#jen's scribbles

[jenthetranskitsune]

Not my best work but I figured I should share it anyways, was fun to write.

[scribe-kitsune]

The sound of boots on metal made her look up to see Ward approaching her. She avoided letting her hand instinctively twitch towards her knife. “We should talk.” She raised an eyebrow, those were not great words to start with, “About?” He took & released a breath, leaning against the railing a few feet from where she was sitting under it, “You’ve been avoiding me.” Skye winced. She had been hoping that the specialist had somehow not noticed that. “Yeah, so?”

This took longer than expected.

[graveyardcrab]

feeling good feeling sassy

practice sketches… first time drawing him

bad habit of changing my styles

[op-la]

Process post for this piece.

Around mid season 2, I had the idea for a story about Claudia; it was going to be about her learning how to lucid dream and keeping a dream journal. In the end, the project was too big and I couldn’t connect all my vague ideas and put them down into something coherent, so I decided to scrap it. I still like some of the scribbles I made for it, so I decided to collect them and put them into a spread. The journal look is a nod to the original idea. 

I used Jens Claessens's pencil brush and sketchbook backdrop for this project. I also used some brushes from TGTS's Chromagraph set, but the bulk of it is made with Jens' pencil brush.

While it wasn’t a direct inspiration, I referenced Thomas Blackshear’s Intimacy for this part a lot. 

Process gif and some close-ups:

[kk095]

Shay’s Sudden Arrest

The automatic doors hissed open, letting in a pair of paramedics. Between them rolled a stretcher bearing a young woman with sun-kissed skin, tangled blonde hair matted slightly to one side, and piercing blue eyes that blinked against the bright hospital lighting. She looked more like someone headed to a weigh-in than someone checking into an emergency room.

“Name’s Shay Strong, twenty-six year old female.” one of the medics called out as they proceeded towards Trauma Bay One. “Passed out cold during light sparring- she’s a pro MMA fighter. Trainer said she looked a little off just before she hit the mat. Tachycardic on scene, BP’s a little soft. No trauma. No drugs or alcohol on board as far as we can tell.” The second medic rattled off.

Dr Lindsay approached and glanced up from the chart she’d been reviewing and nodded for them to bring her in. She was already tugging on gloves as she stepped into the bay, with Dr Jen the resident trailing behind her and Nurse Heather circling around.

“Hey Shay, I’m Dr Lindsay. I heard you fainted today?” she said as the stretcher clicked into place beside the trauma room table. Shay nodded, her voice low and a little hoarse as they transferred her over to the table. “Yeah. Just felt… weird, ya know? Like, a little dizzy I guess.”

She didn’t look like the type to go down easy. Even lying flat, she carried herself like someone used to getting hit and getting back up. Her toned arms were a canvas of bold, dark ink- coiled serpents on one bicep, a geometric tiger on the other, the edges of color disappearing under the bands of muscle. A glint caught the light where a nose ring curved through her right nostril, and as Heather snipped her sports bra to attach monitor leads, Lindsay caught the flash of a piercing through her nipples. Some cursive ink framed the sides of her ribs and curved along her right thigh was a floral tattoo, all intricate.

Heather worked quickly, pressing leads to Shay’s chest and murmuring quietly. “HR’s 132. BP’s 92 over 58.”

“Got PVCs on the monitor. Could be nothing. Could be something.” Dr Jen chimed in, already pulling up a blank EKG strip.

Lindsay leaned over to meet Shay’s eyes. “Any chest pain? Shortness of breath? Dizziness before you went down?” the doctor asked. “Not really. Just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling off the last couple days. Figured it was overtraining or something.” Answered Shay. She didn’t look panicked. Just slightly dazed, maybe a little too quiet for someone her age in that kind of shape. That in itself was a red flag.

Lindsay exchanged a glance with Heather. “Let’s get labs, full cardiac panel. EKG, portable chest X-ray. And let’s call cardiology early- I don’t want to wait on this one.” Ordered Lindsay. Jen scribbled notes while Heather gently guided Shay’s arm to insert an IV. The tattoo of a phoenix flared up from her forearm, its wings half swallowed by gauze and tape. Shay looked up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. “This is probably nothing, right?” Shay asked. Lindsay hesitated before answering. “We’ll know soon. But your heart’s throwing out some signals we don’t want to ignore.” Answered Lindsay, her tone neutral and calm.

By the time the EKG machine spat out its second strip, Dr Jen was already frowning. “Frequent PVCs.” she muttered, holding the paper up toward the overhead light. “This isn’t just stress or dehydration. Something’s messing with her conduction.” Added the resident. Lindsay leaned in, scanning the sharp, jagged rhythms marching across the strip. “It’s diffuse. Not localized. And look- ST depressions in the lateral leads.” Dr Lindsay pointed out. Heather appeared from the hallway with a tray of labeled tubes. “Cardiac panel’s off to the lab. I rushed it- told them we’d owe them coffee.” Nurse Heather informed them.

Jen was already pulling up the portable chest X-ray on the trauma room computer. It took a moment for the image to load, but when it did, Lindsay narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Mild cardiomegaly. You see it?” Dr Lindsay noticed. “Yep.” Jen answered. “Heart’s too big for someone her age, especially with this kind of conditioning.” The resident continued.

Shay, still lying flat on the table with a light sheen of sweat forming on her collarbone, blinked over at them. “I take it this isn’t just a pulled muscle?” Shay chimed in, sensing something was off. Lindsay offered a tight smile. “We’re just being thorough. Something’s irritating your heart- could be an infection, could be something else. We’re running some tests to find out exactly what’s going on.” Explained Lindsay. Shay gave a small nod, unfazed. “Good. I’ve got a fight scheduled in eight weeks.”

Heather shot Lindsay a glance over the top of the monitor. Troponin’s already popped in the system: elevated significantly. “Alright. Let’s get a stat echo. I want to see her heart up close.” Lindsay said, tone shifting. Jen paused. “Should we call cardio back? We haven’t heard anything.” asked the resident. Lindsay nodded. “And book her a CT angio chest just in case. If this is myocarditis or worse, we don’t want to wait. Something’s going on here.” Responded Lindsay.

Heather slipped a BP cuff around Shay’s arm again. “Still tachy. 140s. BP 91/56.” Updated Nurse Heather.

Shay looked at all of them, calm but now visibly more alert. “You guys keep looking at each other like something’s wrong.” Shay chimed in. Lindsay didn’t sugarcoat it. “We’re seeing some strain on your heart. The kind we don’t normally see in healthy twenty-somethings.” Lindsay told Shay, succinct and to the point.

There was a beat of silence. Shay’s eyes dropped to the edge of the table. Her shoulders stayed still, but something in her expression flickered. Heather raised her brows slightly, exchanging a quiet glance with Jen behind her. Lindsay didn’t press it yet. “Let’s get that echo first. We’ll talk more when we’ve got a clearer picture.” Lindsay told the two of them.

Lindsay turned and stepped out towards the hallway just as the cardiologist on call, Dr Weiss, arrived with a rolling echo cart and a resting skepticism in her tone. “You called me for a young athlete with some PVCs?”

Lindsay crossed her arms. “Elevated troponin. PVCs, mild cardiomegaly on X-ray. And a gut feeling.”

“Alright, I need to work with a little more than a gut feeling, Dr Lindsay.” Dr Weiss responded, pushing the echo machine into the trauma bay. Dr Lindsay rolled her eyes “yeah, what do I know.” She thought to herself.

Shay remained still as cold gel was spread across her chest, the ultrasound probe tracing between tattoos and muscle. On the screen, her heart came into view, beating fast. The walls thickened. Movement reduced. Echoes of fibrosis scattered like shadows across the septum. Dr Weiss’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I hoped to see.” She thought out loud. “Alright, make sure she gets a CT angio of the chest. Call me back when you get the results.” Dr Weiss stated, before getting the echo equipment and leaving the room.

Jen and Heather worked quickly and got Shay over to radiology. The radiology wing was quiet, insulated from the steady buzz of the ER. The fluorescent lights shined faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the white floors. A lone CT tech tapped at the console as Dr Jen walked alongside the stretcher, Shay lying supine. Nurse Heather hovered nearby, keeping an eye on the monitor attached to the portable stand.

Shay hadn’t said much on the way over, just muttered something about her chest feeling “weird.” Still calm. Still out of it.

“Alright, Shay, We’re gonna get a scan of your chest. You’ll hear some mechanical noises. Just stay still for us, okay?” the tech explained softly. Shay nodded.

With practiced efficiency, Heather and Jen helped guide Shay off the stretcher and onto the scanner table. She moved like someone weighed down by lead. Her arms were positioned overhead, palms relaxed, fingers curled slightly. Her blonde hair spilled behind her head like a golden halo, the tattoos on her arms displayed on her skin like stories written in ink. Something coiled and dark sat on her ribcage, rising and falling with each slow breath. The tech returned to the control booth. The scanner whirred to life.

Jen folded her arms, watching through the glass of the observation room. The lights within the CT room glowed around Shay’s still form. It was almost peaceful.

Then, without warning, Shay’s body twitched. Her chest rose awkwardly- then fell flat. Her fingers curled into loose fists. Alarms erupted. One sharp, continuous tone. Inside the control booth, the tech’s eyes went wide. “She’s coding!”

Heather was already moving. “She’s in v-tach!” Heather eyed the monitor. Jen burst through the door, grabbing the crash cart parked just outside the suite. Shay’s body was still on the scanner table, her arms still overhead, eyes wide open now, staring at nothing. Her lips parted slightly, unmoving. “Pads on!” Heather shouted. Her hands moved quickly. “Charging to 200!” Jen shouted. Heather climbed halfway onto the CT table, hovering over Shay’s torso. “Ready!” Heather nodded.

“CLEAR!”

Shay’s body jumped. Her shoulders shrugged forward. Her head lolled slightly to the side, eyes wide and unblinking. No change. “Still pulseless.” Jen shook her head, eyes locked on the monitor. “Charging again to 300!”

The second shock caused the young MMA fighter’s body to jolt sharply. And then, the monitor beeped. One beat. Then another. “She’s got a rhythm!” Heather shouted. A carotid pulse returned beneath Jen’s gloved fingers. Weak. Thready. But there. The silence that followed was no longer peaceful. It was hollow.

Shay remained unconscious, still laid out on the CT table, chest rising and falling with ghostlike shallowness. Her nose ring glinted beneath the fluorescent light. A single drop of sweat slid down her temple.

Jen swallowed hard, voice low. “Sinus tach. Let’s get her back to the trauma bay, now. Let’s keep Dr Lindsay in the loop.”

Back in trauma room one, Dr Lindsay was gloving up as Dr Jen and Nurse Heather wheeled the young fighter in, the monitors above her head still blinking erratically. Shay was conscious (barely) but she looked far worse than she had thirty minutes ago. Sweat clung to her skin in a thin sheen, her breathing fast and shallow, chest rising and falling like she’d just run ten miles.

“She coded in the CT scanner- pulseless v-tach. We got her back after two shocks, but she was down for about a minute.” Dr Jen rattled off quickly. “Jeez…” Dr Lindsay muttered under her breath, moving beside the gurney. “Get her back on the table. Full workup. Get cardio back down here just in case.” Ordered Dr Lindsay.

Heather worked fast, placing leads back onto Shay’s bare chest. The pro fight laid there, barefoot, down to just her compression shorts. Patches of electrode adhesive still stuck to her sweat-damp skin. Her ribcage rose and fell quickly, tattoos stretching and shifting, black and gray roses climbing her right side, inked vines curling around her hips. Her arms, marked with fierce script, coiled dragons, and edgy ink, lay still at her sides, fingers curling slightly with each shallow breath.

“Shay? Can you hear me?” Dr Lindsay leaned over her. Shay’s eyes fluttered open, barely focused. “Mm… yeah. What… happened?” she mumbled. “You passed out during your scan, but you’re back. You’re okay.” Lindsay answered gently.

But she wasn’t. The heart monitor beeped rapidly- perhaps too rapidly. Nurse Heather glanced at it, then turned toward the others. “Guys, she’s running hot again. 160 and climbing.” Heather shook her head. “Let’s push some mag and prep for another round of epi if needed.” Dr Lindsay barked. Then the monitor’s tone changed. Heather’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “V-tach. Pulseless.”

Alarms began to blare again. “She’s coding!” Jen shouted. “Start compressions!” Dr Lindsay ordered. Heather jumped onto the stool and began rhythmic chest compressions. Shay’s body jolted with each one, her bare chest rising and falling unnaturally. Her tattoos danced under Heather’s gloved hands- one hand pressing just over the roses coiling across her ribs, where her heart was supposed to be working. Her chest caved in, recoiling hard, her toned belly with abs rippling out.

“Charging to 200 joules, everyone CLEAR!” Lindsay called out, taking charge. Shay’s body flopped hard on the gurney when the shock hit, pierced nipples twitching slightly, her arms limp at her sides.

“Still v-tach. No carotid pulse.” Heather called after a glance at the screen. “Back on compressions, Heather. Push one of epi and one of amio.” Dr Lindsay ordered. Jen moved fast, syringes sliding into the IV line. Shay’s skin was growing cool under their hands. Her breathing had stopped altogether. Her jaw slackened.

“I’ll take over for a cycle or two” Lindsay said, moving in to relieve Heather on compressions. Lindsay’s long arms pumped with sharp, trained force. “Come on, Shay. Come on.” Lindsay said under her breath, pumping away at Shay’s chest. “meds in!” Dr Jen called out.

