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unoislazy · 2 years ago

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Your Touch

Mizu x Reader

Summary: Mizu is touchstarved. That’s it, that’s the entire thing.

A/n: Next story will hopefully be “Caged Bird” part 3, then I will finally post one of the asks that I took an interest in.

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You looked at Mizu, her dark hair pulled up into the high bun it was always in. The loose curl that she always kept out no matter what the occasion, lightly bounced as she walked by, focused on whatever task she had to finish.

You watched and looked on with curiosity, you wondered if she had ever done a different hairstyle on her hair before. You thought a braid might compliment her features, or even half up, you had many ideas and suddenly you were determined to try them.

Well that would require Mizu’s permission first.

“Hey Mizu.” You began, drawing out each syllable of her name to quickly pass on the hint that what you were going to say wasn’t serious.

She paused for a moment, putting down a large box and wiping her brow before looking at you. Her eyebrow rose ever so slightly, her curiosity was piqued despite her not saying a word.

“Have you ever worn your hair differently?” You asked. She simply stared at you for a moment before shrugging,

“A few different times. I just can't really afford to when I’m doing ‘samurai’ things.” She said in air quotes. She never enjoyed calling herself a samurai, for one thing most of the time she purely acted out of the name of revenge not honor. Another, she’s a woman.

Personally, you didn’t really care about the rules of a samurai, you respected them and their ambition but the ones you had met in the past were more focused on their honor over anything else. It had only hit you when you had met Taigen, he was so obsessed with reclaiming his honor like a disowned child that he practically abandoned his engagement. You didn’t understand it, what good is honor if it can be taken away so quickly.

You looked up at Mizu who seemed to be deep in thought. You figured she was just thinking of the different styles she had done before, but her face held a certain sadness as she thought. You began to realize that there was a story attached to the topic of hairstyles that you knew better than to bring up.

“Have you ever braided your hair?” You asked, regaining her attention. She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. It wasn’t a common style for the time so you weren’t exactly that surprised.

“Would you like to try one?” You asked. You had definitely piqued her interest, her eyes shifted ever so slightly wider as you patted the spot in front of you.

She obliged, sitting down and facing away from you, her legs in a crossed manner with her hands peacefully resting on her knees.

She almost seemed a bit eager to try the hairstyle which honestly excited you a bit, it’s not often Mizu openly gets excited about something, especially with her very subtle expressions.

She sat before you, her slim figure not too far away from you as you gently reached up and grabbed the hair tie that seemed to hold Mizu’s entire hairstyle together. You’d never understand how she did it with so much hair, it never made sense to you. Her sleek dark hair unfolded, a healthy glow could be seen throughout it, she took care of it despite it being up all the time.

With one hand you ever so gently began to rake through her hair, making sure there were no knots that might get in the way of the process. Because of this, you noticed Mizu stiffen for a moment, a shiver could visibly be seen going throughout her body.

Having seen this your hand jerked back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Before you could say anything she turned her head just enough to look at you from over her shoulder and said in a low tone,

“Keep going.”

You paused for a moment as her words sunk in. The way she spoke to you was no different than any other time and yet for some reason… it felt different. You decided to pay no mind to it as your hand returned to her head, slowly dragging it through and sending shivers throughout Mizu’s body yet again.

Despite this, she sat calmly making no other movements other than the occasional twitch here and there as your hands glided through her hair. Having her hair done was a pleasure she never thought twice about, but the way you so delicately pulled at her hair, twisting it and shaping it as if she was some piece of art, it made her feel cared for in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

You carefully separated her hair, overlapping the pieces in a rhythmic manner, cautiously pulling the groups of hair but never hard enough to hurt. It didn’t take long before you had finished, you tied it all together with the hair tie that she used before, letting go of your work.

“How does it look?” She asked, now turning to fully face you. There was almost some sort of innocence that shone through Mizu's expression, one that seemed to say she genuinely cared how she looked. It was kind of sweet to see her usually stoic and harsh exterior break for a moment, it showed you who Mizu really was even if it was for only a few seconds.

You had seen Mizu with her hair down before, maybe not often, but you had seen it. Something was missing.

You stared at her for a moment, a confused look riddled your face before it hit you, the curl.

You gently reached your hand up towards Mizu’s face, one finger looping around the curl that had been hidden away underneath all of the other pieces of hair. Not expecting this, Mizu froze, letting you do what you needed to do but also not knowing how to react otherwise.

Once you had fixed the curl, you moved back a bit to reassess your work. You smiled, finally happy with how it looked.

“Perfect.” You said, proud of the work you had accomplished. Mizu was happy enough just taking your word for it but she was still curious to see how she looked. She drew her sword partially, only just enough to be able to see at least a little bit of her reflection on it. From what she could see, she truly didn’t mind the look.

“So, what do you think?” You asked, patiently waiting for her answer. You watched as a very small smile graced her features as she said,

“It looks good.”

She put her blade away, turning to look back at you as she brushed a few loose strands out her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so… gentle.” She admitted quite plainly. Her hands rested on her lap as she thought back to a time when someone else had done her hair.

“Anytime my mother did my hair, gentle didn’t seem to be a word in her vocabulary.” She joked, a melancholic yet reminiscent look made its way onto her face as she thought back to the many times her mother had scolded her for looking to feminine.

“Being rough will only get you so far.” You responded, not really realizing how that sounded. It earned a small snicker from Mizu but it still went over your head regardless. It had got you thinking, the blue eyed woman constantly trained, having faced the several hardships in life at such a young age that no one would even dream of facing. She had to be tough in every way possible if she had any hope of surviving.

But you were determined to show her, in your own way, that you can let your guard down every once in a while.

“Let me see your hands.” You ordered pretty out of nowhere.

“What?” Mizu responded, clearly taken by surprise by your sudden demand.

“Let me see your hands.” You repeated, putting one of yours out and gesturing for her to place hers on top.

Her eyebrows wrinkled with uncertainty, having not a singular clue what you were planning to do, but she still did what you told her to anyway. Her confused expression remained as she placed her hand on yours, her palm facing towards the sky. With your free hand you gently traced the lines on Mizushand, slowly going over each callous that you could see. Just as you had expected, her hands were coarse and rough, tense from constant overworking and pressure, or maybe they were tense because she wasn’t used to the feeling of someone else, you couldn’t tell.

At first she didn’t know what to do except watch your hands.

“What are you doing?” She asked, confused what the point of this was.

You continued to trace lines and pointless circles around her hand, occasionally gently massaging different points.

“You’re really tense.” You pointed out, “I figured this might help you relax a bit.”

Mizu sat still for a bit as you continued, still not easing up in the slightest. Having her hair done was one thing, she had it done before so she knew at least somewhat how to react, but this was something different. You looked up at her, noticing her unbroken stare before smiling at her.

“Relax.” You calmly instructed her.

She closed her eyes, eventually relaxing into the feeling of your touch just like she had done before. She had truly forgotten what it felt like to be touched in a way that didn’t result in a bruise or broken rib.

You continued your motions, occasionally putting slight pressure on different areas. However in one area you had put just a bit too much pressure, resulting in a noise that sounded like a moan escape from Mizu. You immediately stopped, taking your hand away as you apologized,

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You looked up at her, ready to continue apologizing but you were met with a serious yet… almost affectionate gaze as she said,

“Don’t stop,” She began, her voice was quiet and relaxed so at least you knew your work was paying off.

“It feels nice.”

There it was, that feeling again. You averted your gaze, not able to handle making eye contact with her while also processing your very wild feelings at that moment. One thing about Mizu was she never truly realized just how attractive she was, she always deemed herself a demon or a monster because that’s what she was taught to believe.

