Nettie is eating ice cream. The cold burns against her silver incisor, but feels good against the small cut inside her mouth sheâd gotten last week. Itâs an even trade.
Nettie is all about even trades.
Most think that they liked to be paid in money. Old money, sure, gold and silver that doesnât have the same sort of inflation risk as paper, but that implies that they have something to spend it on.
No, Nettieâs maybe the only one who knows what sort of things monsters like to be paid in and is willing to provide it. Which is why sheâs sitting in the middle of a park at 3 am waiting for her contact to arrive.
At 3:03, her contactâs preferred meeting time, the fog rolls in. Nettie rolls her eyes as it creeps through the sparse trees ahead of her, turning the grass silver under the moonlight with precipitation. So dramatic and not at all secretive. Her eyes flick up to the security camera mounted on the lamppost across the street. She wonders when the government will admit they see monsters at night. She hopes itâs not in her lifetime.
Thatâd be bad for business.
The outline of a tree several yards away from her begins to waver. It looks like someone might be behind it, a darker band appearing around the trunk as if someone is hugging it. Then theyâre gone and the same wavering, black shadow appears behind a tree several feet ahead of it.
Nettie watches and eats her ice cream, glad that her leather jacket is hiding the way her arm hair is standing on end. Sheâs never been the type to hide her fear.
Then she met beings who enjoyed it.
A dark pool in front of her widens, the shadows twisting upwards. She calmly takes a  bite of the cone as the shade forms, the shadow creature not stopping until itâs reached its full height at seven feet.
She feels the sensation of pumice in her mind and frowns. âGren? Whereâs Mandy?â
The shadow figure ripples, for once not kicking up a fuss at her nicknames for them. An orange light flares briefly in what one might assume was its hand but she knew to be its mouth.
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You never thought your imaginary friend was weird until you heard other kids describe theirs. None of them had a dark, dripping silhouette that lurked along the walls.
Years later, all of your childhood friends have stopped having imaginary friends. Yours is still there.
Youâre not afraid of her, though some part of you thinks you should be. You donât know why you think sheâs a âshe.â It might be in the way she flits around you, almost like sheâs investigating each object in your vicinity. It might be the way she walks, toe to heel, toe to heel.
It might be one of those secrets she used to whisper to you while standing at the foot of your bed, leaving only a small pool of inky, black fluid behind as evidence in the morning.
Whatever it is, you know sheâs a âsheâ and that sheâs not imaginary.
Youâre in junior high now, thirteen and ready for high school. The other kids have, for the most part, forgotten that youâre the one who kept talking about imaginary friends last year, that youâre the one who still talked about such childish things, but you think leaving junior high behind you will be the final nail in the coffin. Next school year youâll be free of your past mistakes, youâll keep your mouth shut, and, most importantly, youâll be able to make at least one friend.
Yeah, thatâs right. You, the kid with a not-so-imaginary friend, has no real friends. Thatâs why you walk home alone everyday with only the steady drips of her following you.
You donât mind the walk back from school, really. Itâs just long and boring and there arenât any cool shops or restaurants to stop in on the way home. Instead, itâs through the industrial district where large, squat office building huddle together and adults mill around, just totally devoid of life. You donât really pay attention when you walk through, preferring to keep your nose in your phone and earbuds in your ears so you donât hear the drip, drip, drip of your imaginary friend.
Thatâs probably why you donât notice when he starts following you. But when you do notice, you canât stop.
âHenchmen are a necessity, of course,â Jimena says out loud, leaning back in her desk chair. Sheâs supposed to be fielding her bossâ calls, but itâs nearly five and Mr. Rural had left nearly an hour ago, leaving her to make his excuses.
Again.
 Yesterday heâd left two hours early, the day before that nearly three hours early, and the day before thatâ
Jimena takes a deep, calming breath.
This is why she needs henchmen. Or rather, the need for henchmen is a byproduct of what this really calls for.
ââââââââââââ
âYou want to become a super villain,â Loyda says flatly, setting her coffee cup on the table with enough force that Jimena half expects it to shatter. âAre you out of your mind?â
You scan the briefing documents as your team leader, Mr. Subterranean, drones on. As usual, the pack of graphs and statistics look impressive. As usual, you seem to be the only one at the table who knows theyâre wrong. Or, maybe, cares that theyâre wrong.
