#he falls into a more easy going manner of speech

[adrift-in-thyme]

I find it kinda funny that the LU boys make comments alluding to Time being grouchy and unable to “lighten up” because while he definitely can be intense and strict…otherwise he’s sorta just an introvert lol

[rise-my-angel]

I did some rewatching of scenes from House of the Dragon, and I think I've found a root problem with the writing.

And it isn't what was or was not adapted from Fire and Blood, or the plot or characters directions. There are issues there, but there is a bigger one I think that has been severely under analyzed. A massive problem with this show that has a big impact even when you don't realize, is how clunky and unnatural 90% of the dialogue is.

Something Game of Thrones did right, was take the dialogue from the books, and translate it to the screen by simplifying certain things, tightening sentences and changing wordage so that the actors had an easy time delivering the lines. It was a really good mix of the more formal speech and casual delivery. It meant lines that are good in the book, are good but different in the show because they cleaned up the dialogue so it didn't sound forced from the actors.

Everyone gets to speak in the appropriate manner for their class level, but it also is just quick and to the point. The actors all got a chance to do an amazing job, because they weren't forcing their talent through clunky and awkward to say dialogue.

House of the Dragon, is not doing this.

A significant amount of dialogue in this show takes way too long. Characters constantly use very overly formal, flowery, and fanciful language to say the simplest things even when they are alone in a room. Game of Thrones through all it's faults, knew how to cut to the chase and get the characters to just say what they are meant to say without trying so hard to sound fantasy like. But in HOTD, everyone talks like the writers are trying way too hard to make everyone sound like their from a different time when in reality it just bogs the show down and makes it boring.

A lot of good actors on this show fall flat because they have to force through awkward dialogue that normal people just don't sound like when they speak. Whenever Rhaenyra and Leanor discuss their marriage, it is so painfully unnatural. They are alone in the room, and neither of them ever just say what they mean.

When we saw this exact dynamic. As soon as Renly let the veil slip that he is struggling to go through with having sex with Margaery, she drops the act entirely and just cuts to the chase saying, "There's no need for us to play games." They are a bit more formal in the way they say things, but they still talk like real people. Rhaenyra and Leanor never had a single discussion that wasn't overly flowery as both characters talked around an issue we already understood. Laenor is gay and its putting a strain both on his personal mental health and their marriage as a whole. But neither of them ever get to the POINT without taking way too long to say the most basic of things.

Watch back to back scenes from both shows, and you will see that House of the Dragon completely fails to immerse you in it's dialogue beacuse it is trying so hard. Take the scene where Jace returns home after meeting with the Freys. Rhaenyra knows Jace is troubled about not being allowed to participate in the war, and this is the initial start of that discussion.

Rhaenyra: "You chafed at being prevented from action. Imagine my lot. I'm a dragonrider as well, with a war being fought over my ascension. And yet, I must wait here. Always prudent, sending others to fight and be felled in my name." Jace: "You are the queen. The tie that binds us. No harm can come to you." Rhaenyra: "And you are my son and I did not give you leave to go."

If I showed you that out of context, would you be able to tell me this is a mother and son disagreeing over their separate wants and choices during a war? No. It's full of words no one in Game of Thrones used in normal conversation. This is not how even highborns in this series talked to each other, this is writing dialogue in a way that is trying to sound like it is from a more medieval fantasy instead of just what real people sound like.

Neither actor delivering these lines sounds natural, neither can really portray the degree of frustration brewing between them when its being forced through this kind of bad writing.

Now take the same idea from Game of Thrones in a scene where Robb and Catelyn are in an argument over Robb's trust in Theon and Catelyns perceived frustration that Robb isn't putting priority on his sisters safety.

Robb: "Now I'm the one rebelling against the throne. Before me, it was father. You married one rebel and mothered another." Catelyn: "I mothered more than just rebels, a fact you seem to have forgotten." Robb: "If I trade the Kingslayer for two girls, my bannermen will string me up by my feet." Catelyn: "You want to leave Sansa in the Queen's hands? And Arya, I haven't heard a word about Arya. What are we fighting for if not for them?" Robb: "It's more complicated than that! You know it is."

Both use more formal language, but it's in how their sentence is structured rather then the words themselves. They're alone and they're both frustrated and they have absolutely no reason to mince words, they say exactly what they mean. By cleaning up the dialogue here to be more straight forward and simple, it allowed the actors to really shine. You truly feel Catelyns frustration stemming from her helplessness, and you feel Robbs understanding being overpowered by such a frustration that she won't understand his side. By the time Robb raises his voice and shouts at her, we don't take it as out of line because both of them have said exactly what they mean and the audience doesn't need Robb to apologize to know he didn't mean to yell and neither does Catelyn.

Not even the lowborn characters are saved from this in House of the Dragon. Theres a scene in Game of Thrones when Arya, Lommy, Hotpie, and Gendry are arguing by a stream about battle's and armour and they are all quick, talk over each other and it's very punchy and the flow is part of what makes it hilarious. Ser Davos is blunt and speaks with a very quick cadence to emphasize he was never taught to speak formally and thus feels comfortable saying exactly whats on his mind.

Most of the lowborns in House of the Dragon though, have very little differentiation from their highborn counterparts in the way their dialogue is structured. Some of the only differences is literally just, characters like Ulf have a lowborn accent, but that accent delivers the same kind of drawn out, overly formal dialogue that isn't present in Game of Thrones lowborns. It's very easy to distinguish who was raised how in the simple manner which they speak.

Highborns talk slower and more clearly and their sentences are structured a bit better, and lowborns normally talk faster with less refined accents and normally have no real issue saying whats on their mind because they are used to being surrounded by other people who don't care about being formal.

It might not be obvious, but the dialogue is a big reason why people struggle to connect to these characters far more then they did Game of Thrones. The dialogue is clunky, there is no distinction made as to why certain people talk this way or why it seems everyone around them speaks in the same manner when they have no reason to.

There's so much more to get through, to understand what these people are saying, thinking, and feeling because the dialogue works against them. The best acting is done, when the characters are silently reacting to each other because there's no fighting against bad writing to portray exactly what they need to.

Again, there are multiple comparative scenes that you could watch back to back and see this problem play out in real time. Scenes discussing similar issues or portraying similar emotions but House of the Dragon never reaches that emotional peak that connects it's audience to these characters as relatable, because we pick up on the fact that they don't talk like humans. They talk like they are performing a school play, not as if they are speaking like real people just talking to each other.

Try it yourself, the examples I used earlier. Say each set of lines out loud and deliver it with as much emotion as possible. Because I am willing to bet that the Game of Thrones dialogue will be a lot easier to say, and thus a lot easier to deliver with a real emotion.

There's no excuse. Game of Thrones took good book dialogue, and cleaned it up so it had a smooth transition into good show dialogue. House of the Dragon has the freedom to write most of it's own original dialogue since Fire and Blood is written as a historical record and not a pov narrative. There is no transition to make lines from the book that in full may sound clunky and unnatural out loud, into something clean and to the point that makes it easy for the actors to work with the dialogue instead of against it.

But House of the Dragon fails in inventing it's own dialogue, because at every turn it is trying way too hard to sound like the books instead of the show.

Trust me, you wonder why you can't connect, relate or really care about a lot of these characters? I'm willing to bet that the poor writing is doing a lot of heavy lifting for that.

If the characters don't even talk like humans, our brains are more likely to tune out, because it all sounds like actors reading a script, not characters speaking to each other realistically.

Real people talk like the characters in Game of Thrones. No one talks like the characters in House of the Dragon.

And that is a massive problem.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Heyo!! Could I request Dali learning that his s/o has been teaching the kids (minus Ul cause he's a baby) how to defend themselves?

Dali wasn't sure what woke him up. Maybe it was the sun warming his back a little too much. Maybe it was his hand falling asleep next to him as the numb tingling crawling up the rest of his arm. What he was sure of, was that it was not the sound of children that woke him.

The noble lifted his head from his desk. Scrubbing his eyes and wiping the drool from his chin. Trying to make sense of his surroundings and how long he had been out for.

“Good morning, Master Dali.” He turned to see Clara in the door way. Prepared to enter the room with a tea tray and her ever calming smile.

“Morning?”

“Just a figure of speech in this instance, Master Dali.” She clarified as she pour the tea. “It's actually the afternoon. But I thought that would be more confusing after your nap than if I just said 'good morning'.”

Dali hummed. Appreciating some logic in that as he sipped his tea. “I'm making a very poor figure of a father if I keep falling asleep on the job.”

Clara chuckled. “Even parents need their rest, Master Dali. Especially, need their rest.” She said with a manner of expert on the subject. “If you would take a bit of a break now & then, these sudden spells would not keep happening.”

“Never.” He would not give up, nor abandon his promise.

Suddenly Dali realized how quite it was, “where are the children anyway?”

“[Y/N] took the children outside to play, citing the need for quite in here. The other gentlemen well...they left upon message from Lord Johannes and decided it best to leave you here.”

Dali frowned. “Abandoning their post at the first sign of weakness. What blackhearts I've been matched with.” Clara smiled, knowing that Dali was just joking, and he sat down his tea cup. “Outside you said?”

The nanny nodded and told him they were out in the east courtyard, knowing he would go find them. It did not take Dali long to do just that. Finding [Y/N] with the children quickly and spotted them playing. Only, as he got closer and started to slow his strides, he realized that ‘playing’ might not be the correct term.

“Very good Angelico. Superb thrust! Raphael, you need to plant your feet more or you will stumble.” Raphael hung his head, but pitter-pattered his feet around to re-place them and held up his branch turned sword. “Lucia, Elena, why aren’t you practicing?”

“We’re bored!” The girls chime in together. “We don’t want to practice anymore.”

“Yeah. Besides, ladies aren’t supposed to fight.” The girls add one after the other.

“Oooh? So, you would rather rely on men do things for you.” [Y/N] gestured to the ‘men’ beside them as the boys all looked offended, but didn’t seem to understand why. “Even ladies need to know how to defend themselves. Dashing prince and knights are not as easy to come by as in your stories. Should the situation arise, and no prince is available, you’ll need to take care of each other on your own.” The girls seemed to understand and nod before they both pick up their sticks again.

[Y/N] then lifted their own sword, the only real one in attendance, and settled into a starting position common for training. “Now, the key is to keep your weight on your back foot so you can balance but also use it to propel yourself forward. If someone is coming at you, you only have a moment in most cases to strike!” [Y/N] demonstrated a few quick thrusts, to which all the children awe over, while Dali appalled as he came out of the shadows.

“Wise words from an even wiser instructor.” He praised.

“Father,” Raphael said as he looked to his father, “have you come to teach us as well?”

“I would be a poor substitute for [Y/N]’s masterful tutoring.” Dali teased. “This is what you’ve been doing with the children when you’re ‘playing’.”

“I meant what I said.” [Y/N] stated. Seeming to not be even a little bit deterred in their secret lesson plan. “Dashing prince and knights are hard to come by. The children should be prepared to defend themselves. Now, or whenever the time comes.”

Dali smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me. I would like Raphael to one day follow in my footsteps in Vlad, should he so choose. The sword will have to come second nature to him, best start early.”

Dali then dismissed the children from the lesson, citing that it was time for tea, and they all hurry back to the manor. “I appreciate you taking an interest in their safety, [Y/N].” He told the other when they were alone. “But aren’t they a little young?”

“I was about their age when I started learning the sword. Perhaps that’s why I was always better at it than you.” Dali held his heart, pretending to be wounded, but the adults walk back to the manor as well together. Close enough to be hand in hand if one were to squint.

“So I know ‘dashing prince’ are hard to come by, but what about handsome nobles?”

[Y/N] hummed in thought. “I don’t know. You’ll have to let me know when you find one.” Now Dali was really wounded. “But obnoxious, know it all, too cocky for their own good nobles with ‘ok’ smiles seem to be a dime a dozen.”

Dali growled playfully at [Y/N] and gave them a few seconds head start before he chased them the rest of the way back to the manor. He’d have to teach them a lesson of his own later.

[takami-takami]

cw: this is an age regression drabble. caregiver!keigo. keep all additions and tags strictly sfw.

Keigo spent a majority of his life protecting people from a distance. 

He would, of course, always follow that twitch in his feathertips when they told him someone needed safety or comfort nearby. The act of protecting is one that scratches that intrinsic, unquenchable itch baked deep into his feathers and the fibers of his bone marrow beneath; but protection never quite felt tangible to him.

He always thought saving people meant giving yourself until you're empty and then turning heel to take flight. It meant making efficient use of your time, answering every "thank you, Hawks!" with a wink and a gust of his wings to speed away and save the next.

It meant never slowing down or seeing the fruits of your labor.

As a hero, Keigo's actions never felt solid in his hands— so he simply decided he felt that way because he wasn't trying hard enough; that he needed to clock longer hours and more frequent, grueling shifts.

But as a man, protecting you felt so much different from all that.

Keeping you safe is a slow, methodical process. It's a neverending pet project built with loving purpose and steady hands, armed with rolled up sleeves over the bicep and fuzzy teddy bears as his deadly arsenal.

Keigo has always been finely attuned to your little quirks, mannerisms, and subtle displays; so when your eyes go just the slightest bit fuzzy, fingertips wringing a frenzy against your bedsheets while you mumble in the cutest, clipped speech, he knows exactly what to do.

He can coax the tension out of your shoulders with his words alone. 

"You feeling small, baby?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper. Those golden eyes of his gently flick back and forth between yours when he sits, assessing your form curled in on itself against the headboard of your bed. 

And your shoulders droop instantly, nodding once. You gnaw at a chewed up cuticle. 

