#that ties her history together nicely i think

[ambrosiagourmet]

Rin Masterpost

Rin! Rinsha Fana! Beloved side character I think about far too much (or maybe not enough?)

I decided that it might be nice to put together an informational post about Rin, since she has some of my favorite background details of any character in Dungeon Meshi. This is partly as reference for myself, and partly for anyone else who might be interested in her but not know where to chase down the tidbits we we get of her, both in canon & extra materials. There’s also a little bit of theorizing and analysis sprinkled in for fun.

If anyone spots something I missed, please let me know and I will add it in!

Alright. Time for ultimate #rinposting

History and Timeline:

We don't have an official timeline for Rin (even in the expanded Adventurer's Bible, sadly), but we can put a lot of pieces together based on Kabru's timeline & their respective ages.

Rin is 2 years older than Kabru, and they met when he was 9. Assuming that he met her soon after she was taken to the elven capital, that means that the elves took her when she was 11.

Before that, she lived on the Northern Continent. Interestingly, when Mickbell asks about Shuro, Rin says she was born "here."

Since "here" doesn't mean the actual Island itself, it must mean simply "not the east." She is described in the Adventurer's Bible as having "no real knowledge of or attachment to the East," so maybe that's why she draws a "there" verses "here" line.

I'd also like to add a note here that the elves don't seem uh... they don't seem great about respecting the value of other cultures, especially those of short-life species. Milsiril seems to have discouraged Kabru from eating or remembering food from his hometown, at least, and that's even as an adoptive parent who cares (at least in some way) for her child. As I will touch on later, the "care" that Rin was under probably had even less respect for her history or ties to either Eastern or Northern culture.

That is all to say, considering that Rin spent many years with the elves, I'd take her having "[no] attachment to the East" as more of a comment on how she feels now, and less as a definite choice she made. She may genuinely have chosen that approach and opinion for herself, she may have been pushed towards it by the elves, and she may have had little choice at all in the matter - all are valid interpretations, though I personally lean towards the thought that it's unlikely the elves didn't have at least some hand in it.

Anyway, Rin does seem to know at least a bit about her heritage - she can presumably name and identify the specific island her parents are from, and she recognizes that "Shuro" isn't a name used there. She also knows that different places from the Eastern archipelago speak different languages, so she knows at least a little about the other islands as well.

Some additional extrapolations I'll make based on these facts: she never mentions, and probably isn't in contact with, any family from her island. This may be because her extended family died, because her parents didn't (or weren't able to) maintain contact, or because she lost contact when she was taken by the elves. Somewhat relatedly, she also prooobably doesn't speak the language, at least not fluently, though her being able to comment on the state of language in the archipelago makes me think that she at least learned a little as a kid.

Anyway, Rin's parents were refugees from the archipelago, though we don't know what specifically caused them to leave. There is this little tidbit of info we get (from the cover of chapter 48, of all places), though:

So yeah, that seems like it would be the backdrop of Rin's parents fleeing. As I said earlier, it's unclear if Rin might have any living family left back on her island. The listing she has for “family” in the Adventurer's Bible is just a dash, but so is Izutsumi's, for instance, and we know that she was taken from her family with no knowledge of who might still be out there. It's possible everyone else was killed, it's possible they were separated... it's possible that Rin's parents didn't even know.

As an additional note, and this is speculation on my part, but I think there is an argument to be made, with this tidbit from the cover as well as the Nakamoto clan's specialty in espionage and use of ninjas, that the politics of the archipelago are partially based on Sengoku era Japan. Not necessarily super relevant here, but I think it's interesting context for all... of the archipelago characters, honestly.

(Especially considering it seems like the Nakamoto clan is in a relatively comfortable position, and yet clearly are involved, or at least prepared to be involved in larger conflict. How stable is their position, really? How is Shuro's father viewed by the wider region and archipelago as a whole? What about his lord? NOT THE POINT THIS IS A POST ABOUT RIN. BUT IT'S VERY INTERESTING TO THINK ABOUT.)

Okay, back to Rin's parents.

Whatever caused them to leave, they made their way to the north, where they made their living with their magic for a time. There are no specifics about what kind of magic they used, but we know at least some examples of jobs that magic can get you, based on the flashback to Laios and Falin's childhood in chapter 26. Laios proposes that Fain could use her magic to be a priest, gravekeeper, or wandering exorcist. Though these are specific to Falin's affinity with spirits, they give some idea of the shape of the work that might be available. It's important, but it is also on the outskirts of society - not necessarily admired or appreciated by the average person.

And Rin’s parents were killed by vigilantes for that magic. It's not entirely news that superstitious villages in the area would sometimes kill magic users - we see a small drawing of people being burned at the stake in a panel towards the end of the manga:

Nonetheless, Rin is the only person in the main cast who has experienced this brutality firsthand. And she did experience it firsthand, having been found by the elves as the sole survivor within the burnt ruins of her home.

It is unknown exactly how she survived, or what happened to her parents before and during the fire. Rin lived, and they did not.

The elves came some time after the fire, intending to investigate reports of ancient magic. They (and we) don't know if Rin's parents actually did use ancient magic, or if the reports and murders were simply spurred by general fear and superstition. Rin was the only piece of "evidence" that remained, and so she was taken back to the west with the elves when they left.

We don't know much about her time on the Northern Central Continent (where the elves/Canaries are based), but it doesn't seem like she was adopted or taken in by anyone the way that Kabru was. According to the Adventurer's Bible, after being taken into custody, "under their care she was treated as a captive animal would be." I would guess that means very basic food and shelter, little to no education. Probably the most social contact she got was from Kabru, as well as maybe, occasionally, from elves treating her as a curiosity, such as in this bit in the Adventurer’s Bible:

Assuming she left with Kabru (which seems like it is the case, there's no info about them having separated during that time), she spent 9 years with the elves, and has been with Kabru on the Island in the 4 years since then.

She also stays in the Golden Country after the end of the story, apparently working as an apothecary.

Additional Details (& Speculation):

What does she remember of her family and home?

I'd like to take a moment here to explore a little of what Rin might remember of her parents and home.

For reference, we can look at Kabru. The canaries came to Utaya when Kabru was 6, and he arrived in the capital when he was 7. He remembers the events of the tragedy in his home, and has some memories of his mother and life in Utaya, including memories of local dishes.

Rin lost her parents and home at 11, so she presumably has much clearer memories of the events that lead to her being taken by the elves... or she might, assuming that they haven't been completely blocked by her trauma from the event.

Yeah, I am fairly damn sure that she's got some memory issues from trauma and PTSD. For one, this is the state she was found in:

As already mentioned, she was also treated like something of an animal by the elves. She probably didn't have a lot of contact with other people, which would further perpetuate that sense of isolation and dehumanization. What I'm getting at here is that Rin probably didn't have much to help pull her out of this place, or heal these wounds. She had Kabru, who was also a kid and even younger than her, and she had herself.

Obviously trauma leaves different scars on everyone, and everyone responds and copes in different ways. But I do think it is interesting that we never hear anything about Rin's parents or life before the elves, and there are no real details about it given in the Adventurer's Bible the way we have for Kabru. What's presented is more surface level facts: they were refugees, they made a living with magic, they were killed.

I'm inclined to believe that things are laid out this way because that's how Rin holds on to these things. She knows things about them, but possibly remembers them more as things she was told/knows to be true, rather than actual memories she can picture herself experiencing.

Rin's Magic

In an interesting counterpoint to her potentially spotty memory, I do actually think Rin may have learned magic from her parents (or started learning, and was self-taught from there). She never attended a magic academy, and actually has a bit of grudge against people who did - owing to the social protection afforded to "upper-class mages," which her parents did not have. She also almost certainly wouldn't have been taught by the elves, who not only treated her as an animal but also knew her parents may have been involved with ancient magic.

Falin began to show signs of magical talent at 8, and was sent to the Magic Academy at 10, and that was as someone who had absolutely no guidance about or exposure to magic in her home town. Raised by two mage parents, I think Rin absolutely could have been learning some things by the time she was 11.

In terms of continued learning, I'll add that Rin is able to identify Marcille's magic as being A) from an Academy student, and B) cast by an elf:

This makes me think that she continued to study magic on her own while held by the elves, and probably even more so after leaving with Kabru. They didn't form the party until two years after they left the elves, which would give Rin plenty of time to try and learn from other adventurers on the Island, or to study up on her own. She'd probably be able to pick up some dungeon-crawling basics (like the water walk spell), as well as become familiar with the skill level and expression of skill common in different people with different backgrounds (hence why she is able to comment on the "textbook" academy wards).

Much like Marcille, Rin also seems to rely on a 'one size fits all' Big Boom method of dealing with monsters: lightning. We see the best example of its power in the fight with Chimera Falin:

But we also see her cast it pretty recklessly in a few other places, including the end credits of the new anime ED, which I think provides a good example of the downsides to such an approach...

Yeah, it is very much a 'get out of the way or get zapped' spell.

Especially since Marcille's offensive magic is self-taught and works very similarly, this definitely reinforces the idea that Rin figured most of this stuff out herself.

Outfit and Character Design

Dear sweet Rin of the Red And Black... how I love her design.

First of all, her clothes are damaged. Despite the fact that Rin looks relatively well put together overall, her outfit is worn out. I have some theories on why this is that I'll get to in a bit, but for now I'll just touch on what this design communicates in general about it.

I think, just like with Kabru's horribly messy room, it creates a sense that there is something more complicated underneath the surface. Something that isn't being addressed or seen to, just as the dress hasn't been mended or replaced.

It also reflects her not caring a ton about her appearance. She's neat, but she's not concerned about being pretty, so she doesn't bother with fixing up her outfit after her dungeon crawls. This also fits with her perpetual scowl (which I will talk more about in a bit), and slightly disheveled hair.

Next: the gloves. At first I thought they might be a sort of uncomfortable-with-touch thing, but after skimming through the manga and some bonus content, I have another theory. Rin takes the gloves off to eat, as well as a few other instances, such as when working on a spell with Holm and Marcille in chapter 36

This one is especially interesting because she has them on in the next chapter, during the fight with Falin. Since she also isn't wearing gloves during some of the Daydream Hour art of her outside of the dungeon, that leads me to believe that they are specifically for combat.

What does she need them for, though? Most other casters we see don't wear gloves. Well... just look at the other half of the page where she attacks Falin with lightning:

She is enveloped by this spell. I said it before was pretty reckless magic, but maybe its not just a problem for her teammates, but for her as well.

So here's my theory: maybe the gloves are rubber, or some other electricity-resistant material? They might help protect her from her own magic. I don't know why a caster would need gloves for combat otherwise.

I also think this might be why her dress is tattered at the bottom, by the way. Especially since the Daydream Hour genderswap design doesn't have a similar problem with his outfit, since the tunic isn't as long.

I will admit this is a bit of stretch/guess, but I think it's a fun one, and I wanted to share. I do think I'm right about the gloves being for dungeons/fighting specifically, at least. That seems pretty consistent throughout all of her appearances.

I also mentioned her scowl, so I'll touch on that briefly as well. The (fairly confirmed) explanation for Rin's expression is that she intentionally wears a frown to prevent her other expressions from showing through. I think it's important to emphasize that it's not just smiling that she is trying to suppress here - it's any strong emotion:

Anyway, because I can, here is the art of Rin smiling.

Rin and Kabru

I have talked a bit about Rin and Kabru's history, but I think it deserves its own section.

I think it's very interesting that Rin is pretty much the ONLY character in all of Dungeon Meshi that has explicit canonical romantic interesting in someone. It's literally part of the main summary sentence in her character profile.

This could be sort of reductive as a way to describe a female character (and in some ways it still is), but I think in part the simplicity and directness of it actually is part of what makes it so interesting. Especially when on the very next page we see the comic about her backstory. "This mage is in love with Kabru" -> one page of a horribly traumatic event and a child frozen in shock with no one to comfort her. What does that do?

Well, in my opinion, it shows how much Rin focuses on Kabru as something to keep her in the present. In contrast with the immense loss she has experienced, her love for Kabru is current and alive. He has presumably been her anchor for years, and I think that her love is part of that anchor.

Adding to this, in contrast with how explicit her feelings are, she never seems to actively pursue Kabru. She complains about his potential interest in other women, but she doesn't really flirt. She doesn't let herself smile around him any more than anyone else, and she doesn't hide her bitterness or anger from him to present a more appealing persona.

As much as she craves Kabru's attention, and has stayed by his side for years, I don't know that she really wants to possess him. He seems to know about her feelings, more or less, and she seems to know that he knows. Maybe she believes he doesn't reciprocate and is respecting that, maybe she's afraid of what she could lose if she tried to change things, or maybe the change itself frightens her. In any case, though she's not exactly happy with the way things are between them, she doesn't seem to be trying to change that status quo.

A specific thing I'd also like to talk about with their relationship, beyond Rin's love for him, is her fear for him. As the Adventurer's Bible puts it, "she worries that his knack for dealing with whatever life throws at him might lead him to get too full of himself and end up in serious trouble."

Rin is an interesting mix of restrained and explosive, herself. Her magic is destructive, her temper seems to run hot (she gets annoyed easily, at least), and her feelings for Kabru are apparent. At the same time, she doesn't let her emotions show on her face, she is the one who bluntly states that the group has hit the limit of their abilities, and she doesn't act on those obvious feelings for Kabru. It's interesting, then, that what she fears for Kabru is that he won't restrain himself.

And a small personal idea about that as well: I wonder if she somewhat blames her parents for getting killed. Again, this is very speculative, but I think it's interesting that her fear for Kabru is that he will get too full of himself. Take up too much space. It's never really stated what Rin thinks of her parents, but it can be easy in grief to search for control, and control often means blame. If they hadn't been so confident, so flashy, would they still be alive...?

I don't know if she's ever thought like that, and it could well be that her fears for Kabru come from a totally different place. But it's an interesting connective thread between her past and present - the idea of "getting in trouble" for taking up too much space and being too confident in one's own abilities.

Miscellaneous Tidbits:

On that note, I'd like to wrap up the main part of this post, and move on to a few extra things that I couldn't find another place for.

Rin plays with her hair when she's stressed

Using stressed as a pretty big umbrella here, because I think it's hard to perfectly pin down all the emotions at play, but it is a habit of hers. Best displayed in chapter 32, but it shows up in other places, too.

Her design contrasts with Marcille

This is a small thing, but I just love how much they are visual opposites.

Rin wears red and black and has dark hair, Marcille wears blue and white and has light hair. Marcille cares a great deal for her hair and puts it up in elaborate hairstyles, and Rin's is mostly loose and a bit messy. Marcille was even educated at the Magic Academy, which Rin dislikes. They both have little capelets. Also they both look very cute in each other's clothes.

Rin knows Flamela (and they meet again in canon)

Nothing much is done with this in canon, but I think it’s super interesting that Flamela's squad are the ones that find Rin as a child and take her away to the west, and then they end up stuck in the dungeon together for a bit.

Two days??? I'm so very curious what things were like between these three.

Aaaand I think that's all I have to say about Rin! For the time being at least. There's a lot more analysis that could be done about her and Kabru especially, but for this post I wanted to keep things at least somewhat anchored to canon facts, with only a layer or two of speculation on top.

If it isn't already obvious, I think Rin is a super interesting character with a ton of potential depth to explore. She mostly interacts with Kabru in canon, but has ties to a bunch of other characters: she and Marcille fill similar roles in their parties but have differing personalities and histories, she and Falin (and Laios) have been tremendously shaped by xenophobia and fear of magic common in the Northern Continent, her parents fled from conflict in the same region Shuro and his retainers are from, and she has history with Flamela and some of the second canary squad.

Her temper, her fear, her love... her repression and passion - they all inform her character, even in small ways, even with as little time as she spends on the page.

[donamori]

Please indulge me to speak at length about Don Quixote (post Warp Express Intervello)

Unfortunately, this will be riddled with spoilers, however, I'm not necessarily making this post to make any real predictions. I'm mostly just collecting my thoughts, crafting some theories, and talking at length about my thoughts on the upcoming canto, their possible themes, and to gush and wail about my most favoritest sinner ever. If you've finished Murder on the Warp Train then feel free to continue

Alright, end of the most recent Intervello, it was revealed (much to my surprise at least) that Don Quixote, our pride and joy and ever most excellent knight-errant, is in fact a Bloodfiend. A bloodfiend who apparently has their true form suppressed by Rocinante, the shoes Don wears that are named after the steed Don Quixote rides upon in the book.

This new reveal has millions of possibilities forming in my head for the upcoming Canto and here's the gist of what I've kind of formed and gathered from what we know so far in the world of Limbus and Project Moon as a whole, what I personally know about Miguel De Cervantes and his works, and the general thematic ties that are now unfurling within my noggin that I'm trying to spool together in this nice little indulgent post.

Let's start with Miguel De Cervantes:

For those who may not know, Cervantes is the author of Don Quixote, born in 1547, died in 1616. A few important tidbits that I think will be important in the upcoming Canto-

Something that has been known for awhile is that Don's battle sprite does not list her name as Don Quixote but as Miguel. For awhile now I had been wondering if within Don Quixote's Canto we are going to receive some sort of reveal that Don Quixote is actually Miguel De Cervantes. Originally the basis of this theory I had was a quote from Cervantes about how "[he] would not exist without Don Quixote." (Something that was expanded upon in a lecture about Cervantes and Don Quixote that I found on youtube). In fact a large portion of that lecture, which I will link here, contributed to this idea I had built up in my head about the relationship between Miguel and Don.

