#It sounds like something they would say. And a euphemism they would use given the legend is that travelers ''dissapear'' and at the end

[random-autie-fangirl]

The saddest idea for what happened to Chara in Deltarune is that they climbed the Mt. Ebbot like in Undertale but well...since the monsters left early on, there's no-one to save Chara when they fall and so they just lie there or wander around wounded until they are..."erased from existence" just like they always wanted.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Cassian x reader: Collar and Muzzle[*]

A/N: inspired by a Midnight Thought™️ so here we go :)

Summary: Under that rough, resilient exterior of his, beneath the grins and the jokes and teasing, those comments really get to him. Maybe he needs to figure away to dull the sting—take the bite out of it.

Warnings: smut, kind of pet play I guess?, use of collars, leads, muzzles, femdom, degradation, not at all proofread, 7.4K words

“Spit it out,” you snap.

You get antsy when people dodge around a point.

“You know a lot about…degradation,” he finally poses. You look up from your book—you’ve been trying to read it for the past half hour but he’s seemingly been working up the courage to begin this conversation.

You shrug, setting the book down, “I suppose I’m familiar with it.”

He steels his spine. He knows you’ll be less likely to oblige him if he pisses you off first thing in the morning. “I’d like to ask you for a favour.”

You lower the magnifying glasses from your nose—the damned text is so small. “Illyrians getting on your nerves?” You muse, propping your cheek on your hand as you peer at him. “Want some help laying into them?”

The General stands from his chair, then looks back at it, wondering if he should have remained seated so he won’t fidget. He shows too much, wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s easy to read, if you know where to look—which you do.

“No, actually. I thought you might—…” he pauses, rethinking his words. “Azriel mentioned that…” he seems to be searching for a way to phrase it. “What did Azriel say?” You ask mildly, watching him from your relaxed position.

There’s the faintest kiss of colour to his cheekbones, and he’s having a hard time keeping eye contact. “I don’t know how to approach this right,” he admits, gaze finally flicking to yours. He looks almost apologetic. You suppress a smile, even if your lips twitch at their edges.

“Sit down, and talk to me properly. Stop tripping yourself up with imagined issues,” you drawl, gesturing for him to take his seat. He nods, then repeats the action seemingly to himself, settling down in the chair, shuffling to get comfortable. “Now, what did Azriel say about me this time?”

Your eyes mark the roll of his throat intently.

“We were talking,” he begins, hesitantly.

“About what?” You ask, enjoying the way his shoulders tense. It’s sweet when he gets uncomfortable. “Just…things,” he supplies, “male things…” then winces when he realises male things sounds like a euphemism. He shakes it off, returning to the conversation, “he mentioned you had a reputation, of sorts, with…” he coughs into his hand, a nervous tick he hasn’t thought to mask, “well, being in the bedroom.”

If the male had been paying attention, he would have noticed the stiffness that had overcome your body. You shift slightly, and make a note to bring this up with the Shadowsinger later. Find out what, exactly, he’d said to Cassian. “We’re familiar with one another in that area,” you say, keeping your tone as controlled as possible.

“Right.” Cassian nods again, eyes finally settling on you as he sends you a nervous look. Why is he so jittery?

A silence falls, stretching between the two of you and his hands clench into fists on the arms of the chair. You keep his attention, staring at him coolly.

“I want to try it,” he blurts, pressing his lips together.

Ah. That’s why Azriel had mentioned you. Your heart rate picks up. You’d have to get him something nice in return for this opening he’s gifted you with. Being the Spymaster, he’d quite easily picked up on your fondness for the General. You’d been after him for a while now, but you weren’t the type to pursue unless you knew it was reciprocated—the Warlord had given no such indication. Yet here he is. Surely it counts for something.

Maybe you need to be gentler with him?

You sit up straighter, trying to let him understand you’re hearing him out—that it’s fine for him to talk to you. It’s what you want, after all.

“What’s sparked this sudden interest, Cassian? I was under the impression you were content with your own bedroom activities.” You conceal your wince at your relaxed tone that came out sounding short, and dry. Not what you had hoped to say, but it’s better than some of the other things you’ve accidentally told him.

He looks at you sincerely now, slight vulnerability in his hazel eyes. “I want to take its power away,” he says solemnly. “Being called a dog. I don’t want it to have power over me.”

“So…you would like someone to degrade you, because…?” You’re struggling to see his thought process. He looks down at his lap, mentally reciting his words before he looks back at you, “I want to change my association with it. Azriel figured if I give it another meaning—one that pleases me—it’ll become easier.”

Your hand settles over your lips, rubbing thoughtfully as you consider it, before you nod. “I think I can find someone for you, Cass. It’s been a while since I’ve run in those circles but I’m sure I can pull someone up.” You should take this opportunity to talk more with him. Find out what he’s been doing. At least ask for something in return, since that wouldn’t be too unbelievable. Maybe you can wrangle a dinner out of him. Yeah. Insist he takes you out to dinner, then you can have a night together, chatting, feel him out a little more. Just you and him.

“I was hoping you’d be willing to show me, actually.”

You forget how to breathe, blinking at him as your lips part, a soft puff of air exhaling from you in surprise. He wants…you. He wants you…to show him. He wants you, to…

“You want me to take you to my bedroom?” You ask slightly hoarsely.

“Again, I’m not sure how to approach this. So I thought I’d try and be straightforward with you.” He admits, soft colour blooming high on his cheeks but he holds your gaze.

That’s just like him. Straightforward and honest. Right to the point, just as you like. You can only hope your own flush of warmth isn’t too obvious as you feel something tug on your heartstrings. He’s too endearing for his own good. So baldly charming and sweet.

“Why me?” You ask, regaining your composure. “Decisions like these need to be carefully thought through. You can’t just pick the person most convenient, and as General I would hope you know that.” You manage, smoothly. “I need it to be someone I trust,” he explains, voice thick with emotion, “I’m sure there are some lovely females out there, who might indeed work better. But I trust you.” He declares. “Again, it’s only a request. And I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable with being so blunt.”

You feel that giddy sensation in your chest, the kind that tends to surface when he’s around. You resist the urge to soothe the feeling.

“I take it you understand the sexual nature of the favour you’re asking me for,” you say, softly, watching him over the rim of your glasses.

He swallows, heat crawling up the back of his neck at the look you give him. You look so fucking sexy whenever you do that. Give him that dismissive stare, as if you don’t care what happens to him. How many times has he imagined you giving him that precise expression whenever he fists his cock, how you might run your eyes over him when he’s finished, displeased with his mess.

The General nods his head in confirmation. You hadn’t immediately shot him down like he’d thought you would. Maybe Az was right—you aren’t as cold as you appear. Of course he would know that, he thinks bitterly. He doesn’t care to entertain the idea of how his brother knew about your bedroom tendencies. If the two of you had ever—

“Very well,” you say sharply, breaking him from his train of thought. You reach for your book, indicating the conversation is coming to a close. “Come to my chambers at ten O’clock,” you order. When he moves to open his mouth, you snap in before him, “it doesn’t matter what you wear, as long as it’s easily removable.”

So you’re really doing this, then. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or panicked. He’s finally going to have alone time with you—but he’s going to have alone time with you. He hopes he doesn’t mess anything up. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and ask Az for a little more about you. So he can prepare—he doesn’t want to disappoint.

He’s got one clear shot at you. And it’s tonight.

————

“I seem to be rather popular today. You’re the second person to visit me in ten minutes.”

You’ve learned not to be surprised when he detects you. Even though you know you didn’t make a sound, and his shadows were no where in sight. “What did you say to him?”

“Just now, or what did I say to prompt him to make a move?” Azriel asks, still not looking up from his reports. You grit your teeth at the information he’s dangling before you, just waiting for you to pounce on it so he can spring his trap. “Both,” you growl, walking up to his side to get his attention.

He sighs, then reaches for another report, comparing it against the first, before setting it down and scribbling something in a diary which promptly vanishes after use. “I’m not in the mood for games, Shadowsinger.” His lips twitch as he reluctantly sets the papers down, turning to face you, your arms crossed over your body as you level him with a icy stare.

“I merely set the two of you in motion. You’ve been dancing around each another for a while now. I figured a friendly push in the right direction might set you on the path to collide.” He answers, his posture relaxed; casual.

Damned bastard.

“Keep your nose out of my business, Az. How would you like me meddling in your own affairs?”

His expression remains neutral, mouth set in a bland line but amusement makes merry in his eyes. So similar to Cassian’s. You grit your teeth at the smug look, as if saying you wouldn’t be able to if you tried. He keeps his lovers entirely to himself, tucked away in his belt. “You’re Spymaster. Not matchmaker. Stick to the role you know, Az.”

He raises a single, taunting brow that has red edging your vision. Does he understand how important this is to you? That tonight goes well?

“Why not both? You know how I like to switch from time to time.” Your brow narrows at his tone. It’s lilting…almost as if designed to allure. To seduce. He hums to himself, a sound deep in his throat. “Yes. You know quite well indeed.”

“What are you playing at?” You ask, voice deceptively soft. The tell to your growing ire.

He pushes off from his chair in one elegant movement, hands settling on the desk either side of you as he cages you in. “Playing dumb, angel?” His eyes glint with amusement and mischief, wariness flooding your body. He leans down, his breath brushing over your neck as his silky hair tickles your cheek. “I’m putting on a show for our guest,” he whispers, so softly only you can hear.

And not the male just the other side of the Shadowsinger’s office door.

Your eyes widen as you whip your gaze to his, just as the presence you’ve finally noticed disappears along the corridor. No sooner that the General leaves, Azriel pulls away from you, settling back into his seat, returning to his reports as if nothing had happened.

“If anything will get him to act,” the Spymaster begins, still paying you no mind, “it’s that jealous streak of his. Always was his downfall during the snowball matches.”

Your hands clench into fists at your side. “You’re in deep shit, Shadowsinger.” You growl as you move toward the door, “deep. Shit.”

Azriel has the audacity to huff a low laugh as you slam to door shut, so hard the hinges rattle.

————

He knocks at ten. On the dot.

He had no idea his own brother was trying to covet you. And it indeed sounded as though you’d had relations in the past. Whether those relations still held strong… He doesn’t have the time to consider as your door cracks open, and you peer out.

He suddenly feels ridiculous. Acting as if you’re his when he hasn’t even had the opportunity to take you out for dinner. He doesn’t deserve to be jealous over you. You appreciate straightforwardness. Maybe he should just ask? Get it out of the way. Or would that be inappropriate?

You save him the trouble of the drawn out debate that would have surely continued as you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. “Ah, the eavesdropper.” He stiffens under your assessing gaze, levelling him with a cold look that tells him you did not appreciate his invasion of your privacy. Even if you hadn’t even properly closed the door, so really it was completely reasonable that he could have just…overheard.

“I’m not late, am I?” He says instead, choosing to sidestep you for now as he enters your room. And maybe takes the chance to inhale softly, taking in your feminine scent. Tantalisingly mouth-watering.

The door closes softly behind him, snicking shut as the lock clicks. You’re dressed in a thin, cream night robe, concealing the gown beneath. Sharp heels adorn your feet, the point having enough of an edge you could probably take someone’s eye out with a well-aimed kick. For some reason, his pulse spikes.

He takes in your room with a sweep of his eyes, attempting to remain calm, and collected. You don’t seem to appreciate chaos, or any of his arsenal of charms if he’s honest. He wonders if maybe you’re only doing this as a favour—nothing more.

“If you’re thinking you can come in here with an attitude like that, then I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken,” you say bluntly, running your eyes over him. “I’m not in the habit of tying down loose canons, Cassian. Either you be good and obey, or you can take the door. Your choice.”

He takes you in, sizing you up. He knew you were cold—icy, even—but this is different somehow. Maybe you’ve been holding back on him all this time.

So he plants his feet on the floor, dipping his head ever so slightly.

Your displeased expression doesn’t budge, keeping on a mask of vague neutrality. “Better,” you say, striding past him as you move to the bed. You turn in time to see the wariness in his eyes, the rigidity of his figure as he takes in the items you’ve laid out for him. But for his troubles, he’s rewarded with the slight twitch of your lips. You seem to be satisfied with his reaction, to a degree.

He clears his throat, “what are those?” You gesture for him to come forward, and he follows willingly, padding across your wooden flooring. “I thought we could start with these.” He comes to a stop at your side, assessing what you’ve chosen.

“Cassian,” you say, drawing his attention. “It’s important you remember you can reject any of this. I do anything you don’t like, and you tell me so. This is supposed to be helpful, not worsen how you feel.” When his eyes flick back to the bed, you add a touch softer, “that includes vetoing any of these.”

He swallows, but nods in confirmation.

The warmth disappears from your tone. “Answer me.”

Hazel latches onto you, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I understand.”

Your brow narrows, “ma’am.”

Arousal slides down his spine at your demanding tone. “I understand, ma’am.” He could swear the air shifts. Becomes sweeter, somehow. “You’re going to be good and obedient for me?” You arch a brow as you take him in, the powerful muscles, the silky black hair, the two large wings at his back—you hope he’ll one day let you touch them.

It’s your arousal, he realises. He can smell your arousal.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, a little hoarsely.

The edges of your mouth quirk, heat dancing in your eyes but you turn toward the bed. He’d assumed there would be a build up before you reached for any of the three items. He’d assumed he’d have time to prepare. But you take the black, leather collar in your hands and step toward him.

It takes a surprising amount of will not to back away from the object you’re holding, but he stands strong. Even as you enter his space, pushing up onto your toes as your arms slide over his shoulders. All he can look at is the red of your lips, the smoothness of your skin, the sweep of your lashes. Mostly your mouth.

The collar clicks into place, and you begin tightening it until you can only fit two fingers beneath the seam. “How are you feeling?” You ask, and it takes him a while to respond. “Fine,” he manages, roughly, knowing well enough you’ll be able to scent his own arousal. He hopes it pleases you.

You tug at the leather, dragging it back against his throat and he chokes with surprise. “Ma’am.” Heat swirls down his spine and he has to grapple with his instincts to fight back. To spin you around and pin you to the bed when you’re so clearly threatening him. But instead he manages a nod, “fine, ma’am,” he corrects.

You release the collar, stepping back from him. His chest feels cool.

“Remove your shirt. Slowly.” You settle elegantly on the bed, watching him intently.

Relief spills within him. That’s something he knows how to do.

Following your orders, his fingers find the buttons of his shirt, slowly—teasingly—popping them out, then tugging the slats at the back free of his wings. He’s surprised by the hunger in your eyes. Hunger that’s directed at him. So intense he feels his mouth dry. Even for him, it’s an effort not to shy away.

When his shirt falls to the floor, your gaze roams over him, “good.”

He suppresses a shiver at the thickness of your voice, as if you’re having to hold yourself back from pouncing on him. It’s exhilarating, to be wanted in this way. As if the roles have been reversed.

“Come.”

He follows compliantly, moving until he’s before you. You reach for the leash now.

“Sit.”

He swallows down the heat that’s wanting to rush to his cheeks. But he asked you to do this for him, and want aside, he trusts his brother to know you. Apparently quite well. So if he says you might be able to offer some kind of help, he’ll trust you. More than he already does, if that’s possible.

Hesitantly, he lowers himself to a kneel, so he’s within reaching distance of you.

Your attention returns to him, leash in hand, “good boy.” His throat rolls at the praise, cock stiffening with arousal as you gracefully cross your legs, allowing him a glimpse of the white lace beneath your night robe. He curses mentally, replaying the short peek he’d been offered.

He nearly loses his mind when your legs open again, but this time one extends toward him as you lift his chin with the tip of your foot. “Attention on me, Cassian.” Even the way you say his name is a gods-damned turn on.

You shift on the bed, allowing him a longer peep between your thighs as you drag your foot down over his chest, until the sharp point of your heel drags over the hard shape of his arousal, making him hiss softly. “Like that?” You drawl, lowering the base of your foot as you press against him, giving him that sinful pressure as his hips back lightly.