"Oh, baby, it's okay. S'okay, c'mere," Keigo whispers, arms open with grabby hands for you to crawl and nestle into his warmth. "Shhh, it's alright, little birdie. You can be small tonight. That okay? Wanna be small for me?" 

The thick of his warm palm cradles the back of your skull and you nod like he just offered you a lifeline. The barrel of his chest rises and falls with even breaths, sinking you further as you smush your cheek into the side of his neck with your eyes shut.

He smells nice. You sink even deeper.

Keigo sits cross legged on the bed and leans just the slightest bit back when you sink into him. Like this, he reminds you of an aged, sturdy tree; firm and unyielding with the slightest give, but always consistent and firmly rooted. 

Safe. Warm and safe. 

Always safe.

"Mm," you hum, feeling a bit fuzzier now. 

"Yeah?" Keigo answers. He pulls back to get a good look at you, and you see him smiling ear to ear as if that little sound you just gave was a whole speech. "Get comfy, cause I'm gonna spoil you tonight."

And spoil you he does. 

The next thing you know, Keigo has you sitting cross legged in front of him on the bed, ready to make a few last big decisions.

"Okay!" He chirps, placing two open palms in front of you for you to look at. "We're gonna pick, okay?" His rich voice guides you along gently, smoothly. "Just two, I prommy." 

You nod fervently at the reassurance, nearly straining your poor little neck with the motion. 

You have to think— which is scary— but it's only two times. You can do that. 

"Perfect, dove," Keigo praises as if he just read your mind.

The first question is easy. 

"Blanket fort," he says, clenching his left fist closed and open for emphasis. "Or bed?" He closes and opens the right.

If you were a smidge more lucid, you'd feel a twinge of remorse for how hard you slam down on his left palm.

"Sorry, 'Kei," you droop.

"Awww," Keigo coos genuinely. "You think you hurt me… That's so cute, dove! Yeah, you're a strong one, aint'cha?"

And just like that, you're smiling proud once  more. Keigo's heart soars at a job well done.

"One more and you're finished, little bird," he says seriously, like he's presenting you with a quest; and you nod your head with a furrowed brow to accept the challenge, a hero ready to conquer.

"Movie," he says, clenching one palm. "Or storytime?" He clenches the other.

Maybe you weren't quite as ready as you thought.

Tears begin to pinprick at the corners of your eyes. You fight back little hitched sniffles and sobs as you stand in the face of the mountain before you, trying to be brave.

"I… U-Uhm," you hiccup and stutter at the idea of thinking any more than you have to. 

Keigo considers stepping in. His feathers ruffle from the base to the edges of his wingspan, spine stiffening at the sight of you in distress. The itch begins to burn once more and—

You slowly place both palms face down in his, lip wobbling when you look at him. 

"Both?" He asks and your heart swells with gratitude that he picked up on your meaning— of course he would, you beam. Keigo's so smart.

You nod once.

"Both it is, sweetheart!" 

All other decisions from that point onward are made by Keigo himself.

Keigo decides to stand, hushing your blubbers with a kiss to your crown and a teddy placed in your hands to keep you company while he sets the scene.

Keigo decides on the color theme for tonight's blanket fort (baby blue), putting to good use his avian instincts of nest building when he selects the finest comforters and pillows to fluff and stack.

Keigo decides to hand you your fuzziest jammies and softest blankies while his feathers zip off to fetch your favorite mug carrying something hot for you to sip.

Keigo decides on the movie— something animated and lighthearted, a familiar favorite of yours. He suppresses a smile that twitches at the corners, thinking about how excited you're gonna get once you see. You'll squeak "that's my favorite!" like you don't say that every time, and he'll reply once again, "no way, mine too!" 

Keigo decides he selfishly gets more out of this than you do; but at the same time, unbeknownst to him, you decide the exact same thing.

[simp999]

Hi! I saw your requests were open and thought I'd pop in to ask How Would The Mercs Reach To Their S/O Picking Up Phrases Or Slang That They Use! Bonus points if S/O also says phrases in the Mercs' native tongue ^^

THIS IS THE STUFF, PEOPLE!!!! I love this prompts so much oh my gosh, thank you so much for requesting!!! I may have gotten a tad carried away with Sniper's part, whoops..

Merc's Reactions to Their S/O Picking up Words/Phrases/Slang That They Use - drabbles

Total wc: 2.4k

Mercs included: All

Masterlist

Scout:

After being around him for such a long time, it’s not too surprising that sometimes you’d accidentally slip into a bostonian accent for some words. But the first time Scout caught you saying one of his lines was in the middle of battle. - Your two classes didn’t really mesh too well, so you wouldn’t be near each thother too often. Which means that he has no idea how long you’ve been doing this for.

You hadn’t noticed Scout run behind you after noticing you turning a corner. You jumped down from the ledge, spotting an opponent right below you. With a big swing of your weapon and a crit hit that landed perfectly on the back of their head, you shouted:

“Hah! Take that, chucklenuts!”

Scout couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling pride wash through him. That means you think he’s funny! It’s not a direct complement, but it sure feels like it for him. It probably didn’t help that you yelled “BONK!” as your hit landed, too. It didn’t really matter to him if you guys ended up winning that battle or not, because that was a big enough win for him. (Though, you did end up winning with how much quicker he was on his feet.)

It really just made him fall even more in love with you.

Soldier:

Hearing him go on about war and America so often eventually meant you using references some times, or throwing in a few words relating to those things at times. It’s happened before where your team was right close to losing, so the opposing team felt more lax and confident. You were the start of the comeback, killing their Medic, and shouting:

“It ain’t over 'till it’s over, Maggot!”

Soldier didn’t even catch the fact that you used one of his most common nicknames. It just kinda flew over his head.

Of course, it wasn’t just words and phrases that you’d stolen from him - It’d be wrong to say that you didn’t get a bit more chaotic, too.

The one that struck him right in the face, though, was when you sacrificed yourself for him, while killing multiple enemies. You had shouted “Death before dishonor!” as you did. 

It had landed you the victory.

After the battle, he had quickly picked you up and threw you on his shoulders, holding your legs in place as he marched on. He gave you a whole speech about how “YOU DESERVE A MEDAL OF HONOR, CUPCAKE!!”

Pyro:

-Uhhhh

.

.

-jk, as if I’d leave my favorite firebug out ;)

Obviously, mimicking any common phrases of theirs wasn’t really possible…but! I can promise you that they only fell harder for you when you started adapting their little tweaks to sign language that they tended to use. One thing that was very common of Pyro to do was to use the short form of “I love you”. They loved the fact that it was so much quicker to do, and easy, and it’s so simple!

There’s a good chance that you weren’t completely fluent in sign language when you first showed up as a merc, so you had Engineer and Pyro gladly help you. So, that’s what made them even more excited to see you pick up on their mannerisms.

Because you knew the right way to do it. Pyro knows this, because they’ve seen you either learn it with Engie, or do it before.

Their favorite thing was seeing how you got more comfortable with sign language with time. Your movements are so much less stiff, and much quicker. It’s almost second nature to you now, and they can’t express how happy it makes them!

Though, lots of cuddles and gasmask kisses seems to do the trick.

Heavy:

Heavy caught you the first time you said it. His favorite step in your relationship was the night he decided to call you милая (milaya). You two were snuggled up next to eachother after a long day of battles, enjoying eachother’s warmth. (He’s a human heater, so this happens pretty often.) He wasn’t really expecting you to catch it, throwing it in the middle of his sentence to try to hide it. - He’s still a bit nervous about trying new things, you know! - But, you had indeed questioned him on what it meant. He merely explained that it was a term of endearment, and he struggled to find similar english words and ended up fumbling with Honey, Darling and Sweetie. Your face had gotten a little warmer at that, but you had expressed how much you liked the name and he had began to use it since. Now, it simply rolled off his tongue with ease when talking or calling out to you.

Ironically, it was nearly the same situation, only months later. You two were once again cuddling after a long day, though much more tired. This time, you two were laying down on Heavy’s giant bed with him on his back and you on your front right on top of him. You were almost out like a light, but you had noticed that your throat was dry. A glass of water was within Heavy’s reach, so you had mumbled in a groggy voice:

“Mind passing me that glass of water, милая(Milaya)?”

The way you said it without the russian accent almost tripped him up, but he froze right before picking up the glass for you. He figured you must have meant to use his nickname, Misha, or even his actual name, Mikail. He didn’t ask you about it, as you were asleep before he could form the right sentence. 

It had plagued his mind for a while though, and may have made his face go pink a few times during battle. 

Engineer:

Do you guys have any idea how wild some southern phrases can be?? Imagine picking up on that! But I won’t go into that, instead, imagine adapting his southern conjunctions. Ya’ll, ain’t, Y'all'd've. .. okay maybe not that last one, but still.

Something more common that you most likely picked up on was sometimes no longer pronouncing the G at the end of words. Fixin’, attackin’, goin’, etc. Just like Scout, you probably also had a few words that slipped into that southern accent.

But by far, the most common thing you did was drop the G and use ‘y’all’. Dell definitely noticed, and probably poked fun at you at times.

“Ya’ll wanna play darts or somethin’ later?” You head poked into the common room, where most of the usual mercs were hanging out, already drinking beer and chatting away. He’d let out a snicker, then follow it up with something along the lines of:

“Yer startin’ ‘ta sound a lil’ too much like me, Honeybee.”

He definitely gently teases you about it, “correcting” you if you “forget” to use the southern version of whatever you said.

“Don’tchya mean ‘ya’ll’?”

Demoman: (small gore mention)

Man, don’t get me started with all the weird stuff he says. The thing is, he doesn’t often use the same insults, so you don’t end up picking up on the more obscure ones. You might slip and say “ya” instead of “you”, and you might pick up on using “bloody” to accentuate what you’re trying to say. You might also pick up saying “aye” to get people’s attention. 

He thought it was absolutely adorable, and would often follow through with whatever you said with something of his own. 

You really wanted to use your favorite line of his on the battlefield one day, but he just so happened to be with you when you got a sweet domination, taking an opponent’s head clean off. You kinda forgot that he was with you, as he was focused on another opponent, so you let the line slip:

“Hah! They’re going to have to glue you back together… IN HELL!”

You weren’t expecting him to notice, or at least make it obvious that he did, but he immediately called out after you:

“AYE, THAT’S RIGHT YE BLOODY BADASS! THA’S HOW IT’S DONE!!” 

Medic: (Gore mention)

It’s common for Medic to use filler words such as "eh, ah, um, er, eheh, aha, ja", and you’ve adopted that little habit. He finds it adorable that you started copying him!

Though, he definitely treats it as an experiment, as he does with most things. He also probably tallies it up. Like, he’ll just be having a conversation with you and have his notepad handy, and he only stops tallying when it seems like you might be catching on.

He’ll purposely use one of the filler words more often than others to see if you’ll do the same. It works! For some you begin to use them right away, others may take a while of exposure for you to start absentmindedly saying them. 

The first time you used a german, non-filler word was in a fit of panic.

You had been practising some stuff on some subjects that Medic had allowed you to borrow. Of course you were interested in experimenting with bodies and animals, even people, sometimes! -You got with Medic, this is to be expected. - He knows he’s taught you enough for you to be safe to do this type of stuff on your own, and he allows you to use the medbay whenever. 

He had walked in to tell you to come take a break to have something to eat, when you accidentally cut your hand with a scalpel. Without a second thought, you quickly let out a hushed “Scheiße!” before turning around to take care of the wound, spotting Medic. He didn’t have time to question you about it, since taking care of you was the only thing on this mind at the time.

Sniper:

The first time it happened was when Scout had asked you to hang out. He apparently wanted to show you something cool, but you were busy making yourself a snack. Mundy had just walked into the kitchen when he heard your reply; 

“Cheers! I’ll be free in a bit!” 

Scout didn’t seem to notice anything. Or if he did, he didn’t mention it. He just started rambling on about whatever cool thing he was about to show you. Sniper didn’t want to bother you when you seemed genuinely interested in Scout’s mostly one-sided conversation, but if you had looked over at him, you would have been able to spot a slight raise of his brow and the tiniest hint of a smirk.

The second time was when Demo had accidentally spilled some of his scrumpy on you. He was extremely apologetic, but you kept reassuring him that it was alright.

“No wuckas, Demo! I’ll just go change real quick.”

Yet again, you walked off before he could question you.

The third time got him backstabbed. 

Though he’d never admit it, he often sometimes watched you through his scope, wanting to keep his S/O safe. This time, you just so happened to be semi-facing him, when you ran into a sticky bomb. You had noticed it a moment too late, so you weren’t able to dodge it. You only had enough time to mutter a quick “...Piss.” before being sent to respawn. Sniper was able to read your lips, and he couldn’t help but snort and let out a chuckle, not allowing himself to listen to his surroundings.

Finally, you did it when it was just you and him in his camper van. The two of you were bored and looking for something to do, when you had spotted something behind Mundy. You gestured towards it;

“Hey, wanna pass the deck of cards, mate?”

He froze for a moment, then he allowed his smirk to grow. You sat in silence, wondering what was so funny. He noticed the look of confusion on your face.

“Mate… really? You’re not doin’ that t’make fun of me, are ya?”

Your brows only furrowed further together, “What, what’d I do?” 

He never called you ‘mate’ anymore, not after the two of you got together. Usually, he called you ‘Roo’ or ‘Love’.

“You called me ‘Mate.’”

“I-” You look at him in disbelief, finally making proper sense of his previous sentence. Then a smile began to slowly grow across your face, “no.. did I really?”

“Yeah, you’ve been playin’ parrot for a while, now,”

You shake your head and cover your face in embarrassment as you lean into his side. You hadn’t even noticed!