But you saw past that and because of that, things that Mizu didn’t even think twice about doing, would nearly send you into a coma just because it was her doing it.

She had no idea the power she had over you just from a few simple words, and you had no idea the power you had over her just from a simple gentle touch.

You continued on like she had told you, smoothing out the tension in her hand the best you could without any prior training on the subject. Eventually you had switched over to her other hand which was somehow more coarse than the first. You couldn’t help but admire the amount of time and strength that went into forming such things.

As you continued, you could tell Mizu was refraining from making any noises. In all honesty, it was nothing you hadn’t heard before, she’s been in pain enough times around you for you to get used to her whimpering and groaning.

Except this time was different, usually the noises she made were from a place of pain and discomfort.

However, this time, they seemed to come from a place of pleasure.

Caused by you.

“It’s okay.” You began, refusing to look up at her. “The more you let out the more I know I’m doing the right thing.” You encouraged, and sure one could say it was for a selfish reason but really who could blame you.

You could hear her continue to refrain, but over a small amount of time you could hear her a little bit more. Your heart raced as you continued, the act you were partaking in was nowhere near as sensual as it sounded and yet it still felt so intimate. If anything that’s all you wanted it to be, but that was a line you’d dare not cross, at least not yet.

A little more time had passed, you had eased out all the tension you felt in her hands and let go of her. Almost immediately she began to miss your warm and gentle embrace, having returned to her harsh and cold reality. But really, it wasn’t as cold as she had thought because you were still there, right in front of her, looking at her as if she was the only human to have ever existed.

“There now, do you feel better?” You asked quietly, a bit sheepish considering the amount of thoughts that had crossed your mind that you would never say out loud.

Mizu rubbed her hand absentmindedly, her face seemed a bit glazed over like she had been so lost in her thoughts and she wasn’t ready to be a normal person again. Once she had finally, fully, snapped back to reality she nodded.

“Thanks.” Was all she said before you two sat in silence. The tension was practically thick enough to cut through but neither of you wanted to be the one to take that leap, not without knowing for certain it was one they could even take in the first place. Up until now, sure you two had been close, but you had never gotten so close physically. You wanted to, she wanted to, but neither of you wanted to own up to it. She claimed she didn’t need distractions, and you claimed it was a feeling that would flutter away just as quickly as it came.

Well you were both wrong.

You both sat there, not looking at each other, not saying anything before you decided to gain the courage to say,

“Mizu?” You practically whispered. She looked towards you, finally taking her attention off of her hand which she continued to rub, trying to emulate the feeling of your touch but to no avail.

“Yes?” She responded. You very slowly inched a bit closer to her, not trying to make your idea or intention too obvious but she already had a few possibilities in mind on how this might unfold.

None of which she was complaining about.

“Can I… can I touch you again?”

That was all you asked. Sure you had literally just put down her hand but it was the fact that you had even asked that sent the same shivers down Mizu’s spine. She went quiet for a moment, not knowing what to respond with.

She truly had never been asked for permission to do anything before, not in this regard at least, and it shocked her a bit.

It somehow became the most intimate question you could’ve asked.

She nodded, not saying a word as she continued to look at you. It was as if she was trying to memorize your features, as if she was trying to burn them into her retinas so she'd never forget.

Your hand very carefully went towards her, cupping the side of her face as if it would break with too much pressure. She slowly began to lean into your touch, the warm feeling returning quickly as she let her harsh exterior down yet again, feeling uncommonly safe because of your touch. From this position she looked towards you, her hand making its way up to your face, and brushing a few hairs out of the way before asking,

“Can I kiss you?”

Her voice was raspy and low, just above a whisper. She waited patiently for your answer as you both sat in silence before you nodded in response. With that, her hand that had brushed the hairs from your face, slowly made its way to the back of your neck as you both leaned forward and-

“Hey, I found this place that sells food down the road and I- Oh. You’re here.” Taigen had barged into the room, not a singular care in the world as he looked at Mizu with his usual disdain. By this point you had already jumped back from her, being startled by Taigens sudden presence while in such an intimate moment.

With a cold glare Mizu looked towards Taigen,

“What do you want?” She spat. She could get over him annoyingly asking for a duel every now and then but ruining this one moment for her was too far. She finally felt safe and warm in someone else’s embrace and the same man who ruined everything else for her had to come back and fuck something else up.

Before either of them could say any other ‘kind’ words to each other you very quickly made your way to exit the room, not wanting to think about the awkward moment any more than you’d have to.

“I’m going to go… find some things for Ringo. I’ll see you later Mizu, bye Taigen.” You said, very quickly making your way out of the room, leaving both Mizu and Taigen together. Mizu had watched you leave with a certain sadness that you could only really see in her eyes, the rest of her face remained as stoic as ever as she turned back to Taigen.

“New hair style? You look oddly feminine wi-“ The man began, pointing towards her still braided hair.

“Say another word and you’ll lose an arm.” She threatened.

“Noted.”

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2cupids · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 | 𝐤. 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings — sugar daddy!hongjoong, readers in her 20s, hongjoong’s in his 40s, pet names, oral (m. receiving), f.ingering, cowgirl,choking, fluff at the end.

sugar daddy!hongjoong who takes you to buy a new dress any time he takes you out for dinner or when you have to attend events with him. you have at least 40 different dresses you could choose from at this point but it doesn’t matter to hongjoong.

when he can’t accompany you to shop for a dress because he has business to attend to, he simply gives you his card and tells you to pick the prettiest one and treat yourself to whatever else you want to that day.

but more often than not, he flies you out to italy to have your dresses custom made. sometimes he’ll send a sketch ahead of you of what he wants to see you in and let you talk with the designer about changing any details that you don’t like.

he wants you to have the best of the best, something other people can’t get their hands on.

sugar daddy!hongjoong who has no shame about renting out the entire floor of a restaurant for just the two of you. when you ask him his reason, he says that he just “prefers it this way.”

sugar daddy!hongjoong that lets you pick out your own penthouse.

he brings you along with him while he goes around looking at different places, citing the reason being that he’s “expanding his real estate portfolio”.

he’s constantly asking you what you think of each place, whether you could see yourself living there, how you would decorate the place, etc. you think it’s silly when he writes a check to buy the one that you liked the most but you don’t pay it too much mind.

that is until later that day when he hands you the keys.

“it’s all yours baby. i’ve already got movers packing up your old place, they should be here in an hour or two. is that alright with you?”

sugar daddy!hongjoong who loves surprising you with random shopping sprees. he likes surprising you with gifts and all, but he’d rather have you pick exactly what you like.

he could sit watch you try on outfits all day if it means he gets to see the way your eyes sparkle.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that was a bit of tsundere especially when you first met.

he has trouble expressing his love and admiration for you but he actively works to try to get better.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that enjoys sharing his hobbies with you, one of them being customizing clothes and shoes, giving them a personal touch.

you tend to make a mess whenever you work with the art supplies, accidentally getting paint and marker stains all over yourself. you find it bothersome but hongjoong finds it cute. to him, your clumsiness just adds to your charming qualities.

sugar daddy!hongjoong who gets excited whenever you let him choose your next hairstyle. if you’re hesitant about trying a certain style or color, he encourages you to do so, as long as you’re comfortable with it. he’s always complimenting you and praising you.

despite his love of picking your hairstyles, he loves when you decide to just wear your beautiful natural hair as well.

the same thing goes for your nails too. oh, and he always makes sure you get your toes done too so don’t even try to argue with him. if you’re out of the country and need a new set or a fill in, he’ll fly out your chosen nail tech.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that’s like putty in your hands whenever you flutter those pretty lashes of yours at him.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that not only likes to have custom dresses made for you but also have custom lingerie pieces made for you as well.

one of his favorites is an emerald green set with a garter belt and matching lacy stockings that have his initials ‘KHJ’ on the center gore of the bra.

sugar daddy!hongjoong wouldn’t call himself an exhibitionist but he will touch and tease you (discretely) in public settings or where others are present.

like while his chauffeur is driving you home, he’ll let his hand rest on your thigh, letting it slip under your dress and inch closer to your core until his fingers are hovering right in front of your soaked panties.

