teacher, except for the interpersonal skills and the ability to work with others. That was me.

Barbara Gordon/Batgirl/Oracle

- A little over a year has passed since my old life ended, since I died and was reborn. The shadows remain, but only to give contrast to the light. I am no longer a distaff impersonation of someone else — I’m me, more me than I have ever been. I embrace it, and the light, with a deep, continuing joy.

-  Gotham should be safe again. Well, until the next thing. There’s always another thing

-  Wait for a hero? Barbara Joan Gordon -- Be your own damn hero

-  I'll wake up, learn from my mistakes and ultimately win the fight. I always do.

Jason Todd (including his time as robin)

-  I'll be damned if my best friend is going to die ... because he was dumb enough to trust me

-  Someone tell me I'm not having a heart-to-heart with a reanimated assassin

-  Trust? You...? I'll... give it a try, guys. But I'll tell you right now... I'm probably going to screw it up.

-  I'm sorry, I'm never going to be the hero you want me to be. I have every confidence in you--that you'll stay the hero I know you are

Tim Drake/Red Robin (including his time as robin)

-  The weight of the future... all of our futures... it just presses on me sometimes. And lately, it's been crushing, and I've been too afraid to ask for help. But I need to, Bruce. So this is me, asking for help.

-  It’s not smart to blackmail the wrong people

- That’s what we are. Not just a team, but a family. One day we might be the Justice League, but for today we’re the Teen Titans. 

-  I had a plan. That plan just went to hell

Stephanie Brown/Spoiler (including her time as batgirl and robin)

-  How come every time I try to do this different than Batman, I end up doing exactly what Batman would do?

-  I am who I choose to be.

-  I just watch two guys stealing TVs run into one another. Sadly, both televisions were lost... On the bright side, they'll each have a friend in jail.

-  Here's the deal, I'm a 'punch first, ask questions later' kinda gal. Him? He's a stabber.

Cassandra Cain/Orphan (including her time as batgirl/black bat)

-  I don't kill. But I don't lose, either.

-  Gotham City. Gotham. City. That just... sounds right. Mailbox. Van. Razor. It's strange how naming... changes things. I've walked these streets... every inch of this city... but I never had the words. I never knew the names. Now... it's like it's all changed. All new. Or maybe... Maybe it's me that's changing.

-  A special ability to predict my opponent's moves. That doesn't begin to describe it. Time... ran together. The future... blending... into the moment. A blink of an eye... the knife thrust that follows... both one. It was like... like I could predict my opponent's moves. Okay, that does describe it. But it doesn't do it justice.

Damian Wayne/Robin

-  Father, I'm sure you'll be angry with me for disobeying you again but I don't care, I will not let you fight Leviathan alone. You need me and I will always be at your side. Because it will be hard for me to say these words face to face, I want you to know that Mother may have givenme life, but you taught me how to live. Love and respect your son Damian

-  I don't want to end up like Ducard... without a moral compass... I don't want to turn into a NoBody... I want to be like you. I've always wanted to be like you.

-  I'm sure you didn't leave your hole tonight thinking you'd get your ass kicked by a ten-year-old!

-  I'm not the one in a ship filled with alien freaks, so how about shutting up and letting me work on keeping you safe, father!

Duke Thomas/Signal

- Someone told me that the problem with youth is the inability to accept your own mortality. I wouldn't consider this one of my problems

-  Sometimes you're wrong. Sometimes there is a place for you at the table. Some mysteries may never be solved by you alone. Sometimes you don't have to prove yourself repeatedly -- because you're confident about your purpose. And sometimes you just have to get to work for everything to work out.

-  not to mention you tire stealing genius, i’m not robin!

-  My career of choice has crazy hours, bad benefits, and doesn't pay. But it's the dream I never knew I always had. Mom, dad... I'm going into the vigilante business. I hope I live to tell you all about it.

Harper Row/Blue bird

-  I want training. Proper training. Tim's great at the tech stuff, but so am I. I want to know how to karate chop someone in the neck so their eyeballs pop out. I want to know the cool stuff.

-  Sometimes all it takes is a few words to change your life. For me it took seven. Seven words, spoken in the dark.

-  And you thought "Oh, Hey, I'm going to just talk to the scariest-looking bastard in the Narrows and see what he thinks"?

-  I never had a choice - but only because this is what I want, more than anything. And I was going to do this. I've told you that, again and again

Jean-Paul Valley/Azreael

-  You aren't asking if I'm okay, Lucas. You are asking if I can fight. I am angrier than I have ever been in my life, and I am sharing my mind with one murderous AI, and another one modeled off the world's most dangerous vigilante. Yes Lucas. I am ready to fight

-  Nomoz...he’s the one who came for me...he’s the one who broke me. For the greater glory of God

Feel free to add onto this list. I would love to know everyone’s favorite quotes.