“S’alright, Roo. ’S pretty funny,” he snuggled a little closer, only to give you a small peck on the temple, “n’ cute, too.”

Spy:

One thing for certain was that he very rarely used your actual name. It was always pet names and names of endearment- always french ones. 

‘Mon amour, mon coeur, ma/mon chèr(e)’, etc. And since you hung around him so much, it wasn’t rare to hear him use french swears and insults dropped in conversation every so often when talking about past battles and such. Once, he had accidentally spilled his glass of wine, and he uttered “Merde..” under his breath. The same thing happened when a burnt piece of his cigarette had fallen onto his suit, though this time he had said it a bit louder. He’d called people ‘con’ or ‘connard’, ‘crétain, putain,’ and many more. One that was a little more common around the others was ‘ta geule’, or ‘ferme ta geule.’ You eventually learnt that it meant something along the lines of “Shut up”. 

One day, when you were extremely frustrated with an overly obnoxious opponent who really enjoyed taunting you, you muttered:

“Ferme ta geule, connard!”

As the opponent fully came to face you, trying to make sense of the words you had let out, they got backstabbed. 

You were simply a distraction. 

Though, that didn’t stop the way Spy’s cigarette fell from his lips as he finally thought twice about what you had said moments prior.

“Mon amour, it’s best you don’t start using those words too often.”

July.27.23

[epicfranb]

Fuck it I'm not even rereading this. Here you go

Doc hired Etho, a skilled (probably) assassin to kill two of his most hated hermits: Keralis and Bdubs. And, after a long and fierce battle with Keralis that no one ended up winning, Etho wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead and said "Next one's gonna have to wait."

Does he even need to fight Keralis again? Hopefully, the fact that the fight took place is enough. After all, Doc's main goal is to scare them, isn't it? Etho and Doc go way back, so the guess probably has some truth to it.

Fixing up the gear after a long fight like this is a pain though. His sword needs sharping, the bow probably needs replacing, and his armor is... Well, everything could be in a better shape had Etho thought of a plan beyond "spam crossbows, then do whatever". His anvil aim could use some training, and his crossbow machine gun design could be improved. But it's better off in the hands of a more skilled player anyway.

Etho thinks he is quite a skilled player. But not in terms of fighting, no-no. Someone else could take the lead, someone more experienced – Etho's happy enough devising a plan and preparing the gear. Fighting isn't his forte.

Assassinating Bdubs is gonna need a better plan than this. If he succeeds in at least one of the hits, Doc will be happy enough (to pay him). But, unlike Keralis, Bdubs is... Too easy to kill. Pathetically so. It's just going to be boring. He needs a better plan than this.

Fixing armor was a job so usual and monotone to Etho, that it was easy to space out and lose himself in thoughts, and then wake up to a set of fully repaired gear. Normally, he would get some music on, but he kind of forgot about it before he spaced out, thinking about...

Yes, him again. Bdubs.

That man had an annoying habit of occupying all of the space within Etho's head. And, Bdubs himself doesn't do it directly, but Etho blames him anyway, because he knows it'd make him mad.

Bdubs has a funny voice. Every time he speaks, he voices his thoughts in such a strange manner, using some of the strangest vocabulary, interspersed with his "patented" "Bdubs noises". His speech patterns make no sense, the words never quite come out right, he's loud, he's boisterous, he's hilarious, and he's very, very talkative. Man has so many ideas and thoughts running through his head at all times, and he needs to get ALL of them out, to the point where he's been talking for hours, jumping from topic to topic, from idea to idea, and if he isn't stopped, he gets his throat killed. And a lot of the times, his throat does get killed after talking to Etho, because the other spaces out or falls asleep, as if Bdubs's voice is a lullaby to him.

Even now, one swing forth, one swing back, Etho's hands move on their own, the only sound in his head is a replay of Bdubs's voice, saying gibberish. It's like a catchy song that's been stuck in your head, you may not remember the lyrics, but you're enjoying the general sound of it. And Etho enjoyed his imaginary Bdubs singing to him. He has such a beautiful voice.

Helmet done, now onto the wings.

Honestly, it's appalling how different Etho and Bdubs are, even in the small things. Like, taste in food as an example. Etho's first impression of Bdubs was that he's the same sweet tooth that he is; turns out, it's quite the opposite. Bdubs doesn't put any sugar in his morning drinks, and he's a fan of green tea, which Etho only tolerates. He also likes bitter chocolate, and Etho thought those kinds of people only exist in myths... Oh, and he likes raisins. What a weird guy.

Their sleep schedules are so different, that at the rare occasions they've lived together, they barely ever saw each other. Bdubs goes to sleep early, and, despite taking his sweet time getting out of bed, he gets up early, too. A real morning bird with a solid schedule, in contrast to Etho, who stays up all night, working when no one and nothing is around to bother him – and gets up whenever. Sometimes he woke up first, and took his chance to prank Bdubs; other times he wasn't so lucky, and got pranked back. It was a fun back-and-forth while it lasted, but now Etho has the advantage of knowing Bdubs's exact sleep schedule, which Bdubs can't brag about – Etho's schedule is too chaotic. Those games are always fun.

With all the holes in the wings patched up, leggings are next.

Etho recalled his surprise when Bdubs came to him, all those years ago, and with eyes beaming of excitement, exclaimed: "Teach me how to fight!" Etho was never more than decent at fighting, but Bdubs seemed to be so caught up in his idealized version of Etho, that he thought it'd be better to ask him, and not someone who had actual skill. At least, that's what Etho thought at the time.

It was never about the fighting, no. It was never about swords, nor was it about bows or armor – it was about admiration. Bdubs admired Etho, and wanted to be closer to him. No, not in his skill – although, Bdubs admitted, that too – it was just about spending time together. The warmth of the other's skin on his hands, guiding him, on his torso, teaching him, his voice so close like it's reverberating in his heart, and his breath tickling his neck from behind... At least that's what Etho imagined Bdubs felt. Back then, he couldn't put his finger on why Bdubs shivered and blushed so often during their trainings, but, thinking about it now, it made some sense.

Swords clashing against one another, bodies in perfect sync, moving one after the other, shifting their feet in the same rhythm they got adjusted to – it was more like a dance than it was fencing. Sometimes, all of the competitiveness between the two would fade, and they were moments away from throwing their swords on the ground and taking each other's hands, wrap their arms around the other, to guide him somewhere else, in the same dance, same rhythm, but with much different implications. They regretted only a little bit that they never ended up getting into dance.

It was a nice memory, but Etho was somewhat bothered by his cheeks getting hotter. His entire body got hotter, in fact. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his hands shook slightly.

It seems that it's time for a rest, Etho thought. He still had his boots to repair, but they could wait. He'll be gone only a little while.

For now, maybe he can think about a plan to kill Bdubs... Kill Bdubs, huh. Normally that'd sound quite tempting, but he wasn't really in the mood for any killing now. Getting soft, Etho chuckled to himself. But being soft felt kind of nice once in a while.

If I don't want to kill him, Etho thought as he got into the kitchen – if you could call it that, – maybe I'll find a way to make him die, and me not have to see it. That meant a trap, and, thankfully, Etho had an extensive catalogue of traps permanently in his head. Some of them more obvious, others – devilishly hidden, and whichever one he chose depended on what would get a funnier reaction. In chat, at least. Or in a later conversation.

But nothing really felt right. Etho cracked an egg – fill his base with chickens? no, that won't kill him. Entity cramming maybe? Etho whisked some dough – drowning is a good idea. But it's long, he can get out. And it's painful. Since when was Etho hesitant about a trap being painful? Etho put the cake in the oven –– Wait, cake?

Etho crouched in front of the oven, taking a curious look inside – sure enough, that is a cake. When did he make a cake? Why did he make a cake?

Etho has a pretty strong grasp on his own mind, but even that becomes a mystery when Bdubs is involved.

If the cake was meant to be a trap, it was a bad one. He didn't even put any poison in it! The frosting is now finished too, and that doesn't have any poison either... Unless Etho adds it. Which he doesn't. Whether he forgot, or just didn't want to, he didn't really know. Looking for the right poison, or making it from scratch, was a hassle, and Etho was too lazy to deal with that.

Besides, his mouth watered at his own cake. It was his sugary masterpiece, and he was itching to take a nice big bite off of it... But he held back. This cake is for Bdubs. Once he figures out how to make it into a trap.

Will Bdubs even want to eat such a sweet cake? Etho's mind wandered somewhere else while baking it, so he had no idea how much sugar he actually put into it. Knowing himself and his taste buds, it was probably... Way too much for Bdubs to handle. Maybe the excess sugar can kill him. Yeah, that'll do.

Etho rummaged around his storage system to find a nice big box and some wrapping paper with heart patterns to wrap the cake into. Maybe the heart patterns were excessive – Etho swore he had other types of patterns somewhere – but he couldn't find anything else, and wasn't bothered to. The cake neatly packaged, Etho grabbed his freshly restocked redstone box and flew off in the direction of Bdubs's base.

Etho usually thinks. He thinks about what he's gonna do next, even when he does something on a whim, he thinks first. How am I gonna do it? What are the steps? What am I going to need? His mind was in a haze as he flew, as if locked out of his own head, only able to peek through the bars, and the only thing left of his brain was an enormous screen with just images of Bdubs on it. This was getting ridiculous, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. The thoughts felt nice.

Bdubs wasn't online, thankfully, so setting up a trap didn't require any stealth ninja moves. Etho didn't even try to hide that it was a trap: the gift box was sitting right on top of an observer, ready to trigger it. There was nothing under it but a dispenser – what was in it? a damage potion? lava? exactly 24 boats to entity cram him (forget that you can't fit 24 boats in one dispenser)? Well, Bdubs is going to have to find out himself. The joy of discovery, and all. Etho's heart raced, despite knowing Bdubs isn't here to catch him in the act; he felt hot all over, despite Bdubs's biome being cooler than his; and his cheeks hurt from smiling, even though nothing happened yet. There was no rational reason for any of those body reactions to occur; and yet, they did. A human's body is hardly ever rational, but Etho found comfort in knowing what causes which reactions, and he was clueless about his current state. He guessed that he was just really looking forward to the prank working... I mean, what prank? It's a death trap! Totally!...

***

Etho had completely forgotten about the trap, when his communicator buzzed in his pocket. All of the gear repaired, and all the hitman matters taken care of, he has managed to distract himself from thinking about his... Friend, and get to work. However, the friend demanded attention, and who was Etho to decline him that attention? In his mind, a picture of an excited dog replaced Bdubs for a second, prompting a sudden outburst of laughter from Etho, which, he was pretty sure, could be heard even from Xisuma's base.

Etho took the familiar route through the Nether to Bdubs's base. He circled above it for a second, looking for the town's proud owner – he spotted him right next to his starter house (made of diorite, of course), and landed right behind him, scaring him to death.

"What are ya doin' sneakin' up behind me like that, huh?!" He fumed, stamping his feet all over the place. "What are you, role-playin' a ninja?!"

"Some people do call me a little bit of a ninja." Etho shrugged, prompting a scowl from Bdubs. "Anyway, whatcha got there? A cake?"

Behind him, the cake was sitting on the observer like on a table, unwrapped, with a small piece cut out of it. Bdubs probably checked it for poison; or maybe he couldn't eat the rest because it was too sweet. Either way, same thing, really.

"Aww, dontcha pretend like you don't know what it is!" Bdubs sang proudly like he just solved the world's hardest riddle; Etho couldn't help but smile, giving himself away. "Yeah, I knew it! It's yours! I know how you bake your cakes, you won't fool me!"

"Did I poison you with sweetness?" Etho asked through laughter.

"I'd rather not say what I did with the piece that I put in my mouth." Bdubs nodded behind him, in the direction of the river. Ah, so it was that sweet.

"Awwww, you spat out my cake? That I baked for you, with such love and care?"

"Yes, but I don't want to do it with the rest, so you're here to get rid of it." Bdubs walked up to the cake and shifted it around, sending a short pulse down. The dispenser didn't fire, meaning Bdubs saw the message.

"You mean you aren't going to eat it." Etho sobbed, hugging his arms. "Welp, more left for me!" He smiled.

"Great! Cuz I physically can't eat it!" Bdubs laughed.

He brought Etho a chair, a plate and a spoon, some tea (three spoons of sugar, as usual) and even a tablecloth to turn the observer into a real table (that ticks sometimes). Etho dug in immediately – he'd completely forgotten he hasn't eaten anything since that battle with Keralis. And oh was the cake sweet. Too sweet even for Etho, but he enjoyed it. Bdubs watched him enjoy the dessert, sipping his own tea, with a wide smile on his face.

"Didn't know you enjoyed watching people eat." Etho commented.

"Nope, just you."

"That's weird."

"You're weird, consuming that amount of sugar and not dying." Bdubs chuckled, but kept smiling. He was rather calm – calmer than Etho expected right after a prank.

The warm smile would get imprinted in his mind forever, Etho felt. There was just too much fondness, too much affection in it, that his skin started burning again.

Bdubs took the cherry from the top of the cake, closed one eye and put a cherry in front of the other: "You're as red as this cherry right now." He didn't even let Etho react, before putting the berry into his mouth. Etho tried not to think about the implications of that. "Come on now, what happened? What are you getting flustered for?" He teased.

Etho looked away – tried to, Bdubs followed his gaze – and put on his mask, even though he still had cake left on his plate. That didn't help hiding his rosy cheeks, and now ears too. Etho gave up trying to guess why his body was doing it at that point. He just didn't want Bdubs seeing him like this.

"Ay, you didn't finish your slice!" Bdubs laughed. "Sorry I took your cherry, but it the only edible thing on it."