“don’t make a sound and i’ll fuck you to sleep when we get home.” he whispers in your ear as his fingers move your underwear to the side, finally making contact with your clit.

sugar daddy!hongjoong who possessiveness makes itself known in the bedroom. he wants to hear you tell him that you’re his and that he’s the only one who can make you feel good.

tell him what he wants to hear or he will slow down and eventually stop what he’s doing all together until he gets what he wants. no amount of squirming around on the bed or whining will help you.

“didn’t i ask you a question? tell me whose pussy this is.. or would you rather be left high and dry? your choice baby.”

sugar daddy!hongjoong who thinks you look so pretty when your mouth is full of his dick. he likes to hold your head in place while he fucks your pretty mouth.

“such a good girl for me. gonna stay like that and let me cum down your throat?”

sugar daddy!hongjoong who wraps his hand around your neck while you’re bouncing on his cock and it makes you see stars.

he likes the feeling of your walls clenching around him while you try to focus on riding him, the lack of oxygen slowly getting to you.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that likes it rough but makes sure he takes his time with you often, giving you good old fashioned love-making to remind you of how much he loves and cares for you.

sugar daddy!hongjoong that can be having a terrible day but once he sets eyes on you, his worries and frustration fade away.

sugar daddy!hongjoong who falls in love with you more and more every time he looks into your big, gorgeous eyes.

it’s been more than just a business relationship to him and he’s been feeling that way for a long time now.

he hopes to one day he’ll be lucky enough to be able to call you his wife.

#𐙚 .. 2cupids #this is kinda ass sorry y’all #ateez smut #kim hongjoong #hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong smut #ateez hard hours #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez x black reader #kpop x black reader #kpop x poc reader

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miyseilish · 4 months ago

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could you do Gwen x F!reader where reader is that type of friend that’s a bit overly touchy and joke flirts a lot to the point where both of them basically starts dating without knowing and everyone is debating if they should just tell them or let it be

what are we?

pairings : g. stacy x fem!reader

summary : you and gwen have a flirty friendship, what do your friends have to say about it?

warnings : mix of lower and upper case, forgot where I got banner from. first time writing gwen on tumblr. flirty friendship

it’s started with one comment.

you told Gwen she looked very good in the skirt she wore that day. Sure, she was caught off guard at first but then went along with it.

it was at the early blooming stages of you twos friendship where you became very touchy, you’d always have a hand on her shoulder or your head on her shoulder.

In photos you’d always have your arm around her waist, or say a flirtatious remark on her hairstyles (even if she was testing ones that didn’t look great due to her buzzcut.) you’d always compliment her and help her fix her hair or put on her necklace for her.

Gwen was caught off guard many times at first when you always said flirty jokes to her. she eventually accepted it and did those things back. although it wasn’t as crazy as yours, she always had a way to see that pretty smile of yours.

gwen couldn’t admit it but, she did enjoyed having someone compliment her a lot or say flirty stuff. especially if it is her girlfriend.

all your friends in you twos friend group noticed it too. how you guys couldn’t keep your hands off each other, or how you two react to others comments. and times where you all hang out, you two sometimes distance away and talk about other things.

they debated a lot if they should bring it up to you guys, many times they would refer to you guys as girlfriends which made you two deny although you two secretly wanted it.

If you or Gwen didn’t go to school that day, the teacher and your friends would ask either of you where the other is.

“where is your girlfriend Gwen?”

“she’s sick— wait what?!”

©miyseilish 2025- my work will not be paraphrased, copied, or stolen without my consent on any platforms

#gwen stacy x yn #gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy #gwen Stacy x f!reader #gwen stacy x you #fluff #fanfic writers on tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr #spiderman astv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman x reader #spiderman itsv #spiderman into the spiderverse #spider!reader #spiderman fandom #spiderman fanfiction #into the spider verse #spiderman

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daisyblog · 2 years ago

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Hair

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN's reaction to Harry's new hairstyle.

Based on this request

Harry was always known for his curls or his long hair, especially during the band. His hair was just as famous as him. He had gone through a variation of styles.

The overgrown curls, the one that YN remembers trying to mess up when they first started dating. The one that outlined his baby face, despite having to grow up over night.

Next was the slightly trimmed hair style. Harry still had a good amount of hair but it meant his curls were shorter. It made him look more grown up.

The slicked back quiff was Harry’s go to hairstyle during the Take Me Home tour. YN used to spray half a can of hairspray on it each night before a show, to make sure the volume didn’t drop. But she didn’t mind because Harry’s hair matched his personality, sophisticated and playful.

Outgrown and pushed back, YN noticed that Harry no longer wanted his hair trimmed, only styled. Did she complain? No! She liked this new hairstyle, it screamed rockstar vibes and YN was living for it.

Due to not having his haircut for so long, Harry’s hair grew and grew. It was shoulder length for majority of the On The Road Again tour. Harry’s habit was running his fingers through it and flipping it to the side. YN and the fans went feral for this hairstyle, especially when he styled it into a bun. Dreamy!

When Harry got the role of Alex in Dunkirk, after One Direction went on a break, his luscious long locks didn’t suit the 1940’s vibe. So off with a chop they came. YN was seen hiding her face in Anne’s shoulder, repeating “I can’t look” as the hairstylist brushed Harry’s hair into a bobble and cut away his hair.

The shorter curls stayed for a while, and YN could see as they got older the shorter cut with a few curls sticking out suited him. It made Harry look older but some innocence still remained. But to YN’s liking, she still got to run her hand through his hair at any opportunity.

So like the rest of the world when Harry decided one day to shave his precious curls off, YN was absolutely heartbroken, and to some very dramatic.

YN knew Harry was going for a haircut that afternoon, but when he arrived back home later on with lack of hair, rather than his typical trim…you could say she was lost for words.

Harry entered their kitchen, and acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. “I’ll make veggie lasagna for dinner, if you fancy it?”.

YN was still stood by the kitchen sink as she had just finished washing some dishes. She just stared at Harry, wondering if he realised that his scalp was visible.

“Babe? Why are you looking at me like that?”. Harry noticed YN hadn’t moved a smidge since he arrived home. Of course he knew why, but there was no harm acting oblivious.

YN looked him directly in the eye. “Please tell me this is a joke?”. She wanted this to be a prank, where Harry said it was all a lie and his curls were actually hidden under a bald cap or something.

Still keeping up the act, Harry pretended to be confused. “What’s a joke?”.

“Where’s your fookin’ hair?”. YN questioned, already scared for the answer. Afraid it was going to be one she didn’t like.

Harry hesitated, before reaching up to touch his head. “AH! Where’s it gone?!”. He couldn’t keep the act up, and a loud chuckle left his mouth.

YN’s hand came up to cover her mouth for a second, as she realised that Harry intentionally asked for this haircut. “Why? Why have you done this?”.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, as though it wasn’t a big change. “Just fancied a change.”.

