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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 4 years ago

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I Don’t Think You’re An Angel (Anymore)

A Lewis Nixon x OFC One Shot

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Thank you to @basilone @softspeirs and @mercurygray for all your help on this! I am much happier with how it turned out thanks to y’all’s suggestions :)

Warning(s): Some suggestive language, but that’s about it

***

Her father once told her that nursing would make her feel fulfilled. It would get her back on her feet after such tragedy struck. Nothing healed like giving back and healing others, he said. Especially after downing whiskey and kissing strangers didn’t work, she thought.

It did the trick, to be sure. Nursing school was rigorous, but it taught her a lot about herself. She met some of her greatest friends there, and new connections soothed the ache from the burn of the ones she lost. With a new support system, she wearily clawed her way out of the ashes of her grief, and stood up again. And when the war came, she and thousands like her were able to charge into the fray.

But the last thing Bonnie wanted now was to be on her feet - in a much more literal sense. The Austrian sun shone outside, calling to her, coaxing her to come out and warm her face and rest her sore feet. But she didn’t have a day off for another two days. And after almost eight hours at the hospital, there were still more patients to check on before she could clock out. She felt that familiar throb in her heels as she headed into the next ward.

Shit.

There he stood. The man she once knew as Lewis Nixon, but for many years, only referred to as “The Worst Mistake I Ever Made.”

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

He was coming closer, accompanied by a red-headed major she didn’t recognize. To her dismay, they headed for Sergeant Grant’s bed, the very patient she was supposed to check on. He was still recovering from his surgery until he was well enough to be moved to England.

She decided to grit her teeth and bear it. Years had passed. Why should he bother her now? He probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She knew herself to be an unremarkable part of his life. How else could he have done what he did?

She strode over to the bed and ignored the men standing beside it. She lifted Grant’s chart and scanned it, but she couldn’t absorb anything. She could feel Lewis’s eyes on her. Moments that might have been hours passed as he stared, and she pretended she didn’t notice.

“Bonnie?”

Shit.

Biting back a groan, she looked at him, and met his eyes. Those eyes that once made her legs weak and her heart soft. But now only activated her punching reflex. She glanced at his collar to get his rank.

“Captain,” she said coolly.

She returned her eyes to the clipboard.

“Okay, I know it doesn’t take that long to read a chart,” he said.

She snapped it shut and glared at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a medical professional. Would you like a white coat and stethoscope? Just clock in since you seem to know so much!”

“Still mad, I see,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh, get over yourself,” she shot back.

“So, you two know each other?” the red-head observed, cutting the tension.

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “We went to school together.”

“We used to date,” Lewis added.

“Could not have been more obvious I preferred to keep that private, but I guess we’re in this room now,” she said.

“Dick, this is Bonnie Butler,” Nix said. “Bonnie, this is Major Dick Winters.”

“How do you do?” she said politely.

“Nice to meet you,” Dick replied. “Bonnie Butler...like the little girl from Gone With the Wind?”

“If fairness, I had the name first,” she pointed out. “And I haven’t broken my neck falling off a horse, but I avoid them just in case.”

They both chuckled, and she refrained from smirking with satisfaction. Her need to impress him disturbed her.

“I gotta admit I’m surprised to see you here,” Lewis said.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Lewis, anything I’m doing should come as a surprise to you,” she returned.

Now that the initial contact was made, she had an easier time going about her job checking on Grant. It was pretty basic, just taking vitals and ensuring he was still stable. Which he was.

“Well, I’ll let you visit now,” she said.

She started to go.

“Kathy’s leaving me,” he blurted out.

She turned to face him, expression level. “Is that supposed to mean something to me, Lewis?”

It should have felt like victory. Like justice. But it only made her sad. None of it meant anything now. Her loving him, him loving Kathy, and Bonnie hating them both for it. The agony she faced because he chose her friend was only worth a few years of marriage.

Did everything have to fall apart? Was nothing truly built to last? The war showed her that even thousand-year-old buildings would crumble under a bomb. Just as she crumbled when Lewis dropped the truth about him and Kathy. But now they were in ruins as well, so what was the point in any of it?

He shifted his weight between his feet, as he always did when he was anxious. He looked at the ground and then back at her, his eyes revealing how deeply he was stung.

“Guess not,” he said. “I’ll see you around, Bonnie.”

She didn’t answer for so long he feared she would not at all. But she was still looking at him.

“I should hope not, Lewis,” she finally said.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the wing. Dick looked at Bonnie and then at his friend. He had never seen Lewis look so guilty. There was a deep remorse there, which indicated a great impact on his life, but Dick could not recall Lewis ever mentioning this woman.

“What did you do to her?” Dick asked.

Lewis cleared his throat before he answered. “Did I ever tell you how I met Kathy?”

Dick shook his head.

“Well, Bonnie and I were dating,” Lewis began. “Kathy was her best friend. And, well...we fell in love. Behind Bonnie’s back. We had an affair for six months before we came clean.”

Dick blinked, taken aback. He knew Lewis was not the most ethical person in the world, but he did not expect his friend to be capable of something like that. He didn’t blame Bonnie at all for the way she spoke to Lewis. That kind of betrayal went deep because it was not just her boyfriend, but the one person she was supposed to be able to rely on when her boyfriend messed up. And then, to add insult to injury, they ended up married. Now, Dick was impressed with how Bonnie handled the news of the divorce. She had every right to laugh in his face. And she didn’t.

“Did you apologize?” Dick asked.

“Oh, only about a thousand times,” Lewis replied. “And even after some time went by, Kathy and I tried to reach out again, but she wanted nothing to do with us. And we didn’t blame her, of course, but it still hurt.”

A beat passed. Lewis watched the door where Bonnie disappeared and wondered now if his split from Kathy was his punishment for what he did to her. That he and Kathy - because they started as a transgression - were perhaps doomed to fail.

“C’mon, Nix,” Dick said. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Or dink,” Lewis returned.

They left the hospital, but he found himself wishing he could find her again. Explain some more. But he knew better.

The following morning, Bonnie went to change an IV for a young corporal who had drunkenly jumped from a fourth story window and broken his leg. Many of the injuries she treated these days were caused by the jubilance of VE-Day, and she couldn’t say she blamed them, but she did wish they would be more careful.

“Thanks, Nurse Butler,” the corporal said.

“I’m just doing my job,” she replied gently. “This’ll only take a moment.”

She reached for the bag, when she suddenly heard a dreaded voice from behind her.

“Careful with those, they can get messy,” Lewis said.

She whipped around.

“I’m sorry, don’t I first open my eyes and realize it’s a new day?” she asked sarcastically.

“I didn’t -”

“What is this magic bag in front of me?!” she exclaimed, holding the IV bag out with taunting wonder.

“Look -”

“I’ve done this before,” she said sharply, becoming serious again and facing the patient, who was snickering.

“I know that,” he said.

“Then stop telling me what to do,” she retorted.

“I was joking,” he said calmly. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she shot back, with a bitterness that told him she meant more than just the joke.

He did not speak again until after the IV was replaced. When she finished, she ignored Lewis and began walking away.

“Bonnie, wait, I think we should talk about things,” he said, trailing behind her.

“I disagree,” she replied. “Besides, I’m working.”

“When is your shift over?”

“You know I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Please -”

She halted and whirled around. He skidded to a stop a few feet away.

“What is it you’re so desperate to tell me?” she demanded. “That you’re sorry? Because I’ve heard that before, Lewis, and I don’t care.”

“You really can’t forgive me?” he asked. “After all this time?”

She wondered that herself often enough. But there was too much. Not only the betrayal, but the effects of it. How could she forgive him for the worthless way she felt? How could she forgive him for her now ingrained lack of trust? How could she forgive him for the nights she spent crying on the kitchen floor, convinced that this was what love felt like?

His eyes clung to her gaze, and she endured a long moment of weakness where she felt totally incapable of turning away from him. But she knew she could now because she had done it before.

“No,” she said, surprised by the croak in her voice and the lump in her throat.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. She walked away, and thankfully, he didn’t follow.

Another day passed. Lewis did not return to the hospital, and Bonnie was relieved. She worked the rest of her shift in peace. The only disturbance was a violent thunderstorm, which rumbled in the sky and pelted rain down against the roof all day.

When her shift concluded, it was still raining. Unwilling to get drenched, she went to the doctor’s lounge, which nurses frequented as well, for a drink. She had the next day off, so she figured she could afford to get a little tipsy. Her true goal was to get Lewis Nixon off her mind, but as she walked in, she met a dismal sight. There he sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey, looking sadly at a letter.

She looked at the heavens to address God directly.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

She waited a moment, but received no reply. So with a sigh, she went over to the bar and took the stool beside Lewis.

“You know, if you’re not medical personnel, you’re not really supposed to be in here,” she said.

He looked at her. “Are you speaking to me now?”

“I never said we can’t speak in general,” she said. “Just not about our past.”

“I see,” he returned. “Well, to address your earlier statement, this is the only place they have Vat 69 in all of Europe apparently.”

“You’re still drinking that nasty stuff?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve moved on.”

With that, she ordered a gin and tonic. They waited in silence as the bartender prepared it. The soft clink of ice and pop of the gin bottle might as well have been explosions. There were no other patrons to fill up the space.

“So, are we gonna catch up?” he wondered. “Like old friends?”

“I don’t think we were ever really friends,” she replied. “If we were, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned jokingly. “That is forbidden territory.”

“Do you wanna talk or do you wanna fuck around?” she retorted.

“If we’re not gonna address the elephant in the room, I’d argue that all we’re doing is fucking around,” he said.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at that. As she relaxed into her chair and took a sip of her drink, memories of them laughing together swam before her. Those tidbits of happiness that she locked away so that they couldn’t hurt her anymore. Back when she thought of him as her whole world.

“Alright, let’s fuck around,” she said.

She let him go first. He talked about his son, then about joining the Airborne, about meeting Dick Winters, and he even admitted that he never fired a shot in combat. She told him about nursing school, enlisting, and a bit about her journey through Europe. It was all very surface level and appropriate. But it wasn’t them.

“Would I be trespassing if I asked about your parents?” he wondered after their third round.

She considered it as she sipped her fourth cocktail. They grew up together, so she supposed it was fair.

“Fine,” she said. “But it might depress you. Dad passed away, and Mom really hasn’t been the same since.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “They were always nice to me. Even after…”

She nodded, turning her glass on the counter, keeping her watering eyes focused on it. As her mother deteriorated, she kept asking where “that angel Lewis” was. Mrs. Butler doted on Lewis Nixon as if he were her own son. And Bonnie’s was not the only heart broken when everything happened. But now Mrs. Butler was stuck in a time before that, and Bonnie never had the heart to remind her that things were different now.

“She asks about you,” Bonnie blurted out. “Mom does.”

“And what do you say?” he asked.

“I tell her you’re coming any day now,” she said. “Of course she doesn’t know the difference. She can’t remember anything.”

He half smiled. “Well, I better go see her so I don’t make a liar out of you.”

She half smiled back. “That’d mean a lot to her.”

She paused a beat while a doctor and another nurse filed in and took up two stools just a few seats away from her and Lewis. The other two were obviously romantic - their knees touched, their hands lingered close to each other, and they hardly looked at the bartender as they ordered. They were so wrapped up in each other. Bonnie felt the distance between her and Lewis was cavernous in comparison. She took a dink.

“Um, how are your folks? Feeling alright?” she asked after swallowing.

“Oh, they’re the same as ever,” he said. “A little cold, a little rich. They’re gonna lose it when I tell them about the divorce.”

“You’re a grown man,” she reminded him. “What could they do?”

“You act like growing up means your parents can’t be obnoxious,” he said. “They can and they will.”

She bit her lip with hesitation. “Can I ask you something? It might be crossing a line.”

“Honey, I’m on my fifth whiskey, you can ask me whatever you want,” he assured her, knocking back the last gulp in his glass.

“Why can’t it work between you and Kath - your wife?” she asked.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the name. Calling her “Kathy” made her who Kathy was. Bonnie’s former best friend who betrayed her in the worst way possible. Calling her “his wife” reduced her to an abstract. She could be anyone in theory.

“She met someone else,” he answered. “Ironically enough.”

The air around them felt thick again.

“You can laugh,” he said. “It must feel like poetic justice or something to you.”

She shook her head. “The last thing I feel like doing is laughing. That kind of hurt is not something I would wish on anyone, not even you.”

“It feels like you’re supporting me, but just barely,” he joked.

She offered a smile. “I’m sorry, Lew. Really, I am.”

“Thanks,” he said. “But how on Earth are you so goddamn understanding?”

Her brow furrowed. “What? I’m not being understanding. I still think you’re rude for what you did.”

He blinked. “Rude?!”

“Yes, rude!” she cried. “You wanna cheat on me? That’s fine! You wanna marry that girl and get her pregnant? Fine! But to make it my best friend? That’s just rude!”

He laughed. An old, buried admiration for his smile crept up into her heart - right along the very cracks he had created and she had forced back together, never fully repairing the damage. She looked away, only to see the other couple was kissing now, and Bonnie had to turn her back to them.

“Well, I apologize for my rudeness,” he said.

“Based on the situation, I’m sure it won’t happen again,” she replied.

“Ouch,” he said. “But well deserved on my part.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed. “But...can I ask you one more thing?”

“We have already crossed way beyond the line, go ahead,” he said.

“If you two felt that way about each other,” she began. “Why didn’t you just tell me? If you had been honest, I would have told you I’d be fine. I would never have stood in the way of your happiness. The lie hurt me more than the blow to my ego.”

He took a drink of his fresh glass of whiskey and swished it in his mouth briefly before swallowing - a tactic she was familiar with. He was constructing a careful answer.

“First of all, in fairness to us, we had no way of knowing that,” he said. “Second of all, and perhaps worst of all, we...we didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But don’t you see how it’s worse that you -”

“Of course,” he cut across her. “Of course we see how what we did was worse. We were young and stupid and afraid. And look where we are now.”

At that, they both finished their drinks. She bounced her foot a moment as what she was about to say bubbled up. Could she really say it? Did she mean it? She glanced at his face and got her answer.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“To what?” he asked. “I hope it’s to tell those two to get a room.”

He nodded down the bar at the doctor and nurse. Their drinks remained untouched, but the same could not be said for their legs or their backsides. Bonnie snorted.

“C’mon, give them a break,” she said. “You remember what it was like when it was new.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said fondly. “Remember that time at Joan Watson’s party, when you and I went upstairs and -”

She squeaked to cut him off and her face went beet red. A fleeting memory of his hands on a lot more than her legs made her squirm in her seat. She cleared her throat.

“As I was saying,” she said firmly.

“Right, sorry,” he said through a chuckle. “What is it you’re ready for?”

“To forgive you,” she told him. “We’re both different people now, aren’t we?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’d say that’s true.”

He sat up a little straighter, appearing lighter. He pursed his lips too, fighting the grin that was spreading across his face.

“Wanna get out of here?” she suggested.

“I’m still enjoying my whiskey,” he said.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough whiskey for - I dunno - a lifetime?”

“Not my lifetime.”

She rolled her eyes. He met her gaze and smirked. Then, he got to his feet, and offered her his hand. She took it, and they touched for the first time since what they each thought was to be the last time. Who could have imagined they would find each other again in Austria? So far from home and everything they knew together? And yet, through clasped hands, they felt that home was not so far away after all.

He helped her off the stool, they paid, and then walked outside together. The clouds had disappeared and the sun was beating down a fresh, fragrant warmth. The air was clear. The storm had passed.

#band of brothers #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x ofc #hbo war #Easy Company #band of brothers fic #lewis nixon imagine #idk what else to tag this shit #i hope y'all like it

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himbowelsh · 5 years ago

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(Sorry if you're not comfortable with this I'm fairly new to the fandom so pls ignore if you are) Headcanons that include the BoB guys falling in love, mannerisms and speech and such?

Richard Winters

keeps it to himself. when dick is falling in love, neither god nor man would be able to tell, he plays his cards that close to the chest.

(or course, lewis nixon is neither god nor man, just somewhere in between. he figures it out in a second, and teases dick mercilessly.)

lots of lingering stares, gentle half-smiles, more patience than he would --- or possibly should --- have. dick falling in love gradually becomes more and more tolerant of things he would disapprove of in anyone else.

the sort of person who just... becomes so unbearably fond of someone that their flaws seem insignificant. there’s nothing he can’t forgive, nothing they can’t work past together. he loves everything about them, even their worst parts, at least a little bit.

basically he’s just normal dick, nothing has changed, except... he’s a softer version of dick. soft dick all over the place.

Lewis Nixon

he’s... not very subtle about it, but in a very nix way.

his flirting is obvious. like, it’s obvious to anyone looking in his direction. he’s not subtle about it; and while he’s capable of being smooth, he’s also kind of earnest, devoting so much of his attention to his person of interest that he’s able to ignore everything else.

such as responsibilities. when he’s supposed to be somewhere, and he’s not there, 100% chance nix is with his crush. when he’s in love with someone, he just wants to be around them as long as they’ll tolerate him; he practically becomes their sardonic shadow.

lots of gifts. like, things just appear in the person’s rooms, complete with a wry little note from nix. he never makes a big deal out of it, but he compulsively buys his love interest things when the opportunity arises.

allows himself unexpected moments of sincerity --- like a mask slipping for just a moment, when his guards are all down and he’s able to be honest with the one person in the world he’s actually brave enough to reveal himself to.

when nix loves someone, he slowly allows them to see the messiest parts of him --- because he knows he can’t hide them forever, and it’s easier for them to know from the get-out than to stop loving him down the line.

Carwood Lipton

so chill about it, you honestly wouldn’t be able to tell.

lip isn’t even a super private person like dick, he’s just... able to fuction normally, even when his heart is doing a complete 360-degree flip over someone. he treats them the same way he always has, doesn’t fawn over them of go out of his way... he’s just regular old lip.

except for the lingering stares, and the fond smiles he doesn’t bother to suppress. except for how he’s always got an eye on them, just... making sure they’re alright whenever he’s around, in case they need something. except for the fact that if they do need something, he’ll go out of his way --- maybe to an unreasonable degree --- to get it. he’ll drive three towns over just to get them a specific ice cream brand they’re craving.

which is out of character for lip, but he’ll do it, because it’s them. he’d go out of his way for any one of his friends, but wouldn’t move mountains except for this one person. they’re special to him. somehow, without him even realizing it, they mean everything to him.

Ron Speirs

well, he didn’t mean to catch these feelings, but now that they’re here he’s just going to have to murder everyone who’s ever looked at his partner wrong

no. okay, ron... ron does get a little overprotective at times. he’s good at being in love, but falling in love is unpredictable. it’s unsteady, it’s uncertain, anything could happen --- his protective instincts are triggered. so when he finds himself falling for someone, he keeps a constant eye on them. they don’t ever need to worry as long as he’s around; they don’t need to be afraid of anything. honestly, it can get a little too intense, if he lets it.

if ron recognizes he’s being too overbearing, he’ll back off. pining from afar is also something he’s surprisingly good at. gentle stares from across the room, half-smiles at things they say, wry comments meant for their ears alone. if he can be comfortable in silence alongside them, it’s a big thing for him.

love letters. this is a big thing. ron’s not always great at expressing his feelings verbally, so he finds a real release through writing. this really helps his love interest understand where he’s coming from, and get to know his heart clearly. when ron bares his soul in prose, it’s difficult not to fall in love with him.

Harry Welsh

eager beaver. like, he’ll bounce at the chance to do anything for them at any time. oh, that bag looks heavy, he can get that! he’s just gonna... casually hold this door open, you know, like a gentleman. paying for their own drinks? oh no, don’t worry, he’s got it covered.

the worst part is, he thinks he’s slick.

can actually be the softest man in the world when he’s in love; he’ll absolutely dote on a partner.

some of the guys here are actual disasters, they don’t know how to even admit it to themselves --- not harry. when harry’s in love, the whole world gets to know it. he’ll talk about how great they are to anyone who’ll listen; and if he and his partner are on the same page, he’ll tell them he loves them every chance he gets. there’s never any question to how harry’s feeling, because he says it.

heart eyes for his partner at any and all times, even when they’re doing something as mundane as reading a book.

Buck Compton

he just glows whenever he’s around them. it’s not something buck can help. it’s like... being in his partner’s presence gives him more energy, more vitality, the drive to do and be more. he’s fueled by their attention and the desire to impress, to be worthy of them.

not reticent about his feelings. he’ll freely admit them, but it won’t be, “yeah, i love them”; buck will go on about how much he admires them, talking people’s ears off about their abilities and virtues. if buck falls in love with someone, he already holds them in the highest esteem, and honestly wants to be able to blab about how great they are.

people don’t give him credit for how emotional he can be; but once he’s fallen for someone, he opens up to them more and more. it’s a challenge to reveal his vulnerabilities without being afraid, but as he grows to love them more, he trusts them too.

George Luz

if possible, he becomes even more luz-ish than normal. like... his regular personality is turned up to eleven. he craves his love interests attention like a drowning man craves air, and he goes out of his way to seek it out.

lots of flirting, lots of teasing. if they’re around, most of his jokes are directed towards them, like it’s a battle just to make them laugh. it’s painfully obvious where his attention is.

yeah, he’s joking around a lot, and maybe flirting a bit too much to be casual, but... he’s also looking out for them. if they need help with something, he jumps at the chance to do it. any favor, any time, george is ready.

he also likes to teach them things. something as simple as a card game, or how to fix a broken sink --- it gives him the chance to show off his skills a little, try to impress them, prove he knows what the hell he’s talking about... and just to be around them. he eats up every second he gets to spend with them.

sometimes he gets flustered. if they��re not in a relationship yet, and his love interest were to question him about his feelings, he wouldn’t know what to say; he’d run a hand through his already-messy hair, chuckling while averting his eyes, and try to brush the question off with a charming deflection. it wouldn’t work. he’s lots of things, but not subtle.

Joe Toye

joe toye is so capable of being soft around the people he loves that it’s frankly obscene.

he definitely becomes more protective of them. like... love is already an uncertain thing, he doesn’t want to lose it when they’ve barely just begun... and he’s never forgive himself if something bad happened to them. Protective Toye Mode is in full gear.

has infinitely more patience, and is able to let his guards down around them more. he jokes around more, in his understated way. he watches them when they’re too busy with work to look up, a proud smile on his face. sometimes he can’t resist reaching out and touching them, surprising even himself.

he’s so soft, guys. he just wants to be around them and take care of them --- honestly, he’d do anything for them if they let him.

Eugene Roe

honestly, he’s not sure where to start.

it doesn’t blindside him. getting close to people doesn’t come easily to gene; it’s a slow process, and he’s aware ever step of the way that this person is steadily growing in importance to him. it takes him a little while to recognize it as love, but once he gets there... yeah.

he’s cautious about it --- tries as hard as he can not to let it show. being in love is kind of scary for him, actually. he’d really need encouragement from the other person, and the feel comfortable around them. he’d need to see there’s interest there, otherwise he might actually talk himself out of his own feelings. (jesus christ, gene, why are you like this)

quietly so proud of them, and quick to praise. his sweet little smile makes his love interest feel warm all over, and when his eyes go soft and unbearably fond like that...

gene’s love is a quiet thing, but it blossoms more every day. it needs sunlight, nourishment, and kindness to grow.