"It's fine, I'm just gonna take the rest home," Etho said, attempting to appear collected, but regretted it immediately: his voice cracked in the most pathetic way possible.

Bdubs burst out, leaning on the observer for support, sending a few ticks again. The corners of his eyes teared up, but at least his face was now all red too, so Etho wasn't the only one. It was hardly comforting.

"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't laugh! I shouldn't...!" He wheezed. Etho was ready to just take the cake and fly away in embarrassment, but the cake needed to be put in a box first – doing it now would only make the situation more awkward. Etho believed he could endure it. "Sorry–" Bdubs kept apologizing, "Know what? Next time, c'mere, and let's bake an actually edible cake together. Sound good?"

Etho sat still for a second, eyes wandering in the forest afar. They could bake a cake together, a cake that both of them could enjoy.

"That... Sounds good." Etho uttered from under his breath. It did sound good. Sweet, even.

"Then it's a deal!" Bdubs clapped his hands together. They arranged a time, he helped Etho pack the cake back up, and then it was time to say goodbyes.

Just as Etho was about to take off, Bdubs pulled his sleeve – and then pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around his torso in a sudden embrace. Etho instinctively put his arms on Bdubs's back, resting his head on his messy hair that tickled his nose. Etho could stay like this forever – or if not forever, then for a long time. But Bdubs let him go, and then they needed to go. Etho hastily took out his rockets and boosted off into the sky, to not let Bdubs see his face again.

Bdubs yelled after him:

"You have a good day as well!..."

Etho felt warm.

[cebwrites]

my second request: I'd love to read any headcanons you might have for ftm katakuri? 🥺❤️

a/n: took me a bit to get around to this but hell yeah i do!! >:D

ftm/transmasc headcanons (Katakuri)

word count: 0.7k

A hypermasculine man who's incredibly secretive and feels like he has to blockage himself up just to hide the "vulnerability" of him eating? Yeah, I can see a few trans hcs for Kat

Kata has an easier time than most on the Grand Line with getting his hrt and gender affirmation surgery just based on the sheer resources Big Mom has alone

He can't help but feel at times it's a performative acceptance though - that oh, he's just another diversity point for Mama's utopia so of course she'd take in his new identity with open arms without fully understanding him or why it's so important

He got a few confused looks from his siblings as well at first, but they got used to it over time; so long as Katakuri played the new role he so desperately wanted as a son with absolute perfection, he was allowed to make the change

I think it's important to note as well considering their age that this smooth transition was partly because Katakuri identified as a binary trans man who got the hormones he needed and "looked the part" post-haste somewhere in his early teens (but having always been described as a 'tomboy' even before that)

So it was easy for his cis peers to wrap their heads around the idea that oh, their brother was just a guy trapped in a girl's body, or some similar false sentiment that a trans person's person wasn't their own

Brulee was the first one to notice, with the help of her devil fruit, just how much her older sibling would avoid mirrors and resent the image reflected back to him, how he'd force himself not to flinch whenever someone got too close to his body but the absolute tension he carried everywhere was obvious

The rumors weren't too ridiculous back then, he was still a boy (with unfathomable expectations of being Big Mom's "best" on his head) allowed to sleep in his own bed, and Brulee was the one who saw just how many times he wanted to sink into it

If there ever was anyone kicking up a fuss about it when they were young, Brulee would be the first one to tell them off - even if it was an older sibling - and the second to jump to Kat's aid was Oven (very much in a "I don't quite understand this but I love you so I'm going to support you regardless" dudebro kind of way)

It was a huge relief to see how much happier Kata seemed after his gender affirming care, although with that did come the heavy burdens of masculinity - further burying his emotions not just for the sake of his beloved family, but also because that's just not what men did and that's how it always was/would be

Katakuri was very obsessive about passing growing up, he'd agonize over his posture, speech, mannerisms, anything to make sure he was walking the walk and talking the talk - where he'd been so desperate to avoid mirrors before, now he was constantly checking them subtly from the corner of his eyes to make sure he was performing his role (masculinity) well

It takes years and Katakuri well into his adulthood to disentangle presentation from identity, he hates to admit it but it's not like he was raised in a vacuum; the prejudices and hypocrisies of Tottoland have seeped well into his bones and now it's up to him to contend with that for his own sake and younger siblings, cherished family, who fall under similar but different umbrellas along the way

So, for a long, long time, he doesn't - Kata believes he has the luxury of simply not thinking about it because he has "more important things" to keep his mind occupied, to keep that nagging feeling that something's not quite right tucked deep in the recesses of his psyche

Times are changing, however, and Katakuri quickly realizes that within this New Era there are more and more people living their lives unrestrained, unbound by the confines of rigid gender stereotypes that he fought tooth and nail to uphold within himself, desperately beat imperfections away in spite of himself to fit the mold he was taught time and again he was supposed to embody

But now he sees that he sees the error in his ways, he's scared, scared of what that means for his identity, scared to face the queer siblings he's unintentionally hurt with these impossible standards, and for the first time in a long time Katakuri finds himself woefully out of his depth

And that leaves him with no choice but to ask for help or get washed beneath the new waves of progress

[abhainnwhump]

IMYM Chapter 14: Behavior Modification: Nightmare

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(Content warnings: Torture, domestic abuse, starvation for weight loss, humiliation, conditioning, sensory deprivation, coercion, victim blaming, sort of ableism, dubcon kissing, noncon body modification, and branding.)

Happy and free were the last things Ink would be.

Nightmare renovated one of the empty rooms to become Ink’s training space. It was in one of the castle towers, the one with the largest glass window looking into the forest. His vials were sealed away in a glass case. They lay in a straight line and his sash lay below it. In the back of the room was a large desk, similar to the one he had in his office.

But it also had torture equipment resting on the shelves. Restraints, gags, poisons, sedatives, a massive bucket of water, and a shock collar. He collected them from the torture room in the dungeon, and he couldn’t wait to use them. He hoped Ink was smart enough that he wouldn’t need to use it, as fun as a water-electricity combination would be. He made sure to have nothing that could leave a physical mark. At least a noticeable one. The items currently hung on the wall as decorations, but they were easy to remove.

Nightmare stepped back and admired his work. Perfect. It was all perfect. He took the pocket watch out of his pocket and flipped it open. He was a minute ahead of schedule. Ink would be in here any second. He couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

It only took a few moments. Ink walked in and his eye lights went to the torture tools. He gulped and looked straight ahead at Nightmare.

Nightmare sat at the large desk and waved Ink over. He gestured at the chair with his tendril. “Greetings, my little doll. Sit down. Are you prepared for your first set of lessons?”

“Sure,” Ink said. Nightmare could sense the nervousness in his aura. “I guess so. What are we doing exactly? You said you would make me ‘perfect’, so . . . are you going to teach me how to be a sophisticated aristocrat or something?”

“Mm, close. Let me give you a run down.” Nightmare opened a drawer and removed his list. “We’ll start simple and work our way up to complete subordination. I know it will be challenging, so I’ll do my best to be gentle and help you along the way. The first thing you will learn is how to fix your posture, walk, kneel-”

“Kneel?” Ink interrupted. “Why do I have to kneel?”

Nightmare sighed, irritated that he talked out of turn.The only reason he didn’t hit him at that moment was that he wasn’t in the mood. Well, now that he considered it, only his face couldn’t be bruised. Along with anything sleeves, gloves, and stockings failed to hide. It would throw his plan off. Nightmare cleared his throat. “We need to talk about how rude it is to interrupt someone. Nevertheless, while this is happening, I will teach you to obey hand signals. I hope you are starting to learn that if I raise my right hand, I expect you to fall silent. So when I make this signal,” he tapped his middle finger, pointer finger, and thumb together, “you will kneel. Immediately. You will allow me to do whatever I want with you without an ounce of resistance. I don’t even want you to think. It will help you learn to rely on me for everything.”

Ink scrunched his eye sockets and tried to protest, only for Nightmare to raise his hand. Hesitantly, he closed his mouth.

“You do know! Excellent work. Now, let’s return to what I was saying earlier. Once your stance is proper, we’ll fix your speech pattern. No more slang, swears, jokes, or sarcasm. It’s immature. You’ll replace those traits with polite mannerisms. You’ll learn a new fighting style with your parasol. Your personality is also unappealing. We are going to change it so you become more . . . gentle and sweet. But only to me. When you’re in battle, you’ll become a ruthless monster. And, I’m uncertain if it’s possible, but perhaps we could do something about your face. I’ve heard cosmetic skeleton surgery is possible but I’ve never seen it in person . . .” Ironic, now Nightmare was the one rambling. He had so many plans to make him the perfect weapon.

He refocused. “By the time I’m done with you, you will be a polite, sweet, and well-behaved little doll. Any questions?”

Ink hung his mouth open, his eye lights zoning out. Nightmare pushed his jaw back up with a tendril. “Yeah. Is there anything you do like about me?” Ink asked. He tried to look haughty, but his aura told the truth. “Because from the sound of it, you want to change everything. I’m not even allowed to make jokes anymore? That’s like my defining trait!”

Nightmare considered if he likedd anything about him. It would be easier to make a list of traits he didn’t like. He left Ink unanswered for over a minute.

“I’d argue your defining trait is vanity,” he finally said. “As for good traits, you’re powerful, a fast learner, and . . . well, there isn’t much. Aw, don’t give me that look.” Nightmare tilted the artist’s chin up. He showed his true feelings, misery, and doubt. “Oh, I’m just teasing you. But you want to be good, don’t you?”

Ink paused and nodded with little energy.

“Good. Then turn your mind off and let me fix you. If you don’t follow the rules, then I have to discipline you. And you remember what happened the last time you decided to break the rules.” Ink shuddered. “It may even be fun if you cooperate. Do you understand?”

Ink stared into his eye for a long time as Nightmare stroked his chin. Ink nodded. “I think so . . .”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The dark king opened his desk drawer and set a contract and quill in front of him. “Now, I need you to sign here, here, and here.”

Ink took the paper and read it over. He squinted. “What does it say? I can’t read it. The letters are swimming around and- did you have to write this in such a small and curvy font?”

Nightmare folded his hands under his nasal bone to hide a smile. When he was stalking him, he figured out Ink had a learning disability. He planned to use that to his advantage. “Well, in simple terms, you will be giving me permission to train you. I will become your teacher, and you follow all of my instructions. You will belong to me and obey my every command without any arguing or defiance, that’s in the fourth clause. Failure to follow the terms will result in whatever punishment I deem fit. And yes, that includes the white room, but it would only happen under extreme circumstances.” Nightmare added that for Ink’s reaction alone. And . . . that’s all. If you have any questions about the contract, now is the time to ask.”

He didn’t lie. He only left out certain details. It involved way more than Ink being obedient. It would take away his rights and humanity and give Nightmare full control. Or how he can have him modifiedhowever and whenever he wishes. Or how he didn’t even need a reason to torture and punish him and he could do it whenever he wanted. He could even change his legal name. Ink was no better than property to him, he never was. No one ever read the fine print in these situations anyway.

Ink squinted at the writing on the contract, flipping to the next page. “Wait, is this a legit contract? Like it’s not a roleplay or a game?”

“Correct, it’s legally binding.”

Ink set the contract down. “Nightmare, look, I can’t do this. You know me! I’m not good at following rules and I’m really bad at listening to people. You said you want ‘complete subordination’ or whatever it was and I’m sorry, but I can’t give you that. If I went through with this and became your little toy or whatever, I’d be miserable! And even when you make me wear these weird pastel dresses and bows, I’m still a person. I think it’s cute when you call me it as a pet name, but I’m not actually a doll-”

Nightmare covered Ink’s mouth with his tendril, staring at Ink. “See, that’s the thing. You are. It won’t be that terrible. I won’t hurt you unless I have to, remember? Unless . . . you’re too weak and sensitive to handle it. I’d assume you as a four-hundred-year-old guardian could handle more than I could as a child. But . . . I suppose I was wrong.” Nightmare winked and held out a quill.

He removed the tendril from his mouth. Ink stared at him for a long moment until he huffed. “Here, give me that stupid quill.”

Nightmare chuckled. Too easy. Ink took the quill pen from his hand and signed the contract, in all three places. Nightmare kept a poker face when he took it from him, but would’ve grinned at the messy signatures. He slid the paper into his pocket, right beside the leather notebook with his partner’s name branded on it.

“Well, let us begin.” Nightmare stood up and picked the shock collar off his shelf. He bit back a smile as he clicked it around Ink’s neck. Nightmare squeezed the remote in his hand, finger hovering over the button. “We’ll start simple. You’ll follow my orders, and if you fail, you get a small shock. Easy enough?”

“Wait, what?” Ink tried to pull it off, but Nightmare clicked a button to keep it on. It was amusing to watch Ink try to pull the thing off, but Nightmare eventually gave him a small shock. Ink cried out and he jumped back. He took his hands off the band.

“Ah, ah, don’t pull on it.” He took his finger off the button and grabbed a list instead. “First, kneel.” Nightmare tapped his pointer finger, thumb, and middle finger together. “Now.”

Ink looked uncomfortable, only standing and blinking at him. “I don’t- OW!”

Nightmare shocked him once he stood too long, upping the voltage from the last time. The pressure pushed him to the ground and conveniently on his knees.

“Hands on your lap,” Nightmare ordered. Ink put his hands on his lap and Nightmare pet his head as a reward. Ink scoffed, but Nightmare chose to ignore that. “Excellent. Stand up and do it faster this time.”

The artist stood up and sighed. He waited for Nightmare to give the signal and he kneeled down. Nightmare nodded. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t fast or graceful enough either, but he decided to move on. “Stand up again.