What this essentially culminates to in my mind is that the Bloodfiend will reveal that they are Miguel, but for some reason or another, they "became" Don Quixote. So, in many loose adaptions of Don Quixote, this connection is typically made. In my personal favorite adaption, The Man of La Mancha, a musical about the book, they present the story of Don Quixote as a play for prisoners after Miguel Cervantes himself is arrested. And who is the man that plays Don? None other than Cervantes himself!

(you should really give it a watch, it's a lovely musical)

Now, within the book of Don Quixote itself, our titular hero sadly perishes at the end. He loses to the Knight of the Mirror (who is actually the Bachelor Sanson Carrasco, a man hired by Don's family to bring him home) and returns home. He then dies in his bed after renouncing the name of Don Quixote and all of his adventures. Saying with much seriousness that he is not Don Quixote, but Alonso Quijana. He leaves money to Sancho and his estate to his niece and then soon passes (after a heartfelt appeal from Sancho to return to adventuring together once more.)

After his death, the book ends with the author who is detailing Don Quixote's history writing this final paragraph-

"For me alone was Don Quixote born, and I for him; it was his to act, mine to write; we two together make but one, notwithstanding and in spite of that pretended Tordesillesque writer who has ventured or would venture with his great, coarse, ill-trimmed ostrich quill to write the achievements of my valiant knight... And I shall remain satisfied, and proud to have been the first who has ever enjoyed the fruit of his writings as fully as he could desire; for my desire has been no other than to deliver over to the detestation of mankind the false and foolish tales of the books of chivalry, which, thanks to that of my true Don Quixote, are even now tottering, and doubtless doomed to fall for ever. Farewell.”

I've paraphrased it a bit, but you get the gist. While the author detailing Don Quixote's history is a fictional author made up by Cervantes, I believe it is a cheeky way of Cervantes to insert himself in the story and express his true feelings here.

Now, with Cervantes and Donqui being one and the same I believe the strong thematic thread tying this all together is one of dreams. It's now known to us this whole time that Don Quixote is in fact, both dream and dreamer. The monster that Don Quixote is sleeps while they allow for their true self to live, ever dreaming. But now that Dream is Ending.

I think we're going to see the 'death' of Don Quixote and some sort of joining of Miguel and Don. I think Miguel wants to keep dreaming. They are a bloodfiend, a horrible monster, one of the more powerful beings that are mentioned in Project Moon's games. But i think that Miguel doesn't want that. I think that Miguel wants to be cured. Something that has never really been done for a bloodfiend, an impossible dream, perhaps?

I think in Don's Canto we're going to see what we see within the book. Miguel/Don's family trying to get him to come back, to stop him, to get him to give up on this silly dream of Knight-Errantry. And I believe Dante will finally be able to help Miguel take the first steps towards realizing this impossible dream.

Some small little thoughts that I've had that i think push this a bit further.

Don Quixote was written by Miguel when he was 50 while he was in prison.

I've been wondering now whether this cell we see Donqui in within her base ego was actually some sort of representation of this. Don Quixote was born while Miguel was locked away. This looming shadow of Rocinante keeping the Sangre De Sancho locked away within this small starry-eyed girl <3

Nothing that I really have any like, evidence for, but based on vibes I think representing the specific sort of Spaniard from this time period as some sort of high class vampire is excellent and really fits thematically as well.

Cervantes has a bunch of quotes about the nature of oneself and death (bloodfiends are undead). Some that I think are quite fitting are :

“A Man Without Honor is Worse than Dead.”

“Take my advice and live for a long, long time. Because the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die.”

“I know who I am and who I may be, if I choose.”

“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!”

and finally, to conclude this,

“All I know is that while I’m asleep, I’m never afraid, and I have no hopes, no struggles, no glories — and bless the man who invented sleep, a cloak over all human thought, food that drives away hunger, water that banishes thirst, fire that heats up cold, chill that moderates passion, and, finally, universal currency with which all things can be bought, weight and balance that brings the shepherd and the king, the fool and the wise, to the same level. There’s only one bad thing about sleep, as far as I’ve ever heard, and that is that it resembles death, since there’s very little difference between a sleeping man and a corpse.”

If you read this whole thing, thank you for indulging me. I greatly appreciate it.

[spaceorphan18]

How an animated series saved Remy LeBeau (again)

It's a bit of a hyperbolic title, but catchy, non?

I was looking over my comic collection as I've decided to reread X-Men's 60 year history over the course of the summer. And it got me thinking about a dead period of 616 canon that I've never actually read. Around the time Rogue hooked up with Magneto and scooted off to the Avengers, I decided I'd be done with comics for a while. And didn't start again until Rogue (and Gambit) came back to the X-books in 2017's Astonishing X-Men. But it made me wonder -- What happened to Gambit in that time??

Well, after his solo ended, he flitted around to X-Factor and hung out with X-23 and then kind of went 'poof' for a good long while.

Why? I can only guess the same reason this is a running motif with Gambit. There's something about him that drives the X-Office crazy. I'm not here to speculate what or how or who of it all. I don't know enough about the back end of Marvel to give concrete answers. But I think what has surprised me (recently) is that he's definitely a fan favorite character.

[Yes, I know he can be a divisive character. Yes, I know elements of his character from the 90s have not aged well. Yes, I know there are those of you who can't stand him. Don't really care - you can get off my lawn, thank you.]

Which got me thinking -- Gambit's original popularity, I believe, stemmed from the original X-Men Animated Series. He had just started showing up in the comics at the time, and had barely any kind of page time. And the X-Men TAS swung and was a hit. And so was Gambit.

I don't really know that Gambit would be around today if TAS hadn't done its thing. Would the X-Office have kept him around? I really have no idea.

But they did try to get rid of him. That was the point of leaving him in Antarctica. And things were just never the same after that. Claremont tried his best in the early 2000s. And then Deathbit happened. Carey's run wasn't bad. But Carey clearly had an agenda for other things... And then, Gambit just kind of faded into the background. (I hear his run as a side character for Laura (X-23) was good - but I haven't read that.)

Bless Kelly Thompson (always) for sparking life back into him with (and his relationship with Rogue). And bless the fact that she actually married him to Rogue. Yes, I understand comics -- my god look what they did to Peter and MJ, no one really gets to be happily married except Sue and Reed. He and Rogue are now really tied together in a way that I don't think is going to be undone any time soon.

Even if the X-Office still isn't thrilled with the guy. Krakoa era has been less than ideal. (I can't comment on it fully - I haven't read much of it, as I'm behind on my comic reading.) But I've heard rumors that one reason Thompson was let go was that she didn't want Gambit killed off. And she didn't like the direction they wanted to take the character.

Which leads me to X-Men 97. Killing him off sucked. Really. As a fan, it really sucked. But - my god, the reaction to it. Gambit was amazing. And all I've heard lately is good things about the character. There's been a Gambit resurgence in the best way. He may have went out -- but he went out with a bang. X-Men 97 made an emotional impact with people. And that changes things.

Gambit is cool again.

And I love it.

What's even more exciting is the fact that the X-Office has changed hands again and Gail Simone on Uncanny who (if her Twitter/X feed is to be believed) is really enjoying writing the character. Which means (hopefully) at least another year or two in the comics of some (hopefully) great Gambit stuff.

And maybe there will be some changing of hearts and minds in the X-Office.

It's actually very exciting.

And, guys, I really (really, really) doubt he'll be completely gone from X-Men 97, too.

Because Remy LeBeau never stays down for long.

But as a fan, it's nice to see him be on top again. And I don't think he's going anywhere anytime soon.

[volturissideslut]

I think I worded it better lol

How you think Rebekah Mikaelson would react to the girl she keeps rejecting (who always gives Beks princess treatment and her undivided attention) suddenly being super nice to Elena

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖐𝖆𝖍 𝕸𝖎𝖐𝖆𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖔𝖓

"Hi, Bex" you grin, sitting next to the blonde. It was history class, first period, and the only seat next was the one left next to her because she glared at everyone else that dared to try. Not so secretly, you want her, and also not so secretly, she wants you. But Rebekah likes to be chased, she likes to be pampered, and she likes to make life hard. So though she also wanted you and enjoyed any previous advances you had given her, she was going to play hard to get.

"You again? Won't you ever learn to bugger off?" she huffs, turning away to hide her small smile at your presence. You catch the smile, though, and decide to play along despite the small pang in your chest.

"Never. What would i do without my favourite original by my side to talk to, hm?"

"Oh shush, Mr. Saltzman's starting his lesson, now let me borrow a pen"

___

This same back and forth continued between Rebekah and yourself for a few more days now and you stupidly began to think she would start being nice back. You shared your lunch, met when she called, watched her cheer leading try outs like she requested, even tied her laces for her once. And yet, today it seemed like it was going backwards.

"Oh go away, would you. You and-" Rebekah started, about to rant about the 'bloody Salvatores' and 'whiney Elena' but when she turned around to give you a practiced scowl she was met with the sight of you actually walking away.

The smile hidden under her grimace disappeared, wiped cleanly off of her face. Instead, a blank expression laid there, with eyes wide in surprise.

What was more surprising, though, was when you didn't show up for her practice. She no longer felt the need to show Caroline up, and slunk to the back of the group to peer at the stands.

Even more so, when she didn't see you sat next to her usual spot in history class. Instead at the front, doodling in your notebook.

Okay, so maybe it hurt a little. But she got what she asked for, right?

But what actually made her react was getting to the bonfire, expecting to speak to you and bicker - to hash it all out and move along - only to see you laughing with... Elena??

The two of you just looked like peas in a pod, giggling together and reminiscing about when you were closer as kids, when it was all less complicated. And then... and then you shared a smore. Like actually bit into the same one as that - that bitch!

And Rebekah was seething. Not that she really had any right to be.

And so she marched right up there, arms crossed in discontent, "A word, please?" and yet her tone indicated the 'please' was more of a 'get your arse up now'. And so, with a huff of annoyance and a shrug from you, Elena stood up to follow Rebekah. "Not you, you pest" she glared. Elena only looked to you with worry.

Brushing it off, you stood and followed Rebekah.

"What on earth has gotten into you lately? You've-" The blonde girl begins after sputtering for a few seconds

"I thought you wanted to be left alone bex, isn't that what you always tell me? To 'bugger off'?" and she has to hold back a wince at the way her own words are thrown back at her. "You asked to be left alone, and im leaving you alone. Is that all?"

"No that's not all!"

"Then what, hm?"

"Then... then-" she surges forward, kissing you deeply. "That, that's what!" she says angrily. "I'll see you Monday, in your normal seat, thank you very much" she turns to storm away, pointedly ignoring the hammering in her chest and the butterflies in her belly

"Okay" you whisper, fingers ghosting over your lips, mouth still tingling from the feel of hers. "See you Monday"

And that Monday she decides that maybe it's time to switch the narrative. Maybe its time for her to be attentive to you.

[zahri-melitor]

Spoilery thoughts on Batman #148:

This story was pretty clearly drafted to be a 5 or 6 issue story, probably originally resolving in #150 as bringing the family together is a nice round number issue sort of event. My best guess is that the Nakano and Vandal Savage plot and some more of the back ups around the captured villains got cut to the bone to speed things up after Zdarsky was told #150 was needed for Absolute Power (and #149 is apparently doing the epilogue to set up for whatever goes on in Absolute Power). There’s a couple of really clear “and we just skipped 3-4 pages” sort of moments in the shape of the script for this issue (and in hindsight in #147) that if it had been allowed even an extra issue the story would have more space to breathe.

And despite that revised pagecount, Zdarsky still manages to deliver the moments he wanted to bring for Dick, Babs, Jason, Tim and Damian, so I’m impressed by that. Cass unfortunately did get relegated, but if I’m being objective about this, DC’s still waffling over whether Current Cass is adopted or not, and Zdarsky was already juggling a big list of characters (plus part of the point of having a big cast is that you don’t HAVE to focus on all the cast).

I did like how much space Zdarsky still found for the Damian-Tim-ZEA Robin plot. That did NOT resolve the way I predicted from the costume’s first hints in the background (I was totally on team ‘Tim puts on the costume sacrificially to try to get through to ZEA Bruce thinking he can handle this, and gets brainwashed’), but it was satisfying in terms of acknowledging Tim and Damian’s relationship (it was giving me Gates of Gotham vibes, which are the best Tim and Damian working together vibes), there was more discussion of the different elements both bring to the role of Robin and what’s good and bad about each, and how ZEA Robin doesn’t understand what makes you Robin. It was a pretty balanced fight scene. Tim gives Damian an assist, Damian gives Tim an assist, Tim’s a bit too overconfident and pays for it, Damian was a bit petulant about having to sit part of it out (though being tied up is like, PURE Robin aesthetic).

As far as the costumes go for the Robins Fight scene: honestly, switching Tim into a darker costume that was black and green with red accents complemented Damian’s black and grey with red accents aesthetic well, and contrasted with the ZEA costume being so bright red and yellow (which is playing off the original red, yellow and purple ZEA suit). Jimenez also gave everyone a different mask shape, which also helped distinguish everyone when you have three ‘Robins’ appearing in the same fight. All the Bat redesigns at the moment are leaning into darker palettes, and I appreciated the choice to go back to green as Tim’s ‘colour’, rather than red, given: his pre-2006 history used to use green quite often as his distinguishing colour; he can share it with Babs (team green for the computer nerds!); it’s not a colour they’ve particularly focused on for Damian for ages; and it gets him out from under having to share colour palette with Jason, given Jason can’t keep a costume consistent for a year.

It’s fine. It’s not my favourite Robin design I’ve ever seen, it’s not the worst Robin design I’ve ever seen (even on Tim), and it made the fight a lot clearer to follow.

I really liked that Barbara’s contribution was Oracle based and it made her inclusion make sense. I cackled at Dick getting to punch Daniel Captio (I was having serious echoes of the Cave argument in Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive, and from Tim’s delighted face for that punch I think Tim was too).

In terms of Jason, having him volunteer to take on the Lazarus-linked part of the plot and tell Bruce “let us have control of our own decisions” IS the resolution and apology for the mind alteration plot (which I am still pretty sure was a Rosenberg driven decision, not a Zdarsky one, in Gotham War), and look. That’s the sort of resolution you get a lot for comics plots. They’re cool. It was never going to end up as a big song and dance.

I like that the resolution pulled everything back to Failsafe. Good way to round off 2 years on the title. Nice extended story arc, with shout outs all the way back to #125.

I did have to laugh at Nakano calling Cass, Steph and Duke ‘child soldiers’ though. Those are all actual adults, sir! Even Duke’s supposed to be 18+ now.

[granolawriting]

"To make you forget."ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: The day after having your long term boyfriend put an end to your relationship, you find yourself in a complicated relationship with Joel, a friends family friend. He invites you out for a drink after a shotty first impression, and the rest is history. sequel to a change in fate

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers, unprotected piv, praise kink, strong Joel carries you multiple places, pet names (princess, darling, doll, sweetheart), oral (f!receiving), fucking in his clothes, drinking, drunk secret kisses, sleepy kisses, aftercare, spooning.

word count: 5.2k

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the last one <33 please send me requests if you have any idea for what I could write next! enjoy ;)

“No. Fucking. Way.” 

… … … 

You sit across from your friend once more at the same table that held a much more, comfortable conversation the night prior. Eyes catch hers, and an agape mouth is what greets the information just relayed to her over morning coffee.

“No, no okay I must be thinking of the wrong one.” 

“Your dad only has one friend named Joel I thin-” 

“I KNOW!!!” 

… 

“It’s just. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. It's just a little, crazy, is all, that you’re now going on a date with him.” 

“It's not a date-” 

“It so is.” 

You scoff at her implication. 

“You know, there's a thing called ‘southern hospitality’. And he's not wrong about me needing a drink after everything I’ve been through. Maybe he's just good at reading people, trying to get back on how he treated me the other night now that I’m someone he has to be nice to.” 

Your friend purses her lips, trying to think of a counter but coming up short. You were right, there wasn't anything inherently odd about going out for drinks with someone. Especially when you’ve earned it. 

“Though I can't deny, he is kind of cute. For an old guy.” 

And the tower comes crumbling down. 

At the sound of your confession your friend goes into a fit, a groan followed by very exaggerated, nonexistent tears that whine into the floor that her head now faces along the lines of complaint of his age, and the jeans that predate your birth. 

your hand touches her hair, stroking it as to try and ease her out of some melodramatic stupor, telling her that it'dve been bound to happen the moment she tried to push her old guy agenda on you. Kindly telling her that perhaps, she's just a little upset you got one before her. In the process however, admitting that a part of you feels as if you’ve got him-- but pay that no mind of course. It's purely for the joke, to antagonize her. There's no means for you to feel as though you’ve won anything out of a simple night out with a guy who, in the right clothes and lighting, looks kind of okay. 

---------------------

A clock glares at you at a 6:30 timestamp as you stand in your bathroom. There's an array of clothing sprawled across the counter as the attempt to multitask becomes futile in the face of your absolute cluelessness on how to dress to get drinks with a 40 year old man. Was he 40? Who knows, maybe it's stress. Regardless, jeans of all cut from short shorts to flairs stare back at you, and patterns of all sizes leave you helpless. You spit out a bit of toothpaste in your mouth, and as you feel stumped looking at the clothes before you, you can't help but be slightly grateful that your hair and makeup were finished before you had to get dressed. Otherwise, you wouldn't make it out the door til 8. At least. 

Though as you look upon your options an idea sticks to you; some odd desire to dress, a little western. Perhaps not the full hat and spurs, but what could a little plaid hurt? And as you piece together an outfit consisting of low-cut frayed shorts, some simple boots, and a front-tied plaid button-up, you felt ready to perhaps line dance. I mean, who fucking cares anymore. Otherwise, you’d still be stuck in limbo. Better this than nothing. 