After a cycle of compressions and a little time for the meds to kick in, the next defib shock was administered. Another shock. Another jolt. Shay’s body twitched sharply in response to the dose of electricity. Still no pulse afterwards. Heather rechecked the monitor. “Now it’s v-fib.”

“Keep going, charge again. Let’s hit her at 300.” Dr. Lindsay said, panting now from compressions. The next shock caused Shay’s feet to kick up above the table and drop back with a thud, showing off the deep, wavy wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet. “Still no change.” Jen eyed the monitor, checking the rhythm. Dr Lindsay shook her head. “Keep going.”

The room stayed locked in resuscitation mode. Every move crisp, controlled, coordinated. But behind the monitors and meds, a silent current was beginning to build. 26 year old Shay Strong- healthy, undefeated in the ring, fierce as hell, was slipping further away with each failed shock. Now, she lay sprawled across the trauma bay table, her blonde hair a total mess, her arms limp at her sides. The chaotic beeps of the monitors gave way to chaos in an instant.

“She’s still in v-fib, no pulse!” Jen called out, eyes locked on the EKG rhythm twisting across the screen like a coiled snake.

“Alright, let’s run through a cycle or two of compressions and go from there.” Dr Lindsay barked. “Heather, swap with me and start compressions.” Lindsay directed. Heather launched into CPR, pressing hard and fast into Shay’s chest, her tattooed ribcage rising and falling unnaturally with each deep compression. The motion caused her small perky breasts to jiggle slightly.

“Charging to 200!” Lindsay called after the cycle of compressions were finished, the machine emitting a rising, high pitched whir. Everyone stepped back when the shock was delivered. KA-THUNK! The MMA fighter’s toned, athletic body was tossed around effortlessly on the table by the defib’s electricity. Unfortunately, there was no change.

At the head of the bed, Jen kept an eye on the ambu bag and airway, squeezing rhythmically, watching the monitors like a hawk. Her gloved hands trembled just slightly. “Still no pulse.” the young resident murmured. “Next epi’s in.” Nurse Heather confirmed between cycles of CPR, her arms visibly tiring but steady. The flat, wet thud of her palms against Shay’s bare chest punctuated the room like a grim metronome.

“Let’s go again, charge to 300. Everyone… CLEAR.” Lindsay’s voice was firm, her blue eyes scanning around the room. Shay’s toes scrunched up involuntarily in response to the shock, wrinkling the soles of her feet once more, showing off the black nail polish on her toes. A high pitched tone screamed through the room. “Come on…” Jen whispered under her breath. Still no change.

“Push another 150 of amiodarone. Let’s tube her. 7.0 ET.” Lindsay signaled to Jen, who was already sliding the laryngoscope in. Shay’s mouth hung slack, jaw open, eyes half lidded. Despite everything- the tattoos, the muscle tone, the toughness- her body looked terribly vulnerable now.

The resident quickly slid the tube in place, securing it with some tape. “Tube’s in. Still no rhythm change.” Jen confirmed, voice tight. Heather didn’t stop. Her hands pounded against Shay’s sternum repeatedly, sending ripples through the inked skin of her torso. The nose ring caught a glint of light with each compression. Her chest looked raw and bruised. “Hold compressions. Charge to 360. Everyone CLEAR.” Lindsay ordered. Shay’s body tensed up hard, almost shivering for a second or two. Still v-fib.

The room was quieter than before. The thud of compressions, the hiss of oxygen through the ambu bag, the alarms on the heart monitor silenced. A minute passed. Then another. Dr Lindsay’s hand slowly came up. “That’s twenty-five minutes down.” she informed the team sternly. Her gaze moved across the room, catching Heather’s tired face, Jen’s white knuckled grip on the ambu bag. “She’s not coming back, is she?” Jen thought to herself. Her eyes flicked to the monitor one more time. Still v-fib. Dr Lindsay gave it a moment longer. Then softly, “Heather, hold compressions. Time of death… 13:42.” Announced Lindsay. Nurse Heather stopped compressions. The room seemed to exhale all at once. The monitor, now silent, showed the jagged, erratic waveforms of refractory v-fib.

No one moved right away. Shay lay motionless on the table, her chest rising faintly from the final puffs from the ambu bag, her body glistening under the harsh, bright overhead light. For someone so strong, she looked impossibly fragile now. Lindsay peeled off her latex gloves slowly. “Let’s clean her up.” she said softly, more to the room than to anyone in particular. No one spoke. They just moved. Careful, efficient, and quiet. The fighter had gone down, and not even the best resuscitation could bring her back.

Trauma Room One was quiet now. Shay laid motionless on the trauma bay table, her athletic frame still positioned how they’d left her- flat on her back, arms at her sides, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The harsh rhythm of CPR had ended moments ago. What remained was eerie stillness.

Dr Lindsay stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on Shay’s pale face. Her mouth was slightly parted, her chest unmoving. The bruising from the chest compressions was already starting to show- deep purples and dark reds spreading across the middle of her chest. The endotracheal tube remained in place, protruding from her pale lips. Nurse Heather stepped to Shay’s side and gently detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, setting it on the nearby cart. The heart monitor, still showing v-fib, let out a soft, continuous tone that filled the room with a hollow kind of finality. Dr Jen reached over and silenced it with a tap of her gloved finger.

Heather leaned in again, her hands methodical and respectful as she disconnected the EKG leads from Shay’s chest. One by one, the stickers peeled away, leaving behind faint impressions on her pale, clammy skin. Dr Jen removed the IV lines from her arms and coiled the tubing neatly before tossing it into the biohazard bin.

Lindsay took a toe tag from the tray and filled it out in quiet pen strokes. She looped the string gently around Shay’s left big toe, the tag dangling against the wrinkled soles of her foot. Dr Jen found a clean white sheet at the end of the gurney and pulled it up slowly, covering Shay’s legs, her torso, then finally her face.

Dr Lindsay stepped closer, gently placing her fingertips beneath Shay’s chin and tilting her head just enough to shut her half-lidded eyes. One last glimpse of life, now gone. The faint line of a nose ring caught the light again.

The room was still. The chaos from earlier felt like a distant memory, something that had happened in another place, to another person. Now, there was only the quiet presence of the three clinicians standing beside a body that had, just a little while ago, been fighting to stay alive.

Dr Lindsay gave a single nod, then turned and stepped toward the door. Heather and Jen remained a moment longer, hands at their sides, saying nothing, each taking one last look at Shay’s covered, toe tagged form before exiting the room.

[qilingxiong]

九龍城寨之圍城 | Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (2024)

I've rewatched this movie more than once, since seeing it in theatres back in August, and each time was just as good as the first if not better. Given that, I now have many thoughts so I'm subjecting y'all to listening to why you should watch it:

Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (九龍城寨之圍城 or gau2 lung4 sing4 zaai6 zi1 wai4 sing4) is a martial arts action/crime film directed by Soi Cheang. It is an adaptation of the manhua City of Darkness by Andy Seto, and its source novel of the same name by Yuyi. The film's cast has established Hong Kong names folded in with newer-generation actors, starring Raymond Lam, Louis Koo, Sammo Hung, Richie Jen, Terrance Lau, Philip Ng, German Cheung, and Tony Wu (Aaron Kwok gets a cameo role, too).

At a broad glance, the movie follows several major triads in 1980s Hong Kong and their power struggle to control the Kowloon Walled City (a densely populated urban enclave, which for decades evaded direct governance by either the British colonial or Chinese powers in the area). We're introduced to the KWC and the triads' major players through the eyes of Chan Lok-Kwan (Raymond Lam), a man fleeing Vietnam and attempting to make a life for himself in HK. He winds up seeking refuge in the KWC, and comes to call both the city and the people he meets in it a home worth defending.

The narrative itself is not the most complex, but if you enjoy '80s Hong Kong films in these genres, it's solid fare and a harkening back to that decade. All the major themes like brotherhood (and brotherhood vs blood), vengeance, and struggle with conflicting loyalties are there, alongside an internal search for identity and belonging within Hong Kong. But the highlight in it is that the plot connects feast after feast of utterly stunning fight choreography, made all the more impressive by the fact that, according to Louis Koo, quite a few major cast members had never filmed this kind of action before. All their training was done just for TotW, and oh, does it pay off. I can't make good gifs, so you'll have to watch and see for yourself. It's not action for action's sake, either; listening to the head stunt choreographer discuss how different characters' fighting styles were crafted shows off how fight scenes aren't breaks in the story, they tell the story, and deepen our understanding of the characters.

The setting of the Kowloon Walled City truly makes the action in TotW stand out. It's a unique space to stage all these major fights, as the KWC's buildings at the time were packed together close enough to resemble a singular block from the outside. Once inside, it's a stacked, dark maze of uneven paths, stairs, and rickety roofs, with electrical and television cabling snaking over/around/through everything. Fight scenes in these streets feel thrillingly claustrophobic, with lots of acrobatics and near-dodges as characters navigate these tight alleys of the KWC. Each impact as a character goes flying into a wall, or is launched down a flight of stairs or onto a roof, is wonderfully visceral to watch.

All credit and hopefully awards are due to the production and set design teams for their work, in crafting this environment for the story and its fights. The visual/spatial representation of the KWC is the film's other glorious highlight, alongside the choreography. Whole streets of the KWC were recreated for this, filled with every mundane, period-accurate detail from the lives of ordinary people who would have lived there. It's impossible to catch all the intricacies put into making the KWC come to life again onscreen, just from watching the film. Shots like the credits sequence offer close-ups of harder-to-see details, and videos like a tour of the KWC set by Terrance Lau, acting as his character Shin, show off things from the drinks in the fridge at the corner store to the scribbled writing on the walls by the public taps. This film was designed with a drive to faithfully represent what the Kowloon Walled City had been like, how it looked when it was lived in, and they achieved it to an incredible degree.

That dedication extends to more than just the sets, though. The emotional core of TotW revolves around the KWC's inhabitants, and how they were the ones who made the city what it was, a home for about 35,000 people at a time. The film doesn't treat the KWC as just an eye-catching location to stage some fights; its characters might be fictional and overloaded with jianghu powers, but it goes out of its way to show how ordinary people might have lived, worked, and socialized within the historic city. It shows off why, despite its (not unwarranted) dark reputation, so many chose to live in a place that was once the densest urban center on the planet.

And this brings us to the acting, because the cast all do a very good job bringing their characters to life as the heart of the KWC. Louis Koo is fucking fantastic and arguably the scene stealer of the film as Cyclone, the triad leader in current charge of the KWC. He's grumpy, magnetic, and dangerous when he must be, but he also cares so very, very deeply about the inhabitants within his jurisdiction. Terrance Lau's Shin acts as his charismatic and capable right hand man, as well as protégé to Cyclone, befriending Chan Lok-Kwan and helping him become accustomed to life in the KWC. These two, along with the snarky Twelfth Master (Tony Wu) and the masked + imposing AV (German Cheung) become a quartet with great chemistry and friendship, the next generation to watch over and protect the Kowloon Walled City. Outside the KWC cast, antagonist figures like Sammo Hung, Philip Ng, and Richie Jen's characters are intimidating and compelling as threats to the city, and the lives people have etched out within its walls.

All of these things put together, and Twilight of the Warriors is a deeply fun, enjoyable, and rewatchable film (so good, in fact, that Hong Kong has submitted it as its nomination for the 2025 Oscars). The movie doesn't lose its emotional throughline in the promise of an action-packed ride it fully delivers on, and it uses its narrative, setting, and choreography to pay tribute to an earlier era of Hong Kong, as well as highlight + humanize a piece of the region's history that might not be quite as well known to some.

(The Kowloon Walled City was demolished and its inhabitants relocated in 1993. The area where it once stood is now a park, with some historic buildings preserved. If you're curious about people in the KWC before demolition, City Of Darkness: Life In Kowloon Walled City (1993) by Greg Girard and Ian Lambot is a collection of photographs and first-hand recountings from residents, recording their lives and stories. I'm in the midst of reading it right now.)

If anything I've said has piqued your interest whatsoever, I say to give Twilight of the Warriors a try, if you have a free two hours to spare. Something in it will be worth it for you. And if I've failed to convince you with any of this, or you need one more push, here's the trailer for the film:

And if I did manage to actually get anyone to seek out this movie, please tell me! I'd love to know your thoughts.

[rose24207]

I need more need for Lando and popular reader. So when you have time, I have this request waiting for you. ⬇️

Need Lando who has a crush on reader but she has never really noticed him, but one day a teacher tells her she has to study with Lando to get her grades up, because he has the highest grades and can help her. So they start studying and actually getting to know each other and one day a guy reader use to date teases Lando about reader just using him for his mind so she can past the exam to stay in cheerleading so lando insecure and sad starts not opening up to reader and she catches on and begs him to tell her what's wrong. And happy ending with surprise kiss.

An unlikely pair

Summary: Lando has always had a crush on you , but you never really noticed him. When a teacher forces you to study together, you begin to get closer, but doubts arise when your ex teases Lando, making him feel like he’s just a tool for you to pass exams.

Genre: Nerd!Lando, AU, fluff, angst

TW: None!

A/N: this turned out better than I thought! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando had always admired you from afar, but you had never noticed him. He was just another face in the classroom to you, the quiet kid who kept to himself, always hidden behind his books or headphones.

You were a cheerleader, popular, surrounded by friends, and he was… well, not. You barely even acknowledged his existence, and Lando was perfectly fine with that.