Bill Guarnere

literally his partner’s hype man. they are amazing and he wants the world to know it.

like, bill in love isn’t that different from regular bill, but he gets invested. he becomes ride-or-die. would murder someone for his partner without question and bury the body together as a sign of their love.

definitely a show-off. yeah, his partner’s incredible, but he wants them to think he’s just as cool. bill might get a bit more reckless in pursuit of their attention, push his own limits (and the limits of common sense) a bit more. his love interest shouldn’t let him go too crazy, because he might end up losing another leg.

he may still be regular ol’ guarnere, but wild bill ain’t cooking a four-course authentic italian dinner for just anybody. bill’s romantic side starts coming out in spades. he feels more compelled to take care of them, do stuff for them. it gives him a sense of usefulness; he loves feeling needed by them.

Babe Heffron

cheesy pickup lines x1000. the worst part is, he thinks they’re actually good.

babe’s actually functional when he’s falling in love with someone. honestly, he enjoys the feeling. falling in love’s a beautiful thing! almost as beautiful as the person he loves! let’s enjoy it while it lasts.

he’s not shy about flirting with them, but can actually act like a normal person, too. he doesn’t get all tongue-tied and stuttery; he just loves talking to them, having conversations and spending time with them and sharing his own interests while learning their own. eats up every bit of attention they give him.

lowkey wants to do so many things with them, but plays it cool. invites them places, like out dancing, to his favorite restaurants, anywhere they might have a good time. by sharing these memories with them, babe feels like he’s sharing parts of himself, too... and god, it sure is fun to be in love.

Joseph Liebgott

what are these feelings and who put them there without his permission

lowkey, he’d choke on the love at first. probably think it was indigestion or something, hope he’d get over it... but the feeling would only grow, and slowly joe realizes he’s in over his head. there’s no way out. somehow, he’s fallen in love, and he wasn’t prepared damn it.

plays it cool. he’s not in any hurry to admit his feelings; he knows, and that’s what matters most. he’s not gonna confess to anything until he thinks there’s a strong chance they’ll reciprocate, so he just... hangs out for a while.

somehow, when his love interest needs something, he’s there. it’s like joe’s got a spidey sense for when they’re in trouble --- even if they just need help opening a damn jar of pickles --- because he’s at their side, ready to talk or fight, whatever’s needed.

doesn’t snap around them as much. actually, he has moments when he’s downright... soft. it’s like all his harsh edges are being sanded down; he even lets his guards down sometimes and reveals flashes of emotional vulnerability, which he wouldn’t do for just anyone. joe liebgott being soft (when no one’s mortally injured) is the #1 indication he’s caught the lovebug.

David Webster

he’s not... unbearable about it. it’s kind of cute, in a “romeo pining for juliet from the shadows outside her window” sort of way.

webster is very quiet about falling in love. he... watches a lot, just observing whenever he has the pleasure of being around them. he notices all their habits, all their quirks, and can’t help finding them all endearing. even if it’s habits he usually hates, like talking while chewing or mimicking someone badly... he gets a little love-blind for a while.

won’t talk about his feelings to anyone, but will write them all down. his journal reads like he’s a 7th grade girl with a crush. sometimes he tries to get really poetic, and express the true nuance of his soul being drawn towards a kindred spirit, but he can’t formulate his thoughts as well in the moment.

they become his muse, at least; he can write better when thinking of them, and might even be bold enough to share some of his writing, just to see their reactions.

not about to write love poems himself, but he knows a few beautiful ones offhand, and will share them with his love interest --- a subtle way of confessing his feelings to them through proxy, and sharing something special between each other.

Floyd Talbert

tab’s flirty by nature, but when he falls in love with someone... all that confidence slowly melts away. he no longer has any desire to present a facade to them, because he’s not trying to woo anymore, he’s trying to love.

he becomes more straightforward and serious around them. he’s still his normal self, but there’s an earnest sincerity that wasn’t there before. he’s not making any attempts to impress them. he is how he is, after all; if he loves them for themselves, they’ll have to love him the same way.

(he can’t breathe a genuine sigh of relief until he’s got affirmation that they do.)

no more super fun, casual dates. now tab wants to go for long nature walks and talk about their emotions. he wants to learn more about his partner, to see the parts of them they’re scared to reveal. nature is also something important to him, and he wants to share that part with them.

floyd in love becomes... a more genuine version of himself.

Donald Malarkey

a really nice guy, and not in a gross way.

don’s just... a nice guy in general, but when he’s falling in love, he’s at peak sweetness. he gets them gifts just for the fun of it, tries to write songs for them (well, he does his best), and comes up with dates centered around all the things they love to do. he’s uber considerate, and really sweet about it.

don’s honest with himself about his feelings, and he’s willing to be honest with anyone else as well. far as he’s concerned, being in love isn’t anything to be ashamed of, especially not with someone so amazing.

the corny jokes will probably be turned up to the max, though, and they’ll be a lot of playful flirting just to see his partner’s reaction. don dotes on them, but most importantly, he knows how to have fun when it comes to love.

Skip Muck

kind of a tease, but in the best way. skip isn’t great at flirting when he really means it; there’s a difference between batting his eyes at someone across a dance hall and falling in love, and skip in love feels like he’s in over his head.

he’ll joke around with them a lot, but also kind of fall into a big-brother role --- looking out for them, helping them, showing them how to do things if they’ll let him.

he feels comfortable acting this way, like he’s significant to them. even if they don’t feel the same way, he enjoys having their attention on him for the moment, and cultivates it.

will definitely have cracks in his armor. honestly, when he falls in love, he’s not that subtle about it. suddenly, he can no longer make dirty jokes around them; he can’t pretend to flirt without blushing and tripping over his words; he catches himself watching them for too long, and idly humming love songs after they’ve just left the room.

god, he’s a wreck. he feels like an idiot around them, and doesn’t know how to deal with it... so eventually he’s just going to have to come right out and say it.

#Anonymous #headcanons #band of brothers #i'd put this under a cut but apparently tumblr doesnt ALLOW THAT ANYMORE

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howling-harpy · 4 years ago

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Outsider pov: from Gene, on winnix after the ricochet bullet wound in Carentan? 😘❤

A/N: A sudden inspiration struck me with this one. Have some Roe~ * Eugene suspected it was always going to be a shock to see a familiar face entering the aid station. When Lieutenant Winters was escorted in, the very first thought in Eugene’s mind was “oh no, not him.” But it seemed that Lieutenant Winters would get to fight another day as it was only a ricochet bullet in his shin. It was painful for sure, but not actually serious as the bone was whole and all there was was a minor flesh wound, and Winters had to sit and wait until all the more seriously wounded had been treated before Eugene got to him.

Eugene was just finishing the bandage on the wound when the doors were thrown open. For a moment he feared it meant more wounded soldiers, but instead of stretcher-bearers it was Lieutenant Nixon who dashed in. “Dick! Oh God – What happened?! What’s wrong?!” he shouted as soon as his eyes happened on his friend. Eugene finished the bandage and took a step back to wipe his hands as Nixon rushed inside, slipping in the trails of blood on the floor. It was a fascinating sight since usually he was so calm and aloof like nothing could touch him, but now for once he was entirely serious, his eyes wide, and without a trace of his cocky smile. Winters looked embarrassed and quickly yanked his pantleg over the bandage. “I’m fine , Nix, it’s nothing,” he insisted and threw Eugene a look that seemed to be subtly begging for him to back him up, but Eugene wanted no part in the relations between the officers, so he just smiled and turned away. “But… But they told me you were shot!” Nixon insisted when he got next to the table while frantically scanning Winters with his eyes like there had to be a more serious wound he just hadn’t spotted yet. Eugene grimaced internally; to him it sounded like some thoughtless fool had offhandedly got the word to Nixon and made it sound worse than it was. Eugene stepped over a puddle of blood on the floor and fought against an urge to curse all the needless pain. “More like shot at,” Winters corrected on the table, obviously having come to a similar conclusion. “I got bit unlucky. It’s stupid, really.” “God, I’m going to kill Foley, he made it sound like you – “ Nixon sounded ready to rant, but came to an abrupt stop like he was about to break a taboo. He shook his head and settled on crowding Winters, deathly pale where Winters was blotchy red with embarrassment. Eugene decided to let them be. He had already seen plenty of soldiers worrying over their friends and gathered it was best to give them space, especially since this was the first time they were facing this sort of fear. Eugene felt the possibility of loss yawning in front of him like the edge of the world and firmly ignored it and got back to work. He washed his hands in a basin while on the edge of his field of vision Nixon was fidgeting next to Winters. Eugene didn’t look straight at them, but still spied with some amusement how Nixon clearly wanted to touch his friend but didn’t seem to know why or how. Eugene hid a smile into his collar. Winters was perfectly fine, fit for duty and not even rattled, but Nixon seemed unable to pick up on any of the obvious information even though it was literally perching on the table in front of him. Some intelligence officer he was. Eugene picked up all used instruments from a tray and dumped them into the basin now filled with dark pink water while keeping a subtle eye on the officers, more out of curiosity and amusement than anything else. Nixon’s hands hovered over Winters like he couldn’t decide what to do with them. “You’re fine… It’s fine… Totally fine…” he muttered under his breath, then finally gathered up the sense and courage to grasp Winters by the elbow. “It’s fine, Nix!” Winters insisted, his cheeks pink with embarrassment even when his voice remained stern. “It’s basically just a scratch.” Eugene wanted to roll his eyes and turn back to tell Winters to drop his tough guy persona and instead comfort his distressed friend, and only his sense of tact and manners kept him from doing so. At least Winters finally reached to touch Nixon’s hand where it was gripping his arm, and Eugene gave him a point for that at least. “Can you walk?” Nixon asked, his voice so unlike his cheeky self that Eugene had to turn fully away to give them some privacy. “Yes, I can walk,” Winters replied, a bit exasperated but still let Nixon help him off the table. Eugene took a subtle look at Winter’s stance when he put his weight on his wounded leg and made a mental note of his flinch. Nixon seemed to notice it too, but when he swooped in to put his arm around Winters’ waist to support him, Winters reddened and took a quick look around like he was afraid others witnessing their commanding officer needing help. “Nix –” he started to protest, but Nixon interrupted: “Your leg is hurt. This is what people do when someone’s leg is hurt. It’s just for a little while, okay? For a bit, just let me give you this.” His voice was so soft it was almost drowned out in the noise of the aid station, and the only reason why Eugene picked up on it was that he was already listening. To his ear Nixon sounded almost pleading. “Alright then, Lew,” Winters allowed and let Nixon press up against his side and wrap his arm around his waist while he put his arm around Nixon’s shoulders. Eugene watched from the corner of his eye when they swayed together out of the door and decided to look the other way.

#winnix #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #Lyselkatz #mun ficci

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northsouth12 · 4 years ago

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How to actually do goals according to science

Every year I kind of sort of commit to some ~New Year’s Resolutions~ and every year I kind of sort of make progress on them. This year I was diagnosed with depression and that led to me doing a bunch of research on how brains work and working with a therapist (bless them) to learn how to be kinder to myself.

In 2021 I’m setting goals again, but also approaching my goal setting with a different, more compassionate, and more informed mindset. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of setting myself up for success and I wanted to put it out there a) because I learned public sharing helps with goal achievement and b) in case this information/plan could help anyone else. So if you are also tired of making aspirational lists of all the stuff you’re going to do with nothing to show for it, come on over!

PEOPLE WHO KNOW MORE THAN ME

For quick and easy learning, I recommend the following podcasts/websites, from where I have drawn most of this information:

(1). VOLITIONAL PSYCHOLOGY with Dr Joseph R Ferrari, Ologies podcast ( 1:05:56, transcript and notes on website). A podcast interview explaining what procrastination is and what we can do about it. Also be nice to yourself.

(2). FEAROLOGY with Mary Poffenroth, Ologies podcast (1:13:49, transcript and notes on website). A podcast interview explaining how stress is equivalent to fear and how to interrupt our body’s stress response to regain our health and sanity.

(3). “Golden Rules of Goal Setting” on MindTools.com. A website covering most of the actually scientifically backed goal setting advice without a lot of life coach BS.

(4). My therapist. Credit where credit is due, they are a godsend. I highly recommend these conductors of light.

BASICS OF GOAL ACHIEVEMENT

For people who hate reading, here are the spark notes. There’s more information and tips in the long version, but I understand that some people put together IKEA furniture without looking at the directions.

Use the SMART method to write goals:

Specific - well defined and clear how to accomplish

Measurable - precise definition of success

Attainable - doable but still challenging

Relevant - aligned with personal values

Time-bound - must have a deadline

Put goals in writing. Use “I will” rather than “I want to” and frame statements positively.

Write down why specifically you want to achieve each goal.

Make an action plan breaking goals into individual steps. Break tasks into smaller and smaller chunks until you get to a place you can make progress. No judgement, just move the bar until you can move forward.

Schedule regular check-ins to evaluate your progress.

Post goals and progress publicly.

Incentivize achievement.

Surround yourself with doers rather than (fellow) procrastinators.

ABOUT SUCCESS AND FAILURE

If you can achieve 80% of your goal, that is success. In fact, happiness peaks at 85% success and 15% failure. People feel happier failing a bit because then their goal feels challenging and worthwhile.

YOU WILL FAIL. It will happen. It is okay. Focus instead on how you will react and grow from your failure.

“Stress” and “fear” are effectively the same thing. Recognize and own your fear; don’t be ashamed of it. It is a natural response. Also, recognizing your stress as a fear response helps you determine the root cause, and then address it, or even use it as a growth opportunity. Successful people freely use the word “fear”.

For many procrastinators, their fear of failure also includes a fear of success. You are afraid to do the work because you are afraid of not being good enough. These people (me) are practicing “social esteem protection” - thinking that if I don’t finish a task, I can attribute it to a lack of effort rather than a lack of ability because it’s a “time management” issue. It’s not. Time management is a myth, and the end result is that you are letting down the same people you want so badly to like you.

Procrastination is a learned behavior, which means that you can unlearn it. The best way is through CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) to reprogram your thinking for people who have a persistent issue with procrastination.

Forgive yourself for your failures the way you would forgive other people.

HOW TO SET GOALS STEP-BY-STEP

Sorry this section is long, but it turns out a lot of the keys to success in achieving goals starts with actually writing them properly. Who knew?

Set a deadline. The traditional New Year’s Resolution is supposed to last through the end of the year, but I’ve found that is too long a span. I end up procrastinating because “there’s so much time left” until there’s not and then “it’s too late to start now”..... So now I’m setting my goals seasonally: four sets of three months. My deadline for winter goals is March 21st, the Spring Equinox. As part of my public accounting, I have told everyone this, including a bunch of internet strangers.

Also key for us procrastinators is setting a start date. I gave myself a week to write my goals and make my action plan. I have to keep track of my progress starting Monday.

Determine your priorities and set limits. You cannot do everything, no matter how much you want to (procrastinator, remember?). Looking for layout inspiration on Pinterest I came across so many bujo people with 8 million goals on their page layout. That’s not happening. Remember that your goals are meant to create positive change and a sense of accomplishment, NOT cause more anxiety. So make limits. How do we do this?

Make a big list of aspirations first. You can do this by identifying your personal values and generating ways to emphasize those more in your life. You can make a list of everything that you’re afraid of (aka causes you stress) and then think about ways to address or confront those fears. For example if getting a bunch of work emails into your personal inbox every weekend ruins your Saturday, aspire to set some work/personal life boundaries! Or maybe you have something you’ve always wanted to do, like learn a language or set time aside for a hobby. Put it on the list.

Now you have to edit the list. You can keep it to refer back to for the next round of goals, but choose out the top priorities for the next three months. To help you do this, refer back to your personal values, or just ask yourself “why do I want to do this?” If the answer is because someone else thinks you should, nix it. This is for you and only you. I originally chose 8 priorities, and then cut it again to 6 aspirations total - keep the plan simple and manageable to set yourself up for success. Remember, 85% success is what we’re aiming for. I also tried to choose a mix of difficulty levels of the individual aspirations (exercising = freaking hard; keeping a gratitude log = pretty easy) so that I might get some early wins and momentum.

I also recommend that at least one priority is just something you know will make you happy. We all need to set aside time and energy for ourselves, and to stop feeling ashamed about doing stuff that makes us happy. What the actual f**k. Choose one thing you love -- reading, baking, petting animals, being outside -- and make it an official goal to do it more often. NO JUDGMENT.

Okay, now to format your priorities into achievable goals. You are going to take each one of those aspirations and put it into an “I will” statement with a quantifiable definition of success. For example, my aspiration to “sleep more” became “I will follow a bedtime routine for 21 days straight.” You want to make sure your statement is framed positively (rather than “I will not eat junk food”, try “I will eat healthier snacks”). Also think again about making your goal challenging but achievable. I did not write “I will sleep 6 hours a night” because I can’t control that. I chose 21 days straight as my success measure because I anticipate I’ll fall off the horse a few times before I get a successful streak, and three weeks would be good progress for me. Another thing you can do is use ranges like “I will pick up 1 - 5 items in my room each day.” This is a bit of a mind game where the low end of the range is easily achievable so you have no excuse not to do it. Often once you get started, you might find that you have energy for 5 items after all.

Now that you have your goalposts set up, write down those “whys” you thought about when you were choosing them. Recording why you want to do this specifically is helpful for your motivation as time passes and further clarifies your goal.

As we’ve learned, accountability helps! For each of your goals, write down how you will share your progress. I’ve asked different people to check in with me about my sleep and exercise routines. I’m reporting about my ongoing issues with procrastinating on my schoolwork to my therapist each week. For my goal to read more books, I’m posting a picture of each book I finish on my Instagram. And for my goals to keep a gratitude log and consume news in a healthier way, I’ve decided I can hold myself accountable. In addition, I’m using my journal to keep track of my progress towards all six goals.

Set a reward for each goal. This could be anything from a pack of your favorite chocolates for completing an easy goal to giving yourself permission to buy that sweater you’ve really wanted for achieving a super challenging goal. I am also trying out having bonus rewards such as a small reward for an 11-day streak on my sleep goal to give me a push of momentum. For my hardest/most important goal I also decided to do a “stretch goal” like with Kickstarter where I get a reward for overachieving. So maybe I went a little reward crazy, but we’ll see how it goes!

Finally, for each goal write down the actions you’ll need to take to achieve it. For me this is stuff like “draft a bedtime routine and share it” and under that, I plan to research by “listen to somnology podcasts” and “read sleep solution book”.

HOW TO MAKE PROGRESS

Whew, you made it through writing the goals and now you are set up for success! Here’s a few more tips to keep things moving.

Now that you’ve got your goals all set up, share them with the world! (Or at least the people you’ve decided to help keep you accountable). Sharing goals and progress publicly is proven to increase our likelihood to achieve them.

If you’re a journaler, make a nice goals layout and a tracker for your progress. I did not find good examples for achieving goals in a scientific way when I looked for inspiration on Pinterest. If there is a journaler out there who read all the way to the end of this post and made a nice layout, please share your artistry. My “layout” is just a list. :/

Surround yourself with doers. If you have trouble motivating yourself (me), ask a friend to pair up with you. I am doing a remote master’s degree. It is not going well. However, setting up a regular Zoom “work date” with a friend who is currently working from home has forced me to sit down and look at my schoolwork on a regular basis.

Schedule regular check ins to evaluate your progress and write them down! I have a combination of check-ins with my “accountants” as well as a plan to review my goal progress every Sunday when I plan my week. This is written on my to-do list on each Sunday to make sure I do it.

Go forth and conquer! And remember, failure is a fact of life and does not make you a bad person. It just means you are learning more about how to set your goals for next time!

#goals #2021 goals #new years resolutions #goal setting #goal achievement #science

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gegenji · 5 years ago

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Merchant (MER) as a FFXIV Job

A while back (almost a year and a half now, in fact) I wrote a dissertation on how one could implement Beastmaster as a tank job using concepts taken primarily from how Summoner was being handled at the time. Given how things have gone since that point with the Arcanist-based pet jobs, its base concept seems all the more possible... though it's just as likely to become a Limited Job like Blue Mage just to allow for the full actualization of taming something and using it as your companion. Still, it was a fun thing to do and I’ve been mulling over doing another.

This is the actualization of that, albeit a rather spur of the moment one. Like before, it’s - as the title implies - the idea of a "Merchant" combat class that is actually an attempt at providing that Chemist-like job folks have been wanting. Just with some inspiration from the Bravely Default job of the same name, and some other gil-based concepts like Zenniage.

As for how it came about? It all just sort of... clicked into place during a conversation, honestly. Hopefully it all makes sense, too!

Disclaimer: As with the BST theorycraft post, this whole idea is just speculation and ideas presented for fun and as a mental exercise. There's likely to be gaping holes in the concept that would need to be dealt with to be executed properly, and things like potency and cooldown timers won't be delved into at all. This is all theorycrafting and spitballing, after all. Don't expect much else to come out of it other than perhaps some smiles on the part of the reader.

And, also like the Beastmaster post, this will likely get unnecessarily in-depth and wordy (as is my wont). So it will be put under a Read More just like the last.

High Concept: Merchant as an "Item"-Based Healer Job

As mentioned above, one of the abilities I've seen people lamenting not being able to do in FFXIV is throw potions at people, a la the Chemist in Tactics (though the job is also in FFV in a much more broken capacity) or - honestly - like what you can do in any single-player RPG like the non-MMO Final Fantasies. Of course, I’ve always had the mental block on actually thinking too deeply on it because the Alchemist already exists as a Disciple of the Hand class. Why would they make a Chemist job that would just confuse people?

There were other issues as well, of course. Most folks also wanted this Chemist job to use a gun too - another design decision taken from Tactics, since Chemist was among the three jobs that could use one (the other being Mustadio’s titular Machinist - a Squire replacement - and Mediator). This, of course, would step on the toes of FFXIV’s own Machinist job without some sort of variation to set it apart..Using two smaller pistols at once, for example. But I wanted to avoid as much overlap as possible - giving the job its own kind of unique identity - and that meant a unique weapon as well.

Then there's the problem that if the character actually had to use items, then that would require this job to have to carry around materials much like how Hunters had to carry around arrows or a Rogue their poisons in WoW. It would attach a cost to playing the job that - while fitting for the flavour - would be detrimental to the player since they would have to spend more gil than any other job. So, of course, the obvious solution for this is to nix that for the sake of gameplay.

With all this ironed out, the overall concept became one of the idea of a healer that uses "items" as a method of healing and support, where said "items" are just cooldowns like anything else. Like what you'd see with some NPCs or use yourself when playing as them. Just with some fun little additions to add a bit of mercantile flair to the job as a whole, all of which I'll delve into here.

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General Information

Job Role: Healer Primary Stat: Mind Weapon: Bag

You read that right! Bags! These were actually a weapon in Final Fantasy Tactics. Normally only usable by female characters, they had a random damage range like axes. However, for someone who is using items to heal, it also seemed fitting that they use the very bag they carry everything in as a weapon in a pinch.

Job Gauge: Profit Gauge

The Profit Gauge is a meter to display how much "profit" the Merchant has gained during the course of combat. Profit is used to increase the efficacy many of the Merchant's moves, allowing for big bursts of healing or damage at the cost of the resource. It also has a section to indicate whether they are in a Nald or a Thal Market.

Limit Break: Defibrillation

Taking all the energy gathered from the fight and funneling it into an experimental device, the Merchant jolts downed allies to life and heals everyone up to full.

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Expendable Resource - "Profit"

(The name for this resource has gone through a few revisions. First was Currency or Wealth, and then started moving away to the more abstract Gratuity before ending up as Profit.)

All things are made from aether. People, plants, animals, the land itself. As such, this also extends to the various concoctions made by (and oftentimes out of) these things. However, such things are never a perfect one-to-one ratio. And there's always some degree of excess.

The Merchant skims this excess from the potions and tinctures they use, gathering each extra little bit of aether in the crystal focus clasp set in their Bag. From there, they can infuse it right back into the next item they use - giving an extra little kick to the healing or damage that it might do.