âCrime is down in the 52nd ward by 30% as compared to 2016âŠâ
You take the chance to glance at the nerd. Heâs listening to Mr. Subterranean as attentively as you did when you first joined this team of the Hero Force. His hands are folded very nicely on the table and heâs watching Mr. Subterranean lie through his teeth with a very polite look on his face. His thick, coke bottle glasses sitting neatly on top of his black mask hide his eyes, but you bet heâs the only one at the table not daydreaming while the leader talks. He strikes you as a teacherâs pet.
Teacherâs pet glances at you through his peripherals. His mouth twitches, revealing a deep dimple, and then he refocuses on Mr. Subterranean. A chill races down your spine.
Youâre not sure why you think he knows, but youâve got animal instincts. If your brain is screeching at you that your plan is in jeopardy, it is.
What are you going to do about it?
âWe can see marked improvement in commerce in Old Downtown thanks to the consideration and dedication shown by our new patrol routesâŠâ
Because youâre watching the new guy, youâre the first one to notice when he raises his hand.
The heroes around the table go still. Youâre a small team compared to some others, only five members in total including the leader, but heroes always seem bigger than they are. When all of you start staring at him, it has to feel like a hundred people are. The nerdy guy only sits there with a pleasant, mild smile on his face, one hand raised and the other resting calmly on the table.
âYesâŠ?â Mr. Subterranean sounds like heâs been asked to improvise after only ever reading off script. He frowns. âDid you have a question, Star Lad?â
See, this is why you donât remember his hero name. Star Lad? Nerdy guy is infinitely better than anything with Lad in it.
âMore of an observation,â Star Lad says.Â
Mr. Subterranean blinks owlishly at him. âAbout what? The crime percentages? The patrols? If itâs not about either of those things, Iâm afraid Iâll have to ask you to wait until the end of the presentation. As you can see from the pages in front of you, we have a very full schedule today. I donât want to waste anyoneâs time.â
You look down at the fabricated graph in front of you so he canât see your face. Waste anyoneâs time? Thatâs all he does.Â
Thatâs why youâre going rogue.
You barely feel any remorse about it anymore, which is why you know tonight is the night you run away from all this. Youâre all set up to siphon the entirety of Mr. Subteranneanâs accounts into yours. You imagine that getting started as a vigilante will be pretty expensive. Itâs only right that Mr. Subterranean, the reason for your sudden career change, pays for it.
Your instincts tell you that youâre being watched. When you look up, you meet Star Ladâs grey eyes. To your horror, he winks once before turning his attention back to Mr. Subterranean.
Oh, you think faintly, he definitely knows.
âIâll be brief,â Star Lad says, eyes sliding from you to Angel at your side and then around to Flower Power. Could he have been looking around the table for reactions? You doubt it.
Mr. Subterranean inclines his head.
âWhen I first joined the team,â Star Lad says, âI was impressed. Iâll admit to some hero worship! To fight alongside Angel and Flower Power and Mr. Subterranean!â He starts to say something else and then quickly adds your name to list. âAnd the Shark, of course.â
Of course. Nobody finds your powers particularly impressive. Yes, youâve got super strength and night vision and the ability to breathe underwater, yes, youâre able to grow fins and swim so fast, but nobody really remembers that when youâre stationed five hundred miles away from the ocean. Plus your insistence on being the Shark rather than Shark Person or whatever it was the Hero Force really wanted you to switch to basically means youâre persona non grata at HQ. About once a month, a Hero Force agent calls to beg you to change your name. Youâve never heard from the same agent twice.
âYes, we remember your introduction,â Mr. Subterranean says. Heâs visibly annoyed now, the wood table under his hands turning moist from his subterranean powers. âMoving onâ â
âThen I was impressed by a meeting like this.â Star Lad beams at Mr. Subterranean as if he didnât hear the leader speak. âDid you know no other team lead takes the time to collect data like this? To analyze their every action from fights to patrols? Other teams rely heavily on Hero Force analysts for that information. Youâve saved the Hero Force a pretty penny by insisting on doing the analyses yourself.â
âWell,â Mr. Subterranean say. He clears his throat and shuffles his papers. You bet thereâd be a blush on his cheeks if you could see under his scuba-like mask. âItâs nice of you to notice. I spend a lot of time on these.â
âIn fact,â Star Lad says, leaning forward, âyouâve saved Hero Force so much time and money, people canât believe it! I mean, literallyââ his smile drops ââcanât believe it.â
Angel stops playing her mobile game, slowly lowering her phone to the table. Flower Power frowns and takes a closer look at her meeting papers.