At least he could continue to admire you from a distance, even if you'd never know.

Then came the announcement.

“Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?” Mr. Jennings, your teacher, called from the front of the classroom one day after the bell rang. You hesitated before walking up, wondering what this was about.

“You’re falling behind in your grades,” Mr. Jennings began gently. “And if you want to stay on the cheerleading squad, I’m going to need you to bring your grades up. I’ve spoken with Lando, and he’s agreed to help tutor you.”

You blinked in surprise. “Lando? You mean Lando Norris?”

“That’s right. He’s at the top of the class. If anyone can help you, it’s him. You’re going to meet with him after school to catch up on your work.”

Lando? Help you? This was going to be… awkward. You couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Lando wasn’t exactly someone you hung out with, and the thought of having to study with him made you a little self-conscious.

But what could you do? You needed those grades, and Lando was probably the only one who could help you out.

The first study session was exactly as uncomfortable as you’d imagined. You sat across from him at a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks. He barely looked at you at first, only flipping through pages and scribbling notes, clearly focused on the task at hand. You tried your best to pay attention, but the silence between you was deafening.

Finally, Lando broke the silence. “So, what’s the deal? Why are you struggling with math? I thought you were good at this stuff.”

You shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve just been distracted lately, I guess. Cheerleading, hanging out with my friends... school just hasn’t been my priority.”

Lando nodded, pushing a paper toward you. “Well, I can help you with this. But you have to try too. I’m not going to do it for you.”

From then on, the sessions became a little easier. Lando had a way of explaining things that made everything seem less complicated, and with each lesson, you found yourself opening up more. He wasn’t just the quiet kid in class anymore; you saw how kind, patient, and determined he was. He had a sharp mind, sure, but there was also a depth to him that you hadn’t noticed before. The more you learned from him, the more you admired him. Slowly, you began to realize how much you enjoyed spending time with him, how comfortable it felt to talk to him.

Then came that day. The one that would change everything.

You were sitting with some of your friends after practice when one of your exes, Ethan, approached. He leaned against the table with a smirk, his gaze shifting to you.

“So, you’re still studying with Norris, huh?” Ethan teased, his tone condescending. “What’s next, Y/N? Gonna use him for his genius so you can keep your spot on the cheer squad? I mean, it’s not like he’s good for anything else.”

Your heart dropped. You knew exactly what he meant. Lando was smart, yes, but he wasn’t the popular kid. He wasn’t the type of guy you’d date. You wanted to snap at Ethan, but his words stuck with you.

Was that how Lando saw you? Was he just a stepping stone for you to stay on the cheerleading team? You felt a wave of guilt hit you, and for the first time, you started to wonder if Lando felt like he was being used.

The next time you saw Lando, it was different. He was quieter, more distant. The warmth that had been between you during study sessions was gone. He kept his answers short, his eyes never quite meeting yours. You could feel the change, and it hurt. It was clear he was upset about something.

After a few more sessions of this coldness, you couldn’t take it any longer.

“Lando,” you said one day, grabbing his arm before he could leave the library. “What’s going on? You’re acting different.”

He pulled back slightly, avoiding your gaze. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

You could see through his lie. “No, you’re not fine. Something’s bothering you. You’ve been distant, and I don’t know why.”

Lando sighed, finally looking at you, his expression full of hesitation. “It’s just… you. I don’t know why you’re still spending time with me. You only need my help to pass the exam, right? After that, you’ll forget about me, just like you’ve forgotten about everything else.”

Your heart clenched at his words. You had no idea he felt like this.

“Lando, no,” you whispered, stepping closer to him. “I’m not using you. I’m not using your brain or your grades. I just… I like spending time with you. I like you.”

Lando stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But… I thought you only cared about the cheerleading stuff. You’re popular. You have everything you want. I’m just… the guy who helps you pass.”

You shook your head, shaking off the sadness that had been building up inside you. “You’re not just that. You’re amazing, Lando. You’re smart, and funny, and kind. I don’t need you to help me just to stay in cheerleading. I need you to help me because I want to be with you.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your words sinking in. Finally, Lando’s lips curled into a small smile, his insecurities starting to fade.

“You really like me?” he asked softly, as if the idea was still foreign to him.

You nodded, your heart racing. “Yes, Lando. I really do.”

Before either of you could say another word, you moved forward, cupping his face gently. And then, without thinking, you kissed him. It was soft at first, full of hesitation, but then the tension between you melted away, and it deepened—one of those perfect, unexpected moments you never saw coming but always wanted.

When you pulled away, Lando’s face was flushed, his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. But then, the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin.

“So… this is real?” he asked, his voice playful now.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling back at him. “This is real.”

Thank you for reading!

[bugs-dateeverythingsideblog]

More characters design talk! This time it’s about hair for a few characters. In Blake Jenning’s video where he was ranking the Date Everything characters- he noticed that Keyes’ hair was an eighth note.

Absolutely outstanding design there.

Moving on to other characters, here we have Penelope, Stefan, Maggie, and Mateo.

Starting with Penelope, her hair resembles that of pen scribbles- very nice. Throwing in the blue and red pen scribbles is a nice touch.

Now for Stefan. The hair on the side of his head (marked with a circle there) looks like the fire under a burner on a gas stove. Very cool detail

Maggie seems to just have normal hair, but the more I thought about it- it *might* be a play on the term “red herring”. She is after all a magnifying glass. It’s a stretch but it’s a neat thing to think about.

And now for Mateo. For a while, I couldn’t figure out what his hair was supposed to resemble, but then it came to me- His hair is rather wispy and feathery, which made me think of a down blanket. (down feathers make up the insulation of it iirc). When I put that together in my mind, it made a whole lot more sense. Really interesting detail.

[moonkake-143]

𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡 | Into the Labyrinth

Goblin King!Eddie X AFAB/Fem!Henderson Reader

Edited By the lovey: Jen

Contents: Slow Burn, One sided pining from Eddie turned mutual, love at first sight, fluff, angst, no use of y/n

Summery: Your time starts now and your first challenge awaits.

Chapter 2/? {wc: 5.7k}

Masterlist

Part 1  Part 2

The walk felt long and arduous, especially with the sun beating down on you as hard as it did. How odd it was that you were just under the cover of darkness back home— it had been cold and stormy, but here the sun was high up in the sky, with clouds only partly covering the land. Below you, the grassy hill felt as if it went on forever, and for a beat, you thought it did— a sick trick already at the start, but one thing remained a constant in your mind.

        Find Dustin and get out of there.

        You thought those words over and over like a mantra, or hell, even a prayer, pushing yourself forward despite the burning sun. Despite the clock that timed you from the top of that damn hill. Despite the handsome, curly-haired man who brought you here in the first place.

        Cursing him, you shook your head and continued your trek, finally reaching the bottom of the hill and landing on a dirt road. The surrounding fields were barren, and crops rotted in tipped-over barrels. The area was devoid of life, and as the smell of charcoal invaded your nostrils, you scrunched your nose in disgust, picking up the pace. With sunken thatch roofs, the houses were charred, and when you came closer, you noticed arrows stuck in the rotting wood. You noticed the claw marks that scarred the doors and the rust-colored stains that marred the sides of the cottages. There had been some sort of struggle; a carnage that had been long forgotten, but there were no bodies in sight— as if they had just up and vanished.

       Just what happened here?

        As you walked, the ash-stricken houses began to converge the closer you walked towards the forest, as if a village was waiting deep inside. A growing uneasiness followed you until you finally stopped in front of a signpost, realizing that the dirt road forked into two paths— one that went into the forest, and another that continued towards abandoned farmland. Both signs were illegible, written in a language that resembled the scribbles of a two year-old. But even if you could translate them, the wooden signs were so damaged, rotting and falling apart, that you struggled to decide which way to go.

        Without warning, a gust of wind swept through you, and you shivered, rubbing your arms to combat the sudden chill. Now you really wished you had a jacket, rather than just a tank top. However, you noticed that the wind whisked a trail of leaves into the woods.

        If that wasn't a sign, then you didn't know what was.

        Taking a deep breath, you followed them down the path.

        Time seemed to stand still as you walked through the damp forest, but then again, time felt a lot different here. The trees provided a much-needed cover from the burning sun, casting gloomy shadows. It seemed to be a logging camp, with a scattering of wooden cabins that looked in better shape then the ones outside, but were still unsettling to walk past. You found more arrows, with rusty axes embedded in the trunks of trees, but nature seemed to overtake them. Grass and daisies grew in the gaps between abandoned machinery, covering the pieces in moss. More houses seemed to go deeper into the forest, all seemingly abandoned and overgrown.

        As you walked, the humidity caused your hair to frizz up and covered your entire body in an uncomfortable layer of sweat. You let out a huff and wiped the condensation from your brow, your legs aching.

        How long had you been walking for? Was this all for nothing? Had you gone the wrong way? Was there no labyrinth at all? Questions swirled around your mind as your chest swelled, your breath shortening. The heat was not helping— it felt suffocating, as if the entire forest was a damp sauna. What was it with this sudden change in weather?

       With a ragged breath, you finally stopped walking, and your vision blurred with tears. Anxiety gnawed at your very core, your body tensing and trembling as you buried your face in your hands, taking deep breaths. Slowly, you tried to steady yourself, your head aching and pulse pounding. As the pain in your chest subsided, you lowered your palms from your eyes, slowly opening them.

        In front of you wasn't the dirt path, but a large gate— one that hadn’t been there before. It was tall and deeply ornate, with a stone arch and iron bars that were curled into what looked like bats. Moss and vines twisted along the cobblestone pillars on either side, but what caught your eye was the wide, seemingly endless wall that encompassed the labyrinth. You slowly walked up to it, grabbing onto the iron bars and pulling— but the gate was locked.

        "Come on, I've come this far…” you sighed.

        "Halt! Who goes there?”

        Jumping in surprise, you spun and frantically looked for the source of the voice, bringing your arms up in a defensive position— albeit a rather weak one.

        "Who’s there?!” you called out.

        The disembodied voice seemed to chuckle at your attempt at intimidation.

        "I should be asking you that! What brings a human to my neck of the woods?”

        The voice sounded feminine and held a jolly lilt of humor, one that eased your stance slightly. Looking around, you kept your fists up, stepping forward. Maybe those karate classes from elementary school would kick in if something did happen.

        Then as swift as the wind, someone from the top of the gate dropped behind you.

       "Boo!”

        Yelping, you tripped and landed on your bottom, stirring up dust that caused you to cough.

        Curse your lack of instincts and balance. Those classes did nothing to prepare you.

        When the dust settled, you found a pair of striking blue-green eyes staring you down. You let out a gasp, quickly scooting backwards in a feeble attempt to crabwalk away from her. She was sun-kissed, as if she spent her life outside, with freckles dotted across her nose— or was it dirt? You couldn't tell, but she was studying you like a specimen, her eyebrows married in concentration at the possibility of you being a threat. But then she relaxed and flashed a sharp-toothed smile, her teeth both blinding and scary.

        "So it is you! The girl Eddie’s always on about!”

        "Wh-What?”

        "Oh, sorry for startling you— here, lemme help you up.”

        She grabbed your forearm, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing, and you winced as her sharp claws lightly grazed your skin. Her dirty-blonde hair was chopped just above her shoulders, her eyes crinkling under her wide grin. How could she smile even more?

        "Who are you?”

        "Oh right, I’m Robin! I watch over this gaudy-looking gate!”

        Robin stepped back from you, and it was then that you fully took her in. She wore a similar outfit to Eddie's, dressed in a poet shirt and tight trousers, with gloves fit for an archer. Slung over her back was a longbow and a quiver of arrows, and a dagger was sheathed to her hip. Gold piercings adorned her ears, which were long and pointed— something you had only ever read about in fantasy novels.

        "You’re an elf…?”

        "Oh hells no! A goblin, actually! Never seen a goblin before? We're nothing like those posh pricks!"

        "No, I've never seen a real goblin before..."

        "And it's been a while since I've seen a human! They're quite rare around here.”

        Shaking your head, you stared at her in awe. Goblins always were depicted as small, evil green things, but Robin— she looked human. It made you wonder what elves really looked like.

        "I know, I am quite stunning, but I'm afraid I'm taken!"

        You realized you were staring for longer than was socially acceptable, and your face turned bright red as you broke your stare.

        "You're really the girl he's always talking about, huh? I can see why he likes you.” The relaxed tone disappeared from her voice, her previous expression returning as she studied you. The goblin woman then began to circle you like a vulture, sizing you up and scanning you from head to toe.

        "What? Why are you doing that? Robin, right? Please, can you let me inside?”

        "Woah, one question at a time. Start with the most important one.”

        "Can you please let me inside?”

        "I can, but that’s not the right question.”

        "What? What do you mean not the right question?”

        "You ask a lot of questions, huh?”

        Robin finally stopped in front of you and stared, a smile slowly appearing on her face. She was quiet, letting you stew in your own mind.

        What was she talking about? You said please, was that not enough?

        You turned your back to her, opening your arms and lifting them to the sky.

        "Open Sesame? Abracadabra?”

        Robin burst into a fit of laughter, her own face turning red as she clutched her abdomen, her shoulders shaking. You dropped your arms in embarrassment, cheeks flushing as you wracked your brain for what could have been the answer— why wouldn't she open the gate?

        Oh wait.

        "...Will you please open the gate?”

        "Now that’s more like it!”

