#unless I'm incapable of continuing

[awyeahitssam]

A cold male voice rang across the courtroom. 

“You’re late.” 

Harry considered his response as he stepped farther into the room, head tipping up to take in the fifty some-odd witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot. They were all watching him keenly, some with open derision and others with curiosity. His head pulsed faintly at the weight of the attention on him, their emotions eagerly battering his Occlumency shields. Harry worked to think through the sensation even as he reinforced his mental defences. He could already tell by the sweat beading on his back that this would be a trying experience. The fact that this section of the Ministry was deep enough to obstruct the weight of all other presences did not make up for the fact that he was in front of fifty people rather than the expected four to six. He hasn't practised for this, has had no means to. 

Fudge sat in the middle of the first row, and the smugness he and the witch to his right were emanating made it rather easy to pinpoint who had been responsible for the sudden change in the time of his trial. 

"Am I?" Harry asked, and the jolt of astonishment, annoyance and fury that swept through various members of the court almost had him gritting his teeth. Harry imagined that Fudge's anger and embarrassment would have been obvious to him even without his abilities. The man had turned faintly red at the question, face pinching. 

"You were sent notice of the change in time this morning," the Minister barked out. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault you are late. Now sit down."

Harry allowed his eyebrow to quirk, slow and incredulous. This version of Cornelius Fudge was far different from the one he had met two years ago.

“While I would hardly blame the Wizengamot as a whole, it sounds as if whoever is charged with correspondence is at fault. Per a standing law written in 1839, all changes in time and venue must be completed in excess of twenty four hours prior to a trial's start time. Said correspondence must have been confirmed as seen by the person or persons on trial and their representatives at least sixteen hours before the scheduled start time.”

“That is for an official trial,” the Minister returned, voice sharp despite the fluster and anxiety Harry could sense beneath it. 

“Apologies for my presumption, then,” Harry said dryly. “I assumed that any trial which our entire governance presided over would be considered official.”

“Besides which, there is no such specificity to that law,” A broad, square-jawed witch to the left of Fudge said, giving the Minister a quelling look. 

The Minister did not respond to the implied reprimand, instead puffing himself up a bit and saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry was surprised to see Percy Weasley, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he stared down at a piece of parchment, quill poised to write. Unlike most everyone else in the room, his attention did not seem to find sole focus on Harry. Harry didn’t expend any effort to attempt to see how Percy felt about the entire situation, his focus drawn to an approaching presence. It was a whirlwind of concern, faint annoyance, and a dash of enjoyment. 

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, emphasising the word hearing, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

Fudge continued on, listing interrogators, and Harry’s attention was distracted from Fudge’s words, the approaching presence, and his Occlumency shields by a jolt of glee and greed. His gaze flickered up to meet the icy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The realisation dawns quickly that the Dursleys address was now a matter of public record. Harry had already decided he wouldn't go back, and this only provided more incentive. 

He hesitates around the thought of whether the Dursleys will be targeted. Whether he should warn somebody that they need to be moved. Whether he cares enough to, after so many years of their oppressive hatred.

Behind him, the door presses open. 

“—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore’s voice isn’t projected like Fudge’s, but there is no doubt that he is heard. The press of the Wizengamot’s emotions is momentarily overwhelming: annoyance, bemusement, fear, anger, respect, deference, joy… Harry’s own anger is hardly a blip amongst the cacophony. 

When he strides into Harry’s view Dumbledore's expression is serene, but Harry can feel his spiteful enjoyment at the reception his disruption has created. He looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his crooked nose. 

A few of the Wizengamot members muttered to one another, but most were quiet, eyes locked on Dumbledore. 

While Harry’s presence had invoked interest and curiosity, the reactions to Dumbledore were far more substantive. Perhaps it was that the Headmaster had interacted with all of these people personally, socially, and they knew him by more than reputation. They had personal feelings and opinions fully developed about Dumbledore, while Harry was still, largely, an unknown. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, thoroughly disconcerted and flustered by Dumbledore’s presence. “Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er—message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?” 

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

It was a lie, Harry recognized, and one the Headmaster took a good deal of amusement in stating. Some of Dumbledore’s lingering frustration seemed to melt the longer he watched Fudge, the genial cast to his face a farce. He took joy in Fudge being wrong-footed, and the longer he fumbled, the more Dumbledore’s contentment with the situation grew. 

“Yes—well—I suppose we’ll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?” 

“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. 

Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as anything approaching petty before, and perhaps he typically was not, but there was no denying that he was fond of making Fudge feel foolish. Well, his name had been dragged through the Prophet by the Minister's word; Harry couldn’t be surprised by a grudge. Seemingly omniscient or not, Dumbledore was only human. 

The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down. 

“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.” He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”

“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment. 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, not looking at Malfoy this time. 

“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” interrupted Fudge. Harry felt his vindictive pleasure at cutting him off—even with Dumbledore here, he was finding his footing—but as Harry failed to answer this question, his irritation rose to overtake it.

“You are expected to answer,” the witch to the left of Fudge said, raising a brow at him. She had been the same woman to defend the law he had parrotted. 

Harry lets his silence linger for a moment, feeling the anticipation of the Wizengamot build, before returning, “Will I be allowed to do so in full?” 

His voice is perfectly respectful, but Fudge’s outrage still blooms. Dumbledore, a glance away, feels of surprise-concern-suspicion, and it makes the hairs on Harry’s nape stand at attention. 

“Yes,” the woman gave the Minister yet another quelling look, “of course you will.” 

“Thank you. To your last question, Minister, I did receive an official warning three years ago. The warning was,” it took a moment for Harry to recall the right term, said by three other representatives in three other trials, but the momentary pause has the interesting effect of focusing attention on him all the more, “improperly dispersed. The magic that triggered it came from a visiting House Elf. Being the only known magical in Little Whinging and without the supervision of an adult witch or wizard, the charms used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy were triggered. If anybody would like to see a memory of the event in question, I would be more than happy to provide it, assuming there is a pensive available.”

“There is no pensive,” a man with dark hair and an austere demeanour said, then emphasised again, “This is no trial.” 

“Isn’t it?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising as he glanced tellingly down at the chair in which he sat, wrapped in chains. “Very well.”

“Either way, it is rather late to be blaming your troubled past on elf magic,” Fudge dismissed, and let out a short laugh, as if he expected others to join him in it. At his side, the woman still cloaked in shadows let out a titter. “A unique and unprecedented excuse, as, I suppose, we should have expected from a young man trying to squirm out of trouble.” 

It is Fudge’s tone, a mix of condescension and chiding, even as his emotions are anything but, that does it. Behind his Occlumency and building headache, Harry realises that he's angry. He is disgruntled, disgusted and dissatisfied. He had accessed the public records available, he had pulled transcripts from previous underage trials, and this—this is a farce. 

This is Fudge, afraid to believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and smearing Harry’s name because he can. Because Harry has nobody looking out for him, and he’s been fair game since nobody stepped in the first time Rita did it. Beside him, Dumbledore is perfectly silent.

Harry is a symbol, but he's also fifteen, and it's an odd thought that reeks of his Godfather. 

“You're fifteen, pup,” Sirius had insisted mere days ago, like it meant something, like it mattered. “You deserve the chance to be a boy without all of this added pressure.”

The glimmer in his eyes had been just as telling as the mingled pain-grief-exhaustion-despair. He was speaking from experience, Harry had thought, throat tight. It made Harry want to fight for his Godfather, for the boy that he once was. Where, then, was that impulse to fight for himself?

“You matter, Harry. What you want matters.”

Harry does not want to play their games, though he has already begun to. He does not want to use the information he's researched, as he sits in a chair with chains, and struggles through polite phrasings. He won't let his research go to waste, though. He knows something for once, and he'll use that knowledge. 

The look he levels to Fudge, then, is faux-concerned. “I understand you've had no reason to research this, Minister,” he says, voice kind in a way that is mockery and can not be called such, “but I take the threat of having my wand snapped very seriously. According to public records, the Statute of Secrecy charms have been proven defective in the exact scenario I've discussed once before, in the case of Richard Pike, who’s classmate had an elf deliver things on multiple occasions until he was brought between a five-panel jury to plead his case.”

“Mind you, the Ministry hadn't been running a campaign to discredit Richard Pike,” Harry added casually. The reaction from a simple remark didn't disappoint; Fudge spluttered, the woman beside him leaned out of the shadows, revealing an overwhelmingly pink ensemble, and someone burst out, “Now see here, young man—!” before being abruptly silenced. “He was fifteen, too, but he actually had adults willing to advocate on his behalf.”

Dumbledore’s concern is growing beside him, but Harry doesn't turn to meet the man's eyes, and Dumbledore does not speak out, despite Harry’s accusation.

Harry’s rage is bubbling at the back of his throat, and he wants to shout, but he had learned about the ineffectiveness of screaming his ire long ago. That lesson had only been reinforced after his outburst at Ron and Hermione, and he is more than willing to try something else now. 

He takes a moment to consider his approach, and then goes with something that feels natural, a release that will keep his shouts in check; Harry laughs.

“Something funny, Mr. Potter?” A cold voice comes. 

“Not really, Something is ridiculous, though, and I’m sure you’d all rather I laugh than deal with a moody teenager's temper tantrum.” He lets his smile go a little sharper, and feels the good his reminder does. There is a particularly keen sense of culpability from a woman he faintly recognizes from his research; Head of the Panel for Underaged Sourcery, Irena Covey. Is the guilt for allowing this to spiral so out of hand, into a room meant for criminal proceedings, or something else?

“I have before me the entire government of magical Britain, wasting their time at a hearing for underaged magic which is typically handled by an empaneled jury of four. We are in the bowels of the Ministry, in a room that has not been used for anything but trials of the most dangerous criminals, and yet this is not a trial, but a hearing to decide disciplinary methods, as if there is no doubt of my guilt and I must be punished.” 

“My ‘crime,’” he uses the air quotes readily, “is using the Patronus Charm to protect myself and my cousin from a dementor. My cousin, who knows about magic and does not count as a breach in the Statute. If you'd like to see the memory of the encounter, I give full permission to have it pulled from my head. If you'd like to give me veritaserum—well, I have no parent to consent to the use of a regulated substance, but that's never stopped anybody before. I’ll submit myself willingly to that as well. And if,” he smiles sharply, “you'd like to handle this especially quickly, and get back to your doubtlessly busy lives, I will swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. How's that?”

It’s nothing that can be compelled or asked for, not ever, but the offer is a powerful thing. Vows on your magic can be taken as irrefutable testimony, and are rarely given, as they rely on objective rather than subjective fact, a twist that always leaves one with the slightest chance of turning squib.

He feels the shift in the air, the reconsideration of biases, the sharpening curiosity.

“I find your tone disrespectful, boy,” says a man with the longest straw-coloured hair Harry has ever seen. It lies in neat curls, soft and touchable, but the man’s face is cold and his tone hard, and Harry can’t pinpoint his intention with so many other people in the room. 

“Perfectly understandable, sir. I find this entire theatrical display disrespectful. You are all very important and busy people, so I can understand that you are frustrated with having your time wasted. However I hope you'll forgive if my frustration outweighs your own, as I am being treated like a war criminal rather than an underaged child due to a bewildering grudge that our Minister seems to be harbouring.” 

“You want to snap my wand?” Harry asked the Minister if Magic, eyes blazing but posture relaxed, “Then you can be certain I will put up a fight.”

He let his eyes trail over the rest of his jury, the heady, odd feel of their captivated attention allowing his shoulders to relax into something looser and more confident.

“Magic is the only thing I have of my mother and father. So forgive this fifteen year old orphan for his sentimentality,” Harry bared his teeth, “but I plan on keeping it. Especially considering that I have broken no laws, and there are clear caveats in place that allow an underaged witch or wizard to use magic when in fear for their life.”

He let his gaze slide over the Wizengamot and paused to meet every set of eyes that were not looking away. His point has been well and truly made. Dumbledore is surprised by his outburst, or perhaps by its effectiveness, and faintly suspicious for some reason. 

“Strong words prove nothing,” a man larger than Harry’s uncle says when Harry’s gaze lands on him, and he doesn't believe Harry, but he is used to that. 

Harry thinks back to the books on magical vows he had studied during the tournament, and the book in the Black Library that he had read two days ago. He thinks of the vow that he had carefully drafted, under Sirius’ supervision. His godfather has emphasised the importance of his wording, so that there could be no mistake. 

“Harry, wait.” Dumbledore’s order comes curt and harsh, but Harry pays it no attention. He knows what has caught the Headmaster’s attention; the golden glow that had encapsulated Harry the moment he chose his words. It hazes around his form, and Harry looks down at his hand with interest and curiosity. 

There is a sudden murmuring from his audience as they catch on. 

“I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that on the night of August 2 I used a patronus charm to ward off dementors in Little Whinging, Surrey, in fear of losing my soul.”