Oh shit, you think. You knew Star Lad was here to bust someone. You just didnât think itâd be the boss.
Mr. Subterranean either doesnât get the insinuation or is a better actor than you thought. He nods. âYes, yes, Iâve heard the same from the head of the Hero Force himself. But I donât do it for praise. I do it because itâs the right thing to do.â
âIs that why youâve refused to be audited?â Star Lad asks. Heâs definitely not smiling now. In fact he looks very different from the nerdy newbie who got so excited to join the team. He looks like a Hero. âAnd why you cancelled your annual review?â
âA review would distract us from important work,â Mr. Subterranean says. He squares his shoulders, trying to look bigger, and waves as if to knock Star Ladâs question out of the air like a particularly annoying fly. âI send very clear records every month to Hero Force. Itâd be a waste for an agent to do all that work again so I deemed an audit unnecessary.â He flips a page in his packet. âNow, as I was saying, while weâve enjoyed immense progress in district 14, ward 8 needsââ
Star Lad half laughs, interrupting Mr. Subterranean. He looks around the table with his hands splayed in front of him. âYou guys got it, right? I didnât think I was being that delicate.â
âNo, I got it,â Angel says. She looks like sheâs going to throw up. Even her halo looks a little green as her light-based powers respond to her emotions. She shakes her head as if to clear it. âBoss, you refused an audit? Thatâs not how Hero Force audits work!â
âI donât think thatâs how any audits work,â Star Lad says generously. He flips his hands over in a sort of shrug motion. âItâs pretty common knowledge that you canât just cancel an audit.â
Mr. Subterranean tries to meet each of your teamâs eyes in turn to convey his honesty. When he meets yours, he grimaces. You can feel how your pupils have completely overtaken your irises as you watch him. He tries, âIt wasnât necessaryââ
âI donât have anything to do with this,â Flower Power tells Star Lad. Sheâs not like you and Angel, both heroes in your first year. Sheâs older, nearly 65 in an industry that kills people before theyâre 30, and you know she only accepted this position as a form of semi-retirement. Any wrongdoing endangers her pension. âI swear.â
âYouâve all heard my analyses of the city,â Mr. Subterranean says. The wetness from his palms is spreading across the table like fungus. He casually leans forward to brace his forearms on the table, hiding the stains. âIâm sorry that I didnât understand what an audit is, but the correct information has always made its way toââ
âMr. Subterranean,â Star Lad interrupts, âdid you really think the Hero Force wouldnât be able to recognize a fraudulent report?â
Mr. Subterranean looks at him. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. âTheyâre notââ
âYour city doesnât have a district 14,â Star Lad says. He taps the report. âYour city isnât big enough to have multiple districts. And crime is not down. Itâs up, actually. Itâs very, very up.â
Mr. Subterranean stutters. âI guarantee that that is not the case. We have fewer super-powered villains here than there have been in a decade!â
âThatâs not true,â Star Lad says. He turns to Angel. âLetâs ask your team. How many villains, on average, do you think a town this size should have?â
Angelâs clear green eyes dart to you and then away. âUmâŠfour?â Whatever she reads on Star Ladâs face makes her flinch. âSix?â
You are very still. You and Angel are both new. Neither of you know the answer to Star Ladâs question, but you should. Flower Power and Mr. Subterranean should have told you. Youâre getting the sense of blood in the water. Thankfully, itâs not your blood. When Star Lad looks at you, you have your answer ready. âWe currently have five active, regular villains in town.â
âMr. Subterranean, you reported two.â Star Lad flips his hand and a red file appears in front of him out of thin air. Emblazoned across it is the word CONFIDENTIAL. âI was sent here to verify your, frankly, ridiculous claims. I was expecting some fudging of the numbers or even a few battle exaggerations to make your mediocre leadership look more impressive than it is.â
You have to resist the urge to bite your cheek in an effort to keep a straight face. Youâre transformed right now and even you arenât invulnerable to the razor-sharp shark teeth.