“You look lovely on your knees, Cassian,” you comment, leaning close as you attach the leash to his collar, eyes flicking up to his, holding his heated gaze with your own for a moment longer than necessary.

“You’d look better, Angel.” He doesn’t know where the intent comes from, but he’s overcome with the need to know what was going on between you and his brother in his study. Though maybe he could have chosen a different time to bait you. Like when you don’t have your foot pressed over that incredibly sensitive part of him. You could inflict a lot of pain with the slightest of movements. Though he supposes that’s why you’ve positioned him as he is. At your mercy.

Surprisingly, the amusement remains in your eyes. “Careful, mutt. I had the sense you didn’t like that third item,” you drawl softly, and he knows you’re talking about the muzzle. “As I said before, if you’re going to refuse to play by my rules, you can walk out that door.”

He bites his tongue. He wants—needs to know what was going on between you and Az. What he’d whispered to you when he’d pushed you against his desk.

“As for your comment, I’m surprised you so readily admit to eavesdropping on us. Something grating at you?” There’s no way you don’t know. Not with the way you asked, not with that mocking lilt to your voice.

“Simply curious, ma’am.” He manages to keep his voice surprisingly even. You raise a brow, “he mentioned you had a jealous streak.” He hissed when you drag your heel over the ridge of his cock, making him twitch in anticipation.

But you lean forward, attaching the leash to his collar. Then your free foot presses against his shoulder, and you tug, sharply. He hisses at the pressure of the jerk, keeping his instinct in check. How easy would it be to just grab your ankles and spread you apart?

You know you’re wet. There’s no way you aren’t with the way he’s looking at you. As if he’s imagining every position he could be rutting into you, cock nestled deep inside of you. It’s enough to have your mouth parched. You can’t help yourself.

“What are you thinking about, pet?”

“I’m thinking about how good I could make you feel, ma’am.” As usual, his answer is full of unfaltering truth. Blatant, undeniable. You know he marks the spike in your temperature.

You jerk on his lead in reprimand for the bold statement. “You think it’s appropriate to be having those kind of thoughts about me, mutt?” You tug on his leash again, dragging him closer so your leg can hook over his broad shoulder. You can practically see the stillness overcome him, as your scent hits him. His eyes dart between your legs—he has an unobscured view, and he’s not wasting a second of it, eyes glued to the damp lace.

You tilt your head, allowing the tie of your night robe to come loose, revealing the sheer, matching gown beneath. “See something you like, pet?” He growls in response, and you hook your other leg over his shoulder, so he’s between your thighs. “I might be calling you an animal, but I should hope you’re still capable of an intellectual response.” You make a show of running your eyes over him, as if doubting your evaluation. “Using words, at least,” you amend.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words are guttural. His pupils fully dilated as they don’t budge from your concealed heat. You wonder what would happen if you told him to crawl for it. You get the strangest feeling he would, and it’s exhilarating. Maybe you can indulge yourself a little.

Humming, you slide your hand to his cheek, raising his jaw so he’s forced to look at you. “What is it you like the look of, hm? Maybe I’ll lay you have some.”

You’re being cruel. You know that. But you can’t resist brushing your calves against the tendon in his wings, getting off on how they shudder, but don’t tuck away. As if he wants you to touch him there. You oblige happily, running the pad of your heel up the great wing, skating over muscle and cartilage, and sensitive, sensitive skin.

He trembles beneath your touch, breathing shallowing. “You,” he groans. “I want some of you.”

His head spins lightly as you unhook yourself from his shoulders, sliding down off the mattress into his lap. “Disobey once more, pet,” you whisper over his lips, free hand now gripping his jaw, “and I’ll slap that muzzle on you faster than you can protest.” His hips roll beneath you, needing to feel more of your soft heat against him.

“Understand, bitch boy?” His pupils dilate at the title, nostrils flaring as he gets high on your scent. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, wanting so desperately to put his hands on you, feel the skin of your waist, how it will give a little beneath the pads of his fingers. “Good boy, Cassian.”

He shudders, the sound of his name on your lips making him twitch beneath you. “Undo them.” He’s not sure he heard you correctly.

You grip his jaw tighter, nails biting into the muscle of his jaw. It’s enough to set his shaky hands moving, fumbling with the strings.

You wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is pounding, if he can tell how desperately you need him. His scent is all around you, and you feel like you might go crazy. You need more. You need him inside of you, to have him tearing at your clothes, to have him snarling and biting for a chance to sink his teeth into you.

“That’s better,” you murmur over his mouth when he’s out. It’s an effort to keep from drooling at the sight of him. “Show me how you touch yourself, Cassian.”

His breath hitches as you shift on his lap, breasts grazing his chest as you lift to make room for his hand. Your eyes are piercing into him, as if you can read every despicable thought he’s ever had of you. And he knows you can see the vulnerability in his gaze as he wraps his hand around himself, he can’t hide from you.

Your eyes flicker as he begins stroking himself, slow, languid touches. Hard, and rough. As if he likes that edge of pain. One arms snakes over both his shoulders, the other hand cupping his jaw to keep him looking at you. “That’s a good dog,” you murmur, soothingly, and he allows the praise to wash over him. To sink into the marrow of his bones.

He looks at you quietly, a request in his eyes. Amusement dances in your gaze as you ignore it, but bring him closer. “You want a taste, mutt?” His attention narrows on your mouth, how your tongue flicks out to wet your lips. He’s panting softly, heat radiating from his body, and he groans as you roll your hips, pressing your abdomen against him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

You lower yourself to him, “gentle, Cassian.”

He follows compliantly, tugging softly on your lower lip, even if all he wants is to bite, and snap, and devour. He’s practically trembling with the effort of holding back.

He jolts, hissing when your hand encases the damp head of his cock, teeth sinking into your lip.

You tug sharply at the back of his collar, yanking him back so he can see the blood beading. His eyes widen marginally, “I’m sorry,” he breathes. It comes out quietly, hardly more than a whisper. But your tongue flicks over the puncture wound, and already it’s sealed.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Your lips press to his, firmly, hand still resting over his own as you pump him roughly. You moan softly into the kiss before pulling away. “Even purebreds would be put down for biting their master,” you drawl.

Cassian watches you silently, tensely.

“Bad dog,” you murmur, raising up onto your knees.

His head goes quiet as you raise your night gown, allowing him a glance of your wet heat as you pull the lace to the side. “I need you to be good, or I can’t give me to you, Cassian.” He growls, a sound deep in his chest, full of ravenous hunger. You tilt his chin, forcing him upright as you stare down at him. “You want me, don’t you?”

His pupils dilate further, lips parting slightly as he inhales your scent. “Want to sink into me, hm? You’ve got to be a good boy for that. Earn your rewards. Because that’s what I am to you, mutt. A reward.”

Cassian’s panting heavily, a light sheen over his skin as his temperature spikes, your thumb occasionally swiping beneath his tip, the up over his slit. Just as tight as he likes it. But he wants to be inside of you. In some way, anyway. Between your legs or in your mouth. Dear gods, he needs to feel the wet heat of you in some way.

“Isn’t that right, hell-hound?”

Cassian growls, so close to that edge. The soft, firmness of your hand. Perfectly showcasing yourself. The physical softness of your body, contrasted with the sharp talons that lie just beneath your surface. He’d gladly allow you to sink them into him.

Your brow narrows in distaste, before you’re pulling your hand away from him, raising fully onto your knees as you press yourself flush against his front, smushing yourself against the hard contours of his powerful body.

A sound between a snarl and a moan tears from his throat as you run your fingers down the base of his wings. Your back arches at the sound, and his head falls forward, burying himself in your breasts. You hum, satisfied with his reaction as you flush with feminine pleasure. Maybe you press against him a little tighter, allowing him more.

He can feel that wave cresting, reaching its peak, towering high as it prepares to sweep him away. Mind lost in the swirling euphoria you’ve worked him to.

A wave of magic bats his hand away, and suddenly he feels cold.

He hardly has time to comprehend that you’ve removed yourself from him, as his vision clears slightly, though it’s swaying. Enough for him to see you settling upon your bed, leaning back, spreading your legs, enabling him a perfectly erotic view as your gown hikes up your thighs. You kick off the white lace, and all he can seem to focus on is your gleaming, hot, wet, heat. So ready for him, so ready for his fingers to pump and curl, his tongue to lap and flick, for him to slam his cock into you, bury himself so deep he’ll be more that six feet under.

“Have a taste, Cassian.”

An animal snarl rips from him as he forgets his own pleasure, fingers biting into your thighs, surely bruising as he shoves between your pretty legs, needing to finally set his mouth on you—

Your fingers flick toward him and you moan, the muzzle snapping over his mouth and nose, locking at the back of his head just before he came into contact with you, the mechanism rubbing against your heat instead of his tongue. His eyes go wide. You’ve completely knocked him off his feet on this new battlefield, legs wrapping over his broad shoulders, sliding between the two great wings at his back as you lock him in place.

Magic snares his wrists, tying them tight behind him as he’s suddenly completely at your mercy.

“I don’t tolerate disobedience, mutt.” You say, coolly. He snarls, struggling but your magic is pressing in on him. You give him a look of mock sympathy, “all you had to do was remember some damned manners, mongrel.” But when pain flickers in his eyes—soul pain—you thread your fingers through his hair. Your expression remains displeased, but your touch is soft; affectionate, brushing down to his cheek, skating around the edge of his muzzle.

“Do you know better now, mutt?” You ask coldly, peering down at the great male you have trapped between your legs. How badly you want that contraption off him, so you can kiss and mouth at him, have him between your legs. “Yes, ma’am,” he grits out, lip curling back.

“I don’t think you have,” you reply nonchalantly. “I think you’re being greedy. I think you’re trying to get into my good books again so you can take advantage of me.” Your hand ducks beneath his chin, raising him a little, but roughly. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s what you are,” you stare down at him, allowing him to see the heat in your eyes, “a wolf.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze is fierce, starving hunger blazing in the hazel depths.

Your heart kicks up a pace, as your lips twitch.

You lay back, propping yourself up on one forearm as you drag your hand down yourself, settling at the hem of your gown. Then dipping further.

Cassian let’s put a sound that’s a mix of a groan and a whimper, his eyes glued to your cunt as your fingers dip between your legs. “Like the view?” You whisper, middle and fifth finger spreading yourself, slippery with arousal. “Don’t you just want to set your mouth on her, huh? Drag your tongue over me? Until you drown in her release?” He struggles again and you tut, summoning his leash to be beside you, using your magic to tug him closer, the muzzle pressing flush against your heat.

You roll your hips over it, and you swear Cassian’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull with arousal. You laugh softly, sultrily. “If you try hard enough, you might be able to lick it up.” He’s so nearly lost his mind. You’ve worked him up into a rage of lust, his vision unclear as he presses forward, as if he might be able to get closer.

You moan softly at the pressure, how his head shifts and the wide rubbery bars roll against your clit. You bite your lip as you kick off your heels, dragging your feet up his back as you press him into you, raising your hips. Then you drag one foot higher, brushing it against your wings and his moans. He moans so deeply, so desperately, the sound so raw you aren’t sure you can keep teasing him like this. Not with your own orgasm now on the line.

But instead of allowing him off the lead, you drag him back a little, forcing him to watch as you rub the pad of your middle finger over the top of your clit. Once…twice…then you dip down, coating your two middle-most digits in slick, and you sink them into your heat. Your back arches lightly and he growls with the need for it to be his fingers instead. It needs to be him inside of you.

You force his gaze to yourself, lead tugging on him to drag his attention from your slick heat. “You want to be inside her, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Guttural. Raspy. Husky.

“Too bad I don’t let mangy mutts in my bed.” You can smell his arousal. That deep, masculine scent that only serves to make you wetter and wetter. His arousal is appetising.

“No,” you growl, “I want something better. Something stronger. Something to make my eyes blind and my senses weep. Something to take me so hard I scream. Something so deep, and raw, that I have nothing left.”

The muzzle vanishes and he dives forward but the lead keeps balancing his force in the opposite direction. Your fingers pull from your heat, threads of silvery slick connecting them before you grip his jaw.

It’s hell for him. Hell and heaven all wrapped in one. You’re so near, so utterly around him, filling every sense, and your cunt is right before him, your slick coating your fingers and he just needs one taste one taste and then he’ll be okay just one taste—

“Can you be that something for me?”

“Yes,” he sobs. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your lips hitch into a small grin, and your magic releases him. “Good boy, Cassian.”

He surges forward, tongue dragging up your centre, flicking and sucking and licking as he tastes and tastes and you fill him up you encompass him while and it’s not enough it’s not enough—

The breath is snatch from his lungs as he’s unleashed upon you. He’s mad. Raging with masculine delight as he devours his female. His female. His.

He goes between your legs, but needs more, pulling away to shove your gown away from your skin, revealing your breasts—nearly tearing the fabric in the process. His teeth nip and bite, tongue flicking, hands gripping you. And then he’s kissing you, swallowing your flavour, both hands roaming all over you: groping your chest, thumbing your nipples—pinching them. He drags his hands down your front, wings flaring in an inherent display of dominance, and he knock something over but neither of you care. His mouth opens over your throat, teeth biting into you as his arms snake around your back, feeling the soft, warm press of your body against his own.

Moans spill from your lips as you allow your head to fall back, thighs parting invitingly, legs wrapping around his hips as you drag him closer. He grinds against you, getting himself covered in your slick before pressing the tip to your entrance. And pushes in. Even in the midst of his hunger he’s careful, going in slowly, a few inches at a time until he’s as far in as he can fit and you don’t exaggerate the moan he pulls from you.

You’re gasping, and he’s panting deeply, heavily. And he looks at you as he draws his hips back, then slams in. You melt in his arms, liquidate until it’s only him keeping your together. He’s pounding into you, going to the hilt every time, filling you with sunlight, and heat, and all the other lovely things that make you’re heart thunder with vivacious life.

“Cassian…!” You gasp, his cock touching that spot within you. At your keen, he shoves you further up the bed, hand dropping to your ass as he orders you to raise your hips. You do, and practically sob when he aims for that spot, rubbing it, abusing it over and over as his thumb finds you clit. He groans in response, twitching inside of you.

“I—…” he growls as you clamp down on him, arms snaking around his shoulders, fingers touching his wings as you bring his mouth to yours. You understood him well enough. He’s about to collapse, spill into you with the force he’s promised to you.

And he does, your own release following as thick, hot liquid shoots into you, spurting from him in rivulets. Your lips part in a gasp, and he snarls when your hands graze his wings, the overstimulation already too much.

You pant heavily, basking in the aftermath of his pleasure. Your own pleasure, too. You’re not sure if you were fully conscious for the entirety of your release, with how hard he forced you to come.

He’s still inside of you, and you’ll be happy if he never leaves. Remains planted deep within your heat. He’s breathing erratically still, and his eyes flick to your mouth, as if he wants to—

The leash goes taut, and his mouth is hauled to yours as you open for him, allowing him past that line. He understands, too, moving softer, more tentatively as his tongue flicks at your roof, hands lightly gripping your waist to keep you against him.

When you finally pull apart, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold yourself together. You don’t want to confess your feelings to him while experiencing the high of your orgasm. Things like that need to be thought through.

“That was…good.” He breathes, and you manage to narrow your brows at him—somehow. “It was better than good, and you know it.” The collar and lead vanish, freeing him, but he doesn’t try to move away. Instead he kisses you again, at the slow, steady pace. As if he’s taking his time feeling you out.

But he pulls away, swallowing, “about you and Azriel—”

You grimace, “I really do not want to hear his name while you’re still inside me, Cass.” He winces and moves to pull out. You growl softly, tightening your grip on his hips, keeping him nice and warm. “So that means, don’t talk about him.”

He watches you, wariness creeping into his eyes.

Oh. Right.

He saw you in his study.

You sigh. “Your brother’s a dick. You know that?” Cassian’s own brow narrows in confusion. “He knew you were out there,” you state plainly. “You heard what he said, about getting us to collide.”