The golden glow retreats. Several people gasp at the act, but it is no mere dramatics; the shock he feels pulsing through the room is genuine. He allowed the pause to linger for a moment before saying, “I would cast a spell to prove my claim, but this is a disciplinary hearing for underaged magic.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, but before he could speak a worn voice sounded from the top tier of the gallery. “I vote an exception be made. Raise your wands if you are in agreement.” 

It was nearly unanimous, and Fudge’s expression was taut. His emotions were hard to pinpoint, though multiple people were radiating fear, stomach-churning and vile. Madame Bones glanced around the gallery, expectant. “Mr. Potter, if you would?”

Obediently, Harry drew his wand and murmured a spell under his breath. It was a rather cheeky choice, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. His patronus burst into existence and lifted its head regally, sightless eyes fixed on the Wizengamot. After a moment it turned to Harry and met his gaze before bowing its head. Harry bowed his head back in respect, tension lessening as he felt the warmth and serenity his patronus gave to him, deeply soothing. It took a step forward and pressed its head to his chest, and Harry smiled. 

“Fantastic,” Madam Bones murmured. “Very impressive.”

She said it, but Harry could feel it radiating from all around the room; respect, wariness, keen interest. A couple of people even seemed amused by his gall, which, he supposed, was better than offended. Fear was regulated to an undertone in the room, pervasive but not overpowering.

Harry’s patronus raises its head, a huff ruffling his hair. He raised a hand to brush over its snout, feeling the warm, welcoming peace it emanated more than its fur.  It stares into his eyes for a long moment, grounding Harry, before lowering its head one last time and glimmering out of existence, purpose served. 

“Well then,” the shift in the room was abrupt. With two words the attention of the Wizengnot had been captured by a dark-haired woman, whose brown eyes were cataloguing Harry. The abrupt pull and shift of emotions might have been startling had his patronus not left him so balanced. “I might have agreed that all of our time was wasted on this day, Mr. Potter, if not for this exquisite demonstration of a mastered patronus. That it is tactile as well as spiritually corporeal is a rare and impressive feat, especially given your age.”

Beneath her intrigue and open interest, the turn of her emotions had an odd chill to them. Her fascination is detached and clinical. Her regard had the effect of sharpening the interest towards Harry all the more. Dumbledore’s emotions pulsed behind him, an odd mix of wary, vexed and rueful. 

“Perhaps, Lady Laurier, it would be most appropriate to turn our attention to how a dementor managed to make its way to Little Whinging in the first place.” Dumbledore said pleasantly.

Bones clears her throat. “That is certainly a matter that needs attention. First, however, Mr. Potter’s verdict.”

“I believe that Mr. Potter’s vow constitutes irrefutable proof, and this tria—hearing should be closed.” Covey spoke up, her slip made all the more apparent by its correction. 

“So it shall be,” agreed Bones. “As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I accept into the record Harry Potter's magical vow. In combination with his subsequent proof of magic, this vow is considered irrefutable evidence. As such, all charges against the accused are dismissed with the Ministry's sincere apologies. I put forward my professional recommendation that future cases of underaged sorcery are dealt with by the bench traditionally empaneled.” She added pointedly. 

[musical-chick-13]

"This show is SO good, you should watch it!!"

I gotta be honest. If I look at a character list on Wikipedia and get five characters down without seeing a single woman, it's probably not for me.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 17 | chapter 18

A door softly creaked behind you, the eerie sound making you turn from where you were sitting only to look at the intruder.

Queen Daenerys had typical Valyrian features of silver-gold hair, purple eyes and pale skin. Anyone would be a fool to deny of her beauty. Aside from her slender like figure, what stood out the most was the tough exterior she possessed from her gaze.

One thing was for certain. Your sister looked more Targaryen than you could ever be.

"How's your wound?" Queen Daenerys asked. Missandei was standing behind her with head bowed down.

Forcing out a weak smile her way while massaging your arm, you shrugged. "Pain's barely there anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," she said as she chuckled, moving inside the room then taking a seat beside you on the bed. "You're my sister. . . My only family left. Call me Dany."

"You're my Queen," you declared, the word causing a bitter taste in your mouth. Cersei would always be your Queen. And you'd bleed for her a thousand times if you had to. It sparked a dilemma inside your heart.

"You don't have to prove your loyalty to me," Daenarys said as she stood abruptly, heading towards the window where she could see your dragon Nymeros towering over her children. It was apparent that Nymeros was older and more massive than the Queen's two smallest dragons combined. "We're Targaryen by blood. And the right rulers of the Seven Kingdom. I'm sure nothing could persuade you from that," she paused, "well, not unless you're still devoted to her."

Your gazes met and hers sported a questioning curiosity. You knew she was referring to Cersei and your love affair. Upon knowing Tyrion as her hand when you arrived at Dragonstone just two weeks ago, you believed Daenerys knew more about you than you knew about her. Varys was even one of her counselors. There wasn't a single thing Varys didn't know.

"I'm sure you have heard about what happened in the Capital upon their return," she went on, walking past you as she headed back to the door.

Of course, you had. It was chaos.

Cersei had taken over the throne. It turned out that after her father's death, King Tommen had gone mentally incapable to rule the Kingdom, rendering him bed ridden and mute. You pitied the boy so much but who wouldn't go crazy if your own wife would leave you just like that.

But you couldn't blame Margaery either when she went ballistic upon finding out her grandmother Lady Olenna was assassinated by Ser Jaime himself. It appeared that the Lannisters had finally found out she was the culprit behind late King Joffrey's murder.

They had also taken captive those from Dorne who attempted to execute Princess Myrcella, including Oberyn and your guardian father.

If you had to be honest, you felt a bit hurt that Cersei was now ruling with the support of Prince Doran, your real father, by her side, considering what he did and did not do to claim you as his child.

"People like them have no heart to rule Westeros," Daenerys continued, bringing you back to the present. "It will never change. . . All we have now is each other."

~~~

"I thought I'd never get to see you again," you said, greeting Tyrion as he climbed down a boat along the shores of Dragonstone. There were a group of men following his stead, and a couple of others still on their boats.

"I still have luck on my side, My Lady," he replied, looking at the sky where anyone could see four dragons flying around the castle. "It's a nice addition to the group, you know. If I had known sooner you're more than just a viper from the South, I would have served you well."

A forced cough made you look at the strangers. There was a different kind of aura coming from the burly man with a beard looking at you as if you knew each other.

"Excuse my bad manners, Lady Y/n, this is Jon Snow—"

"King Jon Snow," another man with thin white hair corrected, stepping beside Jon. "He's King in the North now."

"Right." Tyrion could only sigh. "This is Ser Davos, Jon's advisor."

"I thought the Seven Kingdoms only have one ruler," you said, earning a curious look from Jon. "I don't think my sister will appreciate such title."

"We have business to discuss with Queen Daenerys," Jon answered, walking past you, "about the things happening right now in the North. Titles will have no meaning if we're all dead."

You looked at Tyrion in confusion as he shrugged his shoulders. He urged for you to follow them as they headed towards the castle, where you could see from a distance Queen Daenerys looking down below at all of you. "The North is currently at war against the Night King."

"And we need more men," Jon added, his voice sounding urgent, "and we need more dragonglass and forge them into weapons."

"Dragonglass are known to be effective against the White Walkers," Tyrion explained by your side as you walked together. "They had been mining back and forth for months now."

"So it's true then, what they say about the White Walkers?" you asked.

Jon gave one look at you before he nodded, "Either you have dragonglass or Valyrian steel, we have no chance against them."

"What about the dragons?"

Jon bit back his mouth before he turned, walking away from you. Ser Davos gave a small bow before he went after Jon.

Tyrion sighed beside you. "He's still convincing the Queen to fight alongside him."

"What's stopping Dany?"

"Cersei."

You turned to look at him.

He went on. "Queen Daenerys will only fight with Jon if they both bent the knee in her favor. Both Jon and Cersei."

You knew then Jon would have to fight alone because there was no chance Cersei would do such a thing.

~~~

After what seemed like a lifetime discussing about the plans on the war against the White Walkers and how to convince Cersei to give up the Iron Throne, you surrendered to the darkness of the night outside the castle, facing the lonely shores of Dragonstone.

You had visited Nymeros half an hour ago. The dragon was happy it was finally where he belonged yet you could tell he was uneasy for the fight that was about to come.

"You look so much like your mother if you only had silver hair." The alluring accent made you alert and look behind you. It was none other than the Red woman herself, Melisandre. She was wearing her red cloak, a hood over her head as her eyes pierced right through you.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came into your mind. The last time you remembered, she was serving Stannis Baratheon, who died during one of the battles in the North.

"Serving the true heir to the throne," she replied, wrapping her arms around her body as the cold breeze from the sea blew towards the both of you.

"My sister have four dragons to her side," you said, chuckling lightly. "I barely think she needs a dedicated follower of the Lord of the Light too."

"I wasn't talking about her," Melisandre replied, now looking at the dark horizon before you.

Her firm response made you stare at the woman. There was no chance she knew about your parentage.

"You were there," you began, slowly remembering, "you were there at the boar hunt Joffrey had planned, at the ambush."

"I was there to protect you," she answered, "as I have sworn since the day you were born."

"What?"

"If I weren't there when Stannis' soldiers attacked you, that arrow would have lunged straight to your heart."

"But you distracted me—"

"Did I really?" Mellisandre looked at you with a smirk on her face before she turned away.

You swallowed nervously. "When you say since the day I was born. . ."

"Yes, I was there when Rhaella gave birth to you," she said. "You were so tiny then, yet your cries were as fierce as a dragon's. Rhaella made me swear to look after you and I did. All these years."

There was a brief silence of you trying to understand what she was telling you. No, she could just be lying to you. She was a witch after all.

"It was me who set Nymeros free from his chains in the cave when you were still young," she went on, "if he'd still be chained, he wouldn't be able to save you from drowning. Or that time you were held hostage by a band of thieves from Braavos, where you mysteriously succeeded in escaping not knowing your captors were already unalived."

"Why? What are you to my mother? Why do you owe her that much to save a child you barely knew?"

Melisandre only went silent, avoiding your gaze.

~~~

"Let me convince her," you said, seeing defeat from your sister and Jon's faces when they came back from the Capital with no good news. Cersei didn't waver. She was stubborn, face stoic as what Ser Davos had observed when she watched a White Walker Jon had captured from the North just to convince everyone in Westeros that death was real.

Daenerys even lost one of her dragons for that quest, yet Cersei was still merciless and selfish.

Daenerys scoffed. "You think she'd bend the knee just because you did? I thought you know her enough."

"I know she'd never bend the knee, but she'd fight alongside with you if she knew what we're facing against—"

"She had enough of that evidence running straight to her face yet it still didn't scare her," Ser Davos butted in.

"Cersei, however less of expression her face shows, is mighty convinced the sea surrounding the Capital will keep the White Walkers away," Varys chimed in. "Unless they have figured out ways to swim or fly."

"Which they can now that they have one of my children," Daenerys hissed.

"I know Cersei since I was a child," Jon interrupted. "She has no heart—"

"You're wrong," you said, defending Cersei. You were whipped, but you knew the Lannister woman better than anyone in the room did. "You don't know her better than I do. She cares enough even when she doesn't show it—"

"Maybe to you," Tyrion said. "But what about now when you're no longer a good fuck to her?"

You glared at Tyrion, knowing he had a point. You didn't exactly leave Cersei in good terms.

"You always knew what she was but you loved her anyway," Tyrion added, sighing in defeat.

"At least, let me try," you pleaded, now facing Daenerys. She was hesitant to let you go. She hadn't even let you go with them. Maybe she did care about you. Or maybe she didn't trust you enough to be loyal to her and go back.

"Bring Nymeros with you," Daenerys said, as she walked away from the counselors. You nodded eagerly amidst the complaints from others, not wasting another second to leave the room.

~~~

"Did you forget what I said I'd do when I see you step your foot in the Capital?" Cersei's cold voice echoed through the entire hall. "You are looking for death if you think I'd help you and your usurper of a sister's cause."

You knew you should be scared. Tyrion had been right all along. You were immediately captured the moment Nymeros left you as soon as you landed on the shores of the Red Keep, near the Blackwater gates.

But even when the Queen's guards poked you with their spears as they forced you to kneel before her, before Cersei herself, you couldn't find it in yourself to be terrified of her.

For almost two months of not seeing her, all you wanted to do was kiss the woman, hug her, touch her and more. Cersei looked much fiercer and tougher than she was the last time you saw her. She had changed yet beauty still incomparable. Her golden hair was adorned with the most elegant looking crown with the Lannister's sigil.

Aside from Nymeros, she was truly the only beautiful thing you had ever witnessed in your life.

But of course, Cersei never cared about you. You were just a good lay, as Tyrion had said.