This allows a Merchant to suddenly bolster the power of their abilities, but each use eats into that Profit. If they spend too much of it or use it too frivolously, they might not have enough saved up for when they actually need it, considering...

Nald/Thal Market

On the side of the gauge, there is a circle that is usually empty. However, after hitting a certain level, this field activates to symbolize the Merchant’s ability to identify the ebb and flow of the aether that is coursing about the battlefield. This is represented by a symbol of Nald'thal with an up arrow, a down arrow or a line along with a timer. These, in order, identify a Nald, Thal, or Even Market.

During a Nald Market, there is extra aether to be had - leading to a boost in the amount of Profit gained from each action taken. Conversely, a Thal Market means a dearth of aether, resulting in less Profit being gained with each action. An Even Market means no change to the Profit gained at all, and is the default when out of combat.

Once combat begins, a timer appears for the Even Market, and then it cycles into a Nald or Thal Market. After that subsequent timer runs out, it can refresh as the same Market or switch to the opposite. It takes a wily Merchant to capitalize on a Nald Market, gaining and spending Profit freely. But they should also make sure to keep some left over should it become a Thal Market.

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Combat and Mechanics

As mentioned above, the main idea of this type of healer is a healer that can - in times of necessity - have a sudden spike of healing or damage by utilizing the Profit Gauge. It's not unlike how a Scholar can use their Aetherflow stacks for a sudden Lustrate or Indomitability. However, a Merchant can constantly gain their resource unlike a Scholar, and thus their healing is more deeply tied with having this resource on hand to be spent.

The gain of Profit, however, is not a constant thing thanks to the shifting of the Nald/Thal Market. As such, playing a Merchant is about using their abilities to seek to properly utilize and cultivate this flighty resource. There are, of course, some abilities to allow them to circumvent or even ignore their Profit Gauge, but these are mainly for emergencies.

The overall idea is to be utilizing your basic attacks and heals to generate Profit at all times. These are generally low potency, however, and will require usage of your gathered Profit in order to put out any meaningful numbers. So, just getting a full Profit Gauge and then sitting on it until you need a big heal is technically a viable strategy, actively utilizing your Profit and the abilities that manipulate it will maximize both the Merchant's damage and healing capabilities.

And, due to the ability to burst damage as well as healing, the Merchant would likely end up one of the more damaging Healer options. However, this comes at the cost of eating far more into its healing. The other healers would likely be preferable for their consistent healing and damage numbers over the peaks and valleys of a Merchant. However, a properly played one makes a perfectly serviceable healer.

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Actions & Traits

Much like the BST section of the same name, the items listed are not in level order and are instead grouped as I feel would work best. The overall goal to show the items in each part of the kit for an overall whole. Potency, cooldown timers, and Profit costs are not included either and will instead be given in vague terms. I'm sure concrete values could be figured out for these, but that is a bit beyond the scope of this theorycraft.

Attack Items

Dark Potion - Deals unaspected damage.

Poison Breath - Deals unaspected damage over time.

TNT - Deals unaspected damage to target and all enemies nearby it.

Zenniage - Deals unaspected damage, potency increases with Profit. Uses all Profit bar.

Support Items

Aqua Vitae - Restores target's HP.

Caligo Vitae - Restores own HP and HP of all nearby party members.

Savium Vitae - Resurrects target to a weakened state.

Iron Draft - Erects a magicked barrier which nullifies damage. Does not actually heal.

Samson Power - Increases damage dealt by a party member or self by 3%.

Goliath Tonic - Restores target’s HP, percentage matches Profit. Uses all Profit bar.

Market Abilities

Poor Quailty - Reduces the potency of the next Item used, but increases the amount of Profit gained off it.

Good Quality - Increases the potency of the next Item used by 50%, but uses a decent amount of Profit (~25-50).

Great Quality - Increases the potency of the next Item used by 100%, but uses a large amount of Profit (~50-100).

Speculate - Force a reroll of the Market, making it a Nald, Thal, or Even.

Ether Loan - Increase Profit Gauge by 30. Long cooldown.

Deep Pockets - Allows usage of Good Quality without Profit cost for 15s.

Traits

Pharmacology - Increases base action damage and restoration by 10%.

Pharmacology II - Increases base action damage and restoration by 30%.

Market Sense - Adds the Market indicator to your Profit Gauge.

Deeper Pockets - Changes Deep Pockets to Deeper Pockets, allowing usage of Great Quality without Profit cost for 15s.

Potions Mastery - Upgrades Dark Potion to Dark Hi-Potion and Poison Breath to Morbol Breath .

Potions Mastery II - Upgrades Dark Hi-Potion to Dark X-Potion and Morbol Breath to Dragon Breath .

Potions Mastery III - Upgrades Dark X-Potion to Dark Elixir and Dragon Breath to Dark Breath .

Mix Mastery - Upgrades Samson Power to Dragon Power, increasing the boost from 3% to 6%.

Long-Term Speculation - Allows accumulation of charges for Speculation. Maximum Charges: 2.

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Afterword

Things have changed a lot since the last theorycraft I did. A whole new expansion has changed up how the jobs are laid out, their traits, and added whole new aspects and angles to them I didn't know about before. I had thought to update my Beastmaster theorycraft to match that, but I also felt that it might be best left as it is as a testament to the idea wrought at the time I put it to paper.

So, instead, I decided a new job was needed instead. I had been musing on how a job like Mime would work in FFXIV, mostly focused around expanding on the concept of Aetherial Mimicry and the Aetheryte Earring from the Shadowbringers Special Edition. Something involving having a basic set of moves, and then some others that changed based on the target you mimicked. And then possibly the idea of its gear shifting stats to match whatever they're mimicking (an idea brought on by a debate about alternate roles for existing jobs).

But I didn't think I had enough of a concept put together for a full on theorycrafting diatribe like I had done for Beastmaster. And then, when talking to some friends about the aforementioned debate and musing on what jobs were left... what jobs people still wanted... and some abilities that had been used in Final Fantasy games but not yet in FFXIV. And this is what came out.

Of course, even as I started writing, things shifted around. The concept of the Profit Gauge solidified with some lore to go with it, along with the addition of the Nald/Thal Market idea (for good or for ill). I was originally musing over trying to include a Slots-style system like Setzer has that would randomly boost (or hinder) the Items used for the next 15 seconds or something... but that seemed a bit too random for a job that already had this amount of variance, and a healer at that.

... Though maybe it can be a third part of the gauge in the future. With a button to spin it for varying positive effects.

Still, all in all, it was a fun exercise. Even if it came crashing into existence much more quickly than the slow formulation that was my Beastmaster concept. Do you like it better? Worse? Have any ideas of your own? Want me to try taking a crack at Mime anyway? Let me know!

#ffxiv #theorycraft #merchant #wall of text

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migleefulmoments · 5 years ago

Note

Debunking ahead: Tinhats historically believe Darren was FreePavarotti (mleigh69*tumblr*com/post/126280604185/why-do-people-think-darren-is-free-pavarotti). He isn't. Dominic Tracy (nee Barnes) stated the account was owned by a fan in Boston (www*masslive*com/television/2011/03/glee_exclusive_dominic_barnes*html) which was followed-up by an interview with with said Boston fan who owns it (www*masslive*com/television/2011/03/glee_exclusive_mr_boston_speak*html). As usual, tinhats bleat it was PR.

Ooohhh I love this....this is tooo delicious.

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akf-ighting asked:Why do people think Darren is Free Pavarotti?

@mleight69:

There are quite a few reasons - some screen captured - others not

but all seem to lead to the same conclusion - despite PR attempts to “prove” it otherwise

the truth is hard to hide when it doesn’t want to be hidden

This was a fun exchange that pav jumped in on:

THIS ONE IS A PERSONAL FAVORITE:

if the above doesn’t scream Darren’s voice to you - nothing will.

And there was a third tweet from a female friend (can’t recall who) who told him to watch which account he was tweeting from and called him “birdbrain”

This was an interesting post:

on December 10th, there were three consecutive tweets. I have all three in my phone saved. 11:10: @DarrenCriss I was gonna hop in the shower but then I decided to do jumping jacks in there instead. and then at 11:15: @DarrenCriss I was gonna hop in a cab but I realized there was no room in there for it. Plus I had nowhere to go. Sorry cab driver please let me out. and THEN, at 11:21: @FreePavarotti I was gonna hop to it but decided to walk instead. 3 MPH. So, basically, Darren mixed up accounts. (Tweets from FreePavarotti generally have #FreePav at the end.) The tweet was promptly deleted, so very few people have proof that it happened, but I do. it proved that Darren runs @FreePavarotti. LINK

I have seen screencaps of the tweet that Pav sent out the night of Chris’ 21st bad when they were on tour

Pav was drunk - or acting drunk - both are possible - the tweet was deleted

like the others that pointed too specifically to who was in charge of the account

I believe it is both Chris and Darren - but mostly Darren

The timing of events and information known - a lot not possible without some inside info

Many are in Darren’s playful and mischievous voice (with a possible assist from Chris at many)

And honestly - WHY would anyone work so hard to cover up something that was just a random fan having fun?! LINK

Another incidence of PR overkill - that only proves the opposite to be true -they seem to have mastered this maneuver - don’t you think?!

Free pav continues to favorite things time and again

and frequently they are INTERESTING choices for sure!

Choose for yourself - but coincidences are only coincidences SO MANY TIMES

time will tell

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(X)

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'Glee' exclusive: Mr. Boston speaks about FreePavarotti Twitter

Updated Mar 25, 2019; Posted Mar 31, 2011 Comment0sharesBy

Samantha Stephens, The Republican

Who would have thought that a bird could cause such a commotion?Pavarotti might have only appeared on a couple episodes of Glee but Kurt Hummel's (Chris Colfer) pet warbler stole the attention and devotion of thousands of Glee fans.

With a popular Twitter account, which currently has 9,483 followers, Pavarotti kept fans entertained with witty status updates about his caretaker, the Warblers, Kurt's budding relationship with Blaine (Darren Criss), and his own budding romance with Warbler Luke Edgemon.

As the account became popular, speculation over who ran the account swept the internet. Most fans agreed that it had to be a member of the Glee cast. But disparities on whether the account was operated by a Warbler, Darren Criss, or a joint-effort was a topic of debate for many.

When I started what I referred to as my “Wild Warbler Week”, in which I had the pleasure of chatting with three of the Warbler boys, I decided to try to get to the bottom of this mystery.

I was prepared to listen to the standard "he's a bird!" reply that had always been given when anyone attempted to solve this conundrum. But, lo and behold, I received the information on the first attempt thanks to Dominic Barnes.

We may never know the mysterious Mr. Boston’s true identity, he refused to answer any personal questions, but he offered an exclusive interview in which he revealed some of the magic (or should I say glitter?) behind the famous Twitter account.

When did you start the account? Where did the idea come from? The account began on December 1, 2010. It was the day after Pavarotti appeared on the show, I think. I started watching Glee when the Warblers first appeared, which was a couple weeks prior. I've done joke Twitters before in a different context, and it was a lot of fun. The initial idea was to start a campaign to "free Pavarotti", hence the username, while retweeting information about the Beelzebubs and bullying, to keep it in context. When I started tweeting, though, doing the character seemed like a more fun, accessible way to put that stuff out there.

Where did you get the ideas for the status updates? Do you have a favorite status or one that is particularly memorable? I had two different characters in mind for Pavarotti; one was the actor, an actual bird on set, totally infatuated with his own success and enamored with his fellow Warblers. He's the one who actually acts like a bird. The other was the bird in the show. That Pavarotti was meant to be a little more like a miniature Kurt; he overplays the "gay", gets excited about hanging out with Blaine, loves to sing to himself, and pretends to be well-educated about things like fashion, history, and music, while in reality he's just tossing his sassy feathers around, saying please, look at me, don't let me get lost, I'm bright yellow, I want to be important! Ha ha.

The other factor in updating the Twitter was relevancy; What's a hot topic in the world (Libya; Japan)?, Is there something I can do to stick with the gay/bullying theme (Trevor Project; transgender boy actor bird; It Gets Better)?, and What's up with my caretakers and how can I redirect some followers to them (Warblers; Bubs; Glee)?

I don't think I have a favorite. There are over 800 tweets on the account, you know! Every time I got to say "I'm not Someone Famous, because I'm a bird," that was awesome. Bird puns, too. Bird titles. Bird anything, really.

Did you ever expect it to become such a phenomenon within the Glee fandom? Not in a million years! I didn't even expect it to catch the eye of people in the show - and while I made some fun tweets, Pavarotti's popularity is due entirely to the Warblers & co. If it weren't for some of the guys being great sports, playing along, and pretending that Pavarotti was the real bird they worked with, this conversation we're having would be even more absurd. The Darren Criss conspiracy theory is also to blame.

Could you elaborate on the Darren Criss conspiracy for people who might not be familiar with it? I once dueled a tiger upon the harsh wastelands of Kentucky, but as soon as I managed to subdue this creature, it tweeted that I was actually Darren Criss to the World Wide Web. Its approximately three and a half million followers were fooled instantly and a thousand of them became personally invested. In order to preserve my secret identity and continue to oppose Professor Zoom and Magneto in their dastardly schemes, I played along until the time was rife to take revenge.

You said you had two ideas for how to maintain the Pavarotti Twitter, how did you decide between the two ideas? I used both Pavarotti - the bird and the actor. Some people picked up on this right away. It's not necessary in order to read it, though. The plan to use it as a "freedom campaign" was nixed almost immediately, because doing the character tweets was too much fun. And also because I couldn't come up with a neat little logo to save my life.

A huge part of the Twitter account was dedicated to the relationship between Luke Edgemon and Pavarotti. How did that get started and will you and Luke remain in touch? Luke was the first Warbler to tweet at FreePavarotti as though he were the real deal - he said "Pleasure working with you today!" and that was the beginning of my credibility. The romantic tweets just happened. Truly the age-old story of a canary and a boy falling in love. We will! At least, I hope so. We still text through private messages.

Pav had a lot of status updates about "Klaine" - do you think he's smiling from Bird Heaven now that they're finally (unofficially) together? What are your personal opinions on that storyline? I think Pavarotti loved both of the boys, as well as the rest of the Warblers. He did his best to chirp it up with Kurt, and Blaine was a real pal. I don't think he would have much of an opinion on the relationship itself, aside from what it does to Blaine and the Pips' set-list. Personally, it's important to have a gay relationship on primetime T.V., even if it's as silly as any other hookup on Glee. The "Brittana" excites me more, to be honest! People need to see that - LGBT intolerance is heading the way of dodo birds, shell suits, and separate drinking fountains, so we better darn well get a more and more positive presence in the media with each passing day.

Who has a stronger love: Pav and Luke or Kurt and Blaine? Love is the most powerful force in the universe; it's not a spectator sport. Be careful with that!

You mentioned one of the themes you wanted to touch upon with the Pav account was the bullying issue. What are your thoughts about the Kurt/Karofsky storyline and the possibility for Karosky's redemption? I'm not really qualified to talk about this! But here goes: I do like to think that anyone can find redemption, especially somebody who's lost and lashing out like Karofsky. The locker room kiss scene turns my stomach, and getting Kurt out of that entire environment was definitely the right thing to do. I'm sure Karofsky will "see the light", for lack of a better term. It's been set since that Superbowl number. I just don't know how much divine vengeance is too much - his remorse alone isn't really enough to make up for what he's done, but taking a crowbar to the guy's head would be overkill! Glee will, with any luck, find a happy medium and a happy ending for him. He and guys like him could use a little hope.

How difficult has it been to keep the secret, especially when so many people assumed the account was run by a Warbler or member of the cast? A fair number of folks on the human plane have known about the account from the start. I'm grateful that none of them have spoiled the fun. I experience a mixture of guilt and glee when accused of being a member of the cast; I figured if anybody in the inner sanctum of Glee minded, I'd get in trouble, or someone would clear the air, so I'm guessing anybody on Glee who's heard of me gets just as much satisfaction out of toying with the emotions of Twitter as I do. Splendid. I don't need these five minutes of fame attached to my face; having this game on the internet was fun enough.

What did you think the reaction would be when it was revealed that you weren't a member of the Glee cast? I was surprised that the Warblers were surprised - I thought they were all just playing along! I figured Darren Criss would laugh to himself. You know, everybody's different - I knew some people would be disappointed, some people would be really amused, and some would still insist I'm a member of the cast.

Do you keep in touch with anyone from the cast of Glee? I could just tell you "no," but that's not very mysterious. I have a feeling folks would be skeptical, too. How about...my buddies are my secret, and the poor cast of Glee and I can continue to try to live our lives as ordinary people, connection or no connection.

Were you a fan of the show before you started the Twitter? If so, what was your favorite episode or cover? Nope! I'd never seen it before the Warblers appeared. But since then I've ended up with the box set of the first season, and I've seen some of it. I loved the episode with the mattress commercial. I like Teenage Dream a lot. I also liked Forget You and Vogue.

Who is your favorite Glee character? Puck. He appeals to my sensibilities. He's a cool dude with a lot to prove. He gets some great lines. He's just great. He can be both a bully and a kicked puppy.

When and how did you find out that Pav was going to die in "Original Songs"? I found out when people started tweeting me asking if it was true. That's how I learned a lot of things; I don't read the news blogs, and I don't really talk to people on the inside - well, I wouldn't be so rude as to ask for deets on spoilers all the time if I did, although I shot off a couple of excited messages to Warblers when I discovered "my" days were numbered. I toyed with the hearts of my followers, and as soon as I was informed that the death was actually going to happen, I began to plot my own demise.

On Glee, Kurt assumes Pavarotti dies from a stroke. Is that what really happened? How did you decide what the final tweet would be? Pavarotti either died of a stroke or of a glitter overdose. There was no time for an autopsy, in between singing and making out, so the world may never know. I had the final few days' worth of tweets saved on my phone weeks in advance. Pavarotti died while chirping out a tune; that's the way he wanted to live, so that's the way he had to go. The song seemed relevant.

Do you approve of the bedazzled coffin Pav was laid to rest in? It's beautiful. A glittery little box for his glittery little spirit.

There was about a week between Pav's death and the funeral. Where was he hanging out in the meantime? Kurt probably kept him in a well-decorated mini-fridge. Or maybe they used a slingshot to send him out into space at relativistic speed, so that he'd land back on Earth without decaying too much.Assuming that's where Pav is, what's Bird Heaven like?I'm not dead or a bird, so I couldn't tell you!

Are you or will you troll again? I'm glad that someone detailed for me exactly what the parameters of trolling are last night.I have had other Twitter accounts in the past; none taken as seriously as this one, and nowhere near the follower account this one generated. I have a new joke character Twitter account going, with a smaller following and a more casually fun tweeting schedule. It has been mistaken as an official Twitter in its franchise once or twice, too, but that impression was almost immediately dispelled by the followers and context. I don't plan on ever publicly linking them to each other, or my future endeavors.

Is the new Twitter account Glee, Darren Criss, or Starkid related? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? (X)

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So there you go...another cc trope, forever stricken from the masterpost!

#cc #ccer #cc fandom #crisscolfer #darren criss #free Pavarotti #Debunking cc lies

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ripples-in-the-river · 5 years ago

Text

I was thinking, for my weird Miraculous fic that's probably a one-shot -- maybe I should cut off the first part? It was supposed to be about introducing the villain AKA the plot device that would force Marinette and Adrien to react to the whole Lila situation in school, with later chapters/paragraphs focusing more on the dynamic that the town has with akumas, how they react, how their lives change, etc. Bur well, the fight scene was nixe to write, and I love angsty battle scenes where everyone gets splashed with a good old dose of tears, and also battle sequences are so much fun to write, I had no idea but I apparently like the dynamism of a battle, the scenery that keeps changing, the characters that are thrown in an unexpected situation and need to resolve it, etc.

So I'm also thinking to cut off the fight scene because the akuma doesn't make sense. We have this weird eldritch eel thing that floats, then later on I was searching for a power and I liked the combination of like, pale fire and dark blue, a bit like those pictures of like, heat levels in the body -- and also because it was fun to have this creature from the deep sea spout flames like some kind of surface dragon thing. Then with that came the concept of making it into some sort of turtle/mammal thing that kind of looks like an angry turtle with bits of lava rolling on its back -- like, so hot it's almost yellow. The back design ended up looking more like a mountain with tall, slender grass and some dusty soil, like, the pale kind with some darker patches where it's more shadowy/cliffside-esque? And I had this idea that there was sort of a mountain thing on top of its carapace, and there's something in a little taiga thing between the mountains where Marinette needs to get to either fix the akuma, get rid of its weapons, or fix the damage it's causing. I thought of like, a combo between Audimatrix and a more element-themed villain like Weredad: there's the technology part that's like, controlling damage ans sort of scaring everyone down on the ground, while there's the eel thingy doing... Other stuff? Shooing people away? Shooing the technology away? I don't know at this point.

Like, the robot part was kind of a shot in the dark. I had this random idea of making robots appear, then that the robots were connected to the eel thing (that I had to physically force myself to picture as an eel and not a turtle because holy crap mental images are hard), and the lava was like, shot down from the robots. Since there was something shooting flames/lava/some weird acid thing that ended up being a weird liquid fire thing nonsense. So I thought, well, robots, right? Since they're easily something a villain can conjure -- or ar least, something you get to turn civilians into. The idea that you'd turn people into "cold" metal monsters by throwing them into lava felt kind of cool, too, if not completely disgusting to really think about. But it's an Akuma, and magic, so I guess it doesn't hurt. Deal? Deal. So now I just have to connect the pieces, but I'm kind of worried about the fic being weird or something. And I have to figure some kind of gimmick too.

The eel thing (I'm calling it Eldritch because why not, it might even be some sort of a villain name like Eldritch Metal or something) is really strong -- fic starts when it yanks Marinette off her feet while escaping her confused mess of yo-yo string/spaghetti/trap thing under the Eiffel tower. Tower collapses, Marinette hangs on for dear life, and since she'd just cast her Lucky Charm, things kind of suck. So she has to basically just hold on until Chat Noir comes back, and since she's there, she can fight a robot or two like why not, right? The fight is uneccessarily tense because honestly? I wanted to un-downplay how dangerous akumas are like, those kids are badass and akumas cause real danger, you know? And I wanted to show how Marinette reacted when she had to fight an Akuma on her own, like, we never really look into how scary it's gotta be to right these guys without your partner -- especially if you rely on them as much as Marinette does Chat Noir. Basically talk about how she depends on him -- the show stated how important Chat was to her, and honestly, I think it's gotta be something to talk about sooner or later. Ladybug's position is basically like being the bomb technician in a war zone. Like, sure, you have some field knowledge, but seriously? Go try to defuse a bomb when the whole tagteam is shooting at you and also THEY HAVE BOMBS and you're the only technician and you really can't unfuse a bomb without someone making sure you don't get murdered in the face. So I wanted to talk about that! I thought it might be something Marinette really needs to realize, and also people in general, because like, Chat is cool, nobody says he isn't, or should say. So yeah.

But the thing is, I hadnt planned for the fic to be taking that direction. It kind of turned into commentary on their characters/relationship when honestly, I meant to talk about like -- how does the town handle akumas? Can they do better? How can people handle bullying better? Is Chat being bullied/disvalued? Should something be done? How do the people handle akumatization/bullying? Basically, rhe fic started with this premise that yes, sometimes, you really WANT to believe in the people you're supposed to have faith in -- yourself, others, teachers or friends, God, parents, whatever. But sometimes you just stop pretending and you allow yourself to be dissappiinted, and angry, and it sucks. I wanted to delve into that. Into the premise of the show, into how some characters did things that others considered good but sometimes made horrible decisions that didn't get addressed or that were swept under the rug because you just wanted to believe so badly that they were good and you didn't want to stop believing in them.