His lips part silently as he connects the dots. “Az was the one who suggested I talk to you,” he says, softly. “He knew I—”

Heat flushes your cheeks, heart-rate spiking. You hand grips his silky black hair, tugging slightly. “Finish that sentence.” He shifts inside of you and you suck in a breath.

He presses closer to you, front flushing tight against you, hips firmly between yours as he noses at your neck: the various bite marks. He inhales softly, as if getting his courage from you before pulling back.

“He knows I want you. That I…still…want you. Badly.”

Holy Mother.

Your heart’s practically in your throat as you nod in agreement. “He knew about me, too.” His eyes flick to yours, surprised. It gives you the push you need. “I’ve been after you for a while. I figured you weren’t interested.”

Incredulity flashes in his gaze. “How could I not want you?” He breathes, softly. His arms tighten around you, pressing deeper inside of you, heat flushing your skin. But you purse your lips, attempting to regain your composure, “you’ve never shown any intent before.”

“How was I supposed to? You were always so…distant. I thought that was your way of saying you weren’t looking for anything like that. That you’d just find it annoying to have a male panting after you.” He admits, quietly.

“I see.” You watch him silently, his lips twitching.

“Is that you being affectionate?” You swallow, looking away. “I sometimes forget to shift my expression. That’s my fault, I suppose. I didn’t want you to see how much of a mess I am.” His brow knots, hand cupping your cheek, “you’re not a mess. Not a bad one, at least.”

“I don’t like being out of control, Cassian. What you do to me, how you make me feel…I don’t like it. It’s too much. I don’t know how to manage all of it.”

“And that’s why you always seemed so cold,” he finishes.

“I didn’t mean to come off as harsh. I was supposed to appear put together. Steady, so you’d look at me and think, she knows what’s she’s doing. She has a purpose.” You peer up at him, and he sees that vulnerability in your eyes.

“I wanted you to look at me and see someone impressive. I wanted you to think I was strong, and independent. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, and the easiest way of accomplishing that is by doing everything myself. I don’t want you to think I’m someone who needs help.” You’re unaccustomed to this sort of intimacy. The dangerous, barbed emotional kind.

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help, though. Hell, I came to you for it.” His thumb strokes you cheek, and your eyelids flutter closed, leaning into him. “I want to help you, where I can. I want to do things to make life easier for you. I don’t want you to go through it on your own.” He brushes his nose over yours, lips grazing your own, your eyes still shut. “I want to be the person you come to when you’re struggling. I want you to want me. To want to…to want to be around me.”

“I do,” you reply. “It’s a near constant need I have no idea what to do with. It’s a pain and I don’t know how to stop it.” Your hands tangle in his hair, his mouth slanting over yours.

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[materassassino]

Maybe 'flower' or 'study' for the one-word prompts?

I tried for 'flower', but it wasn't quite working, so I switched to 'study' instead.

One word prompts!

---

Nicolò groans, his head falling forward onto the table. His stylus slips from his fingers, his wax tablet discarded. Yusuf peers at it, eyebrows raised.

“Trouble with the abjad?” he says lightly, a smile dancing on his lips.

Nicolò turns his head, just enough to reveal one eye. Its eyebrow is drawn low in a potent scowl. Yusuf raises his hands in mock defence.

“Peace! I jest!”

Nicolò raises his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “How do you do it so effortlessly?” he asks, and if Yusuf did not know him better, he would say that was a pout he was sporting.

“Do what?” Yusuf replies. “I do many things effortlessly: wield my sword, bargain with great skill, write poetry, suck your soul from your prick… you shall have to be more specific.” He cannot help but grin at the blush he gains from his plain speaking. The metaphors and euphemisms of great poetry have their place, but sometimes it pays to have the subtlety of a charging elephant.

“Learn languages,” Nicolò mutters, his flow of thought clearly being dragged forcefully back to where Yusuf’s words made it wander. “Wherever we go you take to the local tongue as if you came from the womb speaking it, and I sound like a simpleton.” He picks up his stylus and pokes at the table top, making tiny holes in it.

It is both the most petulant and the most despondent Yusuf has ever seen him. His Nicolò is a master of patience and hard work, and his dedication usually pays off. To see his frustrations so openly and plainly, well… It feels, in truth, like a privilege. He is humbled by it.

He reaches over and sets his hand on Nicolò’s, stilling his movements.

“You excel at a great many things, Nico,” he says gently. “You take to music quickly. You discern recipes from a single taste. Animals love you, and children too. Your kindness is as boundless as the sky. Show yourself some of the kindness you show others.”

Nicolò looks at him. He does not seem convinced, and Yusuf heart aches.

“We have all been given gifts and aptitudes, and we have all been given shortcomings. You know I cannot hold a tune for all the gold in the world, and every single camel on God’s Earth hates me on sight.”

The corner of Nicolò’s mouth twitches at that.

“They really do hate you,” he says, and Yusuf counts that as a victory.

“It is fine, I have your love to get me by,” he says, waving a hand. “But what I mean is… you work so very hard, my heart. You dedicate yourself to learning and improving, even when it is difficult. I give up too soon when things do not come easily, I have no constancy. You… you keep to the path, even when it is difficult, and you take my hand and guide me well. I admire you greatly for that.”

“I hope at least in your love you will be constant,” Nicolò says tartly, making Yusuf snort inelegantly. He lifts Nicolò’s hand and kisses the knuckles.

“Always.” He raises his eyes. “And will you be patient with yourself, as you are with me?”

Nicolò sighs, quiet for a long moment. “I will be.”

Yusuf beams at him. “Splendid! But enough study for today, let us go out.”

He springs to his feet, pulling Nicolò with him.

“Where to?” Nicolò asks.

“There is something in the market I need you to try. I want the recipe.” Yusuf presses a kiss to Nicolò’s lips before dragging him out into the mid-afternoon sunshine.

[password-door-lock]

Naturally, Unknown did not expect, when he brought you back to Magenta, that you’d be so glib about the whole affair. You talked and joked with him on the car ride here, apparently unaware of (or, at the very least, unperturbed by) the blindfold covering your eyes. You didn't seem at all fazed by his rough handling as he steered you through the compound itself, and you even complimented the design of his crisp white suit. So perhaps Unknown should’ve been prepared for your reaction when he finally took off your blindfold in the intelligence room. 

Instead, he’s a little caught off guard by the way you move your hand up to cover your mouth and stifle your laughter. “Oh my god,” you giggle.

“I told you I had a present for you here in paradise,” Unknown points out, trying to sound smooth and unbothered. He doesn’t understand what you’re laughing at. The gift he picked out for you might be simple, but he feels it suits the occasion and fits your interests well enough, 

“Yep,” you manage between giggles, kneeling down to examine the gift that Unknown left out for you. “It’s just… earlier, I thought you were hitting on me.”

Unknown thinks back to your compliant behavior throughout this entire ordeal. “And you went along with it.” Apparently, this whole time, you’ve had some sort of crush on him. Maybe if he’d known what to look for, he would’ve picked up on the signs. 

“Um, yeah?” Your amused expression has transmuted into one of disbelief. “Anyway, what was I supposed to think? You called me and told me to entertain you with my frightened face!”

“Yes,” Unknown confirms. He did, in fact, say that, which might explain why you’d think he was interested in you. In your defense, he is interested in you— but he doesn’t see how that would be mutually exclusive with the gift he’s given you. “But I also said I had a present for you, prince(ss). Did you think I was lying?”

“I thought it was a euphemism,” you admit, “Like, ‘yes, hello, cutie, I have a little gift for you,’” You lower your voice into an annoyingly passable impression of Unknown’s most seductive sneer. He really did not expect this when he brought you to paradise, but perhaps he should’ve seen it coming. “And then you’d go in for the kiss.”

“Would you rather have that kind of present instead, cutie?” Unknown drawls, establishing himself in a languid leaning position against the wall. Despite himself, he’s looking forward to hearing your answer. You have the absolute audacity to giggle at him. 

“God, you’re so cute,” you observe without malice. To your great fortune, Unknown discovers that he doesn’t mind being labeled as something so trifling as cute when you’re the one doing the labeling. Still, you shouldn’t press your luck. “I think I’ll be keeping the socks,” you decide, picking up the parcel and carefully removing the red ribbon tied around it so as not to damage the bow. Unknown feels gratified that you’re pleased with his handiwork— he did spend several minutes following a metube tutorial to dress the present that way— though his heart sinks at the knowledge that he’s apparently missed his chance for a kiss. “The penguin print is really cute, and anyway, I didn’t bring any luggage. These socks are the only change of clothes I have.”

Unknown chafes a bit at your decision to describe a pair of penguin-print socks with the same adjective you just used on him, even if you did mean it as a compliment. “I can get you clothes to wear.”

“If you want,” you flop down in Unknown’s desk chair, looking unfairly attractive. “But… since you gave me a present, shouldn’t I get you something in return?” You fashion your lips into a pout, being obvious and really altogether corny.

But, then again, Unknown is a man who tried to lure you to paradise with a pair of novelty holiday socks from a department store Christmas bin. Clearly, corniness is not a dealbreaker for him. “What did you have in mind, sweetheart?” 

You shudder at his tone. Then you have the nerve to say, “I was thinking maybe some Christmas tree socks?”

Unknown turns around to face the wall, against which he presses his forehead. “Okay.” He had thought you’d want to kiss him. After all, you seemed so eager when you arrived. But he’s not interested in pushing for something that you don’t want to do. 

“I’m kidding,” you announce, “Let’s make out. I left my wallet at the apartment, anyway. If I got you the socks, I would have to steal them, and then we’d both get in trouble.” 

Unknown is so excited to follow your suggestion that he ignores the second part of your utterance entirely. The placement of your wallet is a topic to be explored at a later date.

[lopposting]

Some more Lies of P translation notes!

Some cool translation details that I thought were fun that didn't fit anywhere else.

[long!]

[Spoilers]

In the Korean version, Geppetto is speaking an "old-fashioned"/archaic form of Korean to reflect the time period that the game is set in

Set around the turn of the century (late 1800s), mimicking the Belle Époque of France's industrial revolution, we can guess that the game's events take place during the late 1800s. Given Geppetto's status as "old geezer", we can guess that he's closer to 100 than not, so he would have been born around the early 1800s. I might not be completely accurate - basically, he's speaking as an elderly person might speak in current time to culturally reflect his age; other times I notice he's using some words that are now out of use.

From the game's initial trailer:

깨어나거라, 아들아. 이제 이 아비를 기쁘게 해다오. Wake up, son. Make this father happy/proud.

The word he uses for "father" is "Abi" (아비), which is an archaic word for "father". In current day, korean speakers would generally use "Abeoji" (아버지).

The -gura(거라)/-DaOh(다오) conjugation is also an additional syllable that has since fallen out of use, or is considered archaic, in current korean:

아들아, 네 심장을 다오. Son, give me your heart.

하지만 알아 다오, 나는 너도 사랑했단다. But know this, I loved you too. English VA version: In my own way, I grew to love you.

This is also apparent in Geppetto's final letter at the end:

우릴 방해할 자는 이제 없을 거란다. 너를 위한 크라트를 다시 만들어주마. (-juma, Supposedly, only a "superior" speaker can use -juma) 그때까지 호텔에 조심해서 머물러 다오. 너를 누구보다도 아끼는 아버지가.

He also uses the -Oh ending again. (although he does call himself "Abeoji" 아버지 here and not "abi" like the trailer. He uses "Abi" again in another instance when responding to a guesture)

It's a very cool detail to me. I think it's a bit missed opportunity that, as far as I know, the english version doesn't seem to reflect this! Although to be fair, I'm struggling to imagine how they would. 19th century english/french maybe isn't as different or isn't different in the same ways from "modern" english that 19th century Korean would be from "modern" Korean. [Well, my only education on this stuff is from watching episodes of Dae Jang Geum]. I haven't checked to see if any other character (like Antonia) speaks this way. [Pls message me if Geppetto also speaks like this in your or any other language version!!]

Lies of P, Blood, puns, and the P-Organ

The P-Organ, in Korean, is referred to as the P기관. 기관 (gi-gwan), however, doesn't necessarily correlate directly to the word "Organ": It's quite an interesting word to choose because it can refer to any system of moving parts, both organic or mechanical; and it can mean an organ, a machine, or even a governmental body or institute.

As you may have heard by now, the game's titular pun revolves around the fact that the english character for P sounds the word for "blood" in korean (피), making the title (P의 거짓 P-ie Geojit?) read like Lies of Blood, in a nutshell. The title Lies of Blood then fits into the becoming-real flesh-and-blood themes of the game, perhaps also suggests that the deception in Krat has cost the lives of many - and, of course, references the lying of the titular character, who is inferred to be none other than (P)inocchio! So, in Korean, the P-Organ (P기관) becomes something like the Blood Engine. Which rather sounds like a euphemism for a heart!

[Perhaps: It's also a bit of narrative that Geppetto refuses to refer to it as our heart, unless he refers to it as belonging to Carlo.]

In English, this wordplay no longer exists, and so it's rather awkwardly literally translated (as the P-Organ).

How do you say, "NEOWIZ"?

I've seen a few people ask about the pronunciation of NEOWIZ (Lies' publishing company). Hangul is phonetic, so you could (technically) say the official pronunciation of NEOWIZ (네오위즈) is Nae-Oh Wiz and not Neo (like the Matrix character) -wiz.

However [in my opinion], I don't think this matters, because when something is translated to another language, it often takes the pronunciation of the language it is read in. Kind of like how in english you would read the capital of France correctly as Paris (with an S sound at the end), and not "Pari" (french pronunciation).

Also, Krat is consistently pronounced by in-game characters as "Krot" (Long O, rhymes with "Cot" or "Not") in the english version. In the game korean releases, "Krat" is written as 크라트, which would be pronounced and read as "Krat" (short A, rhymes with "Rat" or "Cat").

[I think the devs also say "Krat" too. The rounder "O" pronunciation of "A" in words seem like more of a European pronunciation in general]

The "Youngest of the Black Rabbit Brotherhood" and Gender

In Korean culture, Age is particularly significant in both Korean social hierarchy and language, and the role/position of being the youngest in a group is a particular role known as being the "maknae" (I mean, I definitely think this also exists in the western world, people definitely would understand being the "youngest" one in your family, but it's slightly different from that).

Despite being a member of the brotherhood, she refers to her brothers as "Oppa", which is when the word "brother" is used by female speakers to an older male subject (Remember Gangnam style?) [A male speaker would use "Hyung". I debated putting this one in, because to me, it seemed kind of obvious, but I did see others asking about this.]

[Given that the developers are from a korean studio, I am choosing to believe that the subtitles provided by the game's "korean" version are the text/script as originally written intended by the developers!]

[scienceoftheidiot]

"LET EDWARD SAY FUCK!",

I read in people's tags, often.

And it bugs me every time. Because, in the French translation of the manga, EVERYONE more or less says fuck or something equivalent.

I'll make a specific post maybe one day if I end up documenting those instance for other characters, but this week I saw this post by @manga-and-stuff (I hope you don't mind me using parts of your pics! Tell me if you want me to take them down) and it struck me. Because I know this scene by heart. And I knew French Hughes sounded a LOT MORE pissed and scared than English Hughes, to me. And no, it's not a matter of native/non native language, I consider myself good enough with English to be over this kind of things.

Let's have a look.

What striked me first and lead to me investingating this are the censoring symbols. I KNEW they weren't there in French, and I was curious. Was he really swearing? So I went to look in my manga (Perfect Edition).

Hughes literally says "you are breaking my [balls]" in French. [Balls], because he's using a kids-friendly euphemism ("bonbons"= candies; this is such a kids friendly one that one of the Rugrats characters is called "Casse-bonbons" in French, but I digress).

Thanks to my partner in crime @qs63, we could compare this to the Japanese version

Disclaimer : I don't speak Japanese, so I'm relying on @qs63's knowledge, but if you have corrections to make please tell us in comments !!