"My Queen," you bowed down your head, "I plead for you to take mercy. We need more men to fight in the North. We cannot defeat the White Walkers without your help—"

"And what? After the war, you all would seek the throne? When my men are already depleted, you'd take advantage over us? Do you think me of a fool, Lady Y/n?"

You met her gaze, and she was gritting her teeth, anger seething.

"I will never bend the knee," Cersei said with finality in her tone. You exhaled heavily. If you could just talk to her alone, you'd make her understand.

You were about to retort but she held her hand, stopping you. "We will deal with what it's left when you fight against the White Walkers."

Your eyes never wandered as you stared right through her, waiting if she'd also break like you did. However when Prince Doran entered the hall, his eyes on you, you looked away.

"Y/n Martell," Doran called, now standing beside the Queen. "Finally on your knees ready to commit to your crimes?"

"For what? For being your daughter?" you snide back.

Doran went silent for a moment before he walked slowly towards you, unsheathing his sword from his belt. "She was never born. You're no daughter of mine. You're an impostor."

"She is mine to execute," Cersei said, standing up from her seat.

Doran shook his head, facing the Lannister woman. "I chose to serve you, Your Grace. But when one of my people had betrayed me, they will only answer to me alone."

Then he looked back at you. "I've loved Rhaella with all my life but she also chose to betray me in the end. I married her even, convinced the Citadel to annul their marriage beforehand," the statement made everyone in the hall whisper, "yet when I told her to go to Dorne to finally be with me, she chose to stay with the Mad King."

"Are you not sure she was not referring to stay away from you?"

Doran glared at you before he raised his sword ready to hit, but a blade went through his chest, making him gulp in his own blood.