        Robin turned and pushed vines aside to reveal a wooden lever, pulling it down. The mechanisms began to churn, the cranking of the gears becoming louder as you walked closer. Anxiety quickly settled into a permanent place in your stomach.

        "How bad is it?”

        "The truth? Terrifying. Are you really going in there?” Robin watched you with curious, worried eyes.

        "I have to…for my brother.”

        "You mean the brother you wished away? How admirable. But here’s your official warning: a mere human like you may not make it out alive. The labyrinth is no game to take lightly— you might forget which way is which, fall into a pit of spikes, or encounter a monster thirsty for blood— you'll never know what you might find.”

        Staring wide-eyed at the open gate, you turned to her.

        "There are monsters in here? You're not messing with me?“

        "Afraid not, but here— you might need this.”

        Robin unclipped her dagger, quick to wrap the belt around your waist.

        "Promise we’ll be friends if you make it out alive?”

        "When I make it out…”

        "That's the spirit! Now go get 'em! Don’t die!" Robin’s smile was blinding as she pushed you towards the entrance. "Good luck, and don’t take anything at face value!”

        You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at the stone walls, which seemed to beckon you inside. Taking a breath, you crossed under the gate, which quickly fell shut behind you with a loud bang. You jumped, turning to see the goblin woman waving from the other side.

        Letting out a surprised huff, you faced ahead once more.

        "Alright, I gotta find Dustin," you thought. "I've only got thirteen hours— how am I even going to track that? Robin mentioned monsters...at least she gave me this…"

        Pulling the dagger from its place on your belt, you examined it. It was a simple thing wrapped in leather, with a slightly curved blade. Embedded in the hilt was a red stone, possibly a ruby. You held it out and slashed at the air, imagining your target as someone with curly hair and brown doe eyes. Once satisfied with yourself, you sheathed it away and continued your journey.

        You walked slowly, taking in your surroundings and keeping a watchful eye out for any traps. Brown roots covered the stone walls and spilled onto the path in thick chunks. You carefully maneuvered around them, but the passage seemed to go on forever, and you slowly went from a walk to a jog, and from a jog to a sprint, running down the path with no end in sight.

        Your careless running finally caught up to you when you tripped over a thick, gnarled root, toppling over and tumbling to the ground. Knees digging into dirt, you huffed as you looked up, and from the corner of your eye, you saw it.

        The labyrinth was moving.

        By the looks of it, it changed ever-so slightly— nothing the careless eye could catch so quickly. The walls shifted in what looked to be a wave of magic, pulsating as if they were alive, and the root you had just tripped over slowly disappeared, rescinding into the stone crevices behind you. Was the labyrinth alive after all? Or was this Eddie’s doing?

        You punched the ground in frustration as the pain in your knees became a dull ache. Groaning, you sat up against the wall, your face red not just from exhaustion, but the anger that bubbled to the surface.

        "You can’t be serious!" you screamed at the bright blue sky, hoping someone— anyone— would listen. "What the actual fuck am I supposed to do? Hey, Eddie! Yeah, I have a feeling you can hear me, you prick! What the fuck!? You didn't say it fucking moves! Or that there were monsters in here!”

        You were met with dead silence as you leaned your head against the stone wall, catching your breath and closing your eyes.

        "Alright, this is fine, just breathe. This is like one of those DND campaigns. Yeah, okay, maybe none of this is even real. Did I finally lose it? What if Dustin is dead? Oh god, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself— what if I'm dead too?! What if mom finds me on the side of the road?!” Your ramblings carried through the silence of the labyrinth, hands trembling as you raked your fingers through your hair in anxious panic.

        Tears threatened to escape your eyes, and you tried to will them away, but had to shove your palms against your eyes to force them to hide. You wouldn’t cry, not over this, not over hypothetical scenarios. Dustin was alive— he had to be. You remembered his bubbly laugh. You remembered how curious he always was, often getting into trouble. You remembered how he tucked his head of curls under your chin when you watched movies together. Then you thought about how scared he must be without you there, in the dark and surrounded by terrifying monsters who could eat him if they wanted to. You tucked your knees close to your chest, hiccups erupting from your body as the tears you tried so hard to fight back flowed from your eyes.

        "Are you alright, dear?”

        You jumped at the sudden voice. It was a gentle thing, feminine and holding a motherly lilt that pulled you out of your internal dread. You searched for the source of it, eyes teary.

        "Would you like a spot of tea? I believe I have some leaves perfect for brewing.”

        The source of the voice finally revealed itself to you, hanging from a vine on the wall. Rubbing the tear stains from your cheeks, you leaned towards the creature. A spotted mushroom sat on its head, and delicate, glistening fairy wings sprouted from its back. You shook your head at the question.

        “What troubles you, my dear?”

        The fairy was small but seemed wise with age, with pointed ears that stuck out from her dark brown curls. Her skin was golden, as if the sun blessed her, and she wore a dress made of leaves. Her voice was warm and inviting, but her golden eyes looked you over with sorrow and worry— a mother's gaze, no doubt.

        "It’s this maze! It moves without warning! How am I supposed to get through it in thirteen hours?! Dustin is probably scared to death and it's all my fault!”

        "Oh dear, our king hasn’t properly warned you of the labyrinth, has he? Well, I can tell you with certainty that the brother you shed tears for is safely tucked away in his manor. Our king is kind and always watches over us, including little ol’ me. But in this place, things are not what you expect— for example, take that wall in front of you. It is no ordinary wall.”

        The fairy's wings gently fluttered as she lifted herself towards the wall. Placing a small hand against it, she seemed to keep floating forward.

        Slowly calming your tears, you picked yourself off the ground and approached the wall. Hand outstretched, you expected yourself to stop short, only you stumbled forward.

        "So it’s an illusion...” You walked further and were finally able to place your hand against the cobble, where you saw paths on either side. The fairy slowly settled onto your shoulder, her wings limply hanging downward.

        "I’m sorry, dear— my wings don’t quite flutter how they used to. Can you set me down near that mushroom there? Thank you.”

        "No, I should be thanking you. I needed your help.” You crouched and held your palm towards your shoulder. The fairy hopped onto it, and you set her on the dirt.

        "Oh dearie, it was nothing. Now go, he’s waiting for you!”

        "Thank you again.”

        The fairy gave you a warm smile before waving you away, her hands sparkling as you straightened up. There were two paths to choose from, both looking nearly identical. You looked to the right first, which was lined with spotted mushrooms, and then to the left, where flowers grew from stone walls. Your feet moved towards the left path, distracted by the flowers, but you stopped. 

        "Maybe the flowers are a trap. Their smell is so overwhelmingly sweet, it's giving me a headache— I can't go that way.”  You shook your head and swiftly turned to the right, following the mushrooms down the path.

        You walked and walked for what felt like hours, the pulsating walls shifting from gray cobblestone to green hedges, the changes taking place in your peripheral vision. When you looked over your shoulder, you noticed that shrubbery covered the opening you came through. You pulled the dagger from its sheath and carved an arrow into the ground, marking your path. Keeping the knife out, you trekked through the hedge maze, and when you reached a dead end, you sighed and turned back— only for the arrow mark to be missing.

        "What the hell? This is such a sick joke— I swear it was right here! Ugh!” You stomped, and the stone tile beneath your foot clicked. Your breath stalled short as your eyes darted around, but you saw nothing. You heard the sudden rustle of leaves, and turned to find that the dead end had opened into an archway. It could have been some sort of trap, but you were desperate, and hurried through the opening.

        The passage slowly opened to a courtyard surrounded by round hedge walls, and you froze as fear took hold of you. Between two pillars, you found a mysterious creature sleeping. It was blocking something— a door.

        "This has to be the way. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy. I need to find a way around this thing— whatever it is."

        You surveyed the creature from a distance, still frozen in fear and awe. Curled like a sleeping housecat, it resembled a golden lion with feathered wings. How were you going to get around it? Your sweaty fingers gripped the hilt of the dagger Robin had given you. It wasn’t much, but you took comfort in having something to defend yourself with. You inched forward, trying to find a way around the beast.

        The animal stirred and you froze immediately, sweat beading on your temple as you defensively held the knife in front of you. The creature then growled and twisted, stretching out in its sleep. A crystal ball rested under its paw, suddenly lighting up, and an all-too-familiar voice shouted through it.

        "Chrissy, wake up!”

        The creature hummed and swiped at the ball, which rolled its way towards you. Maybe this was your chance for contact— to see if your brother was alright.

        You quickly sheathed the dagger and dropped down to hoist the crystal ball into your hands, backing away from the creature. Larger than the one previously offered to you, the orb reflected a man with shaggy curls. You glared at his image, but Eddie's attention was elsewhere as he shouted at someone, his voice muffled by all the noise around him. In the background, you heard the sounds of goblins yelling and knocking each other over as something metal loudly clattered to the floor.

        "Eddie, the kid is causing too much trouble! He nearly decapitated little Mike with a sword just now! You watch him, I need a break!” 

        "Stevie you can't leave now! He likes you!"

        "Not my problem! And stop calling me that!

        The unknown man huffed in annoyance before walking off and Eddie rolled his eyes before he let out a heavy sigh. 

        "Some one else was watching over Dustin? And he was around a sword?!"

        Eddie's pointed ears twitched at a high-pitched scream and he groaned, before turning his head to face you.

        "How many times do I—? Oh hello, Miss Henderson.” His eyes widened, not expecting to see you on the other end of the crystal.

        "Where is he?” Your voice was low and angry as you quickly hid behind a pillar, but he seemed distracted.

        "Where’s who? Hey!" The ball jostled as it was ripped from his hands. "Get back here!” He started chasing after the thief, and when he seemed close, you heard childish laughter.

        "Dustin, is that you!?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you clutched the ball close, a relieved sigh escaping— none of your fears had come true. 

        The laughter became louder as your brother’s gummy grin took center stage, his blue eyes crinkled with glee as he ran, the crystal shaking in his hands.

        "Dustin! Dustin! Are you okay?!” Your voice shook as you tried to get his attention, lowering it as the sleeping creature stirred. He laughed and joyously called your name.

        "I okay, no worry!”

        "Are you sure? You're not hurt? Where are you?” Your questions came out quick, but he giggled, his curls bouncing as he ran.

        "I at Eddie's house! I like it here and I like Eddie! He play with me and I still eat my veggies, like you say! But Eddie don’t eat.”

        "I’m coming to get you, okay? I'll be there soon. Then we’re gonna go home and eat all the ice cream you want. If the goblins do anything bad, then you hit them real hard and run away.”

        "Yay!" The boy cheered, but his running slowed, his eyes droopy and tired. "Pinky promise...?”

        "Pinky promise…I…I love you.”

        "Love you…” he yawned.

        Suddenly he was scooped up, laughing sleepily— something you didn’t think you would miss so much.

        "I’ll take that back now, you little rascal— time for bed.”

        The image shook once again as Eddie plucked the crystal ball from Dustin's grip, holding it out to show the two of them. Dustin dug his face into his shoulder and clung to his neck, legs wrapped around his torso. The man’s eyes were gentle as he shifted his attention from the boy to you, and with a soft voice, he stared you down.

        "You have eleven hours— I'll see you soon.”

        Red smoke filled the crystal, and when it cleared, he was gone.

        "What was all that about? No, forget him, Dustin is okay. He's been eating and now he's going to sleep. See me soon? When I see Eddie, I’m gonna—"

        You set the large crystal ball on the ground and turned to the now very-much-awake creature— one that was half-human, dressed in a white and gold toga. Her ocean blue eyes were piercing, her golden hair perfectly framing her soft face.

        "It seems you caught me napping— you must be the famous Henderson girl I hear so much about.” The creature's voice was soft and tired, her eyes staring you down as you stood away from her.

        How did all of these creatures know you?

        You kept still, your heart furiously beating in your ears. You were sure she could hear it too.

        "That knife at your hip— I hope you weren't planning on using it on me. Otherwise, you might have been my lunch.” she grinned nonchalantly.

        You quickly shook your head— a lie.

        "Come closer, don't be shy. I’m Chrissy and I promise I won’t eat you— there are things here that are far worse than me. Now for your test!”

        You slowly began to approach her, noticing three large locks on the door behind her.

        "Test? What kind of test?”

        "It’s really easy, just answer some riddles and unlock the door behind me to continue towards the city. Easy-peasy!”

        "Wait, riddles? You're a sphinx?” You wracked your head for the story, remembering the creature from a book of Greek mythology you read for history class.

        "Well no, I’m a goblin. We come in all shapes and sizes." Chrissy was a large creature, but she began to shrink, her lion legs shifting into human ones. Her toga reached her ankles, and her bare feet seemed to have been dipped in gold. Her blonde hair fell just past her shoulders as she yawned, arms stretching out above her head.

        You watched in awe and she smiled brightly, giving you jazz hands. The golden bangles around her wrists clanked when she did so.

        "Alright then, I have three riddles for you. If you can’t solve them, then unfortunately, you'll be...misplaced.”

        "Wait, misplaced? Where to?”

        "Typically you’d be placed anywhere in the labyrinth, but in this case, I was told to send you back to the beginning.”

        Your eyes widened and she laughed, her jewelry jingling as she approached you.

        "So, are you ready or not? You don’t have that much time…”

        Taking a deep breath, you nodded. Hopefully all those Dungeons and Dragons sessions would pay off.

        "I’m ready…I think.”

        She clasped her hands together in prayer and her blue eyes gently closed. When she opened them a few seconds later, they glowed a bright gold. You flinched at the unexpected change, but tried to relax. This was your first true test.