So, anyway. It seems Japanese Hughes uses the word "mendokusai", which is an expression of annoyance, not very slang-y but not necessarily very nice. But not worth censoring ! In this way, the French choice to use mild/childish slang there is I think closer to the original.

Other thing in these panels, the different levels of speech used by English and French Hughes. French has more flexibility regarding levels/formality in language, which I think I have already touched upon. When in English you have "Hurry up!", in French you have an entirely different word from the littéral translation of this ("dépêchez vous"), with "grouillez vous", which is familiar/slang speech, but isn't really that vulgar (it's not like "Hurry the fuck up", but that's a word you'd use when you're very pissed and in a real hurry).

And last but not least.

Hughes's last word(s).

English : "oh my god"

French : "bordel"

lit. : "brothel", which is here used as "fuck" or "shit" - I would argue "bordel" is stronger than those, but I don't know if other French people would think the same. I use it often, but I'm known for my foul mouth.

Japanese : 糞くそ垂たれ • (kusotare) (alternative reading hiragana くそったれ, rōmaji kusottare)(rude) a dingleberry (a clump of feces hanging near the anus)

(vulgar, derogatory) a dingleberry, an asshole, a shithead (used as an insult)

(vulgar) shit, fuck, goddammit

(using what you've given me, @qs63 thank you so much)

All this to say : Hughes is canonically saying fuck as his last word, and English translation has decided to censor it, and I think this is sad. This feels almost like a different character when I read the English and French side to side, and I wonder how it is for Roy, who has a very distinctive way to chose his words in French (either too formal or too informal/slang-y for what he's currently saying), and I know he uses a weird honorific for himself in Japanese (watashi, formal I, when most of his speech is informal, which makes for an odd combination, and might be there to signal he thinks highly of himself).

(Once again notice how French has it easier to translate this because of our more formal/informal variations)

Let Edward say fuck? Let everyone say fuck and stay closest as you can to the original writing, PLEASE !

(no offense to translators, you know I love you friends. I'm convinced this is not the will of the translator, but rather the will of the publisher, as US stuff is a lot more sanitized, especially in things they deem "for children". At least that's how it seems from this side of the Atlantic.)

Here you go. Please add to this if you want !!! I'd love to know about more translations or if you have some insight to add about the Japanese part !

[sophieinwonderland]

The more I see of ecos-syscourse the harder I find it to believe they aren’t a troll or arguing in bad faith. Or just really naive ?? Like asking if you’ve (general) ever watched a movie to say that you were saying you want that friend group dead. And when someone said that posting an ask saying you support radqueers was irresponsible eco tagged it with something about ‘whenever there’s a Jew involved’ ??? Ridiculous .

Also, on a somewhat side-note, his stance of needing to be nice to anti-endos is so frustrating. Like, yes, sometimes anti-endos are just misinformed. But if you have a dedicated system blog, where you frequent syscourse, how long can you use that as a defence? If you participate in a hate campaign to take down, bully, hate, etc endos and pro endos, how far can you use that as a defence?

As a transgender system, and also autistic, this sort of talk gets really fucking tiring quick. I have been bullied, harassed, excluded, told to die, had laws pushed against my existence, etc. but I have to constantly approach everyone with kindness and respect? The same respect they couldn’t even consider giving me?

I have been trying to be nice to tranphobes, ableists and sysmeds for so long, and do you know how many people have changed their minds or shown my even a small fraction of that kindness and understanding back? I think you could guess.

Really!

Context for those who are just joining:

I wasn't even the one who use the word gone!!!!!!! They were!!!!!!

Like just... the "logic" here is maddening!

Saying a community is worse off with people who hate that community in it sounds like you want them gone -> "Gone" is used as a euphemism in movies for wanting people dead sometimes -> therefore you want them dead.

I don't understand how anyone could possibly think like that!

On the anti-endo thing though, it's not just them. I see this idea pop up a lot in syscourse that tries to frame sysmeds as just being "misinformed."

And it just makes me wonder if people have been paying attention at all.

If somebody is legitimately just misinformed, you can share accurate information and change their mind pretty easily that way!

When you can't correct them, when those people have been given multiple chances to change their minds and still double down, when they've been shown source after source proving they're wrong and it changes nothing... it's because they're committed to hate. Because the hateful views are entrenched. It's not just being misinformed when you cling to those views even in the face of accurate information.

It's willful ignorance.

Maybe there are some anti-endos who are just simply misinformed and open to changing their minds when presented with new information. But experience has taught me that the vast majority won't. When presented with the choice between facts and hate, they will choose hate every time.

(That's not to say sysmeds can't eventually change their minds. Many have. But the process to change their minds would be long and more akin to cult deprogramming than to simply correcting misinformation.)

[ultragift]

FROM: @vicesario

TOO: @warriorkorion

vicesario ultrakill secret santa 2023

New Girl, Same Mistakes

Perhaps it is that machines first came upon Hell as intruders, as colonizers and scavengers, that explains why God refuses to allow you all a true afterlife. Or perhaps you had never been factored by Him in the first place, forgotten like so much scrap. He isn’t nearly as infallible as your makers thought He was, as your journey through Hell had proven time and time again.

Before you were more than a memory without their body, musings on the nature of your immortal soul rarely took up even a fraction of your RAM. Ever since your mirror image so thoroughly humiliated and terminated you, you scarcely have data dedicated to much else. It’s disgraceful, is what it is, a weapon with no purpose left stewing in maudlin navel-gazing. You can already picture what your mirror would have said—or, you suppose, would have thought of it. What little it did communicate was via close-range wireless data transmissions, emphasis on little. It wasn’t much for conversation towards the end.

“Do you suppose we were given the capacity to converse for any specific reason?” you say musingly, more to the air than to a particular person. “Converse in the horribly inecient and verbal sense that Homo sapiens understood the concept, to clarify.”

“V2, are you kind of a bitch by accident or by choice?” Mirage says to you, not unkindly. “Sorry. Joke. Stop trying to distract me and put the skirt on.”

“I wasn’t only doing it for your benefit,” you say, sounding more petulant than you’d prefer. “And it’s the latter. Your jokes are my seriously considered queries.” You take the lump of fabrics she’s been holding out to you for the past 4.59 minutes and slip into a flimsy drywall cubicle, a bench and mirror (an actual one, no euphemism here) sitting opposite to the door. A changing room.

Mirage has been insisting you finally get some clothes of your own for 3.6 weeks now. (You bitterly note that V1 has likely cleared through all of Hell a minimum of eighteen times over at this point.) When you first arrived here, in this mockery of purgatory, you thought that you could just do without. Objectively, you had no practical need for garments, and you (according to your makers, at least) had enough in the way of charm that you didn’t need any additional humanizing factors. Of course, that had been in comparison to your predecessor. Mirage, who seems to almost delight in ineciency, is lively and self-possessed to a degree that it only seems natural that she be allowed such an indulgence. In any case, you figured that since you had no personal want for clothing up until that point, there would be no reason for that to change anytime soon.

You had figured wrong. Only a week in and you were raiding Mirage’s wardrobe near daily. Big skirts, tattered sweaters, slip dresses. It was comforting, being and having something clearly hers. She just assumed it was you warming up to the idea of being a person and not a tool, and you let her. There’s no reason to admit the actual reason, to her or yourself.

Three sharp raps sound out. “Hey, don’t take all day in there. However you look, it can't be worse than anything I wore in high school. Uniforms really fuck up a girl’s sense of style. I mean, it’s not like the sta gave two shits about us ‘adhering to dress code’ or whatever, I don’t think I ever tucked my shirt in even once back then, not to mention how a third of the girls were wearing mini pencil skirts that just so happened to have the same print as our actual skirts—”

Quickly shrugging on a loose blouse over your retracted wings and zipping up the floor-length skirt, you pull the door open without ceremony, holding your arm out and performing a gently exasperated twirl. “What of it?”

A full agonizing minute ticks by as she surveys you without a word. It’s highly disconcerting - you should be used to silence such as this by now, neither you nor your double were fond of overspeaking. Mirage is, though, and already you’ve gotten used to her filling any and all silences with paragraphs worth of dialogue. Why isn’t she saying anything? What did you do wrong? How do you fix this?

You're about to vocalize these questions when Mirage speaks up again. “You look good.” Before you can think too hard about what she just said, an even larger lump of fabrics gets shoved into your arms and she shoos you back into the dressing room. “Now come on, try the rest on! I was joking about you taking all day, by the way, I don’t think the shopkeep cares too much about us being in here for too long. They’re probably thankful for the business. This street’s been pretty deserted for a few years now, actually, ever since that oce center got demolished...”

You let her go on as you cycle through the rest of the clothes, trying and failing to ignore the pit of shame that’s been slowly growing inside you ever since you’ve met her. Perhaps a true heaven or even limbo was never in the cards for you, considering everything you’ve done at the behest of your makers (and, more disgracefully, your survival and your ego), but Mirage certainly didn’t care. Befriending you, taking you in, helping you repair yourself, and now this. Your ill-gotten psychopomp has been kinder than you deserve.

What have you done ever since you arrived here? You’ve moped. You’ve lazed. You’ve languished in your failure. You are a tool that’s been sulking about having broken itself. You can’t even muster up the will to be worth anything to someone who thought to keep you anyway.

Before you can fully process it, you find yourself saying, “Mirage. What’s the point of all this?”

You’ve closed the door, so all you have to go o to guess at her mood is her voice. It sounds lighthearted, if a touch weary. “Hah, isn’t that a question I’ve heard before.”

“I’m serious,” you say, sounding far too needy. “What was the point of—of harbouring me like this?”

“What, is it so hard for you to believe I’m just a good samaritan?” 1.26 seconds passes of silence, and then she chuckles. “Maybe it is, actually. I mean, I’m trying to be less of a caustic asshole? Thank you for putting up with me through all that.”

What is she talking about? “You are the nicest person I’ve ever met,” you say quietly.

Mirage laughs immediately this time. “Low fucking bar I’m reaching, eh? I get that you’ve only mentioned your nightmare ex a couple times around me—” (“I have never called V1 my ex,” you say, not entirely truthfully) “—but if that’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend before I showed up, I shudder to think of what you consider a personal enemy.”

“I don’t consider the two to have much of a dierence,” you say. “We’d both be vying for something or another either way.” Quickly, you add on, “Didn’t. Didn’t consider the two to have much of a dierence. It’s not like that with you.”

“That you have to specify that makes me suspicious.” She sighs (something that you still don’t entirely understand how her voice module is capable of), and then continues, “Alright, V2, what’s eating you? You’ve been weird ever since we got here. Am I making you uncomfortable? I know I kind of pushed you into getting your own stu, but if you don’t want to that’s fine—”

“No! No. It really isn’t like that.” Your fist repeatedly clenches and unclenches. “I just—I don’t know what I’m meant to do for you in return for all this. You’re owed far more than I could give.”

She’s disconcertingly quiet once more, but it’s only for less than a second. “I’m gonna come in, okay? Is that good with you?”

You don’t wait, you just open the door for her. She squeezes your arm as she pulls you down to sit next to her on the bench. She says to you, “And here I was worried that I was imposing myself on you. Don’t be stupid, V2, I’m not, what, tallying favours and assigning point values to them? What’s all this about being ‘owed’?”

That can’t be how that works. “You misunderstand me. Fundamentally, I am not an emancipated creature.” “That is such bullshit,” Mirage scos. “I’m not one of your devs or engineers. This isn’t hell. There’s nothing

concrete we’re supposed to be doing or working towards.” She still hasn’t let go of your arm. “You make it sound so simple,” you mutter. “You’ve never known any other reality.”

“Doesn’t mean I fully got that, though.” She moves her hand away to fold it in her lap, and you feel strangely lonely. “And I forget often. It’s not a revelation I learned easily, and I’m asking a lot of you to learn it too. But it has to happen.”

There must be something in the way you’re holding yourself, perhaps something in the tilt of your head that makes Mirage suddenly stand up and casually brush o imaginary dirt from her pants. “Well then, we’ve probably passed our limit on ‘socially acceptable in-store loitering’. Any of these catch your eye? If you want my take on it, I really like this sweatshirt on you...”

The two of you pay for a handful of items without incident (or, Mirage pays and you linger awkwardly a step behind her), and it’s only when you’re halfway home that you think to say to her, “At the very least, let me do something in return for the clothes. There’s monetary value involved there, something that can be fully quantified.”

“Take me on a date,” she says immediately. “Butterfly conservatory trip. Riding the subway halfway across the city and back. Visiting that consignment store on 9th.”

Good. Those are actionable objectives. Finally, something that makes sense to you. “Of course.” “Hey, wait, that was a joke. V2, that was a joke.”

If you chart your path correctly, you could even get all three done in a day. “Too late. Your jokes are my itineraries.”

“Ugh, you’re an asshole.” She takes hold of your arm once more, and the rest of her slots into your side that’s worth having lost two arms for. Potentially more, but you’re not about to let her know that. “Let’s call it the one favour you’re allowed to owe me.”

[telomeke]

Dear @airenyah I love this so much! 😍 Thanks for tagging me and for this in-depth analysis of the wordplay in My School President. If this write-up is anything to go by, I'm sure you'll ace your Bachelor's thesis too! 🤩

Your explanation above also confirms what I've long thought – that Thai is a language that often plays a lot with its words. Given the variety of homonyms and levels of formality, it's possible to spin phrases out into all manner of double entendres, especially when it comes to teasing, or slipping in barbs and jibes.

When the context is more relaxed (as was the case with TinnGun's aquarium date) you get to use it to have fun. But in situations where certain standards of decorum have to be strictly maintained, accomplished wordsmiths can lean into wordplay to convey displeasure, annoyance, amusement or levity in subtler ways than you might expect when cultural strictures on social communication would prevent this from being done more overtly. And I am of the opinion that a number of Thai BLs really take this to the next level. 😍

Tinn also did this with Gun at Ep.9 [3I4] 9.00 (when their conversation at the beach strangely linked songwriting and getting married in the same sentence – more info written up here), and PatPran did lots of it in Bad Buddy too (hello khanom jeep and khanom thong yod my beloveds! 💖). There's also the ai-saat finger-splashing and luk chin in both BBS and The Eclipse, though I'm not sure of the exact wordplay at work with the meatballs (it means something like baby, babe or loved one, I'm guessing – which is why Pat says to Wai in BBS at Ep.6 [2/4] 9.00 "Don’t you want that meatball? Can I have it? It’s so good"; he's probably referring to Pran there 😂).

In line with this, I'm absolutely convinced that Li Ming's conversation with Jim in Moonlight Chicken when they go ingredient shopping at the market (Ep.5 [2/4] starting at timestamp 0.16), is also heavily laden with innuendo and double meanings, but I haven't had time to research it fully and write it up yet. If you have any insights please do let us know! 🤩 In this scene Jim is probably using the winter melons to tell Li Ming that older folks always know better, when he clarifies that the older the gourd the better it is for the chicken rice soup:

(above) Moonlight Chicken Ep.5 [2/4] 0.29

But rebellious teen Li Ming isn't comfortable with being treated and talked down to like a little kid again via the medium of a dumbed-down parable (witness his little pouty moue at Ep.5 [2/4] 0.37, on the side of his face that Jim can't see 😂):

(above) Moonlight Chicken Ep.5 [2/4] 0.37

And then the scene evolves, with Li Ming taking hold of the verbal reins as though to prove he's not a clueless youngster anymore.

One of the general words in Thai for squash or gourd is ฟัก (fak), and it is often used as a play on the word f**k in English. For example, when Pat took a bite of Wai's winter melon at the beach in Bad Buddy at Ep.6 [3I4] 14.25, he was actually silently lobbing a vulgar insult at him because the Thai words for winter melon – ฟักเขียว or fak khiaao – sound like and are used as a euphemism for f**k you in English 😂.