“A change…a change!”. YN couldn’t believe how calm he was being right now. “Dye your hair fookin’ pink, blue or like fookin’ rainbow if you want a change…don’t shave the whole lot fookin’ off!”. YN’s rant began.

“Is it bad?”. Harry grew nervous for a moment, worried he may have made a huge mistake.

“Well no…that’s what’s annoying..you can still look good even when you shave your fookin’ head!”. YN complimented the fact that there wasn’t a look Harry couldn’t pull off. “But I need to be dramatic right now…oh my..the fans…they’re going to be devastated.”.

“It’ll grow back, no big deal.”. Harry stated like that would solve everything.

“You better have your curls back in time for our wedding.”. YN warned him, to which he only smirked and saluted her playfully.

It was a short while later, when Harry realised that YN had been tucked away in their bedroom for a while. Gently peaking through the gap in the doorway, he wasn’t expecting to see YN sat on the floor, surrounded by multiple photos of himself.

Harry tucked his lips into his mouth, trying to hold his chuckle back. Deciding that this was a moment he wanted to catch, knowing nobody would believe him if he told them, Harry began to discreetly record on his phone.

“Babe? What are you doing?”. Harry asked, entering their bedroom, realising that the photos of himself were of all his variations of hairstyles over the years. But he was shocked when he saw a tear run down her cheek. “Are…are you crying?”.

YN was still sat on the floor, yet to say a word. She closed her eyes and wiped away the tear.

“Can I ask what you’re doing?…it’s like you’ve made a shrine of me.” Harry attempted another joke, still finding the whole thing amusing.

With her eyes still closed, posture still composed, YN explained. “I’m mourning the loss of your precious curls, if you could be respectful of all our loss.”.

Harry masked his giggle with a cough, not wanting to be “disrespectful”. “Babe? This is all a bit much…don’t you think?”.

“I told you I need to be dramatic right now…so please, leave me to grieve.”. YN knew she was being dramatic, she knew it wasn’t the end of the world, she knew it was only hair and it would grow back. But she was weak for his luscious locks.

Adding more fuel to the fire, when fans were quick to notice the lack of hair on Harry’s head after a photo was leaked. YN joined them on airing her feelings. She had made a TikTok of a compilation of photos of Harry over the years with hair covering his head, with Taylor Swift’s song Bigger Than The Whole Sky playing in the background.

YN made another TikTok, where she pretended to cry every time Harry walked passed her and repeating “The precious curls!”.

Fans were highly amused at YN’s video of her recording herself searching for “how to grow your hair quickly?” on Google and also researching rosemary hair oil as she had seen the trend on TikTok for hair growth.

But in all honestly, YN didn’t dislike the change but did she want Harry’s hair back? YES!

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats @harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour @bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl @buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream

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tucrator · 6 days ago

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Doodle and a one-shot~

Just a doodle and a late night read :)

{read below for more details}

She stood in front of the mirror that morning, trying to see what she was finally feeling.

It's been months, she was playing the role, she needed to really merge into it, so she can move on without that horrible pit in her stomach.

She finally got her appetite back.

She put on a couple of pounds.

She was looking leaner.

People were starting to respect her position as a Chevalier.

She needed that one last makeover that screamed: me.

Well, that slick back bun was definitely the thing that needed to be changed.

Already, she had received a good handful of compliments for her fringe and new hair-do, that morning.

Even Faron Fate gave her an acknowledging scoff. Wallace told her she looked pretty. At least she thinks, his accent made it hard to decipher exactly what he was saying. And Severin, just creepily watched her walk along instead of staring ahead as he usually did. That was, a decent sign, she thought.

“You look fresh, Chevalier Bianchi!” A Mercenary said as she walked to the Throne Room. She smiled awkwardly in return, unsure of what to say.. instead she waved back as they walked along.

She was definitely not used to such attention from most of the Monsters, especially considering how they hated her only a mere few months ago. At least it was a sign that she was climbing her way up to receive the respect she deserves.

At least the respect she hopes she deserves.

It was a hard change to get used to, but ever since meeting that kind girl in the AU beyond this Empire, she really helped her to open her eyes to see past some of the doom and gloom in her life. And it was nice to know it was working.

“Bianchi.” A voice came from nowhere. It made her leap a few inches from the floor, before she spun around to stare between the dark pillars that lead towards the Throne room doors. One thing Tazia will never get used to is the way he magically appears, anywhere she went. It left a distasteful feeling in her mouth, the taste that told her he was watching everything she was doing. Wherever she went, or however she did it. He was just there to see.

Like Father Christmas knowing your naughty deeds and if you're asleep. But worse, perhaps. Much worse than that jolly fat man.

“My Liege,” Tazia began, making a stiff fall to one knee and bowing her head.

The Emperor looked down at her. At least she thought he was looking at her. She did not know if he even had eyes, behind that mesh mask of his crown. It was an uncanny idea of hers to think that he had no face. That it was hollow darkness with a voice. That if she moved aside that cloak, and pulled off his gloves. Nothing would be there.

Standing to her feet, Tazia shuffled awkwardly. She knew he was looking at her hair. That could be the only reason he was just standing there, longer than usual. Surely there wasn't a rule in the non-existent contract she didn't want to sign that said cute hairstyles were forbidden. The way his eyes burned along her head made her think so.

Tazia gulped. He was awfully calm. But she knew that still lake would erupt if a rock caused one ripple. She could sense that about him. So even if she died to fight back, she had to bite her tongue to do otherwise. Instead she shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

"It is a good morning, today, is it not? Real good.." Smooth, Taz.

“I see you have decided to change your appearance.” The Emperor elegantly spoke, completely ignoring her conversation starter.

Tazia nodded. “Yes. I thought that.. it would be a nice look, to go with my nice suit, My Lord.” She replied. She swore he chuckled, but it was far too quiet, and he stood too still. What was there to laugh about?

The conversation had barely begun, but Tazia was still shaking like a sapling. Her eyes frantically darted back and forth, trying to hold eye contact (If he had any eyes) but failing every second. The reason for this was because it was unusual for The Emperor to strike up any conversation with.. anyone.

It was usual for him to reply back to your greetings, out of kindness. Maybe even walk by and give you the light of day to agree that yes, the day was nice. Even his Chevaliers barely got a peep from him, unless they were in his office. She hadn't had the luck of being in his office yet.

Of course, the only time he would really speak was if someone was new to the Empire and he wanted to make them feel accommodated, but she had been here for almost a whole year.

In fact, the last time he spoke to her was when he magically appeared in the palace gardens, where she was carrying sacks of flour to the kitchen as her morning exercise. In fact in fact, he did not even say a word to her. He only bowed his head to her greeting and watched her carry the sacks away. And when she told the cook that the Emperor was there, he suddenly wasn't. Gone.

As if he was never there to begin with.

Suddenly, snapping her out of her thinking, was the hand that slowly reached out from underneath his cloak, snaking its way towards her face.

Tazia froze.

What was he doing?

The last time he had touched her was when he placed his hands on her shoulders at the Ceremony.

What was he going to do?

The gloved hand moved over her shoulder.

Was he going to touch her hair? It would be so stupid to assume so, but wherever that hand was going seemed to suggest that thought.

Tazia's heart skipped a beat.

A giddy feeling pooled into her chest.

Did he possibly find this new change, okay? Was it such a great change that it caught the Emperor's eye?

Was this going to be a reason for her to forget the times he had royally pissed her off? Will he compliment her and will she finally like him, like everyone in this Empire does?