âHeâs been a competent leader,â Flower Power says. When Angel and you make sounds of disbelief, her mouth presses into a thin line. âTrust me, Iâve seen worse. I would have reported anything too extreme to the Hero Force.â
âWhich is why, as of today, you are retired, Flower Power,â Star Lad says without taking his eyes off Mr. Subterranean. The room is getting suspiciously moist as your team leaderâs composure cracks. âYouâre excused.â
âWhat?â Flower Power shoots to her feet. âYou canât fire me because of a difference in opinionââ
âYou are being retired,â Star Lad says quietly but firmly. He meets Flower Powerâs eyes evenly. âOut of respect for your long career with the Hero Force, I am not going to go into the nuances of that decision in front of your team. If you would like access to the report that led to that decision, you are welcome to request it from the nearest Hero Force Main Chapter.â
âI will,â Flower Power says, chin raised. Whether she senses the losing battle as well as you or not, you donât know. She turns on her heel and stalks from the room leaving the scent of roses in her wake.
You whistle under your breath.
âWhere was I?â Star Lad takes the file out of the air and flips through it. âRight. I expected a lot of things when I began my investigation. I did not expect you to beââ
âSo youâre a spy,â Mr. Subterranean says. He stands, bracing both hands on the table. âI should have known you werenât one of us. From the moment you arrivedââ
âI am an auditor,â Star Lad interrupts loudly. âWhich I have made abundantly clear at this point, yes?â
âYep,â Angel says. She shrinks back when Star Lad grins at her and Mr. Subterranean glares. You lean around her so you can meet Mr. Subterraneanâs eyes. He glares at you for of all a second and then his eyes dart away.
Ha.Â
âYou didnât announce yourself,â Mr. Subterranean says. The fungus - part of his power - is swirling across the table now, decaying the wood. On concrete, it makes the footing slippery. Good for stopping villains. In this room, it reeks. âYou came onto my team with false pretenses. Iâll be filing a complaint with Hero Force.â
Star Lad is not impressed. He takes off his glasses with one hand and then folds them deliberately, setting them on the table in front of him. Heâs still smiling. âYou are, of course, welcome to do that, Mr. Subterranean. You will have ample time while awaiting your trial.â
Mr. Subterranean freezes. His suit - a pair of grey coveralls, like a miner - starts lookingâŠmoist around the collar. âTrial?â
Star Lad nods. âYouâre under arrest,â he says. âIf youâd quit interrupting me, I can finish reading your charges.â
Star Lad doesnât sound like Star Lad anymore. Star Lad is the goofy newcomer who asks stupid questions and is always underfoot. Star Lad doesnât know what to do with his big, gangly body and whose costume is always ill-fitting. Star Lad canât sit as still as a predator, his grey eyes fixed to Mr. Subterranean as if considering whether or not he can swallow the other man whole. His voice isnât dark with menace and his aura isnât quite so furious.
Mr. Subterranean takes a half-step back and then stops himself. He swallows, hard. âI donât have any charges,â Mr. Subterranean says with false bravado. âBut you will when I report you for threatening a team leader.â
âOkay,â Star Lad says and stands up.
You and Angel lean back. Mr. Subterranean is braced over the head of the table, trying to look as big as possible, but Star Lad fills up the room when he stands. Heâs shorter than Mr. Subterranean but broader and a lot more confident. Both you and Angel are at the opposite end of the room, but it feels way too close. Angel nudges your foot with hers. When she gets your attention, she deliberately looks at your hands, shakes her head, and then looks away.
Your nails - as sharp as sharkâs teeth - are piercing the softening wood of the table. Carefully you pry them out. You stare at the grooves, your heart rate slowing and slowing as your fight or flight instincts war.
âYou are under arrest,â Star Lad says, each word like a bit. âFor falsifying mission reports, misleading critical Hero Force personnel and endangering rookieââ
Mr. Subterranean sneezes. It sounds like a kittenâs sneeze. He sneezes again and there are visible particles in it. After a moment, the droplets from the sneeze dissipate into the humid air and Mr. Subterranean wipes his nose.
You and Angel lean back further from him. Angel covers her nose with her long sleeve. Your costume is sleeveless so you donât have that luxury.
Star Lad isnât so squeamish. âBless you.â He continues, âYou are under suspicion of aiding and abetting various villainous elements in this city to further your public image asââ
Mr. Subterranean sneezes again.
You are very curious about that suspicion, but you donât get to hear the rest of it. Star Lad blinks once, twice, three times. He presses a hand to his head.
âYou areâ you are under suspicionââ He sinks back down into his seat. âU-underââ He presses his other hand to his temple so heâs cradling his head. âWh-what is happening to me?â
At your side, Angel is slumping down in her seat. Her breath hitches before smoothing into deep and even repetitions. Like sleep. But when you look at her face, sheâs not sleeping. Her light-based powers undulate with sick fear, casting the room in shades of green and grey. Sheâs staring wide-eyed and horrified right at Mr. Subterranean.