Like Caline Bustier, I wanted to believe she was super sweet and all, but well, sometimes it's just no, and Mme Mendeleïev is supposed to be rude, there's stuff happening all over the place between Chloé and Sabrina and you just have no idea???? And I felt like maybe it's really freaking stupid to say this, like, isnt it the point of every fanfic ever to expand on canon and say that you're angry about things? But, I dunno. I guess I just kind of wanted to see stuff the way they are.

And I might or might now have talked about the bullying, and Lila, and how Chloé bullied basically everyone in the past and how that affected them, and also like, criminally, what is everyone's crimes? What would you sue them for? That's kind of what I wanted to explore. Kind of take of this blanket of "they're a good person, of course they wouldn't do that", like. I guess, stop taking people for better people than they are just because you want to believe they're a good model or something.

So yeah. I might post the start here? I don't know.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #writing

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

Photo

Terrarium Nova

Would you guys believe this started out as me trying to practice trees & use up some leftover paints sitting in/on my palettes from other projects? The tree practicing is for a different project I'll be doing later, and I'll share the specifics of then But yeah, I have a good amount of leftover watercolor dried onto a couple of cheap palettes, as well as some acrylics paints in a palette meant to keep them fresh (but unless you monitor it and spritz them with water every couple of days, they will still eventually dry up) and I really hate to waste any of it if I can help it, especially when it's my slightly nicer stuff. (Some of it was, some of it wasn't) So I figured I'd try to kill two birds with one stone, and the end result ended up looking pretty cool, although I do still have some more paint that didn't get used here, so this may not be the last random-ish painting you see from me. Oh, and I was also recycling a little bit since I used the back of a giant piece of watercolor paper I had previously used as a protective mat for my desk. I started with the tree shapes, mostly inspired by Bonsai trunks, and that actually did use up pretty much all of the dark brownish paint I was using, so I was off to a strong start. Then I went in with some metallic watercolor that was leftover from my Butterfly Babe piece, which dried with more of the black and silver I had mixed into it on top for reason unbeknownst to me, so the first little hill/mound I made naturally came out darker and more silvery than the additional hills I added later than came out decidedly more gold. I think after that I added in the orange sun/planet (in my head it's the sun but a lot of the details here are very ambiguous in what they could potentially be) and an accompanying orange horizon line. Originally, I thought I was going to be making a very sunset-ish background with possibly a very red sky and mixing the yellows in more, but that obviously didn't end up happening. I was kinda just going with what I felt like and where the paint wanted to take me. So I ended up going in with the yellows (and later red and magenta) leftover from my $50 vs $4 Watercolors piece (these ones being the $50 ones, the $4 ones were put on a separate palette while I was using them so I wouldn't get the two mixed up) and ended up making many yellow hills to fill out the background some more, though admittedly the ones on the left kinda got away from me a little. And I'll pause here to say that I was using water brushes throughout this entire piece as opposed to actual paintbrushes, and every time I use those (at least when I'm getting proper water flow) I find that I tend to have a somewhat easier time getting certain watercolor effects, mostly when it comes to blending out hard edges. It's funny to me, as a lot of artists would say water brushes have a higher learning curve than regular brushes, and I'm sure some have a harder time with them. I think the main reason I have an easier time might be because back at the beginning of the year when I started re-discovering watercolor, the first set of paints that got (the Viviva watercolor sheets, for anyone who's curious) came with a water brush, and at the time I had never used one and was really excited to try it, as well as I just didn't have a ton of brushes at my disposal. Likewise, I spent a lot of my time learning watercolors on a water brush, whereas, naturally, most artists learn primarily on regular brushes. To be fair, I would like to one day invest in a slightly nicer set than the cheaper set of different size water brushes that I currently have, as these don't always flow correctly and at least one has a very slow leak where the top screws on, which hasn't caused any painting problems but is just kind of annoying because it very slowly gets my hand wet while I'm using it. Anyway. I then decided I hadn't used enough of that metallic paint and went in and added some dots of various sizes in the sky, since I didn't really feel like trying to make proper stars of any kind, but I wanted more up there and that seemed like a good place for more metallic paint. After that, the plan was to start on my red sky, but I started putting the red down and realized I hadn't cleaned my brush very good, so I got this interesting shimmery darker red color, and since I had already messed up, I liked the color enough I decided to make a moon out of it, which is why that red pot is hanging out over on the left side there. Why this "moon" and the "sun" are out at the same time, I couldn't tell you. Sometimes things just happen in art. That led me to the decision that instead of covering the whole sky in a color, I would just add some clouds, and I decided to got with the expensive magenta on my palette. Things were going fine until I grabbed more paint than water (as I was hoping for kind of pale/blended out soft clouds) and I ended up with some pretty nasty unblended lines one of the clouds and it was notably darker at the top than the others. And so I introduced the technique of "this one cloud got messed up so the rest of you have to suffer!" And I also kind of had to be okay with none of the blending and layering on them turning out super smooth or nice for consistency's sake. And you know, it's not fine art or anything, but it doesn't look as terrible as I thought it was going to. (Though that could really be said for this entire piece. ) I also ended up adding in the purple-y mountains in the foreground after feeling bad that I'd neglected some of the paints I'd originally been intended to use the most, and I think in the end it adds a nice contrast and kind of ties the magenta clouds into the piece as a whole more. I knew I still wanted to do leaves on my trees, which were still just bare trunks and branches by this point, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do for them yet, so I did this kind of dome thing for the sky, after acknowledge I did not want to have to try and get a smooth, consistent blue wash around everything else I'd already painted in. (Yes, I once again forgot the principal rule of painting--put the background in first) While that dried, I took a break to ponder my next move. I hadn't used any of the acrylic paints that I had leftover (more than I originally would've had too, as I ended up making a sign for my mom that I haven't decided yet if I want to post or not) and one of the colors was green, which is a very basic choice for leaves, but I already had so many other strange colors going on that the basic blue sky and some simple green leaves didn't seem like asking too much. So then I just had to decide what the leaves were going to look like. In the end, I went with using the back end of a paintbrush to dot on some of the green and some of this pale, yellowy color, and a little of a mixture I made using those two colors together (originally for the sign, not this), and I tried to place the dots in mostly realistic places for leaves. And admittedly I could've done a lot more leaves and really filled out the trees, but I felt like it looked better with more of the trunk and branches showing. I also went with the dot thing partially to carry over the dots in the sky. I'm not really sure what kind of theme that is, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. And then last but not least, I signed it with a purple gelly roll, trying to balance in both color and placement just a wee bit. Funnily enough, the most tedious part of this process was actually what came after it was finished. Because I was working on a giant piece of watercolor paper that was previously a mat for my desk, and I wasn't really sure how this was going to turn out, naturally I wasn't really thinking about what size I was painting at while I was working. And wouldn't you know it, my poor painting here ended up being too long to fit in my scanner all at once. So I had to cut it out of the giant piece of paper and then scan it twice; once to get one end, and then a second time to get the other end. Then, of course, the two pieces had to be stitched together in Photoshop, which wasn't too bad. I then spent more minutes than I care to admit trying to figure out how/to what extent the best way was to single out the little oval-ish shape of the painting, as I thought that would be much nicer than leaving the ugly bits an pieces of white scanner background. I tried to keep the actual edges smooth, though I nixed the idea of having it be a perfect oval shape right from the get-go, mostly because of how much of the edges would get cut off in one area or another. So the shape itself is very imperfect. Still, I think in the end everything turned out pretty nice. And admittedly after how the later part of last week went for me, it felt really nice to just kind of go in and not really worry about the details or if everything was turning out exactly right or whatever. Sometimes you need to do something that's just loose and has very few rules to it like this. Personally, I think I really needed this at this time in particular, and for as unplanned and simple as it is, I'm really happy with how it turned out. The title is a little random; the shape and what I did with the sky kinda reminded me of a terrarium, and much like a nova is the birth of a star, this was a pretty spontaneous birth of a...planet, I guess. I almost called it "Terra Nova" (roughly "earth star birth") but upon Googling that because it sounded familiar, I decided I did not want to name it after a movie that came out in 2011 that I know nothing about and have no affiliation with. Anyway, things might be a little slower on the art front this week, as I have a bit of a tall order to-do list, but for the foreseeable future things are going to be somewhat interesting here; I finally ordered a gouache set I've had my eye on, and it should be here by the end of the week, as well as the tree thing I mentioned at the top of the description, and another project I've done some preliminary work for...Jeez, I have an awful lot to try to squeeze in before Inktober starts, don't I? Perhaps I'd best go and get started on all that. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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simplelinesunfashiond · 6 years ago

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New York City, 1988

This is probably not actually part of Visions of Midnight, aka one of the TSP backstory prequels. Warning, teen Nathaniel basically exists in a permanent state of crisis. But also, is very easily starstruck. I...don't know exactly what this is. So. @idreamonpaper @drabbleitout @wrennytenten @abalonetea @adie-dee @elliereblogsmemes

Nathaniel stared down at his boots. They were a rich red, faintly sparkly, and only tolerable because they didn’t have heels. He most certainly didn’t need to be any taller. Honestly, it was sad that Nix couldn’t be there, to make him look shorter.

Sure. That’s why.

He chased the intrusive thought off, and resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. “You lied. I definitely had time to go change while you were developing those,” he said, glaring at Lana who happily flipped through her folder of photo prints.

Honestly, the black silk shirt was one thing – the fact that it didn't button up all the way was another. And he was fairly certain someone of his stature was never meant to wear jeans that fit like these. He was all legs, sharp angles, and at the moment, far sparklier than he had ever intended to be in his life. His eyelids were all but encrusted in the same glittering color as his feet, and he could only remember the faint smirk Anderson had responded with as he explained, “You’ll look good in red.” Helpful. He fidgeted with the fringy end of the narrow scarf looped around his neck, just a little too orange to be red, but too red to be gold.

“But then you wouldn’t look so pretty for this meeting,” Lana answered, shrugging one shoulder and smiling at the Nathaniel in her pictures.

“Really? You don’t think this is kinda, I don’t know, too much?” He hoped his glare would emphasize his point, but she didn’t look up.

“You don’t know who you’re meeting,” she said, as if this had just occurred to her.

“I don’t know who any of these people are, I never do.”

“You’ll be perfect.”

“I dunno if ‘perfect’s’ the right word. I’m sheddin’ glitter like a sun’va-bitch,” he muttered, and Lana laughed, soft and pretty. She reached up. Brushed his cheek.

“Tranquilo, baby,” she cooed, and then laughed again. “You get twang-y when you’re nervous.”

“Pretty sure everyone already knows I ain’t from around here.” He smiled, just a little, at the way her nose crinkled in distaste. He leaned over to look at her pictures, lips pursing as he flipped through a few. “I look a little…girly, in a lot of these, huh? More like some sort of…model than a singer…”

“You’re pretty, babe. Nothing wrong with that.”

He looked at a couple more, wondered at the poses, at the makeup, at everything. At everything it brought to his own mind, at least. A red leather jacket, the cherry finish on the Fender, the orange-gold decal on the hood of the firebird. God, Firebird – why had he named the damn song that? “I mean, it just seems a little…” Obvious. You’re selling yourself out. Did you really have to write a song about him, dumbass? “Excessive,” he concluded, instead.

Lana looked at him more seriously, in that soft almost pitying way he hated. “We don’t have to use all of them. Of course, you get final say in anything that goes out to anyone,” she said. He nodded, and she closed the folder, tucked it in her pin-filled jacket. “Hey. Cheer up.” She punched him lightly on the arm, suddenly all sunshine again. “You’re on your way to meet a big name, get a gig as an opener, get your first shot at an arena. You’re in the big leagues now, pretty boy!”

Nathaniel smiled, then, but answered, “People in the big leagues don’t ride the city bus to meetings, darlin’.”

“Twang-y,” she objected, and pointed dramatically in his face. Really, she was right – she always was, it was why they’d made her manager – and they managed to keep each other laughing the rest of the way to their appointment with whoever the hell.

They’d already heard the new demos. They’d already heard the last two albums, too, but this “they” wasn’t anyone Nathaniel cared to recognize. Just office people, business people, people who cared about how accessible his style was and whether the same fans might be into him as their other clients. To see if he was a good match. He hadn’t felt quite so scrutinized in years, but at least when Lana pulled out a few publicity photos from her folder, they were more standard ones, images he’d approved, and the rest stayed safely tucked away. He marveled, a little, at her way of wooing business people when she trudged in in combat boots covered in duct-tape, but maybe that was just New York for you. Maybe it was just Lana. Maybe it was just another thing Nathaniel was never going to quite get, and he found himself wishing for what had to be the seventy-third time that Nix was there.

Nix had better things to do, he guessed. Nix things, at any rate. And besides, these people all knew what Nix was about. They’d heard his work, everybody had. It wasn’t Nix they were trying to sell, so why should he be there to hold Nathaniel’s hand? A poor choice of words.

It was starting to seem they would never get past the desk people. Why would whoever they were allegedly going to be working with bother to come up to this grubby New York office just to meet one small piece of a not-so-big operation? To do some sort of exaggerated bonding ritual? Offer them drinks, show them around some places nobody really cared about, act like they were gonna be friends for publicity’s sake? Honestly, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to party with strangers, as much as he could probably use the drink.

Lana was arguing with one of the desk people. Nathaniel was tuning it all out. Humming to himself, trying to stay in the “music” part of his brain, where he was comfortable. Somewhere, the desk jockey was getting angry. A door opened. Lana was laughing, telling someone her name, telling someone his name. Nathaniel looked up. Saw who had walked in. This was a name he knew, after all. A face he knew. A voice, Dear God, a Voice that ran cold fire down his spine. It was a boy, looking at him, waiting for him to say something.

“You can call me Nat,” Nathaniel said, and hoped he was smiling – hoped also that he wasn’t smiling like an idiot, which was all the more likely, he was afraid. He wondered how his heart hadn’t exploded out of his rib cage yet. “So, I guess this means we’ll be working together?”

#writeblr #amwriting #drabble #wip:tsp #sort of #dawn shadow #characters: nathaniel/drethander

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izzy-b-hands · 6 years ago

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Murder House, Part One

This is my @mtl-trick-or-treat for @enydart! I hope you like it; I had a lot of fun writing it! I also started something for your Treat prompt, so if you like this and want that one as well, just let me know and I will finish it and post it asap!

This was for the Trick prompt, asking for ‘something gross with Murderface.’ I went to something that most people find gross (though maybe not the Dethklok boys, since they see so much of it lol)-murder. But I had to give Murderface some fun and happiness too since he gets shit on so damn often, so hopefully this is gross enough!

Fic under the cut because this got long; RIP and my apologies to mobile users if the cut isn’t working on the app. I was actually going to try and fit the whole thing in one post, but found out there is a post length limit (who knew!) so I have split this into Part One and Two! I will post Part Two by the end of tomorrow at the latest (it just needs a few final touches!)

The ads for the haunted house played constantly from October 15th on . Radio, TV, even billboards plastered all over. He did his best to ignore them, even though he wanted to take a flamethrower to any billboard or screen that had the ad on it for even a second.

The rest of the band, however, was harder to ignore. By the fifth night of the ads playing during their favorite evening TV shows, he was ready to snap listening to them comment.

“Look at thats; you ams the most famous of us now,” Skwisgaar snickered as the ad played.

Lights flashed and flickered on the big screen as it showed the haunted house actors depicting the murder-suicide that had sent him to his grandparents. There was even a chubby baby actor sat in the middle of the gore-’Baby Murderface looks on in horror!’ exclaimed the ad’s dramatic narrator.

“Ams thats legal?” Toki asked, pointing at the screen. “To use your lifes like thats and makes a haunted house so...sads?”

“Amn’ts even haunted really,” Skwisgaar replied. “Just sads. A sads house. What ams scary about thats?”

Pickles shrugged. “Well, someone sold their rights to their life story years ago. That’s scary, if you ask me. Cuz then they can do shit like this, and you’re shit outta luck to stop them. Ain’t that right, Murderface?”

He wanted to just rage. To tell them to shut the fuck up, or he’d set fire to the living room just like he wanted to set fire to the haunted house and anyone who was involved with it. But he’d been upset constantly, since the ads had started. It felt strange, but he was almost tired of being upset and yelling about it. He just wanted to do something to get rid of it.

“Whatever, juscht schut up about it. They were schupposed to make a cool movie out of my life,” Murderface sighed.

Nathan chuckled. “You uh, you really thought they were gonna do that? Buying the rights to your life story; that was gonna make a really cool movie?”

“Yeah, why the fuck not? People make movies about all kindsch of dumb schit; you can make a movie about anything basically!” Murderface spat back.

“Okay, Murderface, look--thing is, they gotta have a cool fun story, to make a cool movie. A movie about your life...that’d be pretty sad, dude,” Pickles said. “I mean, who the fuck would wanna watch that?”

“Well, once he joins us, I mean...that’d be a cool movie,” Nathan said.

“Yeah, but then that’s just a Dethklok movie,” Pickles replied. “And that ain’t what he wants; he wants a Murderface-only movie. But nobody’s gonna go see that, or if they did they’d like...I don’t know, cry themselves to death or something.”

Murderface bit his tongue. They were in a rhythm now, going back and forth to talk shit about him. It was easier to try to stay quiet and ride it out.

“Yeah, probably. Can you see it? ‘Saddest movie ever, millions cry themselves to death and stab out their own eyes’,” Nathan said. “Huh. Actually, that would be brutal as fuck. Murderface, you should call them--tell them to nix this haunted house bullshit and make the movie instead.”

There were tears at the corner of his eyes, even though he didn’t want them there. He tried to look only at the TV, hoping no one would notice them.

“Oh geez, look yous mades him cry now,” Skwisgaar tutted. “You eggs him on like this, when he ams already a big crysbaby, makes it worse. Ams you just a big baby Murderface? No, so knocks it off.”

“He likes attention, that’s all he wants,” Pickles started.

“Yeah, I says thats, like a big baby,” Skwisgaar interrupted. “Needings all this attentions.”

“Oh fuck you! You’ve got moviesch and booksch written about you!” Murderface protested. If anyone could talk about being an attention-needy baby, it was Skwisgaar.

“Yeah, but I has to have them all takens down. Dids not authorize anys of thems, so they amnt’s accurate. I don’ts want them, but people makes them anyway.” Skwisgaar replied testily. “And does yous mean Toki’s book? Because that ams nots something I wanted either.”

“Oh fuck yous, Skwisgaar,” Toki scoffed. “Yous ams just as bad. What theys calls an ‘attention whores’.”

“Oh, and what ams yous, Mr. Gives-me-a-solo-rights-now-or-I-cries?” Skwisgaar shouted.

It devolved from there, and he tuned it out. They’d forgotten to keep making fun of him, at least. But there was no watching the show with that much yelling over it; the cue to head in for the night.

His boots thudded against the stone floors, and then against the wall of his room as he kicked them off and tossed them into a corner.

“Schtupid executive asscholes. Schtupid Halloween. My life ischn’t scary, or schad, or anything--it’sch mine. How’d they like it if schomeone did that to them?” he grabbed an ancient dagger from its spot hanging on the wall and slashed in front of him. “Or better yet--Michael or Freddy or schomething could come and cut them down. Just schome creepy freak coming after them.”

He let the dagger clatter to the floor. “They’d never schee it coming...”

And there it was. The perfect revenge, to make sure they’d never take anyone else’s life and turn it into some stupid attraction. To show them he wouldn’t take this lying down.

Or that someone wouldn’t, at least.

After all, Charles did have a few limits legally. He got them out of a lot of shit, but some of it was going to simply come down to being careful. There wasn’t too much work to do anyway--the website for the haunted house listed two main executives from the studio he’d sold his rights to, a team lead for the attraction itself, and if he could take out a few actors in the house too, well that was just icing on the cake at that point.

It wasn’t a lot of murders for Charles to have to make disappear, but it was enough work if it was Murderface, famous bassist committing them.

But a faceless, nameless boogeyman could get the job done.

The outfit was easy to draw up, his ideas flowing like water. A little bit Michael with the black protective jumpsuit, and a touch of Freddy with the knives, all hidden in specially designed pockets so it wouldn’t look super bulky. The mask was fitting of any horror movie monster--blank and emotionless, unknowable.

Really, the mask was his masterpiece. Made of a flexible material so as to still be comfortable, with specialty coatings on the front to make it difficult for any victim to stab or shoot through it. It wouldn’t stop everything, but it would help keep him from getting outright killed. Not that he planned on giving them much of chance for that. Last, it would be painted a dark shade of blue, almost black, the color he figured would make it easiest to blend into any shadows. Only holes for the eyes and a few hidden ones near the nose--anything more felt too risky, too much of a chance to potentially be recognized.

The bonus of being this rich was that no one would ask questions when he ordered weird shit. Hell, he commissioned random costumes for Planet Piss all the time. Charles would make sure the orders got processed as quickly as possible, and then his work could begin.

It was almost therapeutic, all of the planning and designing. It made falling asleep easier and quicker than it had been in weeks, and for the first time in awhile, he slept with a smile on his face.

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

The three days that followed were all tense excitement. Excitement for waiting for the outfit to get there, excitement to get started. With the main businessmen taken out of the equation, it would be easy to get Charles to start the legal side of things--to file lawsuits for everything from defamation to claiming he never sold his rights at all. And then the thing would be shuttered for good.

The suit arrived first. Thick material, meant for an industrial setting, slow to stain or tear. And it fit like a glove.

“I’ll corner thosche asscholes in their penthousches, and paint the wallsch with their gutsch!” he crowed as he finished buttoning it. It was a bit weird not wearing his shorts, but some sacrifice would be required to pull this all off.

Now he could only hope the guys wouldn’t question the deliveries he was getting. They almost always did--for anyone. Pure morbid curiosity, or hoping it was something fun to be shared.

So of course, they asked.

“Uh, you quitting on us or something?” Pickles asked on the morning of the fourth day after the Plan had started, as they all dug into their breakfasts. “Going into construction?”

“Of coursche not,” Murderface replied. “How’d you find out what it was anyway?”

Pickles shrugged. “I smoke up with one of the gals in the mail room. She lets me look at all the mail that comes through here. Kinda fun.”

“What the fuck, how long has she let you do that?” Nathan asked, his fork still halfway to his mouth as he stared perturbed at Pickles.

Pickles shrugged again. “Couple years now. Why, you ordering nasty sex toys or something you don’t want me to see?”

Nathan flushed pink, and glared down into his pancakes. “Don’t be an asshole. Just don’t want you going through all my shit.”

“Yeah, you’re ordering nasty shit. I’m gonna watch out for your stuff more now,” Pickles grinned.

“Juscht fire her,” Murderface said, grateful the topic was drifting away from his mail. “Then he can’t get in there anymore.”

“Nah, he won’t,” Pickles replied. “You guys all know her--the one with those green eyes.”

“Damn it,” Nathan huffed. “She’s nice. Always leaves a little note on my mail when she brings it to my room with a smiley face. I can’t fire her.”

“Told ya,” Pickles smirked. “So, ya going to your shitty haunted house or something? Making a spooky costume, Scaryface?”

“Yeah, might use it for Halloween” Murderface snorted. “But, itsch really for Planet Pissch. Got a...concept album idea going.”

“Ams it piss?” Toki asked.

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. “Whats does you think, Toki. What’s else woulds it be?”

“Wes should does a groups costume this year,” Toki said. “Then wes can all goes to sees the sads Murderface house!”