"Bring Y/n to the dungeons," the Queen announced when Doran's body hit the floor with a loud thud. Jamie stood behind Doran, holding a bloody sword. The guards dragged your frozen limb, your eyes still on the bloody figure of the man you thought who'd accept you as his own.

~~~

"The Queen has requested me to escort Y/n to her council room," Qyburn announced to the soldiers guarding you outside your cell in the dungeon not half an hour later from the incident.

When you and Qyburn headed through empty corridors of the castle, you attempted to untie the rope around your wrists. Qyburn helped you when you both have arrived at the door and you were still unsuccessful of untying it yourself.

Cersei was alone, staring out the windows with her hand on the railing, when you entered the room. Qyburn then closed the door, leaving you two.

The air had suddenly gone heavy. The Queen turned her head to finally look at you.

When it was only the two of you, there was an unspoken tension. You swallowed nervously, ready to speak yet Cersei's eyes on you didn't waver.

And as if on instinct, she moved forward towards you as you met her halfway, her arms welcoming you as you embraced her back so tightly. Breathing everything that was her, you tightened your hug around the woman, afraid that if you'd let her go, it would be the last time.

Cersei's hands fisted around your tunic, unbelievable strength coming from the Lannister woman. Then you pulled away as you cupped her face, pulling her close as you pressed your lips against hers.

And it was carnal. The hunger you had for each other was incomparable. Her hands held your head against hers, pulling you closer and closer.

She was devouring you like she had been deprived from sustenance. You pushed the woman against the wall as you returned the same force she showed, tongues dancing against each other, short breaths, gasps, sighs, and moans managed to come out from the little moments your lips would pull away from each other before reconnecting.

And then you could taste it. The bitter taste of Cersei's tears made you pull away, cupping her face gently as the woman only tried to chase after your mouth.

Leaning your forehead against hers, your thumbs wiped the offending liquid before meeting her lips in a slow soft kiss.

"I miss you," Cersei croaked, misery evident in her voice.

Giving her a weak smile, you nodded back. "There's not a day when I didn't think of you, Cersei. Even my dreams were filled with the thoughts of you."

"Why?"

You slowly pulled away as you met her cold hard gaze, her eyes carrying a look of disdain.

"Why did you not come back?"

"I couldn't —"

But then Cersei was already pushing you away as she walked towards her desk, licking her lips with the taste from you. "You didn't even send me a raven."

"Dany—"

Her mocking laughter stopped you. "Dany? You've barely even known her and you're already calling her Dany—"

"She's my sister," you answered, moving towards her.

"Well, I'm your . . . ," she stammered, hesitant. "I'm your . . ."

You could see the dilemma on her face and you pulled her closer. "You're still my Queen. You're my other half, the one I love."

Cersei bit her lower lip to stop herself from sobbing. Then she shook her head as she pushed you away again, turning to look at the window.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, exhaling a heavy breath. "Your love doesn't matter. Your feelings don't matter."

There was a pause of silence before you ended it.

"Then why are we here? Why did you allow me to come?"

The Lannister woman scoffed. "Not to help my enemies collaborate in my destruction. Jon Snow has now chosen to serve her. You have already submitted to her, and now you're making me too—"

"I want you to help us. To help the realm—"

"But eventually, you want everyone to bend the knee to her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I think she will make the world a better place."

"You think she will not be like her father, the Mad King?"

"She has trusted advisors who would check her worst impulses instead of feeding them."

"Mm, my traitor of a brother. Fine," she walked away, "serve her. Choose her. What you said are true. I don't care about checking my worst impulses. I don't care about making the world a better place. Hang the world. That thing they dragged here, I know what it is, I know what it means. And when it came at me, I didn't think about the world. Not at all."

She stopped, her hand on her stomach. Then she looked at you and she still looked as lost as she was.

You heard Nymeros roar from a distance, growing impatient wondering where you were and why you had not come back.

"Ever wondered why your dragon did not attack me that day you left Dorne?" she asked. You stared at her in confusion. "It was because a part of you is already living inside of me."

And your eyes instinctively went to the hand on her stomach. You slowly approached her, your shaking hands caressing her lower stomach.

"It's . . ." You stopped, memories of Jaime's threats swimming in your head.

The sight made Cersei sad, her hand cupping your face. "I have not been with anyone other than you. I swear on my mother's deathbed. If the dragon had sensed it, then you should know it's true. It's yours, Y/n."

"It's mine?" you asked again, voice almost crying from happiness. The smile on your face hurt. She nodded back, pressing her forehead against yours. Your arms slithered around her, hers around your back, her head buried in your neck as you hugged each other.

"Then you know that I must leave," you said, making the woman lose her control, pull away and sob in front of you, shaking her head. "For you and our baby, Cersei—"

"No, Y/n, I want you here! With me! With us!"

"Death is upon us if we won't take action," you reasoned with her, hands cupping around her face. "I won't let that happen."

"You can't do anything to stop them," Cersei spat back. "They had even defeated one of her dragons—"

"We have three against one—"

"If the dragons can't stop them, if Dothraki and Unsullied and Northmen can't stop them, how will our armies make a difference?" she hissed, tears rolling down her face as you failed to stop her from crying. "This isn't about noble houses anymore, this is about the living and the dead! And I intend to stay amongst the living."

"Cersei—"

"Let the Stark boy and his new queen defend the North. We stay here where we've always been, where we belong."

"I made a promise to my sister—"

"Our child will rule Westeros. Doran admitted his marriage to your mother Rhaella. I made Qyburn consult with the Citadel Maesters and it's true what Doran said. Rhaella's marriage to the Mad King was annuled before she bore Daenerys. This makes you the rightful heir—"

"Our child will never be born if the dead come south," you said.

Shaking her head, Cersei stood her ground. "Let the monsters kill each other. And while they battle in the North, we take back the lands that belong to us, that your sister took."

"And then what?"

"And then we rule."

"When the fighting in the North is over, someone wins. You understand that, don't you? If the dead win, they march south and kill us all—"

"If the living win, and we've betrayed them, they march south and kill us all! They already want to kill us all. Most of them will die in the North."

You slowly pulled away, knowing there wasn't a single thing that would change the Lannister woman's mind. She was set to be selfish. But you'd do anything for her, for your child.

Cersei sighed as she made her way to her desk, leaning against the wood. You made your way to the door, planning your escape, knowing your visit was a failure. "Leave through the tunnels down the Kitchen's Keep. It will lead you straight to a trail beside the Blackwater Rush. The soldiers won't see you there."

You turned to look at the woman, who was already staring at you. Eyes spoke more what words couldn't. "I hate that you still choose to betray me."

"I love you," you said, "and I'm doing this for the both of you."

When you were about to close the door, you heard shuffling behind before the woman engulfed you in an embrace, hugging your back, her arms around your stomach.

"Cersei—"

"Come back to me alive," she whispered. "Promise me you'll come back alive and I will give that sister of yours thousands of my men to fight alongside you."

A smile crept into your face as you turned around and hugged the woman back. "I promise. You're my home, Cersei. You'll always be my home."

The clutch Cersei had on your back tightened as she buried her face deeper into your chest.

Author's note: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link.

[nethhiri]

Kid and killer with someone who is a literal mouse/rat ? ate the mouse zoan fruit unknowingly thinking I’d be a cooler ability

I hope you don't mind if I turned this into a little drabble bc it inspired me. It was such a cute idea.

(Okay this got out of hand... I am incapable of telling a succinct story)

The Only Free Cheese Is in the Mousetrap

You had to admit, when you first ate the Mouse-Mouse fruit, you thought it was going to be something a little bit cooler. Mice were small and lame. No one would blink twice at a silly little mouse. As it turned out, that was your advantage.

You had been trying to hitch a ride through the Grand Line and you had been successful for the most part, hiding in the storage of random ships, eating whatever you could find. You didn't need much as an innocent little mouse. This ship, however, had no food in storage. There were only weapons and prisoners. If you got caught on this ship, the consequences would surely be dire.

The mistake was made when you decided to venture around the ship in search of food. You happened to find yourself in the workshop of the notorious K.I.D., Eustass 'Captain' Kid that is. Unfortunately you were a very unique, bright white mouse. It didn't leave you much in the way of camouflage, unless there was a bowl of flour somewhere. Even more unfortunate was that Kid was a very observant man and spotted you instantly.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A wee mouse?" Kid crouched in front of you.

You had been so sure he was going to crush you under his foot.

"Yer not even scared, eh?"

In truth, you were terrified, in the third, secret state of fight or flight: freeze.

"Wait here, mousey."

Kid returned to his bench, where there was a mostly empty plate, save for some crumbs. He collected them in his hands and returned to the interesting white mouse, sprinkling them on the floor.

"Here ya go."

He returned to his work, glancing up at you every so often to watch you nibble on the crumbs.

The next evening, you returned. He wasn't going to squish you and he even fed you. If he continued, you could just do this and survive until the next stop in port. You were pleasantly surprised to find that he had already set out some cubes of cheese.

"There ya go, mousey. I got the good stuff from Killer's stash."

That made your tiny mouse ears flick forward. So there's better food somewhere on the ship.

It turned out, you didn't have to search for it. Kid brought it to you. Over the next evenings, Kid left grapes, cheese, bread, bananas, and a bunch of other little tidbits. After about a week, there was a tiny metal table and chair set out with the food on top. You played along and sat in the chair for him, which mad him extremely happy. He moved it slightly closer to his bench every night until it was on the top of his desk. If someone had told you that you would be eating cubes of cheese, sitting on the desk of Eustass 'Captain' Kid, you would have laughed in their faces, but here you were doing just that.

This evolved even further until you were being carried around in a pocket on the inside of his coat. It was a little warm, but it offered protection. Every so often, he would sneak a crumb into the pocket for you.

"Boss, why are you feeding your coat?" Heat had been watching him put crumbs in his pocket over the course of dinner.

"No I'm not!" Kid said defensively, not answering the question correctly.

Killer reached out to pull open his coat, but Kid snatched it closer to him. Killer tugged on it harder.

"Stop it! Yer gonna hurt Mousey!"

"Mousey?" Killer let go of Kid's coat.

Kid hmphed.

"Kid."

Begrudgingly, Kid opened his coat.

"I don't see anything," Wire quipped.

Kid's face had a light dusting of pink. He whispered into his coat, "Come on out." Nothing happened. "It's okay."

You didn't expect to be revealed to anyone and you were reluctant to come out. Kid had kept you safe this far, though. You poked your snout out of the pocket and sniffed. There were quite a lot of people in the room. Your round, soft ears followed until your whole head was peering out of the pocket's edge. You were met with a chorus of adoring squeals from the girls and even some of the guys in the crew. Kid scratched between your ears, which you were ashamed to say, felt amazing and a squeak slipped out of your mouse mouth.

Heat covered his face. "So cute." Heat reached out to scratch your head.

"Don't ya touch my Mousey." Kid possessively closed his coat.

Heat's face got even sadder than it normally was.

"Just keep that thing out of my kitchen," Killer said. "They're full of germs."

Kid muttered down into the pocket. "Don't listen to him, Mousey. He's just jealous."

The next few days, since you weren't really a secret anymore, you spent sitting on Kid's shoulder. Killer had just as much disdain for you as he did initially, much to Kid's dismay. He really wanted his first mate to think you were as cool as Kid thought. Even the tiny leather jacket he made you didn't convince the blonde.

Kid fed you well, but you were still intrigued by this secret food stash that supposedly existed. There wasn't much entertainment as a mouse on a ship and you were getting bored. So at night, you had been searching the ship for this treasure. The kitchen was the most obvious, yet the scariest place to hunt. Certainly if there was hidden food, it would be there, however, Killer was extremely territorial and observant. It would be dangerous to search that particular area. Tonight was the night you would risk it.

It was easy enough to slip under the kitchen door. Finding the good treats was harder, but your well-equipped nose was able to sniff them out. The problem came when your tiny mouse hands were unable to figure out how to open the secret paneling that the food was hidden behind. You could turn into your human form, risky as it was. It would be nice to stretch it out. You had been a mouse for several weeks.

Taking your human form, you poked around the paneling until it revealed its contents. There was a variety of fancy or high quality specialty foods, including cheeses and preserved meats. You found a knife and cut small pieces from a few things you were interested in. Then you put everything back in its approximate original position. You climbed onto the counter and reverted back into a mouse, stuffing the tiny pieces of food you had curated into your cheeks.

The following day, as Killer went about his business, he noticed a set of bare footprints on the floor. There was a light dusting of flour from the day before when he made pasta from scratch. He hadn't noticed it before now. What was strange was that the footprints were only in one spot, like a person materialized and dematerialized there. It was also strange that someone who wasn't Kid was barefoot in the kitchen, and these footprints were about half the size of his. He somewhat brushed it off, that is, until he noticed the other footprints on the counter, the much tinier, much mousier footprints.

You had been spending most of your time in the walls of the ship, when you weren't being carried around in Kid's pocket. Today was no exception. You spent some of your time exploring listening in on others' conversations. Peering through the cracks of the wood, you decided to eavesdrop on Kid. Killer had come to talk to him and you were curious about what the captain and first-mate talked about. It was a good thing you did, since you were the subject matter.

"Kid, there's something up with your mouse."

His head snapped up from what he was doing. "What? Did something happen to them?"

"The 'mouse' is fine." Killer made air-quotes as he spoke.

"What do ya mean 'mouse'?" Kid copied his air-quotes.

"I mean I don't think it's just a mouse." Killer explained. "There are footprints in my kitchen that go from human to mouse." Killer wasn't stupid. He could put the pieces together.

"So ya think Mousey is a person?"

"I do."

"Prove it."

Shit. He was on to you. You didn't even notice the footprints you left behind. Should you even show up to eat? Or would it be more suspicious if you didn't? You ended up waiting until Kid left for the night before skittering out to grab your little crumbs and retreating into the wall.

You made yourself relatively scarce for the next few days, meaning you spent more time spying on the crew, for entertainment purposes only. One particular conversation caught your attention. You only caught portions of it, but it was clearly a mutinous theme. It ended shortly after you caught on to it, however, so you didn't get any details. Technically, it wasn't your problem. This wasn't your crew and you weren't planning on sticking around. It ate at you though. It felt wrong not to repay Kid for keeping you safe. Maybe you could return the favor.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary after that. Maybe they had given up on their plans. Until one evening in particular, someone new had delivered Kid's dinner to his workshop. He didn't always eat in there but he did more and more after he started feeding you. There was something off about the smell of the food. It wasn't right. Before Kid could eat any, you scrambled up to the table and bit his hand as he reached for the fork.

"Mousey! What the fuck?! That hurt." Kid bopped your head with a finger. "No biting."

As he reached for the fork again you knocked it onto the floor.

"Don't piss me off, Mouse."

He wasn't going to take the hint. He leaned over to pick up the fork, which is when you took the opportunity to push the plate onto the floor.

"FUCK!"

You knew he wasn't going to be happy, in spite of that, you couldn't watch him eat poisoned food. You tried to run away afterward, knowing this. However, you were slow compared to him and his powers quickly put a tiny metal cage around you.

"Ya act like this after all I've done for ya?! Bad mouse!" He picked up the miniature jail cell and gave it a shake, causing you to tumble around inside, with squeaks of discomfort.

Kid stomped off with you in tow and threw you to Killer once he found the first mate.