        "Your first riddle is this: if given one, you’ll have many or none at all.” Her voice echoed throughout the landing, shaking the hedge walls.

        You steadied yourself and delved deep into your mind, stewing in the question. You had to think carefully; if you gave the wrong answer, you would have to start all over again. And if you did, there most likely wouldn't be a kind fairy creature to help you. What would you even choose to say? There were so many choices.

        Wait.

        Taking a deep breath, you shakily gave your first answer.

        "A choice…?”

        Chrissy smiled, and a lock from behind her fell to the floor.

        "That is correct— your destiny is shaped by the choices you make on your journey through life. Many choices can alter your path, whether they lead you to ruin, or lead you to glory. Choices give the power to challenge your fate. Now your second riddle is this: some are cherished, some are hated, and even if lost, they remain with you.”

        You stared at her, taking in her words, imprinting them into your mind. It could be people— maybe it was. But how are lost people still with you? In your heart?

        Suddenly you thought of your father, the day he left Hawkins ingrained into your memory. Your mother was pregnant with Dustin at the time— you remembered her crying after work, still in her scrubs. You remembered the day she came home with your brother in a carrier and how she cried for weeks after. You remembered seeing her less often. You remembered waking up to feed Dustin when your mother worked night shifts. You remembered not having a Sweet 16th after he was born. You remembered helping to pay for his racecar bed. You remembered getting him to say your name for the first time. It was his first word. You remembered raising him, and you remembered loving him so much. But you remembered the sleepless nights before tests. You remembered missing school to watch over him when he was sick. You remembered crying when he wouldn’t stop. You remembered having to swallow back the tears when your mother was there. The memories were a cocktail of pain, loss, and happiness.

        You remembered…

        "Is the answer memories?”

        Another of the locks fell to the ground, causing it to shake.

        "Correct— memories are powerful. They may hold a person's love or hate, their joy and their grief, and some may choose to block them out. The memories you hold dear will always be imprinted into your heart, even as years pass. Our memories shape us, and you are now stronger because of them. Keep those memories close, for even if they hurt, they are a part of who you are. Now, your last riddle is this: they arrive every night, whether invited or not. They can be seen, but not heard or touched. If one falls, they all keep moving.”

        You absorbed her words into your mind— you needed to get this right, or you would be doomed to reset this death trap. Tapping your foot, you tried to wrap your head around the riddle. You looked up at the sky above you, falling into a distant memory.

        "Whas in da sky?”

        "Those are stars, Dustin. You can only see them clearly out here.”

        "Why?”

        "Because it's dark here.”

        "The dark is scawy...”

        "It can be, but the stars will always keep you safe.”

        "How?”

        "Well, you see that up there? That’s the North Star— when it comes out, you make a wish on it. And guess what? If you follow it, it can take you home.”

        You sat on the driveway with Dustin in your lap, staring up into the starry sky. There had been a blackout, and your mother was still working at the hospital. The sudden darkness had scared the boy, and you tried to calm his cries by bringing him outside.

        "It can?”

        "Yeah, and do you wanna know the coolest thing?”

        "Wha?”

        "Sometimes stars fall from the sky. They say bye-bye to their mommies and they go on their own adventure. They fly by and spread their magic dust to make you happy.”

        "Really? They not scawed?”

        "Maybe, but it’s okay to be scared. Their mommies are always watching.”

        "And sisters?”

        "Yeah buddy, their sisters watch them too.”

        Dustin leaned against you, staring up at the sky with awe in his bright blue eyes. The stars, despite the blackout, kept on moving.

        "Is Mommy still working?”

        "Yeah, the hospital needs a lot of help, so she’s staying late.”

        "I sleep with you?”

        He looked up at you with pleading puppy-dog eyes, and how could you say no to that? You sighed and gently nodded.

        "Yeah, you can sleep in my room 'til Mom gets back.”

        He cheered and leaned against you, his eyes starting to close, and for a second, you thought a comet shot through the sky.

        You wished things were different.

        "Stars— the answer is stars.” Your voice came out shaky and unsure, and you held your breath until finally, after what felt like years, the final lock clicked open and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

        "Correct— for centuries, the stars have guided the lost, and today, their memory guides you forward. Whenever you feel lost in your heart, unsure of how to navigate the darkness within, then look to the night sky. Follow the stars and allow them to guide you, just as they guided others long ago. Just as the stars keep moving, so will you. Congratulations— you have passed the test and may continue on your journey.”

        You held your breath, your eyes wide with shock. Your heart raced as you stood still, as if one wrong move would send you back to the start of the labyrinth. But your anxiety melted into joy when you realized that you had done it— you had passed the first test. You let out a shaky breath, your trembling hands quickly rubbing away the joyous tears that poured down your cheeks. Breaking into a smile, you turned to the orb, pointing at it with a determined fire in your eyes.

        "See that, Eddie?! Fuck you, I did it! Bring it on!”

        Chrissy smiled and tried to hide her laugh. She closed her glowing eyes, and when she blinked them open, she was herself again.

        "Do watch out for traps, won’t you? I would like to see you at the banquet.”

        "Banquet?”

        "Yes, I would like to see you there alive and well. We have a celebration coming up and would love to have you there.”

        You stared at her with confusion etching your features— as if you would voluntarily spend another second in this godforsaken place.

        Chrissy stepped aside as the door swung open, exposing a topiary of a lion on the other side of the passage. You turned to her as she stretched and yawned, her form shifting back to her more animal-like appearance. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you were finally able to voice your concern.

        "Are the next trials harder?”

        "Well, everything has its difficulties and everything has its solutions. You’ll be fine, just keep looking ahead.”

        "Alright, thank you!”

        You took a deep breath, and with a newfound excitement, you passed through the doorway, your eyes trained on the topiary ahead. You looked back at Chrissy, who seemed to settle into sleep, and with a wide smile, you began to run. Your shoes pounded against the flagstone floor as you hurried through the passage.

        But then the flagstone was gone, there was no ground, and your eyes widened as you fell down a gaping abyss. You clawed at the edge of the stone, but it was too late. Your heart raced as you helplessly flailed your arms, the darkness swallowing the scream you let out as you plummeted into the unknown. Was this the your fate all along? Had you made the wrong choice? Gone the wrong way? Were you going to die?

       "I should have looked where I was stepping."

        You fell down, down into the abyss, and the darkness consumed you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I know it took almost a year to get here but it's here! I'm a full time college student and coming up with original puzzles for this was no easy feat I'll tell you what. I promise I haven't given up yet! Don't forget to reblog, like and comment it really helps! (gosh I sound like a Youtuber lol) But anyways thank you again for reading and back to the writing cave I go!

Taglist: (If you want to be placed on it comment under here)

@fan-girl-97 @sh0wthyself @maxstecc @mirkwoodshewolf @bellalillyrose @under-the-clouds @bllshtbel @ali-r3n @darknesseddiem @ladyjbrekker @mewchiili

[rafeysvenicebitch]

🦢007 masterlist

CW: cussing, old lady gossip, fluff

a/n: FUCK. It has been so long since I’ve updated this story. I���ll try posting more of this!!

Rafe was right. The country club ladies had a field day with your scandal.

They clutched their pearls and tightened their tennis visors as you walked through the doors of Figure Eight Country Club, this time not on Rafe’s arm, but alone. The usual whispers felt louder, bolder. Some didn’t even pretend anymore. The way their heads turned, how their sunglasses dropped just enough to shoot you a glance of judgment—it was something else.

You kept your chin up, strutting in a pair of Miu Miu slingbacks, a pale pink Chanel tweed dress, and your hair ribboned in satin. If they wanted to look, let them look.

You weren’t there to gossip or tan by the pool. You were there to work.

The club manager, a woman named Doreen who always smelled like lemon pledge and backhanded compliments, walked you through the details of the upcoming charity gala Rafe was hosting. You’d be performing—your first major public performance since everything blew up—and you were going to look the part.

You had your notepad open, scribbling lyrics and humming melody ideas under your breath, when one of the older men, Mr. Jennings, slid into the chair beside you with his drink sloshing.

“You gonna sing for us the way you sing for Rafe?” he smirked.

You stared at him. “Only if you match his donation.”

He chuckled, embarrassed, before retreating, and you caught Kayden across the room watching the whole thing. He came over, dropping off a hibiscus spritz without being asked. “You good?”

“Always.”

Meanwhile, Lottie and Nora were by the pool with paint swatches and linen samples, arguing over ivory versus eggshell and whether blush pink was too cliché for the gala. You joined them, sipping your drink and pointing to champagne tones instead. They agreed. The three of you talked about candle centerpieces, Rafe’s reputation, and which color made you look like money.

You tried texting Rafe a photo of one of the setups. Looks okay?

He didn’t answer.

You tried again. Miss you.

Still nothing. Then your phone rang.

“Where are you?” you asked softly.

“I’m working,” he said, clipped.

“I know, but like… where?”

You could almost hear the cigarette drag through the phone before he said, coldly, “Don’t ask me that again.” Then, a pause. A thump. The sound of a card being slapped onto something.

The line went dead. But when you looked down, you saw a photo from your concierge app. Rafe had given you his black Amex. Again.

—

Later that week, you went dress shopping.

It was Lottie who suggested the boutique in Charleston. You didn’t want subtle. You didn’t want sweet. You wanted to command the room.

And you found it.

A custom Versace gown—blush pink satin that clung to you like liquid. Corseted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Thigh-high slit. The train shimmered with crystals that caught the light like champagne bubbles. Paired with Manolo Blahnik stilettos, diamond drop earrings, and elbow-length La Perla opera gloves, you were a walking headline.

The night of the gala, Rafe finally showed.

He was in a crisp black Tom Ford tux, his hair slicked back, and his watch was a vintage Cartier. You caught him watching you from across the room with that cold, unreadable look he always wore before doing something unhinged.

The lights dimmed.

And then you were on stage.

A band behind you. Velvet curtains. The crowd’s breath caught as you stepped into the spotlight.

You sang:

Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.

Chick Habit.

Be My Baby.

Each song more flirtatious, more decadent than the last. You twirled, you winked, you sang like your life depended on it—and every man in the room watched you like you were a fantasy come to life.

When the final notes of Be My Baby faded, you held the mic up, smiling.

And then, from the edge of the stage, Rafe walked out.

He didn’t look at the crowd. Just you. He took the mic from your hand—and kissed you.

Right there, under the lights, in front of socialites and donors and every woman who thought you didn’t belong.

Gasps. Flashbulbs. A few champagne glasses breaking.

He finally turned to the crowd and spoke about the cause—funding addiction recovery centers in the Outer Banks, something deeply personal to him, though he never said why.

But it wasn’t what he said that mattered. It was how he looked at you.

—

Afterward, he took you to dinner. Somewhere quiet and candlelit on the water. You barely tasted the lobster ravioli. You just kept looking at him like he might disappear again.

But he didn’t.

Because the next thing you knew, you were half-asleep on a private plane, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” you murmured.

“Texas,” he said, without looking up from his phone.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “I bought a ranch outside Dallas. Wanted you to see it.”

You blinked. “Why Dallas?”

Rafe turned to you slowly, then nodded toward the window where dawn was starting to break.

“It’s called the Y/N Rose Ranch,” he said. “Had the sign custom made. You’ll see it when we land.”

And he said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like naming property after you was a Tuesday afternoon decision.

Like he owned the whole world—and now, you.

Taglist: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @faistingmymike @greengoblinswifey @whinyangel @blackynsupremacy @rafesbabygirlx @memoirofasparklemuff1n @cameronsbabydoll @rafeyscumangel @rafeyscumangel-recs

[wildswalk-the-stars]

DWC May 2025 Day 1 - Cruel/Beauty

Suramar. The crown jewel. Height of beauty, of refinement. 

City of class...of classes, and cruelty masked as genteel grace. Yes, even now, from time to time, après la révolution.

Clad in simple ebony robes, the hooded nightborne cast a mysterious figure as he meandered purposefully through the Commons toward his destination - a small enclave in Siren’s Vigil. The night proved peaceful, his arrival concluding without trouble or concern. Suramar was different now but caution was always prudent.

Nodding in passing to the guard Jen made his way toward the vacant playground, lowering himself into one of the swings. The sea was gentle, the dim light serene upon its surface. Blues, tangerine, indigo, violet. Truly, such beauty, he mused. Lost in thought, he nearly missed the approach of another. 

“Ah, hello,” Jencir intoned quietly, head bowing in respect.

“Already?” the other asked, giving him a quizzical appraisal.

“Yes, I’ve been...distracted. The one you produced last time is no longer functioning at full capacity. I’m afraid it seems to have timed out with distance.”

“Ah, a shame. That was a good one, eh?” the other sighed, taking a seat in the adjacent swing. “Good, but short-lived. You know, you are my best customer now. Not much business in forgery these days.”

Dipping his head respectfully, Jen responded politely. “I respect your craft. Your skill is impeccable, as well as invaluable.”

The Forger laughed. “Heh, so you say. Tell that to my vault. It was once overflowing with arcwine. Now, only a few rare vintages grace its cool interior.”

Jen smirked. “Well. I’d like a tasting.” Eyes met, a knowing glance. This wasn’t about wine.

The Forger nodded, producing a notepad. “Very well. Is this for a social or formal event?”

“Social.” The swing's chain groaned as the nightborne halted the gentle swaying motion.