Nightmare’s tendrils drummed against each limb so it looked just as he envisioned. He pushed his arms and legs closer together and straight. He took his hands in his own and clasped them together, tilting his chin up.

“Almost . . . hold that position.” Nightmare stepped away. “It’s somewhat calm, but you look too tense. Relax your arms and shoulders.”

Ink tried to follow Nightmare’s request. But he unclasped his hands, so Nightmare sent another volt of electricity through him. Ink tensed up more and Nightmare chuckled. “Stop shocking me!”

Another shock, higher voltage this time. “Your entire new persona is centered on grace and an effortless performance. That’s the point of the doll, Ink. It’s not just about you looking cute, it’s about having that uncanny feel as if you fit in, but you don’t at the same time.” He sighed, seeing Ink still wasn’t understanding and giving him a blank look. “Fine. Let me try something else to make you understand. You are to be expected to curtsy whenever you greet someone. Do you know what that is?”

Ink’s left eye light turned into a purple question mark. “Uh, nope. Well, I’ve heard of it, I just don’t how to do it . . .”

Nightmare hummed and stood from his desk. “Like so.” He took the ends of his collared shirt, bowed his head, and lowered his left leg in proper style. He regained composure and gestured Ink to follow.

The artist copied his movements, gritting his teeth to avoid falling over. He managed to stay standing, but Nightmare held off on electrocuting him. It would be counter-productive and he could tell from his face he tried to avoid it.

“Hm, you need to work on your grace. You’re wobbling too much and it looks forced. Curtsying is something done without thought. Do it again.”

It was going to be a long day of electric shocking. Hopefully, his burns weren’t too bad by the end of the day.

================================================

"I don't get it, what's the point of this?" Ink said as he struggled with Nightmare's tendrils around his waist.

Nightmare tied Ink’s hands above his head with a rope. He hung him up like a pinata. The artist struggled. Nightmare browsed through the poisons, trying to decide which would be the best to use on him. Hallucinations could be fun. Or he could send him into painful and stressful contortions. He wanted something that would turn Ink's aura more negative . . . something that would easily keep him on edge in the future.

Ink tried biting the restraints off. “Seriously, what did I do?” he shouted with confusion in his voice. “Why are you punishing me?"

“Nothing, I just want to see how much you can handle in the future." Nightmare took a soft black blindfold and tied it around Ink’s skull. The sudden deprivation only made him fidget more. Nightmare picked up a bottle of poison, one of his favorite ones. He poured some of it onto a silver spoon like a bottle of medicine.

He held the spoon under his nasal bone. “What do you think this is?”

“Um,” Ink took a deep breath, “Cinnamon? Or something with cinnamon? It- ouch that stings. Is it spicy-”

Before he could finish, Nightmare forced the liquid down his throat. Ink gagged, but Nightmare tilted his head back so he had no choice but to swallow.

“That didn’t taste so bad,” the artist said. "It kind of reminds me of that one tea Dream made me try back-"

He twitched. Sweat poured down his skull. Ink shook and his breathing hastened. “NIGHTMARE! IT BURNS! MAKE IT STOP! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!”

Nightmare leaned against the wall and tuned out his screams. He read the label out loud. “Actually, according to the warnings, you can take it for up to forty-eight hours. After that, then you get nerve damage and possible paralysis. Oh, that’s not good.”

“WHAT? ARE YOU CRAZY? I DON’T WANT TO BE PARALYZED!”

“I know, I know. I don’t want you to be paralyzed either. You would be useless to me.” Nightmare watched Ink writhe, scream, and sob, a grin slowly forming. “Describe the pain to me. I’m curious.”

Ink panted. “I feel like everything is lava! My legs burn and the blindfold burns and- take it off! THIS ISN’T FAIR! LET ME-"

Nightmare tied a gag around his mouth to keep him quiet. Ink paused and bit down on it. His voice was muffled, but he had something to distract him from the pain now."

Nightmare watched with a “I’ll come back and check on you in a few hours. You should have learned your lesson by then. Sound fair?”

All he got as a response was more screaming and muffled cries. Nightmare took a deep breath. The negativity was incredible and the poison was working well. He added that to the list of torture methods that went well on Ink.

Nightmare took the pair of noise-canceling headphones and slipped it over his head. Ink paused once he realized he couldn't hear and began to kick again. Nightmare stared at his hand. His negativity was only growing stronger. Nightmare considered putting preppy music on, but he decided that would be counter-productive.

For the next hour, Nightmare studied Ink and his emotions, namely where his anger was set. It would be eaiser if he wasn't gagged, but then he could mumble something he didn't After half of the time was up, he decided to add another entry to his journal.

December 4th, 20xx

I'm attempting something new. I've been trying every torture method I've mastered to see what is most effective on Ink. So far, the most effective methods are sensory deprivation and the white room. The latter is still stronger, but this is working well. I've tried using a blindfold before and he didn't like that, but now he's fully tied and defenseless. Oh, and poisoned, but that's not important. And as I write this, he's still whimpering and crying out.

. . . he's more interesting like this if I'm to be honest.

Nightmare sketched a little drawing of Ink at the bottom of the page. The artist gave him drawing lessons and Nightmare couldn't help but chuckle at that.

The hour was up, there was no more noise from Ink. Ink’s blindfold was soaked with tears. He slumped in his restraints. His legs still spazzed, but the rest of him was motionless.

Nightmare took his cheekbones and rubbed them. Yelping and realizing, Ink sprung back to life. He tried to lean into Nightmare's affection. The poor thing had no idea how much time had passed. he could tell.

Nightmare removed the headphones and Ink winced at the subtle sounds of the room. “Would you like the antidote now?

“Please.”

Nightmare took another bottle off the shelf. This one was a sliver liquid. He poured some into another spoon and slipped it into his mouth. Ink’s legs slowed down before stopping completely. He untied his blindfold. Ink cringed at the sudden light, but he spoke “Water. Please give me water.”

His tendril took a bottle off the shelf and gave it to the artist. He drank half of the bottle in a single gulp, gasping when he finished.

Setting his hands free, Nightmare pulled him down and set him on the floor. Ink curled up on his side. His bones were still hot from poison. He may have a fever. “Now how do you feel?"

Ink got up and panted. "I can't feel my arms, thanks . . . thanks a lot. Did you get what you wanted?"

Nightmare glanced at the journal on his desk. "Yes, I got exactly what I need. And you did a great job."

Ink looked him over and Nightmare offered a tendril to help him stand. Ink wobbled as he stood, heavily leaning on Nightmare for support. He smiled a bit at the compliment, but then he sighed and looked away from him. "Thanks . . . can I lay down a bit? I'm going to pass out in like two steps if I don't."

Nightmare thought about it and shrugged. "I don't see why not."

"Thanks, Nighty . . ." Ink's eye socket twitched and he trudged away, the burning still in his system and crawling up his throat. He ended up vomiting a storm that night.

================================================

Ink curled up by his side. He didn’t even peek as Nightmare slowly ran his tendrils down his cheekbones. Purring emitted from his nonexistent throat, precisely as he was told.

Nightmare couldn’t help but grin at his subordination. His four weeks of conditioning were finally paying off. No speaking, no moving, just allowing him to do what he desires. He hoped there wouldn't be a single thought between those two eye lights, but it didn't seem like it. “That’s it . . . that’s it. Oh, you’re doing so well. This is where you belong. I told you it would be worth it.” Nightmare cooed.

A smile grew on Ink’s face, but his aura didn’t match for whatever reason. Nightmare decided to experiment. He leaned in and kissed the artist. The smile faded as the artist scrunched his eye sockets. He quickly switched from staying still to reciprocating. Cooing to calm him, the dark lord pressed a little harder. Ink tried to pull away, but Nightmare shoved his fingers between his shoulder blades. Ink yipped in pain. Nightmare wondered how long it would take before he started fighting against him, it was a test. Ink took a deep breath and even cupped Nightmare’s cheekbone with his hand in order. Nightmare waited another minute and Ink didn't back off. He passed.

"Excellent job." Nightmare tapped his three fingers together and Ink kneeled on the sofa they sat on. He was getting better at this. He stared at his waist as he petted him on the head like a puppy. He was correct about the corset training. It was working wonderfully. Ink didn't complain about the pain anymore. He didn't even complain about the hunger pains from being on a stricter diet. He was so small that he looked pathetic at his side. With almost instant obedience from him, Nightmare knew he was weeks away from having a doll. Well, a perfect doll.

"Thank you," Ink muttered. He leaned his head closer to Nightmare. Unknown to him, Ink smirked while he wasn’t looking. And he gagged from being kissed like that. He had two more days to keep this act and then he could put his plan into action.

Even if a major part of him really, really didn't want to.

================================================

Nightmare woke up to a crash. It sounded like it came from his study. That crossed Dust off the list, he had no interest in his study. Horror sometimes would wander around confused, but not this late at night. It wasn’t Killer’s aura either. He would be pulling a prank or causing mischief. This aura was desperate and scared.

Ink.

Nightmare got out of bed and turned himself into a puddle of darkness. He moved faster in this form. The door to his study was wide open. He turned back to his solid form and peered inside.

Glass covered the floor, along with a baseball bat and an open book. The book was covered in highlighting with a drawing of a portal on one of the pages. The shelf with Ink’s vials was open and empty. A hooded figure jumped up and grabbed each one, trying not to land on the shards of glass.

Once the last vial was off the shelf, the person turned enough so Nightmare could see his face. Ink wore a ragged T-shirt and a brown jacket, likely something he stole from one of the MTT or kept hidden. He was too small and thin for them both. He was so pale he looked purple. But he had a look of determination on his face.

Ink put each vial in his sash and wrapped it around his body. He looked frantically around the room, muttering to himself. “Gotta get out of here, gotta get out here, I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want to die-”

“Ink Myebi Comyet, what do you think you’re doing?” Nightmare called.

Ink froze, turning his head to the sound of the dark king’s voice. His aura spiked with fear, but also anger. He looked to the massive stained glass window and grabbed Nightmare’s globe off his desk. He held it out like a sword. His arm trembled as it was too heavy for his frailness.

“Getting the fuck out of here, that’s what I’m doing! I’m sick and tired of you torturing- oh I’m sorry, training me! Our relationship is done! I thought things were going to get better, but they’re just getting worse! I thought you were going to change! I’m miserable, I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m humiliated, I’m homesick, and I am two hundred and ten percent done! Now goodbye!”

Ink threw the globe at the window and . . . it bounced off, landing on the floor with a thump. His anger and bravery faded as much as his strength. Anger didn’t fuel Nightmare as much as fear did, but Ink’s was an exception. Nightmare sunk into a puddle and moved across the floor, appearing behind Ink. “My windows have a spell on them to prevent breakage and possible break-ins. If you were listening to me before, you would have known that. Idiot.”

Ink’s eye lights turned into pinpricks. He looked up at Nightmare and took a deep breath. He shoved Nightmare aside and ran out of the office.

Nightmare turned around and melted back into a puddle, following after Ink. He could tell he didn’t come prepared for this as he paused for too long, trying to decide which way to go. Nightmare wrapped some of his malice around Ink’s leg and tripped him, flipping him on his back.

Ink panicked and kicked, trying to set his ankle free as Nightmare stared down at him. “Wait, Nightmare, wait-!”

Nightmare was about to choke his tendrils around Ink, but then he realized there was no need to. He stared up with nothing but pure dread in his eye lights and he didn’t move a muscle.

“After everything I’ve done for you, all my training and care, you still choose to run away. You couldn’t even wish me goodbye. How rude.” Nightmare kept his voice gentle, though his words were harsh.He snapped his fingers and got his attention instantly. Ink got into fighting position, but switched to standing in front of him, head bowed.

Ink gulped. “I’m sorry.”

Nightmare stared down at him. He was planning to send him to the white room, but he decided on something else. He flicked his finger toward himself and Ink stood up. He gulped and followed him, taking shaky breaths.

They walked into the living room where the magic fireplace was still alight. It burned on its own and wouldn’t spread, so it was safe to keep the flames.

“Sit.” Nightmare shifted his hand into the shape of a branding iron and held it over the fireplace. He wiped his eye with his free hand. He hated getting his sleep interrupted, to begin with, but threw an argument and a chase on it and he was exhausted. He could stay awake for days at a time, but even he grew weary and needed to rest once in a while.

Ink tapped his feet against the floor and tried to control himself. He was still scared; he had a tear in his eye. The fire was pleasantly warm, not scorching hot as it looked. It was still enough to make his plan work.

Ink watched him walk over and pull down his shirt collar. He broke into rambles. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know. That was a stupid idea! Pfft, I don’t know what I was thinking! I was just getting frustrated and I didn’t know what else to do and- and-” His voice and laugh cut off to a blood-curdling scream. The sound woke him up Nightmare pressed his heated hand deeper into Ink’s sternum and he kept screaming.

Nightmare ripped his hand away and Ink’s sternum steamed. Ink stared down. He had a brand new crescent moon mark on his chest. The bone around it was light red with some bits chipped. It would harden and cool over time, he was sure of it. “Now say ‘thank you’ for not sleeping in the white room tonight.”

Ink stared up at him. His eye lights faded from his sockets. His aura dulled with them as he touched his brand. “. . . thank you for not sending me to the white room.”

“You’re welcome, now go to bed and switch back into that nightgown I gave you.” Once Nightmare said the words, Ink stood up and quickly walked away, no arguments, no fights, not even a mumble. Nightmare sighed and held his face in his hand. He moved his fingers aside just enough so his one eye was exposed. He was already awake, and there was no point in going back to bed now, so Nightmare took a turn down the hall. He peeked into Ink’s bedroom to make sure he did as he asked and it turned out he was. Ink curled up on top of the blankets without a single sound. He didn’t switch into the nightgown, but Nightmare didn’t care right now. He locked Ink’s door to prevent further action.