Mr. Subterranean is smiling.
Youâve always found his smile unpleasant, though youâve never been sure why. His teeth are a little crooked, sure, but so are yours (having four sets at all times will do that). His lips are thin but not nonexistent and his smiles always reach his eyes. That actually might be the problem.
Thereâs a feverish light in Mr. Subterraneanâs eyes as he stands fully upright. He looms over Star Lad. The fungus creeps from the table and curls across the floor until even the walls are mildewing. âThink youâre clever do you?â
Oh my god, you think, my boss is a villain. You take care to stay slumped in your seat. There was something in Mr. Subterraneanâs sneeze. Some sort of fungus thatâs caused Star Lad and Angel to lose strength. You flex your fingers under the table, mouth dry as you wait for a similar effect to hit you.
âOne thing I learned from Hero Force; donât tell anyone everything,â Mr. Subterranean says. He drags a finger across the back of Star Ladâs chair and it creaks as rot eats away the varnish. âItâs why we have civilian identities, isnât it? So that weâre protected. Safe. Able to do our jobs. I left out a few of my powerâs affects when I filled out my Hero Force application.â His smile sharpens. âSo that I can do my job.â
Star Lad is doing a wonderful job of not panicking. A muscle in his jaw flexes as he fights Mr. Subterraneanâs fungus. He shifts in his seat, wiggling so that he can lean his head against the least rotten part of the chair back. âLying on a Hero Force application,â he says through gritted teeth, âis a crime.â
âWho are you to decide that?â Mr. Subterranean says. He stalks around the table in agitation, eyes barely landing on you and Angel before heâs fixed right back on Star Lad. âI keep this city safe. I do. The crime percentages are wrong, so what? The number of villains is wrong, so what? Iâm here. I lead my team. We fight and we win. So whatâs the problem?â
âI am an auditor,â Star Lad says. He pants and then squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain. You see a tremor roll through him. âY-you canât do what you want.â
âBut I can,â Mr. Subterranean says. He spreads his arms to show that the suit underneath his arms is very damp indeed. Drips of spore-laden moisture drip onto the ground. âI file my reports. I do my patrols. You said it yourself - you had no idea the lengths to which Iâve gone until you saw my presentation! When Hero Force asks me where you went, I just have to say you lead my team on a training exercise and none of you came back.â
âS-Sir,â Angel says. Sheâs not doing as well as Star Lad. Her breathing is becoming more and more labored. âW-why?â
Mr. Subterranean clicks his tongue. âSorry, rookie. Bad luck, I guess.âÂ
Angel whimpers.
Star Ladâs groans, back arching as he fights with all his might. His power flickers like falling stars all around him, but it doesnât do anything. Wherever it flashes, it illuminates Mr. Subterraneanâs particulates and whatever spore that has incapacitated the auditor.
A spore that, apparently, has no effect on you.
Mr. Subterranean steps towards Angel. His eyes flash as he stretches a hand out toward her, an ominous black fungus rising through the skin of his palm. âIâm sorry, but I can and will do more good for this city than you ever willââ
Angelâs light slips into a despairing blue.
You lunge over the table.
Maybe it wouldâve been more hero-like to match Mr. Subterranean monologue for monologue. Maybe you shouldâve warned him before you threw all 200 pounds of on top of him, teeth first. Maybe you shouldâve done a lot of things, but you didnât and by the time you think of any of it, Mr. Subterraneanâs head hits the opposite wall with a sickening smack!
âS-shark?â He stutters. His hands paw at your wrist where youâre holding his neck.
âThe Shark,â you hiss through your growing teeth. Little drops of blood well up under the points of your nails where youâre using just a little too much strength. âTraining accident? Thatâs the best you can come up with?â
Mr. Subterranean sneezes in your face. Itâs disgusting and gross, but it doesnât do anything.
âSharks,â you tell him, âare immune to poison.â
âNo, they arenât,â he gasps.
You shake him like a rag doll. âIf I say they are, they are.â You glance over your shoulder. âYo, auditor. Am I allowed to arrest my team leader? I donât think Iâm a full Hero yet.â
Star Lad is slumped over in his chair. It takes him two tries to speak. âIâI deputize you to do so.â
âGreat,â you say. You manhandle your team leader. He makes all sorts of interesting sounds when he tries to fight only to come up against your super strength. Somehow heroes always forget about your super strength. âI knew you were sketchy. This brings me incredible pleasure, sir.â
âFuck you,â Mr. Subterranean spits.