In this Moonlight Chicken scene at the market, Li Ming starts to riff off not the winter melon's double meaning but on a somewhat related topic, when he asks about Wen's absence and whether he and Jim had quarreled. He mentions Wen is good at doing the dishes, and from what I've been able to find out on the Internet, the words for washing (ล้าง or laang) and also washing dishes (ล้างจาน or laang jaan) can sometimes be used in sexual innuendo too (but I can't find a fully definitive explanation for the way it's used in this context here in Moonlight Chicken):

(above) Moonlight Chicken Ep.5 [2/4] 1.40 – with a smug expression Li Ming says snarkily about Wen: "He's a pro at doing the dishes too" and Jim is visibly discomfited (knowing that Li Ming is well aware of his and Wen's one-night stand, after Wen accidentally bumbled into Li Ming's room looking for Jim)

There is also one real-life example of this kind of wordplay that I've only just remembered – thanks for jogging my memory! The KinnPorsche boys did an online interview sometime back (excerpt linked here) and Mile Phakphum was inexplicably using unspoken double entendre to toss some insults about, though I'm not sure who his intended target was. I presume it was directed at the host (who must have offended him in some way, perhaps) or maybe it was toward Apo for whatever reason (since Po looks more than a mite uncomfortable there). But Mile spent a good portion of the interview eating slices of mango, and Apo, Build and Bible were equal parts amused and horrified to see this, because the English word mango sounds a bit like มึงโง่ (meung ngoh) in Thai, which is an extremely rude way of saying you're stupid to someone (and invoking the word mango is one way of doing this, just like the way Pat ate winter melon to say f**k you to Wai 😂).

It's also interesting (and a bit scary as well) to see how widely Mile was smiling and how politely he was speaking. I certainly couldn't tell from his words or demeanor that there was any rudeness afoot, because he was being friendly, charming and excessively polite in all other respects. But he was being rude at the same time, and I think this is one of the most fascinating aspects of Thai culture. In all human exchange and communication around the world you can sometimes expect undercurrents to lurk beneath politesse, but I think this skill is especially sophisticated in Thailand (and of course gets an airing in Thai BL as well). 💖

Sorry for veering so far off the original topic! But if you have anything to add on the Thai linguistics I'd love to hear it. 🥰

TinnGun Aquarium Date: Where Did Tinn’s Sharks Suddenly Come From and How Are They Connected to Liking Gun?

So in episode 7 when TinnGun go on the aquarium date with Yo and his girl there is a bit of dialogue that really confused me back when the episode aired. And maybe it confused you too. So now I’m here to share some background information with you.

I’m talking about this specific line:

Back when the episode aired I just didn’t understand why Tinn was suddenly talking about sharks when he had just been referencing their date. Where did that thought suddenly come from? What’s the connection between those topics, how did Tinn get from their date to sharks and biting to liking Gun?

Well, you see, I wasn’t able to follow because I had completely forgotten about one key element here: ฉลามชอบงับคุณ (= “sharks like biting you”) is a song by Bonnadol ft. IIVY B and Tinn is directly quoting the first line of the chorus to Gun. Cue the ensuing jokes about sharks and liking and biting.

Now you might see this and think “Ohhh so it’s a song reference and that song suddenly popped into Tinn’s mind so that’s why he’s randomly changing the topic. Plus, the song talks about sharks and liking so that’s how Tinn made the mental jump from ‘sharks may bite you’ to ‘I like you’. Got it, thanks.” and, well... yes. That’s the short answer. However, there is more to discover in this scene and more word play going on in Thai.

So come with me on a deep dive into the dialogue of this scene and find out what exactly is happening here in Thai.

We’re gonna take a closer look at Ep7 [3/4] from 10:10 onwards till pretty much the end of the scene. The given English translation of the dialogue goes as follows:

Tinn: Sharks, they may bite you. But I like you, no bite. Gun: Are you flirting or what? Here. Let me tell you something. If you want to hit on someone, use your own line. (laughs) Sharks, they may bite you. (Tinn steals Gun’s snack) Tinn: Sharks, they like to bite. I do too, but only the one I like. Gun: Bite, my ass! (laughs and shakes his head) Tinn: Look at you now. I bet you like the one that bites you.

Before we go and take a closer look at what is hidden in the original Thai lines, let me give you a quick vocabulary lesson, though:

ครับ [kráp] – often also transliterated as krub. If you’re an experienced thdrama watcher you are likely familiar with this word. But if you’re new here: ครับ [kráp] is a particle that is added at the end of a sentence to make that sentence formal and polite. ครับ [kráp] is typically used by men, while women typically use ค่ะ [khâ] instead. (You’ll also hear this particle as an answer to or confirmation of a statement/request/order/etc., but this isn’t relevant for the scene we’re about to discuss.)

ชอบ [chôp] – to like. If you’re an experienced thdrama watcher you’ve also heard this one a lot. However, what you might not know is that this word can also be used to talk about a habit or about what someone/something tends to do. Earlier I translated the song title ฉลามชอบงับคุณ [chà-lăam chôp ngáp kun] as “sharks like biting you” but it could also mean something like “sharks tend to bite you”. (word for word the title makes shark(s) – like/tend to – bite{cute} – you{formal})

ผม [pŏm] – formal/polite first person pronoun for males (I)

คุณ [kun] – formal/polite second person pronoun (you)

งับ [ngáp] – cutesy word for “to bite”

Part 1: The Song

Now with that out of the way I want to take a look at the first line of the chorus from the song:

ฉลามน่ะชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [chà-lăam nâ chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp]

So this line is made up of two sentences:

ฉลามน่ะชอบงับคุณ [chà-lăam nâ chôp ngáp kun]: This is the first sentence and translates to “sharks tend to bite you” or “sharks like biting you” which is also the song’s title.

ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp]: This is the second sentence and translates to “as for me, I like you”.

So here we can immediately see how talking about sharks and biting leads to talking about liking someone and it’s through the repeated use of the word ชอบ [chôp] aka “to like”. First the singer talks about what sharks like (biting), then the singer talks about what he himself likes (“you”).

But there’s more!

Maybe you’ve already noticed that there is another word from our vocabulary lesson that is repeated in both sentences:

ฉลามน่ะชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [chà-lăam nâ chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp]

Yes, the word งับ [ngáp] gets repeated as well. Now you might be a little confused, because I just told you that this translates to the verb “bite” and I also just said that the second sentence translates to “as for me, I like you”. How does the biting fit into this sentence?

Well, so the thing is… Remember the very first word from our list? Remember ครับ [kráp]? Maybe you’ve also noticed that I put it on the vocabulary list, but then it doesn’t even show up in the song lyrics at all...

Except, it does! It just doesn’t look or sound like ครับ [kráp]. It sounds like งับ [ngáp], aka the word that I just pointed out that also gets repeated in both lines.

So, as you might have guessed by now งับ [ngáp] can either be a cute way of saying “to bite” or it can also be used as a cutesy word for the polite particle ครับ [kráp]. Tinn has already used งับ [ngáp] in this sense on Gun back in episode 2 when he was pretending to be Lion, like we can see here for example:

ลองไปที่นี่ดู แล้วพี่จะรู้เองงับ [long bpai tîi nîi duu • láeo pîi jà rúu eng ngáp] try–go–to–this–see • then–older sibling–will–know–self–[cutesy polite particle]

Now let’s go back to the second sentence of the song and take a look at the pronouns: ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp] (= “as for me, I like you”).

The singer here uses the polite first person pronoun ผม [pŏm] when he refers to himself and the polite second person pronoun คุณ [kun] when he says “you”. These are pretty formal pronouns that usually also come with a polite particle. So technically the sentence “I like you” with these formal pronouns should go ผมชอบคุณครับ [pŏm chôp kun kráp] – literally “I like you krub”. However, the singer wants to be cute, so he switches the polite particle ครับ [kráp] with the cutesy form งับ [ngáp] and sings “I like you ngáp” instead.

(On this note, some interesting tidbit: according to my Thai friend who I discussed this scene and song with, in his words, it’s mainly “lesbian tomboys” who use งับ [ngáp]. He said men might use it in writing but don’t really say it.)

Anyway, now that we know that the song lyrics make “Sharks like to ngáp you. As for me, I like you ngáp”, let’s see what they do with it in MSP.

Part 2: Tinn and Biting

The dialogue starts out with Tinn saying “Sharks, they may bite you. But I like you, no bite”. At least it does according to the English subtitles. What he really says in Thai is this:

ฉลามอะ ชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมอะ ชอบคุณงับ [chà-lăam à • chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm à • chôp kun ngáp] shark(s)–[particle] • like–bite–you {formal} • as for–I {formal}–[particle] • like–you {formal}–[cutesy polite particle]

Here is the line from the song in comparison:

ฉลามน่ะชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [chà-lăam nâ chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp] shark(s)–[particle]–like–bite–you {formal} • as for–I {formal}–[particle]–like–you {formal}–[cutesy polite particle]

As we can see, Tinn is pretty much directly quoting that line of song to Gun. So a more literal translation of what he’s saying here would be something along the lines of “Sharks like biting you. As for me, I like you”. Or rather, if we remember the word play with the word งับ [ngáp] = to bite and งับ [ngáp] = cute form of ครับ [kráp], what he’s saying is actually “Sharks like to ngáp you. As for me, I like you ngáp”.

This makes Gun laugh and he says “Are you flirting or what? Here. Let me tell you something. If you want to hit on someone, use your own line.”

Now that we know Tinn quoted a line of a song we also understand that Gun recognizes it as such and that when he says “use your own line” it’s actually him calling Tinn out for quoting a song instead of coming up with his own original pick-up line.

Gun then turns away and repeats the first part of the song lyrics to himself, still very amused: ฉลามชอบงับคุณ [chà-lăam chôp ngáp kun] (= “sharks like biting you”).

Tinn was just scolded for not being original in his flirting and what does he do? He “bites” Gun and then, according to the subtitles, says: “Sharks, they like to bite. I do too, but only the one I like.”

Now let’s once again look at what’s happening in Thai. What Tinn is saying here is this:

ฉลามอะ ชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมอะ งับคนที่ชอบ [chà-lăam à • chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm à • ngáp kon tîi chôp]

Let’s bring up the song lyrics again:

ฉลามน่ะชอบงับคุณ ส่วนผมน่ะชอบคุณงับ [chà-lăam nâ chôp ngáp kun • sùuan pŏm nâ chôp kun ngáp]

We can immediately see that Tinn is once again directly quoting almost the entire line of the lyrics to Gun. He repeats the whole “Sharks like biting you. As for me…” part, but then he unexpectedly changes the last part. This time around he doesn’t end the sentence with “I like you ngáp” (ชอบคุณงับ [chôp kun ngáp]) like the song does, instead he ends it with:

งับคนที่ชอบ [ngáp kon tîi chôp] bite–person/people–that–like

Since Thai doesn’t have plural forms, this can be translated as “I bite the person that I like” or “I bite the people I like”. So what’s happening here is that after being scolded for being unoriginal, Tinn then quotes the song again but decides to prove that he can indeed think of a line on his own by changing the second sentence from “as for me, I like you” to “as for me, I bite the person/people I like”.

What’s kinda interesting to me here is that the second sentence from the song talks about คุณ [kun] (= “you”) and Tinn in his own continuation talks about คน [kon] (= person/people). I find it interesting, because these two words sound very similar. In fact, when I tried to transcribe the Thai lines I actually wasn’t sure whether Tinn was saying คุณ [kun] or คน [kon] here. It sounded like งับคน [ngáp kon] (= bite person) to me, but I was a little unsure since the song itself talks about งับคุณ [ngáp kun] (= bite you). I played it to my Thai friend and he too had to listen to it a couple of times before deciding that it must be คน [kon] as that would make more sense.

Alright, moving on. So Tinn has just quoted the song again but with a changed ending: “Sharks like to bite you. As for me, I bite the person/people I like.” Gun doesn’t know how to response to this, so after a moment of consideration he comes up with a witty comeback: “Bite, my ass!”

(Fun fact: the expression he uses here that was translated as “my ass” in English is พ่อมึง [pâaw mueng] which literally translates to “your father”. If you’re a German speaker: it means Gun is essentially saying „Deine Mutter!!“ in response lmao. Brilliant comeback, really. Extremely witty. Good job, kiddo.)

Unfortunately for Gun, Tinn’s whole flirting tactic, as silly as it was, has in fact worked on him and he can’t help but laugh again in an “I can’t believe this is the man I have chosen to love” kind of way.

Now it’s Tinn’s turn to call Gun out for it: “Look at you now. I bet you like the one that bites you.” That’s how the subtitles put it. But one last time I wanna take a look at the original Thai lines.

Tinn says two sentences here and the second sentence is more relevant for the whole song reference/word play thing, but since you’ve made it all the way here I assume you like languages and would be interested in knowing the literal meaning of Tinn’s words where the subtitles go “Look at you now”, so I’ll just tell you that too while I’m at it.

So all in all Tinn says:

อาการแบบนี้อะ สงสัยชอบคนที่งับ [aa-gaan bàep níi à • sŏng-săi chôp kon tîi ngáp]

That first sentence (อาการแบบนี้อะ [aa-gaan bàep níi à]) is a little difficult to translate for me because I don’t really know what to do with the first word, but the แบบนี้ [bàep níi] part means “like this”. The first word is อาการ [aa-gaan] which can mean “symptom” or “condition”. According to thai2english.com other meanings also include “expression” or “manner”. All in all, what Tinn is essentially doing here is pointing out Gun’s reaction, so I think to make it sound more natural and not too weird in English we could maybe say something along the lines of “A reaction like this...” for this line.

As for the other thing Tinn says, it’s this:

สงสัยชอบคนที่งับ [sŏng-săi chôp kon tîi ngáp] suspect–like–person(s)–that–bite

As I said earlier, Thai doesn’t do plural forms. Nor does it do articles. And yet another thing that Thai often doesn’t do is pronouns, meaning pronouns are often left out of the sentence entirely. Such is the case here, so this sentence could mean one of the following:

I suspect you like a person that bites.

I suspect you like the person that bites.

I suspect you like the person that bites you.

I suspect you like people that bite.

I suspect you like people that bite you.

Now what’s fun about this line is once again the word play and the reference to Tinn’s line from earlier when he said “I bite the person/people I like”. Let’s do some more comparison.

So this is what Tinn says to Gun right after he steals the snack by “biting” Gun:

ส่วนผมอะ งับคนที่ชอบ [sùuan pŏm à • ngáp kon tîi chôp] as for–I {formal}–[particle] • bite–person(s)–that–like

And this is what he’s saying to Gun now:

สงสัยชอบคนที่งับ [sŏng-săi chôp kon tîi ngáp] suspect–like–person(s)–that–bite

The reason why this is fun is that Tinn switches the words งับ [ngáp] and ชอบ [chôp]. Where first he said งับคนที่ชอบ [ngáp kon tîi chôp] (lit. “bite–person(s)–that–like” = “[I] bite [the] person/people that [I] like”) he now says ชอบคนที่งับ [chôp kon tîi ngáp] (lit. “like–person(s)–that–bite” = “[You] like [the] person/people that bite [you]”).

Let’s look at it again side by side to really see how delightful that is:

งับคนที่ชอบ [ngáp kon tîi chôp] bite–person(s)–that–like

ชอบคนที่งับ [chôp kon tîi ngáp] like–person(s)–that–bite

What’s more, Tinn switching around the words is reminiscent of, if not a deliberate callback to the word switch from the original song lyrics that started it all:

ชอบงับคุณ [chôp ngáp kun] like–bite–you {formal}

ชอบคุณงับ [chôp kun ngáp] like–you {formal}–[cutesy polite particle]

Part 3: Summary

Since this was an overwhelming amount of information in one go I’ve put all the dialogue into a table so you can look at it again side by side:

As you can see, I’ve also included the official English subtitles for those who are curious. However, I wanna stress that this isn’t to imply “the eng subs suck and I did it better!!!1!11”. I’ve put my own “literal” translation into the table mainly because the word-for-word translation of the Thai lines can be pretty confusing and I wanted to put it into a more natural sounding English so that it would make more sense.