“Mhm. Not a problem." He scribbled something. "And will you need one for day, or night?"

“One for day, and one for night.”

The Forger’s chestnut brow quirked. “Interesting. Busy! I like it. It’s nice seeing you…involved again,” he speculated.

Jen rolled a shoulder. “Mmm. Can you do a rush order? I won’t be here long. I made a promise to be back within a fortnight.”

“Yes, of course,” the other replied, businesslike, taking a few more notes as he rose to start working.

“Oh, and Amis? Make sure they last longer this time. I will need multiple uses for multiple trips. And I need access to a projector. One that’s not registered.” Pushing down his hood, Jen offered a small smile. The setting sun glinted off the facial plating, highlighting the set of his jaw.

Pausing, the Forger pursed his lips, nodding politely in the affirmative before sketching an artful bow. “Your wish is my command, Fifth Arcanist.” Continuing into his workshop, Amis dutifully ignored the derisive snort which followed his departure with typical aplomb.

@daily-writing-challenge

[jenthetranskitsune]

Love having writer's block while working on a pivitol chapter :) sooo funn..

To the few who follow me/my side blog for Eye On The Skye, sorry, it's probably gonna be a bit till the next chapter... I have a few one shots/shorter stories that won't leave my brain so I'll probably get some of those finished before ch 13

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Maybe I'm just searching the wrong thing because I know there are some out there, but fics with the Warblers and ND as Klaine shippers?

I think the initial shipping of Klaine by either Warblers or ND took place in season 2, and a lot of fan fics being written 2011 - it's worth looking through livejournal.com, and also fanfiction.net, searching for those early fics. There are some on A03 if you select "ascending" when searching BA/KH as the relationship. ~Jen

Here are some we compiled in previous asks:

Steal A Heart Verse by MochaCappuccino

Blaine offers to help Kurt afford Dalton by having him room with him. Kurt repays him by helping him through his family drama. Love, angst, adventure, and lots of sex ensues.

~~~~~

Welcome To Dalton Academy, Kurt by stargleekbelle  [PDF]

Kurt is driven to extreme measures when his life at McKinley spirals out of control. A couple of months into his junior year, he transfers to Dalton Academy where he befriends a group of boys who refuse to let him be the victim and teach him how to love himself once more.

~~~~~

Together, We Are the Oceans by Aelora

When the Warblers get the opportunity to perform on a cruise ship over the holidays, Kurt can barely believe his luck at spending the time with Blaine. What he doesn’t count on is the friendships he makes, and the love he feels for his friend returned.

~~~~~

Dalton’s OTP by @lady-divine-writes

Kurt and Blaine have just been voted Dalton’s OTP of the month. The only thing is, they’re not dating. Will this stupid school article convince them that they were meant to be together - because they’ve been together this whole time, even if they didn’t realize it?

~~~~~

Secret Agents by DustyDreams

If Blaine is going to gush about Kurt, it should be at Kurt. This, at least, is how his best friends feel after three weeks of the non-stop Hummel network.

~~~~~

Scribbles, Spies, and Little White Lies by aspiringtoeloquence

Blaine and Kurt have been friends for months, and it’s about time they were more than that - this is what Wes and David have decided, and, luckily for Blaine and Kurt, they have formulated the perfect plan to make sure it happens…

~~~~~

Facebook: The Klaine Story by Babychickies

From ‘Never Been Kissed’ to 'New York’. See what happened with Kurt and Blaine on Facebook during these episodes.

~~~~~

Bound To Happen by undapperthought

GKM Fill. “The Warblers are sick and tired of all the unresolved sexual tension between Kurt and Blaine, so they handcuff them together, leaving them alone to figure things out between them.”

~~~~~

Mistletoe Mishap by @gleefuldarrencrissfan

It’s nearing Christmas and Kurt and Blaine still haven’t kissed yet. Finally, Nick and Jeff decide to intervene. [Nick’s and Jeff’s POVs]

~~~~~

Captaining the ship by Scarlett Rogue

Everyone knows Puck is captain of the Klaine Train, but how did it begin, and what does Puck think of some of Klaine's big moments?

~~~~~

Here is a list on livejournal, where Blaine meets the ND - not sure it's what you want, but worth checking. (I havent checked them all, most seem to be on Ff.net. Jen

Discovery by theembarrassingone. Dissecting New Directions by areyoumayray. Telling New Directions by Crazy4Klaine. Dalton Boy by NotSorry. Finally by lindsay scuto. You Felt That, Right? by AweSoMeLAgain. the boyfriend by superredhead37. Reactions by history-writer86. Rebuilding by history-writer86. (I think I'm gonna check out the rest of their stuff. This one's a prologue to another story and it sounds pretty good.) Arts and Crafts Aisle by Wakah. It's not 100% what you're looking for but it is and alternative meeting of Kurt and Blaine and thusly New Directions. Double Date by Phantom of a Rose. I recommend all of her stuff. Kurt's new friend by Nija assasian. So Take a Chance And Don't Ever Look Back by Kyra Rivers. Gleeky Gossip by TheseHideousKreachers. It Will Always Be You by iklaintevenmad. Taking Different Directions by JoshuaAshita. Why Won't They Believe Me? by aalikane. First Impressions by rmuurph.klaine. Hospital by rockenweirdo. Who's that? by rmuurph.klaine.

[sugarsnappeases]

Can you yap about ritawalburga

hello yes i certainly can!! okay this is all still pretty fresh from the womb and stems from a vision i scribbled down in my notes app a few nights ago when i didn’t have wifi and therefore couldn’t text jen, but it ties in w my mission to make grimmauld place more Fucked Up (can’t remember if i’ve ever spoken about said mission before but. it’s fairly self-explanatory… i want that place haunted and semi-sentient and hungry)

so. basically. we’re post-first war. regulus is dead. sirius is in azkaban (and also disowned so as good as dead, really). orion is deathly ill and then later dead. and it’s just walburga and kreacher living in that big old house.

and grimmauld place is angry.

the wards in grimmauld place have been fed by the blood and the magic and the Presence of centuries of head of houses. lords of the noble and most ancient house of black. and walburga has failed them. sure, she provided the house w an heir and a spare, she did her duty, but then she lost both of them, she Failed. and now there's no heir. no spare. no lord bc orion is dying dying dead. no future for the house of black and grimmauld place is angry and dying and collapsing in on itself, shadows wrapping themselves around walburga's neck and squeezing, filling every crevice with despair and rot etc etc etc

and in canon... one could argue... that walburga's portrait, permanently fixed to the wall in the entrance hall, bigger than any of the other portraits, is her way of trying to assert some control over the house. she can be angry and bitter and hungry too. she is a part of the house too. a part of the legacy of the blacks.

in this au however, there's rita. tenacious reporter going to great lengths to get the scoop on the mystery surrounding orion's illness - he died at 50, he's a wizard, he should've lived a lot longer and it's unusual for illnesses to be incurable in the wizarding world. and she's nasty and determined and she shows up at grimmauld place again and again and again. she tries to ask for an invite to tea, tries to break in, tries to sneak through some sort of crack in her animagus form, tries to spy from outside through windows; she tries all sorts. grimmauld knows, obviously, and is incredibly hostile.

eventually, she asks again if she might visit walburga, and she says yes, because she's lonely or bored or curious or perhaps because she wants to spite the house. they have tea. they talk about nothing for half an hour or so. rita asks if she can visit again. walburga says yes. because rita is interesting and company and she pushes back against the things walburga says in a way that she never gets from kreacher (and she misses that pushback, which left the house with sirius, with orion. not w reg obvs lol). and the house hates it but walburga is angry and bitter and hungry too and she keeps letting rita back in. over and over and over again and they talk and they drink tea and the house is rotting around them, bearing down upon them w it's misery and it's fury, but rita is a spark of life. and maybe she kindles a bit of a fire in the ashes of the hearth. and maybe walburga likes her.

and maybe one day rita says why don't we go somewhere else for a change, and walburga (who hasn't left the house at all in years) says okay. and so she leaves and never comes back.

then, i was texting jen about this, obviously, and she said.... what if the house just completely crumbles when she walks out which is sooooooo sexy. like it just collapses in on itself. slumps down into a lifeless heap until sirius crosses the threshold again later. we also spoke about this ritawalburga happening in the context of the bellareg marriage au which makes me crazy and i would be happy to scream about if anyone wanted. but yes this is my ritawalburga.

[muse-write]

Towering Past

Here's my entry for the 2024 Inklings Challenge (@inklings-challenge)!

Jan. 12, 2023

H.,

Sorry for not responding to your Christmas letter…or your New Years’ letter. Really, I am! I know you probably think I’m tired of this method of communication—and I can’t rightly say I’m not—but there was more to my lack of response than sheer avoidance. I know you well enough to know you haven’t watched the local news anytime recently, so you might not have heard about the October explosion on the upper east side of the city. They’re saying it was a bomb planted in the subway system. It took out half the Northern line and a couple of blocks in every direction.

I have my own story to tell about that explosion, but I would sound insane, so I’ll leave this letter at that. And anyway, my hand is hurting from scribbling this letter out in record time now that I feel up to writing at all. You at least know I’m alive and hopefully you believe I wasn’t avoiding responding on purpose.

How are Jen and the kid doing? If you weren’t so set on letters like this you could text me pictures, you know! Why can’t you just call me like a normal person, H.?!

Love,

Frankie

Jan. 17, 2023

Dear Frankie,

Thanks for responding—finally. I was about to hop on a plane or send a strongly worded letter to your commanding officer just to make sure you hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. I suppose a cellphone would make this kind of thing easier, but we’ve had that conversation too many times to rehash it now. Jen’s doing fine. Eric is running around and getting into trouble, and we both know who he takes after on that score. I always was a good son, Mother always said. If you please, you might want to drop by and visit next time you’re in the area; you might have some tips born of experience for how to deal with a little boy who insists on coloring on the walls.

What a vague way of ending your story; you aren’t saying you were anywhere near the explosion, are you? I know it’s your job and all, but don’t blame a man for getting worried when his sister defuses bomb threats on the daily. Anyway, you know I wouldn’t find any of your stories insane, and you must tell me your version of events. Just don’t wait another two months to do so, or I really will send your CO a letter asking after you.

Glad to know you’re alive,

Henry

P.S. In the envelope is a bracelet Jen borrowed from you a few years back. She was very worried that you thought she was planning on keeping it forever.

Feb. 10, 2023

H.,

I’ll tell you what happened if you insist. But you have to promise me not to laugh. I haven’t told anyone else what happened; I’m not entirely certain it was not a vivid dream. And you know I’m not much of a storyteller, so it won’t rank among your beloved novels. But it will be what happened to me, as accurately as I can put it. Forgive the late letter. This took days to write down.

First off, the explosion wasn’t an explosion at all—so you can put your fears about me being among the defusement team to rest, at least this time. I had woken that morning to a leisurely day, not having so much as a drill to look forward to on my day off, and that meant I had a clear view out the window at the precise moment a tower erupted from the concrete sidewalk only a block or two away from my apartment. When I ran from my complex down the street, I had no thought of entering the tower—I didn’t even know if it was that kind of tower, one that could be entered—but I knew someone had to check it out, and that someone had best be me, with my gun and military training. I brought my Sauer and phone with me (not being a technophobe like you) and approached the tower.

It was not pretty or elegant or admirable in any way. In fact, it was rather ugly, with sharp jagged peaks—I forget what they are called—at the top, and the walls made of black brick—except it wasn’t brick, it was more like marble or stone, lopsided and uneven, like the tower had been thrown and glued together. And it was completely silent. Nothing moved, except at the very tip-top there was a flashing blue light. Like a signal. It didn’t seem to be Morse code or any other signal method I could make out.

And then something moved in the very highest window, and through a pair of binoculars I took from a man next to me (there was a crowd forming by now) I peered up at it and saw that it was a human.

Henry, do you remember Lieutenant Gorsk? A few years back. It was him. Somehow he had found his way into the tower and all the way to the top, and any doubt of my venturing in there was put to rest.

I would find him.

I am ashamed to say that I didn’t prepare. I was so afraid that if I went back home and returned with gear it would prove to be a dream that I marched straight up to the entrance—I know you’ll beg for a real description, but all I can say now is that it was a door, black and wood of some kind, with an ornate gilded knob for a handle—opened it, and walked through, my hand on my Sauer the whole time. I still had the binoculars from the man outside.

This is where it gets insane, H. The interior of the tower was like one of those ancient cathedrals, you know the ones, like in England. The ones tourists go to and exclaim about and take pictures of sunlight streaming through the windows. Though there wasn’t any stained glass here. And the windows—don’t laugh—they didn’t look out onto Seattle, H. They looked onto a completely different world.

I can’t describe it. I can’t remember it all that clearly, either, it’s a huge blur in my head, after the hospital and…anyway, I remember that outside the sky was red—like blood-red, and below there was a dark river, sluggish and black and I didn’t like to look at it for very long, so I turned away and looked at the tower instead. It was Gothic, I guess. You’re the architecture freak. I’ve attached some pictures below, so make of them what you will.

Anyway, I’d entered a large foyer-like hall, with a great staircase sweeping up the far side and climbing the walls in spiraling loops. There were statues in this room, tons of them, but they were—they had such terrible expressions of sadness and terror that I couldn’t look at them for long, either. Even more than the sights, it was the feeling that stays with me, even months later; there was something utterly depressing about the place despite its eerie beauty. It sank deep into my bones and chilled me to the core. But I had to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I tightened my fingers on the Sauer and began up the stairs, ready for…well, anything. I had no idea what to expect from a place like this.