There are a pair of power-suppression cuffs hanging from Mr. Subterraneanâs utility belt. You grab them and click them on both of his wrists. They activate, flaring neon blue and Mr. Subterranean screams. As a physical power type, suppressing his powers is painful. You watch with interest as the mildew on the walls fades as he loses consciousness.
âDoes this mean the mold lives inside him?â You let Mr. Subterranean fall to the ground. âOr is it a fungus?â
Star Lad coughs, sucking in a deep breath for the first time since he collapsed. He rubs at his throat. âHow would I know that? He lied on his Hero Force Application form.â
The light in the room changes again to soemthing soft and pink as Angel calms down. She wraps her arms around herself. âOh my god, are we his accomplices? I swear, I didnât know anything aboutââ
âAs rookies, neither of you bear any responsibility in Mr. Subterraneanâs actions,â Star Lad says. He stands gingerly, testing his legs. âUnless either of you helped him hide villains from visiting heroes in order to defeat them himself at a later date?â
âWhat the fuck,â you say.
Angel presses a hand to her mouth. âWait, I thought he had a second apartment for a mistress, not villains!â
âCouldâve been both,â you say. You watch Star Lad bring his mysterious sorcerer-like power to his hand and then dismiss it. âSo what happens now?â
âI take Mr. Subterranean in,â Star Lad says promptly. He rolls his shoulders. âBoth of you go home and wait for Hero Force to contact you. I assume youâll be reassigned.â He eyes you. âYouâll probably go to San Francisco. Why didnât you tell anyone youâre a shark transformer?â
You throw your hands up in the air. âI call myself the Shark!â
âEveryone in HQ thinks youâre being dramatic when you call yourself that,â Star Lad says. âYou wrote superstrength and amazing teeth on your Hero Force Application.â
You bare all of your amazing shark teeth at him. âWhich is true.â
He stares at you. ââŠright.â He sets about collecting Mr. Subterranean. His powers wrap around the other manâs arms and legs, lifting him into the air like a dead cow. âYou both have options. Luckily we sorted those whole thing before either of you went rogue.â
âWhaaaat,â Angel says. Her halo shifts to a panicked orange color. âThatâs craaaazy, I would never go rogue.â
âYeah,â you say, bracing your hands on your hips. âWhat she said. Obviously.â
Star Lad shakes his head. âRight. Well, keep your noses clean. Weâll be in touch.â
He leaves the room, dragging Mr. Subterranean behind him. Both of you breathe a sigh of relief when the door closes.
âYou were going to ditch too?â Angel asks.
âBig time,â you say. You fish your phone out of your pocket and show her the program you were going to use to drain Mr. Subterraneanâs accounts. âI was going to rob our illustrious team leader first though.â
Angel pulls a pair of spark plugs out of her back pocket. âThese are from his car.â
âSo he couldnât chase you?â You ask, impressed.
Angel looks at you like youâre crazy and pockets the spark plugs. âI can fly. He couldnât chase me. I just wanted to ruin his day.â
You laugh. You didnât know Angel was so funny. You sling an arm around her shoulders. âLetâs go get a drink, Angel. We can write a letter to Star Lad asking to be reassigned together.â
Angel wrinkles her nose but allows herself to be led from the room. âStar Lad. What a stupid name.â
Youâre delighted. âRight?!â
You go to get drinks.
----------------------.
 thanks for reading! A bit of a long one but I had so much fun writing it!
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Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo weâve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and itâs revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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âwe didnât know any better,â the crewman says, and swallows, presenting the chest to the captain. âwhat do we do now?â
âkill it,â the captain says, but the ice is melting in his eyes.
âwe canât,â the first mate says desperately, praying she wonât have to fight her captain on this. âwe canât. we - i wonât. we wonât.â
âi know.â
x
âdaddy,â she says, floating in a tub of seawater in the hold, âdaddy, la-la, la-la-la.â
her voice rings like bells. her accent is strange; her mouth isnât made for human words. it mesmerises even the hardiest amongst them and she wasnât even trying. the crew has taken to diving for shellfish near the shorelines for her; she loves them, splitting the shells apart with strength seen in no human toddler, slurping down the slimy molluscs inside and laughing, all plump brown cheeks and needle-sharp teeth. she sometimes splashes them for fun with her smooth, rubbery brown tail. even when they get soaked they laugh. they love her.