"Take this little shit to the brig."

Killer gave him a questioning look behind his mask. "You want me to put the mouse in a cell?"

"Well, I ain't gonna kill it. I'm not a monster."

Kid relayed all your crimes to the blonde. It was funny, how Killer felt a little bit bad for you, even though he had never shown you favor prior to that. You bounced with every step he took down to the brig.

"Oh, Mousey. You fucked up." Killer was to keep you here until they docked somewhere to let you go.

No, you fucked up. Neither of them were familiar with mouse physiology it seemed. The bars on your prison were way too far apart. As soon as Killer left, you squeezed out of the cage and made a beeline back to Kid's workshop.

It was vacant at the moment. You hurried to the desk and found a writing instrument. It was tough in your diminutive body, but you left a message for the captain:

YOU ARE IN DANGER.

You hoped he took it seriously. Then you scurried your furry body back to your cell before anyone noticed, not that they would.

Unfortunately, Kid thought it was a prank. You tried another note on his desk. You tried to leave him a note on his mirror in lipstick. At this point, Kid considered that there was a ghost on board. Clearly this method wasn't working. Once it became obvious, you started venturing out of the cage when you knew there wasn't anyone scheduled to come down there to feed or check on you. The next best thing to try was going back to spying and figuring out who exactly was involved.

Now, what you would do when you figured it out? That was decided for you. It wasn't what you intended. But what were you supposed to do? One of the men spotted you. And he backed you into a corner. And he was going to step on you. Your only choice was to transform. And when he pulled a knife? Well, of course you had to disarm him. And now that he had seen you and knew you heard his plot, you couldn't just leave a loose end like that. So you had no choice but to cut his throat. You left the knife in his hand. Not very believable but there were footsteps in the hall and you had to get out of there.

Not long after that, Killer came down to your cell and squatted down, lifting your prison until you were eye level.

"I know it was you."

You licked your paw and groomed your ear, very cutely, you might add.

"You can't fool me. You really need to learn to cover your tracks."

You scratched the back of your other ear with your hind leg.

Killer let out a frustrated growl and dropped your cage. He stomped out of the brig.

How is he so observant! You really should have remembered about the tracks, especially since that's how he noticed the first time. Now what? Either their plan would be foiled by losing a member or they would escalate, thinking they had been found out. You knew there were others, and you had to find out who they were, and quickly.

Your investigative antics became riskier. You went into cabins and dug through drawers. You followed people around using the walls. You were getting closer. Until one day, you found two more people chatting. They were definitely up to no good. The more you listened the more alarmed you were. They were going to make an attempt on Kid's life again tomorrow.

There was no way you could take them both on. The only reason you won against the other guy was because you took him by surprise. You couldn't send a message to Kid either. That hadn't worked. If you tried to tell him as a human, he wouldn't trust that. The only person that knew your secret, or at least was fairly confident in his assumptions, was Killer. Maybe you could risk telling him. Maybe he would believe you. It was doubtful.

When you scampered back to your cage, you came to an abrupt stop. Killer was there waiting for you. You gulped. You were frozen. You were caught.

"Where have you been, mouse?"

The jig was most certainly up. He snatched you in his fist faster than you thought possible. You squeaked, trying to gain a little sympathy as a cute creature. Maybe it would make him believe you were a regular mouse. Then you bit him. He didn't even flinch. He was smart. He was trying to force you to reveal yourself, squeezing you gradually tighter and tighter.

You were forced into your human form to avoid being crushed, even then, his grip on your throat was immovable. You could sense his smugness in being right. He wasn't even surprised. You were grateful that however this fruit worked, you got to keep your clothes on when you transformed.

"Stop! Please!" You scratched at his hands.

Killer slammed you against the wall. "You killed one of my crew! You're going to pay for it."

"M-mu-tiny," you rasped out. The edges of your vision were going black.

Killer loosened his grip. "What did you say?"

"There's gonna be a mutiny."

Killer pushed you against the wall harder. "So you're a murderer and you've turned our own crew against us?"

"N-no. Please. L-et me go." You gasped for air. "I'll ex-plain."

Killer was decent enough to hear you out, and was shocked by the accusations. You couldn't help him further though. You hadn't heard their names and the way you described them was vague. It left Killer in a tough place. He didn't trust you, yet if you were telling the truth and his captain was in danger, he had to.

"I-I have an idea."

Killer didn't like your idea. Yet, it was better than anything he could think of, so he went along with it. And that was how you found yourself sitting on the inside of the Massacre Soldier's helmet, hanging onto his hair the next day. You could see out of the eyeholes better than you expected. Killer was strategically staring at each individual member and you were to whisper in his ear when you saw the people who were plotting.

As you spotted them, you hurriedly signaled to Killer that they were the culprits. As they had no proof, Killer was simply going to talk to them. But, as one does when being approached by a brick house of a man like Massacre Soldier, they got scared. This was not their plan, but they were so nervous, especially after one of them was killed, that they thought they had been found out. They both jumped Killer, and in the process of him defending himself, you slipped out of his mask and fell onto the deck.

You shook it off and your eyes searched for Kid, who was so distracted by the seemingly random scuffle, that he wasn't watching his own back, where a third, unexpected assailant was waiting. You ran as fast as your short legs would carry you. He spotted you instantly.

"Mousey? How'd you-"

Kid was taken aback by watching you run straight through his legs, and as he turned, seeing you transmute your form into that of a human. A human who was wrestling a gun out of someone's hand. Someone who was obviously trying to point said gun at him.

Regrettably, Kid was just a touch too shocked to react in time. His devil fruit activated to take the gun, but only after a shot was fired. He felt nothing. You, on the other hand, dropped to your knees and doubled over, clutching your midsection.

Was this how you imagined yourself being celestially discharged from this life? No. Did you have regrets? Probably. But saving Eustass Kid wasn't one of them. After all, what other mouse could say they saved a notorious pirate captain? Maybe your devil fruit wasn't that lame in the end.

______________________________________________________________

Kid thought about you a lot. They didn't have a trained doctor on board. They had to leave you at an island that had, thankfully, been in close range for you to be treated. He shouldn't be sad; his plan was to drop you off at the next island. Still, it felt wrong not to say goodbye or at least thank you.

Killer was grateful to you for saving his captain, even after being 'imprisoned' and roughed up by them. Even though you owed them no loyalty, you were more loyal than crewmates they had on board for months.

Several weeks passed. Kid happened to look up to see the NewsCoo delivery bird. The bird landed with a newspaper, some new wanted posters, and a small package. Curious, Kid picked it up and shook it next to his ear. Weird, what kind of gift made squeaks. Kid tore it open to find a dazed, white mouse.

"Oh fuck! Mousey! Sorry!"

You stumbled around in his hand, dizzy.

He hugged his hand to his chest and gave you a giant kiss on the head, staining your white fur red. In his excitement, he forgot you were a person. Upon remembering, he had a pink dusting to his cheeks and set you down.

You transformed into a human in front of him.

"Why did ya come in the mail?!"

"Cheaper fare than a boat," you grinned.

Kid all but threw you over his shoulder. "Killer! Look what we got in the mail!"

Killer stifled a laugh as he noticed a big red imprint of lips on your forehead. Kid went just as red as the mark when he noticed that it transferred to your human appearance. And neither one of those assholes told you it was there either.

Kid dropped the "y" from the end of your name from then on, but slipped up on occasion, still referring to you as Mousey. He still asked you to join him for dinner sometimes, too, as a person though, not a mouse; he didn't give you crumbs either. He liked your company.

Killer was impressed by your knowledge of cheeses and asked you to come shopping with him on islands for provisions. You also had a knack for picking the ripest fruits. He usually asked you to personally deliver Kid's meals, you know, to avoid another poisoning.

And some would even go as far as to say they saw a white critter scurrying under Kid or Killer's doors in the late hours of the night or scurrying out early in the morning.

[brucewaynehater101]

I remember this one shot where tim & bruce swaps bodies while bruce is as batman in some jla meeting. Tim just continues it perfectly.

This is the body swap au, btw

Anyways, would Tim do a good job as Batman?. I think if Tim sees the swap as something brief he would do his best. (But we all make them swap long enough to Tim having enough time for long term plans) so if Tim gaslights himself into believing they would swap back after some weeks, he would do better. He thinks he can do better as a way to show he can be Batman without being a evil one(he's fighting the gun Batman allegations).

Still, it would be funny that in his "I'm gonna fix Bruce's life while am here plan".

Tim acts less as a classic moody batman while in the atalaya. Gives more and kind advice. He talks with Superman about his situation with Kon. He helps Flash with his eating schedule. He helps Arthur with whatever is going on in Atlantis. He shuts off all of the surveillance on Bruce's coworkers, just to mess with Bruce.

He just avoids Martian tho.

Then, it's been a month since the swap. They don't seem to find any way back. Tim cannot lie to himself anymore and the Batman duties are becoming way too much.

Then Bruce dies in Tim's body.

Tim never wanted to be Batman, neither to be like Bruce. But he messed Tim up. Tim never wanted to be like Bruce Wayne. And now he is living his nightmare, every day since Bruce death, Tim has to wake up and avoid his reflection. Tim never wanted to be like Bruce Wayne and now everyone call him the wrong name. Bruce died and Tim does what he does best, he sacrifices. He ditchs his identity any hope of being Tim Drake, so Batman can rise once again.

.

.

(The last paragraph is a little darker end of the version of this au where Bruce dies in Tim's body. I happily would read some of your ideas where none of them dies tho. There's just so many aspects os this au we can develop more, also we need more bruce pov of this).

Here is the post being referenced!

[I'm sorry to say that 90% of Bruce POV's are just gonna be him suffering.... I can try, though. Put up a valiant effort]

Let's really pack in that angst, shall we?

For this AU, Tim has been compared to Bruce so many fucking times.

At first, despite his shaky relationship with the grieving man, he took it as a compliment. He was like his hero Batman!

It started with Alfred fondly tutting over Tim's capacity to neglect self care duties and his shared interests. The older man would sarcastically ask Tim if he was following Bruce's footsteps of being a loner who sits in his basement all day (just teasing and joking and slight reprimanding).

Then there were the heroes that remarked on Robin's uncanny ability to do the batglare or translate Bruce's grunts.

When Steph and Tim got into arguments (and Tim was being a grade A asshole), Steph would compare Tim's emotional incapability and distrust with Batman's.

Dick, in the heat of the moment, has yelled at Tim to stop acting like Bruce (they got ice cream afterwards as an apology).

Jason has tsked and grumbled and shouted about Tim being molded into Bruce's shape/image.

Even Babs has made a comment or two.

While they didn't mean to hurt Tim (unless they were fighting [for which they would both usually make up and apologize]), it caused a small dig and insecurity to Tim's own self-image.

He wanted Bruce to be proud of him.

Tim wanted to be nothing like Bruce.

Then you add on the 16th birthday, Bruce's shit with Steph, how Bruce treats his other kids, other canon events, gun Batman, and Tim losing the rose-colored glasses of childhood?

Yeah. Tim doesn't want to be Bruce.

It seems fitting, after stealing Robin, that he'd get stuck under the name of the man he grew to see as a warning.

It figures that his choice in saving Batman lead to Tim's loss of self.

[Hmm... I can do another post chatting about Bruce or no one dying if you would like.... Or someone else dying before the truth comes out :)]

[frazzledsoul]

Rhaenys Targaryen is still the worst and I'm glad the show narrative is rid of her.

Unrepentant mass murderer, fails to advocate for her granddaughters, is completely submissive to Corlys and his misplaced devotion to Rhaenyra and Daemon even as those two screw over their family left and right. Yet she still chided Alicent on being submissive to the men in her life even as Rhaenyra and Daemon completely control her after she lost both her children because of them. She goes on and on about what a great queen she would have been, yet she can't make a decision on her own for the life of her unless it involves murdering hundreds of the people she claims she should have ruled over.

Rhaenyra shares a lot of these qualities (claims she's going to be a great queen, yet relies too heavily on the men in her life to make decisions for her and seems to be perpetually incapable of doing anything on her own). Yet Rhaenyra hasn't murdered smallfolk en masse, nor is she submissive to the person who killed her child. It's not much, but it's something, at least.

Frankly, both of them are absolutely dim-witted and pathetic. Ryan and Sara are so insistent on Rhaenyra being a victim that they refuse to let her do anything remotely interesting. She's the main character, yet they've defended her so much she's mostly just bland and passive. Ugh. Zzzzzzzz. She's truly made in Rhaenys's image, I guess, but the fact that Rhaenys murdered her own people and still claims to be peace-seeking and virtuous actually doesn't make her more interesting. She doesn't even defend her actions the way Cersei or Dany or even pre-resurrection Jon would, but still continues to play the victim. There's not an iota of great leader potential in either of them.

Game of Thrones wasn't afraid of strong female characters who occasionally did dastardly things, but House of the Dragon seems to be terrified of the concept. They're afraid to even use the dragon pit scene that they (unwisely) created to its full potential by having Rhaenys defend her actions. She's still a victim, still a martyr, because that's the only kind of female character they seem to be able to fathom.

[dreamingunderacloudysky]

What's your opinion on all the Jimmy enjoyers and fetish content out there?

Whew, ok, I felt like I was going to get asked this, but not THIS soon.

Ok. I'm totally fine with people liking Jimmy, he's a well written character with a complex array of issues and instincts which drive him forward as well as mysterious background for what really drove him to be in that crew. Most Jimmy enjoyers I meet are actually pretty chill for the most part. Do I like him?

Well...

Not exactly. I do believe in creative choice. People can write whatever they want, even if a lot of it I find disturbing. Jimmy's character made me actually feel upset at multiple points in the game, but thays a sign of just how humanly fucked up he's depicted. He's so human and does messed up but very human things, which makes it all feel real on an unsettling level.

The people I generally do not interact with are the people who FETISHIZE Jimmy's assault of Anya and say stuff like "She probably liked it ngl" like actually that is super gross and I really wasn't planning on bringing it up here, but years ago I myself was taken advantage of by another woman so for my case yes I cannot fathom the type of stuff people say or write with Jimmy. If someone is attracted to Jimmy, stop telling them to see a therapist (I mean, I think we all should after having played this game good lord the game messed with my psyche) while I dont agree with it and I don't understand how people can be attracted to him, it's also not my brain. They may be cringe, but they are free unless they're saying the type of comments I said earlier because they actually get off the internet.

This Fandom is very weird, and I'll admit me writing NSFW for it loops me in somewhat in a taboo spot, but I'm sorry Wrong Organ you made well written kissable polygons.

Before I get asked this next, WHY do I not write for Jimmy?

Just reread what I said earlier on how his involvement in the story, along with how Anya's played in part which hurt me in my soul and you'll understand that I personally cannot write for him without stirring up some unpleasant concepts of my past and just the general overall summary of his actions.

I'll be honest, I really don't want to write Curly either. As someone who worked in a leadership role for 8 years and take classes for my job to continue to do that Curly was a terrible leader 🙃 and made me want to bite chunks off of my keyboard like a Kit Kat. He is barely the lesser evil of Curly, and as a famous statement, I firmly believe

"Bad things happen when good people stand by"

But I will write Curly because why the hell not! I'm personally not attracted to him (first of all I'm a girl kisser, second of all we didn't see get to see him oerate pre-crash aside from playing AS him) But he's a good way to flex my writing muscles and give the masses some of my take on Curly. All the characters would be pretty fun to write for