Putting on your first earring, a clock now showing 6:43, you hear a knock at the door, followed by said knock being answered by none other than your friend. Curious and afraid of who it may be, but unable to really go down and check as you hinged on being late as is, your questions are solemnly answered at the shrill “UNCLE JOEL!!!!” bounce upon the walls of the house as though she hadn't just seen him the day before. 

The indistinct conversation is held downstairs as you feel horrifically embarrassed to not remember that most gentlemen, arrive 10-15 minutes early. And you, haven't experienced anything but a 10 after honk outside your house your entire life.

As you hurry to dress, the low pitch of his voice, the drawl of his words that you can barely discern from the distance between you two but is still everpresent leaves you with a pit in your stomach of unprecedented anxiety. You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that this was normal, casual, to you, but internally you knew it was nothing but that to you. And that scared you shitless. You've failed to go on a date with anyone else since maybe, 8th grade? The graduation dance? Your whole life you remember one man, and now another seems to blow him out of the water, with unbelievable ease. You worried you wouldn't impress him, that this was your only opportunity to seemingly get something good, that he secretly still has disdain for you after what happened to you two the night before, that he- 

“HEYY!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU COMING DOWN OR WHAT! DON'T KEEP HIM WAITING!!!!” 

You witch. 

Secondhand embarrassment overwhelms any other emotion you had at that moment as a means to get you out the door, as soon as possible. Hurried steps fall down the stairs as you finish putting on your jewelry on the go, holding some within your pocket to finish up in Joel’s car. 

“Hi- oh, I'm sorry I didn't think you’d be here early uh,” 

Eyes lock on a vase of flowers new to the living room, that had not been there when you had last descended the stairs. 

“Well, I didn't want ta’ show up empty-handed. Though it nice ta’ get somethin small for the pretty ladies.” 

A shy smile creeps on his face as he explains the origin of the plants in the house, and a ring of surprise leaves you speechless for a moment. your friend pipes up;

“Isn't that so nice? Well, y'all better have a good time tonight. And don't bring her home too drunk Joel, then she’ll start telling me all her secrets, and I definitely don't want to hear that.” 

A smile and nudge hits him as she finishes her statement. 

Does she always have to be so corny? 

You look him up and down. He wore a faded blue button-up top, with the top few trailing down his chest being unbuttoned. What fell on top of that was a faded brown jacket, a darkened collar, and a sturdy material as its makeup. Jeans that seemed omnipresent on his body, but instead of working boots did he wear what seemed to be brown boots underneath the cuff of his jeans. You could tell he tried a bit with his appearance, seeing traces of gel lining his hair that fell aside his face, and a scent of cologne softly present but still enough to put on an air of intention to impress. 

Joel leads you to his truck, and as you enter it you realize just how much it smells like him. You smell sawdust and gas, with hints of his cologne. It was an old car, but with those scents combined it makes perfect sense to you. You took in the small things as he drove, anticipation welling in your body made everything seem so much more noticeable and intense, every sense in your body heightened at the sight of an unsuspecting Joel sitting to the left of you.

You notice as he bites his fingernails as though it's a habit, a strain upon his fingers down to the very skin of them that coats every finger on both of his hands. 

Both hands fall upon the wheel as he turns into the bar. 

“Finally here. Feelsa lot longer than it did when I was younger, funny thinkin of cause’ when I was ‘bout your age, you couldn’t pull me outta this place.” 

Hahaha when I was about your age. Damn you old man. 

“That mean I’m gonna have to pull you out of here tonight?” 

You look at him with a little smile, but he seems to begin getting out of the car before you can give him a direct look in the eyes. However when he goes around to your side to open your door, as you step out of it with a small jump onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his eyes trace your body with noticeable intent. He looks at you for just a moment though, and as his eyes turn to meet your own, he just smiles and says; 

“Don't worry sweetheart, I can take my liquor nowadays. ‘Spose that cant be said fer you though, your little friend told me ‘bout yer habits when you drink.”

A satisfied chuckle leaves him that lands you in a pit of fear. What did she tell him. 

Story upon story of less-than-elegant scenes of your drunken stupor flash within your mind before the need to shake them off is immanent as he follows up; 

“Now no sense lookin like that hon, she aint tell me nothin too bad. Should she have? ‘Spose they’ve got virgin drinks now that this place got all prettied up since I last saw it. Just don't want ya pukin in my truck alright?” 

“Oh don't worry, I’ll be fine. I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways.” 

------------------

“ I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways “

That's all that's able to ring through your head as you demand another shot at the counter. Sure, you drank but, 

"you hold it well!"

Or so you thought. But you never really noticed until now how badly you were hurt by what happened to you in the past few days. And when you lose someone you’ve known for 3 years, the inclination to drink past your limit grows ever stronger with every downing of liquor that's not on your tab. And as that realization becomes tucked into the back of your mind with every glass, more does an unfamiliar part of you comes out. One of loud unruliness, in the face of a man you otherwise strived to impress to the greatest degree.

 At this point in the night, he’s had what, 2 beers? The first already probably already having worn off. He was a smart drinker, and you could tell he stayed under the threshold where he couldn't drive anymore, as a means to stay safe for you. And as the drinks poured you made it evident to him how much you appreciated that. Many many times. He wasn't like any man you’d ever been out with anymore. He didn't judge you, or make fun of you. He endorsed whatever made you happy.

Until, of course, a woman comes out of the bathroom to inform him the lady he came with has been nauseous near the toilet bearing on ten minutes. 

“Alright doll, we’ve got to get you home.” 

Drunken slurs of disapproval at that notion dispel from you in the way of elongated “no’s” and “please’s” fill the bar as Joel felt within himself the karma of every man who had needed to do this to him, now having to do this for you. 

“C’mon you know fightin me wont work, I'm much stronger than you darlin’.” 

And with flailed arms still being swung in the general direction of him, he finds this means to deal with you the old-fashioned way.

That being, just picking you up and taking you home that way. And thus, with one fail swoop of an arm and shoulder, you were slung over him in a fireman's carry. Too flushed and furious for a reason you can't quite discern, you throw weak jabs into his back as he takes you out of the bar as though you were nothing but a small child; treating you as though you were no weight at all upon a back hardened by muscle and grit. But even as he brings you to his truck, he lowers you into its passenger seat with nothing less than utter precaution. As though you were a porcelain doll that could break at any sight of rough handling. 

“Alright princess, in you go.” 

Is what’s mumbled under the breath of this gruff and barely buzzed man, now taking care of you as though you were a princess. At least you felt like it, as his arms wrapped around you with ease to shift you into a bridal carry that was a better means of getting you inside with. 

All you can do is say indiscernible things towards him as he says that to you. Not being able to process, at least in the moment, how softly he treated you. And as he closed the door on your side, and opened his own side to drive, you found yourself slowly drifting into a sleep wedged between the truck door and its window. Quite a comfortable situation for the moment, it seemed. 

What awoke you briefly was the feeling of his warm body against yours as he carried you out of his truck once more. This time taking you inside somewhere comfortably warm, inside home. He lays you on a couch that finds much greater comfort than the previous sleeping arrangement. As you lay down there, more than ready for rest he comes by once more to lift your head, a pillow to meet your head as you lay back down. And a blanket to cover you evermore, he made sure your body was tilted sideways. With that, you drift into sleep once more. 

-------------

You wake up, checking a phone clock that shines at you 3:04am against the darkness of the house. Looking around, you quickly notice that, this isn't your house. This is absolutely unfamiliar, from the kitchen to the furniture to especially, the man who slept across from you in a cushioned chair. With strained eyes and a brief flash of your flashlight, it becomes evident that it's Joel. hands crossed across his chest and a slight snore leaving his person with every breath, a pang to your head reminds you of the night you allowed go to waste in the face of drowning your problems. Cursing to yourself the lost potential of a night like this, you also thank whomever above that he chose to take you to his home instead.

 However, the liquor still seemed to have a hold on you as you looked across the living room at the dimly illuminated face of Joel through the moonlight that shone through the window. 

You approached him, slowly. A wobble in every step that when paired with unfamiliar territory meant a lot of close calls on your part, but nonetheless you walked the few feet with no major issue. And there you stood, just inches away from him. His chest rises up and down to the rhythm of his body and the peaceful eyes of a man whose body soaks in any moment of rest it can muster. His mouth was slightly open as he slept, you studied it. Slightly parted were two brightly colored lips that were covered on its top by the growth of his mustache, and its bottom being overgrown by a quarter-inch beard that coats the lower half of his face.

You lean in closer, something overtaking you that can only be explained by drunken lust. So close in fact, that you can feel the heat of his breath upon yours. It's intoxicating. You haven't felt this kind of feeling in your heart for years, this desire to do something you didn't know the consequences of. The excitement of something new overtook you. Without any more thought, you close the gap. Feeling his lips against yours as he’s non the wiser, all but a simple kiss against his lips is all you needed to satiate this urge you’d had bubbled within yourself since you first heard his voice downstairs while you got ready. 

At least, you thought. But as you tasted the liquor on his lips and smelled the remnants of cologne on his neck you couldn't help yourself. One kiss became two, to three, to fo- 

A mumble stopped you in your tracks. You shot up what seemed like 10 feet, stumbling far enough away to absolve suspicion from your highly odd acts, to say the least. 

His eyes slowly flutter open, followed by a groan and a stretch of his arms and legs wakes him up enough to address you. With fingers rubbing his eyes, he asks; 

“Hey, are’ya finally up?” 

Groggy, raspy, deep, whatever the fuck you want to say. It was everything. A just woken Texan man with the rasp and the drawl all together could finish you off right then and there. 

You search for words, excuses, anything to respond to him with. Panicked, you say the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Oh yeah, I uh. I wanted to ask if I could take a shower maybe? Soak off the rest of this drunk. Is that, would that be alright?” 

You look for his eyes in the dark of night, and as they meet yours he forms a reply, 

“Course ya’ can. It's uh, just down there to the left. In my room.” 

“Thank you” 

Making your way down the dark corridors you find his room, and an entrance envelopes you in a part of his life. You see the things that he values enough to keep within his room, the set of sheets he sleeps on every night. The mementos that make his life fleshed out before you. And of course, the guitars. Of course, he plays the guitar, I mean what the hell else is he supposed to do. 

You stumble into the bathroom, impressively kept for only housing a single man. Within there do you mindlessly strip your clothes, opting to shower as soon as possible just to not make him any more suspicious of the things you’re doing in his own home. 

---------

Stepping out, however, having used his shampoo and body wash in an oddly exciting experience of smelling exactly like him, do you grapple with the uncomfortable realization you have no clothes to wear after you do all of this. You step out of the water, turning it off, and grabbing a towel to wrap around you a few things pass through your mind. Whether you go, and ask him for clothes. Or, if you just take them for yourself. Both have quite interesting endings to them, however, the latter seems to be more enticing. And you begin to realize perhaps it isn't the liquor that’s making you act like this, it's pure unadulterated lust. 

Walking into his room once more do you rummage through drawers and closets looking for something wearable. And within it do you find an insanely dated rock shirt, and a pair of his boxers to suit your desired amount of cover. 

You walk into the living room once more, a new wardrobe adorning you, you notice that the light is now turned on; he’s stayed awake. With a bit more caution in your step you watch as you round the corner of the living room he’s stood in the kitchen, cooking some sort of tea. Wearing little else than a pair of plaid pants to sleep in. 

“Ah he-” 

Turning to face you does he stop in his tracks as he observes you. Smelling like him, dressed in his attire, you realize that there's no man alive who could properly see that and act normal about that. Even the southern gentleman stood before you. He places the container of honey he held for his recipe down on the counter and approaches you slightly; 

“I see you’ve found some clothes then? Was thinkin a’ bringin some of Sarah's stuff in fer ya, but I’ve got to say that this is a bit better of a sight.” 

A smirk grows on his lips as he looks at you, a sense of desire that he had previously covered came to the surface as he saw you within his clothes. Assuming that was the only reason as to why.  

Walking towards you does he move a stray piece of hair from your face to the back of your ears, looking at you from above he speaks again in a deeper, more domineering voice; 

“Now I won't play stupid with you sweetheart. I felt all that stuff you were doing ta’ me, didn't think it’d be the first thing you’d do wakin up in a stranger's house. But can't say I'm all too mad at it.” 

He cups your face with his palms and lifts your chin to look up at him. 

“And now yer standing here in all my clothes, covered in me. Wasn't plannin on saying anything ‘bout it til you walked in here lookin like that. Now I don't think I can rightly resist darlin’.” 

Before you can let out a word edgewise, he takes you into a kiss of his own, making sure to taste every part of you as you did him, down to the back of your neck where his tongue quickly traveled where traces of your night still burned your taste buds.

You let a moan escape, purely out of shock are you so vocal. Closing your eyes, you let the brush of his beard on your face, and the rough kiss of his lips guide you to wherever he’d want you to go. 

After a few more moments of this, he lets up. For breath, but also to talk to you for a moment. His hands still cupped to your face, some of his fingers tracing their steps from the roots of your hair he had been grabbing just a moment prior.

“You wear all that pretty getup, and then you get all drunk on me. Spewin ‘bout how great I am, how kind I am. How you’ve never been shown anything like me. But let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ll make sure to show ya how a real man treats a woman like you.” 

He grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up in the air to wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the room you’d just left moments prior and doesn't fail to kiss you every moment he can in the small walk to his bedroom. Kicking open the door cracked open, he’s finally able to dump you onto his bed as he crawls on top of you. 

“Spread yer fuckin’ legs, baby” 

You listen intently. Doing just what he asks, do they fall to the side of you with as far apart as you can make them. Feeling his calloused hands as they trace your waist from beneath his shirt, until he slowly teases the waistband of his boxers. Pulling them down slowly reveals only your naked body beneath them. 

“Such a pretty sight aren't ya? And so much for me already, what a good girl.” 

He wastes no time to dip his face within your heat. Sopping up every drip that seeped from you from the moment you’d first kissed him. Feeling his tongue venture to every crevice, every fold inside of you makes your hands grip onto his sheets as a means to hold yourself down at the feeling of his tongue all around you. 

Moaning filled his room as he pleased you, an empty house allowing the echo of your sound to make the neediness of his tongue on you to sound even greater. 

He grips onto your thighs a bit harder as he lets up for a moment. 

“Now listen, I'm gonna need ya’ to stay still alright darlin’? I'm gonna change it up a bit for ya.” 

Going back in, you feel his tongue enter you entirely. Inside of you, up and down did he hit every part of you that made you weak and spazzed under his grip. The shake of your legs was only stopped by the iron grip he kept on them to make sure they stayed open no matter how badly you wanted them closed instinctively. The feeling of him inside of you sent shocks like lightning across your body at every flick of his tongue, at every hum to your clit while he relished in your stomach growing concave and your breath hitching and whining at every slight moment he made towards you. 

“Joel- fuck. Fuck I feel like I'm going to cum.” 

You plead for him not to stop. To never stop to please you to climax. 

And he does exactly that. He toys with you and fucks you until you’re nothing but a screaming mess with him inside of you. Grabbing onto his hair, to the sheets, everything you can as your body convulses entirely by the work of his mouth alone. 

He slowly lets up, not forgetting to tease your sensitive clit for a moment longer before going to look at you. A face coated in your juices, he looks upon you with a toothy grin and a sense of satisfaction upon his face. 

“Been a while since I've done all that. Glad ta know I’ve still got it in me, sweetheart.” 

He stands up, and what greets you is a bulge that comes purely from his adoration for being able to please you as he just did. He loved watching you like that, losing yourself at his touch, being able to do nothing but scream his name until your brain went numb to anything but the thought of him. 

Out of breath with beads of sweat covering your face, you sit yourself up to better face his heat. Palming it with his hands before he could say another word, you watch his head buck up to reveal a neck and shoulders coated with tense muscle at the feeling of your hand on him. 

“Fuck darlin;. Been a while since I’ve felt any a’ that either” 

A voice interrupted by the pitch shifts of a man insanely desperate for your touch makes you well aware of what you need more than anything else. 

You continued to paw at his bulge, feeling out how big he was just by the crease of his pants beneath your hand as you toyed with it, up and down. Slowly stroking it and toying with its base. His head, and watching as each motion elicited a harsh breath to escape him as he bucked his knees ever so slightly as you continued. 

He looks down at you, and as he watches your eyes look up at him from his waist, he takes you into his arms once more. Lifting you to turn you on your back, does he lay right on top of you as your stomach lays on the bed and his body atop of yours. 

You feel his bulge between your ass, and ass he makes quick of removing all other layers, you feel how solid he is right against your back. Heavy breath met in your ear before he did anything else. 

“I’m going to make you forget feelin’ any other kind of way. The only thing you’re ever gonna remember after tonight is my cock, alright princess?” 

He takes that as a means to move it to right between your thighs, right outside your entrance do a few strokes to feel how wet you are, giving way to his tip right on your clit, up and down. That alone could finish you for a second time, but as his cock entered you you saw as his eyes rolled in the back of his eyes at the feeling of being inside of you. 

He was big, almost too big. You felt as though he was almost ripping you apart, in the best way possible. It felt so fucking good to have him slowly go into you. Feeling as with every inch closer to completely inside of you it got harder and harder for him to keep a steady pace with how badly he wanted to fuck you. 

“Fuck you don't know how badly I’ve wanted this darlin’. Can’t have even imagined how tight you’d be. You’re perfect for me.” 

As he got completely inside of you, you felt him curl over you and use one of his arms to grip your upper body as a means of support. When he went in and out of you, curling you upwards to arch your back and feel completely every thrust he put into you. 