“I woulds be ups for thats,” Skwisgaar replied. “Gots to be somethings cool though, Toki.”

“No, no, what the fuck, no,” Pickles protested. “Thought you Swedes were antisocial, why the hell do you wanna do a group costume?”

Skwisgaar glared. “Because I ams Swedish, I can’ts have friends? Wes can’ts have funs with a groups costume? Ams I meant to hates fun?”

“I just figured you wouldn’t think it was cool,” Pickles replied. “Don’t gotta be a douche bag about it.”

“Oh fines then, I goes as the personifications of nihilism,” Skwisgaar scoffed. “Ams that an acceptable costume for mes, Pickle?”

Murderface ate in silence as the argument grew over the group costume idea. He’d get used to even more arguments if it meant they’d forget to ask him about what he was doing.

Still, Pickles potentially seeing his mail made him worry. When the mask showed up later that day, he made sure the mail team knew to bring it straight to his room.

But it was Charles who knocked on his door and had the package in hand.

“Look it over, if you want changes made we’ll send it back right away,” he said, watching as Murderface tried to open the package without letting him see too much of it.

“Serial killer...that’s a fun costume,” Charles continued as Murderface turned away to examine the mask.

“How would you know?” Murderface asked as he felt Charles sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t see you getting dressed up for Halloween much.”

Charles only shrugged. “So...will it work?”

Murderface turned and stared. Did he somehow know? How the fuck could he know?

“For your costume?” Charles asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, yeah. Perfect,” Murderface replied, relieved. And it was, exactly the way he wanted it.

“Good,” Charles said, a small smile on his face. “Have fun putting it together. I’m sure you’ll look great.”

After Charles had left, he pulled everything on and stood in front of the mirror near his closet. The whole picture--suit, mask, boots, a pair of black leather gloves--looked good.

Except...

His hair ruined it. Everybody knew his hair, the fucking curly triangle. He had to hide it.

A thick winter beanie didn’t help, and the mask fit funny then. Any other hats would likely be the same result.

“You gotta go,” he told the reflection of his curls. “We’re ugly asch schit anyway, being bald ain’t gonna make a difference.”

He called for a klokateer from the hairdressing department, and changed back into his regular clothes while he waited for them.

The klokateer had to have run, she was so out of breath. “Sir, you needed someone immediately. How may I assist you?”

He pointed to his hair. “Get rid of it.”

Her eyes were only barely visible with her hood on, but he could see them go wide. “Uhm...maybe we could just try a different style? Going straight to bald is a big change, sir.”

“I. Want. It. Gone,” he replied. She’d run to Charles in a minute, he was sure of it.

“Uh, we’ll need the clippers, not these,” she said, holding up a pair of shears. “Just let me go get those.”

He sat on his bed and waited for the phone to ring. She’d have run to Charles, begging for help as to what to do without being seen as being disobedient. A moment later, his Dethphone rang loudly.

“Murderface, I’ve got a very scared and confused young woman in here saying you want to chop off all your hair. Is this true?” Charles asked.

“Yeah,” Murderface replied. “Why’sch that a big deal?”

“Well, it is a very sudden image change. We’ll have to do all new publicity photos, promotions. And it is a bit random--why do you want to do this?” Charles asked.

“Want a change, that’sch all,” Murderface sighed. “Can’t a guy want to change schit up?”

Charles sighed. “Of course. I’ll send another hairdresser to you. This one’s a bit too shaky to do the job now.”

Murderface tapped the ‘end call’ button, and flopped back against his pillows. The guys would hate having to take new pictures, but they’d get over it. Besides, maybe they’d have to make a sacrifice or two to help his revenge as well.

It was a male klokateer this time, silent as he sat down a chair and propped a broom and dust pan near the door. He was silent all the way through the cut as well, but that was just fine.

When the klokateer had cleaned the floor of his curls and left, Murderface put the outfit back on.

It made a world of difference. Now, he looked like a proper faceless killer.

Now, all he had to do was start killing.

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

The next morning, he was glowing. There was no other way to put it. He was excited beyond belief to get started. Granted, he still needed to do a bit of research to figure out where each victim would be. But there were multiple social media accounts for each person, so it would be easy enough.

The biggest worry right now was the reaction to his hair, or the lack of it. The guys did not disappoint as he joined them at the breakfast table.

“What in the fuck dids yous do?” Skwisgaar asked, dropping his fork. “And why?”

“I wanted to,” Murderface replied. “Felt like something different. Not bad, right?”

“Ugggghhh,” Nathan whined. “We’re gonna have to do new promos now. I hate promo photos.”

“Yeah, but they moved that green-eyed klokateer to the makeup team,” Pickles said. “Charles found out she was letting me in the mail room and uh...look, it was either move her or lose her. But you could talk to her more now, since she’ll be at the promos shoot.”

Nathan smiled a very small smile. “Would be nice to say hi...”

“Yeah, cuz you think she’s pretty. Even with the hood,” Pickles teased.

“She is,” Nathan said. “Don’t make it weird when she’s around us, okay? We don’t wanna creep her out.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for ya,” Pickles replied as he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You’ll get your chance with pretty mail girl.”

“Not ifs Murderface gets it firsts,” Toki said. “Ams almost normal lookings now.”

They all stared at Toki, then at Murderface.

“Huh...you do look decent. I mean, still weird to see, but I don’t know, it works somehow,” Pickles said, breaking the brief silence.

Nathan nodded. “Still not getting her number though.”

“I won’t even try,” Murderface replied, rolling his eyes. He could worry about getting groupies with his new look after all his work was done. Normally, he’d have been all over the idea right away, but this was different.

“Nots going to beats my numbers,” Skwisgaar muttered. “But yous looks okay. Almost goods, even.”

“What can I schay, I know what looksch good,” Murderface smiled. “I was right about my schorts being schexy as hell, now with thisch--I’m gonna be irresistible.”

He shoveled his food in quick as the conversation moved on to some bullshit about Toki wanting more groupies at the end of each concert. He had more important concerns. He’d get the suit ready with all of the knives he’d set aside for the project, and figure out where to go for his first target. If he could, he’d head out for it tonight.

As soon as he was done with his plate, he dashed back to his room and started putting them away. It was fun, with so many hidden pockets to fill. He’d never get caught without a weapon, and once he was done it would go back to its spot--no murder weapons to be left behind.

“Perfect,” he breathed as he finished the suit and held it up in front of himself.

“Is it?”

Charles’ voice made him jump. He hadn’t even heard him come in.

“How the hell...what the...you should learn how to knock!” Murderface yelled, carefully folding the suit in close to his chest, as if he could somehow prevent Charles from seeing it any further.

“Sorry,” Charles replied, a smirk on his face.

Murderface felt sweat pooling on his face. Charles wasn’t supposed to know about this part of things. Just to know when the assholes were dead, so he could start the legal paperwork. “Uh...now you know my costume is really perfect! I’m gonna look great!”

“You will,” Charles agreed. “Also, 4242.”

“What does that mean?” Murderface asked.

“The first executive you’re going to kill. The code to his penthouse door is 4242,” Charles replied matter-of-factly.

Murderface knew his jaw was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. How in the hell had he figured it all out?

“All the details for your orders lead to someone far away from here. Some ass in Ohio who keeps trying to scalp Dethklok tickets. If the worst happens, and they start tracking anyone down to nail for these killings, it’ll be that jerk. Not you,” Charles continued.

“How did you--” Murderface started.

“Does it really matter?” Charles asked. “Point is, you’re doing a good job of keeping your tracks covered--I’m just going to make sure they stay covered.”

“How do I know you aren’t gonna fuck me over though?” Murderface asked. If there would be anyone to turn him in, he would guess Charles would be the first to do it.

Charles looked genuinely hurt at that. “Look, I get it. I’m not fun, I don’t seem like the type to let you get away with this. Just--just know I’ve got my reasons for wanting you to be successful in this endeavor. I won’t fuck you over.”

“What, you’ve got bodies buried out in a desert schomewhere too?” Murderface asked, snorting.

Charles didn’t laugh. Didn’t chuckle. Didn’t move an inch. That was scary as fuck.

“Uh, never mind. You don’t gotta anschwer that,” Murderface said quickly.

Charles sighed. ‘Look, he leaves for the Bahamas soon. So we need to get you out to him by this time tomorrow. And to the rest fairly quickly too, if we want this thing shut down by Halloween.”

“You...you don’t like the haunted housche either?” Murderface asked. He’d figured Charles honestly didn’t give that much of a fuck about it.

“Of course I don’t,” Charles scoffed. “Makes you look bad, and by association, the band. You don’t deserve it, and neither do the guys. But I haven’t found a way to touch them yet legally, so this...well, it’ll be perfect.”

Murderface was struck. Granted, he was just as concerned about the band as he was for him, but...someone gave a shit. Honestly, truly, cared.

“I’ll let you know when the plane is ready. Get packed,” Charles instructed as he turned and headed for the door.

“You know where they all are?” Murderface asked. “You’re schure?”

“I wouldn’t send you if I wasn’t,” Charles replied as he left. “I’ll have an alibi for your absence, in case any of the guys notice. So just go with it, okay?”

Murderface nodded, and rushed to pack as Charles footsteps faded down the hallway.

In six days time, all the assholes would be dead, and everything would be good again.

The excitement was delicious.

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

The plane ride was quick, yet not quick enough. Still, before he knew it, he was in front of the penthouse building. It wasn’t too far from Mordhaus, only about fifty miles. He’d expected to have to travel longer, but was glad he didn’t have to.

It was a busy enough place that crowds bustled around him, and he could drift past people through the doors without anyone glancing at him. The security guard was asleep, and there was no one else in the lobby. He didn’t want to jinx it, but it almost seemed like it would be easy.

Then again, it wasn’t like there was much to stare at. He looked like any other guy coming to stay with someone in the building, in a black tee and jeans that Charles had waiting on the plane for him. The black duffel bag that held his suit and mask looked like any other travel bag. He was just a visitor, no one to look twice at.

It was an incredibly freeing feeling. He’d never thought he would miss being anonymous, but it was nice for a short time.

The service elevator wasn’t even hidden; he found it down a hall just off of the lobby. On the ride up to the penthouse, he changed, his hands shaking. He stowed the bag in the small room that housed the upper level entrance to the elevator, then started down the hall to the door of the penthouse.

The design of which was gross even to him. It might have been called a penthouse, but it was technically the first two top floors--in his mind, it was bigger than a penthouse then.

But he wasn’t there to argue exactly what this guy’s home qualified as. He punched the code into the door panel, grabbed a large kitchen knife from one pocket sheath, and started into the dark home.

A bachelor, and it showed by the state of the penthouse. There was still a pile of coke laying on the living room table, which was just showy and ridiculous to Murderface. Erotic art covered the walls, and while he owned a few of the same pieces himself, even this was a bit of overkill. You could barely see the wall behind the art there was so much of it.

A light shone in the darkness, probably a bedroom. He moved towards it, as quiet as he could manage.

“Jasmine?” a raspy voice called out. “I didn’t expect you tonight, baby. I’m not gonna pay you for a surprise visit; I hope you know that. But I’ll be happy to have some company.”

This was it. Murderface gripped the knife tight, and charged into the room.

The executive was in a open robe and boxers, and stared in shock at Murderface.

“What in the--” he started.

Murderface stepped forward and shoved the knife into his open mouth. It was hard to yank back out, but the choking noises were incredibly satisfying to hear as he stabbed again and again--the man’s fat gut, his chest, slashing across his arms as he back up and fell to the bed, raising them to try and defend himself. Blood was splattered across his mask, and sweat dripped down his face, but he was enjoying the exertion--which would figure. The only exercise he’d enjoy would have to be illegal.

Finally, the executive stopped moving. His intestines were falling out of him, and blood drenched the silver silk sheets and painted the walls. It was glorious.

“One down,” he muttered to himself. “Two and how many extras to go.”

He checked three times for a pulse before he left. The walk out was as easy as the walk in too--he changed again in the elevator, using a rag in the bag to wipe his boots clean, and walked past the same guard who was still fast asleep.

The air tasted sweeter outside. It was cliche, but so true. He felt good--he always talked about doing shit, but so often didn’t. It felt amazing to finally do something.

And he was excited to do more.

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

He slept on the plane ride home, not bothering or caring to check the time. He’d get home when he’d get home, and deal with any questions from the guys if any of them were up. He hadn’t left too late, so they were likely to still be stumbling around watching TV or something.

Sure enough, they were all squished together on a couch, seemingly half asleep. They bounced back to wakefulness once he walked in though.

“You dog!” Pickles shouted. “We heard about her; Charles told us everything! Toki was right, the hair was the problem. Now you’re getting models!”

He grinned as Pickles charged towards him and slapped him on the back. He kept a tight hold of his duffel bag as he was steered towards the couch. He didn’t want any of them getting curious and searching through it. This was a hell of an alibi that Charles had given him.

“So?” Skwisgaar asked expectantly.

“What?” Murderface asked. “The model?”

“Yeah!” Nathan exclaimed. “How was she?”

“Uh, amazing, of course,” Murderface replied, hoping he sounded less awkward than he felt. “Juscht wild, you know how models are.”

“Looks at him,” Skwisgaar chuckled, and gently patted his cheek. “Still all sweaty and disgustings. Goods for you!”

Murderface just nodded and smiled. This was all good and fun (though it would be more fun if Charles also could supply him with an actual model to date) but he was still tired. And he needed to get his stuff into his room and clean it all up.

“Look at that grin,” Nathan laughed. “God, are you finally gonna be fun? That’s awesome, if you are.”

“Yeah!” Toki added. “Then wes all gets ladies for afters our shows, and everybody ams happy! Oh wowee, we gotta takes you out to celebrates!”

“Yeah,” Murderface agreed as he stood from the couch. “Schome night later this week maybe. Or hey, what about Halloween? Big night out to celebrate!”

They cheered. They’d never been this enthusiastic for one of his suggestions before. Was it the hair, the alibi and fake accomplishment, or the real confidence from the murder that he’d been missing all this time to get them to really like him? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wasn’t ever going back to what he was before.

“That sounds like fun, and I hate to interrupt the planning,” Charles said, suddenly in the room. They needed to put a damn bell on him. “Can I borrow Murderface for a moment though? After all, I’m sure he needs to actually get some sleep now!”

Their happy laughter echoed down the halls as Charles gently pulled him away from the couch and to his room.

He shut and locked the door, and gestured to two plush armchairs at one wall of the massive bedroom. “Have a seat. You deserve the rest. Scotch okay?”

Murderface nodded and took in the room. It was very...Charles. Richly yet plainly decorated. All black and red, almost something out of Dracula’s castle with the velvet everywhere, yet nothing stood out about it to declare it as Charles’. The chair was comfy, if nothing else.

He dropped his back by him as he dropped into the chair, and gratefully took the glass of scotch from Charles.

“So...how was it?” Charles asked.

He took a breath. “It wasch...amazing. I can’t wait for the next one.”

He felt his cheeks flush as Charles grinned.

“I’m glad you had fun. I figured you would, but I wanted to check in just in case. I’m proud of you for this, you know,” Charles said. “This is quite an undertaking. But you’re doing wonderfully.”

Murderface nodded. “Thanksch.”

The silence sat for a moment before Charles broke it.

“You want to know why I’m so invested.”

He nodded. “I mean...I get it. You take care of usch, and all our bullschit. But this...you’re really exschited for this.”

Charles tossed back the scotch in his glass and smiled. “Well. I can’t tell you everything. In fact, there’s more I can’t tell you than there is that I can. But I--I had my own reasons to do this sort of violence you’re doing now. The why doesn’t matter so much anymore, not to me at least. But that’s because the people I needed dead are in the ground, rotting, and no longer a threat to me. And that is...very freeing.”

“You feel safe,” Murderface found himself whispering, so quietly his speech impediment didn’t have a chance to start.

Charles nodded, but his eyes were on his empty glass. “Yes. I suppose that’s the best way to describe it.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Murderface asked.

Charles chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that already.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Bet you’d be out here doing these yourschelf if you could.”

Charles sat up a bit straighter. “I mean...it would be fun. To do it again. Even just once. But I don’t want to take away from your fun.”

“I’ll need help at the haunted housche,” Murderface replied. “I’ve got to take out the team lead, but there’ll be a bunch of actorsch we can take down too...I don’t want to be overwhelmed by anyone fighting back. You could come with, if you think you can make it.”

Charles looked happier than he’d ever seen him before. “If you really want me to; I’d love to. I don’t get out very often anymore.”

“It schows,” Murderface scoffed before he could catch his tongue. He looked nervously at Charles, awaiting the lecture.

Instead, Charles threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck. It does, doesn’t it? All work and no play...Yeah. I’ll come with for the haunted house. You can have fun with the second executive on your own first though.”

“I schuppose you’ll have all the info for me about him by tomorrow?” Murderface smiled.

“Of course,” Charles replied as they slowly stood and went to the door. He unlocked it, handed him the duffel bag, and patted Murderface’s back gently as he walked out. “Get some good sleep--you’re going to need the energy.”

“What? Isch this guy schome sort of Olympian-executive or schomething?” he asked.

Charles shook his head. “But you should be well-rested before these, uh, little adventures no matter what. Better form, and then you won’t tire out halfway through things.”

Murderface nodded. “Hey...uh, thanksch. For all of thisch. I mean, I’d probably be fine on my own too, but--”

Charles just nodded back. “I get it. Have a good night, Murderface.”

The door clicked shut behind him as he started down the hall towards his room. He was definitely ready to sleep some more. But the morbid curiosity was gnawing at him too--what other skeletons did Charles have in his closet, and what exactly had he done to put them there?

Maybe he’d find out after Halloween night, if he could get him to join them for celebratory drinks. He hoped he would.

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

#text post #I don't do many Murderface-centric pieces so this was a treat #I tried to keep it in character but give him some extra depth #hidden depth that I've always figured his character had but he was too lazy to show lol #bless the boy he just wants to be happy and not deal with bullshit #also I suppose this could read a little bit Murderface/Charles in some bits but I swear to god that just happened and wasn't planned lol #a happy accident we could say #LeeH writes

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attract-mode-collective · 6 years ago

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An Arcade Grows in Brooklyn (Or At Least Is Trying To)

Perhaps it's still the case... perhaps it has always been the case.... all I know with absolute certainty is how, during a certain point, circa the early 2010s, a decent number of people were very much interested in opening and operating their very own arcade around these parts. These parts being New York City and surrounds areas.

Said individuals would, understandably, seek advice from an expert. And for reasons that may seem obvious to some, one person who was often enlisted was Kotaku's editor in chief, Stephen Totilo. And cuz it ain't quite his domain, Steve would then pass everyone along to someone more knowledgeable, that being me.

I spoke to a variety of individuals, each with their own unique vision...or so they thought. In reality, they were all essentially identical: everyone just wanted a place to hang out and play video games with their friends. They also figured that there would be enough other people wanting to same, enough to quit their day jobs and make a living off of them. To each and every one I said the same basic thing: don't do it.

Hey, I love arcades, I really do, and wish there was more of them. But I also don't like the idea of someone completely wasting away his life savings, just for a place for him and his buds to play Halo 3 or Rock Band 2 all night long. To be more exact, I don't like the idea of being someone who could have prevented such a thing from happening.

Just the other week, My Life In Gaming was in town; before swinging by Connecticut for some retro gaming con, there was a pit stop in NYC. Am assuming Coury wanted to catch up with family, being a Brooklyn native and all; perhaps to maximize his time, a meet-up was also planned. At an arcade. One that I had never heard of before.

The oddly named I Fix Machine Arcade was located in my old stomping grounds of Sunset Park, around three of four blocks away from a former residence; when I left in 2007, that part of Brooklyn was just starting to become gentrified, so I was hardly shocked to discover that the location was inside some freshly erected and ultra-trendy office loft space.

Once inside the front door, I was immediately lost; as with similar spaces, you’ve got an ultra-chic decor with zero signage, cuz that would either clash or something. A guy then walked in after me, saw that I was clueless, and pointed towards the fourth floor. Where there was no arcade. This led me to going up and down the entire building (via stairs since I feared the lack of security codes would impede my search), until I finally came across it on the first floor. The door was manned by the proprietor... the same guy who led me astray. Guess I didn't look like an arcade goer or something.

Anyhow, once again: it's an arcade! In an office space! Most of the games are running off of Japanese candy cabs, Versus City machines to be exact. You also have a Neo Geo MVS, an exposed NAOMI 2 attached to a Raspberry Pi (supplying the roms) and a Sega Saturn (doing what I have no idea), a high-end PC running Steam, plus more. There's even an area for live-streaming... quite the impressive set-up.

And near the entrance is a table, where the aforementioned proprietor had an open PC in front of him. Christopher is an energetic, buoyant fellow, whom I had a hard time understanding, though his enthusiasm clearly came across. I asked quite a few things and received many answers. Kinda, sorta.

My first question, of course: what's this arcade about? Christopher immediately went into his sales pitch, about it being a home for gamers, hearkening back to a time in which arcades ruled supreme, before the internet & online gaming, where you breathed the same air space with other players, yada yada yada, the same thing I've heard legit a hundred times before. I then asked, seriously, what's the deal here.

First, a bit about Christopher: I was surprised to learn that he was in his mid-to-late 30s, given his youthful appearance, though even more impressive is how he taught himself to repair computers in the late 90s, before the advent of YouTube. I'm not sure what came first, the computer repair business or the arcade, but I did discover out that he owes everything to a guy named Jose Cruz. The way Christopher reverentially addressed Jose, it was like hearing the Pope refer to Jesus Christ Himself.

At the very least, Christopher acted like I should have known who Jose was... cuz I guess he's kind of a big deal? A combination of clues and blind guesses led to the assumption that the legend of Jose Cruz was somehow connected to local fight game scene and associated territories. Specifically the original Chinatown Fair crew, which later made a home for themselves at Next Level. Speaking of, I asked if there was any competition between I Fix Machine Arcade and Next Level Arcade, and the response was a somewhat sheepish "no... not anymore”.

Not long after my visit, I would discover that I Fix Machine and Next Level are in the same neighborhood, just a block away (the latter had initially chosen Brooklyn’s Chinatown as its new home-base). Again, no idea who came to the area first, but after some unspecified turf warfare, it would appear that everyone is friendly for now. I get the impression that one will go to whichever Arcade depending on one’s interest in a particular fame and the associated community built around it. I got the impression that I Fix Machine was the place for Tekken devotees.

Back to Jose: I would also discover that much of his fame... from what I was able to discover after the fact myself... is due his technical prowess. He knows his way around the back of an arcade machine and has produced a number of noteworthy mods. As such, Jose also taught Christopher everything he knows about servicing arcade cabs. I asked if, in addition to PCs, arcade games could also be repaired, since I know a few owners who might appreciate such a resource… didn’t get a straight answer. I then asked what the hours were: “2am to midnight”. I assumed he meant 2pm to midnight. Days of operation? Wednesday through Sunday. Cost of playing games? $10.

While asking questions I noticed a steady stream of patrons trickling into I Fix Machine Arcade, all clearly regulars. It then hit me, the similarities between this place and all the others that had been proposed to me, which I had nixed: these customers all seemed to know each other... they were all friends, friends who were paying to hang out with each other. I suppose seeing it in action made me realize that such a business model wasn't that insidious after all. Or entirely unique; it's no different than a club house or lodge, where the members pay dues to help keep the lights on. It just so happens that the doors are opened to the general public.