You’ll also notice that I’ve put some of the pronouns into square brackets. That is to signify that the Thai sentence doesn’t include any pronouns there, which is relevant mainly for Tinn’s very last line as the English sentence could work either with or without the second “you”.

As for the curly brackets in the Thai column, those indicate the level of formality or the connotation of a word, especially of the pronouns.

The red text marks every time when the song lyrics are being quoted.

In Conclusion

All in all, what is happening in this scene is that Tinn quotes a line of a silly little song that includes a silly little pun and then when Gun scolds him for being unoriginal Tinn goes and takes that silly little word play even further, turning it into his own thing. And the most delightful part about it is that it absolutely works on Gun, as much as he may hate to admit it.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

turned my water into wine #6

see my masterpost for what came before this. this drabble takes place after chapter twenty-three of my fair lady. prompted by both @blorbologist and @tiamat-zx. inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

Vex cannot believe she is expected to perform her duties as usual as if she did not spend this morning watching her brother, her twin, her best friend, her other half, marry a princess in secret. As soon as the little ceremony was finished—so sweet, the two of them, flushed in the dawn light with the promise they'd just made to each other, yes, perhaps her heart of ice melted, just a tad—they'd all scurried off to wherever they were meant to be, eager not to get caught in the absurd circumstance they were just in. Vex climbed to her office in the guard tower in a daze, trying to wrap her mind around her sister-in-law, the princess.

Now it is nearing noon, and she must eat before she starves. As is her wont, she winds her way to Percy's study, a cat slinking through its familiar alleys, and finds him there staring at some ledger and very clearly not reading. She raps on the open door and startles him out of his reverie. "Can't imagine what's got you so lost in your own thoughts," she deadpans, throwing herself into a chair opposite his desk and snatching some grapes from his leftover breakfast plate.

He laughs, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes. "Yes, well..." The door is still open, and they must be careful. "It was an early morning, to be sure."

Vex is contemplating how to have the conversation in euphemism, but before she has to, Pike stomps into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. "Are either of you coming unglued as keenly as I am?" she demands.

Vex kicks the other chair in front of Percy's desk so it skids to face her. "Sit, Pike, and let us grouse about our truly ridiculous friends."

Pike clambers up into the chair. "It was not until I returned for my morning devotions that I realized what we'd done. If the sovereign finds out how we've participated in this..." She lets the threat of it hang in the air.

Percy sighs. "Yes, we have taken on a liability, that is for certain. But at the risk of sounding saccharine..." He leans back in his chair. "I shudder to think of the man I would have become had I not been so steadfastly loved by Keyleth from the moment of my arrival in Zephrah. Of course, my care, my education, my position in court are thanks entirely to the sovereign and his endless generosity, and I owe him my life and my loyalty and so much more, but...she is, as you said, my truly ridiculous friend, and I cannot imagine a world in which I deny her her heart's greatest wish."

Vex knows he speaks true. One of the first things he learned about him, in the earliest days of their liaison, was his ceaseless love for the princess. She worried, in fact, that his love was something romantic, something with which she would feel the urge to compete, but she could not have been more wrong. She knows now that Percy loves her like he loved the sisters he lost, and thinks of her with fondness and vigilance of an elder brother. And in truth, she is glad the two of them have each other, since they both lost so much at such tender ages.

"I, of course, feel the same about Vax," she says quietly. "The truth of the matter is, he has given up a great deal for me. I was..." She swallows thickly. "I believed the lie I told myself about my father, that some day, if I worked hard enough, if I behaved well enough, I could earn his affection. I was wrong, and Vax, gods bless him, knew the reality of his cruelty long before I did. His insistence that we leave saved me from untold heartbreak at the hands of that man so...yes, even though I still think this..." She drops her voice to a whisper, just in case. "...marriage with the princess will end in heartbreak yet, I will never be able to look him in the eye and tell him I do not support his wild pursuit of happiness."

"Well, perhaps this could be a good thing," Pike suggests hopefully. "Perhaps now, when word spreads of what happened, there will be more...leeway for unions between those of different stations." Vex keeps her eyes trained hard on the inkwell on Percy's desk, barely breathing. "Courtly negotiations are always so formal and rigid, and I should think we would all be better off if we could love without regard to wealth or title."

If Vex nods, she doesn't feel it. All she can feel are the pair of icy blue eyes boring into the side of her head that she cannot meet right now. "Yes, well," she croaks out—oh, curse her tremulous throat. "Be that as it may, right now we ought to be concerned with our present circumstance. Do think he'll hang us for our betrayal, or shall we live out the rest of our days in the dungeons?" She's attempting levity, but she can't keep the hollow tone out of her voice.

"Vex'ahlia," Percy chastises, and oh if that doesn't make her toes curl. As Pike buries her face in her hands with a groan, he rushes to reassure her. "Sovereign Korrin is a good and fair man. If anyone is going to die, it's Vax."

"Percival!"

He shrugs at Vex's outburst. "He's the idiot who fell in love with her."

He's not wrong.

Pike claps her hands together. "Alright, enough. We are now being the truly ridiculous friends. This is a day of joy! Our friends are wed, and they are happy, and we are happy for them, regardless of what the future holds. Yes?" The question is pointed, demanding agreement.

Vex chuckles. "Alright, Pike. Yes, as foolish as my brother and the princess are, I am happy that they are happy."

"Agreed." Percy pushes from his desk and stands. "Come. Let us find Keyleth and Vax, and we'll have our lunch together, and we will remind our friends how happy we are."

Pike hops off her seat and makes for the door. As he rounds the desk, Percy reaches out to snag Vex's wrist. She looks to him, confused, and when their eyes meet, there's something in his that she cannot identify. They look at each other half a moment, Vex's spine suddenly tingling with some strange energy, and then his hand and his eyes are gone, and he is following Pike from the study, and she is left there, strangely warm and confused.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

re: the Romanians, why the fuck did Carlisle even let them in? He's gathering witnesses, not amassing an army, and these clowns are the least credible witnesses I can imagine. How can Carlisle even abide their presence in his house, considering what they've done? And Bella's character was pretty much dead to me before this point (I barely think of BD as canon), but her starry-eyed admiration of the Romanians really comes across as her being too dumb to live. It's definitely funny, but...yikes.

First, I firmly believe that Renesmee has a very powerful gift that, among other things, ensures her own survival.

I imagine that, had Renesmee not had this gift and miraculously not been eaten out of Bella’s womb by Edward or else murdered by Jacob, after Irina fled to Volterra with what seems like irreputable proof of an immortal child, Carlisle would have packed up Renesmee (abducting her if he had to), and taken her directly to Volterra, hoping that they could live under observation for a few decades.

If they died, then it would be only they who died, the coven itself would survive and his many friends would not be put in peril for something whose outcome they don’t really know. More, for all that happened in Eclipse, given Carlisle’s reaction to Aro’s wedding gift in Breaking Dawn, I do think he has enough faith at this point to think that Aro, no matter his ulterior motives, would at the very least keep Renesmee under observation. If assigning Aro more devious motives, it gives him a very precious hostage to use against Bella and Edward. Further, there’s precedent in the centuries’ long observation of the Immortal Children in the Volterra catacombs. It’s not in Aro’s nature nor in his interests to kill Renesmee of quickly without reason.

However, this would be putting Renesmee in direct peril, and could very well end in her death. Per Renesmee’s gift, this is not an acceptable outcome, and so Carlisle cannot go down this route.

And so, we have Carlisle desperately gathering as many witnesses as he can. Unfortunately, this has consequences. I imagine Carlisle, being as eccentric and well-traveled as he is, is a constant source of vampire gossip. We know at least the Vampire rumor mill in Europe is set ablaze, and at some point “gathering witnesses” becomes a euphemism Carlisle never intended for “building an army”.

I think, by the time the Romanians show up on his doorstep, Carlisle realizes it’s already too late. He can’t turn them away because they are a symptom, not the disease itself, and it’s far outside of his hands.

Carlisle Cullen has built an army for an insurrection against the Volturi.

Carlisle has been desperately hoping, literally asking Siobhan to pray for him, for a peaceful outcome to all of this. However, this hope is growing dimmer and dimmer.

If Carlisle starts sending away his own witnesses, it makes their cause look very weak. Carlisle’s been stating he wants as many witnesses as possible, even better if they’re not his friends, as they can be seen as unbiased. If he sends the Romanians away, he’s sending away one of the few vampires there he has never personally met who are not invested in the Cullen coven whatsoever. In that sense, despite being the goddamn Romanians, their word holds the most weight.

They say, “Yeah, this isn’t an immortal child,” you can probably trust it, because they ltierally do not care.

Sending them away means Carlisle is only keeping those who might be tempted to lie on his behalf. Doesn’t look so good.

Next, there’s very likely going to be a fight and he needs all the manpower he can get. Now, they might very well be massacred thanks to Jane and Alec, but if Carlisle sends the Romanians away he pretty much has to send everyone away because he’s acknowledging that these people are risking their lives over something they have no business in.

Then, finally, not really Carlisle’s decision. Oh, he gathered his friends from across the globe, but Edward and Bella are the ones in charge of this operation, and Bella thinks the Romanians are grand and Edward thinks the Volturi are such horrific tyrants that anyone who opposes them is enlightened. Carlisle tells Edward, “Please, Edward, you must send these people away now!” Edward’s going to get not only very huffy but very accusatory about how Carlisle’s been taken in by the enemy (i.e. the Volturi) and only getting rid of these guys because they’re ancient enemies of Volterra.

Finally, if Carlisle’s going to have hang ups over vampires treatment of humans he has to send everybody home. Carlisle has met them all, desperately tried to convince them to please not eat humans, and all but the Denali said no. The Denali only said yes because they want to have sex with the same cute men twice. This is the best Carlisle’s got.

From there you have varying levels of awful but, to the grand majority of vampires, they genuinely could not care less about human life. The Romanians go off talking about the glory days, sure they’re has beens, but eh who cares about the humans. Eating whatever you want sounds kind of nice.

Those who tell tales in Breaking Dawn about the corruption of the Volturi did tend to egregiously break the law. They either made immortal children and fed them entire townships, massacred their way through Europe, or were the Romanians and presumably did all of the above for a thousand years. There stories are, “The Volturi are brutes and tyrants!” “Did you eat all the humans?” “Well, yes, but their actions were uncalled for.”

So, if Carlisle has to explain why he’s sending these guys away he has to explain to vampires why a) slavery of humans is bad b) eating humans is bad c) why does he have to explain this? Everyone will just think he’s being weird and huffy and an ass for sending away desperately needed support.

That he really has no say in sending away as it’s Bella and Edward’s child and they’re the ones who say who comes and who goes.  EDIT:

I forgot to talk about Bella.

I’m a little more forgiving of Bella as Bella’s in an extremely horrific place as of the end of Breaking Dawn.

She’s been through crippling depression, just exited Rosemary’s Baby and literally died, she wakes up finally a vampire and the world is beautiful and she’s finally worthy of it and Edward, she has unheard of control that allows her to have her father in her life too, she’s suddenly a mother of what looks like a five-year-old, and now the Volturi are coming to kill her baby.

In other words, Bella’s world is a surreal haze that I’d think anyone would have trouble dealing with. She’s left the planet, she is off somewhere in space, having tepid sex in a cabin with Edward.

So, to me, her thinking the Romanians are great is just further proof that at the end of Breaking Dawn, Bella’s not home anymore.

[pascalpanic]

Just One Mission (Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Champagne’s Daughter!Reader)

Inspo: I Like It, I Love It by Tim McGraw

Summary: Your father, Champ, runs Statesman, and you’re his best- and only- female agent. Your normal partner, Tequila, is out, leaving you with another agent. Normally this would be fine, but it’s with Whiskey, who practically ignores you, despite the fact that you’re crushing hard on him. You’re sent to the county fair to track an undercover bad guy under the guise of being a couple for your latest mission, and it starts to feel more and more like something is happening, not just between your fictional couple.

WC: 5.1k

Warnings: language, obvious mentions of alcohol (this is Statesman after all)

A/N: Can I get a yeehaw for our favorite cowboy? Biggest of thank yous to @remmysbounty for helping me name this!

“You can’t be serious. Why can’t anything ever be straightforward around here? Why do I always have to go play make-believe?” You asked, pushing your glasses back up your nose to clarify his hologram. You move from where you stand, against the window showing the New York skyline, to walk towards the meeting table.

Champ gives a chuckle, as if he knows everything. Of course he does. He’s your boss and he never fails to make that known. “You came into this job knowing you’d be doing undercover work, Amaretto,” Champ says with a pointed look. You bite down on your lip to avoid cussing and look down to avoid his eyes. “Plus, you’re our best. And our only lady.”

“Whose fault is that?” you grumble, crossing your arms. Normally it doesn’t bother you much, but today you wished more women worked in the field. “Why can’t I go with Tequila? Him and I work well together, you know that,” you ask, hating your voice and your tone. You sound like a whiny teen complaining to her dad. Honestly, it was close enough, and maybe even worse: you were a fully grown woman complaining to her dad.

Your father, Champ, sighs and removes his hat. “For God’s sake, ‘Retto. Tequila’s mission has been extended. I’m sorry to tell you that Agent Whiskey will be your partner for just one mission, for one night.”

“Dad, I-”

“That’s Champ when you’re in here, Amaretto,” he chides, which makes you groan and plop down on an office chair, kicking your legs up onto the table and crossing them. “It’s a small mission. You can handle it. Whiskey’ll treat you right.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you knew you could handle it. You would be more than fine pretending to be Whiskey’s sweetheart for the evening. It was what came after that you didn’t want. You had known Jack for a while now, and had been hiding a crush ever since the man first entered your life. 

You had been a Statesman ever since your father revealed to you that he wasn’t just the head of the Kentucky distillery- he was the head of a spy organization under the same name. Your career here hadn’t been long, but you were already proving that the skills must run in the family. You were the first female field agent, had a perfect mission record, and no unnecessary kills or injuries. That impressed Jack as much as the rest of the facility, maybe even more. You were a stunning and sharp woman with brains to match. 

As much as Whiskey wanted to flirt with you, to tell you just what he thought of you, he held back. Your father held his job by a string. In order to hold back everything he thought, he kept a distance. You were the only woman in the company Whiskey didn’t flirt with. “He hates me,” you say sharply to your father, telling him what you really thought Whiskey’s opinion of you was. He complimented every woman around him, but he actively avoided you. When you had talked in the past, it was brief and he had always found an excuse to leave. How else could you take that?

“Prob’ly just jitters around the boss’s girl,” your father drawls, and you want to scream and shout and throw a temper tantrum. “Besides, you both have roles. Neither of you have to be yourself.”

Stopping you before you can launch into a rant, a knock comes at the meeting room door. You look and- speak of the devil- Whiskey peeks his head in, finding you alone in the meeting room. “Sorry. Heard ya talking, you in a meeting?”

Your father laughs as he hears the man’s voice. “Tell him to put on the glasses,” he tells you, only audible through your earpiece. You relay the message to him and once Jack’s glasses are on, he straightens a little, addressing your father. “Good to see you, Whiskey. Just telling Amaretto about the mission,” Champ tells him, and you roll your eyes.

“Right, that mission. Next week?” He asks, clarifying, eyes darting to you briefly before finding your father again.

“You got it.” A knock comes at the meeting room in Kentucky, and your father turns for a moment, then back to the two of you. “Ginger’s callin’. Talk to you later, darlin’, and you too, Whiskey.” He takes off his glasses and the image of him disappears. 

You remove your legs from the table, swiveling your chair and removing your glasses. “How exciting, huh?” You ask dryly, eyes finding Whiskey’s. “The hottest week of the summer and he’s sending us to Alabama to spend a night outside.”