He couldn't control himself anymore. The kind gentleman you had let open the door for you when you entered the car now dripped beads of sweat upon your naked body as he fucked you like a toy. Grunts and moans fill the room to complement the incessant moans that you scream at the feeling of him inside of you. Using you and fucking wrecking you. You felt yourself getting close again at the feeling of his cock inside of you, until you felt his free hand make its way down to your clit to please you even while he fucked you. 

“I want to make you cum again. Feel how tight you fuckin get on my cock. Think you can do that for me baby?” 

That was more than enough for you. Only after a few strokes were you a shaking mess on top of his cock, just like he commanded of you. At the feeling of your climax wrapped around his cock, he quickened his pace until he pulled out just in time to cum all over your back. Feeling it drip down every crevice of your body as the feeling of his cum shooting on you seemed to go on forever. 

Jagged breath from both you and him is all that fills the silence of the room as you two were both too tired to even speak for a moment. 

“‘Supose I’ll go clean ya up. Least I can do darlin’. You just stay right there, and I’ll get you all cleaned up.” 

And there he goes, into his bathroom. And so you let yourself lay there for a moment, dripping in your own cum as well as his. As you hear him come out from the bathroom you feel the grist of a towel meet your backside as he makes sure to take care of every spot that has him on it with much care as to not leave you uncomfortable. The doting, loving Joel came back the moment it was all over. You could feel it in the soft stroke of the towel upon your bare skin, and the quick tonal shift in his voice as he offered to get that for you in the first place.

“Sure you need these too.” 

He hands you his boxers, and as you put them on he continues. 

"You can sleep in my bed fer tonight, think that’ll be alright. Though, might have’ta join ya, the chair aint all that comfortable. If, ‘course that's alright with you.” 

He just fucked you and is asking if it’s okay to sleep in the same bed. …

All you can muster is a pat on the side of the bed next to you, at which he greatly obliged and meets you beneath the greeting sheets upon his bed. 

And as you drift into sleep once more, mumbling compliments and thanks within his ear as you grow conscious enough again to speak, he greets you in kind with sweet kisses over your face, and eventually, a big spoon to hold you until night's end. 

… 

Epilouge ?

[some-pers0n]

Memoir of an Albatross

Chapter 1 - The Legacy of a Monster

[1] [2] [3] [4]

(Art by Loquatic)

Chapter Description: Turtle and the Jade Winglet have decided to spend a night at the long forgotten Island Palace. Turtle is petrified. This is where Albatross, the mass murdering animus, had killed dozens. But, late into the night, he spots something strange.

The Island Palace was quite possibly the last place Turtle wanted to visit. Why would he? It remains as a scar on Pyrrhia, a reminder of the dangerous potential of animus magic. A stain on the Sea Kingdom's history of what happens when animus magic goes unchecked.

Albatross was not a dragon Fathom wanted to be. A mad dragon. A terrifying murderer. An animus who could not control his own magic. Simply thinking about him made his stomach churn. Knowing that it was a possibility he could end up like Albatross horrified him. He would be better than that monster.

So, hearing that the Jade Winglet wanted to spend a night at the Island Palace was definitely something he was not interested in doing. 

Unfortunately, Qibli and Kinkajou were firm in their decision to do just that.

"Oh come on," Qibli said, "it's only one night!"

"We shouldn't...be here," Turtle mumbled. "Isn't this disrespectful? I mean, we are just going to run around in a place where so...so many dragons lost their lives."

"And? It's not like they're alive to see it. They've been dead for a long, long, LONG time," Kinkajou called out. "Who cares? It's going to be fun! Trust us."

"It's supposed to be scary anyway. It's Faust's Hallow. Wouldn't it be a little fun to spend it at some creepy old palace? We rarely get together nowadays, and besides, didn't Queen Coral give us permission for this? Turtle, this is our one chance!"

Turtle reluctantly looked at her, sighing. "If you say so..."

He was never fond of Faust's Hallow. It was a biannual "celebration" of one of the forgotten brother of Imperial, Oracle, and Perception. As the NightWing legend goes, while the other dragons ascended into the night sky to become the moons, Faust remained. He was tied to the world with his earthly connections. Thus, becoming the first-ever spirit. It was the basis for SandWing spirituality, so to say that Qibli was interested in it was most definitely an understatement.

Turtle on the other talon? Well, all he could think about was death and horror. His older brothers took joy in dressing up as ghosts and scaring the living daylights out of the younger ones. Not to also mention the constant imagery of skeletons and mourning, with Coral always having a memorial for her lost daughters.

Then, of course, Albatross himself. The reason they were coming here. A legend was that Albatross's spirit had never passed on. That his soul remained at the Island Palace, restless and still just as mad as the day he died. There had been stories of overly curious and confident dragonets running home after an encounter with Albatross at the Island Palace. But, those were just silly rumours. Little myths. That's what it is, certainly. 

Albatross wasn't there. How could he be? Well, the story of Faust was based on him wandering the continent for eternity. Perhaps, maybe- no. It's a made-up story. Turtle wasn't going to fall for some sort of story his brothers would tell to scare him. He already had enough sleepless nights, filled with anxiety and worry over the concept of Albatross still being around.

He's not. He's dead. This was just going to be a nice, if a bit restless, night out in the ruins of the abandoned Island Palace. He will not be scared.

They touched down on the beach around it. If Turtle remembered correctly, this was the Sunrise Beach. It was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life. The palace in front of them was crumbling and tattered. The lavish white walls were discoloured and washed out from weathering an impossible amount of storms. It was covered in moss and sea flora, with barnacles growing on the base of the palace. The light of the setting sun basked the palace in an ominous glow of oranges and purples.

A deep, horrible feeling persisted within Turtle. It made him aware of the light sensation in his claws. The tiny burning from within. Only a little ways away, tragedy had taken place. Two thousand years ago, Albatross, his great-grandfather, slaughtered twenty dragons. He carries the same power he does. Even right now, he could kill all of his friends. One stray thought and who knows what would happen.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Kinkajou bounced ahead. "We've got a whole palace to explore! I call looking on the upper floors with Moon!"

"Wh- me? Uh...okay then?" She stepped forward, following after her. "See you, I guess?" She waved to Qibli and Turtle before disappearing off into the courtyard.

"So, that just leaves me and you." Qibli rested his wing on Turtle, pulling him closer.

"Hurray..."

"Where you wanna go? If they're going up, let's check out the ground floor. Gardens. See some cool old statues that've been crumbling from age."

"What fun..."

Qibli frowned. "Hey, look. I know you're a bit freaked out. You didn't really want to come here. I'm sorry for dragging you along. But, I promise it'll be fun! There's nothing here to hurt any of us. Even if Albatross is still floating around somewhere, I'll be there protecting all of you." He raised his tail, showing off his obsidian-black barb.

Turtle awkwardly chuckled. "I don't think you can really stab a spirit."

"Are you saying I've never fought a spirit before?" the SandWing grinned confidently. "I'll have you know that, as Queen Thorn's personal guard and adoptive son, I had to fend off armies of spirits. Vengeful ghosts of dragons. Such is the way of being queen, I suppose. Anyways, I just need to fight them. Give them the ol' one-two. Beat 'em off with a stick." He swung his arm, mimicking hitting something.

He laughed, feeling his anxieties melt away. Qibli looked back at him, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "Feel a bit better?" He patted him on the back. "Right, let's go exploring."

The experience was dampened by Turtle's constant anxiety, but even then he couldn't doubt the majesty of the palace. Despite its decaying state, it was beautiful. Quiet, with only the sounds of waves crashing in the distance and the gentle trill of the breeze blowing through. Roaming the vast, empty halls was an experience to say the least. 

It made him picture the nights that happened in this palace. Legends say that it was originally used for diplomats to rest, but also for parties and special occasions. Turtle, having the soul of a writer, felt his mind wander as he imagined the sorts of stories that would've spawned from such a place. The balls and weddings. The ceremonies and speeches.

...then, of course, there's the massacre, but Turtle would still rather not think about that.

After a long while of exploring through forgotten gardens, they reached the main gathering room. It was central to the rest of the palace, with several collapsed balconies around it. Dried-up ponds and steams littered the floor. In the middle of it all was a large, grand statue of a SeaWing. Despite the ruin around it all, the statue remained somewhat intact. Turtle could even make out the royal blue of which it used to be.

Off to the side was a large archway leading out onto the other beach. The setting sun was just about on the cusp of the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and yellows. The sapphire blue ocean pulled in and out rhythmically. It was as though it was the sea's own heartbeat.

"Woah..." he whispered, awestruck.

"Sure don't see places like this too often." Qibli walked ahead, eyes glazing over every detail.

"Hey!" a voice called from ahead. Turtle looked up, seeing Moon and Kinkajou on a balcony.

"What did you find?" Kinkajou asked.

"Not much. Bunch of gardens. Cool statues in them though," Qibli said. "How about you?"

"Bunch of old bedrooms," Moon replied. "Kinkajou thought she could find some treasure still. Checked all over. Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like it," Qibli said, "palace has been picked clean for centuries. Any chance for any sort of gems are probably all lost."

"Yeah..." Turtle quietly said. "Is anybody else feeling a little tired? Like they don't want to explore a big ruined palace that a bunch of dragons died in anymore and just sleep?"

The SandWing laughed. "I don't know about that."

"I'm feeling a little tired myself," said Moon. "It's been a long day of flying. I can probably lay down with Turtle if you don't mind."

"Oh come onnnn guys!" Kinkajou wined. "This is supposed to be a cool adventure for us! Sleep? Bleh! Gross! I want to stay up all night and look for all of these ghosts. It'll be fun!"

"I know, but...I just want to rest. Besides, this was all mostly for you two anyways." Moon opened her wings, flying down to the ground floor. "Sorry for being disappointingly boring..."

"No, no! It's all good." Qibli waved them off. "It's fine, really. Kinkajou and I can stay up and face those spirits ourselves. Buuutttt if you hear us screaming and calling out for help as we're being chased by a very scary old murderer dragon, you wouldn't mind helping us out, right?"

Moon and Turtle chuckled. "No, not at all." She turned her attention to Turtle. "I guess we can settle down here. I doubt we'll find a blanket of some kind."

"Ah, so we have to lie on the cold, hard floor."

"Yes, probably."

"Hey, if it'll make it up to you, I could try and find something. There's gotta be a stash of blankets that are still around," Qibli said, lifting himself into the air.

"Even after two thousand years?" Turtle asked.

"Worth a shot!" He shrugged, flying up to Kinkajou. "See ya around." He dipped his head before wandering back into the palace with the RainWing, leaving them both to themselves.

"Well, see you in the morning." Moon walked in a circle, patting the ground before lying down.

"Hey, quick question," Turtle said, "do you feel scared?"

Moon tapped her claws. "A little."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better, right?"

"Of course! It's just that, you know, being alone in a big palace. Makes me think about Darkstalker and that whole...thing." She sighed. "I know you're freaked out too."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just a little anxious over nothing. Spirits don't last forever, right? They move on. Pass onto some new stage of life we can't even comprehend. I doubt that he would still be here."

"He isn't, and, well, if he is, then we'll do everything to protect you."

Turtle glanced at his talons. There was a gentle tingling within them, a feeling he had only noticed when his magic was briefly taken away. "You shouldn't need to protect me."

"Hm?"

"I have magic, don't I? I should be able to protect myself. I should be the one protecting you in case something goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to happen though."

"I know, but, I still feel like I should be using it in case things happen. Stop being so scared of it. But..."

"But you don't want to end up like Albatross?" Moon asked.

He smacked his lips. "Yeah, pretty much."

She exhaled. "I'm sorry. But, it'll be a nice night, I'm sure. We can just sit and sleep if that makes you happy. The night will pass and we can listen to Kinkajou and Qibli and their adventures in the morning."

"That sounds nice." Turtle laid down next to her, yawning before resting his head against the marble floor. It'll be fine. He just has to sleep. When morning breaks, it'll all be over. When morning comes, Albatross will be gone.

He didn't know what time it was when he woke up. All he knew was that it was dark. Pitch black. Turtle blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the night around him.

He didn't wake up from some nightmare or anything. He didn't dream much these days. Instead, he felt a presence around him. A shift in the air. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was uncomfortable enough to drag him out of his sleep.

Around him were the rest of the group. Kinkajou and Moon were huddled together while Qibli held his wing over Turtle. Looks like the hunt for a ghost didn't turn out so well if they were all asleep here.

He wiggled out from under there, slowly rising to his feet. He looked around, trying to see if it was just his paranoid imagination or if there was really something amiss.

Then, off in the distance, he noticed something. A dim light. A faint glow out by the ocean up ahead.

Immediately, Turtle's stomach dropped. His mind instantly went to the worst thing possible. It was him. He was here and he was going to kill them all. Why would there be glowing right there if not for being the aura of some spirit?

No, no... It's fine. Deep breaths. It's all okay. It's probably a moonlight jellyfish. They glow in the dark. Maybe it washed up on the shore. He could help it out a little. If he did that, then maybe he'd realize there was nothing to be scared of. That there is no ghost. No dangerous, vengeful spirit of a long-dead murderer.

He steadied himself as he walked forward. He repeated to himself over and over that he's got nothing to worry about. It's all okay. He walked up to the edge of the archway, right before his talons would touch the sand.

It was a glowing dragon with a massive spear plunged right through its neck.

His weight slipped beneath his talons and he fell forward. He tried to quickly turn around and fly, but, clumsy as he was, he tumbled and was now barreling towards it. He rolled along the sand like the most terrified armadillo to walk this continent before finally stopping. He froze completely. Paralyzed. His heart pounded against his chest as he tried to comprehend what to do.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for an attack that never came, he sheepishly looked up.

Gazing back at him were two eyes, darker than the night around them. Their scales were a sickening pale grey. The most eye-catching thing of all was the silver spear that was lodged in his throat. Its hilt was stinking out one end, with the blade poking out the other. Faded stains of blood were dotted around his body, the most being around where the spear had hit him. Outlining the body was a gentle blue light that flicked like a lit candle.

The two stayed like that, staring. Turtle did not dare to blink, fearing that one small movement would instantly set him off. This was him. This was Albatross.

"Fathom?" the spirit asked. His voice was calm, if rather confused and surprised. "No, you can't be him. Fathom must have died ages ago. You're someone new. Someone in his likeness."

"...please don't kill me..." Turtle squeaked. He wanted to say something with more meaning. Cast a spell or anything. Yet, he was trapped in his fear. He couldn't think.

Albatross's expression dimmed. "Right. You must be terrified of me. I was so distracted by you looking like my grandson that I forgot about that horrible, horrible night. That night which made me what I am now." He tapped the spear. "Though, I do think you're the one to last the longest when seeing me. Most run. Maybe they'll throw something at me or try attacking me. Never works. Can't exactly kill a ghost, now can you?" He quietly laughed.

Turtle tried speaking again, but all that came out were mere whimpers.

"Goodness, you're petrified of me. I mean, anybody would. I haven't left the palace since the day I died, but I know enough to understand. I've been there when visitors come around. They steal the things out of my own house, cursing me and what I've done. It's upsetting to know what I am remembered as, but I don't blame you for being scared. I don't blame anybody. I should be condemned for what happened."

He finally shut his mouth. The more Turtle looked at Albatross, slowly, the less fearful he was. Granted, he was still very much horrified, but there was an air to the way the spirit spoke that resonated with him. That he was being genuine.

This wasn't what he expected. He pictured Albatross, the mad animus, as a being of chaos that the world has never seen. Some dark, twisted dragon who could barely control himself. He was imagining him to be vicious, bloodthirsty, and wanting nothing more than to kill.

Instead, he seemed mournful. He spoke warmly. There was reason and understanding in his body language. Even if it was idiotic, Turtle let his guard down somewhat.

"How...what..." he stammered.

"How am I here? I couldn't tell you myself. I've never read that much on spirituality and ghosts. But, I'm the only one left here. The rest have all gone away. Yet, I remain. I'm bound to this palace. I can't leave. If there was a way, I would've found it years ago. Then maybe I wouldn't be here, scaring you."

"You sound...sad," Turtle blurted out.

Albatross snorted. "Pff, do I really? I didn't know I sounded so melancholic. I haven't had anybody to talk to in ages. You're good company. Thank you for listening to an old sea dragon ramble, even if you're still scared. I know it's not much to you, but I promise I mean no harm. I've never meant harm. Ever. It's just..." He glanced away, breaking eye contact. "I was emotional. I had no excuse. I let my own instincts and desires take over my own better wishes. Despite doing everything right and trying my hardest to avoid it, it still happened."

He looked back at Turtle. "I'm sorry for what I've done for our tribe. You can run away now. I'll just be happy I had somebody to talk to, even if it was a one-way conversation." He smiled a crinkly, awkward smile.

Turtle stared. Then, he made what should've been the stupidest decision of his life:

He stood up but did not flee. He sat there. "My name is Turtle," he said quietly.

"Turtle?" he echoed. "You aren't flying away screaming?"

"Not unless you give me a reason to, I guess?"

"Isn't looking at a dragon who's killed dozens of dragons in one night enough of a reason?"

"It...should be, but I'm not that scared of you. You seem too sad to hurt me."

"Hurt you? I'd never do that! My magic is limited. I can't do much besides lift some rocks and play around with the water." He waved his talons. Behind him, a small amount of water rose into the air, shaping and twisting into the shape of a bird. A seagull.

"Even if I could do more, I wouldn't dare to hurt another soul. I've already done enough damage," he continued.

"You confused me for Fathom earlier. Your grandson, right?"

"Yes, Fathom." Albatross's eyes narrowed. "You have the wing patterns. You're royalty as well?"