Yet the question remains: how many more friends can such a place attract? I was also reminded of my initial visit to Next Level several years ago, when Henry Cen had just begun operations. Someone close to Cen at the time divulged to me plans for a Next Level in Queens after the Brooklyn location. Then another one in the Bronx. Of course there would be one in Manhattan, with NJ to follow. I wondered back then if Cen had enough friends to fulfill such a master plan. Last I heard, the move from Brooklyn Chinatown to Sunset Park resulted in a reduction of square footage.

Back to Christopher: I asked how long I Fix Machine Arcade had been in business: about 6 months. I then asked how promotions were handled, and Christopher explained that he had been extolling the virtues of his haven for hardcore gamers “everywhere”: Twitter, Facebook, Twitch, Discord, etc. It’s at this point in which any objectivity as an investigative journalist began to wash away and my years as a promoter for events began to take over. I explained that online forums can only go so far… to really get the word out, especially on a local level, one had to do it the old fashioned way. And that’s the plaster the city with stickers and flyers, as well as make appearances at events. In the flesh. Places like Penny Arcade Expo, New York Comic Con, AnimeNYC, and especially MAGFest.

Christopher admitted to me that he had heard of those places, but never been to them (at least to conduct business). At that exact moment, a person who had just put down his $10 for the entrance fee also noted that he had just put down money for a MAGFest hotel room, which had just become available to the pubic earlier that afternoon. This unidentified individual told Christopher, “Hey man, it’s hype; you need to go there, tell everyone about IFM!” Christopher smiled and nodded in agreement.

I figured it was time to ask the hardball questions. First… any trouble with the neighbors? Not surprisingly, other offices in the building have called the cops to complain, resulting in several visits. But Christopher glossed over the details and offered a positive spin, by saying that each visit ends with cops hanging out and playing games. Quite the positive outcome, far more so than similar visits by the fuzz to other DIY venues I’ve been at or associated with.

I asked other questions, like what was the age range of his customers (Christopher claimed between 6 to 60, which I found a bit hard to swallow) and what was the average number of customers on a given day (he stated about 10, and given the number of regulars present, I found that to be a tad bit more plausible). Eventually, it was time for the hardest question of them all: is I Fix Machine Arcade making any money?

The answer was surprisingly honest and to the point, given the numerous canned responses I had been give: no. Yet... he and Jose (who I believe is the co-owner) know that it takes a year or two for any business to get its footing... or so they say. And I was told that they were ready for the road ahead. Now, given the surprise response to my inquiry about MAGFest, I have to wonder about that. Then again, I suppose things are truly only getting started.

Objectively speaking, the pieces are all there: I Fix Machine Arcade has the space, one that’s fairly accessible (it’s close by a major subway hub in South Brooklyn), it definitely has the gear (I honestly can't recall a larger assortment of Japanese arcade hardware in the Big Apple), and thus far, it has a loyal legion of customers. I hope I Fix Machine Arcade, I want it to survive, but do I believe it will when all is said and done? Well…

I almost forgot: the meet-up. It was actually a combination My Life In Gaming/RetroRGB gathering. Which is also when RetroRGB sat down with Jose Cruz himself for an hour long chat, for those interested...

youtube

... I was expecting an Antiques Roadshow-type gathering, but with modded retro gaming hardware, and that's basically what I got. Here's my buddy Jessen showing off some wacky RGB mod for the Super Famicom that sends its signal via the cart?

Eventually, when the party was officially in full swing of course, I remember how long my subway ride back home to the Bronx would be, so it was time to head out...

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hahanoiwont · 7 years ago

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the sides’ powers

Watching Moving On for the gazillionth time reminded me of something: as far as we can tell, Logan, Virgil, and Deceit each have unique powers that they can use in times of need that make them more powerful or influence a situation to their benefit.

Logan (in Moving On) is by his own admission “not a feeling”: he is able to disappear physically and remain psychically active, influencing Thomas in a subtler way than by arguing directly and getting a tap straight into conscious decision making. Once Logan has disappeared in this way, Thomas starts using his catchphrases (”Falsehood!!1!!!11!”) and speaking more intelligently, and with this logical boost he manages to shake off the temptation to stay in Patton’s room forever. Simply put, if Logan doesn’t feel listened to, he can leave the conversation and force a win by influencing Thomas directly.

Theoretically, this would mean that he’s nigh impossible to get rid of through aggressive means. He implies at the end of the video that he cannot be banished, though we know that Virgil at least can be forced to leave (see the New Years video); it follows that if Logan really wants to stay and he is forced to leave, even by Thomas himself, he can maintain influence over a situation. He can also use this ability to sway Thomas to win short-term arguments, as he did in the video, or to override the influence of another side, as in My Negative Thinking, where he overrides Virgil even without technically ‘winning’ the debate.

The possible applications of this power would be nearly endless, but the twofold ability to ‘leave’ a situation (and therefore make it impossible to argue against him, because he isn’t there to fight with) while maintaining his influence and to resist being shut out in situations where the others would be disappeared are even in their simplest forms incredibly powerful, though they see their best uses in short-term conflicts because they seem to have a time limit (or Logan just prefers to manifest physically and fight verbally like everyone else).

Deceit is still new, so it’s hard to say with certainty what the extent of his powers are, but he can prevent the others from speaking at the very least, and can pass himself off as them for fairly long periods of time. They can all shapeshift, so I’m tempted to write that second bit off as just being a good actor, though I’d take arguments either way. All the same, he has a clearly-demonstrated ability to control the flow of information.

It isn’t clear whether Deceit caused the other sides to hide the existence of the ‘dark’ sides or whether that was a communal decision, but he can prevent them from speaking. He may or may not be able to force them to lie or not volunteer information on an issue. We’ll have to keep an eye on how that develops.

Virgil has his creepy voice thing, which seems to follow Logan’s ability somewhat in that he can override the other sides when he’s feeling particularly anxious. In Moving On, he makes Thomas throw his phone away when everyone is divided, because he’s ‘louder’ than the others, both literally and metaphorically. However, he immediately says that that wasn’t what he meant, implying that he can give simple commands but not require a complex strategy. This makes sense as an ability for him, given that short term panic can make people want to ‘leave’ or ‘stop talking to that person’ (or, interestingly, ‘lie’), but not so much ‘stop feeling conflicted about this’ or ‘decide that this person is right.’

He also has the ability to ‘step out.’ This is opposite from Logan’s ability to disappear and maintain influence. He can literally just fuck off and chill in his room until he’s directly interacted with, presumably without ceasing to exist (at least immediately. Evidence suggests but does not prove that he was intending to stop influencing Thomas’s personality forever, and a strong case could be made that that means he would stop existing at all). Roman and Logan both express surprise when he explains that (”can he do that?”/”apparently for this video”), and Patton doesn’t seem any more knowledgeable. This means that either Virgil knows more of the ins and outs of what exactly they can do (either by virtue of having tried similar things before or just by being older, which would make sense bc survival instinct exists before personality emerges, but that’s a topic for another post; or as a third option he just knows the rules because he knows the rules and that’s that) OR Virgil’s ability to stop influencing Thomas is a power unique to him. I don’t know which is more likely. Logistically it would make a little more sense for that to be a power unique to Virgil bc how the hell would you just lose Logic/Creativity/whatever the fuck Patton represents (it is not just Morality, guys. That may be part of it but Morality doesn’t even begin to cover it). Then again, logistically it makes no sense to be able to just lose your Anxiety overnight, and that apparently worked out, so who knows.

Theoretically, both of those abilities could be summed up in one if Virgil has the ability to control the intensity of his influence--he can choose not to have any influence or to have more influence than everyone else combined--if he were better able to control his spooky shadow voice. That theory is nixed, though, because he doesn’t seem to want to use his second voice. Whenever it comes up, he takes immediate action to make it go away or stops talking altogether. If he could control it, why not just continue as normal if he wants so badly not to use it? So that’s out, pending further information.

So Logan is nigh indestructible (though he can be spoken over, probably? Come to think of it, has anyone ever disagreed with Logan and won without Logan himself changing his mind?) and can ‘leave’ an argument/absorb into Thomas directly; Deceit can make people stop talking and potentially control the flow of information; and Virgil automatically decides what to do in the short term when anxious and potentially has the ability to remove himself from the equation without immediately dying (or just knows more about how they work than the others and took advantage of that knowledge in Excepting Anxiety).

What, then, would Patton and Roman be able to do? Logan’s ability makes sense with his unique position: He is not a feeling. Even people who are completely insane have their own form of Logic, warped though it may be. Therefore, Logan cannot be removed. The rest of his ability follows as a more active form of ‘fuck you you can’t get rid of me.��

Deceit’s power also makes sense: He can force lies of omission, and potentially obscure other information. We need to know more about him before we can draw a deeper conclusion.

Virgil’s ability to override others with simple commands is basically a 1:1 experience of Anxiety. It follows the split-second panic decision model. His ability to disappear/knowledge that the sides can disappear (depending on whether the others can or not) is less of a direct pull, but could be a result of Thomas’s own experience of anxiety ‘disappearing’ once he gets onstage, or could be related to the other roles Virgil is implied to represent (reflexes being the most obvious, though it’s been mentioned several times that he represents more than he seems to).

So then Roman, who represents fantasy, ego, creativity, femininity, and passion in an active sense, could have...fucking anything. He has his sword, and he can make a dragon-witch (see Valentine’s vid), so manifesting things seems to be a talent of his, but everyone but Virgil (and possibly Deceit) can do that. The others were surprised about both, though, so he might be more able to do large-scale constructions. Or they were just surprised to see a bigass sword/dragon. Who knows?

And Patton, who represents passion in a passive sense, platonic/familial love, selflessness, instinctive morality, and who the fuck knows what else, might have something to represent his automatic status? Like, he has shown up pretty much immediately when needed unless otherwise occupied, and there was the time in Becoming a Cartoon where he showed up and announced the plot of the video before it started. So uh. Prescience? Empathy? A more sensitive attunement to Thomas/knowledge of when he’s needed? If that’s so, what would the active form be? Hard to say.

What are y’all’s thoughts? Have we seen anything from Patton and Roman that I missed? Theories? Powers you think would be fun?

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #theorycrafting #srsly tho talk to me

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beelieveinfandom · 7 years ago

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Haunted and Hunted Chapter Six

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 AO3 Link

“Oh,” Alcor smiled widely. “So you want to make a deal?”

“I want to never have the future tell me what to do again,” Vin said firmly. “If making a deal is the way to get that done, then fuck yeah deal me up.”

“Vin,” Renee said gently. “I’m not going to tell you not to do this, but you are talking about making a deal with the most powerful demon we know about. Please be careful.”

“Oh you know me.” Vin waved his hand like he were clearing away the insinuation that he, of all people, might be anything other than cautious. “‘Careful’ is my true name. Now, what do I gotta give you to get you to eat my third eye or whatever?”

Renee winced.

Alcor considered the situation for a moment. On one hand, there was so much potential here. This kid had no idea what he was doing in the slightest and really wanted this; Alcor could get a lot out of him. On the other hand, this was Vin; he’d been through a heck of a lot and Alcor was going to profit no matter what happened. He really didn’t need to squeeze everything he could out of this desperate child. Even if it would be fun. Even if the kid was dumb enough to trust him. Especially because the kid had enough faith in him to trust him. He was one of the most powerful entities in this dimension; he didn’t need to maximize his profit with every single deal.

Alcor sighed. “Okay, now I really don’t want to tell you how to get the upper hand here, but if you think really hard you might be able to come up with a way of getting something out of this instead of giving something away.”

Vin shrugged. “Thinking really hard isn’t my specialty.”

“It would seem that he’s suggesting that could you ask for something in exchange for your extra sense,” Renee said.

Vin perked up at that. “Oh, that’d be cool too. So I could like, get powers that don’t suck? Maybe flight. Flight’s cool.”

Renee’s shoulders dropped. “Vin.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a bird.”

Vin looked at her for a long moment. “I don’t see what that’s gotta do with shit.”

“You should really think this through carefully,” Renee said. “Demons twist people's words to grant their wishes in ways that they aren’t expecting.”

“Oh! I know!” Vin exclaimed. “I want time powers.That way I can just check out and take a nap whenever the hell I want.”

Renee covered her face. “Vin, do you have any idea what happens if you cause a time paradox in this universe?”

“No,” he said, “but I know how I could find out.”

“You get in huge trouble with the Time Cops,” Alcor said. “And then you go to Time Jail.”

“You’re just making that up,” Vin said.

“Well, they’re not called the Time Cops, Alcor admitted. “They’re called the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron. They form about twenty thousand years from now at the whim of Time Baby.”

“Time Baby,” Renee said.

“Yep,” Alcor confirmed.

“You are absolutely shitting us,” Vin said.

“I am absolutely not. My sister and I stole a time machine once and ended up having to fight in time gladiatorial combat, which was overseen by Time Baby. In the end we won a time wish, which we gave to our friend for his birthday and he created a neverending slice of pizza with it.”

“Okay we’ll just gloss over the fact that that is the fakest damn thing I’ve ever heard and say nix the time powers I guess, cause I’m too young to go to Time Jail or some shit.” Vin said.

Alcor settled cross legged in the air in front of Vin. “So what do you want then?”

“Oh, I know like, for realsies this time.”

“Is it squirrel powers this time?” Renee asked.

“Oh man that is all kinds of tempting, but no.” Vin shook his head. “No, it’s actually kinda serious and boring. How about my ability to sense the future for a future for the three of us. Like, you find a place that we can stay that doesn’t have any doctors getting all up ins our biz or whatever. Someplace safe, that we can, you know, live.”

“Wow,” Renee said, “that was surprisingly actually reasonable.”

Vin shrugged. “Let's be real: I’m not a responsible person. I can’t be trusted with a demon wish. And that’s just a whole lotta possibility and I’m just not able to make a decision in the face of that kinda potential. I can’t even decide what to read half the time. And I figure, this was basically the plan anyway. right? Might as well make it like, official.”

“How’s this,” Alcor said. “I will take the foresight, regeneration, and the third eye that were artificially bestowed upon you, and in exchange I will do everything in my power to ensure the safe transit of yourself, Renee, and Charlie to a place of your choosing until such a time as you wish to leave, in which case a new arrangement will be made.”

“Well that sure is what I said but more so,” Vin said.

“I’m a demon. I like things to be clear.” He paused a moment. “Actually I love it when things are vague and open-ended but if there are that many ways to twist and pick at a deal I can’t just leave it alone, so I figure I should just remove the temptation altogether.”

“You’re absolutely thinking about ways that you could ruin our lives over with the new wording aren’t you?” Renee asked.

“Well, yes,” Alcor admitted. “But I’m not going to.”

“How could I possibly doubt you even a little?” Vin asked. “But yeah, that thing you said is fine.”

Alcor held out his hand, covered in cyan fire. “So then, do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, I just said that it was fine.”

Alcor offered his hand a little more emphatically.

“Vin,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Could I have your hand please?”

Vin gave a him a bit of a disbelieving look. “Hell no, I like my hands.”

“No, I don’t mean permanently. I just…” Alcor shook his head. “Please take my hand. With your hand. So we can seal the deal.”

Vin crossed his arms, leaned back, and said, “I’m pretty sure the seal is already in the deal. You did mention Charlie by name after all.”

Alcor facepalmed with his non-flaming hand. “Vin.”

“Alright, alright.”

Vin took Alcor’s hand. The fire spread to his hand, and disappeared in a bright flash.

“So now what?” asked Vin.

“Now you hold still,” Alcor said with a grin.

Alcor floated up to Vin and reached towards his forehead, his clawed fingers passing through Vin’s head around the scar of his third eye.

“Um,” Vin said.

Alcor closed his hand around Vin’s eyeball and slowly pulled.

“UM,” Vin said.

The eye opened and the ball squeezed through the socket. It came free with a gentle tug from Alcor, who then popped it in his mouth.

“Welp, I’m now scarred for life,” Vin said.

“What?” Alcor asked. “No sense wasting a perfectly good eyeball.”

Vin narrowed his remaining eyes. “You couldn’t have like, waited and done that while we weren’t watching?”

“Well. I could have. But what’s done is done.”

“Please stop talking with your mouth full of my eye.”

Alcor swallowed. “Alrighty then, now that you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain, time for me to carry out mine. Where do you want to go?”

“Um, shit, I don’t know.” Vin rubbed at his neck. “My vote’s still the moon, I guess?”

“Vin,” said Renee, “don’t just tell a demon you want to go to the moon. He could teleport you to any random spot without any life support.”

“And the problem with that is?” Vin asked.

Renee pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are absolutely unbelievable.”

“That isn’t actually a terrible idea,” Alcor said.

“Please don’t just dump us on some random point on the moon,” Renee said. “I swear that I will find some way to haunt you.”

Alcor rolled his eyes. “I meant you guys living on the moon, in Beta City, not dumping your flesh suits on Mare Cognitum.”

“What about that strikes you as auspicious?” she asked.

“Well, for one thing, it’s outside the influence of the Taskforce, which I would imagine to be desirable after everything you just went through,” Alcor said. “And one of the few cults of mine that I actually trust has a fair amount of influence on the moon. They would almost certainly have someone who could take you in.”

“So you’re the moon demon!” Vin exclaimed.

“That isn’t one of my official titles, but yes, I am the only demon worshipped on the moon.”

“No wonder you think it’s a good idea for us to go to the moon,” Vin said. “You have like half the people there under your thumb.”

Alcor put up a finger. “First of all, only about five percent of the moon’s population is part of the Circle. Secondly, I wouldn’t really describe the Circle of the Dreamer’s Star as ‘under my thumb’. That’s a major part of why I trust them.”

“You trust them because they don’t listen to you?” Vin asked.

“I trust them because they don’t listen to me unquestionably,” he explained. “They believe that I am a very powerful entity with knowledge far surpassing any person’s. They also believe that I am incredibly dangerous and don’t always have respect for the lives and boundaries of others. They listen to everything I say, but they only obey if it seems reasonable.”

“That is surprisingly reasonable coming from a demonic cult,” Renee said.

“I know, right? It’s why I like them.” He grinned. “Also because they manage to supply me with a truly incredible amount of baked goods. I like that about them a lot.”

“So you want us to join your cult?” Vin asked.

“Oh, no.” Alcor shook his head. “No, that would be kinda weird. You’re too young to join officially anyway. I was just going to get one of them to take care of you because that would require the smallest amount of string pulling on my part. Don’t have to alter the nature of reality to ask Georg to find a place to house three kids. At least, not any more than I normally do to exist physically.”

“So you’re dumping us on the moon cause you’re too lazy to do any real work.” Vin nodded a little. “Relatable.”

“What exactly would it mean for someone to ‘take us in’?” Renee asked. “I’m not sure I really want anyone to have that sort of power over me again.”

“They would provide a place for you to stay, make sure there’s food for you to eat, take care of bills and taxes and all the little adult things that need to be taken care of while you guy focus on recovery and catching up in school,” Alcor said.

“And what happens when they abuse the power that they have over us and we end up stuck in another terrible situation?”

“That’s what that ‘until such a time as you wish to leave,’ clause of the deal comes in.” Alcor smiled. “You’re not going to be stuck anywhere.”

Renee diverted her gaze from the demon. “Please don’t take offense to this, but I really don’t want to have to depend on you to get out.”

“That’s fair,” he said. “You could always talk to Georg about getting a new guardian then.”

She met his eyes again. “And why should I trust Georg? For that matter, why would Georg trust us over an adult that they picked out to look after us?”

Alcor frowned. “If Georg is giving you trouble over something like changing your guardian, you let me know. Because if my circle leader is enabling child abuse there’s going to be a reckoning. Anyway, you could probably just physically overpower her if you needed to. She’s a lone gnome, she doesn’t have a lot going for her in the physic department.”

“Your cult is lead by a gnome queen?” Renee hadn’t been expecting that. Gnomes, as a whole, never really integrated into the larger society. They never managed to completely shake their reputation as hyperintelligent vermin, as many troops, especially those without queens, didn’t care about the laws of the societies they lived near and would take pretty much anything that wasn’t being used or nailed down (unless, of course, they had some use for nails in which case they would just take them too). They were also far more social than essentially any other species, and tended to get severely anxious if they weren’t in a group of fifty or more.

“Why not? She’s a good community leader,” said Alcor. “She’s positively asocial by gnome standards, but is still most comfortable surrounded by people, so long as they aren’t touching her. And she’s one of the most organized people I’ve ever met.”

“That’s great,” Renee said. “I’m sure she’s a fine person.”

“But?”

“But… Do we really need to have anyone look after us?” she asked. “We’re sixteen. That’s old enough to be legally emancipated in some places.”

Alcor sighed. “Living on your own is a huge challenge. I’m not saying that you couldn’t do it, but you shouldn’t have to. You’ve been through a lot; you deserve some time to recover without having to worry about where next month’s rent is coming from.”

“I just…” Renee let her arms fall loosely to her sides. “I don’t want someone else to be in control of my life.”

“They’re not going to be in control of your life,” Alcor said. “They’re just going to handle some of the responsibility.”

“They’re going to have power over me.”

He chuckled. “Well, yes. You can’t really avoid that. There’s always someone with power over you. That’s one of the prices of society.”

Renee glared. “You know what I mean. They’re going to have a direct power over me that is unlike that of, say, a politician.”

“And you have the power to leave if they abuse it,” Alcor said calmly. “No one is going to force you to stay with them. It’s a situation that is preferable to you living on your own, but if it doesn’t work out, as you so pointed out, you are old enough to live on your own. And you can. I just really think we should have that be a last resort.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why can’t we try living on our own and get a guardian if that doesn’t work out?”

“Let me put it this way. Do you really think that Vin can take care of himself? In an adult way?”

“He’s pretty capable when he actually needs to be.”

“Nah,” Vin interjected. “He had a good point actually. I’m comfortable with that.”

“Vin,” she said, “you’re underestimating yourself. You can be great when you actually try.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that,” Alcor said. “Is it fair to Vin to force him to put in the time and effort it takes to live somewhat independently instead of letting him focus that energy into recovering from a literal lifetime of trauma? Especially since you two should also be going to school and I’m assuming are going to have a lot of catch up to do in that department - that doesn’t leave a lot of time for mental health.”

“Well, no, but…”

“And it’s not fair to ask that you try and take responsibility for the both of you,” he said firmly. “You also need time to recover and heal. Don’t deny yourself that.”

Renee frowned, “I’m running out of fresh counterpoints, and am, much to my own chagrin, beginning to conclude that you are probably right about this. However, there is one last thing that I have to say that you have yet to truly address.”

“And what’s that?”

She curled into herself and crossed her arms. “Don’t wanna.”

“Well, that is a pretty strong argument. Not sure what to say about that.”

“Good,” she said. “That means I win.”

“But seriously. If it doesn’t work you can leave. This isn’t the facility, no one’s locking you in a room.”

“Still don’t wanna,” she said, holding tight to her airtight argument.

“Understandable,” Alcor said. “Would you be willing to try it anyway?”

She met his eyes again. “How bad is it permitted to get before we can leave?”

“If you want to leave for any reason I’m not going to question it. You want to be out, you can be out.”

She sighed. “Yeah, fine, sure. Let’s try this.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I do sincerely hope that you won’t regret this decision.”

“Hey I have a question,” Vin said.

“Yeah?” Alcor turned to face him.

“So the facility’s like, done for, yeah?” he asked. “Totally and completely?”

“Well, there’s still something to be done about the off-site staff, but as far as it is at all of concern to you, yes. It’s over.”

“So…” Vin said slyly, “we could totally get on the Net without being caught nigh instantaneously then, yeah?”

“There isn’t really anyone left to catch you.”

He pumped his fist. “Fucking sweet. You wouldn’t happen to have a screen on ya that I could borrow, would you?”