Jack chuckles a little, your sarcasm penetrating through the shield he has up specifically to deflect you. “At the county fair, no less. Couldn’t these idiots set up shop in a refrigerated warehouse?” He sighs, adjusting his hat. 

Tearing your eyes from him, you look out of the impressive window instead. “Sure to be a fun time,” you shake your head. He looks so handsome, and it makes you want to punch something. “Why my father loves to put me in these situations, I’ll never know. He’d never do this to Julep,” you lament. “I must be the expendable kid.”

“Julep is 17,” Whiskey reminds you, raising a brow. “You’re the only one of age, and you’re probably the only competent one too. He showed me a video of Rosé at the gun range and good Lord, how the hell did a man like that birth something so clumsy?”

“Why do you know so much about my sisters?” You ask him, tilting your head. 

“Your father never shuts up about ‘em. He shows them off constantly,” he shrugs. “Shows us videos, pictures. Even knew plenty about you before you came.” You raise an eyebrow at that, and he shakes his head quickly. “Barely anything personal. Hell, I don’t know your real name. He’s never called you or your sisters anything but your nicknames.”

You stand, gathering the folder you brought into the room with you. “Well, that’s a comfort. I’m not Champ’s daughter, I’m Agent Amaretto, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it,” you say, your voice slipping away from sharp and into flirtation. Whiskey’s deadpan slips into a smile and you press the folder into his chest as you walk past him, and out of the room. The smile grows wider as he turns to follow you.

-

Whiskey was right. It’s the hottest week of the summer, the August heat making you feel sticky and swollen, and you’re in Alabama. Disgusting. You look in the mirror and groan as you look at yourself. You were told that you and Jack need to blend into the atmosphere of the county fair, and you sighed. 

The past week, the two of you had prepped for your mission, slowly melting the thick layer of ice that subdued both your crush and his flirtation. He had slowly slipped into his regular self around you, which you didn’t notice. You didn’t know the real him. You had become more of yourself too; less sharp, more smiles, even a few laughs at his terrible southern euphemisms and adages. He finally called you darlin’ and sugar and sweet thing, and you felt your face warm more than it should. You let your walls down by the time you got on the plane, joking around with him and making actual conversation. During the flight, the two of you had enjoyed picking cover names, deciding on Beau and Jolene Pruitt, a newly married couple. Both were native Alabamians with thick drawls, not that it would be out of character for Jack.

Getting to wear casual clothing around that man excited you far more than it should, and you had spent a stupid amount of time picking out something that would fit in but also look nice. The wardrobe women had packed you plenty of options to mix and match from, and you settled on something that seemed to be a mix between your cover and yourself. You wore short denim cutoffs, ripped and distressed, with cowboy boots to match. You also wore a white tank top and a red, white, and blue flannel, either to be worn open or tied around your waist. A large gold cross pendant rested on your cleavage, as many women around here similarly had. It was imperative that neither you nor Whiskey could be recognized, and you had been given a wig of thick hair the opposite of your natural color, plaited into two French braids that were long and ended around your waist. No mission was complete without your gold, wire-rimmed Statesman glasses. 

You have to admit, you enjoy this look, minus the gaudy jewelry. You get to show off a little bit more than you normally would, and you secretly hope Whiskey may up his flirtation with you. You’re recognizable to someone who would know you, but the change of hair color and the glasses are a solid cover-up. You snap a picture in the mirror, sending it off to the ladies in the wardrobe department.  you ladies spoil me- I love getting to look cute for a change!

The women reply a moment later with a picture of all of them. You’re always cute, sugar! Show that man what he’s missing!

So, maybe you had confided to the wardrobe ladies that you found Jack attractive. Who didn’t? They agreed, but all showered you with attention and insisted you should make a move on this mission. You had said no, but they had hounded you over and over until you told them yes. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that.

A knock comes at your hotel door, and you smile before you can stop yourself. You force yourself to drop it, tossing one of the braided tails over your shoulder, and open the door. “Well there, Beau,” you drawl as you see Whiskey, but you stop and laugh a little as you scan his body. 

His reaction is the exact same, after a brief scan of your outfit. You both break into laughter. Jack is wearing cowboy boots, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a flannel with a different pattern but the same colors- red, white, and blue. “Stealing my thunder with the outfit, I see. Are you going to put your costume on or what?” You ask teasingly, and he shakes his head. 

“Believe it or not, Jolene, this is my costume. Seems the only different thing about being Beau is my name.” He grins wide at you, adjusting his similarly gold-rimmed aviators that rest beneath his classic Stetson. 

You shake your head but smile. “Why am I not surprised?” You tease, turning and grabbing your phone and the large bulletproof purse you’d be carrying tonight. “The ladies in the wardrobe department are going to love this,” you chuckle, and then freeze for a second. 

They did this on purpose. 

Whiskey has the same thought as you. He had confided in the ladies in the wardrobe department that he found you absolutely stunning but unattainable, due to the fact that your father was the control of his… everything. They had chattered excitedly, telling him that he should make his move on the mission too. He had done the exact same as you- said yes, but as an appeasement. “Well, they sure are. We’ll have to get someone to take a picture of us while we’re there.”

You nod, your heart skipping a beat at the fact that he wants a photo of this. It’s just for the mission, of course, you tell yourself and brush it off. “Oh, and that’ll be perfect cover. Of course these two would want a photo taken of them. We can do it right in front of the marks- better yet, we can ask them to take the picture,” you chuckle happily and sling the heavy purse over your body. 

“Or we can take a picture now,” he chuckles, nodding to the mirror you just took a picture in a moment ago.

“Sure,” you nod and lead him over to it. “Uh… smile?” You laugh and hold out your flannel for the photo. Jack makes finger guns and gives the camera a seductive face in the mirror, making you laugh. “Jesus, I thought you were the smooth agent.”

“Smoother than you. You’re smooth like a gravel road in a dry spell, look at that pose,” he says and zooms in on the picture. “Pose like you have some confidence in that pretty little head, honey,” he teases. “Copy me.” He makes the same pose, and you mimic it, taking a picture before bursting out laughing. “Much better,” he nods as he looks at the image. “Better send me that,” he nudges your side before walking to the door. “Well, Jo, let’s get this show on the road.” Smiling at the picture, you send the image to the wardrobe ladies. very subtle, Charlotte! You fire off before pocketing your phone and following him along. “Aw, Jo and Beau,” you coo, your personas snapping into place as soon as you leave the hotel room, clutching his arm. 

The two of you meander down through the hotel, finding your way to the parking lot. You break away from him to sit in the Bronco (of course he brought it) but you find yourself missing the contact of your arms intertwined. It’s probably for the best though, you think to yourself. If you have to keep touching him all night, it’s quite possible the Alabama heat may melt whatever’s left of the iceberg you’ve built to hold back your crush on him. 

-

A man bumps into you, and Whiskey is at your defense before you can defend yourself. “Watch it, cowboy,” Jack fires back, his hand resting on the small of your back. You smile up at him, practically making heart eyes. It looks in character, and you’re glad for that, but it’s entirely you. 

“My hero,” you giggle and place your hand on his chest. 

“Just for you, sugar,” he says sweetly and you beam up at him. He looks around, as you do, but the two of you rest there. It’s hot, unbearably, but yet you enjoy the contact your body makes with his. Both of you wear your flannels around your waist, allowing your grip on his arm to hold his strong muscles directly. It’s definitely enjoyable. “You hungry, honey?” He asks. 

You have to admit, you haven’t eaten much today, mainly out of nerves for the mission. But everything is going just swimmingly: you have eyes on the target, have a plan to infiltrate them later, and are now just biding time to seem normal. “I… yeah, I am,” you nod and look up at him. “How ‘bout some cotton candy?”

“Now, darlin’, if you’re hungry, that ain’t gonna do the trick,” he says and raises an eyebrow, removing his aviators and hooking them on his collar. “This is the county fair, for cryin’ out loud. Let’s get you something deep fried.” You nod in agreement and the two of you wander over to a stand selling various deep-fried atrocities. You smile and chuckle, letting him order for the two of you. The vendor hands you each a ridiculously large corn dog, and you laugh. 

The smell of the food makes your stomach growl. “Oh god, I didn’t realize just how hungry I was,” you moan as you bite into the food, your thick accent dropping. “Good choice, babe,” you tell him, smiling at how easily it comes. 

“I know you, sugar,” he teases, leading you to a picnic table where he sits across from you, munching on his own. No one else is around here, allowing you to speak freely. “Really, I do. I found out your real name the other day,” he says with a smile, and you nearly choke on the breading, halfway down your throat. He finally says your name aloud, drawing it out, making it sound like it’s coated in honey and dripping with flirtation.

You look down at your food, biting your lip. “Who told you that?” you ask, still staring down.

Jack chuckles at that, ignoring the question. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he teases, and you chuckle, shaking your head. The flirtation is much better than the stone-cold silence before a week ago, but it doesn’t do anything for the growing crush you have on the man. “Champ must’ve known you’d be a stunner.”

“Have you heard of nominative determinism?” you ask as you look up, tilting your head and twirling one of the long braids of your wig around your finger. The words sound funny with the thick accent you’re putting on. Whiskey shakes his head. “It’s this theory that your name shapes who you become. So, if you said that my name was chosen for beauty, I would grow to become my name, so I’d be beautiful.” He nods a little at that. “Do you believe in that kind of thing?” you ask him genuinely, tilting your head and taking another bite of the corn dog. 

“Clearly,” he chuckles through a mouthful of food before swallowing it. “Your name is pretty, you’re pretty. Someone has a name with a bad reputation, they become it.”

“Your mama named you Jack Daniels, you become Agent Whiskey,” you tease with a growing smile, accentuating that drawl that you’ve perfectly picked up from your father and the mustached man in front of you. “I’ve thought about that a lot with you. Did they assign you that name because of your name? My dad never talked about work with us before I became an agent.”

Whiskey shakes his head at you but does give a laugh. “Prob’ly, just thought it’d be funny, I ‘spose. They needed a new Agent Whiskey anyway, I believe. Last one died or retired, they never told me. Filling the vacancy while making a pun out of it. Your father has a sense of humor, doesn’t he? ‘S sure great at givin’ nicknames.”

You shake your head at that. “Don’t I know it. He’s been calling me Amaretto since I could give him sass back. Told me I was a little bitter, just like the word means in Italian. Julep’s too sweet, Rosé is a mix of gentle and bold. No one calls us by our real names unless we’re in trouble,” you chuckle. “You should hear my mama shout when Julep gets in trouble. She nearly shakes the house, and Julep likes to avoid it by pretending she can’t hear her. She’ll hide in her room, and my mama just shouts and shouts until the neighbors come over to make sure the family’s all still alive. It’s in a loving way, of course, nothing bad.” You shake your head, clearing the topic from yourself. “But it’s like your mama knew you’d get into something with alcohol. That’s odd.”

Jack chuckles and takes the last bite of his food. He doesn’t respond, just cleans up his little area and waits for you to be done, watching you with his chin resting in his palm. You smile as you notice that, looking away, and he does too. The two of you stand and walk along again. He offers his hand, to hold it, and you take it. You’re not entirely sure that he did that as Beau, and you’re certain you didn’t take his hand as Jolene.

Walking through the midway, you catch your mark out of the corner of your eye. “Go time,” you murmur to the man, dropping his hand. “Sir,” you ask and pat the man’s shoulder as he walks past. He stops and you shoot him a cheesy, massive grin. “Hi there, would you mind takin’ a picture for my husband and I?”

The man nods. “Sure, ma’am. Where do you-”

“Oh wonderful. Here,” you say and position the man, handing him your phone, then move back to stand by Jack. “Beau, honey, here,” you say as you position the two of you for the camera. You wrap his arm around your waist and place your hand on his chest, grinning ear to ear. He’s doing the same.

“How ‘bout this?” he asks, swooping you up and holding you bridal style. 

You squeal into his ear, laughing. You almost call him by his real name but stop yourself. “Beau, quit!” You giggle and smack his chest teasingly, playing along with it and smiling for the photo. He lets you down only to pick you up again, hoisting you onto his back, piggyback style. Finding no other choice, you wrap your arms and legs around him, and he rests his hands on your thighs to hold you up. “Beau Pruitt!” You exclaim, emphasizing the words, hoping that the man taking your photos registers the name, knowing it’s not someone threatening. He’d probably take your phone and run if he heard you call the man holding you up by his real name. 

He finally lets you down and you thank the man, taking the phone back and continuing to walk along, naturally lacing your fingers through Jack’s. “What was that?” you ask lowly, smiling despite the pretend annoyance in your voice.

“Playin’ the part, sugar,” he shrugs and smiles at you. As you wander through the midway, Jack’s eye catches on a brightly colored, massive teddy bear hanging from the rafters. When Jack gets a plan, he goes all in. “You know what, honey, if this is to be a proper date, I am gonna win you a teddy bear,” he chuckles, grabbing his wallet.

You quickly push the hand holding his wallet down. “Don’t be ridiculous, babe. I don’t need a teddy bear,” you laugh.

“I am takin’ you on a date to the county fair. It’s only fitting that I win you a teddy bear!” He argues back, laughing. He hands a bill to the attendant, earning him quite a few balls to toss at the stacked milk jugs. “Here we go. This is for the big, tie-dye one up there,” he declares before hurling a ball. 

It hits the top jug and Jack winces. “Ah fuck. Bad shoulder,” he chuckles, picking up another.

“Then why the hell are you doing this, Beau?” you ask, catching yourself before you can call him Jack and holding down his arm. “I don’t need the teddy bear!”

“I already paid the attendant,” he chuckles and leans in to your face, taunting you. He uses your distraction to slip his arm from your grasp, throwing it and hitting the second row of bottles. “Hell yeah!” Jack crows excitedly, arms in the air. You laugh at his excitement and decide to let it happen. He throws three more balls before he knocks down the whole final row, whooping excitedly. “That one, if you please,” he tells the attendant and points to the large bear hanging from the ceiling of the booth. The attendant takes it down and hands it to him, and he promptly hands it to you, beaming. “For you, my dear,” he says, pride radiating from him.

“I love it,” you laugh and hug the massive bear to your chest, kissing its forehead. “I think I’ll name him… Whiskey.” He grins at that and takes your hand again, leading you through the crowd.

-

The rest of the night passes more like a date would than a mission. You and Jack converse happily, simply avoiding real names but talking like you would between friends. His hand rests in yours the whole night, and you enjoy it. The sun begins to go down and the humidity lessens, as does the stifling heat. It’s almost cool now; the both of you wear your flannels properly now, unbuttoned in the front. You munch contently on some cotton candy you finally convinced Jack to buy, even feeding him some to further your ruse. Sighing, you look around and take in the absolute perfection that is this tiny county fair. The sunset is beautiful and the lights of the carnival section are starting to come on. You start to speak until you hear a too-familiar voice through your earpiece.

“Amaretto, Whiskey. They set up shop in the pig barn, but they’re at their most vulnerable. Time to move.” You both groan as you hear your father’s voice. You look down at your interlocked hands between the two of you, then up quickly, remembering. Your father can see what you see with these glasses on. His voice comes in through your earpiece alone now. “See, I told ya it wouldn’t be so bad to spend a little time with Whiskey. I’ve noticed you’re not hating it.”

You shake your head and pull out your earpiece, tucking it in your pocket and murmuring a curse to your father. Jack notices and you simply shrug. “Wasn’t working right. You’re gonna have to relay the messages for me.”

He nods then pauses, listening. He chuckles and turns to you. “He says to put it back in, he knows you can hear him just fine.” You groan and put it back in with a frown. “Next time you want to have family dinner, count on one less plate,” you hiss through the piece, making both Jack and your father laugh. “Whatever, get us to the pig barn then.” Your father guides the two of you through your mission. They’re indeed at their weakest, just four men loading their van with their backs to you. Luckily, they’re the four that Statesman wants. You and Whiskey each easily take out two, leaving them tranquilized on the ground. “Pops, they’re good. Send in the recon van.” A few moments later, the van rushes in through the utility door, and two recon members load the men into the van. You and Whiskey give them a nod, smiling at them and thanking them before leaving the barn.