He nodded. "...and I am also an animus."

He barked a laugh. "Really? I've never believed in reincarnation, but you're the spitting image of Fathom if I've ever seen it."

Turtle shuffled his talons. "Thanks. I got that once before."

"Hm? By who?"

"A big evil NightWing who wanted to kill the entire IceWing tribe. He was friends with Fathom as well. How did I meet him if he was alive two thousand years ago? It's a long story."

"Don't we all have long stories to tell." Albatross turned his back to Turtle, staring back at the ocean. "If you don't mind, may you sit next to me? I enjoy watching the sea."

Turtle hesitated, but he followed. He joined the spirit.

It was a tranquil night. A clear sky, the moons beaming down in their full glory. The cool salty breeze brushed against Turtle. Strangely enough, he felt at peace. He never would've thought in a million years he'd say that when right beside him is the ghost of Albatross, but what can you do?

"I'm sorry if this is selfish," Albatross began, "but do you have the time to listen to an old dragon's story?"

"Huh?"

"You seem like a wonderful dragon, Turtle. You're far too sweet than what I deserve. I apologize if it's a bit much, considering how I am still a murderer in your eyes, but could you listen to me tell my story?"

"Your story?"

"My life. Nobody ever heard about it. They only see me as a monster. I am, but I can't help but want something else. I want to tell at least one dragon about it. Set it all straight. Pour my heart out if only to get everything that's been festering inside me out into the world."

"That'd be alright. I like stories."

"It's not a very happy story. There's a lot of tragedy. Too much, now that I think about it. I'm sorry."

"No no! It's alright. I do want to hear it. What life was like for you," he said.

Albatross cracked another smile. "Thank you..." He sounded as though he was fighting back tears.

He waved his talons, the water rising once more. "I suppose I should start it when it all went wrong." The water slowly began to shift into the form of a dragon. "The day when I discovered my magic." 

[hiiragi7]

I finished A Short History of Trans-Misogyny by Jules Gill-Peterson last night and I really liked it! I think more people should read it, there's a lot to learn from it.

I really enjoyed the analysis of transmisogyny in the book, and how the author ties history and context to it. I found the analysis of how colonialism, racism, and capitalism ties into transmisogyny especially good. I find the term "trans-feminized" to refer to groups that aren't trans women but experience transmisogyny particularly useful. The commentary on American queer history and how the gay and lesbian communities of the 1970's abandoned street queens, trans women, and drag queens was also very good. I also liked the discussion of the rise of the term transsexual, and how there was a particular whiteness and wealth associated with it, and how it was also tied to the respectibility politics of the time (the sentiment of essentially being "normal people" besides the queerness, and the desire for assimilation). This book took a lot of things I'd already known separately and tied them together in a really nice way.

I enjoyed it so much that I'm planning to pick up another of Jules Gill-Peterson's books, Histories of the Transgender Child, at some point soon. I've skimmed through a PDF of it and am interested in her thoughts on the history of intersex children and how that relates to the history of transgender children.

[eldaryasharbinger]

I've updated Petronilla's bio and changed her family from the canon one to her being Faraize's daughter!! (still adopted)

more yapping below the cut!!

I got the idea while I was replaying MCL HSL, and remembered that Faraize had pink eyes! It technically doesn't matter since she's adopted anyways but I thought it was nice </3

Like they still somewhat look like they're related even though they're really not, one that doesn't know could assume that 'Nilla looks more like her mother...

I also think it ties nicely with everything I did for Petronilla already, since we don't get to hear much about the professors lives during HSL and since she was homeschooled it might make sense that no one ever heard about Faraize's daughter... He's also the history teacher and I believe that it is 100% history teacher behavior

I also think this could open the possibility for Thomas and Petronilla to have met at some point during childhood, they're the same age so during HSL she was a kid as well (I might take the time to make her child sprite cause it would be so cute... And maybe upgrade Faraize's sprite as well for a New Gen version 🤔)

Petronilla got the scar on her nose from falling from the swings at the playground, so imagine if Thomas was also at the playground when that happened and thought "what a silly girl..." just to never see her again, or maybe they even played together but again, never met for a second time

I also think that they both don't remember each other as adults, I do remember a few of the kids that I used to play with only once (like at the beach etc) but I definitely wouldn't be able to recognize them right now, I have no Idea what they looked like or what their name was, I only remember facts 😭🙏 (Since I "headcanon" Thomas as autistic as well I base these things off of my own experience 😔)

I've always liked Faraize so I feel like it's the right change, he brings me comfort and was one of my favorite characters from HSL, I'd love to drag him along and make him part of 'Nilla's story <3

I also think that he'd probably try to clumsily intimidate Jason to leave his daughter alone and, of course, fail 😭👍🏻

Also, 'Nilla ended up sharing some interests with my old Candy (Kilea, she ended up being my first oc and I've developed her as her own character ever since 2015, that's why I barely talk about my old Candy,,) and since I've always liked to pretend that she was Faraize's pupil, now I can say it's because her student reminded him of his daughter and hoped for her to grow up as nice of a person as Kilea was 😭😭🤲🏻💕

One thing is that we don't know Faraize's first name, I tried to ask Chinomiko on Instagram and this is what she said (which I had expected ngl haha!!)

I don't have any ideas so it would be nice to hear your suggestions! I could make a poll with some of the names and let the community decide what we should name Faraize :D!! I don't want to pick one that might confuse others, so I thought it would be nice to choose one together<3

I actually like the way "Francis Faraize" sounds, but after checking I remembered that's Nathaniel's father's name so idk how we all feel about that,,

[anew-flame]

Tag Game: Make your OCs with this picrew!

Thank you for the tags, @charmedcleric and @reading-non-stop! I love these and loved reading about your OCs 🥰

I have to admit I have not done a DAO or DA2 playthrough yet… but I am working on 3 simultaneous playthroughs of DAI with 3 different inquisitors, if that counts! These will be the ones I bring to my future Veilguard playthroughs.

Ghilan’Vhenaste Lavellan - if I did Elvhen right, his name means “guiding our people’s favor,” which I thought was fitting for what I have planned for him. But you can just call him Ghil! He was heavily inspired by Ameridan, the quote: "history doesn't repeat, but it does rhyme," and my need to romance Cassandra. He's a history nerd, and lucked out on being his clan's First.

As the story progresses, he's realizing that both the Dalish and the Chantry got some things very wrong, both about the world and each other. He believes that if he can find the real truth, he can use it to foster peace and understanding between humans, elves, and other races. He's very open-minded, and honestly comes around to believing he really could be the Herald of Andraste, and maybe the Maker as the Chantry knows it does exist. Perhaps the truth of world is found between both sides. He just wants to find answers, and to help, in that order.

Personality-wise he is open-minded and laid-back, but can't resist an awful joke or pun just to make Cass grumble. He's becoming a Knight Enchanter as it perfectly ties together his Dalish roots with his burgeoning Andrastrian faith.

Ede'Emal Lavellan - My fiery, angry girl. And again, if I did Elvhen correctly, stands for "Emerald Child." She is also a Knight Enchanter mage, but I'm doing it a little differently on this one. Originally she was created to be my Solasmancer, which was inspired by how the Emerald Knights had wolf companions. And there is no specialization close to Emerald Knight, but Knight Enchanter does have roots with Arcane Warrior, so that's where I went. She also has the Blade of Tidarion, because magic sword and it sounds Emerald Knight-y to me.

Unlike Ghil, Ede is very proudly Dalish and honestly has a chip on her shoulder about it. She took being her clan's First very seriously, and holds dearly her Dalish identity. She is always expecting the shem to treat her poorly, and is often surprised when that doesn't happen. She's kind and compassionate, but she's not nice about it. She's slow to trust humans and quick to put down the Chantry at any opportunity. She really, really did not want to be Inquisitor and hates even more being the new symbol of Andrastrian faith.

She is romancing Solas, but it's going to be a very, very slow burn. She did not take kindly to his view on the Dalish, nor did he take kindly to her stubbornness with her "incorrect" beliefs. Despite their disagreements, and her cracking his egghead after a very heated argument, she's learning to cool her temper and play nice and open her heart (and mind) to learning something new.

Cirice Trevelyan - yes, her name was inspired by The Ghost song. She is my Devout Andrastian warrior, who is just trying her best to serve the Chantry. She believes she was chosen to be Andraste's Herald, and wants to serve the purpose she was called to do. But, she isn't quite sure how to rectify it when the Chantry is in direct conflict with the Inquisition.

Honestly she is still in development, so I don't have as much to say about her. She is a very serious, contemplative personality who just wants to do what she thinks is right, by the Chantry's standards. She hopes that she was chosen to help spread the Chant and bring the Maker back to his creations. Unfortunately, this will lead her to make some very hard, and sometimes very harsh, decisions. She is doing her best, but my poor girl was made to suffer for it.

***

No pressure tags for: @lunastarhawk @sweetjulieapples @captianvanhiraeth @nerdmomma14 @skinwalkingxana @beardedladyqueen @seffie-jade @silhalei @animezinglife and anyone who sees this and wants an excuse to join in. Tag me, I want to see!

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

SYNOPSIS: Perfection lies on the eye of the beholder. Or, in this case, in the hands of an alchemist who dabbled in sculpting.

TW/s: yandere behavior, Albedo is a bit of an impulsive bastard, abstract in writing, nsfw tws includes usage of drugs, odd materials, dollification, toxic relationship. Please dni if you are uncomfortable.

NOTE FROM HR: Happy Valentine’s Day! If you asked Albedo, he had nothing to gain to be able to celebrate an occasion such as this, but it seems you guys have been together for months. I wonder what he has in store to celebrate this day with you, hm?

Albedo is what many would say is never considered to celebrate Valentine’s Day. If you ever told him what that occasion is like, he would simply tell you the meaning and not what he truly thought about it. After all, that is normal for many to expect, right?

Well, that is what the old him would’ve thought, but he had a lover now. One that understood him, and the person that seemed to look at him like he was someone to be cared for.

To be fair, he and Kendall are what people would say that are polar opposites. He was stoic and hard to approach, but to the likes of Kendall, he simply showed sides of him that he wanted her to see past.

Why? It was simply because the two shared the same ideas and bonded well. Thus, for the alchemist, he thought it simply made sense to do that.

One of those was when they picked up a book that he had seen and he told Kendall if she was aware. Although she wasn’t, the time they spent together deciphering and discussing the contents of the book when they read it together was nice. He had never been interested in reading anything but scholar-approved journals, so picking up something light with her had been an interesting perspective.

There was one thing that he remembered so clearly—in the passage of the book, ‘Challenger Deep’, he remembered asking her how she felt with the narrative being shifted so often. He recalled how many were speaking of how difficult it was to follow them, like they couldn’t figure out what was happening.

Her words caught him by surprise, though.

“It’s not that bad when you think about it. After all, the story is focused on the boy, so if they can’t follow what’s going on, that’s their problem.”

It was then that he realized just how different they were. And Gods, he was absolutely not letting this opportunity go.

So, he began to speak to Kendall more. He began to look into what she thought of certain topics, books, and even past those with art forms as well. But in the midst of it, he found himself feeling more and more attached to her.

It was a strange conundrum. He didn’t understand the feeling at all. It felt… Foreign.

He didn’t like that.

What was stranger yet was that he saw her profile in the MixMatch app. He had been on it for months since he needed more funds for his projects, and it was the easiest way for him as he had been scouted by the bigwigs of Celestia Inc, so to see her in there and the profile she has set up was a curious coincidence.

Now, any sane person would’ve simply ignored her profile and scroll past to the next one, but Albedo is no foolish man. Nay, he wanted to see just how far he can go when he managed to match with Kendall and see how deeper their relationship could become.

With one swipe, they were both matched up by the app. Just like how history led them to be tied together since day one.

After that time, the memories became a tad bit fuzzy for Albedo to remember. It had gone through so many changes: from the time they were finally together, then the small celebrations they hosted, and even their first kiss. It was almost sweet with how Albedo tried to be accommodating and loving to Kendall, but there were times that it was difficult.

Love is difficult for him. But he has his ways to show that to you.

Such a shame that one of them led you to the situation he’s facing right in front of him.

Standing in front of the somewhat finished sculpture he made, he found himself… Strangely at ease. His expression remained unchanged, though, but the sight of it made him internally smile. It was something that he himself can live on proudly.

In a weird way, it made him feel a bit human. It was perfect for him.

Granted, the materials he made was not something he can get right away. It had to be curated, picked by hand, and he needed to make sure it fit his vision. One slight and it would’ve been thrown away, discarded like a child’s toy when they’ve grown old to even touch it anymore.

He was a picky man. He wanted what’s best for him and his lover, and he had dedicated himself for far too long to be able to back down now.

Raising a hand, he gently swiped it across the cheek of his muse, his eyes softening. The feeling of smoothness meeting his bare fingers sent tingles in his spine, tracing it ever so closer to their eyes and lips, and even drifting to their neck. There were a few blemishes, sure, but it was fine—it looked close enough that he was able to modify it to make it look authentic from the naked eye.

He spent 6 months working on the statue before him. His life’s work, he coined as such. He had always wanted to express his feelings to his lover if they’ve stayed for this long, and even then, he wanted to give it to her as his memento for the occasion.

Looking down, he hummed in satisfaction at the placement of the props he curated. He made sure that the statue had the finest of jewelry hung on their body, its hair and clothing pristine as he first found it, and he gave extra care to spots he saw that weren't perfect.

The dust that was left from his smashed previous attempts and frustrations are all but swept away, hidden from anyone that dares to enter his workshop.

Grabbing the cloth next to him, he lifted it up and tossed it on top of the statue’s head, gently letting it flutter down to the ground. He didn’t want anyone to see it, and he made sure that every spot of that statue he made was covered to a T.

“... It’s perfect,” he whispered, looking down at the time and the pendant. “Now, I need to give this to her tomorrow morning. I must get some rest.”

He has a busy day tomorrow, after all.

Heading up to Kendall’s apartment, Albedo caught sight of his lover. Although there were bandages wrapped around her head and other parts of her body, he gently tapped on the door; a small greeting for her to hear, not one that may be too disruptive for someone who’s in recovery.

As her head turned and the two saw each other, the sculptor smiled.

“Greetings. Still trying to decipher the book, are you, Kendall?”

The latter blinked, the cogs obviously turning before he saw her nod with a gentle smile. “Yes, I wanted to know why I’m drawn to this book,” she answered him, making him hum and walk closer to her. Pulling up a seat, he glanced at the cover and the contents to see what she was reading.

“Challenger Deep… I see. This book can be quite tricky to understand,” he comments, his hand reaching to the cover. “However, you can try and read it later. I have something to show you at my house, Kendall.”

Closing the book, the blonde looked at his partner, smiling ever so gently with how she lit up.

It was different. So different from the reaction she’d give him, and it sometimes made him feel like he was dreaming. Alas, he isn’t, and he knew that to be the case for him and Kendall. After all, he made sure it wouldn’t come to light.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Grabbing her hand, he grabbed the book and placed it on the table, keeping it closed. Leading his lover out of the living room, he helped her get her shoes and make some bits of conversation between them. He didn’t wish to make the mood tense, but it seems that she’s beaten him to it.

Albedo is never this talkative to anyone. To him, speaking takes a lot of his energy, and he is never fond of the idea. Though, with the one he’s with, he never found the idea revolting nor exhausting; she reminded him of Sucrose, minus that she’s a lot more outspoken with her thoughts to the alchemist.

It was an amusing sight: a man who refused to speak more than he had to, paired with a woman who loved to speak to those she found close with.

Their journey down to his apartment was as quick as he remembered. He kept a tight grip of Kendall as they went out and about, telling her that she must stay close, lest someone would see her and bring either of them trouble.

He knew why it must be done. People may still be out to look for her, and he didn’t want to risk anything to happen to his beloved.

Still, the real surprise came when he managed to reach his home. Pulling out the keys, he pushed one in and turned it, unlocking the door and letting her enter right inside his abode. Though, he found himself looking back for a moment.

It was strange. He swore he felt eyes pierce through him, but…

…

It must be nothing, he thought. No one would ever dare to follow me.

Turning back around, he entered the house, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he closed the door shut. He could already hear noises from inside his house, but he paid it no heed as he simply walked through to find where she ended up.

The soft thudding of boot meeting the floor echoed, and even the soft creaks didn’t deter him as much as it had used to.

He was used to it. It was his only home, after all.

“Albedo?” he heard a voice faintly call out. “Albedo, what is this?”

Ah, she’s found it.

“I’m right here,” he answered, entering his studio and watching as she stood in front of the now uncovered statue. The light began to shine and give the features more clarity, laying bare to what the two can see without a moment to lose.

The statue before the two had parts of themselves that had been sculpted by hand and blade, the skin color being the same as the one Kendall had with a few stitches and blemishes that Albedo wasn’t bothering himself too much to clean up. The attire had been commissioned by someone he knew, as it accentuated the statue’s body from head to toe.

The eyes remained closed as the hair was cut to her hairstyle, but there were some obvious patches and discoloration that shows its original color, which was something different entirely.

The face is what caught her by surprise, however. She had expected it to look like it was the same as hers, or even a human being’s face, but it was just patched with makeup and rough cuts. It was far too eerie to even put it to words, but Kendall can only look at it and then turn her gaze to Albedo.

He made this, did he? So why did this happen? Why is it made to look like an abhorrent abomination?

“I assume you like it, do you?” he asked her, his face still holding that same smile as he went closer to her. “You must be. After all, I’ve wasted blood, sweat, and tears over making this for you.”

It seems that’s all the answers they need from him.