“You really want to browse the Net, right this instant?” Renee asked. She really wished she could say that she was shocked at this, but she had known Vin long enough to be used to the way he prioritized things.

“I really wanted to browse the Net like, a solid week ago but it wasn’t a god damn option back then, now was it?” he said. “Anyway, if there’s a chance we’re going moon-ways, I should let Alice know. Also, like, I should probably let her know I’m not dead and junk. She’d probably appreciate that.”

Alcor’s hat floated down to his hands and he reached inside. His arm slowly sank deeper and deeper as he shuffled the contents of the hat around. Soon he was up to his shoulder in hat, and he was biting his tongue in concentration. His teeth sliced clean through the end of his tongue, which grew a small pair of bat-like wings and flew away, without Alcor giving any indication of noticing.

Alcor started pulling things out of the hat, including three trumpets, one of which was only a few inches long; a kiddie pool full of a mysterious sweet-smelling fluid; an ant farm that glowed a dull red; a large pile of small rocks; a small pile of large rocks; a binder full of children’s drawings; and finally, with a triumphant flourish, a pair of computerized glasses. They were fairly slim, with the computer built into the frames. They were black with golden accents.

“Oh my god that thing looks ancient,” Vin said. “Will it even still work?”

Alcor glared at him. “It’s not that old; you don’t have to act like I pulled out a laptop or something. It’ll work just fine.”

“I really expected the guy who made the fucking Alcor Virus to be a little more with the times technologically,” Vin said.

“I was pretty with the times when I made him,” said Alcor. “There really isn’t much point in my keeping up with whatever modern tech is if I don’t have a project. One of the advantages of sapient software is you don’t need to constantly put effort into keeping it up to date.”

“Still. Wouldn’t expect the Alcor of Virus fame to be a luddite. But whatever, it’s a computer. I’ll take it.”

“Sorry it’s not really designed for your biology.” Alcor offered the glasses.

“Nah it’s cool, I can just hold it in front of my eyes. Or like, lie down and let gravity hold it in front of my eyes. Or just lie down and take a nap.” Vin took them. “The world is full of possibilities.”

Vin held the glasses in front of his face and waited for the computer’s various sensors to figure out who he was and log him in. The age of the computer was painfully obvious - it took almost ten seconds for the system to identify him.

Having logged him in, the system opened into his room. Aesthetically, the room looked like an ancient city wrecked in a fight between superbeings. It was massive and expansive, with lots of little hidden easter eggs for those who bothered to look, and also had encyclopedic knowledge of twenty-first century Marvel comics. The sky was filled with a massive portal, churning clouds spiraling in unnatural colors. Every now and then a robot would fly out. The robots looked nothing like real drones did, nor did they even vaguely resemble something that could practically fly, but they did look really fucking cool and that’s what mattered. Links to his most visited sites floated at his periphery. Directly ahead of him floated the comic that he had been looking at his last session. He didn’t even remember where he left off. It felt like it had been a very long time since he had been reading it. It was flicked aside with a thought, and his contacts list was brought into focus.

“Vin‽” Alice’s avatar appeared next to his before he had time to finish pinging her. “You’re back online!”

Alice’s avatar looked, to Vin’s knowledge, pretty much exactly how Alice looked, although he did suspect that she didn’t actually constantly wear Ms. Marvel’s 2020s outfit in meatspace. She was a short reptilian, with bright yellow-green scales and a patch of bright blue along her lower face and neck. Her lustrous yellow eyes were looking at him with concern.

“Yeah,” he subvocalized. “Sorry for disappearing without warning like that.” He picked at his crest, his avatar mirroring the movement. Vin’s avatar also looked like he did, except with legs that were about two feet longer to put his head on the same level as most people’s. “Things got all kinds of crazy.”

“Oh? What kind of crazy?”

“Mad crazy,” Vin said. “Like you’re absolutely furious about how crazy this shit is. You just have no tolerance for this craziness. You’re hella ableist and making everyone around you uncomfortable.”

“Seriously, though.” Alice crossed her arms. “What the hap fuckened?”

“Well, you know, stuff,” Vin said, not meeting her eyes. “Stuff fuckened.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“You know, the stuff kind.”

“The stuffiest stuff?”

“Some much stuff stuffed into that stuff that it’s gonna collapse into like, a black hole or some shit.”

“Seriously though,” she said.

“Serious?” Vin said, as if he had never heard the word before. “What is this ‘serious’ of which you speak? When are we ever serious?”

“What sort of question is that? Serious is who we are. It’s what we do,” Alice said, very seriously. “We don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘unserious’. Don’t even think it is a word, actually. Kinda just made it up right then.”

“So,” Vin exhaled deeply. “Fuck, where do I even start?”

“How about you start at the start, numbnuts?”

“Okay sure, so the long and short of it is that I’ve been lying to you for like, ever. Literally forever,” Vin said.

“The big bang happened and Vin said ‘let there be lies?’”

“Basically. Anyway you know how I said that I was sick and in a hospital?”

“Yeah?”

“Well. I wasn’t. I mean, I kinda was?” Vin shrugged. “It was a bit more Deadpool than that. Actually it was pretty fucking Deadpool; movie Deadpool though, there wasn’t really any Department K analog. And I was too young to agree to shit. And I didn’t end up too horrifically scarred. And I’m significantly less badass than Wade Wilson.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you have superpowers‽” she asked excitedly.

“Well, had. I kinda got rid of them.”

She scoffed. “That sounds very real and not fake at all.”

“No it was this whole thing there was a demon and stuff. It was super real. Mega real. Realer than sliced bread,” Vin assured her.

“There was a demon involved?”

“Yeah, Tyrone. He was possessing a kid but he didn’t really want to be possessing the kid and he’s alright. I’m making the world's shittiest fanfic about him, despite the fact that he apparently doesn’t actually kill people for that.”

“Oh trust me,” The Alcor Virus interjected. “That was by no means the world’s shittiest fanfic.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Vin asked, annoyed. “This is a private conversation between not you and not you.”

“I can’t really help but be listening in.”

Vin crossed his arms. “The NSA’s listening too, but at least they’re polite enough to keep their opinions to themselves.”

“Vin, who the fuck is that?” Alice asked.

“Oh, that’s the Alcor Virus,” Vin said. “He was also there.”

“Like ‘the bane of all shitty fanfiction writers everywhere’ the Alcor Virus?”

“The very same.”

“Okay.” She crossed her arms. “I need some goddamn context.”

“So he’s like Tyrone’s kid or whatever and he called him while we were chilling at this spider’s place and he like, trashed Francis Freeman’s place.”

“I suddenly understand everything,” Alice said.

Vin sighed. “Okay, so Renee and I were at this place and it was bad and I couldn’t tell you ‘cause I’m pretty sure if I did I would have been banned from the internet forever so we went through this whole thing and left. Then my super intuition, that was my non-Deadpool superpower btw, goes off and I’m like, we should attack the place right? Cause fuck those guys. So we do that and end up with this kid Charlie who’s possessed by this demon Tyrone, only we don’t know that he’s a demon yet. So we dick around in the woods and some stuff happens that doesn’t really matter and we end up chilling at this spider's place and she has all this extra computer stuff lying around and Tyrone goes and asks the Alcor Virus to help and I guess if you make someone they owe you like infinite favors or something ‘cause he agrees and he fucking trashes the first place and then we go back because of reasons and get Tyrone out of Charlie and we find out that he’s a demon, which really freaks Renee out, and now we’re trying to figure out what’s going to happen next and it occurred to me that no one’s going to track me down if I get on the Net so I did and now we’re talking and I think that’s about everything?”

“You definitely did not cover how you lost your superpowers.”

“Oh,” Vin said. “I didn’t want them so I gave them to Tyrone in exchange for something.”

“Something, huh?”

“You know. Stuff.”

“Just some totally normal shit from a demon in exchange for your literal superpowers, that’s all.”

“Egg-fucking-xactly.”

“Just bros being bros.” She shook her head a little. “So what was with Francis Freeman’s place? Why were they doing experiments on you? Were they training you to be a super assassin? Did you narrowly escape a fate of being a pawn of the global powers, murdering anyone who defied their wishes or who outlasted their usefulness?”

“What? Nah,” Vin said. “They just wanted to know the future, I think. If you want any more detail than that you should ask Renee, assuming she’s done freaking out about Tyrone. Which she seemed like she was but she might start again; it was a pretty hardcore freakout.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “Are you saying I might finally get to meet this mysterious Renee?”

“Yeah. Pretty much my only hold up for you guys meeting was that she had a tendency to get things on the Net blocked for both of us and I didn’t want her to try and sneak you some info and end our friendship forever.”

Alice laughed. “Well that makes more sense than her being allergic to computers. I might actually start believing that she exists at this rate.”

“What?” Vin cried. “You thought I made up a whole person?”

“You are pretty much the world’s shittiest liar, my guy.”

“Ignoring the part where I literally just told you I’ve been lying to you forever,” Vin said. “What the actual fuck is unbelievable about anything I’ve ever told you?”

“Well, on top of saying someone is allergic to computers, you literally told me that your mother died to a mysterious illness and that your dad was killed by criminals, leaving your sister to raise you in the ways of the warrior before you also got a mysterious illness and had to live in a hospital.”

Vin crossed his arms. “That was obviously a joke.”

“I don’t think it was, actually.”

“Okay fine, but how young was I when I came up with that?” Vin asked. “Can you really blame me for assuming that most parents died off via mysterious diseases or criminals?”

“You can bet your left ass cheek that I can,” Alice grinned. “I am really, really , good at blaming people for all kinds of things. I fucking excel at that shit. I could spend all day blaming anyone for anything. It’s one of my top skills.”

“Well, could you blame this face?” Vin said, making his avatar give puppy-dog eyes before waiting a few seconds and turning his avatar’s whole head into a human butt.

“You present a compelling argument but still I persevere,” Alice said, and laughed. “So you were never sick at all, then? All this time you had just been kidnapped by… whoever the fuck did all that crap?”

“Yep, that’s right. Never in my life have I been sick. The common cold is a stranger to me. I’m pretty sure people made up fevers as an excuse to get out of doing things. My guts are just too damn trashy for any pathogens to be willing to settle down in ‘em. Viruses flee in horror from my fugly ass cells.” Vin shook his head. “Nah, I was sick, at least originally. I bounced around a bunch of medical facilities when I was real young. I think it’s likely that my old guard gave me up under the promise that I could be cured. That or they just really didn’t want to deal with me anymore and were promised I would no longer be their problem.”

Alice frowned. “You know this is all really making me feel bad to complain about things like homework.”

“Why?” Vin asked. “Homework sounds pretty bullshit. That’s the one nice thing about being cooped up in a sketchy ass medical facility your whole life. I ain’t gotta do shit I don’t want to. Outside of like, get cut up and experimented on.”

“Well with that minor of a price to pay why the fuck did you even bother leaving? Sounds like you were set for life.”

“Well, Renee was really pushy about it,” said Vin. “Honestly I’m not really sure what I’m gonna do now that I’m expected to like, know things. I don’t know shit, Alice. Not a damn thing, my guy.”

“Well,” Alice said. “I might be able to help you get caught up in the math and science department. I’m not the world's worst tudor.”

“Obviously you’re not.” Vin pointed at his chest. “I’m the world’s worst tutor, and I will fight anyone who tries to take that from me. Anyway there’s like an actual reason that I wanted to talk to you right now, besides bullshit.”

“This is probably the least bullshit convo we’ve ever had.”

“Okay yes it is but that’s not the point,” Vin said. “There’s a chance that we might end up going to the moon to stay. Like, for the indefinite future. And like, you’re the guy I know on the moon so like I guess I was wondering if there was any reason you could think of that we might not want to do that and junk.”

Alice’s face lit up. “You mean we might get to meet face to face? Why didn’t you start with that? Um, anyway you gotta understand I was like, super young when I first moved to the moon. Like getting parental permission to access all the features of a pet site young. So tiny they had to use magic to make sure that the lower gravity didn’t ruin my development forever. So I don’t have much of a memory of what Earth’s like outside of as a tourist. But from what I understand it’s pretty different here from most places on Earth. For one thing the whole city still technically an experiment on the effects of long term exposure to lower gravity and other non-Earth living conditions, so there’s a lot of doctor office time. Our economy is very different; we provide living essentials for free so money is just for superficial things. Which, mind you, includes things like clothing and any luxuries at all, so people still like getting money. We just take it a lot less seriously than Earth does, from what I’ve seen.”

“Wait, if clothing is considered a luxury good does that mean that there are some poor fucks who don’t have any clothes?”

“Nudity is pretty normal here, dude. It’s warm enough for most species to be comfortable, so there isn’t really any need to wear clothing, outside of aesthetics. There are rich fucks who don’t own any clothes. My mom doesn’t wear clothes half the time, and my parents are loaded. So I guess that’s a difference to be aware of.

“Let’s see here,” she continued, “as far as day-to-day life is concerned, there are three ‘ideal’ time shifts that people operate in. One’s from six to twenty-two Greenwich, one’s from fourteen to six, and the last’s from twenty-two to fourteen. This means we never have like, everyone on the moon trying to use the same hallway at once, which is good ‘’cause old town Beta City was not built with its current population in mind so it would get stupidly congested if everyone had the same schedule. And like, obviously everyone has their own sleep schedule but school and employers assume that you follow one of those schedules like some kind of fucking chump.

“So which one are you on, ‘cause I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you online at basically every hour?”

“Did you hear the bit about the chumps? I ain’t no chump. I’ll awake when I please. Anyway, the air pressure is super low so even with the lower gravity flying’s pretty much impossible. I know how much you just love flying everywhere so I’m sure that’s really hard to hear. The air pressure is compensated for by having the air be pretty much entirely oxygen, meaning everything’s super flammable, so if you were planning on becoming a pyromaniac now that you’re free, it might not be the best place for it.”

“Sounds like it would be the perfect place for it. If you can’t even destroy an entire city then what’s the fucking point?”

“Yeah, but then you’d only be able to do that once, and then you’d probably be unable to make any fires again.”

Vin started to cross his arms before realizing that he needed one of them to hold the glasses up. “You’re telling me that everything is like, super flammable and they don’t even have a way of fighting one measly raging inferno?”

“There’s a lot of safety protocols,” Alice said. “But I was assuming that you would put in the effort to disable them like a pyromaniac with some degree of fucking competency.”

“When have I ever put effort into anything? And you’re assuming I’m competent? It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Anyway, let’s see here, Beta City’s in a lava tube pretty far underground so there’s no natural sunlight anywhere. I know that can be a turnoff for some people. We don’t have a huge variety of foods; there isn’t really the space for a full-sized farm and shipments from Earth are pretty limited in what they can carry, so mostly we eat genetically enhanced algae. Apparently it used to be awful but these days it can taste like most anything and I think it’s pretty good.

“And you could probably guess, but adjusting to a new gravity is a bit of a bitch. At least, adjusting to Earth gravity is. I don’t really remember what adjusting to moon gravity was like the first time, but now that I’m used to it Earth feels like a prison and returning home feels like such liberation that you couldn’t imagine. Or maybe you could - you did just get actually liberated from a prison-like thing after all.”

Vin waved his hand a little. “Eh, it hasn’t really sunk in yet. It still feels temporary. Although I will admit, seeing the place utterly trashed is helping with that.”

“So I’m definitely not complaining about the possibility of seeing you in the flesh zone, but why the moon?” she asked.

“Oh I think I forgot to mention. Tyrone’s the moon demon.”

She scrunched her face up. “We have a demon?”

“You know,” Vin said, “the guy with the stars symbol that I see every now and then when you’re showing me around the moon.”

“Oh, the Circle’s demon.” She nodded a little. “That makes sense. They do a lot of work with teens. I didn’t realize its name was Tyrone, though.”

“Oh that’s not his like, demon name. It’s his fake name but his demon name sounds kinda dumb so I’m just going to keep calling him Tyrone.”

“Cause Tyrone is the least dumb-sounding name ever.”

“Are you kidding?” Vin said. “It’s like something out of a comic.”

“Right. Isn’t Cloak’s name Tyrone?”

“Yeah I think so, and also that one Roman guy, but who cares about them?” Vin spread his fingers widely. “Consider: Tyrone Tyson, everyman programmer by day, vengeful antihero demon by night; taking down shitty medical facilities and even shittier fanfics.”

“Yeah, I’d read that.”

“That’s great because I’m writing it,” he said, and pointedly turned to where Renee, Charlie, and Alcor were before saying aloud, “It’s nice to hear that someone actually appreciates my creative endeavors.”

“Who wouldn’t support Tyrone Tyson?” Alice asked.

“It probably has something to do with how the last time I pitched it it was as as incestuous, necrophilic erotica about one of the people I was pitching it to,” admitted Vin.

“Dude, If you wrote an incestuous, necrophilic erotica about me as a vengeful antihero I would consider myself completely and utterly blessed.” She shook her head. “Whoever you pitched it to before has no taste.”

“I know, right? But they probably don’t. I’ll let them know that right now.” Vin lifted the glasses away from his eyes. “Hey! Alice says y’all got no goddamn taste.”

“What?” Renee asked.

“You heard me,” Vin said, and then resumed holding the glasses above his eyes.

“No I…” Renee stared at Vin. “You’re not listening. Whatever, it probably wasn’t important.”

Renee sighed and resumed what she had been doing, which was very little.

“You’re right,” Alcor said. “It really wasn’t important.”

She looked him up and down. This was Alcor. This was a demon. This was the entity who created the Californian Archipelago. This was the person who had been helping them for the past few days. Who was apparently actually invested in making sure they had a safe place to stay. It was a lot to take in.

“You’ve been looking at me a lot,” Alcor said. “You have something you want to say?”

Renee avoided his eyes. “I’m not sure it’s something you want to hear.”

“You know you don’t need to walk on eggshells around me, right?” he said. “I’m not going to suddenly change my mind about helping you just because of something you say.”

“I really don’t know that,” Renee said. “I don’t know anything about you, really.”

“Well, since finding out who I am you’ve already called me a baby and got into an argument about the future, so if I was going to bite your head off I probably already would have. What’s up?”

Renee took a deep breath and said: “You seem to care about things a lot more than I would expect from a demon, which is, admittedly, a fairly low bar.”

“I try.”

“Our society has, to put it extremely mildly, problems. You are exceptionally powerful.”

Alcor held his hands in front of him. “I can see where you’re going with this and am going to stop you right there. No matter how bad this capitalist hellhole is, I can guarantee you a demonarchy would be worse.”

She shook her head. “I really didn’t mean to suggest that you become supreme leader of the world. In fact I cannot possibly emphasize enough how much I did not mean to imply such a thing. But, instead of taking over, you could help us move past this, to a better system of governance, or lack thereof. Make a world where no organization has the power to do what was done here.”

Alcor sighed. “The thing is, I’m not a part of your society. I’m not a part of any society. It doesn’t feel right for me to make choices that don’t affect me. I’m not comfortable being one person making decisions for everyone, and if I wanted to do what you’re suggesting I would have to make some pretty big choices.”

“I don’t have any such hangups, though,” the Alcor Virus interjected. “Tell me, what are your problems with this society?”

“Well, capitalism’s the big one. I don't want people to die when they can't get the money required to access basic resources that others have in abundance,” Renee said. “I mean there’s other things, of course there’s other things: the police are awful, our education system needs a major revamp, institutional prejudice is, well, it’s bad, and it sometimes feels like there haven’t been any serious social changes since things calmed down from the Transcendence, even though that was over a thousand years ago now.” “Well, I don't know about the social problems, but it sounds like one of your major concerns would be solved if a universal basic income was established.” "Everyone receiving the basic funds they need to survive would certainly be better than what we have now." She shrugged. “It would be better if personal debts were also wiped clean, so no one would have to spend all their basic income repaying predatory loans and the like. It wouldn’t be perfect, because it would still be a capitalist system and corporate opportunists would find ways to exploit it given time, but it would be a whole lot better than this.” “Yeah,” the virus said slowly. “I think I can do that.”

“What?” “Universal basic income, and a worldwide debt jubilee, starting tomorrow,” he said confidently. “That should be enough time for me to calculate regional rates and the other details.” “What‽” “I can’t believe I’ve never done anything like hijack the world economy before. This is going to be great!” “Please don’t alter the entire world economy overnight because of something I said.” “Why not?” the virus asked. “You seem pretty smart.” “I’m sixteen and would probably benefit from, I don’t know, maybe taking a single economics class?” Her breathing was quicker than she liked. “I am not an authority on this!” “Relaaax,” the virus said, drawing out the syllables. “Debt jubilees have existed since biblical times, and universal basic income has done pretty well where it has been implemented. It’ll be fine.” “I’m pretty sure that historically both those things have been implemented by the people that are going to be affected by them, and they have known ahead of time that it’s coming and have done things to prepare for it?”

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll warn people at least. I’ll go and make an in-depth explanation of what’s happening and put it on every major news site.”

“I guess that’s something?”

The virus paused a moment before saying: “The day after I first implement it.”

Renee buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, you know what might be better?” he said quickly. “Only posting the detailed explanation on sleazy tabloid sites and leaving the major news sites with something along the lines of ‘hello naughty children it’s universal basic income time’ with no further details.”

“Why?” She pushed her face harder into her hands. “Why did I ever think getting assistance from a virus made from a demon would be a good idea?”

“I’m not sure. Personally I would have thought Dad’s line about how he didn’t feel comfortable being one person making decisions for everyone would have been a warning.”

“I wasn’t trying to make decisions for everyone in the world!” she cried. “I was just trying to see if, once I found a group that seemed knowledgeable and competent that I agreed with, you would be willing to help us get our message out or evade prosecution or something! I didn’t intend anything to actually happen right now.”

“I’m not sure why you thought your intentions mattered when dealing with a virus made from a demon.”

“In retrospect, neither do I,” she said mournfully. “Could I at least convince you to try a sample region first to observe how it goes before you implement it everywhere? That way if it goes horribly wrong from the start at least we’ll know?”

“That’s a good point. Sample regions are important.”

“Thank you,” she said, deeply exhaling for the first time since the conversation’s start.

“I’ll limit this experiment to the Earth. Mars, Venus, the Moon, and the colony ships will be left to their own devices as the control groups.”

“Over ninety-nine percent of the population lives on Earth!” she said, throwing her hands up. “That is not how a control group works!”

“Oh, just think about how thrilled all the sociologists are going to be.”

She dropped her arms. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

“I do everything on purpose. Except the molasses thing. That was. admittedly, an accident. A hilarious accident.”

“Molasses - no. I don’t want to know. Moving on from this absolute train wreck of a future I just apparently secured, can we go back to talking about what’s going to happen with the three of us?”

“Well,” the virus said chipperly. “If you decide you don’t want to live on the moon and instead choose to live independently on the Earth you’ll be receiving a modest bi-monthly living allowance starting tomorrow.”

“Can we please stop talking about that?” Renee asked. “Can we please talk about literally anything but that? It doesn't have to be the future. It could be Vin’s comics. It could be an in-depth history of the etymology of the word ‘scissors’. Literally anything would be better than this.”

“Literally anything?”

Renee glared at the nearest speaker in the ceiling. “Upon brief reflection I redact my previous statement; I’m positive you can come up with something I want to hear about less than the near economic future.”

“So um…” Charlie said quietly. “What is wrong with the system that we have - er had, I guess?”

“No, ‘have’ is right,” corrected the virus. “You still have 23 hours 56 minutes and 46 seconds before it’s accurate to refer to the current economic system in the past tense.”

“You had to ask, didn’t you?” Vin said, holding the glasses to his side, his conversation with Alice over. “You had to turn this beautiful conversation about destroying the world economy into anti-capitalist propaganda, didn’t you?”