And what I encountered, I had no way of expecting at all.

What descended down the stairs towards me when I had only climbed a few steps was a horde of—I don’t know what to call them. Demons, I suppose. They were not like the demons you see on church windows under the feet of angels. Some of them almost looked human, but were spindly and covered in scales like lizards or dragons or fish, scales that were matte and dark and reflected no light. Others weren’t human at all, but animal-like, though they resembled no animal I’ve ever seen except that they traveled on four legs, or maybe more. The horde of things surged toward me and I raised my gun to shoot.

I have killed people in my career, H., you know that. I’ve spent entire nights awake in my bed unable to get rid of their faces. I killed these things almost too easily, though the scaled ones gave my bullets some trouble. I had to resort to picking up a sword, fallen on the ground a few feet away from a bleached skeleton, to pierce through the gaps in the armor. It was helpful in preserving my ammo, since I’d only brought the few rounds that were in my gun, and I would need one round for when I reached the top--though I wondered what kind of other world I’d stumbled into. Who had this person been who had ventured in and died with a sword in their hand?

I proceeded up the stairs past the corpses, which were dusting away as though they had never existed in the first place. The tower reared up above me. Along its walls were grotesque tapestries of things I do not wish to remember, and I kept my eyes on the stairs and the gaping doorways I passed, waiting for another horde of demon-like things. I have been a soldier for decades, and never have I been more grateful for it than when I was ascending those stairs. My training kept me safe.

I reached the first landing and had to fight through another horde. I will not describe them all—some of them I don’t remember clearly enough, and others were simply too odd to put into words. All I know is that, with gun and sword, I managed to clear a path up the stairs.

But then one of them got the first hit in. I remember these clearly: three large, hulking things, with mouths like lions and bodies like eagles, large golden wings sending strong wind swirling around the landing. I could not move forward. My bullets barely pierced their hides. My sword could not break through their guard, and one of them sent an arm forward and its claws slashed my shoulder to ribbons. It burned like a gunshot wound, and I knew there was no hope of me defeating all three of them. I could only run and hide and hope they didn’t pursue me, so I turned and left the staircase to venture into the rest of the tower.

This floor was full of branching halls and large empty rooms that smelled of decay. The red sky outside left a garish red tint to everything that unnerved me, but I ran down hallways at random and tried to remember my way back to the stairs in case I lived long enough to return. The lion-eagle creatures chased me, but gave up soon afterward, and vanished into other areas of the tower. I ducked into an empty room and used the relative peace and quiet to inspect my arm. It was bleeding heavily, and I made a note to myself to check it for infection later in the day, assuming I survived that long.

I could have turned around. Abandoned my quest. Left Lieutenant Gorsk up at the top of the tower and returned to the peace of my house, a peace I had fought so hard for and tried to attain for so long. But you know what he did to me, Henry.

At the time, it seemed obvious to me that this was my second chance at justice. My chance to make peace, finally, with what had been done to me, and leave it in the past.

It never occurred to me to wonder how Gorsk had found his way here, or what had been done to him in the process, until much later on that day.

I wrapped my wound in strips from my shirt and hoped it would hold and wished I had some antiseptic, but a dirty shirt would have to do as gauze. Then I tried to creep out of the room, but realized that the door was locked. I had not closed it.

Demons appeared in the room around me, the scaled spindly ones I had fought off before, and I had become used to their movements and attacks and knew with relative certainty how to defeat them. A few strong strikes with a sword would weaken them, a gunshot through the head would finish them off. I would rely mostly on the sword now; I was running low on ammo, and I did not know how many more floors I would have to fight through. I refused to think about the fight back down once I reached the top. There had to be ten demons in the room, and my shoulder was burning and slowed me down, and there were quite a few close calls I prefer not to think about. I don’t know what it would have been like to be killed by one of these things and I don’t want to imagine it. They had sharp teeth meant for ripping and biting, and at some point after I killed a few of these I began tearing those teeth from the corpses’ mouths for extra weapons.

Ten of these demons were more than enough to test me, but with a lot of luck I managed not to die, and had a pocketful of demon teeth-blades to show for it at the end.

The door unlocked by itself as the last demon corpse dusted away.

I ventured back to the stairs, losing my way a few times in the process, and it was amazing what a relief it was to see the familiar grand staircase spiraling up over my head once again rather than the red wash of the old windows. The castle grew darker as I headed further up, and there were less and less windows, and less and less red, until I began to long for the light, eerie as it was. It was never dark enough to blind me, but it was surely dark enough for the shadows to shift and move and look like demons. I have had decades of experience calming terror in combat; this tower tried my nerves in a way I have never experienced before and hope to never experience again. In all of those books you’ve read, have you heard the phrase, “bear wrongs patiently”? In the military, I turned that into a talent. I bore the hazing, the combat, the setbacks and the horror and the fear. I tried to do that here, too, but the tower seemed to steal that control away from me, until even I was left trembling like a little girl surrounded by monsters. I gripped my gun in one hand and my sword in the other and ventured on, wishing more and more that I did not feel such an urge to find the Lieutenant. Wishing that I could be normal and move on from that time.

You can maybe understand why it took me so long to finish writing this letter.

I will leave it at that for now, so that you can get your letter in two months and not feel the need to call up my superiors. Though I think a glare from you, looking like some Oxford don, might just frighten Commander Paik more than all the roughest thugs in the city.

Love,

Frankie

Feb. 18, 2023

Frankie,

I don’t quite know how to start this.

First, let me say thank you for trusting me with your story. I don’t think you’re insane, and I didn’t let out a single chuckle.

Second, I am familiar with that tower. It appeared in my own city—around the time yours did. It looked exactly as you describe, and the pictures confirmed it. It was the same, or one of the same type. I entered the tower, though not at all for the same reasons.

You see, when I looked up at the top of it, in the window I saw Jen. Of course, I couldn’t leave her there.

I did not tell you of this before because I did not wish to worry you or cause you alarm; after all, what transpired became something much greater and more beautiful than I could have imagined when I first stepped through the door.

I sympathize with your quest to get to Lieutenant Gorsk. I remember him very well, and I wish I could have been there too, to punch him in the face (a second time, if you remember!). I don’t know if I can condone your mission, nor the intentions you implied, but after what the man did to you, I can’t say I wouldn’t have considered the same. And considering you are not writing me from a jail cell, I need to know the end of the story as soon as you can bring yourself to give it to me.

I did not bring a gun with me—you know my stance on them well enough—but, as with  you, there were plenty of demons. I have never been a fighter, but I picked up a stray sword and a dagger or two and managed to hide and slip past many, and fought those I couldn’t. It was with a great deal of trepidation that I climbed those stairs—I can only imagine you, flying up them like a goddess of vengeance with wings at her feet! It was an eerie experience for me; the light made everything look as though blood covered it. The sun outside was not—right. It was deep and vibrant and would have maybe been pretty if not for the sickly pallor to the sky around it, like when a tornado is about to touch down.

I deciphered that I had entered a new world a little earlier than you. I had found a storage room to hide in—and what a storage room, with jars and masks and boxes—and could not help reading a few of the files I found stuffed in drawers (I know you’re rolling your eyes at me about now, so stop it!). The files were plain documents, just text written in a crusted brown substance I refused to consider any further than necessary, but I couldn’t read a word of it. It was not Latin, nor Greek, nor any derivation of any language I have ever come across. The letters themselves were indecipherable, and anyway I felt like it was best not to know what was written in them, so I shoved the papers back into their drawers and did my best not to wonder. I am not very good at that, but it was time to move on, and my survival (and Jen’s) relied on not being overly distracted by the theoretical.

I reached the top of the tower perhaps slower than you, but with far fewer injuries (please tell me you went to the hospital, Frankie!), and emerged from the stairs into a long corridor that extended to a single door. This part of the tower was not a maze, as I had discovered in the lower levels; it was very straightforward and clear about where I was meant to go. That door was my destination, and behind it must be Jen, and the window through which I had glimpsed her.

There were no enemies laying wait for me along that corridor, but I fully expected there to be some monstrous creature waiting for me behind the door. I grasped the knob. It swung open easily, terrifyingly easy.

I assume this room looked much the same for me as it did for you—circular walls, broad windows letting in that wash of red light anew, a view of a mountain range of some other world, dark and strange, stretching out beyond. Jen was there, and I called her name, but saw that she could not move, because, though she stood, she was enclosed within a barrier of some sort—her hands, I saw, were burned where she had attempted to push through it. There would be no breaking it.

And then the monster—appeared. I mean that very literally; one moment it was not there, and then I blinked, and it was. I could not make sense of it at first; it did not fit your descriptions at all of any of the demons you encountered. It was hulking and winged, but appeared to be made of chitin all over its body, like an insect has, and blue flame flared from the gaps in this natural armor. It bared teeth—I suppose would be the expression, on something that had such an unnatural face—at me, and there were two rows of sharp needle-like prongs.

This terrified me.

But it held Jen, my wife, the mother of my son, and what would I ever say to Eric if I let this beast harm her, or whatever it planned to do with her? Whisk her away? Kill her? Keep her imprisoned here, like some damsel out of a fairy tale, to lure adventurers with?

I tightened my grip on my sword, feeling a sense of hopeless doom fall upon me (yes, that was the only way to describe it, let me have my sense of poetry once in a while without mocking me, Frankie!). There did not seem to be a way I could triumph over such a foe. But neither could I hide or flee or distract it. So fight I must, even if it led to my own death.

I see no reason to regale you with the battle; there was nothing glamorous about it, as you well know. Suffice to say, I charged at it, which was not a good strategy, and my strategy changed to accommodate this. I was injured (and Jen gave me a good lecture about my stupidity later) and the pain nearly made me sick, but miraculously I managed to stay upright. It was a long battle, the monster was fast and strong and wanted me dead as badly as I wanted it dead, and I was afraid every instant, but eventually I managed to get lucky, and the blade sunk deep into one of those infinitesimal cracks in the monster’s chitin, and with a wrench I managed to twist the blade hard into its heart. That is not a feeling I wish to relive, Frankie.

But in the end, the monster lay there, its breath rattling out, and the barrier simply disappeared, just as the monster had suddenly appeared. Jen could move again—she later told me that the barrier had not been there until, presumably, my hand had touched the door; the monster’s doing, I assume—and she rushed to my side. I have never before felt like a brave man, especially when compared to you, brave sister, and I wish it had not taken such awful circumstances to turn me into one.

Jen told me later that she had no idea where she had been; in a moment she had been whisked from the living room of our house to the top of the tower, and for hours she had been staring out at that dark mountain range and the red sky and attempting to find a reasonable way of climbing out. The door had been locked, and the lock had repaired itself even as she had broken it, and escape seemed hopeless, unless she were to throw herself out, and she had not been quite that desperate yet.

Hearing your story, I simply wonder why? Why was it Jen who was picked up and plopped in that window to send me creeping up the stairs? Why was the same done to Lieutenant Gorsk? Was it a punishment? Or coincidence?

Do you have any theories, Frankie?

Henry

Feb. 30, 2024

Henry,

I never would have imagined that you had had such an experience, or that both of us have been carrying it around with us for months without letting on. We’re both stubborn—well, a soldier’s language isn’t something I want to subject you to, so I’ll leave it there.

When I finally did reach the top—though I don’t think it was so much as a goddess of war as a very frightened, very stubborn military-trained soldier—it looked the way you described it. The same long corridor, the same door at the end, the same suspicious lack of enemies. I had one bullet left in my Sauer, and plenty of demon teeth in my pockets.

Except there wasn’t a monster for me. Maybe the tower had decided I’d had my fill. Maybe the final challenge I encountered was the monster. I don’t know. I didn’t think much of it then. I just knew that odious lieutenant was behind that door, and I needed to get in there and shoot him dead, military protocol be damned.

It was a desire for murder, plain and simple, but I wasn’t thinking about the consequences then. I was thinking about those two years of hell, with the king of demons being Lieutenant Gorsk and his stinking breath and wandering hands and my only savior the friendship of Corporal Alice Lewis.

I turned the door, and there he was. Oddly, he was kept in place by the same barrier you described.

H., have I ever told you how easy it is for me to kill someone with a gun? My trusty Sauer, familiar and worn in my palm, my callouses formed around it, my target in its sights. It’s far easier to pull the trigger on my old friend than it is to take my Swiss knife and stab someone in the guts, but I’ve done both. I was prepared to do either, if it meant ridding the world of someone like Gorsk.

By now it’s been…what? Eight years since I was under his command? Not that long, in the grand scheme of things. Two years of hell, and eight years recovering.

I’ve put him out of my mind as best I can. I had almost imagined that I could go my whole life and think only of moving forward, but that vanished the second I laid eyes on him again. All my old rage and hatred and desire for vengeance came back to me in a moment, and propelled me up those stairs. Maybe in that way I was some goddess of vengeance after all.

My gun was lined up with his temple. He stood there, unable to move, his hands and arms burned by the barrier, knowing that I would be the last sight he saw. There was no doubt in his mind in that moment, I’m sure, that I would kill him.

I did. I did kill him, Henry.

I pulled the trigger and he fell back against the wall. It was a clean, cold kill. The door behind me unlocked, and I stepped out onto the stairs again. Going down, there were no enemies to fight, and I relived the moment I had shot him again and again, and did not regret leaving his body there at the top of the tower. I was victorious, the winner, the survivor, and I had killed the man who had made my life a misery for years.