“Don’t you think it’s perfect, too?”

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2024

[lonelylonelyghost]

Re-watch of The Spirealm. Episode 23

Nature in all its ominous glory

As far as the last images you see before you die, this is pretty good actually

RIP girl

Nice picture btw. I wouldn't want it on my bedroom wall, but if it was hanging somewhere near the entrance door, to scare the guests and myself occasionally - that'd be pretty cool.

"You stand on the bridge to view the scenery,

and people who view the scenery look at you upstairs.

The moon decorated your window,

and you decorated someone else's dream."

Nothing quite like a piece of cryptic poetry to start off your day

I need to see more of the Mistress's dress, it seems to look amazing. I want official full-body posters...

The Sun, the Death, the Noble Jester, The Giant and the Ghost

A gang

Jawline.

shut up.

He's so worried for his Lingling...

"You should let me leave this world. Me appearing in the game is equivalent to cheating. If you get caught you'll be punished severely."

"As long as you're here with me, I'm not afraid of any punishment!"

The ride or die!...

"I'm offline now. I'll die if I go out. I'm content to just be here with you. I played this game because I was lonely. But I met you. And now I'm not lonely anymore..."

ಥ_ಥ

The red string!!!

I noticed that the show treats Xiong Qi' and Xiao Ke's story is in some way similar to Nanzhu' and Qiushi's, in that they don't state clearly about the nature of their relationship, but make it as intense as possible. Ready to do anything for each other, literally tied together with a red string of fate, so who cares about the labels? They are each other's person, and that's enough. This is by far my favourite kind of m/f dynamic. GIMME MORE

Not to ruin the moment, but I think this is the only instance when the drama can legitimately show on screen Nanzhu getting on top of Qiushi

The RAGE!

Nice

"We both are women. I know how you feel. Many women have been hurt by love. We are easy to be bullied and mentally controlled. I've acted many eye-candy roles. None of these characters are divorced. I envy you. You're going the wrong way, but you've been looking for a way out."

"Is improper behavior also worth to be envied?"

"Of course! One day, you'll reach your solution. The Twelve Sufferings you drew is dreary. I don't like it. I like this one the best. Art and insights don't matter at all. What really matters is your choice."

Tan Zaozao is terrified but still reaches out to the Mistress with kindness. Have I told already that I love her?

The portrait is beautiful

(It looks a bit like it was drawn by Shen Yi)

And she's starting her life anew 🥲

"See you in the next Door"

😭😭😭😭

"Thank you." "And how exactly are you going to thank me?"

"Tell me, what do you want me to do?" "...I haven't decided yet."

"Have a rest. You can think it over once you've recovered."

Well, Qiushi walked right into that one, didn't he

"Don't leave. Stay with me a little longer." "Alright."

COME ON!

"Tan Zaozao, do you think that I'm too weak now to teach you a lesson?"

"Lingling-ge, calm Ruan-ge down, he wants to beat me!"

"What tool do you want to use? The fruit knife?"

You asked the wrong person to defend your honor, Zaozao! ehehe

OK, alright, ok, so....

[unholy screeching]

First of all, I officially will be reminded of THIS moment every time the lychees are mentioned in ANY context for the rest of my life.

Second of all, WHAT. WAS. THAT. Like seriously. How was that filmed? How was that supposed to have any heterosexual explanation? Just bros being dudes, hand-feeding each other fruits sensually? Like, be for real.

And third of all, Qiushi's face???????? Oh, he knows what he's doing and what kind of effect he has on Nanzhu, the amount of power he wields over him. And he uses this power to just take care of him!...

This one (and the Bite Scene TM) are the most homoerotic moments in the history of forever.

I rest my case.

what the FUCK

"Cheng Yixie? How did you know we were here?"

"I could smell you."

I...😳I did NOT remember this bit of the dialogue...

[miadearden]

Arcane Season 2 Act 2 thoughts!

I think there’s something to say about this show’s willingness to kill off kids that every time Isha was on screen in this act I was saying “is it now? Is this where they’re going to kill her? I know this kid is getting offed at some point the only question is when”

That said, I do like the death they chose for her - how it ties back to Powder use of the hextech gems all the way back in 103. Lot of parallels in general between Isha and Power, and it was pretty clear Jinx (and Vi) saw that.

While we’re mentioning Jinx and Vi - holy shit episode 5. Not that we have the last three episodes yet, but ep05 is definitely my favourite of the season so far, if not my favourite of the entire show. Jinx immediately going to Vi when she finds out about Vander, the parallels between their conflict and the conflict between Silco and Vander.

Also the bit of history we get of Silco, Vander and Felicia, Vi and Powder’s mum, being this trio of friends who were all envisioning a better life and wanting it specifically for these two little girls. Just adds that bit of extra tragedy to Felicia’s death, Vander and Silco’s rift, and everything that happened after.

And then we get Vi at the end of the episode trusting Jinx’s conviction that Warwick is Vander and because of that they’re able to reach that bit of consciousness left in him together. Yeah episode 5 had me feeling all the feels.

I don’t have too much to say about the other storylines lmao I’m mostly still thinking about Jinx and Vi but hey I’ll try.

Confirmation that Mel has magic! And somehow it ties to the black rose which is interesting. I liked that the rose was trying to use her brother’s image to get her to figure out her powers (paralleled nicely to the sibling theme with Jinx and Vi too) and that Mel realised that. Not much else happening there, no doubt it’s going to come into play more in the last act with the things that will be happening there.

I think the ball was dropped a bit on Caitlyn in this act? Like we see her push back a bit against Ambessa in the starts of the act, but generally she felt pretty passive up until ep06 when she decided to team back up with Vi. I might have to rewatch these three eps again (and closer to the last three eps) to get a better idea, but yeah generally I think Cait fell a bit flat.

Not much to say on Jayce, as I’m sure we’re going to learn what happened with him at the start of ep07 (and Ekko and Heimerdinger too - THERE WAS NO EKKO THIS ACT I’M SAD) - however it was very funny in our watch party as we were all screaming JAYCE NO YOU’RE GONNA FUCK EVERYTHING UP during his actions in ep06. And well, yeah lmao

All of Viktor’s cult members screaming in unison and bluescreening when Jayce killed him was fucking haunting.

I was getting kinda worried partway through this act that we’re doing to much that we’re not really going to be able to wrap up properly. I’m still a little concerned, however with the way the last episode ended I think we’ve cleared a few things off the board that will make the final act tidier.

Predictions - I think the Piltover v Zaun is going to be put into an uneasy truce at this point, as the main conflict will now be fending off Ambessa and the Noxians. Secondary conflict - whatever Jayce found out about hextech and the arcane. Also now that Jayce is back on the map and in the same area as Ambessa, its possible she’ll finally get her hands on the scientist she wants to make hextech work for her, so that’s how those two plots will converge.

I think for the most part, the Vander subplot will be classed as over now, and probably most of the Viktor subplot too (though I’d say there might be a few more effects on that part). And we’ll get a lot more Mel and Black Rose stuff going on as it relates to Ambessa. I wanna hope we’ll get a lot more Ekko too? (he’s in the opening twice, I wanna believe he’ll have a big part) Though at this stage, apart from him also going on the hextech trip with Jayce and possibly learning what Jayce did, I don’t see where too much more of him will fit in.

As for Jinx and Vi, I wouldn’t be surprised if Isha’s death and Vander’s going beyond the point of being saved might put a rift back between Jinx and Vi. Particularly with Vi reconnecting with Caitlyn and likely wanting to help her against the Noxians too. I wanna hope that won’t be the case, but I don’t really expect this show to be a happy ending type show.

Anyway, yeah! I think that’s all the thoughts I have. Until next time!

[jesncin]

just binged all your maws meta and WOW i’m vindicated. never liked the show but especially for all the reasons you said, and it’s especially nice to know im not “siding with dudebros” for disliking it.

also extremely crazy that we had the same idea for lois almost?? in my head if dc would hire me i would write her as chinoy with special attention to how american occupation ties into her history… (personally my mom always wanted to be a journalist but felt it was safer to do something else…), reading your chindo lois is like WOW. YOU READ MY MIND.

one last question: i know it’s a bit passé now thanks to #him, but my mom and i watched lois & clark together and i think the show (at least, s1-2 really) still holds up well despite being from the 90s. have you ever seen it? silly fact: when my mom first watched it in the philippines, she legit thought clark could be filipino in that show 😭

omg I love how the jesncin-talks-maws tag is becoming a safe space for Based MAWS dislikers :'D Because it's rough out here! It's really unfair how online spaces in particular have created a black and white culture war over My Adventures with Superman so that no nuanced criticism can come out of it. It just rewards corporations for doing less than the bare minimum and validates them into producing more mediocre stuff. They don't need our protection!! And wow thank you for reading all that!

AAAAH A CHINOY LOIS WOULD BE AMAZING! I love how her history with American occupation could put a much needed critical look into "Truth Justice and the American Way". Man, I'd love for an Asian Lois that could help people like your mom feel seen like that :') I can only hope Chindo Lois comes close to doing something similar. Also special fact, Lois Liando's chindo dad (Yunus Liando) is loosely inspired off of Junus Nur Arif, a chindo journalist.

Oh I'm definitely aware of The Recent Things Wasian Superman Said (yikes) but I'm unfortunately really behind on my classic Superman-adapted media watch! I'm in a Young Justice watch right now but I'd love to check out older Superman shows. I totally see it though!! The wasian features are strong in this man.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 14

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings: It's fite nite y'all.

A/N: Dividers by meeee. Also, to celebrate the end of Act 1, this is a two-part drop. I will work as fast as I can to ensure the post is up to snuff, but if you cannot click the link to Chapter 15 at the bottom, try refreshing the page or looking at the series masterlist!

series masterlist

chapter 14: pre-game

Osha tied off the apron around her waist and did a few ankle stretches to prepare for her short shift at the bar. She was about to call it good and clock in a few minutes early when Medora entered the break room.

“Hiii Osha!” she sang, bubbly as ever. She’d been on every shift Osha had so far and had shown her the ropes a little better than Kana had. Anything you need, I’ve got you. It’s quite the boy’s club down here and up there, so we gotta stick together and look out for one another.

“Hi, Medora,” Osha said, enraptured by her coworker’s chaotic entrance. Medora spilled the contents of her purse across the table and pored over it while she spoke.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here; thought you’d be part of the crowd.” She briefly abandoned her search to hang up her jacket. “Alright, where the crap is it…”

“No, Kana tempted me with that double time.”

“Always does—HA!” She held a tube of lipgloss aloft in victory. “Thank god, I spent all day worried.”

“What’s that?”

“My secret weapon. Pretty servers get pretty tips.”

“That seems…” Terrible. Misogynistic. Probably true. “Logical.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s awful, but I like money.” Medora juggled a few cosmetics in one hand as she held up a small mirror in the other. Osha caught her eye in the tiny reflection, and Medora gave a once-over. “You look nice. I’m assuming you aren’t dolled up for cash tips?”

Osha flustered. “Oh, uh. I’ve been trying to wear more makeup. In general. You know. Tips.” But that wasn’t the real reason. After dance night, and then after she’d left some on his coffee cup (This for me? Yeah, that’s for me.), Osha fully believed in the power of wearing lipstick around Qimir. Perhaps wishful thinking got her into this mess, but the compliment from Medora made her feel less… silly.

“Well, regardless of who you’re dressing up for, that color looks amazing on you.”

“I’m not—”

“You can dress up for yourself, you know.” She raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I do it all the time.” She winked at Osha. “In fact, I’m doing it right now.”

Osha smiled, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She took another seat and watched Medora work while she chattered about her day.

It reminded Osha of her mama, many many years ago. Every few mornings, she would take the time to sit at her vanity and painstakingly twist each loc and braid into a new intricate hairstyle that suited her fancy.

She knew, in retrospect, that this time was a precious commodity to her mother—just a few minutes of quiet that Osha tried her best to preserve, though her sister did not seem to notice. Mae had asked a million questions—about the process, about the history of the styles, about any and everything. But her mama was always happy to be around her daughters, answering each question with patience and respect. She also made sure to smile at Osha, reminding her that she remembered she was there.

It was rare, after losing her, to be remembered at all when she was quiet.

“Would you—um.” Osha hated this. She hated vulnerability, especially around people she hardly knew.

“What’s up?” Medora drew her riot of curly hair back into a high ponytail, then let it back down when it didn’t please her.

“My sister and I didn’t really grow up around—well, we lost our—she was actually kind of popular at school so she—I have no idea what I’m doing, really.” She was grateful Medora was the only one bearing witness to her idiocy. I could always leave town if this conversation blows up in my face. Start over. Live in the woods. Take a fake name. But first, one more shot at courage: “I never learned how to do any of that. We weren’t around many women who were dressed up.”

Medora just smiled. It filled Osha’s heart with something warm, like the memory of a Sunday morning in a place that no longer existed. “I got you,” Medora said.

Within a few giggling seconds, she had put Osha’s hair in a new style she was no longer hiding behind. This will show off your neck and cheeks—you have a beautiful smile, don’t keep it from the world. She went back and freed a few locs from her bangs—now this will make you alluring. And it’ll hide any eyeliner sins in a pinch. You have such beautiful hair. Just shake your hair a little and it’s like a baby with keys to anybody looking.

It was so simple in retrospect. So much impact, just out of reach because of all she’d lost. Medora clapped happily when Osha looked utterly stunned by the change. “You’re going to get tipped, baby!”

It was an incredible feeling. She’d had the same style since she was a child—easy to maintain, comfortable, familiar. Mae had grown her hair out a few times, but in recent years had gone back to matching Osha. It made the misidentifying in the gym a much more frequent occurrence.

Changing things up made her feel like an entirely different person.

Kana poked his head into the break room, holding a disgusting-looking bucket hat at his side. “What are you two giggling about?”

“You, of course.”

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, we’re doing the draw. Would you grab them for me, please?”

Medora began plucking the time cards out of their slots and handing them to Osha. She found the common thread: these were the time cards of those on shift tonight. When she left several behind, including Kana, Osha, and herself, Osha went to reach for them and was stopped.

“I grabbed all I need.”

“But yours and—”

“Oh, I don’t go in the draw. Neither do you.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll see.”

She led the way to the kitchens, where everyone circled around Kana and his stupid hat. He collected the time cards in the hat and shook them around. “Okay, hey! Shut up! Drumroll, please. Tonight’s tuh-ripple pay bouncer is…” He plucked a card from the rest. The impromptu clatter ceased. “Dante!”

The gathered mass responded with a mix of cheers and groans, reminding Osha of watching her first fight at Unknown Planet. As ever, this place baffled her as much as it made her smile.

Kana returned the timecards to Medora with a soft thanks before leaving for front-of-house. She explained what just happened as Osha helped put the cards back in their places.

“Here’s Eltara’s, you’re closer—have you guessed what all that was about?”

“Bouncer duty?”

“Yup.”

“Triple pay?”

“Yup.”

Osha slid the card into a slot neatly labeled ELTARA LOHARNE. “Why’d you leave some behind? I thought Kana would be in it, at least.”

“Kana got the honors last month. Your name stays in the hat until you get picked, and after that, it stays out of the hat until everyone’s gone once. Then they’re all put back in again. Triple time has the capacity to wreak havoc on workplace relations.” She scribbled a little red star in the corner of Dante’s time card, then pointed out the same mark on Kana’s. “So we don’t mix ‘em up.”

“But my name didn’t go in.” Did they think Osha couldn’t do it?

“You haven’t won a fight in the cage… yet. Once you do, you’re in.”

Osha hoped that once she won a fight, she would be in every fight night after, like Qimir. But she hadn’t gone up against anybody for years now, and there was no telling if she’d even win that first match.

“That might be a while,” Osha sighed. “He seems to be overly cautious with my training.” She tapped Qimir’s slot, sitting just above hers. He’d gotten a normal label, Q LOHARNE. Kana had thought putting an OSHA COMPLIANT sticker on hers instead was hilarious.

“I mean, you don’t gotta be nominated by Q. Kana would nominate you if you asked him. Anybody who saw that spar a few days ago would nominate you—that was badass.”

“You saw that?” Osha cringed a little.

“Hell yeah, I did!” Medora laughed and finished her stack of cards. “I’d be so jazzed if I saw you on bouncer duty. I’d just sit and wait for you to toss some huge idiot down the stairs.”

“Thank you?”

“But it’s not just about capability. It’s about respect. If you have a win, especially an uncontested win, gen-pop will listen. The more wins under your belt, the more clout you collect, the less of a hard time they’ll give you. It’s math.”

Osha noticed there was no red star on Medora’s timecard.

“Why aren’t you in the pool?”

Medora’s smile was sad, a faraway quality to her eyes. “I train, but I don’t want to fight. Not every Loharne is made for the cage.”

Qimir had said there were Loharnes all over the city—orphaned children that carried the name into maturity. Nearly half of all the names on the rack were Loharnes—Q and Kana, who were already known to her, but seeing MEDORA LOHARNE near the bottom was a bit of a surprise, given that she wasn’t as reserved in her emotions as Qimir and Kana sometimes were. Osha remembered being numb to most of her feelings for the first year following her mothers’ deaths. Some days, she didn’t think she’d grow out of it.

“I understand that,” Osha said softly. “But I don’t even know why I’m disappointed. I’m sure it’ll be ages before I’m ready.”

“Only you can decide when you’re ready to face something. Having someone you trust to back you up when you do decide is encouraging, though.”

That was news. “Huh?”

“The nomination system.” Medora tucked a few things in the pockets of her apron. “Depends how you look at it, I guess. Take the heart out of it, and it’s just like… co-signing on a loan. At first, it was almost an indemnity clause, considering what it took to implement the system in the first place. That was a bit of a nightmare—the whole Lance thing.” Her face went a little stony at the mention.