His fingers clutched her braid and began to gently pull it so that she could see her own hair between her and him.

Maybe he did.

Maybe this final change was her final huzzah.

Her final confidence boost.

Her reason to keep trying hard.

“This style,” The Emperor began. He sounded curious. Amused. Intrigued.

Tazia hitched her breath.

Sure he had made her a Chevalier without her wanting it.

Sure, he set her up to fight Kiuma against her will.

Sure he had made her a Mercenary against her will.

Sure, he was cold and odd, despite his kind composure.

But she was willing to forget it, to feel some sense of comfortability in this miserable Palace.

She slightly hated him. But this could make her, not hate him anymore. A nice compliment, an acknowledging comment. Anything. She was desperate for any crumb of genuine kindness.

Anything.

Anything at all.

“Is not befitting for a Chevalier.”

She blinked once.

Twice.

A third time. Tazia stretched her mouth into a line and stared into the mesh mask.

His tone came out sour and sharp, but it was still laced with amusement. The giddy feeling became nausea.

“I'm.. I'm sorry, My Liege. I hadn't known-”

“You ‘hadn't known’?. But it is of common sense to understand that swinging a matted tail upon your head is not the attractive style you would believe it to be. Especially for your position, Chevalier Bianchi.”

He emphasized on the word Chevalier.

But she let that fly over her head.

“Matted?” Tazia gasped inwardly.

Oh. Oh no, she didn't slightly hate him. Not anymore.

“I take care of my hair, very well, Sire. Matter of fact, I oil it once a week, with coconut oil and sometimes rosemary. I’d find it hard to believe my hair is matted!” She said, not that she could help herself. Opening her mouth to continue her defense, The Emperor stopped her.

Not by shushing her, or holding a hand up to silence her. No, no.

He cruelly tugged at her braid - hard enough to pull her head to the left.

He did NOT just do that!

The voice eerily drawled from under the dark crown.

“I am not interested in the routine for your scalp.”

“Did you - just pull my-”

Tazia was horrified. Too shocked to speak. Her hands shook out of rage, itching to slap the crown away from his head, for even doing that to her, like she was some sort of child. She was eager to let that irritation from that tug take over her limbs and let her lash out.

She knew it would come with consequences, but how dare he, she told herself.

Just as her hands closed into hard fists, he stood straight, letting go of her hair. It dumbly swung behind her back, settling there. In that very moment, Chevalier Fate has walked up to them both. He sensed the tension. Watching at how her green eyes stared daggers up towards the Emperor.

He flicked her shoulder discreetly, as if to warn her of her gaze. However the action only made her angrier.

“Good morning, My Lord.” Faron mumbled.

He did not reply.

“I am expecting you to return back to your original look, Bianchi. Even if you must go back to your chambers to comb it back into a clean bun. You will do so. Do not return to communion until you have done so. Do I make myself clear?”

She can't say anything now. Especially not now.

Faron was looking at her from underneath his visor. Despite the fact that they did not get along, he was telling her to hear and obey. For her sake, maybe. Or to make life easier for him.

Tazia hung her head low. Not out of shame.

“Yes, My Liege.”

The Emperor could taste her anger. Something said that he relished in it.

“Wonderful, Bianchi. Go along, if you are willing to comply so easily. We shall see you soon.”

It took a moment for Tazia to spin on her heels and walk in the other direction. She looked up to see Wallace was there, a few feet away from the debacle. He seemed to have a guilty expression upon his mean face. Though she was not sure why he needed to look guilty. It wasn't him who had ruined her mood.

Even though he tried to utter words of assurance, Tazia snapped her head away from his kind gesture. Ignoring the twang of regret, considering she knew he was only trying to make her feel better.

That regret began to brew into dozens of other feelings as she walked on.

Ignoring the other greetings from Mercenaries and Sentinels, she stormed along the hallways until she reached the sunlight peeking in from the slim palace windows. Heart thundering in her chest, tears of frustration pricking at her eyes.

Why would she even hope for such a stupid thing.

She already hated that bastard from day one - why would she even think it would end up as a cute fairytale friendship between Knight and King. Clearly that was not the case.

Now she was walking back, feeling the shame leaning against her shoulders, spindling hundreds of colourful words she wished she could hurl to him.

But no.

She couldn't do that.

She can't get herself in trouble easily.

Especially not in such a childish way.

Looking at her boots, Tazia thought hard.

He wasn't an Emperor in her eyes. Even if she tried to play into the act, like the entire Empire - deep down, she knew she rejected his royalty. Even if he looked it, acted it, and had all of the qualities of it. She could never accept him as her King. So what does one do, when they refuse a Monarch but have no choice to live in their Monarchy?

They rebel.

So as her first act of rebellion, Tazia wiped the tears from her eyes and stood straight.

Before turning right back around to join the monthly communion.

I hope y'all enjoy my little rushed oneshot, I felt it was really needed for this piece for more context teehee..

Tazia finally getting used to her position but XIBALBA is just making it hard for her to do so... OHHH how the discreet rebellion begins.. Tazia is known for doing things her own way

And Xibalba hates it

At least that what he told himself HAHAHAH lmao ok gn

To also add, gheres a reason why xibalba pulled her braid.. butnyoull never know MWAUAUAHAHAH

Also ignore slight mistakes I'm half asleep

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dragonfly0808 · 1 year ago

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Can you do a Winx headcanon post about how Winx characters little siblings feel about their older siblings partner[I don't know if I phrased that right]

Example :Riven's little sister, Sherly's feelings towards Riven's relationship with Musa.

ooooohhhhhh

Kay here goes (I’ll also do Zila and Thyler though they’re older siblings)

Chimera hasn’t gotten a lot of chances to interact with Brandon one on one, but she thinks he’s cool and is low-key jealous of how much he protects and respects Stella and how he always is right at her side and hyping her up. She wants someone like that. She’s probably the only sibling to straight up be like, I want a relationship like that, when looking at her big sister

Brandon’s sisters all adore Stella and very much already see her as a sister, Brandon jokes they’d totally chose Stella over him anytime, they are very close. Brandon’s sisters all think the world of Stella and have learned a lot from her in terms of how to dress and hairstyles

Helia won over Mielle by making her magic origami and volunteering as a human step stool, Mielle loves being carried around. Mielle is still quite little so as soon as she saw how happy Helia made Flora and how he was a potential human jungle gym, she was like, yeah that’s enough for me

Shirley was hesitant of Musa at first, mostly due to past experiences and not being very used to trusting people to begin with (not to mention Riven’s past… lack of judgement) but she was slowly won over before they ever got together just by watching them together and realizing that Musa in some ways was just as guarded as Riven and that the two are really two birds of a feather and that they did each other good

Naten ADORED Timmy from the moment they met and has made it very much known that he will not accept anyone else as a brother-in-law (he totally requested relationship updates anytime he talked to Tecna in s1 and 2). Timmy takes Naten seriously when he gets curious about how Specialist weapons works and lets himself get bullied into joining in on lightning farming and from that moment Naten was like; Tecna you are marrying him

Zila thinks Timmy is the cutest and finds his crush on Tecna just very endearing, she totally has a soft spot for him and sees him as a little brother, she’s rooting for them just in a more subtle way than Naten, she always makes sure to compliment him cause she knows he doesn’t always get the praise he deserves