Continuing, Nightmare stopped at Dust’s door and knocked on it. He knew the murderer had a poor sleep schedule and would most likely be awake. The question was whether or not he would answer the door and let him in.

After a few knocks, it opened. Dust’s eye lights glowed more purple than usual. He wiped one of them with his fist. “Boss? The hell you doin’ up this late?”

Nightmare shrugged. “Ink made an escape attempt and I had to punish him. I wish I wasn’t awake either.” Dust blinked in surprise. Nightmare stared at his eyebags. “What about you? How many hours of sleep have you gotten this week?”

Dust hummed and opened the rest of the door to let Nightmare in. His room was both the cleanest and the messiest of the three. It was dark with a bed and nightstand on the left and a table on the right. The shelf above it was covered in books, some his own and some borrowed from Nightmare’s library. The room smelled of faint cigarette smoke, they never could get it out of the walls. Dust used to have drug and smoking issues before he joined the VSS and more than once Nightmare came down on him for it. He took at least twelve needles of heroin out of his bedroom, half were used.

“Seventeen total . . . I know, I know.” Dust looked away. His voice was flat. “So, what did you need my help for?”

Nightmare removed his tendril and flickered it. He looked at the science kit he gave Dust for Gyftmas one year. The beakers and microscope were recently used. He picked up one with green liquid and a corked lid and studied it. “Well, I know you’ve studied up on scientific practices. That includes medical science, right?”

“Right.”

“And you also know magical science, right?”

“Right . . .” Dust’s shifted on his bed, leaning against the wall. “What’s this about?”

“Ink.” Nightmare set the vial down. “I’m losing my patience with him and I want to try something new. He’s making progress, but not fast or efficient enough. I want you to use your skills to stop making him feel like he has a voice, figuratively. I want it to be permanent. Do you have any suggestions?”

Dust thought about it and stood up. He walked over to his bookshelf and picked one up. He flipped through it. Nightmare couldn’t help but chuckle. He looked so much like he did after finding a good library book as a child. Dust held up a page for Nightmare. The Lord of Negativity looked it over and his eye widened. It was perfect, too perfect. “Can you do it?”

Dust took the book back. “I mean, the serum is goin’ to take a while. I have no clue where to get some of this stuff, but I can make the voice pull string box in a week.”

“That’s fine.” Nightmare held his shoulder. “I knew I could rely on you, Dust, and I’ll be looking forward to it.”

It was for a brief moment, but Dust smiled. He sighed and shut the book, putting it back on the shelf. “If that’s all you need, g’night boss.”

“It is. Goodnight, Dust.” Chuckling, Nightmare put his hand back in his pocket and turned around, leaving the room. He was proud of him. If only he would let himself sleep.

[without-school-or-style]

26 - Zip

Word Count: 1,817

((Spoilers for the last quest of Ameliance’s collectables thingees story.)

Under the shade of a quaint pagoda, Joey stared at the clockwork contraption lying on the ground. “Just project your aether into the mammet and it’ll come to life on its own?”

Naturally, the mammet neither said nor moved in response. Joey had to bring life to it after all.

“Or you have to manipulate it on your own.”

Still no answer. Naturally. since Joey had yet to do anything with the mammet besides staring and talking to himself.

Just like he had seen Miladeen do so before, Joey held out his hand and infused a small amount of his aether into the mammet. Almost immediately, the mammet sprang to its feet. Hopping excitedly, it raised his arms as though stretching after just waking up.

“All right. That was… easy enough.” Joey leaned forward. “Let’s see what else you can do.”

***

Joey never noticed the passage of time, nor the world around him, until a gentle voice startled him out of his train of thought.

“M-my, that’s quite an impressive feat of acrobatics and… is that martial arts? No doubt skills you’ve acquired on your journeys?”

The Viera jumped, startled, his eyes widened. “Ameliance! Um, sorry. I was just…” He looked to the side, “… curious about… about…”

“… what Miladeen and other students of the academy get up to?” Ameliance said with a smile.

Joey nodded, still looking to the side.

Ameliance took a seat beside Joey. Despite the Viera being startled out of his thoughts, the mammet continued performing combinations that Joey had devised over the years. Stamping the ground and springing up spikes of earth. Snapping its elbow. Punches that shot fire, roundhouse kicks that billowed wind. Small explosions and lightning bolts, followed up by a reverse back kick, followed up by a kick that launched the mammet into a somersault.

 “The fact that this mammet continues to move on its own is a testament to your concentration,” said Ameliance. “Normally when once breaks their concentration, the poor mammet falls to the ground.”

“Is that so…” said Joey.

Secretly he hoped that Ameliance would stand up, say goodbye, and go about her business; however, the Elezen woman continued to sit beside Joey.

“I’ve experienced your craftsmanship abilities firsthand, yet somehow I shouldn’t be surprised that manipulating aether isn’t beyond your capabilities, either,” said Ameliance. “While I sense your power and intent, your energies also have a sense of rawness to how you form your aether.”

“I’ve… Truthfully, I’ve always… taught myself when it comes to magic,” said Joey, his speech slowing as words became more difficult to form. He wrung his hands as he found himself dragging his foot.

“Well, I must say, this is perhaps the first time I’ve seen anyone manipulate the mammet in such a manner,” said Ameliance with a gentle giggle.

Joey couldn’t return the amusement. In fact, he felt his mind swirling faster and faster to the point he began to feel giddy. Deep in the back of his mind, he heard voices in his head—voices of those from another world yet carried in his mind rent-free. Voices that sneered at him. Shook their heads at him. Pointed their fingers and told him that he didn’t belong. Were those voices of those from the past whose words he couldn’t remember? Or were they voices of his worries manifesting into form? The mammet, however, found no end to his energetic practice of magic and martial arts and continued to move despite his aether owner’s brooding.

“Ah yes! The reason I came to see you—your earlier request of if attending the Studium would benefit you at all,” said Ameliance. “At first I was inclined to say yes, as there are no downsides to learning something new regardless of our history. However, watching you manipulate the aetheroconductive mammet with such ease, I would wonder as to what benefit the academy would have to someone of such genius. In fact, perhaps you should be the one giving lectures on all your findings. Sharlayan Academy welcomes knowledge from all walks of life. Surely someone would take interest in what you do.”

Joey’s eyes widened. He would’ve fainted if he didn’t force himself to answer. “N-no, that’s all right! I’m not… very good at explaining things. I just…” His hands clenched his knees, “I just know I can do it, and I do it. I don’t really understand how.”

“Ah, a natural. I see. They do say that prodigies are rare, a genius is even rarer, and a natural is once in a lifetime.”

Joey tried his best to shift the conversation away from him. “… Listening to you instruct Miladeen, your explanations are so concise. You made everything look and sound easy,” said Joey.

Ameliance smiled gently. “In your case, then, I say that if you were ever curious about anything, you are free to ask me. You’ve already done so much in assisting my endeavours. It’s the least I can do to give back in return.”

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate the offer.”

“Please think nothing of it.” Ameliance rose to her feet. “Ah, there is one more thing.”

Joey flinched. “There is…?”

“My children have often written back, and they’ve mentioned you quite a bit.”

‘By the twelve, they did?!’ Joey would’ve clutched the sides of his head if doing so wouldn’t have given away his thoughts. ‘I didn’t think I showed up on their radar all that much! I didn’t do anything special!’

“According to them, you seem to hide your true colours. It’s as though no one has ever seen his true face! Alisaie lamented.” Ameliance giggled.

‘That’s not really something to lament.’

Ameliance petted Joey. The Viera flinched again for a second, then relaxed as he sensed warmth and kindness from Ameliance’s touch. “There are others like you who hide themselves. Perhaps they believe they bring nothing to the table. Or perhaps, like you, they’ve been hurt and don’t wish to stand out. When I see those like that, do you know what that makes me wish to do?”

Joey wanted to guess, but his nervousness made him brace for the worst.

He closed his eyes.

And his eyes flew open again wide when Ameliance embraced him in a warm hug.

He tried not to cry, but a lone tear betrayed his wishes. His body froze. His words sealed themselves behind a wall. He couldn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand why she was hugging him. And most of all, he couldn’t comprehend why seeing people hide made her want to hug anyone.

“Showing one’s talents can bring to the benefit of others, just like the odds and ends you’ve made for me,” said Ameliance. “I’m certain what I’ve seen today is only a drop in the ocean compared to what you are capable of doing. But moreso than being able to help others, perhaps showing yourself will be good for your soul.”

Giving him one last squeeze, Ameliance rose to her full height once more.

“Unfortunately, there are more errands I must undertake. Thus, with this, I shall be seeing you. Please take care of yourself, Joey.”

Joey found himself watching Ameliance walk away until she vanished into the distance. Only the sounds of the mammet diligently fighting away broke Joey’s train of thought.

“Never seen my true face, huh…” Joey said out loud.

Just then, in the mother of all convenient timing, a group of students from the academy came upon the mammet and subsequently Joey. Seeing the mammet, their mouths formed perfect O’s as though they’ve witnessed something they’ve never seen before. One even pointed. “Did you do that?!”

Now the mammet unceremoniously flopped to the ground. Joey, who withdrew his aether in a knee-jerk reaction, scooped up the mammet. “Sorry you had to see that!” he said and fled in the other direction.

***

Later that night, outside by his lonesome in a field surrounded by nothing but creatures that had no interest in what he was doing, Joey went through the motions of basic combinations known to him as a gunbreaker. Satisfied, he brushed his fingers along his chest. Ritual circles appeared, then vanished.

I’m certain what I’ve seen today is only a drop in the ocean compared to what you are capable of doing. But moreso than being able to help others, perhaps showing yourself will be good for your soul. said Ameliance’s voice in his head.

‘I’d rather not.’ Joey thought.

Accompanying his mental affirmation, voices of others chimed in his head—voices that nodded in agreement, telling him that his actions were for the best. That he should never cause trouble for others again. Never stand out again.

Never be shunned for being ‘too good.’

More ritual seals appeared in front of Joey, then disappeared, absorbed into his body. He grew up weak. He knew he was weak. Yet he couldn’t help but indulge in his curiosities, indulge in creating more spells, more combat techniques, seeing how far he could go. And when he was first told that, when he saw those who had called themselves his friends not even look at him in the way, saying with bold-face coldness that he was too good for them, he didn’t know what to think.

Except that he had caused trouble somehow. And this was the only way to be accepted by others.

Anything was better than being truly alone.

Joey took a deep breath. Now to try out his new theory. He placed a hand on his chest and spoke softly, “Paradigm shift change: Ravager Mode.”

He felt a wave of energy scan his person. He felt the limitations within his body. But how about in practice? He pointed his gunblade at nothing in particular and attempted to fire. A jolt of static surged through him. Clenching his teeth, he keeled over, nearly dropping his gunblade.

‘All right. Not that stringent. Should have at least a little leeway for free movement. It’s the obvious techniques I should avoid.’

He traced his fingers over his chest to rewrite and move about the seals inside of him. Satisfied, Joey then placed his fingers to his chest as before. “Paradigm shift change: Medic Mode.”

The waves of energy scanned his body again. He felt his aether change within him, just like he had planned. Allowing his nouliths to hover behind him, he attempted to fire some ver-y basic ver-spells at a random tree.

Nothing happened. And this time, no static shock.

“That’s more like it.” Joey smiled a little in satisfaction.

He shifted between three various roles he had designated for himself: gunbreaker, red mage and sage. When locked in one role, special techniques from another remained sealed within him. Only the abilities he designated for the roles actually came out.

‘If never showing my true face means I’ll never stand out, then I’ll never show that face to anyone. This is for the best.’

((To explain a little better—instead of soul stones, I imagine Joey goes through roles like Paradigm Shift in Final Fantasy XIII. This prompt was to set up how it works. How does this relate to ‘zip’? I guess like how one is zipping something up or hiding something away.))

[meowww-ffxiv]

Yukinko's second lover who was colloquially known as The Big Deal by the Scions because he wasn't going to use the guy's mountain name in front of strangers--

Krile asked him about this guy as idle conversation while they were on their way around doing the feats, in Dawntrail. "There isn't much to say," Yukinko began, and then spent an hour just talking about him.

The last time Yukinko spent an hour talking about anything, he'd been taking bets about how faithfully he could recite Gaius van Baelsar's speech. If he was going to talk for more than 5-10 minutes about anything to anyone, it was probably going to be a paid service.

But this guy?

The Big Deal, according to Yukinko, had known him since childhood. Their mothers were friends -- one of the few friends Yukinko's mother had, considering she was kind of the village failgirl. "He always puffed up his cheeks and got upset when I would sneak away to play with the other non-Viera villages," Yukinko said. "Yet he would lose every bout whenever we tussle. I do not mean to say that he was going easy on me; the boy was just weaker. And then he would always run off, red-faced, not even once letting me help him up. How then was I to know he would be courting me?"

And it was an unnecessary courtship too, Yukinko said. While he'd been allowed back into his clan, Yukinko not staying for any long amount of time meant he wasn't a wood warder, and so was quite outside whatever customs and practices that would have applied to one such. Yet, The Big Deal insisted on dueling. And he was far stronger now, but come on. Yukinko spent forty years fighting. He lost at least a dozen bouts more.

He never stated what he intended, either. There was custom tied to that -- men who wished to court one another could only bring it up once they had proven superiority in combat -- but still. Really.

"Wow, he sounds so dramatic," Krile said. From what passing horrors she had known of Zenos, she believed Yukinko had some fatal peacock-y tastes in men. But she didn't say that.