“Lance?”

Medora quirked her head to the side. “The guy who attacked Idise ten years ago? I’m surprised Q hasn’t told you. It was and—well, still is big news here.”

“Oh!” Osha flustered. “I—he told me about it, I just didn’t know the guy’s name.” Even so, she didn’t know there was so much gossip she was missing out on.

“Yeah. Like I said. Nightmare. But anyway, if you’re a romantic, the nomination thing is so swoon-worthy. Back when it started, I heard people talk about how it represented this culmination of a relationship with someone at the gym—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special connection. Then they say you’re ready. Not only that, but they’re ready—to tie their reputation to yours when you get in the ring. Maybe I’ve just read too many bodice-rippers, but where else do you sign your name next to someone like that but a marriage certificate?”

Osha tried her best not to walk straight into a wall, and failed. Medora didn’t comment, too wrapped up in her diatribe.

“Then again, the whole thing could be a comedy—in the way that comedy is just tragedy plus time. You do all that, you subscribe to the ideology, someone vouches for you—and then you get your shit rocked in a nomination match? Now that’s embarrassing. The person who vouched for you gets remembered for your fuckup. Until a new embarrassment takes your place, that is. See? Tragedy plus time equals comedy.”

Osha still couldn’t bring herself to laugh about it. But Medora certainly wasn’t joking.

Kana released her from her shift about ten minutes after the crowd went upstairs. She bypassed the public staircase (where Dante dutifully stood his post) and headed directly to the dressing rooms to change, knowing at least one fighter would let her in.

Her path brought her face to face with another person headed in the other direction. He was handsome, in an I-got-my-nose-job-from-a-fist kind of way. Osha didn’t recognize him, but Unknown Planet was an all-hours joint. They could have differing schedules.

He didn’t recognize her either, asking, “Are you and I fighting tonight?” He gave her a slow once-over. He was about three times her size, but Medora’s enthusiastic vision of Osha tossing some huge idiot down a flight of stairs kept her from feeling intimidated or creeped out. She took no offense, knowing the brash culture of Unknown Planet was a fact of life. In some ways, she liked it.

She noticed the green balaclava in his hands. Brawler.

“Not tonight, buddy.”

“Aw, we’re buddies? I’d love to be friends, thank you.”

Osha laughed. Years of intensely repressed connection at the Temple had set her up for failure when it came to flirting (and, honestly, friendship), but Unknown Planet didn’t care for formality. In fact, they were at times brazen enough to hit on her in the brief seconds Qimir stepped away during their sessions. It was almost a game, how long can I flirt with Osha before her scary dog gets back and glares me to death. As superficial and vapid as it was, it made her feel wanted. Accepted. Welcomed.

And it drove Qimir insane when she engaged with it.

“Sure. Let’s be friends, Sour Patch.”

He looked delighted, but a new voice cut in with a razor’s edge—right on cue.

“Osha.”

Hello, my strange, scary dog.

Qimir stood on the upper landing of the stairs, looking more than ready to charge the man in front of her if she gave the signal.

“I was just headed up,” she assured him. She turned to the fighter before her. “I’ll just slip by you, thanks!”

Sour Patch let his hand brush her lower back, and she threw an exaggerated scowl over her shoulder. “See you around, buddy,” he said playfully, pocketing his mask and entering the gym level.

Qimir’s expression was overwhelmingly displeased when she arrived on the landing. “Are you alright? Did he try anything?”

He looked her over without trying to hide it, assessing her in hopes of finding the tiniest justification to pound Sour Patch into a fine paste.

“Of course I’m alright. He’s harmless.”

“He’s a brawler.”

“You’re a brawler.”

He pouted at the comparison.

“C’mon, I wanna change before the fights start.”

This time, when a hand came to rest on her lower back, she didn’t scowl. At the zing of sensation that rippled up her spine, Osha stood up straighter, preening at the attention. Qimir walked side by side with her, holding his ground even as other masquerade fighters were made to squeeze against the wall as they passed by. Like schools of fish yielding to a great white shark.

Beyond the black door, everything quieted. The usual pulse of we’re alone bled through her awareness as it always did when the world was shut away from them. Instead of getting caught in the moment, she did what she came here to do—change her clothes.

“How was your first shift?” Qimir asked.

She unbuttoned her black blouse, fighting the demons telling her to go out in the dressing room and do this. “It was fine.”

“I’m glad.” She could hear him fiddling with KT tape in the other room, the plasticky slide of release film dropping in a familiar pattern as he smoothed tape over his thumb, his—

She remembered, once, coming back from the showers at the pool to find him lined up in front of the mirror in the studio, shorts tugged way high one hip as he smoothed two lengths of gray tape from his inner thigh up to the crease of his hip. Hip flexor acting up, he’d said. Osha hadn’t been able to think straight through her whole cooldown.

She wondered if it was acting up tonight.

“N-nearly ran out of pockets for tips.”

“I’m not surprised,” he chuckled. Pretty servers get pretty tips, Medora had said. Osha tried not to read so deeply into three words as to pull a compliment out of thin air. It felt so incredibly silly of her to think, but there was still a small voice in her head asking does he think I’m pretty?

They chatted a little more, but there was an undertone in his voice that harkened back to when he picked her up earlier that evening.

Is everything alright?

When she saw him in the parking lot, she was hit by a wave of tension. Everything Indara told her that afternoon weighed her down and almost froze her feet in place. Crimes. Private investigator. Gangs. She wanted to tell him what was going on, wanted to do anything to let him know her sympathies had deepened, strengthened from a current to a riptide.

I can tell something’s the matter.

It wasn’t like Osha was in the practice of hiding her emotions from him. Sometimes, he knew her moods better than she did. But this time, she’d been very aware of her anxiety.

We don’t have time to get into it, but trust that I’ll be okay, Qimir.

He’d left it at that, but had been a little quiet during the drive to the bar.

And now he seemed to want to ask again.

“I got to witness the bouncer draw,” she said lamely.

She knew Qimir would never ambush her in here, but even in the relative privacy the bathroom provided, she felt like someone—something—was watching her.

Her voice trailed off from what she was saying when she noticed the Smiley mask draped on the little sink. Without him wearing it, the mask felt a little more sinister. A memory whispered why.

We wear masks and take fake names to prevent the guilt from killing us. Beneath the mask… There is no honor or glory in winning that mask. And the only people who know that are the ones who win it, the ones who have to wear the mask.

She didn’t know what came over her when she reached out to touch it for the first time. She ran a fingertip over the embroidered silver teeth that slashed through the black. Some were jagged and broken, some were whole. Some were over large, others miniscule and precise. It was an uncanny grin, more teeth than should be there—stretching almost ear-to-ear.

She discovered that there was more hiding in the dark fabric than she thought: parts of the material which had been frayed or ripped in the past were stitched back together in a patchwork manner she hadn’t been able to see before. She looked closer at one of the gnarled lines of black thread on the back of the hood, stretching almost ornamentally from one side to the other, in a thick snarl that resembled a familiar scar—

“Try it on.”

Osha yelped, jumping out of her skin.

“Fucking shit, Qimir!” she yelled. “What?”

He looked deeply amused by her antics, leaning on one side of the doorframe. “You should try it on,” he repeated calmly.

She frowned down at the mask clutched in her fist. “Are you trying to give me conjunctivitis or something?”

“Do I look like I have pink eye?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The little eye-holes stared back at her from her hands, and she had to admit, she was tempted.

“Can you even see in this?” she asked.

“Not really. None of us can. It’s like a sensory deprivation experience.”

“What’s the point of that?” she scoffed. “Seems counterintuitive—the most exciting fight of the night, the eight wildest fighters, and they’re all blinded.”

“If we could see each other perfectly, the fight would be over too quickly. Like this, it’s just you…” he shuffled closer, trapping her against the sink while looking down at the mask in her hands. “And what you bring with you.”

She attempted to dodge out of the verbal corner he’d backed her into. The physical corner, however, she made no attempt to leave. “Someone told me you never let a fight get over eight minutes in the cage.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I’m in there, wearing that.”

“What do you think about, then?”

“Try it on and find out.” That was the third time he’d told her to.

“Fine.” She turned to the mirror, making sure to be careful with Medora’s efforts as she pulled the mask over her head. To her surprise, the mask wasn’t scratchy or unpleasant. It hugged every part of her face, none of the fabric sagging or bunching up uncomfortably. It took her some finagling to get the eyes in the right spot, but when she looked up at her reflection…

She’d seen her face more than most. Mirrors were one thing, but when another person wore the same face as you, it made you more aware of how you looked.

Her eyes looked different in the mask. Accepting that the person staring back at her was herself felt like swallowing a hot stone. It was intense and it was strange, but the longer she held her own gaze, the more she understood why the other fighters felt capable of violence. Behind such flimsy anonymity, consequences seemed far away.

Turning her head this way and that, she tested the peripheral vision afforded to her. There was very, very little.

“Yeah, you’re right, I can’t see sh—oh.” She made to turn around, but came in contact with an immovable wall at her back.

Qimir looked utterly enchanted by the sight of her in his mask, eyes going between her reflection and what was before him. One of his hands caged her against the small sink, and the other went up to hold her chin, moving her this way and that. The silver embroidery caught and fled from the light like fish scales in a river. One tooth would disappear as she turned her head left, only to reappear when she turned back. His thumb brushed over the edge of the smile, just below her cheekbone.

She wondered if he could feel the heat in her face as easily as she felt the heat in his hands.

“When I fight,” he said softly, hypnotized, “I use all senses available to me. My eyes aren’t the best on their own, but your eyes can deceive you. We must not trust them.” Osha felt a curl of unease twist around the curl of desire strengthening in her core. She knew that line, she’d heard it before—“To become so reliant on what you can see will betray you when what you didn’t see becomes the real danger.”

His hand came around to cover her mouth, pausing a moment as he hid the smile from view before he dragged his fingers back across every inch of that smile. “I can tell where they are just by breathing. Fear has a taste, a scent, and they all fear me.”

It tickled as he brushed a thumb over her ear, the fabric making a soft, crushing noise against it that made her shiver. “I listen for them, through the screams of the crowd. Some breathe so loud I could hit them in the dark.”

His hand moved back to cover her mouth, then drifted downward, over her chin and under her jaw to wrap lightly around her neck—then he rested his hand over her pounding heart. “Another reason to control your breathing—to hide from me.”

She almost moaned as his hand brushed the side of her breast on its way to take her hand, moving it to press against her belly. He brought his lips down beside her ear. “The sense of feeling is tied closely to intuition. You have to know your body and its impulses in order to feel where things are in relation to you. When you understand the signals your body gives you, it will tell you everything you need to know.” He paused to ensure her eyes were on his.

They looked almost obscene like this in the mirror, his body curled around hers, trapping her like prey. “Especially the pain,” he whispered, lips drifting to where the mask ended in the crook of her neck. “The pain tells you how to survive, if you listen to it. If you feel it, if you taste it.”

The white-hot slide of his tongue over Osha’s bare shoulder pulled a weak whimper from her, and just as quickly as it had come, he left, lifting his head again and drawing backwards. His parting words were, “I don’t think about anything when I wear this. I feel everything.”

He let go of her, leaving her slightly sagging against the sink. Looking over her shoulder at him, his expression told her he would not apologize for invading her space like that, for touching her so—so… possessively. Tonight, he was at his rawest self, primal in a way few men could truly become.

He wanted her, no doubt about it. And she wanted him, but… first, a touch of shyness. 

She broke his gaze to peel off the mask, fixing her hair as she chattered through her nerves. She noticed him sliding the mask off the sink, pocketing it without a word. “I bet my first time in the ring, I’ll just black out and forget everything you ever taught me.”

He smiled slowly when he met her eyes again, content as a cat in a sunbeam. “I’ll make sure your first time is—”

The rabble in the gym crept to an unignorable volume beyond the dressing room. Osha looked in the direction of the noise, heart in her throat. Qimir looked like he really wanted to finish speaking, but she asked, “Do you wanna go watch? You could… talk strategy with me? Or talk shit?”

She saw him stuff down whatever the feral animal in him wanted to do, punctuated by a smile. “You have a point. After all, you’ll be in the one-on-ones before you get invited to the masquerade.”

“Oh my god I think I just got the joke.”

“What joke?” he said.

“The masquerade brawl that ends at midnight? And you need to have an invitation to dance?”

“We’re not dancing in there—”

“It’s a turn of phrase, oh my god. Let’s go.”

The balcony was surprisingly sturdy—nothing rattled or shook beneath their feet as they strutted past the other masquerade fighters watching the current match.

It was difficult to understand what was going on until Qimir explained to her: the two men fighting were tasked with repeatedly throwing one another onto the mat using the exact same form every time. Qimir had her answers ready before she even asked a question.

“Decision-determined matches are rare here. They aren’t run or scored like what you’re used to.”

“Who are the judges?” she asked, peering into the crowd for any sign of an officiant’s table. “Where are the judges?”

Qimir pointed to a dark, mirrored window set in the brick wall on the opposite side. She’d never noticed it before, but now the gaze of the black, gaping maw on high seemed inescapable. “I’m sure you have questions about the organizers, but not even I have those answers.”

“The match organizers are also the fight judges?”

He shrugged as if saying, why shouldn’t they be? “This fight is an endurance test. Keep your form perfect for every throw, and hopefully, you outlast your opponent.”

“Sounds like it would go on forever.”

“You think you could perfectly throw a 200-pound guy over your shoulder the same way with the same force, forever? After also being slammed to the mat ten seconds prior?”

Thwack! One of the fighters shook their head in a daze. The one who just threw them down helped them up.

Qimir had a point. Damn it. She hated it when he had a point. “Fine. Just seems boring.”

“It’s one of the more impressive feats of strength. This is similar to my nomination match.”

“How long ago was that?”

“It’ll be… 10 years next month, on the new moon.” That’s more than a hundred fight nights. How many has he—

Thwack! Groan. Stand up. Cheer.

As the other fighter prepared to throw again, Osha nudged his shoulder with hers. “Who nominated you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw, and though he went still and didn’t look away from the fight, she could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. “Idise.”

Back when it started, I heard people talk about how it represented this culmination of a relationship at the gym—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special connection.

Acidic jealousy burned in Osha’s mouth. It was ten years ago. Chill.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other that long.”

“She’s known me since before I joined.”

Where else do you sign your name next to someone like that but a—

“Dang. Long time.”

The conversation lulled a little, and Osha tried not to feel like the fighter getting slammed into the mat. She had to get a fucking grip. “Well, the point is to win the match, so how do I win? If I was in the ring, right now, how do I win?” she babbled.

He watched another few throws before shaking off his fugue to speak. He pointed out flaws in their stances—they were actually losing energy just from standing still. From that point, he talked about kinetic momentum and adrenaline-fueled motion. “If you let yourself walk around even a few steps between throws, your heart rate will be in the perfect place to remain focused and physically ready—mustering your energy from baseline each time kills your stamina.”

It wasn’t what she expected to hear. She’d expected him to say something about finding an opponent’s weakness and drilling down into it every time. To treat every round like it was the last round. But, she realized with a jolt, that was just how the Temple trained them.

Qimir’s advice, by comparison, urged her to stay in the moment and ground herself in reality, not imagine herself at the finish line. There is no finish line. There’s just the road in front of you.

Another few fights passed before Osha recognized an event from last month: two opponents and one knife dropped between them like a hockey puck. 

“Crowds love this one,” Qimir chuckled. “Shit, I love this one.” He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “What would you do?”

“I don’t even know how to hold a knife. I couldn’t give a right answer if I wanted to.”

“I wasn’t asking you so you’d tell me the right answer. I know you don’t have any weapons training—but you’re still a fighter, Osha. You’re allowed to weigh in on things you don’t know about—more than that, I want you to. It’s one of the most effective ways we learn. By guessing.”

“You mean you want me to fuck around and find out.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Osha hummed and leaned her arms on the railing to peer closer at the intense exchange. The fighter without the knife had both hands free to pull the other fighter into a complicated kneeling grapple.

“Well… from one perspective, getting to the knife’s a speed contest, so you’d have to know something about your opponent’s footwork relative to your own. Are you faster, or are you not?”

He hummed, encouraging her to go on. She paused as the armed fighter lost his grip, sending the knife skittering toward the fence. 

“You could just ignore the weapon entirely,” she mused. “Draw blood another way.”

“The rules state that if there’s a weapon in the cage and victory is decided by first blood, the blood must be drawn by that weapon.”

Hm. She watched the pair scramble for the knife, as if hearing Qimir’s input from on high.

“Well. Uh. Another perspective is…” the same fighter from before took control of the knife. “Knowing someone’s strengths as well as their weaknesses.”

“You intend to spy on your opponents before their matches?” he said dryly.

“No, I mean—shut up.” She grumbled and pouted. “If it was me in there against you, you would know I would be more harm to myself if I had the knife in my hands. I could defeat myself for you.”

“Believe it or not, the organizers won’t put a weapon in your hands that you’re not familiar with. Nor would they put you up against someone that surpasses your ability enough to make you seem like a novice. The fights are balanced, so it’s a challenge to win, but not impossible.”

That complicated things. “But I’m right. You can still turn someone’s perceived strength into a weakness to get them to bleed.”

“Everybody has a weakness,” he ceded. “But seeing opponents as a stack of strengths and weaknesses holding a knife doesn’t change the fact that they can still hurt you. What did I say about fear and danger?”

“Denying your fear doesn’t erase the danger. It only makes it harder to survive.”