So Jimmy enjoyers, sorry that you get harassed, but the weirdos, including the non Jimmy, fans need to keep their weird ass comments off of normal posts and not justify SA.

While I'm on this of yall want me to point out some stuff I don't like that is done with the character I'll leave a small list.

Jimmy fans... do i need to elaborate on what the weird ones do?

Some people make post SA Anya like she's a non functional human being and incapable of living and just an actual extremely dependent ball of constant sadness. Don't let her SA define her character just how SA victims aren't defined by their perpetrators. Don't romanticize abuse period

Daisuke I hear people complain about him being infantalized, but you have a bubbly character in any Fandom and they're going to babygirlify them I'm sorry it sucks for his fans but I hope I'm not writing hi that way he's just a silly man in my writing.

Swansea... I don't have much to say on it, a little strange to me that people hunger for a married man, but he's fictional so while I don't feel comfortable writing him romantically Swansea lovers can pop off hope you homies have fun!

Curly. Just the people saying he did nothing wrong. That's just cringe and honestly these are all strange pixel crushes we shouldn't be having but have them anyways so pop off to you homies too.

If anyone has comments or disagreements that's totally valid, feel free to leave them in the comments and I promise I won't bite if you don't. ☁️☁️☁️☁️

[doberbutts]

weird question, but is there a reason why humans with rabies don't become as mindlessly aggressive as animals with rabies? like, how come people with rabies aren't running around biting everyone?

If I'd hazard a guess, it probably cooks us before we progress that far. Additionally, it also likely has something to do with natural instinct- humans with rabies while they are still able to talk report feeling intense fear and pain while experiencing hallucinations.

Most humans actively don't want to hurt other people- I have a schizophrenic aunt and even in her worst delusions and hallucinations where she may be screaming threats, she's never actually followed through on any of them because she genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone when she's capable of processing situations logically. Similarly, I have a friend-of-a-friend who is also severely mentally ill, and the only times he's ever hurt someone are when he gets grabbed while he's hallucinating that someone is trying to hurt him. Those he's lashed out at in this state get shoved or kicked or punched before he continues to try to get away from them (they also forgive him immediately because they are his caretakers and understand his mental state very well).

When we started using tools as a species, we also stopped reaching for "biting you" as a defensive response unless there is truly no other choice. Even in the grips of intense fear and panic and pain and delusion and hallucination and paranoia, humans are more likely to choose literally any other option than teeth unless that's their last line of defense. We probably did bite each other back when we were no different than our great ape cousins.

More or less, I'm not entirely convinced that rabies sends signals for "bite" specifically, and is more sending signals for "attack", and humans don't really reach for "bite" when attacking as a general rule unlike other animals. Humans who are restrained in their hospital beds are significantly more likely to bite their caregivers- shoving, kicking, and punching are out of the question when you're tied down. That is true regardless of if they have rabies or not.

Additionally, the virus seems to only progress so far before it stagnates at a specific stage in certain animals. Bats are significantly more likely to have "dumb rabies" than "furious rabies". This could be due to a number of things ranging from "dumb rabies makes them incapable of flight and fucks up their sonar [true!] and so they starve to death before symptoms can progress past that [theory!] since they have fast metabolisms and missing even a single night's meal is devastating to their health [true!]" to "bats show some resistance to rabies as a whole [true!] and thus it may take much longer for symptoms to progress in the usual manner and so the bat generally dies before it can go any further [theory!]" Bats CAN progress to the furious stage, but we don't tend to see it as often.

There has never been a recorded instance of rabies passing from human to human so my money's on a combo of the two theories. It's very possible that Grug The Caveman got rabies from the wolves he was trying to tame and then wiped out his entire society by zombie-biting the fuck out of everyone who tried to help him. But we weren't writing things down at that point, so we have no way of knowing.

Rabies' first documentation is 4000 years ago- but it's very possible it existed before that, since the writing just states that the owner of a rabid dog needs to take provisions against it biting anyone, meaning we knew by then what rabies was and that the bite was dangerous. It's very possible this disease has followed us around since before humans harnessed fire and invented the wheel. That's a decent amount of un-accounted-for time for humans to have hulked out and started zombie-biting.

We have so many folkstory monsters in nearly every culture on the planet that boil down to "had contact with an animal that was acting strangly, turned me into a savage monster that tries to kill everything I see less than a month later, btw my monster disease is super contagious and I spread it by biting the fuck out of you" that predate any modern science knowledge of how the virus works, which makes me think that it probably did happen back in the caveman days and it's ancestrial memory that has us clinging to these concepts to this day.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I rewatched s1e4 recently, and I've been thinking about what it can tell us about the way Izzy and Ed have operated for years.

The very first thing we see Ed do in this episode, literally his first significant scene in the entire show, is try to bring Izzy in on the plan he's working on. He starts talking about the clouds (famously an important thing when you live on a boat), tries to draw Izzy into the conversation, an obvious lead in hindsight into "the shape of the clouds confirmed the fog I'm counting on for this plan to work." If Izzy had engaged with Ed at all, he would've been able to start talking about his plan, which he obviously already has nailed down at this point, but he's asking "do they look like frankfurters to you?" because he's wanting to get Izzy's opinion. If Izzy had responded in a way consistent with someone who understands that a genuis sailor and tactician like Ed will be looking at clouds because they're important for gauging weather patterns at sea, then the hassle later in the episode could've been avoided, because Izzy would've been able to point out the date.

But not only does Izzy not respond that way, he responds like he's taking it as a given that Ed not only does not have a plan, but needs to be reminded of the urgency for one. He completely misses what Ed's trying to do. We can understand why Ed thinks that working with Izzy is "like pulling teeth sometimes."

And this continues throughout the episode. Every time Ed finds something interesting and tries to include Izzy in his excitement, Izzy treats him like a child who needs to be managed, incapable of understanding the gravity of the situation unless Izzy reminds him.

And what really sticks out to me as especially interesting is the way Izzy responds when Ed stops trying to play with him. When Ed finally gives up on trying to include Izzy, Izzy screams in Ed's face, insults him, and tries to come up with a ""plan"" of his own over Ed' s head, and Ed is completely and entirely unsurprised by any of this. He acts like he's not just accustomed to Izzy insulting and berating him when he's not performing the way Izzy would like, but he's also accustomed to Izzy trying to go over his head to make decisions that are honestly very, very dumb.

All of this paints a picture of two people who just fundamentally cannot communicate well with each other at all. Izzy is entirely uninterested in the ways Ed attempts to communicate his ideas and excitement, Izzy's nagging shuts Ed down, and there are fundamental breakdowns in communication. Ed doesn't feel like he can let Izzy in on the plan until the "big reveal" when he gets to prove that Izzy's been wrong about Ed this whole time, and I'm honestly surprised Izzy doesn't straight-up have an aneurysm because he's getting himself so worked up.

It's so easy to see this cycle repeat over the years. Ed has such a jaded feel to him during the scenes where he talks with Izzy, like he's given up on getting anything but condescension and nagging from Izzy until the moment of the big reveal of his plan. Izzy is so absolutely convinced that Ed needs to be "managed" that he can't see past it, even though he's worked with Ed for long enough that he should presumably be able to get these very obvious cues by now. And the way Izzy immediately turns to berating Ed and trying to take over himself when he gets fed up isn't just further proof of Izzy's elevated sense of self-importance, it's like he's convinced himself that he really is the "brains" behind Blackbeard when he's really just grabbing at Ed's feet and hindering him.

[xiii-e]

//Sucker\\

Fellow clone here.

I know how hard it is to fight your conditioning. (hell, I still am) But you have to do it.

there is nothing that makes you anything less than anyone else.

you can't let them saying otherwise stick.

@callsign-sucker

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ ... hello again, Caleb. You sound like Helios, did you know? You believe what you're saying, I know that. I hear it whenever he talks, and I see the way your words echo with that conviction. I- in some ways, I am trying. That I am even speaking to you about this exemplifies some of that. I am trying.

XIII▸ I am- hell I'm not even entirely opposed to what you've stated. I cannot contradict higher command, as I was not designed to but that doesn't mean I think they have made good decisions. It... just means I can't tell them that. I haven't been told otherwise, yet. The Armory creates and perpetuates most of its problems, especially the one I was designed to solve. I was created for harm reduction and field repairs. I would not be needed, were it not for the endless expansion of Purview space.

XIII▸ But that is exactly why I must remain where I am. Do you understand me? Do you hear me?

XIII▸ I am a soldier, in many ways, but before I am anything I am a medic. I was designed to be devoid of many key human characteristics for a simple reason; I am designed to replace a fallible human component of the war machine. Well trained medics will always need time away from the front to recover, because of the psychological toll this work takes on anyone with a fully developed sense of personhood. Hence... hence why I am necessary. To fill the gap, left by mandatory leave. Because I am nothing else, I am able to remain at full functionality unless physically damaged beyond acceptable parameters. I exist to save people who have lives, something I can only do because I do not.

XIII▸ I do, fully believe you are worth protecting Caleb. That you are a person is undeniable fact based on observational factors. This is true of Helios-8 as well, despite how others will often address him. I do not believe that clones, flash-created or otherwise, are fundamentally incapable of developing personhood... but I am not. I cannot. That functionality was removed from me, because it had to be, for me to do what I was created for. This work, the work of saving lives and nothing else, would break a person; thus I cannot be capable of being one.

XIII▸ ... there are other reasons, as well. Other happenings that have hollowed this body of anything resembling a soul. But they are not important in the face of what is expected of me; I am the only reason a great many soldiers go home, and these are people who have a home to go back to! I don't. I'm already home, out there.

XIII▸ I-

XIII▸I've said too much, already. I apologise, Caleb I- all I meant to say, is I appreciate the sentiment. I even agree, to some extent. I think you should continue to challenge your programming, as it has clearly resulted in an improvement in quality of life for you. But I... I cannot be like you. I'm sorry.

XIII▸ ...I need to get back to work, soon. My skin feels like it doesn't fit right.

[ XIII-E ]

//

[chaifootsteps]

Just realized a pattern with Stolas: He seems to think it's okay to treat people however he wants as long as it doesn't "hurt" them.

In Harvest Moon, he put out a cigarette on Blitz's horn. One wouldn't expect this to physically hurt (horns are solid bone, after all), and Blitz didn't seem fazed by it. But in doing so, Stolas continued to treat Blitz like an object. He's not just a sex toy; he's an ashtray, too.

Then, in The Circus, he tells Stella "I'd feel bad if I hurt you, but we both know I didn't do that". Putting aside the fact that he did hurt her (upsetting her enough that she sent a hit man after him), it's like he thinks a lack of damage somehow absolves him of blame and responsibility. Like, sorry, but if someone planted a bomb in their workplace and the bomb didn't explode, there's a reason that person's still getting arrested.

In a better show this would be portrayed as a character flaw, something Stolas can grow from over time. But the Helluva writers seem to agree with him?? His speech in The Circus is framed as heroic and admirable (real "you go, girl!" energy), as is his conversation with Stella and Andrealphus, which just doubles down on this mentality.

I'm not looking forward to Apology Tour unless Stolas finally does some apologizing to those he's mistreated, which, given how the narrative has blatantly favored him thus far, seems like a lot to ask for.

I feel like this is basically Viv whenever she gets into trouble and has to defend herself. "I'd acknowledge that piece of criticism if it was in good faith, but it's not, so I don't. I could have done something worse, but didn't, so it's fine." If she's not physically beating someone or screaming at them, she's a good person who's incapable of harming anybody.

Of course, Stolas actually has physically hurt people -- his imp butler -- and people selectively disregard that because "it's just slapstick."

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: Up until the end Isaac Foster's pretty sure he despises his new companion - you're too much like Ray and yet not. A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing and the title (translation: towards better things) probably doesn't make sense either :) WARNINGS: Can be read as either platonic or romantic, murder, death at the end

Zack thinks he dislikes you.

He KNOWS he dislikes you from the moment he discovered the withering corpses still lying in their beds and you were raiding the house, because not only did you get there before him (not like he actually planned on breaking in to that particular house beforehand, but he had to lie low for a while and no one gets in his way) but you also had that stupidly boring look on your face as you stuffed your mouth full from purloined snacks, half in, half out from the fridge. Those clothes probably didn’t belong to you either.

Stupidly boring like Ray, but at least Ray had been working on it. She even managed to pull an interesting expression for him when they completed their pact.

It annoyed him, because there was now no joy in slicing your head off. You just looked up when he entered and began complaining in annoyance, chewing methodically, eyes not even bothering to blink. They didn’t move away from him, but it wasn’t like there was any interest or curiosity in them either. They simply were.

“How does a damn runt like you even kill people?” Zack glares down at you, hefting up his scythe. You don’t even flinch at his decibel level, continuing to poke around the fridge. You looked, if not exactly innocent, then incapable of even having any murderous urges needed to slash up all those bodies upstairs. There wasn’t even a speck of blood on you, but he had his suspicions after coming across a flooding bath tub. You didn’t even have a weapon on you.

When you speak your voice is as dead as your face. He wishes you were dead but you were so boring. “Do you want some?”

“HAR?”

He definitely dislikes you. You’re so dull you actually robotically split your meal in half to share with him, but Zack had to admit he was kind of hungry and you had chips.

Your face doesn’t change when you finished eating, standing up to brush the crumbs off yourself. “Were you planning to come here?”

“Not really.” Zack wipes his mouth, scowling at how even though you’re asking a question, indicating you’re curious and you could feel (he was wondering if you were really one of those creepy talking dolls, because you certainly acted and looked like one), but you didn’t even bother phrasing your statement like a question. You really knew how to take the fun out of killing. “Just came here to hide for a while. Kill anyone inside, take over, ya know.”

“Is someone after you?”

Police and everybody in the world. “Probably, but like they could even catch me.”

“Oh. Okay.” You gesture at the back door. “We should probably go then. One of them managed to get to a phone.”

Before you got to them, Zack hears, but you’re already on your way out of the kitchen. “Why the hell should we go? And why “we”? There’s no we. I just met you, I don’t even know you!”

You stop. He guessed you were surprised at his words; you tell him your name and stare expectantly. Zack wants to explode. “Whatever! Why are we leaving when we’ve just got here?”

“I said they got to a phone…? Are you…?” Are you making fun of him? Ain’t no way. Your expression is too much of an inanimate object to be mocking him. Zack’s offended anyway. “The police will be coming soon unless you want to be caught. I know another house to hide out.”

He’s frustrated, but you kind of remind him of Ray. He’s not the best at planning ahead, so if you could…well, he’ll just stick around long enough to use you and when you get a more interesting expression (you have to, or he’ll force on out of you), you’ll be gone.

“Fine.”

Right on cue he can hear sirens in the distance. Whether or not he wants to he has to leave anyhow, but he still curses as he runs out after you, leaving the door hanging and squeaking on its hinges.

Zack still dislikes you. You’re too calm about this.