âdaddy,â she calls again, and he can hear the worry in her voice. the storm rocking the ship is harsh and uncaring, and if they go down, she would be the only survivor.
âdonât worry,â he says, and goes over, sitting next to the tub. the first mate, leaning against the wall, pretends not to notice as he quietly begins to sing.
x
âfather,â she says, one day, as she leans on the edge of the dock and the captain sits next to her, âwhy am I here?â
âyour mother abandoned you,â he says, as he always has. âwe found you adrift, and couldnât bear to leave you there.â
she picks at the salt-soaked boards, uncertain. her hair is pulled back in a fluffy black puff, the white linen holding it slipping almost over one of her dark eyes. one of her first tattoos, a many-limbed kraken, curls over her right shoulder and down her arm, delicate tendrils wrapped around her calloused fingertips. âalright,â she says.
x
âwhy am I really here?â she asks the first mate, watching the sun set over the water in streaks of liquid metal that pooled in the troughs of the waves and glittered on the seafoam.
âwe didnât know any better,â the first mate says, staring into the water. âwe didnât know- we didnât know anything. we didnât understand why she fought so viciously to guard her treasure. we could not know she protected something a thousand times more precious than the purest gold.â
she wants to be furious, but she canât. she already knew the answer, from reading the guilt in her fatherâs eyes and the empty space in her own history. and she canât hate her family.
âitâs alright,â she says. âi do have a family, anyways. i donât think i would have liked my other life near as much.â
x
her kraken grows, spreading its tendrils over her torso and arms. she grows too, too large to come on board the ship without being hauled up in a boat from the water. she sings when the storms come and swims before the ship to guide it to safety. she fights off more than one beast of the seas, and gathers a set of scars across her back that she bears with pride. âi donât mind,â she says, when the captain fusses over her, ânow i match all of you.â
the first time their ship is threatened, really threatened, is by another fleet. a friend turned enemy of the first mate. âwe shouldnât fight him,â she says, peering through the spyglass.
âwhy not?â the mermaid asks.
âheâll win,â the first mate says.
the mermaid tips her head sideways. Her eyes, dark as the deep waters, gleam in the noon light. âare you sure?â she asks.
x
the enemy fleet surrenders after the flagship is sunk in the night, the anchor ripped off the ship and the planks torn off the hull. the surviving crew, wild-eyed and delirious, whimper and say a sea serpent came from the water and attacked them, say it was longer than the boat and crushed it in its coils. the first mate hears this and has to hide her laughter. the captain apologizes to his daughter for doubting her.
âdonât worry,â she says, with a bright laugh, âit was fun.â
x
the second time, they are pushed by a storm into a royal fleet. they canât possibly fight them, and they donât have the time to escape.
âlet me up,â the mermaid urges, surfacing starboard and shouting to the crew. âbring me up, quickly, quickly.â
they lower the boat and she piles her sinous form into it, and uses her claws to help the crew pull her up. once on the deck she flops out of the boat and makes her way over to the bow. the crew tries to help but sheâs so heavy they can barely lift parts of her.
she crawls up out in front of the rail and wraps her long webbed tail around the prow. the figurehead has served them well so far but they need more right now. she wraps herself around the figurehead and raises her body up into the wind takes a breath of the stinging salt air and sings.
the storm carries her voice on its front to the royal navy. they are enchanted, so stunned by her song that they drop the rigging ropes and let the tillers drift. the pirates sail through the center of the fleet, trailing the storm behind them, and by the time the fleet has managed to regain its senses they are buried in wind and rain and the pirates are gone.
x
she declines guns. instead she carries a harpoon and its launcher, and uses them to board enemy ships, hauling her massive form out of the water to coil on the deck and dispatch enemies with ruthless efficiency. her family is feared across all the sea.
x
âyou know we are dying,â the captain says, looking down at her.
she floats next to the ship, so massive she could hold it in her arms. her eyes are wise.
âi know,â she says, âi can feel it coming.â
the first mate stands next to the captain. she never had a lover or a child, and neither did he, but to the mermaid they are her parents. she will always love her daughter. the tattoos are graven in dark swirls across the mermaidâs deep brown skin and the flesh of her tail, even spiraling onto the spiked webbing on her spine and face. her hair is still tied back, this time with a sail that could not be patched one last time.