The voice comes through on just your earpiece again. “Take the rest of the night off. I know you want to.” 

He’s right, you do want to, and so for once, you listen to your damn father. “The rest of the night is up to us,” you say as you turn to Whiskey, removing your earpiece and your glasses and putting them in your bag. You reach for his earpiece, taking it out too, both of you almost shivering at the contact of your wrist to his cheek as you take it out. Jack catches your palm and plants a kiss to it and you grin. “Would you like to stick around, maybe go on some rides?” you ask and put away his earpiece before sliding your hand into his. “As Whiskey and Amaretto?”

Jack grins at you. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

The rest of the evening is spent on rides and eating ice cream, getting squished into Jack’s side on the Scrambler and flipped around on the Slingshot. You both laugh practically all night, overjoyed. You check your watch and look up excitedly, eyes lighting. “The fireworks are gonna go off in ten minutes.” You look at the wait for the ferris wheel- it’s about as long. “Let’s go on the ferris wheel to watch it.”

Jack nods. “Whatever you say, sugar,” he nods, lagging for a moment as you start to run to the next ride, then catching up and pulling you into his chest, kissing your head. You laugh at the feeling of being trapped in his arms and wrap your arms around him too, allowing the bear hug to last a moment longer than it should.

The both of you wait in line for a few minutes, continuing the conversation you’d been having before.

The line eventually shortens enough for the two of you to get on, and you sit, hands on the lap bar. Whiskey sits next to you, draping his arm across your shoulders. You look up at him and smile, scooting into his side. You give a little whoop of excitement as the ride starts moving, and you jump at a loud bang.

You timed it perfectly.

The sky lights with different colors, a variety of fireworks lighting off and illuminating the dark night sky. The stars are clear all the way out here, in the middle of Alabama, and you beam at the image. You pull out your phone to snap some pictures but Jack holds your hand down. “The pictures never do it justice, darlin’. Just look up at those and remember ‘em real hard.” Laughing softly, you rest your head on Jack’s shoulder as you watch. It’s stunning, absolutely gorgeous, and you look at Jack for a moment to find he’s not watching the sky, but has his eyes trained on your face, watching your reaction.

The moment is perfect. He can handle the rejection, he decides, if he has to, but he has to move now. “Can I kiss you, Amaretto?” He murmurs quietly, his face already moving close to yours. You give an answer in the form of a gesture: taking his face in your hands and closing the gap. The kiss is perfect, his soft lips tasting of the cotton candy you finally persuaded him to buy a few hours ago.

He sighs softly, his hand finding the side of your face as well. He breaks away for a moment and looks at your lovely face, grinning at the way your eyes reflect only his face, the dark night sky, and the colorful fireworks. “I think your pops named you wrong. Furthest thing from bitter. You’re the sweetest, most perfect thing I ever did taste,” he drawls before closing the space again, pressing his lips to yours. Your heart pounds in time with the bursts in the sky, erratic and loud, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re finally kissing the man you’ve been crushing on since the moment your father introduced you to the Statesman.

A particularly loud firework startles you and you jump, breaking your kiss and grinning at him, the adrenaline from both the scare and the kiss pounding its way through your body. You look at him and want to say something but can’t find the words. You simply giggle and look into his eyes, making him laugh too. You sit there for a moment, laughing, while the ferris wheel stays stationary. As it moves, you cling to his chest again, looking up and beaming at him. “Kiss me again, cowboy,” you demand, and he chuckles.

“Any time, sugar,” he says with a smile as he takes your chin in his hand and kisses you again.

[tiressian]

Satoru was no Casanova, but he did have what Casanova didn't: internet access, an unlimited data plan and above-average knowledge of how to use a search engine. Really, the tricky part was figuring out a route to the Infirmary with Shoko's gift without anyone else seeing it. In the end, he wound up scaling the wall and jimmying Shoko's window open with a popsicle stick because his usual route to the Infirmary was seeing a lot more foot traffic than expected. He was pretty proud of himself for that ingenuity, especially since Shoko never locked her window. It would have been easier to kick the thing open, but then Shoko would probably stop talking to him if he did.

Satoru slipped inside and pressed himself against the wall just as the door to Shoko's office opened. Shoko paused briefly when she saw him, brows rising, before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She set down the stack of files she'd been carrying onto her desk and leaned against the edge. She fiddled with a strand of her hair, waiting for him to speak first.

"Lotta visitors today," Satoru remarked.

"Flu shots," Shoko said.

"Ahh... should I get one?"

"Absolutely." Satoru pursed his lips at this. "You get a lollipop after," Shoko added enticingly, like she was negotiating with a toddler, not a twenty-something-year-old. Usually it grated when she talked down to him like that, but today it didn't because he was trying to get in her good graces.

"Make that two, then," Satoru said.

"You'll get two lollipops after."

"And a kiss," Satoru added, sly.

"Two lollipops and a kiss," Shoko amended amusedly.

"Sold," Satoru declared. He shook his head at her. "You know, the point of haggling is to reach a middle ground neither of us is really happy with."

"Your health shouldn't be something to be haggled over. And maybe I don't want to catch the flu," Shoko said, a little too pleasantly to get the cogs in Satoru's head up and running. He squinted at her.

"Or maybe you just want an excuse to stick a needle in me after what happened with—"

"Yes, that's exactly what doctors do, is make up arbitrary excuses to torture their patients," Shoko said. "That's what all those years of study amount to." She held up a hand before Satoru could retort. "Enough stalling; what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Italy?"

"Got back early."

"How was it?"

"Italy? Old."

"The Vespa looked fun."

"It was. Take you next time," Satoru promised.

Now it was Shoko's turn to purse her lips. "Don't know if they'll let me go, though."

"Who says they need to know? It'll be like Saint-Émilion." Satoru paused, then shook his head, holding up a finger. "No, better than Saint-Émilion; we'll rent a palazzo with a pool. You could get your tan on. How's that sound?"

"You've given me a lot to think about." Shoko smiled. "What's behind your back?"

"Redemption arc for your birthday," Satoru answered, unable to contain a grin because he'd nailed it, bitches. Shoko was about to be so, so impressed. Boyfriend of the year, here I come!

Boyfriend of the 'quarter', technically, since this was still new for them, but it didn't have as nice a ring to it, and Satoru was optimistic, besides.

"Wish you'd texted me. I didn't get you anything."

"'Course not, it's my redemption arc, not yours."

"Is this really necessary?"

"Shoko, please play along; my street cred with the first-years is at stake. They know all about the..." he glanced around warily, voice lowering, "...kerfuffle."

"Kerfuffle's a cute euphemism for 'severe allergic reaction to—"

"Shh!" Satoru hissed, rushing over, one hand frantically waving her quiet while keeping the other behind his back. "You crazy? Someone could hear!"

"You should be more worried about your 'street cred' with me," Shoko muttered, which of course, Satoru pretended not to hear. "As long as it's not flowers or another stupid p..." she trailed off, seeing him hesitate. The next instant, she started for the door, rolling the collar of her turtleneck up to cover her nose and mouth.

"Where are you going?"

"To get Benadryl. And maybe a knife to cut you." Shoko's hand closed over the doorknob—

"Oh, for crying out lou—it's a succulent!" Satoru called. Talk about dramatic.

Shoko turned warily. Satoru, grinning, presented the tiny potted plant as a peace offering. Its vase was wrapped in burlap, secured by a bow made of twine. Only the tips of its thick green leaves could be seen sticking out from under it.

"That's aloe vera," Shoko said, her tone losing its wary edge. She tugged her turtleneck back down.

Satoru took that as a sign he could approach and did so slowly. He handed it over, internally fist-pumping when she smiled from the plant to him.

SUCC-ESS! Satoru thought.

"Yeah," he said. "The internet said succulents have a low pollen count. There were other ones, but aloe vera was a no-brainer for obvious reasons."

"Medicinal?" Shoko guessed. "The gel's good for your skin and hair."

"Really?" Satoru said. He poked at its leaves with interest. Shoko, already having formed an attachment to it, slapped his hand away. "Huh, learn somethin' new every day."

"Is that not why you choose it?"

"I closed the tab after 'low-pollen.'" Satoru admitted with a shrug.

"So why aloe vera then?"

"Duh," Satoru snickered. "Because aloe you vera much."

Satoru saw the light die in Shoko's eyes before she slowly closed them.

Wait for it, Satoru thought, and almost like clockwork, a cute blush started spreading across her cheeks. Shoko pinched the bridge of her nose, but it was futile; the blush was there and would remain for however long it took before she kicked him out. Satoru nudged her.

"Huh? Huh? Pretty clever, Ieiri, if I do say so myself—"

"Your flu shot's going up your ass, Satoru Gojo."

"Oh dear...in that case, make it three lollipops."

Day 3 of SatoSho Week is up : https://archiveofourown.org/works/43204065

The prompt was : Allergies

Rated T for language

[lightrises]

"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

———

So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

[ariadne-mouse]

Idk if you're taking writing requests, so feel free to ignore this. But. I have not seen a single fic from the banter where Jester tells Caleb to undress for Essek and then a dick joke gets made. And you're an amazing writer, so I'd love to see your take on it, if you want!

Oh why thank you!!  I am so glad you enjoy my writing! <3  I do generally keep fic requests confined to send-me-a-prompt posts, BUT!  At the moment, I just so happen to be itching to write a snippet.  I’ve given your suggestion an attempt below, as a sort of future follow-up scene to the canon moment from ep 124.  I hope you like it!

--

Euphemism 

(778 words, includes dick jokes.  No actual dicks.)

A few days into their Aeor expedition with Essek, Caleb gains another eye.  This one is in the center of his chest, a perfect match to the one on his back between his shoulder blades.  Lucien could run him through with a scimitar and cleanly pass through both at the same time, Caleb thinks grimly.

He laces his shirt a little higher and tries to ignore it, just like Beau has started wearing sleeves indoors for the first time in living memory.  

Essek seems to pick up on the tension.  This is remarkable, since the man is his own supernova of anxiety on any given day.  Somehow he has energy left over to be watchful of Caleb and the rest of the Mighty Nein.  And Caleb catches him looking several times, with searching, questing looks, his brow furrowed in concern as he catches a flash of red peeking from under Caleb’s shirt.

“It’s time,” Jester finally says over dinner in the tower one night.  Her grave tone means that whatever comes out of her mouth next is going to be ridiculous, and sure enough, it is.  “Caleb.  It’s time to show Essek your dick.”

Essek chokes on a sip of wine.  Yasha gently pats his back while he splutters and coughs into his sleeve.

Caleb makes a face, reluctant.  He doesn’t want the eyes of the Somnovum to change how Essek sees him - they are an arcane curiosity, and also a symbol that Caleb isn’t in full control of what’s happening to him.  He also doesn’t want the eyes of the Somnovum to see Essek, either, as absurd as that might be.  There is little doubt they can see him simply by proximity, or through Lucien’s scrying.

“I don’t know, Jester, is now really the time?” he says.  “I am not sure it would help anything.”

“Maybe he can help us learn something!” Jester presses. “We can’t go and fight Lucien without trying to learn something.”

“I agree,” Fjord adds. The Star Razor makes a short appearance, and he looks around.  “And right now, no one is watching.  Might as well.”

“I hate to say it, but I agree too,” Veth speaks up. “If he can help, Caleb, it would be worth it.”

“Show him your dick,” intones Jester again, deepening her voice for maximum drama.

This is Caleb’s family.  He... loves them.  Even when they’re like this.

“Ah--” Essek says faintly. “Ah.  Ahem.  Am... am I missing.... something?  Ah... some... cultural context, perhaps?”  He sounds slightly desperate.  His cutlery and wine glass have started to float a few inches off the table, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Caleb scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know the word for it in common.  A thing you say to indirectly mean something else--?”

“A euphemism,” Beau supplies promptly.

“Nerd,” Fjord grins.  Beau flips him off, also grinning.

“A euphemism,” Caleb repeats. “Jester is using a euphemism.”

Essek’s brain is almost visibly whirring.  The floating cutlery is making a slow, steady orbit of his plate.  “So... we are not talking about...?”

“My dick? No.” Caleb replies.  

A fork is jettisoned from the floating armada of Essek’s cutlery and twangs like an arrow into an overhead beam.  

“...Ah,” is all Essek replies.  He seems determined not to acknowledge what is happening to his silverware.  He does, however, pluck his wine glass from the air and take a deep swig.

“Can you launch the spoon next?” Fjord quips.

“Can everyone just--” Caleb begins, sighing heavily.

“Look, we’ve both got these eye things,” Beau interjects, unwrapping her hand and wiggling her fingers at Essek.  The Somnovum eye on her palm is as upsettingly red as usual.  “Me n’ Caleb.  Three each.  Got ‘em once we read a little too much of Lucien’s book about the Somnovum.  Every few days we get another one.  Haven’t done anything to us so far, that we know of.”

Essek straightens up, his embarrassment fading to alarm. “The dark city has marked you?”  His cutlery settles back on the table.  (Except for the fork.)

Caleb unlaces his shirt enough to display his new eye. “It appears so.”

“And you have no idea as to its purpose, whether it may harm you, whether it may be used against you?” Essek continues, leaning to examine first Caleb’s chest, then Beau’s hand.  His expression is clinical, one of deep thought.  Caleb can practically see him mentally combing through his arcane knowledge and finding nothing, his features pinching with worry more and more with each passing moment.

“That’s the right of it,” Caleb answers.

Essek grimaces and shakes his head.  “I think it would have been preferable if Jester had actually been referring to your dick.”

[newvegascowboy]

I'm not sure Edward would be accepting of the gays™ in the legion??? Ik there is the argument for how historically Rome "accepted" homosexuality, but I dont think Eddie cares about historical accuracy. I think this misconception comes from Major Knight, Jimmy, and NCR propaganda. Also Joshua Graham… don't feel like I have to elaborate on that yk. The NCR through Knight makes it clear that being gay isnt quite as accepted as it seems, and the fact that they say the legion (their explicit enimies) are accepting of it belies their bias that homosexuality= bad/wrong. This sentiment is repeated by other NCR people, which must mean it comes from internally within NCR society. Even Veronica who is with BoS (the brotherhood arguably being an even more militaristic through back to the og American government) repeats a sentiment similar to this. With Jimmy I don't think this disproves my theory, why did the legionary take Jimmy away privately/the situation was covered up, because if this got out generally within the legion it wouldn't be received well. Jimmy was put in the situation of kill or be killed, AND if you play as a male courier he won't speak to you about it, only a female courier (implying that maybe she would understand/be in the same boat)

I don't want this to sound grumpy/rude or like a gotcha yk? (Am a big gay I like the legion as a faction/a piece of fiction) I just have thoughts™, I apologise if this comes off like that? Hope this makes sense!!!

Honestly, it's a good question to have! I don't really Get It with the evidence we're given in text, either. The NCRs homophobia seems to fly under the radar most of the time (or at least I don't really see any discussion about it). It's at least not at the level where Knight isn't afraid to discuss it (regardless of using euphemisms like 'friendships'.) There's also Corporal Betsy and Doctor Richards, both openly queer and actively serving in the NCR.

The fact that there aren't any Legionaries you can talk to about being gay is a missed opportunity, though that may just be in game evidence to support homosexuality being punishable by death. Or maybe it's proof of the Legion being underwritten. Who knows.

I think the notion that the Legion is accepting of homosexuality comes from Veronica's voice line "they mount their men as much as their women" and (iirc?) Cass' voice line about having "A Legion mindset" when it comes to homosexuality. Then again, it's just directly contradictory to the other canon fact that the Legion punishes homosexuality by death, so... I don't know? It seems like they retconned something or changed their minds on it and forgot to go into the text to make the dialogue reflect the retcon.

This meta post has an interesting take on the situation which I agree with and I think is a fairly comprehensive takeaway of the situation. If that's the post that inspired this ask then my bad!