Thyler doesn’t really have a relationship with Tecna at all. He absolutely did not get at all what Timmy saw in her at first and just thought she was weird and that she didn’t reciprocate Timmy’s feelings. He probably tried to dissuade Timmy from his feelings in s1 and the start of s2 cause he didn’t want his brother to end up heartbroken. But, after watching them and having Tecna join them for a few family dinners, he sees that the crush is actually reciprocated and eventually his mindset changes into a; yeah she’s weird, but my bro is weird too, if being weird together will make them happy then go for it. Their relationship is more like- causal and teasing than anything, but he approves and even encourages it now, especially after seeing just how much Timmy loves her in s3, he was turned into a full supporter, even if he doesn’t always get their relationship

^picture the Bridgertons watching Francesca and John in s3, that’s Timmy’s family watching those two. Their neurotypical asses don’t get it but they’re supportive (at least post-Omega debacle)

#winx club #winx rewrite #winx #winx headcannon #winx fanfic #winx headcanons #winx relationships #veiled wings and shattered panoramas

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hostilemuppet · 8 months ago

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All your ocs (trolls, gems, ect) have such cool designs! I especially love what you do with colors and shapes :D Do you have any specific process when you make them or is it like an elaborate vibe-check

aww, ty :) for every oc no matter what i always try to make sure something about their character is communicated in their design, whether its something like "they are a doctor so they wear a doctors coat" or more like "they are lazy so their outfit looks very low effort"

but for TROLLS specifically, i almost always try to make sure theres some sort of theme or motif going on that i keep in mind throughout the whole design process. keep in mind what you want/need (eg, for slush puppy he needed to look like his parents, while for rosé i established from the beginning "pink glitter troll" and that smth i needed to stick to) and plan around that. heres an attempt at explaining my thought process after the fact

sometimes a theme isnt as obvious, for example brad and angelina were designed to resemble raggedy ann and andy toys but that isnt really obvious when theyre any older than children. i think this is okay since their older designs still show their personalities and are still pretty cohesive while complimenting each other

often youll have a theme or look youre going for but still struggle landing on perfection, and thats fine! a couple of my favourites, cupcake and glitz, took agesssss to nail down

(not including my reference photos for obvious reasons, but there is NO shame in assembling a moodboard for a character design! i highly encourage it in fact!)

for cupcake i knew i wanted her to be sweet lolita from the beginning (since. her name is Cupcake.) but settling on something concrete was trickyyyyyyy. everything from "her outfit should seem cutesy enough to fit her vibe without being so complicated that it looks muddy on such a small chibi body (and would be really hard to draw...)" to "i need to give her a hairstyle that looks trolly enough, oh no this doesnt look trolly enough but the hime cut really fits her personality, does the massive hat help her silhouette?" to "i want her colour scheme to look like youre walking into a candy store, is this incohesive? what if i try going for a chocolate and raspberry vibe? doesnt have what im going for... how do i salvage this?" it was a lot of facing a problem, trying to fix it, and then facing a NEW problem. and thats okay! rome wasnt built in a day yknow. sometimes youll need a loooooot of drafts to get a character design youre happy with. in fact its actually way better to have several drafts, especially if its a character youll actually use a lot! believe me, ive made the mistake before of "i designed what i thought looked good but i actually hated drawing it over and over again". if you love the way it looks and you think its effective, but you hate actually using it, its still a bad design! its half the reason i redesigned penny 😭 to be fair to me though im not sure i really expected to love penny as much as i do now...

with glitz i have less notes since i had an actual person (his co-creator) to give me real time feedback rather than reasoning to myself </3 but the same sort of thing happened. he actually took me more than a month to finalise! part of that was we only had one parent for him decided at first (and it was actually through the design process we figured out the other one! if you know who glitz is you can probably see the exact moment we figured it out 😭). but from the beginning i still knew i wanted him to look flashy with glittery accents (but NOT a glitter troll!) you can see i originally wanted him to have glitter freckles but i swapped that out for a glittery star shaped... okay i never actually decided whether that was makeup or a birth mark. audience interpretation! but i ended up giving him a much more recurring star motif since he wants to be a star and sometimes you gotta beat the audience over the head with symbolism

im not sure if any of that actually helped or if it was just rambling, but the tldr is: make sure you have an end goal in mind! whether its communicating something specific about their personality (eg glitz's flashiness representing his ego and lust for fame) or you have a theme you want to stick to (eg pitaya is obviously styled after actual pitayas), having a goal makes everything so much easier since you know what youre actually working towards! if youre just throwing shit at a wall, you probably wont end up anywhere youre fully satisfied with

#ask

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meenawrites · 2 years ago

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What are your Ronal and Spider headcanons? : 3

Can't believe I didn't see this until now!!!

Thank you SO MUCH for asking!

I think I've talked about this a little bit before, but I'll reiterate a few things.

I think Ronal's experience with the Sully's and then the RDA have deeply changed her and would have a great effect on how she would view/interact with Spider.

I think she would be incredibly wary of him at first, ready to jump at any reason to drive him away. But I think that instinct would be cut short or at least dampened by seeing how Kiri interacts with him. Kiri loves him fiercely and I think that would be very transparent in how she interacts with Spider. We got a brief view in ATWOW of Ronal recognizing and acknowledging Kiri's connection with Eywa, so I'm sure she would take Kiri's appraisal of Spider into great consideration.

I think she would be more open to him because of that.

Additionally, let's remember that Spider is a kid, probably not much older than her own children, he's small as well compared to them, and he speaks fluent Na'vi. Most everything about the way he acts and speaks is very Na'vi, and that definitely wouldn't escape her sharp senses.

Basically I'm saying all this because this is how I rationalize her coming to accept Spider and maybe eventually adopt him, especially after being informed of or noticing his lack of parents in any way, shape, or form, and how oddly independent he is.

So headcanons for Ronal and Spider:

I think she would definitely do a lot of self-care with Spider. Like she would take care of his hair for him, actually teach him what hairstyles worked with his hair type and what oils to use to make it shine or protect it from the seawater.

After noticing how burnt and dry his skin is getting from constant sun exposure, I'd imagine she'd freak out a little bit because that doesn't really happen to Na'vi. She'd probably be fussing over him and demanding someone summon Norm quite angrily because she's upset about lacking so much knowledge about her new human son. Then, after hearing about the problem and maybe insisting that Norm or some other scientist give her a whole picture of human anatomies and limitations on Pandora, she would use her experience and knowledge as Tsahik to concoct creams or oils that will protect Spider's skin from the sun and keep it moisturized and hydrated and take care of his burns.

Ronal seems like the type of person who would really enjoy silent quality time with her kids. I feel like she and Spider would sit and do crafts together in silence, like weaving nets or shawls, carving songcord beads, preparing meals, etc. I imagine she'd be quite impressed with what Spider's small fingers can do and how precise he can be. She'd probably wear something he made and kind of wait to receive compliments about the fine craftsmanship and just grin internally.

I think Ronal's love language isn't as much overt physical affection. I feel like she'd just be the type to be very observant and just appear with what you need. Like your stomach growled? Instantly has a plate of fruit for you. You look a little cold? A shawl is wordlessly draped over your shoulder. She'd be the type to nag that you're dressed too lightly or tsk at your hairstyle and immediately bring it upon herself to fix it herself. So I think she fusses over Spider a lot and he feels incredibly loved for it.

Not to say that she would never display physical affection. I think she'd briefly squeeze Spider's shoulder when passing by him or ghosting a hand across his head or pushing his hair away from his face, etc. Grounding touches as well if he seems lost in his own mind or when she can tell he's beating himself up over something he shouldn't be.

Ronal would definitely give him a new name or additional name. I think Spider would keep Spider just because of how long he's been called that? And I think he likes it as well. I imagine if he didn't he would have picked out a brand new name for himself long ago. But maybe a middle name or bequeath him with her family name.