The Big Deal had what Yukinko used a phrase from Nagxia to describe: "a paper-thin face". Though he appeared aloof and arrogant to most people despite his achievements, he would turn red and start stuttering whenever things weren't going his way.

Alisaie scrunched her nose up. "Are you sure those symptoms don't develop just around you? Alphinaud had meltdowns in front of his crushes when he was younger, too."

"Alisaie!" Alphinaud screeched loud enough for Erenville to cover his ears.

Yukinko gave this serious thought. "It's possible," he eventually admitted, and sighed. "He watches over a territory well known for its natural aether springs. Many auspices and terrible beasts ascend to a higher form there, so it was extremely dangerous. Even against them, he was unusually strong, and himself had been courted by all manners of martial arts sects and covetous lords from Nagxia and Yanxia. Yet he remained in the mountain -- waiting for me, he said. Knowing full well I can never return."

"But you did return," Wuk Lamat pointed out, who was extremely invested in this high romance at this time.

"I did not do it for him. And I did so with another's child in tow," Yukinko replied. "At first, I thought he simply wanted to vent his anger. The Big Deal was a traditionalist, and domineering besides. What's the word? An 'asshole'."

"Mmhm," Krile said. "Okay."

"You have vexingly bad tastes in men," Alisaie rolled her eyes.

"Come now, let us give this suitor some credit," Alphinaud protested, very invested and indeed feeling a little kinship with this Big Deal guy. "I assume the courtship went somewhere?"

Alisaie scoffed. "What's this slander? As if Yukinko would fall for some bru--" She stopped herself, then corrected: "For another brute."

Yukinko said nothing.

Oh, no, Alisaie thought. Oh hell no.

She hated being right. Why did she have to be right? Yukinko did have vexingly bad taste in men. Another one?!?!

"He did win a duel against me," he said eventually, so calm and mild.

"And did he speak his mind? He did confess, right?" Wuk Lamat asked.

Yukinko nodded.

"And you told him to beat it," Alisaie supplied.

"That doesn't look like the face of someone who told the village 'big deal' to beat it," Erenville said.

"Be quiet."

An agonizing pause later, Yukinko said, "I thought he was quite adorable, standing there with his red face and twitching ears, stuttering so much he was incomprehensible. I had to stand up myself, he was in no state to help me. And then he tripped over himself as he finally realized he should help me... Just like when we were children. Even when he wasn't running away, he was such a mess."

Wuk Lamat squealed.

"In my village, a wedding usually follows," Erenville said.

Yukinko shook his head. "He will not leave the mountain, and I will not stay. We agreed on this. Having waited for me besides, he was sworn to his duty. If he had been so vapid as to have me for his sole reason, I wouldn't have respected him so much."

"It doesn't sound like you respected him that much to begin with," Alisaie muttered, only for Krile to elbow her.

Yukinko actually laughed, a low and sweet sound so soaked in fondness that answered the unspoken question and washed away any doubt anyone might harbor about this... this unknown, faceless wood warder with the silly moniker of "The Big Deal".

The conversation drifted off after that. Alisaie grilled Yukinko a few more times about this guy, just so she could know about him, you know? And yes, she did learn other things about him.

He was handsome and tall and even thought of as a fairy by some of the non-Viera tribes whenever his hunts caused him to descend the mountain. He was once an archer and spearsman, same as any in their tribe, but his encounter with a certain learned martial artist had him trained in a straight sword in the style of Nagxia's "immortals". He had dark hair and dark eyes, and wore it long in the same style as his shizun's, as a show of respect. It made him odd compared to their fellow wood warders', but The Big Deal was firm about it.

He was also not as shit at magic as Yukinko, and so had properly carved a bonding stone for him -- a talisman of polished gems and glinting black stone, tied in elegant knots of simmering red furs from some fierce mountain beast. Yukinko wore it on his obi, its cerulean hue an elegant contrast against his favored purples and reds.

"What did you give him?" Wuk Lamat asked. "Maybe we can find some souvenir for him in Wachunpelo."

"I gave him a hairpin," Yukinko replied. "Made with real flowers enchanted never to fade. He is quite vain about his hair and wears a high top-knot, so it seemed a gift that'd suit his tastes."

But he did take her advice of buying souvenirs from Wachunpelo for this... this Big Deal guy. That Alisaie was kind of miffed she would likely never meet. But maybe that was for the best? He sounded like a really annoying Alphinaud, and she'd been there when Alphinaud was annoying.

And THEN she had to realize for herself that Yukinko was suffering from morning sickness. Alisaie wasn't dumb. She put two and three together and decided yeah, good to hear about The Big Deal, but probably better they wouldn't meet.

[contreparry]

ANNN IT'S FRIDAY AND i am a sucker for linguistics so please from the sexual tension prompts: "[ LANGUAGE ] : sender begins to speak seductively and fluently with the receiver in another language." with whoever you want!!!!

Here's some modern!Thedas Zevran/Surana for @dadrunkwriting! I sort of played around with the prompt, but I hope this still fills the brief!

"If I wished to seduce you, Bran Surana, I would not use the Ferelden language to do it," Zevran declared airily with a toss of his head. Bran rolled his eyes and bent down to pick up another cardboard box full of paperbacks. Shelving was monotonous work. Easy work, really, though it was physically taxing. But Bran liked to take the time to pop in his earbuds, listen to music, and think as he worked. Of course, Zevran (annoyingly charming and persistent Zevran) dropped by to keep him company (what did the man even do for a living?), so the earbuds remained in a tangled knot in his apron pocket, and The Screeching Void's latest album remained unheard.

If it had been someone else Bran might have been annoyed. But this was Zevran, and Zevran was different in ways Bran couldn't quite quantify yet. Unknown factors. Solve for 'X.' Show your work. Zevran ought to have been annoying. He was an incorrigible flirt who dropped into his life for the sole purpose of confusing Bran. He was glamorous and intimidating and impossible to explain, but Zevran would drink Morrigan's dreadful coffee and endure her nastiest glares just to spend time with him during his lunch break. And why him in the first place?

Probably because he was entertaining to annoy. Leliana told him his ears went cherry red when he was particularly incensed, and Zevran seemed to take great delight in teasing him. But sometimes, when they sat quietly and ate lunch, Bran would catch Zevran looking at him as if he was the greater mystery between them. But then he returned to his teasing, and Bran returned to rolling his eyes in turn.

"Nothing wrong with how us Ferelden's talk," Bran finally said, and if he deliberately leaned into his own Bannorn accent even harder... well, Zevran wasn't the only one who was capable of teasing.

"It's flat," Zevran retorted. "No drama, no flair! A dull drone from beginning to end."

"Rude," Bran replied. "If you really were trying to seduce me with those pastries you've failed spectacularly by insulting my language." Not that he was insulted, really, but when he had the opportunity to unsettle Zevran he had to take it. Turnabout was fair play, or so said Leliana.

"You have a pleasant manner of speech, my dear bookseller. Utterly charming. It suits you. But the language itself-" Zevran shuddered dramatically. "Truly. Orlesian is too flowery, but Antivan..."

"Antivan, of course," Bran rolled his eyes, and he reached down to pick another book out of the cardboard box. "Go on, then."

"Oh?" Though he couldn't see Zevran's expression, Bran heard the smile in that single, short exclamation. Bran snorted and placed the book on the shelf.

"Seduce me in Antivan, if you're so certain it will work," Bran ordered. "Though you are working at a disadvantage, my knowledge of the language is slim-"

Zevran's hand joined his, wrapping around the spine of the book. Zevran's pinkie softly touched Bran's index finger before he retreated. Bran glanced over at Zevran, who looked at him with a solemn expression in his amber brown eyes.

He spoke, the words almost musical, and Bran tried to pick out at least one word he recognized- there was a "you" in there, and something that might have been... flower? But it was less the words he said and more the earnestness in Zevran's face, the gentle timbre of his voice, the rise and fall of the way he spoke- Bran flushed and shoved the book into its place on the shelf.

"That's... effective," Bran grumbled. "I'll give you that. What... what were you saying?"

"Hmm," Zevran hummed, the mischevous light returning to his eyes as he let the silence hang between them. "Perhaps you should learn Antivan instead. It doesn't work as well in your tongue." With a cheeky grin on his face Zevran stepped back and held the pastry he had bought out to Bran.

"I believe I won our little game, my dear bookseller, but I am ever gracious in victory," he teased. "A consolation prize?"

"... fine. Just this once," Bran muttered, his face hot and his mind whirling- Zevran and his unknown factors only kept growing every day. Bran made a note to find a language learning book (maybe even an app) after his shift.

(Author's Note: Zevran quoted Pablo Neruda ("Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con lose cerezos." or "I want to do to you what spring does with cherry trees."). Bran would be rather baffled by his choice once he figures out the quote.)

[ultimateinferno]

One thing I think some manga readers need to chill out on is the compulsive need to point out that Makima is the villain, especially when talking to anime-onlies and those who've fallen for her shit. Like, maybe you were able to catch on from the word go, but not everyone will and the way the narrative treats her, it's certainly intended to be a plot twist.

I also think by just painting her in broadstrokes as evil through and through with no reason to be likeable ultimately detracts from her character and the narrative of CSM. Makima is a manipulator. Making people like her is her whole thing and it works. With only what was shown of her in the anime adaptation, she has a lot going for her. In other stories, she would have been the polite but haughty kuudere love interest.

Within the episodes shown her most in-your-face negative trait is threatening to kill Denji. However, even when it's written out explicitly, she does it in such a manner that makes it easy for those who've already fallen for her shtick to write off. She always separates the action from her, or uses innuendo when talking about it. Like it's a bureaucratic decision made by her bosses, or some advice from the vets, or how she's never the one who would go through with it, but one of her subordinates. She says it in such a tongue and cheek manner that she has the plausible deniability that she's joking even when she isn't. This isn't to mention that every named character has threatened Denji's life from Aki to Power to Kobeni to Himeno. Threatening to kill Denji is just what people do apparently, not to excuse her but to just point out that it's not the most effective litmus on good vs evil in this setting.

Everything she does is laced with formality and delicacy. From genuinely harmless actions to straight up sexually assaulting Denji. What makes this so effective is how little effort or threats it takes to get people to do what she wants.

Which brings me to the big thing about her character: She is very rarely wrong. The entire speech about sexual intimacy having a greater impact when you're close to your partner and know them on a deep, personal level? She's correct about that! Or maybe when she helps Denji after he got drunk on Himeno vomit by giving him the candy, telling him that even if bad things happen, he will experience so much that they'll ultimately become footnotes in his life. Genuine wisdom. There's even her conversation with the Yakuza about how they're so far up their own ass as they rule Japan's underground while self absorbed that they're the "necessary evil," which albeit hypocritical still isn't wrong. Her little convo on the train about preferring to eat alone and hating dealing with her bosses. The movie date where she says that even if you find only one good movie, it makes watching all of the bads one worth it.

She's not never wrong, but the best lies are built on truths. As one of the few characters in the cast who has any semblance of understanding what the fuck is going on and as practically human pure devil, this all comes together to make it her the perfect manipulator. Anime-onlies will fall for it. When I read the manga, I fell for it. Even after I was clocked in on her doing something terrible from a random redditor's comment on fanart.

What makes Makima such a good villain and such a good representation for abusers is that she makes it very easy for many people to like her. Maybe not everyone, but more than enough. Many abusers aren't some shriveled bitter curs that release nonstop toxicity, they'd fool far less people that way. The best ones are those that make people go "How could they be abusive, they're so nice?"

You don't have to like her. It's probably a good thing you don't actually. She's not a good person, and if people are clearly excusing her bullshit even after reading the manga, go ahead and call it out, but also, let new viewers be wrong. Let them be tricked. Maybe it will reveal some things to them about themselves.

[dcviated]

valentine alphabet hcs :: open

@sakuradreamerz sent: F and J to mirror what you sent me, with an added N and P for fun (for Diluc!)

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Meh? I'd compare him to Raguna where his earnest manner of speech tends to be a lot more endearing and powerful than intentional attempts at flirting. Paying compliments? Easy. Does it without a beat. Trying to flirt unprompted? ... er... hm... he may take a few tries to put it together. But that's not to say he won't try.

Failing that of course, he'll flirt through giving gifts or showing points of generosity. Try a new drink he made. Join him on a walk. Etc etc. You have to keep Diluc's baseline in mind when it comes to what counts as flirting for him.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

A decent amount, but nothing that should merit any concern. Most of the jealousy that Diluc feels will not be expressed. He doesn't want to get in the way of his partner's happiness but he will have invasive thoughts of what ifs. Trust is a huge factor with this man and he has a hard time letting that vulnerability out.

If Diluc sees his partner in a scenario where they're being... noticed or perhaps flirted with the man will show himself and more or less make it obvious they're taken. Thank you very much.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

Attentive before anything else. Diluc is mostly a top but can and will switch when the partner is assertive about the need or desire. It's not an idea that flusters him either, and an assertive partner is something endearing to him. Not a lot of kinks to speak of... but then I haven't explored that part of writing him yet. So who knows what will crop up over time?

Raguna started out super basic and now look at him.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

The problem, if you could call it that, is that Diluc isn't necessarily looking for a partner to begin with. He was far more minded towards romance when he was younger and part of the knights. There was definitely at least one (1) crush of note. But as it is now there was a lovely fast forward of maturity after throwing it on the ground. Oops!

What Diluc respects and will notice in someone, however, is their nature and valor. A good heart and willingness to help others will go a long way in chiseling out a bit around his doki doki. Things such as appearance and the like will fall afterward naturally. Though he does appreciate when they take care of themselves rather than let themselves get slovenly.

He also likes legs. So. Y'know.