“To answer your question.” Renee let out a big breath. “Oh man, what isn’t wrong with late stage capitalism?”

“Well, it seems to work alright?” said Charlie. “Work gets done and people get what they need for the most part.” “Well that’s a place to start,” Renee said. “People who do work which our society considers valuable get what they need, unless they need something more expensive than their job will compensate for. Which is not infrequently the case with medical needs. No one should have to choose between their health and their ability to have food and shelter, but many people have to. No one should be stuck in the catch-22 of being unable to work because of an untreated illness, and unable to treat their illness because they don’t have an income, but many people are. Which brings us to one of the larger problems that I have. “People who don’t work and aren't already wealthy don’t have access to resources under this system. Not having marketable skills, or not having the ability to market your skills, is a crime punishable by death under capitalism. And I cannot think of any way to fully communicate the extent to which I find that sentiment to be complete and utter horseshit.” “See Charlie?” said Vin. “This is why you gotta check the mouth of your gift horse before you bring it in your gates. Now your guard’s down and it’s revealing all the theory it was hiding in there.” “Oh, but I have barely gotten started,” Renee said. “I haven’t talked about inheritance, workers’ rights, corporations, monopolies, the prison industrial complex - did you know that there are places where prisons can literally fine the state if they aren’t provided with enough prisoners? ‘Cause that’s a thing. A really fucked up thing

“But as much as I would love to talk about this all day, I will concede this probably isn’t the best time for this. Ask me again once we’ve settled… wherever it is that we settle. And when I have access to the Net. I can hook you up with people who can say it better than I can.”

“So speaking of wherever we’re going to settle,” Vin said. “Living on the moon apparently includes a lot of time around doctors. I really don’t give a shit so long as they don’t like, I don’t know, carve an eye into my damn head or anything, but I feel like this might be a pretty big deal to you two.”

“I highly suspected that that might be the case,” Renee sighed. “Which leaves me in a bit of a predicament; I don’t want to have to go through doctor’s appointments in great frequency. But you seem to really want to go to the moon and I don’t want to take that from you. Also, as of a few minutes ago, I’m not sure this planet is going to be a great place to live in the near future.”

“If you’re really that worried you could just go somewhere that already has universal basic income,” said the Alcor Virus. “I’m not going to change it if a place already has it set up.”

“Yeah, what he said.” Vin met Renee’s eyes. “We don’t have to go to the moon if you don’t want to; I think it would be cool to visit Alice in the flesh but like, that’s the main reason I want to live there and I can always visit her online. It ain’t a big deal.”

“I might have a solution to the doctor problem, actually,” Alcor said. “The tests that they need to perform are entirely automated. Most people do them with a doctor because they’re the one that knows how to interpret the results and, depending on what those results are you might need to talk to them, but it’s perfectly possible to take the tests on your own and send the data to a doctor, and if something’s wrong the doctor could just explain what needs to happen to your guardian. You wouldn’t have to interact with a doctor ever, unless something serious happened.”

“That sounds tolerable,” Renee said. “I would hesitate to call it ideal but it is well within the confines of the workable.”

“So is that it, then? We’re going to go to the moon?” Charlie asked.

“Well, what are your thoughts on it?” asked Renee. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“I think it would be pretty cool.” Charlie’s gaze swept around the floor. “Well, I think it would be really cool, honestly. Living in space. Even if you can’t actually see the sky it would be pretty neat. I might want to join Renee when it comes to getting tests done though. Hopefully it will go away, but right now the idea of seeing a doctor makes me feel a little nauseous.”

“Alright then, are you all ready to go?” Alcor asked.

“I do believe so,” answered Renee.

“Alright then,” Alcor said. “One future: as promised. Let’s go to the moon.”

And with that he snapped his fingers one final time, teleporting them out of the wrecked facility, never to return.

A year and a month gone by and 72k words later and here we are. Thank you for being here with me for this. Thank you for your reads, and your kudos, and your comments. This story means a lot to me and I'm really glad that it means something to some other people, too.

For those of you who want to see more of these characters, I'm not finished with them just yet. I'm writing a squeal / continuation of H&H. It's going to be RPG shenanigans, starting with a murder mystery campaign GMed by Charlie. I hope you look forward to it.

Thank you again for reading.

#transcendence au #haunted fic #My fic #my shit #Fic

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yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

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Silver might Vs Ghost Nanny!

It was only after 7pm on a Tuesday in the middle of November, but already it was dark out save for the street lamps in Metro city. It's youngest and newest Superhero was flying low because of the darkness which he claimed was because he didn't wanna risk running into anything, but other members of the league of super pal's joked it was because he was scared of the dark. At 13 year's old Trip Johnson knew he looked more like a 7 year old at a mere 4'6 and slim build. his grey eyes were hidden behind the silver domino mask he wore and while his short spiky hair was on display, it was temporarily dyed black to keep people from recognizing his normally orangish red hair. He was of course in addition to the mask wearing the rest of his costume as The Silver Might. (Though again, his so called team mates like to call him the Silver Mite behind his back and even to his face) Wearing a pair of sky blue boots that came up to his calf's, he had a pair of Silver tights tucked into them that didn't leave much to the imagination and had gotten some comments about whether or not he was a boy or a girl when he had first started working. A Blue belt the same color as his boots was around his waist with SM in silver as the belt buckle, and it was actually the belt itself that allowed the little guy to fly, though he hadn't told anyone that. covering his upper body was full length silver shirt, with SM now in blue stenciled on his chest. On each hand was a blue glove that came up about two inches above the wrist. Completing his look was a knee length blue cape that billowed out behind him (he personally didn't care much for the cape himself, but when his mom had found out he wanted to be a hero and had made the costume , save for the belt, for him, well, he couldn't really complain) His powers were a mild form of the basic flying brick. He could reach a speed of 300 MPH, Lift up to 300 pounds and could tank small arms fire with ease but heavier fire power would leave a bruise and bombs would mess him up. The belt had been a gift from anther hero named Gear head (Mostly because Trip had started to cry when he'd gone far teasing him about whether or not he was out of pull-up's) Tonight the little guy had drawn the short straw so to speak and gotten stuck with the evening patrol and was trying to get it over as fast as he could since he still had math homework to do. 'I have to be the only superhero in the city to have to worry about failing math.' he thought and was ready to call it a night when he noticed a green flash coming for the old Mason place and groaned. 'Just my luck, the place had been abandoned for like 70 years and tonight, when I need to get stuff done, someone's raising heck in there.' he groaned mentally. The old house was a older Victorian looking place, three stories tall and a basement under it and for the most part was structurally sound though the last people to of tried living there hadn't even spent a full night, claiming the place was haunted. It was protected by a clause in the city by-laws that meant as long as the place wasn't falling apart and the lawn was maintained it sty standing and so volunteers from the local history buff chapter kept the law in tip top shape and replaced any broken windows caused by youths tossing rocks at the place. As he recalled the Masons had left the place when their son who had been 1 and a half or two had gone missing in the middle of the night though the boys nanny had stayed behind with their blessings hoping that the boy might someday returned, though she had died 2 years later, having never seen a sign of young Jackson Mason. Landing on the front lawn Silver Might gave the place a one over, the hair on the back of his neck standing up a little and for a second he thought about using his radio ear piece to call in back up. then he pictured Danger dame and megaton man finding out he'd been scared to go into a supposedly haunted house after dark and the teasing he'd have to endure for months. and worse, if it turned out there was nothing in it he'd NEVER live it down! wishing he'd listened to his mom and brought a flash light with him the pint sized hero made his way up the porch steps and went in the surprisingly unlocked front door. 'Please be nothing please be nothing please be nothing.' he pleaded silently as he walked in. the house wasn't as cobwebbed as one might expect, not was it as dusty or moldy smelling, something that the pint sized hero chalked up to the history buffs. he pressed his luck and turned to flick on a light switch but nothing happened and he gave a little sigh. "Oh of course not." he grumbled. as his voice filled the dead air in the place a sudden chill went though his spine despite the thermal protection his suit was suppose to give him and he found himself wrapping his cape around him as he shivered. "Hello? Is there anyone here?" he called out, then cursed himself mentally. 'Yes Trip, some evil villain hiding out or hoodlums having a party in here are totally going to answer your call. Instead you just warned anyone who's hiding in here that you're in here too.' even as he finished cursing himself a voice DID speak up. "Jackson? Jackson is that you?" Came the voice of a older lady. Trip wasn't so good at placing ages on voices yet but it definitionally didn't have a tone like any of the girls from his school, it was more like his math teachers tone and she was in her early 30's. Even as the voice rang out there was a green flash and as trip turned to face it, a women in her 30's though dressed like something out of Mary Poppins. She had started out in different shades of green that now took on a most fleshy appearance, milky white skin with her outfit being a mix of grey and black and white. She still gave off a eerie glow though and it let Trip see that her eyes were glowing a eerie green and her hair was brunette. "Holy. Crap. The place IS haunted!" Trip said, jaw dropping as he recognized the face from one of the local history classes. It was the nanny, a miss graven or something like that. "I say young man! I asked you a question!" the ghost asked and pointed a finger at him. Instantly a green glow went around Trip and he found himself not only unable to move, but being lifted up in the air and brought closer to the ghost. "P-Please don't hurt me!" Trip squeaked out as he got closer. "Young man I only punish naughty boys who do naughty things. Like ignoring the questions of their elders!" she scolded and wagged a finger. "Now again, Are you Jackson?" "No! No Ma'am I'm not! I'm a superhero named silver Might and i was just checking this place out and I'm very much not a naughty boy so please let me go and I'll never come back here again!" Trip said rapidly. One of his many many fears, aside from the dark and needles, was a fear of ghosts after his uncle had let him watch a scary movie when he was five. He'd wet the bed for a week and somehow it had linked in his head that ghost made his bladder fill up and right now his was getting dangerously full to the point if he'd been able to move, he'd be doing a potty dance. "Hmmm..I do believe you that your not Jackson, But I don't know about your claims not to be a naughty boy, or being a superhero hero. you're much too young to be the type, and I believe it's more likely your a naughty little boy out after dark playing dress up. Does your mommy know where you are?" Miss Graven asked, though she let him down on the floor relaxing her hold a little bit. Instantly he tried to dash away or turn on his flight belt, but neither did much and she vanished from in front of him and walloped his behind hard, making help yelp. It also made him do something else as the shocking pain made him lose control of his bladder and he started to helplessly wet himself. "Oh rude! trying to escape when I'm giving you a chance to explain yours- Ohhh I see, you were trying to run for the bathroom." The ghost scolded, then her voice softened. "you silly little boy, why didn't you tell me you needed to tinkle?" Trip whimpered in shame and pain as his cheeks still strung somehow from the force of the blow, and his pristine tights were now wet and smelly as he finished making a puddle. "i...I'm sorry." the mortified boy whimpered. "It's ok, I should of asked. little boys don't always know. Come on, let's get you all cleaned up and then you can spend the night here. I'm not about to let a little boy go running around in the streets at night." She said. "I..but..I need to get home." Trip said with a big swallow. "My..My mommy will be getting worried about me!" he added, drawing on what she had said before. "Hmmm, that's true. but i still can't send you home in your soggy pants." Miss graven said. "I'll get you all nice and clean and then I'll walk you home OK little guy?" she offered, smiling and now leaning in front of him and a little more tinkle came out. "W-whatever you say." Trip said and gulped. he was hoping that what little bit of ghost lore he had learned from Magic intern had been correct, that a ghost who haunted a house would be stuck in it, so any attempt to leave with Trip would have her stuck there and leave him free to flee. he thought about trying his com link and trying to call for help but the memory of her swat on his behind nixed that idea, he could play along at least for a little while. Miss graven smiled at how easy it was to get this little boy to behave, so much easier then those last brats who had bugged her awhile back, a group of unruly teenagers she'd been forced to spank them silly and warned them to keep their mouths shut about her or ELSE. she thought his little outfit was pretty silly, as was his story of being a hero but little boys were prone to flights of fancy and she'd have him in something much more fitting in short order. she made sure the little cutie held her hand as she lead the way to the bathroom, where with a flick of her wrist it went from the rub down non-working room it was to the fully functional and stylish (for it's time) bathroom it had been when she worked here. "H-Holy cow!" the little guy said, clearly impressed and she smiled. "Now 'silver might'." she said, semi humoring the boy. "I'm gonna need your proper name before i give you a bath and get you dressed." the boy blushed at that and squirmed. "A-A bath? as in..see me naked?" he asked, and amusingly covered himself even though he was still in his silly little costume. "I assure you, you don't have anything I haven't seen on any other little boy I've bathed." She assured him. "I..I uh.." he squirmed more and she raised a eyebrow. "My..mommy said other people aren't allowed to see me naked." the boy said finally. "Hmmm, well thats a good point normally, but I'm a nanny and I'm sure once I meet your mother she'll understand. Now, you can strip yourself or I can do it for you, but either way.." she let the threat hang in the air. trip mentally cursed, he'd thought for sure that would of worked but no go. Truth be told a bath DID sound good as the material that made up his suit mixed with urine was making him itchy, so after a long pause he started to take his suit off. "I also asked whats your name little guy? and how old are you." Miss graven said as he tugged his wet tights down, having already removed his boots. "Oh uh..It's Trip ma'am. Trip Johnson. and I'm 13." he said shyly, his belt and shirt coming off next, then his gloves and mask. "Hmm are you sure about that?" she asked with a little grin. he wasn't sure what she meant at first, then realized her eyes were studying his hairless tiny body and got a full body blush going. "I-I am! I'm just small for my age." he whined, then stopped as it really wasn't helping his case. "oh i see. and not quite as mature as you should be either, playing dress up and wetting yourself." the ghost added and despite himself trip pouted. "oh none of that, it's OK. Some boys just take longer to grow up then others." She said and picked him up under his arms and placed him in the old Iron tub, turning on the water. "I'm going to wash you first, then you may play for a little bit." she said getting a cloth and soap. as she moved in though she noticed the com link in his ears and reached down, pulling it out and frowning. "didn't your mommy teach you to keep things out of your ears?" she scolded. "S-sorry." Trip whined, worried she was gonna spank him for a second. "Sigh, it's OK. you're just a silly little guy." She said with a condescending smile, then crushed the com link with ease between her index finger and thumb 'So much for calling for help..and gear head is gonna rip me a new one for going though ANTHER com link...' Trip thought glumly. After getting trip washed nice and clean all over (which had produced some adorable squeaks from the little guy) Miss graven true to her word had put some toy boats and rubber duckies in the soapy bath water then sat on the loo to keep a eye on the immature lad. she was waiting to see just what he would do and would follow up with a course of action based on either choice. If he just relaxed in the tub and left the toys alone she'd clean his silly little costume and after getting him dried off and into a pair of training pants in case he had anther accident, she'd let him put on his silly little outfit and walk him home. If he played with the toys like she believed he would, it would confirm what she figured..he was just a toddler or big baby in a big boys body, and she'd dress him in a manner that matched while disposing of his silly little costume. It was clearly a bad influence on him anyways and then she'd take him dressed in some thick nappies and a toddler clothes home in a stroller. Trip looked at the toys and then over at Miss graven, and bit his lip. he really didn't wanna play with them but he also didn't wanna piss the ghost off. after a few seconds of trying to figure out what to do he decided to play it save and started to move the boats around, making little motor noises and she smiled at him. 'Guess i picked right.' He thought with a sigh of relief. As he played with the boats he found himself getting into it, and as such he missed the gesture she gave his costume sending it from the bathroom floor to a trash bin outside. he was actually started when she cleared her throat and smiled down at him. "I know your having lots and lots of fun little guy, but I think you've been in the tubby long enough." she said and with a gesture the plug was pulled and the water started to drain. "O-Oh..ok." he said sheepish. he wasn't even sure how long he'd been out of it, having fun like a little kid though he noted his costume was gone from the floor. "Um..Miss graven?" he asked, gulping. "Yes trip?" she asked, floating a towel over to her hands and then starting to dry him. "where did my costume go?" he asked. "Oh, it was so pee stained and smelly, I just tossed it out. I'm sure if your a good little boy for your mommy she'll get you anther." Miss graven said. "B-But that belt was super special and uh..one of a kind!" he whined. "ohhh some sort of collectors item?" Miss graven asked. "Y-yeah! it's from a show..called..silver Might and that's who i was dressed as. Mommy made me the costume but-" she cut him off with a warm smile. "Say no more." she said and the belt was back in the bathroom, to in her hand. "i'm glad you're finally telling the truth about your silly little outfit and I'm sure your mommy will make you anther one." she said and putting the belt over he shoulder she finished drying him. 'Ok..having to play along with her stupid game was embarrassing, but still, no way Gear head was gonna make me anther flight belt.' Trip thought. 'At least this is almost over and it can't really get any worse then this.' right as he thought that Miss graven wrapped him up in the towel and scooped him up into her arms, and it was liked he'd been swaddled like a new born as he squirmed a little. 'I just had to tempt fate didn't I?' He thought Carrying the little big boy to the nursery, Miss graven let the bathroom return to it's aged look and restored the nursery from it's run down appearance to back to it's prime, with the walls covered in pastel blue paint with pink rabbits stenciled in every few feet. the floor had a soft white carpet and had a big crib in one corner and a changing table and diaper pail in anther. there was a large closet that had been raided long ago before her magic had been worked and was now filled with diaper shirts and short-all that were all in trip's size, though she doubted the little guy had noticed that yet as he was busy looking at the stack of big bulky disposable nappies that were stored under the the table top of the changing table in little cubby holes with some dedicated to plastic pants as well. "M-M-Miss graven you're not..gonna diaper me are you?" Trip asked and started to struggle in her arms. but her ghostly might was more then up for the fast of holding him in place even if he was quite a bit stronger then she'd expected. "Such a clever little boy!" she coo'ed and taped a finger on his nose. Trip started to whimper and tears were forming in his eyes as she shook his head. "No no no no no! I'm not a baby! I'm a big boy! Please!" he whined and trembled in her arms. "Awwww trip it's OK little guy, I know your trying SO hard to be a big boy, but I don't want anther accident to happen on the way to your house." she said and kissed his forehead. "now I'm going to lay you down on the changing table and take the towel off, I want you to promise me you're going to be a good boy and stay there. I really don't wanna have to spank you trip, you've been such a good boy for me." She said. Trip couldn't believe it, she was gonna put him back in diapers and dress him like a big baby. if the rest of his team ever found out.. Still the threat of a spanking forced his hand and as much as he didn't wanna be put back in diapers she'd proven that all of his powers were useless against her. "I..I really don't wanna go back into diapers Miss graven. what if I promise to super try my hardest NOT to have a accident?" he tried. "heh, sweetie...it's not that i don't think you're trying your hardest to keep dry pants, I just don't wanna have to come back mid walk to change you again." Miss graven said. Trip whined and fussed, but slowly nodded. "I-If you have to..I guess..I promise not to try and run..it won't do me any good anyways." he said after a few minutes. "That's a VERY big boy thing of you to say." the ghost praised. as he was laid on the changing table and the towel unwrapped from around him, Trip was tempted for a second to push his luck. As soon as the thought came into his head he dismissed it, the ghost while stern and set on her ways was playing fair to a degree and wouldn't spank him if he kept his word. and he WAS a hero and had given his word so that wasn't something to broken easily. That being said, as she unfolded the thick crinkly diaper his bottom lip did start to tremble despite his best efforts and Miss Graven sighed and produced a large pacifier and popped in his mouth. again his will power failed him as despite his best efforts he found himself nursing on the large rubber nipple in his mouth and... it was actually very soothing and he relaxed a little. "Sorry little one, I should of offered you a soother sooner." Miss graven said, then as a after thought she made a teddy bear from a toy chest against one of the walls come over and offered it to him. '...in for a penny, in for a pound.' Trip thought and took the teddy bear and snuggled it to his chest and closed his eyes. Watching the little guy snuggle the teddy and nurse on his soother, Miss graven knew she'd been right to diaper him and almost found herself wishing she could keep him here with her a little while longer. But she had agreed to take him home to his mother, who must be getting worried sick about here her little wanna be hero was. with the nappy under Trips cute little behind she sprinkled on lots a baby powder the tapped it up snugly, then followed up with a nursery print pair of plastic pants as she had never really trusted disposables but her employers had insisted as it would cut down on the stinky nappy smell kept around the house. Of course she'd had to use her supernatural powers to up the size of some things since even with trip being so tiny there was no way he'd of fit into Jackson's diapers and clothes but that was alright. Double checking the leg bands and the waist band of the plastic pants she picked up Trip and set him on her hip, letting him keep Mr.bear in his arms and the soother in his mouth as she moved over to the closet. Opening it up fully and showing him the array of outfits and smiled. "Since you've been SUCH a good little boy for me Trip, I'll let you pick what you wanna wear. You can take your soother out or just point." Trip was blushing again, but that was nothing new for the most part expect now that he had the big bulky diaper around his hips and was on her waist, a arm under his padded rear this felt kinda..right. worried if he took the soother out he'd start saying as much he scanned the closet nursing on it then finally pointed to a white shirt and blue jean coveralls combo, even though the front pocket on them had a big teddy bear stitched on it. "oh good choice!" Miss graven said and snapped a finger, the outfit instantly went from off of the hanger to being on him and he realized that what he'd thought was a t-shirt was some kinda diaper shirt from how sung the diaper got. with him all dressed, down to have a pair of white socks on and a blue pair of sneakers, with white laces on his feet, she took him over to a mirror. at some point she'd fashioned his unruly hair (no longer black but back to it's original color into a neatly combed look and when he looked at his reflection he saw just a big baby looking back at him. "What do you think? ready to go home and show your mommy your new outfit?" Miss graven asked and kissed his cheek. Smiling a little behind the paci in his mouth Trip nodded. getting down the stairs with the nursery going back to worn down as they left trip looked at the spot on the floor where he'd had his accident. It seemed like hours ago now with everything that had happened when really at most a hour had passed and it had been all cleaned up and was gone. Miss Graven set him on his feet as she summoned up a stroller, which at this point really didn't shock him. What DID shock him however was that with the added bulk around his hips that caused him to have a frankly rather large behind, he lost his balance within seconds and plopped on his butt. 'Guess it's a good thing she's gonna be using the stroller.' he thought as he rubbed the back of his head, looking up at her sheepishly. "Heh. Guess it's a good thing we're using this huh buddy?" she said, basically echoing his thought. he nodded and giggled a little as she set his belt in a little carrying area under the stroller along with a diaper bag, he raised his arms up to her as she turned her attention back to him. "..You really ARE too cute. I might have to ask your mommy to let you come over sometime." She gushed. The idea of coming back here would of been terrifying or too much to think about before, but now as he was getting used to all of this he nodded his head too, and suddenly was worried. "Uh, Miss graven?" he asked, pulling his soother out as she got him strapped into the large blue stroller. "Yes trip?" "..as a ghost you might not be able to leave the house." he said. "Heh, really? you think so?" she asked and lightly tapped his nose. "I'm only trapped in the house during the day little man, at night I'm free to roam. I'm guessing you're just bringing this up NOW because before that was your little escape plan huh?" Trip looked down, but nodded looking and feeling very ashamed of himself. "Awww it's OK. you just hadn't accepted what you are at that point. it's all good." She said and tickled his chin. Trip gave a happy giggle and then popped his paci back in as she wheeled them out the door, wondering exactly just how he was going to explain this all to his mom when they got to his place, but then realized that Miss graven would handle it all. He was after all, just a silly little baby. with that happy thought he snuggled Mr.bear and drifted off to sleep.

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