“Good girl. Now watch—”

How could she, when he spoke to her like that so casually?

He gave her a play-by-play from his point of view. “And that’s a victory right there.”

“What? The fight’s not over.”

“Believe in the power of the armbar.”

The unarmed fighter had pulled the other into a hold, the knife just inches from his face. The grappled fighter tried to twirl the knife in his trapped hand, blade flashing in the light. But the other moved quickly, squeezing his wrist and jerking his whole body to get him to jab himself in the forearm.

The bell rang, and though it was too far for Osha to see it, the roar of the crowd signaled that first blood had been shed. She applauded, feeling like a guest at the side of an emperor, watching gladiators bleed for his imperial amusement.

“The most important thing to remember in these match-ups is that battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. You have to choose to win before you ever step in the ring.”

“What’s that, a little bit of hard-earned violence-based wisdom?” she said teasingly.

“Walt Whitman.”

A startled, overly loud laugh escaped her, turning a few heads in their direction. Osha hid her face against his shoulder, trying to stifle her giggles but failing. She wasn’t entirely sure, but the gentle touch on her head felt like a kiss.

She certainly hoped it was.

“You don’t need to worry about what will happen before the match starts. Things can go a hundred thousand ways once the bell rings, and only some of them will go right—even fewer will go as planned.” He raised a hand to trace over her bare back, distracted by the cut of her shirt. It was similar to the one she’d worn to dance night, so his fascination felt warranted. He let his hand fall flat on the small of her back, a warm weight she could have purred at.

“You make it sound like someone with no training can enter the ring and win by a mile just by improvising.”

“Yes and no,” he shrugged. “If you recognize when the winds shift in each moment, you can make almost anything work to your advantage.” He turned to face her, his face gone a little serious. “I’m not training you to make you into a trophy machine, Osha. I’m training you to make the best decisions for any moment, but only when you choose to fight.”

It was surprisingly tender. The conviction in his posture spoke volumes to the degree he believed that. It was strange to see vulnerability in his eyes, especially after the heat in them from earlier. When she asked herself why he felt so strongly about her choice to fight, Indara’s voice rang in her head.

She only fostered him so she could take him to tournaments and competitions across the state.

Qimir was clearly about to ask what she was thinking, but a new (well, new-ish) voice interrupted him.

“There you are, buddy!”

Fuck.

Osha sighed, grimacing in a way she hoped could be misinterpreted as a smile. She turned away from the suddenly stone-faced Qimir. “Hey there, Sour Patch.”

“Watching the matches? Save some interest for the last one of the night, would ya?”

“Oh, I’ll try.”

Qimir was a block of ice behind her. His warmth, so reliable and steady, had chilled unexpectedly. The hand on her lower back curled into a fist around a handful of her shirt—there was no way he’d done that consciously. She’d seen Qimir get cold like this before when speaking to some of the other fighters in the gym, but never to this degree. It was plain to see it for what it was:

Possessiveness.

“So you’ve been to one of these before…”

Sour Patch did not, at all, take the rebuffs Osha threw back at him. The wall of silence behind her felt solid enough to—

Hm.

Just to make things interesting, she let herself lean against Qimir. The hand at her waist felt like a goddamn claw.

“No, I actually haven’t seen The Godfather. Haven’t had the inclination. Ever.”

The claw squeezed. She could imagine him whispering, attagirl.

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely missing out. Why don’t you come over and we can—”

The creature behind her scoffed. She rested a hand on the claw, tracing her fingertips over his knuckles.

“I’m pretty on the hook for literally the rest of forever, sorry,” Osha told Sour Patch with an overly kind smile.

Perhaps the smile was too much, because he said, “So Wednesday night, are you free?”

Qimir inhaled like a bull about to charge, nearly disengaging his hold on her to engage his fist into the other guy’s face. Osha moved fast. Her hand shot out, patting the oblivious man’s bicep in an objectively condescending way. “Maybe if you win tonight,” she said, hiding her fangs behind a pretty smile.

Sour Patch lit up, and the beast behind her relaxed. His hand snaked around her middle, tracing a thumb over her piercing. He was oozing satisfaction. Sour Patch has no idea what he’s getting into.

“Well, get ready for a three-part marathon, then!” To her delight, Sour Patch turned around and walked away—probably for the best.

Qimir whirled Osha around like a goddamn top. He wore the same heated look from earlier when she tried on his mask. Heat flared in her core. Her eyes went to his mouth, where he bit his lower lip in consideration—or perhaps the last vestige of self-control. What thoughts hid behind those eyes?

“Maybe if he wins tonight?” he repeated slowly, an eyebrow rising with incredulity.

“I think it’s fair,” she said, heart racing. She couldn’t remember how to slow her pulse down—couldn’t remember even with a knife to her throat. His hands on her made it hard to think, let alone breathe.

“Fair,” he chuckled. “Did I give you the impression that I was a fair person?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flashed a little. It reminded her how a predator’s eyes would glow at night. “You should rethink that.”

“I won’t.”

His jaw flexed. “Last chance.”

“No.”

��And what if I win tonight?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to watch The Godfather with me so badly.”

“You’ve no idea the things I want to do with you, Osha. Nor how badly I want them.”

They were standing so close. The shouting and cheering of the crowd below went quiet under the thundering of her heart, and even the lights went a little sparkly and out of focu—

She needed to breathe.

Her ragged inhale sounded like she’d surfaced after nearly drowning. Felt like it, too. Qimir’s face flickered in surprise but melted into a much more pleased expression. “You should go down to the cage, Osha,” he purred.

“Why?”

Because he can’t control what he’ll do next if you stay.

He didn’t have to say it for her to know it.

It wasn’t a dismissal, but his command certainly dictated she should go. Before she did, Osha surged forward to wrap her arms around him. “Good luck.”

He stiffened, and Osha held him tighter. After a few seconds, he returned the embrace and thanked her quietly.

“You know, you need to work on that,” she said once they pulled away.

He chuckled. “What?”

“Receiving hugs.”

His eyes sparkled with good humor. “Well, I might need to find a trainer if that’s the case.”

“I dunno, my schedule could be booked.”

“To the rest of forever?” he teased.

She shrugged and turned to walk away.

“If I win tonight,” he said, catching her wrist. “Maybe I can get a free trial pass?” He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the world around them.

Osha wrapped her hand around his bicep, one finger at a time, before she squeezed, digging her nails in just as he’d held her in his claws. She didn’t stop there. She leaned in so her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “Win first. Then we can discuss the spoils.”

She didn’t stick around to see the look in his eyes, but she could feel it long after she joined the crowd.

Kana found her in the crush of bodies.

“You are gonna get squished, girl,” he laughed. He escorted her closer to the cage and assumed the duties of an immovable human wall behind her.

“Thank you!” she said cheerfully.

They chatted a little between matches. “How’s training going? Q train you on any weapons yet?”

“Nah, not yet. We’ve only sparred a few times, but not at full strength or speed. I gotta say, though… those look fun.”

The fighters in the ring clashed their broadswords together in a shower of sparks that fired up the crowd. They wore full-cage helmets, half-plate armor, and steel gauntlets. This was the last fight before the finale, and the energy was palpable, the scent of blood and sweat permeating the air.

Kana laughed, big and booming. “I’m sure you’d kick ass regardless of familiarity with the weapon, and that’s a hill I’d kill anybody on.”

He had such a way with words.

“…thank you, Kana.”

“I also guarantee you’ll be invited to the brawl just because everyone wants to see what he’ll do.”

She frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what he’ll do when you and Idise get in front of him at the same time.”

“Idise?” she said hollowly.

—you spend so much time training with somebody that you form a special—

“Did he not tell you? Q and Idise are pretty close outside’a here.” Kana looked concerned at whatever Osha was doing with her face, but he continued. “I’ve known him longer than anyone else here, but she’s been with him through some hard shit. A few people think Q and Idise were seeing each other on and off for a few years.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Think that they were together.”

She was trying to keep the jealousy snarling in her chest from leaping out her mouth. Osha had the urge to run back upstairs and leave a hundred purple kiss marks marking him as her—

“No. Q’s a lonely guy, and I think he prefers it like that. Him and Idise… I can’t tell for certain because they don’t really hang out, but I’m pretty sure whatever they got going on, it’s strictly on the platonic side. Things have been different recently.” He dared to wink at her, either willfully or unintentionally oblivious to her thunderous mood. “Since you came ‘round, and even before then.”

“Like what?” 

“Well. Few months back, this perfect storm starts brewing. Q dropped the fuck off the map the same time the fuckin’ Lance guy was let back in the gym.”

“Let back in?” she squawked. One of the swordfighters staggered back into the cage, rattling the whole circumference with the impact.

Kana nodded. “He said he was robbed of his nomination match and wanted a second chance to prove himself. Everyone here saw straight through that shit. Fucker just wanted to get back at Idise for embarrassing him. We all did our best to ignore him, and nobody said shit to his face, but shit was dicey; a lotta people questioned the PTB for allowing him back on the premises, let alone in the fights.

“But they did allow it. He signs up. His match night comes. He’s not fighting Idise, of course, but he wins. Q shows up in the last round after a month of silence and wins his eighth brawl in a row. Some people say they saw him talking with Idise later on, but he disappeared right after that. Bunch’a people started rumors about it.”

“What’d they say?”

“Well, someone asked Idise where he’d been, and she got all defensive about it, wouldn’t say. My guess is she didn’t know, and had gone to ask because she was worried about him. We all were.”

He’d been pretty wound-tight for a while, and it seemed like he needed that break two-ish months ago. We were all pretty worried when he took it so abruptly.

“Now, shit gets even dicier with the PTB. Not only do they invite Lance to the brawl, they invite Idise. Nobody’s heard from Q. Isn’t answering calls or texts. I don’t even think he replied to the invite email, don’t think he even looked at it. Lance and Idise avoid each other like the plague in the gym. And no, winning did not warm any of us to him.”

Osha jumped a little at the clang from a sword hitting a solid chest plate.

“Night comes. They call everyone in for the brawl, rah rah, Lance gets called—he was Dizzykid when it happened—it goes fucking silent in here. They call Idise in, coulda blown the fuckin roof off. Everybody expected Idise to go round two with this motherfucker, just put him back in his place same as before. I’d say ninety percent of the bets were on that. And do you know what happened when Smiley walked in?”

“What?” Osha said, mouth a bit dry. She wasn’t even pretending to look at the fight anymore.

“He looked at Idise in the cage and turned to Wise, asking, the fuck is she doing in here? Wise just smiled at him, then he pointed at Lance. Smiley asks again, what’s he doing here? And Wise just smiiiiles. Like he knew what was about to go down.”

Historically, those fighters are more likely to snap when provoked.

“—and let me tell you, it was brutal. The match starts, and within two minutes, Smiley is beating Lance’s face down to the first circle of hell. At the first drag-out, his work was done.

“Heard later that Q sent him to the hospital in the same condition Idise did ten years back—practically the same injuries. Did it in less than half the time it took her.”

Story ends with this guy getting sent to the hospital—all fucked up. Busted skull, broken wrists, nearly lost his eye…

“He disappeared again after that fight. I woulda too, if I left a guy looking like that.”

Not just entering the cage. The terrible things I’ve done to leave it.

“Is that why the yellow mask looks all…”

“Disgusting? Yeah. That thing was more red than yellow that night. They wash ‘em, but I doubt that stain will come out anytime soon. I thought they should just get a new one, but my influence ends at the top of the stairs, here.”

“What happened after?”

One of the swordsmen sent the other tumbling to the mat. The crowd roared as the downed fighter rolled left and right to avoid two-handed overhead strikes.

“Well, now that Lance was handled, everyone re-focused on where the hell Q went. Short of sending out Idise to go find him, we all tried to find out. But then… he just shows up one night, pretty girl in tow. Orders her hot soup and a hot toddy.” Kana winked at her just as the bell rang for the end of the match.

They applauded politely and spoke a little more freely now that they were in between matches. “That was the first anyone had seen of him outside the fights. Believe me, you were quite the gossip item. Especially when he started coming back to the gym, training again. Still wasn’t really talking to anybody, though.

“And then you showed up at the fights, and his whole deal changed when he started bringing you around. Follows you around like a puppy. Never seen him like that before.”

Osha could have sworn it was the other way around.

Before she could ask a single thing, a hush fell. The reverent silence that crashed over the crowd was the same as the one she felt a month ago. The masquerade is about to begin.

CHAPTER 15

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Plus One

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See, One Thing Leads To Another, One Message Waiting, One Day Closer to You, I’m the Only One

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

You smile at your phone and Inez nudges you with her elbow. You barely hide the screen as she peeks over. You turn it face down and push her off the armrest between you. 

“So you and Jake? That’s a thing?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” You lie poorly.

“Don’t. He asked me for your number, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, “I didn’t know he was your type.”

“We’re friends,” you shrug, “he’s funny.”

You press your hand to your neck and look around the lecture hall, students filing in as Professor Rogers stands at the front, transfixed on his screen as the projector remains blank. It’s not like you hid Jensen, you mentioned that you ran into him and it’s not that deep. You need more friends than Inez. And he really is hilarious. Well, he knows where to find the good memes.

“Sure, funny looking,” she scoffs, “tell me, what does Professor Pretty Boy think about your new fling?”

“In,” you face her, “me and Jake are just texting and me and Professor Rogers are working together. There’s nothing going on between any of us. Besides, don’t you have your own web of lovers to get tangled in?”

“Oh, yeah, Brianna found out about Jacob, so…” she flutters her fingers carelessly, “I didn’t lie to either of them. I said we were having fun and they weren’t into having fun all together, I guess. I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem too broken up over it,” you remark.

“Eh, it’s college, you’re not here for life,” she dismisses, “speaking of, you should hop on Jakey Boy. He’s a nice guy, a good way to dip your toe in the water.”

“Do you ever think of anything else?” You challenge.

“Mmm, my grades would say no,” she chuckles and leans into you, “I’m just saying, if you got that puppy dog sniffing around, it’ll get the wolf off your doorstep.”

She sends a look towards the front of the class as the projector finally lights up with the week’s slides. Professor Rogers looks up and clears his throat, calling attention from the muttering rows of students. Inez turns her head, shielding her mouth behind her hand, “you don’t wanna get tied up with a professor. I’ve heard stories…” she pauses and glances behind her, “Laufeyson.”

“What?” You turn to her with a sharp whisper, “no–”

“Mm, apparently he makes the rounds on first years,” she utters flippantly, “Mona, sits in the first row in history… that was in September. I think he’s moved on to Larissa.”

“Shhh,” you hush her, “you shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

“From the mouth of babes,” she sighs, “they told me themselves.”

You frown and peer down at the podium. Professor Rogers isn’t like that. You can’t imagine him doing anything like that. He’s so awkward, you only imagine him combusting at the very thought. Laufeyson might be a dog but he’s his own breed.

💭

“I know it’s a bit cramped in here,” Steve leads you into his office, “but I have a kettle if you want some tea.”

“It’s fine, Professor,” you assure him as you leave the door open behind you, “so I sent you my lesson plan…”

“Ah, yes,” he rounds his desk and puts down his bag, “I did go over it. Just let me get set up.”

You take the chair across from him, letting your coat rumple behind you as you shed it. You take out your laptop and balance it in your lap as you feel your phone buzz. You ignore it as you power up and search through your cloud for the file. You see his icon already present in the doc.

“Got it,” he announces, “right, so, starting with horror…” His eyes scan his computer, “you’re a fan of Shelley?”

“I… I liked Frankenstein, yeah,” you answer as you watch his cursor on your screen.

“I can tell, which is good, being passionate about what you're talking about,” he says, “I might cut back a little on her personal history and spend more time on Stoker. But it’s good you touch on Gaskell…”

You start a comment on the doc, taking note of what he’s saying, “oh thanks, I’ll definitely go over that.”

“Your slides are good though, informative but not crowded,” he taps his fingers on his lower lip.

You listen to his feedback, relieved that he’s not so wound up as usual. He seems calmer somehow. You don’t know why but there’s not the usual tension. Maybe because he’s talking about what he knows.

He sits up as he pauses. He feels around his blazer and slides out his phone, “excuse me, this damn thing keeps going off. I’m just gonna turn it to–” He blinks and goes quiet, “sorry, give me a minute.”

He stands and exits without waiting for a response. You don’t think much of it. Some emergency or another. 

You slip out your phone from your coat pocket and sit back. Inez would eat her words if she was there. Professor Rogers is distracted, apathetic even. Maybe he’s just used to your presence.

You flip open the chat with Jake. ‘So, they’re having a showing of Young Frankenstein at the Film Club tomorrow night. You into it?’

Your phone bubbles with suggested responses; ‘sure’, ‘I don’t know’, ‘no, sorry, I’m busy’. You hover over them and select the textbox instead. Is he asking you out? You’re too shy to ask him directly.

‘Oh, I love Frankenstein!’ You key in, trying to repress a grin, a giddy flicker in your chest.

‘Is that a yes?’

‘It’s a hell yeah!’ You almost giggle at your own response and flinch as you hear the door click behind you.

You straighten up and rest your phone on your knee as you glance back at Steve. He forces a smile as he strides around you and places his phone face down on the desk.

“Sorry, my mother,” he shakes his head, “well, you know how parents can be.”

You nod and don’t comment. You never really thought of him having parents. Maybe that’s unfair, he’s not that old. You could laugh but you keep your face placid. Your phone vibes again and you look down at the gif flashing in the chat. Jensen is such a dweeb.

“So, ready to get back to it?” Steve asks and you look up at him. His eyes are on your phone.

Embarrassed, you tuck your cell away, “yes, sorry, it’s just Inez being silly.”