[amarantine-amirite]

Pumpkin Dilemma

I've never had a date with James where it was just us. We always went on a double date.

So far, we've shared our dates with his parents, his brother and the weird goth girl whose name escapes me, and my grandfather and the bikini model. I haven't really gotten to know whether my relationship with James is going to last past high school. To be honest, I don't think it will last to the end of the month. Based on what I've seen with his parents and brother, the odds look grim.

This is our fourth date. This time, we're going pumpkin picking. We're doubling with Boris and Angela. Boris is James's father's boss's son, and Angela is some poor girl with terrible executive functions.

"This'll be fun," Boris said, "Why don't we carve pumpkins anymore?"

"I haven't carved pumpkins since the sixth grade," I said.

James tipped his head to one side "What changed? Isabel," he asked me, "I kind of want to know"

"Well," I began, "some kid in my class who couldn't wipe without bemoaning the plight of those employed by the toilet paper industry gave a speech about how she found carving pumpkins on Halloween to be deeply triggering."

Angela laughed, "What was her problem?"

"She insisted it brought back memories of the Great Pumpkin Massacre."

That comment opened a window into how Gracie behaved. At first, I thought it was a joke. She insisted it wasn't. Next, I thought she meant the time that four unknown students destroyed 40 pumpkins grown by the eighth-grade class for the school's upcoming fall festival. She showed me a headline referring to something else: Killer In Helmet Made Of Jack-O-Lantern Stabs 500 To Death.

Long story short, it wasn't pumpkins that had been massacred. It was people. And she was a survivor. It then occurred to me that she got offended by everything in sight because people wrote off her trauma as a joke. Everybody's going to laugh if you survive something known as the Great Pumpkin Massacre.

It's been years since I carved a pumpkin. It seems pretty straightforward. First, you get a pumpkin. Then you draw your design. You then cut a hole in the pumpkin, remove the guts, and then cut out the shapes. Finally, you put your handiwork out on the front porch and hope the squirrels don't massacre the results.

Getting the pumpkin is not as easy as it sounds. You can get a pumpkin at either a pumpkin patch or a retailer like a hardware or grocery store. The problem is that the store only operates from 10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. If you can get in, you won't be able to figure out where the hell they keep the pumpkins. Even if by some miracle you do manage to find them, the pumpkins are expensive and not very good.

Most people go to a pumpkin patch. Not only do pumpkin patches have better stock, but you also get a classic fall experience. That's both a good and a bad thing. Most pumpkin patch operators are sick of badly-mannered morons swarming to get yet another photo for whatever dumb IG account they have, so they restrict walk-ins. Pumpkin patches only let in group events like corporate team building, weddings, bachelor parties, and the like. Not only do those folks behave themselves, they make more money catering to those groups. Kids under the age of 18 aren't allowed unless they're with a school group.

And the result? You end up waiting in line for four hours to pick pumpkins. And depending on how thoroughly this place checks IDs, we could essentially be waiting for nothing.

Angela looked around. The line didn't seem to move. "Do you see a problem?" she asked us. We could see her getting frustrated

"What problem?" James asked.

"This line." Angela groaned, "What if the pumpkin patch doesn't exist?"

Boris sat there with a confused look on his face, looking confused. "How...how could it not exist?" he asked.

Angela bounded up and down on her toes and launched into a rant. "We went to Boston last year for my grandpa's 100th birthday, and we wanted to go to this restaurant called Original Spanish Kitchen. Original Spanish Kitchen had five stars from no less than 100 distinct reviews. There were tons of photos of the place on TripAdvisor, Wikipedia, and the like. We called them and they answered the phone. Can't miss, right?"

"So how was it?" I asked.

"It didn't exist! When we arrived at the address, the cashier couldn't figure out why we'd have a dinner reservation at a fishing store."

James had no idea what Angela was talking about. "What's your point?"

Angela huffed, "My point is pictures on the internet don't make it real. And that's why I can't wait for something. What if it doesn't exist?"

I saw where Angela came from. I also have an aversion to waiting in line.

It happened when we were in Los Angeles for a vacation. I couldn't have been older than four. Me, my father, and my two cousins waited in line at Taco Bell for about an hour and a half. The line stretched back to an intersection a mile away, holding up the traffic. If I recall correctly, a family of Canadian tourists ordered a sandwich without the bread, and the request slowed operations down to a crawl.

At the point where we were third in line to place our order, Dad took us back to the hotel. We turned on the TV and saw a news story about a robbery at the Taco Bell. The robbers started to take hostages. The whole thing taught me that waiting in long lines was more trouble than it was worth.

Angela and I asked James and Boris to save our spots and went up to the front. We discovered an empty tent and a van with the NYU Faculty of Psychology logo on it. Two people sat in the van, apparently keeping track of how many people left the line.

Angela was right. The pumpkin patch wasn't real. From the looks of it, it appeared to be a psychology experiment intended to measure how long people will wait in line for something before they decide they're wasting their time and leave.

The next day, I saw a news story about a bar fight at a sports bar in Trenton, New Jersey being connected to an NYU psychology experiment. Besides the sports bar in Trenton, the researchers set up shop at an upscale restaurant in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, a Christmas tree farm in Sherbrooke, Quebec, Canada, and the pumpkin patch that we went to. Honestly, the whole thing felt more like a prank than an experiment.

@scealaiscoite

[maneaterwithtail]

Today on the someone on the Internet is wrong opinions and I am so much smarter than professional youtubers

I want to push back against the idea that Lisa is sexist or poorly written from death note Mesa misa misa iyami look I'm doing this speech to text I don't feel the need to actually go through the trouble of spell checking everything just read it out loud

OK here's the thing I think the reason people say this is because it's an easy way to much as turning on old hobbies or old ideas that have popularity Make it seem like you're mature. See how everybody keeps on treating Frank Miller and his contributions to comics. It's not the things that they point out not necessarily aren't true but they are highly exaggerated and unflatteringly presented so that's that way they can say we're definitely not those anti women b******* please like us

It's a way of condemning a****** teenage you by proxy as opposed to you know actual analysis or acceptance of a man in his work as a man in his work

When it comes to misa misa she's actually quite well written because she points to something much more true to life than either like yagany or L do

Most people have noted her psychopathic tendencies but the thing is her fun bubbly sparkly psychopathic personality might not be that out of line with someone who works in the kind of business or has the kind of social advantage she does. Now normally she's gonna be killing people but all the other things she knows how to do when ordered to be a pretty decent criminal? How much do you think Is out of line for someone to be able to pull out?

Exploiting friends making prank videos and order to scare people support your criminal boyfriend so that that way you can feel special especially as he does things for you were get off on the contact high a bean above the law

And of course being able to weaponize other people's famed not attraction to you.

Nothing about her presentation to me screams as a genuine condemnation of women or an Idea that they are dumb or an underwriting in fact she sings perfectly well written the fact that she devolves into cartoonishness is actually kind of the point so it's like yagami and this is where I copy paste what I think it all comes down to

No she did not here's the thing light and L look glorious and important but are ultimately children misa looks like a child but she tells you something very f****** important

She's basically what they are without the mask on or more accurately with a mask that if death note appeals to you you'll hate and if you hate Lisa then guess what you have to think how she ended up in that situation and what light actually thinks of her. She is a direct reflection of the results of light's ideals right back at him and he despises the very idea of her

That should tell you everything that you need to know but you can easily blind yourself with all the other excuses you're not as impulsive you're not as Dixie you're not a girl

And on and on and on

When in fact she's got her eyes pretty much on the prize she wanted to hook up with Kira she hooked up with Kira the fact that she's doing so in a self destructive manner doesn't even matter because she doesn't actually value life save as the means to pursue her goals or pleasures

Like doesn't really have any ideas he just thinks he does

After all when this starts he doesn't actually want to become a cure but later he does part of the problem is and I blame the anime adaptation for this is that like doesn't have a fall from grace so much as he immediately becomes a charismatic supervillain

The manga is a bit more subtle about it where you see him as a kid in a bad situation not realizing that hes digging his weight down instead of out. His ultimate fall from grace is the killing of Naomi Missouri

That is the moment where he says I am Kira a name which he mocks early on

You could justify killing the cops because I don't know a cab or whatever the professor is on about

You could justify killing the criminals because the criminals are scum

You could justify killing L because L asked for it

But Missouri is merely going to give some information that will unravel a deception

There is no reason to kill her if hes not going to kill the task force all of whose veins he knows and where they are

He is doing this purely as a display of power and self satisfaction to be fair of the anime does add it in with him sadistically taunting her as she's under the effects of the mind control

But I think it's very essential that light ultimately when the mask trips isn't a tragic figure but a pathetic loser one.

To be fair part of the problem is so much of the plot bends in order to keep the cat and mouse gang going but they have to elevate light to the point where you have too much of the narrative or at least being that could not just be him sell his own height

It does help though that a very simple trick that happened years ago basically sealed his fate without him even knowing itWhat's from the character that it long devolved into the dumb Watson for the exact reason he told him the 1st time they met. Your actions are my entertainment you stop being entertaining your life is over

The only thing that justifies the entire amnesia arc to me is the fact that it's an out of place origin story it's the 1st time we actually get to see an uncorrupted light so we understand where he started from and how he ended up. Most other adaptations try to create a sense of build-up and that unfortunately negates the need for the amnesia arc so it always gets truncated or seems a bit out of place or not as spectacular

All h*** Misa the true face of serial killers and criminals

[greenleebuchanan]

Greenlee raised an eyebrow as she watched his... more than overdramatic display laced with the sarcasm she had quickly realized was his most prominent manner of speech. She scoffed when he flung himself back in his chair to conclude his performance. Leave it to Ominis Gaunt to put on such a display.

This side of him wasn't one that had anticipated--- being from what she understood to be such a highbrow family. Of course such families were very much inclined to put on dramatic displays-- quite frequently actually --- but those were usually rather genuine displays of their self-important disposition. Ominis simply did it for his own amusement it seemed.

"Honestly, I had pegged Sebastian for the most dramatic individual I've come across, but it seems I sold you short. His theatrics do not hold a candle to yours," she quipped as she gave him a side-eye, "it is no wonder you two are attached at the hip. Birds of a feather."

She listens as he affirms her suspicions. It made sense. Students from well-established families tended to have a less than fair tip of the scale in their favor in both the muggle and wizard world--- that was at least something the two worlds had in common. It was obvious that Ominis didn't particularly care for this fact about his life, at least not when it came to unequal punishment amongst he and the twins. She understood why--- no one wants to be the friend that avoids punishment whilst the others are punished for the same act. Such a thing ran the risk of creating a rift if one did not have a way to remedy it, after all.

A short laugh escapes Greenlee's lips at his implications regarding the Headmaster--- though they were more like simple facts. She did not have to be at Hogwarts all that long to realize that their headmaster only paid attention to what he deemed was worthy of his time, and most things simply did not seem to fall in that category--- least of all, students.

"Well, if it helps, I would be inclined to believe that he doesn't know the names of anyone that but those that he perceives would help his status, much less their faces, so you've at least got that..." she says this in a lowered voice, not inclined to run the risk of anyone else hearing lest they wanted to run off to the Headmaster. No one particularly liked him, per se, but she was sure there were students that didn't mind keeping him in the know if it helped them. She already had a detention awaiting her at the end of the day, she didn't need another tacked on.

"Yes," she muttered in reply, slumping back in her chair with her arms crossed, "Sebastian had the idea to go sneak into Professor Sharp's office for something... admittedly, I can't seem to recall what it was now nor why I agreed to it, but at the time it seemed like an easy feat since I had done-- anyways, clearly, it was not. I am pretty sure neither of us will be able to wield our wands for a while without discomfort with the amount of lines we will have to write..."

Oh, he had completely thrown her off from her ranting it seemed. As rude as it was of him to do so, he still found himself forming a slight smirk as she trailed off. Truthfully, Ominis hadn’t minded her complaints that much. He had always enjoyed listening to people talk, about anything, and especially when they took some of their time to speak to him. Not many did, considering who he was, but there was a fair amount of nice, openminded people in the four houses.

“And here I was, thinking people came to me with their troubles in hopes I would solve them for them. Now I feel like a big headed fool and the sudden lack of unimportance is truly dragging me into the dirt,” he replied dramatically and sighed while letting himself lean back against the backrest hastily. After a short moment of the pitiful act, Ominis’ huffed at Greenlee’s words and smiled once again.

“I have, as a matter of fact. Twice. In my first year and second, together with Sebastian and Anne, naturally. I should have been given more, since the three of us were as they say stitched together, but like you said… I have got connections.” He said importantly, though clearly sarcastic about it. Ominis did find it quite outrageous that he was so easily let off the hook while his two best friends had to endure whatever punishment came their way. He had, of course, argued for it but to no avail.

He hated being given special treatment just because of his father’s relation to Black. And why Black treated him like some serpent prince, he did not understand. His father didn’t care for him very much and most likely wouldn’t care if he was given detention or not. But Black seemed to think he was doing the Gaunt a friendly favour.

However, these days his life wasn’t as adventurous as it had been before. Nowadays, there were no reasons for detention on his part. Though, he had to admit… He missed the fun times. The harmless wrong-doings and rule breaking. He missed Anne. He missed Sebastian. The twin brother was still in school, but it wasn’t the same anymore. Ominis sometimes felt like he’d lost him completely.

“Our dear Headmaster refuses to allow the teachers and prefects to punish me. He was a down right mess after he found out a Gaunt had been given detention.” An expression of amusement grew on his face, but he shook his head. “My guess is that he doesn’t even know what I really look like. Sometimes he even forget I’m blind.”

“What are you doing for your detention then? Lines?”