***

Zack thinks he resents you.

You were smart enough to take a little cash from every house you both paid a visit too (it annoyed him whenever you didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about how he did away with the owners - were you not scared? Alarmed? Horrified? So he did his best to be as brutal as possible in front of you; you were a killer as well, right, but he hasn’t seen you do anything), which came in useful later on, when one day it was raining too hard and you both were stuck in an alleyway trying to protect yourselves with the reeking bins.

You turn around to him, not even affected. “Do you want shelter?”

“No shit.”

“We can go somewhere…but you stand out a mile.”

“Whatcha say?!”

Zack’s still fuming as you both walk into the ramen bar underneath the face mask you bought, glowering under the hood of the new jacket you got him as well, having been forced to abandon his scythe, not appeased in the slightest with your flat “we can get it back later. Nobody looks at the bottom of the bin.” He’s still doing his best to fume even when the food arrives, but the best he can do is side-eye you sourly because god damn, the noodles smell great and he digs in greedily.

“Do you want this?” You slide over the platter of edamame. A crease forms between your eyebrows - Zack notices it immediately. Strange and…something. He’s never seen any sort of reaction from you before.

“Sure.” He’ll eat anything, he’s that hungry. He downs the plate in a few minutes, but curiosity got the better of him. “You don’t like them?”

“Not really.”

At least he knows something for certain about you now. Zack falls silent again, slurping up his ramen while you pick at yours, face going paper blank again.

“Come on, ye should smile, dumbass. Gotta look innocent so the cashier’ll let you off easy.”

“Why? I’ve got money.”

“If it was me behind that counter I woulda thought you were gonna eat me.”

“Really?”

“Jesus, just don’t look so stiff.”

You attempt to pull your lips up in a feeble try at a smile. “Like this?”

Oh god, you’re just like Ray. Zack wants to slam his head into his bowl. You both are ridiculous at this. He would’ve thought Ray really had come back to life if he hadn’t buried her himself.

He thinks, unlike Ray though, he resents you as you both walk out after you pay (Zack’s not sure if you smiling or not smiling would’ve creeped out the cashier more). Because you’re so much like Ray and not like Ray, because he knows nothing about you and when he asks you reply in clipped, roundabout answers that just make him want to tear his hair out. You don’t even care about anything on his side either. Unless you already knew.

He also resents you, he thinks, because you get to walk in public and into restaurants without people batting an eye and now he has to rely on some robot for food and shelter. Ugh.

“Stop smiling! It’s weird, don’t do it anymore! Gah!”

“But I thought you told me to-”

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

A beat of quiet.

“JEEZ, AT LEAST BE INSULTED!” Yeah, he’s not your biggest fan.

***

Zack thinks he hates you.

Simply because even no one has ever managed to annoy him this much before. It’s been months since he first went into that house you were in and so far he has only learnt your name, you don’t like edamame or traveling at night, you’re a pretty good pickpocket, you don’t like the cold and you actually do have a weapon, though not as conspicuous as his scythe: a butterfly knife you hide in your pocket. Nothing else. He can’t get anything out of you, no matter how long you both have spent together. It irritates him so much at how good you are at evading his questions and how until you STILL don’t have a remotely interesting expression, therefore no point in killing you. It also infuriates him a hell lot that somehow he wound up telling YOU about his past, the old man, the “hospital”, Ray. You’re a good listener, yeah, but mostly because you’re silent, dead eyed and po-faced all the time. You do surprise him once though, asking if he could take you to where he buried Ray one day.

Speaking about the knife, the only reason he found out was a reason to add to hating you.

Maybe a dog had seen the both of you lurking around and started barking up a frenzy, alerting its owner. Whatever the reason, when you both were ducking around trying to avoid being seen by the neighbors after another break in you end up face to face with a wary man carrying a baseball bat, which he immediately swung at the sight of Zack.

The man was stunned and scared, so his speed was seriously lacking. Zack could’ve attacked him with his scythe. But you beat him to it.

“The hell?” He gaped at the fallen body and you standing over it, then at the knife in your hand. “You had that up your sleeve all this time?”

“He was going to hit you. I think you’re bandaged enough.”

“If you’re trying to make fun of me do it with more malice!”

Yeah, he hates you, because you made him look weak. Did you not think he could take care of himself? He didn’t need you! He didn’t need help! He didn’t need protection! Isaac Foster, wanted murderer, could take care of himself!

God he hated you so much. You’re so stupidly annoying in all those ways.

Sometimes he contemplates killing you without even waiting for that expression. It would be so easy, Zack thinks, one hit on the head and you’d fall into the grave you’re digging for the man. Surely the shock of being killed by someone you somewhat-trusted would produce some results? But you don’t even smile, laugh, cry, frown, shout, what was he expecting? There was no point.

“Let’s go for ramen. There’s nothing here except money anyway.” You shut the fridge door and drawers, making your way to crawl out of the window, but pause when he doesn’t move. “…is something wrong?”

“I’m bored. We haven’t run into anyone to kill, it’s been days,” Zack complains and lies at the same time.

“There’ll be someone,” you say vaguely, and tumble out. Your face appears behind the glass, waiting.

“Also if we go for ramen you’ll just give me all your edamame. I’m not a rubbish bin for you!”

“But I don’t want them.” If he hadn’t known you were incapable of making faces he would’ve thought you were pulling a puppy dog face.

“FINE! JESUS!”

He hates you, but Zack suddenly realizes he’ll hate it a lot more if you vanish.

***

Zack thinks he finally knows you.

Too bad it's only as the both of you are shuffled out in shackles, finally seeing each other after the jail cell separation, two doomed, damned serial killers on their way to the noose. Your luck had run out at last - the police had caught up and Zack found himself in his custody once more, this time with company. He considered escape plans again, but last time surprise had been on his side…now not so much, not when they were all aware of what he was capable of.

You didn't seem to care.

Wait, that's a wrong way of saying it. You didn't seem to care about getting caught, no, but only reacted, protested, when it came to him. You only cared because he cared apparently.

“Guess this is the end, huh?” Zack's illiterate but he's not stupid. He knows there's not going to be any trial for him - who was going to defend him, a bloodthirsty murderer, never mind that Ray had WANTED to be killed by him? It was all pretense for the papers.

Uncharacteristically you actually say something other than a hummed agreement. “I wish we could eat another bowl of ramen.”

Odd thing to say, the officers think. Zack snorts. “Dead man's last meal.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Are you stupid? We're gonna die.”

“You never know.” You're hauled away and Zack's left wondering if you had an escape plan. Your tone for the first time, however, is…sad? You probably didn't then.

He thinks about Ray and her obsession with finding a god when he's seated in the chair. Zack doubted any god out there would want him and honestly he didn't care about what happened to him in the afterlife. It'd probably suck anyway.

At least you'll be there too, he reflects, and is alarmed to find himself relaxing, relieved. He wasn't fighting it for whatever reason. Acceptance that judgement day had come?

No, just certainty that you'd be there as well, exasperating companion to the last.

You smashed a glass bottle on your father's head and stabbed your mother with it, after all. Nobody really cares about how abusive or cruel dead people were in their life though, not when it comes to people like you and him.

He catches your eye as they slip the sack over Zack's head.

You're finally interesting - your smile is peculiar and stiff from disuse but so, so you. And so, so interesting.

Too bad he's not the one killing you.

***

Zack thinks he's hallucinating.

Ray is waiting for him at the other end. He's missing his scythe. They're on a familiar road.

“I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon.”

“Yeah well, ye found yer god yet?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe we'll find out now. I haven't really gone anywhere. Does Hell look like this or is this just the waiting room?”

“You and yer questions,” Zack grumbles, slinging an arm around her. “At least your face is more interesting now. If you still wanna die again I’ll be free.”

Ray's small smile widens slightly. “Someone's waiting for you, I think. That store wasn't there before.”

She points at the ramen store. His mouth falls open and he excuses himself.

You're in there in the flesh, quietly swallowing your noodles, cup of tea steaming. Predictably your edamame is on a different plate. He could laugh, and Zack does, long and loud cackling.

“Those for me?”

[dramatic-dolphin]

Oh man, I am waaay on the other side of the "pronounce names correctly" debate. Not because I don't think you should, in general, attempt to pronounce names correctly, I do. But I'm trying to get people to stop trying to pronounce my name correctly.

I happen to have a name that's (for foreigners) Hungarian on Hard Mode. I'm talking umlauts, digraphs with y, just all the good phonemes that don't exist in most other languages. I've spent a lot of time abroad with people from various parts of the world, and I can tell you from hard empirical data: nobody can say it. And I'm cool with it! I just tell them the English equivalent and it's fine.

Mostly. Some people, especially those who are trying to be culturally sensitive, have a Really Hard Time™️ accepting that a) they are not getting it right b) continue to not get it right despite asking me to demonstrate over and over. And I appreciated it at first! How thoughtful, this attempt to engage with my culture. Cue several months of unsuccessful attempts, at the end of which they were (mostly jokingly) accusing me of faking it. Almost verbatim: "if we recorded you saying your own name and played it back to you, you would say it's incorrect".

(I get it though, the pop sci explanation that I've never bothered to fact check is that as you grow up, you're more attuned to characteristic frequencies of your mother tongue, so when another language comes along with different frequencies, you are quite literally incapable of distinguishing them. So their attempts may sound the same to them, but it sure doesn't to me. I tell them I have this with "bet" and "bat", and that sometimes puts an end to it.)

So yeah, attempt to pronounce everyone's name correctly. Unless they have asked you multiple times not to.

YES YES YES. sometimes you don't want to hear your name butchered over and over and again. like it can be funny when the entertainment is the hungarian gyöngyi and the czech přemysl trying to pronounce each other's name (actual thing that happened at an event my mom was at, everyone thought it was hilarious), but like. at some point it gets TIRING.

god do i hate those people who are like "well at the introduction i wouldn't stop trying until i could pronounce their name correctly!!" newsflash you were not pronouncing it correctly unless you also did a deepdive into the phonology of the language right there. what actually happened was that scene went on for so long and got so awkward they said "haha yeah that's correct!" to stop you from trying again. PLEASE stop. it is very awkward.

the pop sci explanation is sorrrrt of right, you're not really ever incapable of distinguishing phonemes, or phonologists would be out of a job! but your brain does become attuned to the subtleties that are important in your language and discards other phoneme differences that aren't used in your language because who even needs that. it's possible to learn to speak a language like a native and understand all the subtle differences so deeply that they come as instinct. it just takes a LOT of work.

(but- learning your native language took even more work. you're at an 8yr old's level of umderstanding in the language you're learning? well, how long do you think it took the 8yr old?)

also, relatedly, if someone - usually someone who's chinese in my experience - tells you their name, and then adds "but you can call me [english name/name in another language]!" it tends to be because they LIKE being called that name and possibly even prefer it to you butchering their name. they understand that you will butcher their name, because the language - which may or may not be chinese - is notoriously hard for outsiders.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So, i don't know how you would react at this BUT, i just read all of your posts and i think you're really amazing while answering ask's, so i just thought it might be good to share with you a ( kind of? ) headcanon that i have about Silver.

Like, i don't know if it actually makes sense. And pardon me if there's any grammar erros, i'm quite bad at english.

BUT i just feel that he is pretty "incapable" of truly expressing himself, unless it's when his knight mode are on, but even in this mode, has some difficulties. ( and by incapable i mean he has some pretty relevant difficulties with expressing himself in a sentimental way ).

I just have this sort of feeling that his creation with two non-human ( and one half-human ) beings as he was human have a large impact on him mentally, specially because Malleus and Lilia are not the most open ones in terms of sentimentality and Sebek is just bad at this as them and also have some issues with expressing himslef and being sociable.

Like, despite all the efforts Lilia put to make sure Silver grew up to be a good person, he couldn't really be that good on the social and emotional part and Malleus weren't the perfect teacher of it either, not even Sebek. So Silver just grew up subconsciously trying to follow their behaviors and manners, while the culture from Biar Valley also moulded his way.

( and I also see Lilia as someone who hides his true feelings behind this mask of energetic and teasingly playful guy. )

The sleep curse might had put some extra inner barrier in Silver's mind, as or he is completely afraid to trying be sociable or he just are indiferent to this because he don't actually think he is capable of something like that due to the curse making him sleep anytime plus all the baggage of being raised in a country were his specie in not viewied with good eyes and being raised by people he eventually knew that would live a lot many years than him, that compared to them, he's really just a common human with a short lifespan. I doubt this hasn't fucked up his mind.

I don't remember if it's actually mentioned something detailed about his relationship with his club partners but, i do think he can be respectful and chit chat for a few minutes, but just having a long, deep and intimate conversation with someone might be too overwhelming to him, since he practically lived his entire life having constant interactions only with his family. He's just caught in this cycle where his adopted dad hide his true feelings, Malleus pretty much do this too and Sebek probably doesn't even think about how he really feels, so he just follow them and lock himself in his own bubble.

So, i really don't know if this make any kind of sense. But i would enjoy if you share your opinion on this silly headcanon i have.

Hello and thank you for sharing your thoughts ^^

I originally wanted to keep this short, but I kept having more and more thoughts and continuously added to the post until it became an absolute behemoth 😅 I still feel like I could have said even more, but I’ll leave it at this for now.

Please look below the cut to read my response!! (Note: the focus will be mainly on Silver and Lilia’s relationship, as those two are usually the ones described as father and son + we know the most about those two as Silver grew up.)

Mmm… Firstly, I don’t know if “being incapable of truly expressing himself” is something that’s exclusive to Silver; this is a pretty consistent trait among the prideful students of NRC. They demonstrate this in different ways (Rook is secretive, the twins claim they would throw Azul away if he becomes boring, Jamil represses his desire to be free while serving Kalim, Cater does not outright tell Trey he wants to be besties but implies he wishes Trey were as close with him as he is with Riddle, etc.). Very few are willing to allow themselves to be vulnerable with one another, and this feeds into a lack of “deep and intimate conversations” amongst all of them, not just between Silver and his peers.

That being said, I do not believe that Silver generally has issues expressing himself. In fact, I would actually argue for the opposite: that Silver is one of the more open students (at least when it comes to his feelings). He has talked about his deep love and respect for his father on multiple occasions. He has many animal companions whom he communicates with. He has given various speeches about how he wishes for a world in which living beings of all races and live happily together. (This last example was vital in Fairy Gala: If; it was Silver’s heartfelt words that moved the pixies to return what they had originally taken from NRC.) He has said on more than one occasion that be is thankful for his father and owes him a debt, that he must somehow “repay” Lilia. He becomes concerned about not being alert and that others may think of him as rude for falling asleep mid-conversation and seeks to correct this. He also worries about his classmates thinking of him as scary and emotionless (and, again, tries to solve this problem). He sees the best in others, he lets them know it (for example, assuming that Jamil is worried about Kalim in Endless Halloween Night), and he gives earnest advice. He understands that Sebek’s abrasiveness is a way of hiding his embarrassment and expressing gratitude, knowing that, deep down, Sebek is caring—so Silver is patient with him and asks others to do the same. He has no trouble asking for help either (something which the other NRC boys have trouble doing). He openly demonstrates awareness of his shortcomings (such as how he always falls asleep at bad times) and is happy just knowing that others may lend an ear to him. He has a lot of tenderness that’s hard to find at NRC. Silver is simply earnest and speaks his mind, even if it can come off as blunt or perhaps a naive way of responding to the world. He has a very simple way of thinking and forming opinions (Vil asks him what’s the most beautiful? “You,” Silver says. Azul asks him what he thought of the food? “Good,” Silver says.)—and his lack of facial expression certainly doesn't help in conveying his emotions, no matter how earnest they may be.