I returned to my apartment, and the tower…crumbled. It fell, brick by brick, stone by stone, back underneath the city, and left no sign it had ever been there. I was quite satisfied with myself, and didn’t feel guilty about what I’d done until that night, when I remembered suddenly that he had had a wife, the last I had heard. Maybe a son, too, but I’m not sure. The next morning, while I ate breakfast, he appeared in the news—but not news of his death. Instead, there was something about some promotion to Major General, and I stabbed myself with my fork and threw my plate across the kitchen.

I realized what had happened soon after that.

I am not writing this from a jail cell, Henry, because to all intents and purposes Lieutenant Gorsk is still living—in this world, anyway. In whatever terrible, twisted mirror world I found myself wandering through, Lieutenant Gorsk is dead, a bullet’s clean entry and exit wound through both sides of his skull. I know I killed him, and I must live with knowing that I was capable of doing so, that I was fully aware of what I was doing. In my mind, he lies in a pool of spreading blood.

Love,

Frankie

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something (ch. 4)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰ None

The all-hands meeting for the beginning of the semester went the same way every all-hands meeting at the beginning of semesters go. Every professor and TA in a humanities field got squeezed into a conference room that wasn’t quite big enough, had a powered sugar donut or a couple cubes of assorted melon with half a Styrofoam cup of burnt coffee, and listened to the departmental dean give an un-rousing speech about being on the same page with the other departments. Then he talked at nauseam about school policies and ran a quick training session over a new time-tracking software that would be implemented in 3 weeks’ time.

Gale scribbled down notes on a big yellow legal pad and tried to ignore Jen and Astarion, making faces at each other as he wrote. He’d been in academia long enough to know they’d both be crying to him in a few weeks when they messed up their timecards.

As the meeting drew to a close, a dapper man with slicked-back chestnut hair and a car salesman smile stepped into the room. Astarion went stiff like a cat puffing up to defend itself. The dapper man just gave him a plasticky, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The dean perked up a bit as he noticed the man lingering in the back of the room. “Raphael, what a pleasant surprise! I had no idea you would be joining us,” he exclaimed, “We were just finishing up. Are there any words of wisdom you’d like to impart to our humanities faculty?”

“Oh, nothing so important,” Raphael said, and suddenly Gale understood why Astarion was so on edge. Everything about the man oozed with a disingenuous charm that made Gale’s hair stand on end. “I just realized I forgot to send out a notice about the upcoming donor gala the next coming Friday. I realized you were all in a meeting right now, so I thought I’d pop in and remind you in person.”

Raphael’s eyes landed directly on Astarion as he spoke his next sentence. “There is a reasonable expectation that faculty attend these events.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gale saw Astarion’s expression go steely. “After all, we want to show up and show out for the people who allow us to do so much.”

“Of Course!” The dean chirped. “I know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The meeting adjourned, and Astarion immediately made a break for the door. Gale hurriedly gathered his things in one arm, instinctually following after the only person in the room he really knew, like a baby duck.

Raphael stepped into Astarion’s path before he could get out of the meeting room. “Ah, we meet again, Dr. Ancunín!” Raphael’s voice dripped with sugary contempt. “I will see you at the donor gala, won’t I?”

“Perhaps. Are you thinking about calling in that favor I owe you?” Astarion’s voice was clipped, his face unnervingly blank.

“I think I’d like to wait on that a little longer, but I would like you there in case I change my mind.” Before Astarion could respond, Raphael’s gaze slid off him and onto- “Dr. Dekarios! Wonderful to see you. Are you settling in well?” He reached out a hand to him.

Gale stuffed his legal pad into his work so he could shake Raphael’s hand. “Exceptionally well!” he replied. “Everyone’s done their utmost to make me feel very welcome!”

“Oh, you don’t have to fib on your new colleagues’ account, Dr. Dekarios. I’m more than familiar with how surly certain members of the English department can get.” Raphael laughed congenially, but Astarion shot him a poisonous look.

“I’m not lying to you, sir,” Gale replied. “Astarion’s been nothing but professional.”

“Well, perhaps he’s going a bit soft.” There was a flash of something dangerous behind his eyes. He turned to Astarion. “I shall see you next Friday.” It was a command more than a farewell, but he walked away all the same.

Astarion muttered under his breath. Gale didn’t catch what he said but could make an educated guess. Astarion exhaled a deep breath like he was equalizing pressure.

He turned to Gale and said, “Thank you.”

Gale blinked. “Of course.”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something else, but the words couldn’t or wouldn’t form.

Shadowheart stepped in between them, too concerned with responding to a text message to notice the weird tension. “Karlach wants to get drinks.” She said. “She got stuck in traffic and doesn’t want to drive all the way down here for nothing.”

“Roveer’s?” Astarion asked, a very weary resignation in his voice.

“Yes, probably.”

“Nothing like running into your students at a sports bar a week before classes start…” Astarion grumbled. “Fine. Let me finish here, and I’ll meet you there in, oh… 15 minutes.” He turned to Gale. “Are you coming?”

“To the office?”

Astarion gave him a perplexed look. “To the bar.” He clarified. “You should take the opportunity to meet Karlach.”

Gale could feel himself going bright red as Shadowheart snickered. “Right. Yes. I would love to.” He replied.

“I’ll let Karlach know you’re coming. She’ll be thrilled.” Shadowheart replied, giving Gale a warm smile. “I’ll go lock up. See you in a bit.”

“Come on then.” Astarion replied, nodding for Gale to follow him.

***

The all-hand meeting was on the third floor, so by the time they’d returned to the basement and back up a floor to leave, Gale was starting to fear his knees wouldn’t survive the week- let alone the semester. “There has to be an elevator in this building.” Gale huffed and puffed as he hoofed it up the last flight of stairs. He didn’t want his new colleague’s first impression of him to be of him on his hands and knees wheezing. “I can’t take much more of this…”

“There is, but personally I don’t like chancing it unless I really don’t want to be in a meeting.” Astarion slowed to a stop at the top of the stairs to wait for him. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but he also seemed much trimmer than Gale was- or at the very least, his shirt accentuated the pleasing nip of his waist. Gale wondered if Astarion was a swimmer. “A history adjunct got stuck in it overnight a few years past, and it still reeks a little bit when it gets hot enough.”

Gale laughed, but Astarion very pointedly did not.

The conversation lulled a little bit.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Gale asked.

“That entirely depends on what you want to ask.” Astarion stepped into the hallway, taking a moment to slip into his grey wool peacoat before they ventured outside.

“Raphael, is he always…”

“Such an ass?” Astarion finished his thought. Gale wouldn’t have used such a strong word, but Astarion had gotten the spirit of the question right, at least. “He’s usually much worse.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a glorified middleman with too much power and time on his hands.” Astarion scoffed. “He enjoys putting things in people’s way and watching them try to wriggle their way out of problems he created. My advice is to deal with him as little as possible.”

“Is he who you went to talk to earlier?”

Astarion gave him a poisonous look that only confirmed Gale’s suspicion.

They walked across campus in uneasy silence. The bitterly cold wind whipped and whistled, tossing the last remnants of fall leaves across the concourse. The few student residents who’d gotten in that morning had either decided to hold up in their rooms or were enjoying their free time in more exciting corners of town. Gale found himself wondering what Xenia was doing... He hoped she wasn’t all alone in an empty dorm.

“Does Xenia have many friends?” Gale asked as they approached a crosswalk leading to the block of shops across from campus.

“Hm?” Astarion tapped the pedestrian-call button, which commanded them to ‘wait!’ in a mechanical voice. “I think she probably has more friends than she realizes she does. Kids like her tend to think they’re alone in everything.”

“Poor kid… Seems like she’s been through enough.” Gale sighed. There was something heartbreaking in the phrase ‘kids like her.’ It was sad to think that there were more 19-year-olds out there carrying emotional burdens far too heavy for their age- sadder still to think that if there weren’t, then Xenia would be alone.

“She’ll figure herself out eventually. She’s not like…” Astarion paused, seemingly a little shocked by what he was about to say. He leveled a wary glance at Gale. “She’s not a quitter, I mean.”  

“I’m sure she’s not. I just hope she doesn’t run herself ragged.” The walk light flashed, and they hurried across the street.

***

They were comedically out of place in Roveer’s Roadhouse. A group of grown adults in Oxford dress crowding around a sticky Bud-Lit branded high top surrounded by a bevy of flatscreen monitors playing every sports broadcast under the sun. Shadowheart was already nursing a syrupy cocktail out of a chipped margarita glass.

An extremely tall woman with a red tipped mohawk and smiling eyes bounded over to Gale and clapped a firmly friendly hand on his shoulder. “You’re the new Adjunct, I take it?” She asked. “I’m Karlach, Professor Cliffgate, if you’re nasty.”

“Gale Dekarios.” He reached out to shake her hand. She fist-bumped him instead, and Gale got a glimpse of a nasty burn scar peeking out from the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s a pleasure!”

“Aw, I have a great-aunt named Gale!” Karlach replied.

“I get that a lot…” Gale sighed. “I like your hair!”

“Thanks!” Karlach tussled her own hair. “Told my kiddos they could pick what color I dyed it if they all passed their benchmarks.”

“Does Balduran give benchmarks?”

“Oh, no. Teaching university is my side gig,” Karlach replied. “I’m actually a full-time middle school teacher.”

A spindly girl with bleach-blonde hair pulled into space buns sidled up to the table, clutching a notepad. “Can I take your order?” She seemed quite put upon being asked to do actual work on a slow day.

“Vodka Soda,” Astarion replied, holding his ID out to the server.

She took it and dropped it in her apron, jotted something down on her notepad, and turned to Gale with an expectant look.

“I’ll, uh, take a Corona,” Gale replied. He’d never ordered a Corona in his life, but it seemed like an acceptable ‘getting drinks with colleagues’ kind of an order.

The server stood there staring at him a moment long before she asked, “ID?”

“Oh, um…” Gale patted for his wallet and realized he left it in his desk drawer. “I didn’t realize I would need it…”

“You didn’t realize you’d need an ID at a college bar?” Astarion asked dryly as he turned to the server. “Just put it on my tab.”

The server nodded and walked away without asking if they needed anything else.

“Wow Gale, just one day on the job, and you’re already bumming free drinks off the department chair.” Shadowheart teased. She took a sip of her drink crinkling her nose at the taste.

Gale flustered. “I-I was going to pay with my phone, I swear! I wasn’t planning this.”

“Relax. We’re not so underpaid that I can’t afford to buy you one beer.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “You can return the favor when you get your first paycheck.”

Gale blushed. “Alright.”

The server brought them their drinks without another word, then plopped down at the end of the bar to scroll on her phone. Gale pushed the lime through the neck of his beer bottle and watched it fizz as it sank to the bottom of the dubiously golden liquid.

“So, did I miss anything important at the all-hands?” Karlach asked idly, stirring her bourbon and coke.

“You know you didn’t,” Shadowheart replied. “We’re changing timecard systems, and Raphael and Astarion are in another one of their weird power struggles-there, I saved you an hour and a half.”

Karlach’s eyes lit up, and she turned towards Astarion. “Before the semester even starts?” There was a conspiratorial glee in her voice. “What the fuck could he have possibly done this time?”

“Why spoil the mood by ruminating on that rat bastard?” Astarion said. He picked the lemon slice out of his drink and laid it on a napkin. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fair.” Karlach shrugged. She turned back to Gale and fixed him with a warm smile. “So, Gale, what brings you to the wonderful world of higher education?”

Gale had thought a lot about what he would tell people when they asked him why he wanted to teach college. He’d written little speeches in the shower about the joys of teaching language and the satisfaction of helping students reach their goal, but sitting in a group of other English professors, that suddenly all felt very trite.

“I was a public librarian, but I had to step away from my last position when I got divorced.” He admitted. “I found a job at a community college teaching database management, and I realized I’d just always missed teaching.” He took a long pull of his beer. The sour of the lime battled with the bitterness of the beer on his tongue.

“Library science might be a harder industry to break into than academia. It must have been tough to leave that behind.” Astarion mused.

“I do miss it terribly sometimes… but my ex helped me get into graduate school and got me my first library job. If I stayed, I would never be able to make anything that was truly mine.” Gale sighed. He could see the wheels spinning in Shadowheart’s head as she tried to figure out his age.

“You talk like you’re as old as this bag of bone,” Karlach pointed a thumb at Astarion, who glared daggers at her. “But there’s no way you’re that old.”

“I’m 35.” Gale clarified.

“That’s a little bit older than I thought, but still nowhere near as old as Astarion,” Shadowheart said.

“You are barely two years younger than me.” Astarion snapped.

“Barely a decade older than Gale, too.” Shadowheart shot back.

Astarion rolled his eyes and muttered something into his drink. “Did you go to get your master’s straight out of undergrad?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

Astarion shrugged. “That’s just quite young to be with someone that well-established in their field.”

“Oh, we didn’t get together until I graduated.” That wasn’t entirely true. They didn’t get together publicly until he graduated. He didn’t know why he was still defending Mystra. It wasn’t like any of his new colleagues would ever meet her.

“I wasn’t trying to imply anything…” Astarion lied.

“Of course not.”

They both took a sip of their drink, holding awkward eye contact.

“Well, here’s to making something for yourself then,” Shadowheart said, holding her drink out to Gale for a cheers.

Gale clinked the neck of his beer bottle against her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”