She's be SUPER protective of him, especially around Neytiri and Jake. Like she hears he's remotely in their vicinity and she is already on her way there with a snarl on her face.

I'm also still trying to figure out exactly what their dynamic would be like, but those are my current thoughts. If anyone has any other ones, please let me know!

#avatar the way of water #Ronal adopts Spider #Ronal is Spider's new mom #Spirit parents #avatar 2 #spider soccoro #spider socorro #neytiri #kiri

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unhinged-summer-fun · 11 months ago

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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

#common grounds #osha x qimir #oshamir #oshamir fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #unhingery #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction

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pandyssiandiaspora · 4 months ago

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HII CAN I GET 3, 6, 14, 17, 25, 26 for my beloveds moiralock 🧙‍♂️💗

YESSS OF COURSE! I love talking about them...this is gonna be long as HELL so my answers will be under the cut ^-^

heads up, this one also manages to be more explicit than the last ask I answered 😅makes me want to expand more on Joe and Farley's dynamic too to keep things even but I shall do that in another poast eventually. also there will be some mentions of physical abuse but mostly in reference to Farley and Moira's past experiences with it and their views on corporal punishment in the home.

all that being said!

If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Farley is the #1 wife guy he is always ready to tell Moira how beautiful she is. He often says her hair is beautiful, and will specifically comment on how well her current hairstyle suits her or how lovely and full it is. In intimate moments (or when he's being romantic in his letters) he compliments her eyes; I think Farley would like to compare them to the sea, for their darkness (her eyes are very dark brown, almost black), intensity, depth, and beauty.

Due to her condition (they might call it something different in-universe, to us it would be lupus), Moira is prone to skin rashes and lesions triggered by sun exposure. So she's really careful about skincare; she prefers to cover as much skin as possible (e.g. she won't wear anything with an exposed neck on a sunny day) and uses multiple kinds of sun protection; gloves, wide-brimmed bats, parasols, and skin creams designed to protect the wearer's skin. (The cream she uses is probably a home made remedy passed down through her family. She's very picky about what she uses on her skin.)

With all this in mind (and with the misogynoir and colorism Moira has to face as a dark-skinned of Pandyssian descent), Farley likes to compliment her skin in many different ways; how it smells and feels after she puts on her lotions, how well the colors of her dresses or jewelry or makeup complement her, and he wax poetics in their letters about seeing the moon glow on the sea and thinking of the glow of the moon on her skin. Farley really wants Moira to know she's the most beautiful woman in the world. The sea is also the most beautiful thing in the world to him, so he compares the two of them a lot I feel.

Farley also really values and loves Moira for her intelligence and ambition, and he really admires her dedication to art and creation. He thinks she's magical with a needle and a sewing machine, and he will say so often.

Moira also thinks her husband is fine as hell and likes to remind him of it. She usually comments on his style; Farley likes to keep his hair short and a close shave, and usually wears his uniform in public and to social events, and she makes sure to comment on how sharp and handsome he looks (she loves that Havelock jawline and she likes the way he straightens a little and raises his chin when she compliments him this way). He loooves getting "oooh my strong man" type compliments too, especially if he's helping her with something physical. Double especially if he's carrying her, sometimes for flirty reasons, and sometimes because she's having a bad flareup and in so much pain she can't walk. Those times the compliments are more her way of diffusing the stress of the situation, seeking comfort, and expressing appreciation for taking care of her (usually after outright thanking him). Of course, he always responds with affection.

What is/are their love language(s)?

OUHHH right off the bat, Farley loves giving her gifts! He's always keeping his eyes peeled for things to bring home to her when they're in port…or when they've taken a ship a prize and he spies something he thinks she'll like. Gift giving is rarely a big gesture for him—most of the time he likes to do little things to make Moira's day a little easier, or more comfortable, or just to make her smile. He usually gifts her practical items for her business and passions (she has SO many fancy thimbles), unique or otherwise interesting textiles he finds in foreign ports, food, etc. Much of the furniture in their home, particularly their shared bedroom, is upholstered with textiles that Moira either chose personally, or were gifted to her by Farley.

Farley also carves wood and bone to keep his hands busy. Moira is pretty much guaranteed to receive at least one figurine from him every time he comes home from sea. He learned to make furniture from his father, and while he doesn't have the time or the skill to make every piece of furniture in that house, of course, he has made one or two items for her—maybe a nice chair upholstered with the fabric he picked out for her. Moira also uses canes, and Farley will not only make them out of a nice solid wood (something Moira could use for self defense), but he'll carve designs into them. His wifey deserves mobility aids to match her beauty ^-^

Moira is very similar to Farley in that respect; she loves giving him gifts, and making him special handmade items; Farley rarely wears anything other than his uniform at social functions, but she embroiders his uniform sleeves, and a good portion of Farley's "civvie" clothes (to use a modern term) are designed by her. They miiiight have a couple of matching outfits! When Farley foot-in-mouths his way into taking up the sport of foxhunting (when he's home ofc), Moira is SO excited to design his attire. Her favorite part of gifting handmade or custom tailored clothes is getting to watch Farley lift his chin and preen in front of the mirror like he's the hottest shit in the world (he is playing it cool—Farley is not a very emotive man—but Moira knows that twinkle of pride in his eyes lmao he's feeling himself).

In line with making handmade items: the creation of bone charms is a practice that's been passed down in Moira's family in generations, taught to her by her mother, and she makes them for protection against disease, injury, and to prevent pregnancy. Farley will bring home the bone, some already carved into the right shapes, and Moira will use that to make charms that she will then sew in secret compartments in Farley's uniform to keep him safe on his voyages. On more than one occasion, Farley comes away from a fight or encounter to discover the charm has cracked or fully turned to dust in its compartment, and Moira will always make a new one to replace it. She explains that the charm falling apart means that it had fulfilled its purpose.

They also value having intimate time together, just the two of them, especially with physical contact. This can entail sex, but moreso it's enjoying some tea or tobacco (or other substances…y'all already know Moira is an opium girlie and in 2025 she'd be a stoner fr) and sitting close together/cuddling in some kind of state of undress and just talking. They could talk for hours; they're both politically minded and honestly I feel like Farley is a gossip even if he won't admit it 🤭 he's bringing home two kinds of tea

Farley will also help Moira with her nightly routines and wash days—she needs help on wash days especially because she has a LOT of hair to take care of, and between managing her business and their home (they send the kids to school and hire servants once their earnings allow such luxuries, but it's still a lot of work), Moira is EXHAUSTED by the time it comes to taking care of herself. And he will help her with her whole routine; washing, conditioning, the butters and oils for her scalp and hair, the braids and twists she puts her hair in at night to protect it under her bonnet (they'd call it a nightcap though), all of it. He will even help her style, though Moira likes having more control when doing her hair for social events.

(Idk if they can get a tub big enough even with the money but I think it would be cute if they bathed together too…maybe in the Fugue Feast fic that's rotting in my WIP folder rn)

What would be a dealbreaker?

I actually had to rack my brain for this one because there's a lot they'd put up with from each other, and they're both willing to overlook and take part in some deeply shady shit…the really easy answer would be adultery of course, they're an extremely faithful couple (and faithful to their respective same-gender partners) who normally have zero interest in pursuing other people, so if gazes start wandering, that's a sign there's something gravely wrong in the relationship.