âwe love you,â the first mate says simply, looking down. her own tightly coiled black hair falls in to her face; she shakes the locs out of the way and smiles through her tears. the captain pretends he isnt crying either.
âi love you too,â the mermaid says, and reached up to pull the ship down just a bit, just to hold them one last time.
âguard the ship,â the captain says. âyou always have but you know theyâre lost without you.â
âwithout you,â the mermaid corrects, with a shrug that makes waves. âwhat will we do?â
âi donât know,â the captain says. âbut youâll help them, wonât you?â
âof course i will,â she scoffs, rolling her eyes. âi will always protect my family.â
x
the captain and the first mate are gone. the ship has a new captain, young and fearless - of the things she can afford to disregard. she fears and loves the ocean, as all captains do. she does not fear the royal fleet. and she does not fear the mermaid.
âyou know, i heard stories about you when i was a little girl,â she says, trailing her fingers in the water next to the dock.
the mermaid stares at her with one eye the size of a dinner table. âis that so?â she hums, smirking with teeth sharper than the swords of the entire navy.
âthey said you could sink an entire fleet and that you had skin tougher than dragon scales,â the new captain says, grinning right back at the monster who could eat her without a momentâs hesitation. âi always thought they were telling tall tales.â
âand now?â
âthey were right,â the new captain says. âhow did they ever befriend you?â
the mermaid smiles, fully this time, her dark eyes gleaming under the white linen sail. âthey didnât know any better.â
thereâs been a huge shift in damianâs canon art style/the types of art he likes to do since his artistic talent was first established in b&r2011 and while i miss damianâs initial shown art style (realism, portraits, landscapes) i find the new one heâs developed (cartoony, expressive, colorful) very cute and appropriate for where heâs at as a character (when written well), breaking free of both legacies and finding his own visual and personal identity. something that really stood out to me in pkjâs b&r run was how similar thomas wayneâs art was to damianâs original art style. whether this was intentional or not i have no idea but it really struck me
damianâs sketchbook in batman & robin (2011) #18
(side note: one of the many reasons fractionâs writing of damian irks me beyond belief. the idea of damian being unlearned in the arts is absolutely laughable to me. damian, who when written with any kind of care, consistently is shown using the arts as an emotional outlet. who took secret acting classes. who knows how to play the violin. who referenced caravaggio in conversation in b&r11. that damian? but fraction whacks everyone in bruceâs circle with the stupid mallet because heâs only interested in them insofar as their function as vessels to further bruceâs narrative, especially damian. lol)
thomas wayneâs journal in batman & robin (2023) #20
vs damianâs current art style
batman & robin (2023) #24
also, something that was definitely unintentional but i cannot let go of as a headcanon now that iâve noticed it: damianâs art as of current canon is somewhat reminiscent of stephanieâs artwork in batgirl â09 which in my steph and damian loving heart is due in part to her influence. maybe she showed him some of her drawings đ„ș
when i was a tiny baby queer (aka a 24-year-old), i went to my first pride festival probably three months after i kicked ex-gay therapy to the curb and came out to my parents. being the people they are, my parents came with me. they werenât really sure about this whole gay thing, but they loved me and wanted me to be safe and happy and wanted to be involved in what was important to me, so they came along. (i also think my mother still might have thought i might get drugged or murdered or beaten by a protester of which there were plenty.)
anyway i wanted a memento of my first pride, you know, and this one vendor was selling keyrings, and i liked it, so i bought one. do you remember those italian charm bracelets that were all the rage like 10-15 years ago? it was a keychain like that, and it had a rainbow rooster, a rainbow cat, and then just a rainbow, and so I bought it.
i run into my mom a couple of vendors over and she goes oh you bought something? whatâd you get? so i showed her, and i was like, âIâm not sure why itâs a rooster and a cat. Seems kind of random. But I liked the rainbows.â
and my mom, who was some form of ministerâs wife for most of my childhood and teenagerhood, stares at me like she thinks iâm joking.
âWhat?â i say.
ââŠitâs a cock and a pussy, Jules,â she says flatly, and that is the story of how i died at the age of 24 while attending my first pride festival.
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It's absolutely crazy that intellectual labor can wipe you out. It seems like it shouldn't be a thing, like your stores of brain juice shouldn't be able to be depleted in that way.
I feel like a wizard that's out of spell slots, and to me that's a hackish mechanical limitation put in place to try to balance the classes.