Maybe a bit surprising giving the time period and Farley's propensity for violence, but neither Farley nor Moira are spanking parents. I think they both try it at first, because that's what they know from their childhood. But they very quickly and unanimously decide against it. Farley grew up in a violent home where his father would dish out abuse to everyone (Farley, Teddy, momma Elsa) in the name of discipline, and putting his hands on his children makes him feel too much like Fabian. "Corporal punishment belongs in the military, not in the home." Moira's parents were not as cruel as Farley's father was, but they were still unfair (Sian faced the brunt of their unfairness), so her feelings are very similar; putting hands on her children feels viscerally wrong. So if one of them decided to go back on that and start physically punishing their children, especially if it happened behind the other's back…yeah it's over lmao. Don't touch the babies.

If we want to get really angsty… Okay canonically Moira has passed away by this point but imagine with me a timeline where Moira lives and she takes part in the Loyalist Conspiracy.

By this point, they've been through a lot together. They've lost both their parents. Their first son was taken, and their second son is estranged (even if Moira hadn't died, I think the pressures Farley puts on him in the aftermath of Jasper's kidnapping and Sylvia's birth would still drive him away, just a bit slower). Sylvia is still alive, but unreachable; they sent her with Sian out of the country (because Sylvia is leaving temporarily, while Sian is leaving for good) to protect her from the plague (and Moira has to FIGHT for Farley not to send her away too), and once the blockade goes up, all letters from overseas cease. And once they're running the conspiracy, and the ball really starts rolling, it wouldn't be safe to communicate directly with her anyway. (They want to. Moira writes letters that will never be sent.)

Moira's business is dead thanks to the triple-punch of the 1835 Drapers Ward crash, the onset of the plague, and her husband trashing the last of the family's reputation by getting his stupid ass kicked out of the Navy. So she's trying to keep it together. She really is. She and Farley decide they can pull themselves out of the mess they're in. And so Moira becomes a conspirator alongside him. She uses the business connections she still has left for the conspiracy's benefit, at great risk to herself and those remaining relationships. She invests her dwindling funds into the conspiracy, in making the Hound Pits their base of operations, in supplying Piero, in breaking Corvo out of prison. She's throwing everything she fucking has into this plan, because so is Farley, because it's their only shot.

There are a lot of ways this could go—Moira and Farley don't have to turn against each other, I think it would be just as fun to explore a story where the conspiracy drives them closer and closer and they go down in flames together—but what if, as the conspiracy goes on and they get closer and closer to achieving their goals, Farley stops listening to her. What if, over time, Moira notices more and more that he's taking Martin and Pendleton a little bit more seriously than he does her, and he starts pushing back against her more and more instead of working as a team. She's being iced out of the decision making of the conspiracy she helped to found and she has been pouring resources and time and thought into for months. She sacrificed her health and everything she has left, and risks her life, for this stupid fucking project that may or may not even work.

Until the mask slips entirely and he just completely disregards her. Maybe at a crucial moment—like, for example, deciding whether, when, and crucially, how to kill Corvo, and make sure of their success. The buildup to that moment would already stoke incredible resentment, but I think that's the point where he's crossed the event horizon of fuckery and Moira turns against him completely, and "get rid of that fucking man" and getting hers is her main priority.

What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

Citrus-y smells always make Farley think of Moira; her favorite perfume is a Bastillianese fragrance made with a lemon-like citrus native to northern Serkonos. Likewise, Moira can immediately recognize when someone is smoking Farley's favorite tobacco. She gets a pang in her heart whenever she walks by someone that tobacco while Farley is at sea.

After meeting Moira, Farley pays closer attention to textiles. Velvet is one of Moira's favorite fabrics to wear, so he associates velvet with her to the point where he may describe certain qualities of her (e.g. her voice) as velvety or like velvet. Many of the textiles he brings home for her are green because that's her favorite color.

What moves do they know work on the other?

I feel like Moira and Farley have learned to communicate very subtly, since they're often around other people (out in public, or home with the kids and Elsa); they can communicate desire with a single brief look from across the room. When they can be more open, though, I think they do like to be physical; Moira likes to touch Farley's arm or chest while they're sitting or cuddling together, and if they're at a table, she may wiggle off her shoe and slide her foot up Farley's leg. Likewise, he likes resting a hand on her thigh, or rubbing her shoulders and kissing up her neck, which Moira absolutely loves.

Most of the time they're going to have sex toward the end of the day, when the kids are in bed and they're getting ready for it themselves. I had a little fic idea where Moira signals her desire by the way she undresses; they undress in front of each other all the time and it's fine, but this time she sits on the edge of the bed, looks over her shoulder at Farley, then turns around and slides her robe off her shoulders and flips her hair as invitation, and that gets him to crawl across the bed and start kissing on her neck. I feel like she pulls that move often, it's almost guaranteed to reel him in.

Also Moira is not immune to manspreading. When Farley sits in a chair and pushes his hips forward and spreads his legs and looks at her, hungry and inviting, it makes her a bit weak in the knees.

What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Okay first thing I need to mention is the size difference. It's a major aspect of their physical relationship and also it's hot so I must.

I've mentioned Farley is 6'7''/2m, while Moira is 5'6''/1.68m, giving them a 13 inch/33.02 cm difference in height. Farley is also much heavier and stronger than Moira—which is something he has to be mindful of in their dynamic, since he knows his size can be threatening (especially given their power dynamic and his own experience of watching his smaller mother be intimidated by his larger, domineering father). They both enjoy this contrast in size though; Farley is mindful about his size and the way he moves his body, and he has a way of making his surrounding size feel like a warm blanket. Like something protective and gentle that makes Moira melt in his hands and fully relax. One of her favorite things is when he's on top of her and his arms are beside her and she can feel his size around him, the power and control in his body and how gently he uses it with her, especially if he's pressed up close and she can have her hands on him, or bury her face in his chest or shoulder or neck. It makes her feel like nothing in the world could ever reach or hurt her. Conversely, Farley likes holding her and feeling her melt against him, he likes being that protective force and the feeling of someone smaller and more precious than him in his arms and getting to cherish and relish in that.

Alternatively, when they play more roughly, Farley is very good at playing a more intimidating persona and using his height and size in that respect. He's still very careful about his strength, and Moira appreciates the control and care in that as well; even when he's using more force, when he's manhandling her and tossing her around the way she likes (always making sure she lands somewhere soft), she knows in the back of her mind (because the front of her mind is all about whatever scene they're playing) that she's safe with him. She melts in these scenes in a different way, but she melts all the same, and Farley loves that just as much.

Also they are both big on oral. Farley is her #1 eater. If y'all know that meme of the Hawaiian shirt wearer who ate pussy for a straight hour that's basically Farley. There is the sensory aspect of pussy eating itself (the taste, the smell, and call him Tarzan the way he swings through that bush) but also feeling Moira's thighs tremble around his head, and her hands tangling in his hair, and the little sounds she makes when he's pulling her closer and closer to orgasm. And he just likes pleasing her in that way. He can get really into it, too; he would describe it as getting drunk from her. Moira likes giving Farley oral for many of the same reasons—she likes the sensation of his skin and her saliva on him, the taste of him, his hair, the way he smells, and she loves the reactions she can coax out of him. Farley is very well-endowed, so going down on him for long periods is harder, but she is also liable to get lost in the sauce.

#inbox #newbordeaux #ask game answers #the admiral's desk #the admiral's barbie dreamhouse #smoke room #moira o'farrell #farley havelock #moira x farley #I HOPE U ENJOYYY SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!#some of these I could expand on more but I feel like I'll learn more about their dynamic as I write Kingsparrow and my lil fics anyway

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