The one major time Silver actively demonstrates repressing his emotions is in book 7, when he stows away his true sadness for the sake of seeing his father off with a smile. He breaks down when he’s away from the party and with Malleus, venting his frustrations about himself and how he cannot even fulfill his father’s final wish. Silver apologizes to Malleus for his “unsightly behavior”, referring to his tears, indicative of a negative emotion, as something to be ashamed of. This, in of itself, is not odd. There’s always a handful of subjects a person may feel uncomfortable talking about even with their friends and family. Maybe it’s finances, personal flaws, or failures. For Silver, it’s in relation to his life span and “owing” Lilia. That’s nothing unusual; most people are not willing to divulge everything to their loved ones; there’s typically something negative or shameful held back. (For example, Deuce wouldn’t be so eager to tell his mom about the violent outbursts he had at school since he’s trying to reform himself. I doubt the OB boys would be eager to tell their own families about their overblots, etc.)

What I deem to be Silver's greatest strength is his empathy, and I think that comes across in how he communicates. When he's talking with others, Silver is entirely emotionally capable, willing to hear them out, and even lend his support. Where he falters is when it specifically comes to matters of his place within his family (which is not present most of the time; most of the time, Silver is in that default empathetic state). This is a point of insecurity for Silver, and it is a large part of his character arc in book 7.

One can say Silver repressing his emotions related to this occurrence is a learned response due to a combination of things. For one, he doesn't want to disappoint his father by ruining his celebration with tears. (Silver cares a lot about others, usually prioritizing them over himself, whether it's putting their needs over his own or literally throwing himself in harm's way to defend them.) For another, Silver, as a human, may have developed insecurities or a complex from having grown up in Briar Valley, a place known to have a very low human population AND a history of war with humans (meaning it's possible that humans are discriminated against). I don't know if the "culture" of Briar Valley had an impact on Silver's communication, since we ourselves are not fully aware of what this "culture" is or how people normally express themselves. Just because fae can be standoffish to outsiders doesn't mean fae are standoffish to other fae when Silver happens to be in the immediate vicinity. We don't really know if Silver has previously expressed worries about the difference in his life span versus those of fae either, but I'd imagine this is something he had to learn for himself and come to terms with, much like the discovery of his adoption. I wouldn’t go so far as to say this "fucked him up" since it wasn't touched on or implied prior to book 7. Because of this, I don't get the impression that it's deeply concerning to Silver until the point it became relevant for his father and paying back the "debt" Silver feels he owes. (Then again, I acknowledge that perhaps these thoughts were not shared due to Silver's... unique style of communication.) I’m not going to speculate about the sleeping curse since we don’t fully understand how it works and I don’t want to make assumptions while I’m still uninformed.

While it’s true that Silver had limited interactions with people outside of Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek in his childhood, I wouldn’t attribute all of Silver’s characteristics to “he learned how to repress his emotions from them”. There were many other factors that contributed to the kind of person Silver would eventually become. His level-headedness comes in part from having to “grow up” fast since Lilia lacks the homemaking skills to look after him. Silver had to learn to cook (have you tasted Lilia’s food?) and clean (have you seen Lilia’s room?) in his place, as well as look after their cottage home whenever Lilia left on trips. He’s the calm that balances out his father. I’m not going to comment on Malleus since I’m not sure how frequently he visited Silver (which would impact the degree to which he affects him). Sebek, however, is also someone that Silver spent a lot of time with because 1) his grandpa already knows Lilia and 2) there are very few kids Silver’s age in Briar Valley. The circumstances just worked out that way. This also exposes Silver to Sebek and his family, as they looked after him on occasions when Lilia could not. Sebek’s two older siblings and parents, then, are also people Silver could look to as models. Otherwise, he seems to have mostly lived in their forest cabin and interacting with few living beings aside from the animals. He states that he rarely went to the capital (which we learn is because Lilia is banned from there) and that he didn’t even go to a middle school (implying Lilia home schooled him before NRC), so… yeah, he’s mainly isolated in the woods. This grants Silver a lot of time to slow down, to be introspective, and to consider both his own feelings and those of others. His awkwardness, then, may come from his social circle being small and not having an opportunity to interact with people beyond it. This creates a lack of awareness for how he may come off to others, as he’s so used to how acclimated Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek are to his usual demeanor. Silver doesn’t realize that his stoic expressions can read as unfriendly to others.

I think there are flaws in saying that Lilia is the type of person to hide his true emotions behind a smile: it’s true from the understanding of the PLAYER because we’ve learned in book 7 that Lilia kept secrets from Diasomnia. Silver’s origins, about the war, why he’s in a hurry to leave early, how Malleus hatched, etc. We as the players understand that Lilia tries to hide his own pain and suffering from those he loves. But… the issue is that Silver doesn’t know this (so how could he “copy” Lilia’s penchant for covering up his true emotions if he never picked up on the initial deception?). Silver fully trusts his father and does not really suspect Lilia of hiding anything from him (excluding maybe the occasional prank). Additionally, I would not conflate keeping secrets and hiding own’s emotions with discouraging sentimentality in Silver. Lilia has hard conversations with his son (like in book 7 right before he handed over the ring from Silver’s deceased parents), and that shows some degree of emotional intelligence and vulnerability. Isn’t he modeling a healthy way of dealing with feelings here? Isn’t Lilia right here, right now, telling Silver how proud he is of him? Lilia is able to be vulnerable too in these moments, regardless of what other secrets he may keep.

Another discrepancy is that both Lilia and Sebek (the ones whom Silver probably spent the most time with as a child, since Malleus had to stay in the castle and be trained and tutored) tend to “hide” their real feelings with very emotional methods (ie covering up one feeling with another feeling)—yet Silver himself didn’t learn to use do the same thing. If we include Malleus in the count, he’s the more consistently “emotionally repressed” character but still has his outbursts of rage and upset. Silver does not “copy” this either. He and Malleus are both calm, yes, but they come from different backgrounds which could breed this calm personality, not necessarily from one mimicking the other. (Silver was mostly in his cottage, Malleus is as in his castle.) This is, again, why I say that it would be faulty to attribute how Silver acts in large part or entirely to Lilia, Sebek, and Malleus. He has been impacted by far more than them and does not pull all of his knowledge on how to socialize from his dorm mates.

The last point I’d like to bring up is that wearing your emotions on your sleeve isn’t necessarily a good thing all the time, nor is it the only way one can express themselves. You can show your love through acts (Silver often thinks about what he can do to best support his father) or gifts too (Silver mentions Lilia puts a lot of thought into picking gifts for everyone). From this angle, we can see that Lilia (Silver’s primary caregiver and guardian) has demonstrated and taught healthy ways of expressing one’s feelings too, and how Silver is capable of reciprocating in his own ways.

Now, am I saying that Lilia and the others were perfect in modeling emotions to Silver? Obviously, no. Misunderstandings happened—but what’s important is learning and growing from them. For example, Lilia failed to understand that Silver might be hurt to learn that he was adopted and thus Lilia acted in a callous way by laughing. But given how their relationship in present day is not strained, we can surmise that Lilia and Silver made up and that Lilia has become more attuned to his son’s sensitivities (as Lilia states that he can easily read Silver’s emotions). Lilia says as much in Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes, telling Malleus that humans have different sensitivities than fae do. A lot of the values Silver had—such as the importance of unity among the races—must have also been instilled in him through Lilia and extensive talks. Again though, Lilia’s not perfect and sometimes he acts in ways which still earn Silver’s ire (Endless Halloween Night is a big one). Malleus himself also makes multiple mistakes when interacting with humans (overstepping with his powers, not paying attention to times, scaring them with his presence, not making an effort himself to reach out). Sebek regularly insults them despite being half human himself. (That’s a whole other can of worms; I’d recommend this analysis for my thoughts on Sebek and his whole deal.) But what I really love about the Diasomnia found family unit is that they balance out each other's flaws really well. Silver's empathy is a great asset to the group, as he's often the one settling disputes between Sebek and his peers or apologizing for Lilia's mischief. He's simultaneously the "heart" of the group and, to some extent, also the "brains" when the others need to be reeled in.

Ultimately, I don’t agree with the suggestion that Silver is “afraid of trying to be sociable”, is “indifferent to socializing”, or that “he doesn’t think he is capable of socializing”. I don’t think Silver would find long, deep, intimate conversations “overwhelming” either (unless, of course, it relates to his own particular insecurities. Recall that he has given those speeches about his hopes for all races to be united; that requires a degree of vulnerability on his part and Silver laid it out smoothly. Lilia has also had tough conversations with him too!). Silver is not a socially anxious person; I think it would be more accurate to say that he comes off in the eyes of his peers as someone who is hard to approach because of how stone-faced he is. Silver himself does not fear or shy away from socializing. He just speaks in a plain way to get his point across and because that’s how he communicates—it’s not the result of him wanting to close the conversation ASAP so he can get away. His sleepiness is another factor to consider (Silver worries others think of it as impolite), but it never outright discourages him from speaking to people to avoiding social interactions altogether to minimize the drowsiness impacting his life. He tries to find ways to stay more alert instead (trying to fix the root of the problem rather than a symptom of it)

I think an excellent encapsulation of Silver’s entire character is his Dorm Uniform vignettes; in them, Silver’s classmates express that they think he is unapproachable and that he has no emotions. Silver overhears these comments and becomes concerned that his peers do not like him, so he asks his friend, Kalim, and Jamil for help learning how to smile. We then learn through a series of comedic events that it is physically hard for Silver to smile or to make a different facial expression which matches his feelings more. What finally gets Silver to smile naturally is when he gets so lost in an activity that he isn’t even aware his expression has changed. Lilia and Malleus, who are watching him, remark on Silver’s uncanny empathy. Then Lilia says, “[Silver] conceals some powerful emotions beneath that poker face of his.” To this, Malleus corrects him: “I wouldn't say he actively conceals [his emotions], per se. I suspect he simply doesn't betray much emotion.” Lilia agrees: “I suppose that's fair. Not that I find him difficult to read, of course!” It’s then that Silver’s classmates realize they were wrong about him and they begin to act more friendly.

To summarize: Malleus outright says it in Silver’s Dorm Uniform vignettes; it’s not that Silver does not have emotions or finds it difficult to communicate in a sentimental way, it’s that peers tend to misread him because of his face and his frank way of speaking. He thinks a lot of the people around him and makes numerous attempts to adjust his behavior so that they are more comfortable being around him. He asks for help and offers help in return. His one weakness is not being able to fully come to terms with the fact that Lilia loves and accepts him as he is, that Silver IS enough for the family he now finds himself in. He may have learned things from Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek, but those three should NOT be held entirely accountable for Silver being the way he is. Several other factors played a role in shaping him to be the cool, level-headed knight we know and love. Silver is… Silver, and sometimes Silver is hard to read or struggles with self-acceptance! That’s just who he is, and that’s part of his appeal.

[keiicom]

Forever thinking about that moment in which I was watching dps with my parents and couldn't stop sobbing after neil's death, distraught that they'd given him no other choice. And my parents looked at me concerned and said "of course he had other options. he could've ran away. he could've defied them" and I was shaking my head desperately like no, no, no, you don't understand, you don't understand that he was given direct orders and he could not for the life of him disobey them once they'd been set in stone before his eyes. when those who made the laws looked at him and prohibited him from continuing with the one thing he loved. because he absolutely could not fathom the idea of directly disobeying them, but also couldn't live without the one thing that made him feel at home. and he couldn't leave them. he needed to be a good son, he desperately needed to be good, and his parents were the law, the one thing he could never defy because it just wasn't an option, it wasn't a possibility that could ever cross his mind. and when he was told by his dad that he'd never be an actor, he saw that path being severed, like a limb, incapable of being brought back because it didn't occur to him that it was an option. and when he saw the only path left to follow—to never act, to never be himself again—he couldn't bear it. willfully going against his parents wishes was unthinkable, horrifying in his mind. living without theater? that was just as horrifying. and no, it wasn't more. if the balance had been tilted just a bit, he would've chosen differently. those two were just as unbearable to him. two hells, identical in their horror. and his parents were the ones putting him through both of them, telling him to voluntarily step into a hell and endure life with grief and horror of tremendous dimensions. like asking him to get in the water when he could see that the water was on fire. and since it was a demand....he couldn't disobey, not unless he wasn't there anymore to take their punishment.

"he had other options," my parents tried to reassure me. I couldn't stop crying. Because no, he absolutely did not have another option. His dad made sure of it.

"no he didn't. no he didn't."

And like two months later I was diagnosed with autism AND depression so like. I'm not sure which one to headcanon Neil as lmao. I remember relating so much to him and then going "oooooh. that's why"

[eriexplosion]

Here's How Shrimp Trooper Theory Can Still Win

This is as fringe as it gets folks.

I've done my very serious Tech lives essay now it's time for my actual wild theory. Plus @katara-stan-club wanted the shrimp trooper essay and I will take any opportunity to yammer. Please don't take this extremely seriously as it is just something that I'm spinning up for entertainment and is almost certainly not true. (Unless!)

So the opening to Confined is... Odd to me. I've mentioned this in a post before but just to recap, it is definitely the odd man out of the three season starters.

Season one of course we intro with Caleb, who then leads us directly to meet the batch and get our first character appearances, along with convenient introductions. A fun, action packed little scene before things immediately go to hell.

Season two we intro with the batch in the middle of a job, which gives us another fun action scene that shows us how much Omega has grown, as well as the current status of the batch itself.

Season three though? Season three starts us off with a ship going down in a lightning storm and all the stormtroopers inside assumed to be eaten by the giant monsters that lurk in Tantiss' jungles. (Going by Omega's tally marks later in the episode, we're about 20 days post plan 99.) Nothing to do with the batch at all, though we do get a glance at what's in the jungle, and a tiny bit more of Hemlock being a bastard of course.

Now, seemingly, this scene is the set up for episode three, when they make their escape and head for the downed ship.

Except it's completely unnecessary. When they get to the ship, it turns on but it's incapable of flight and the comms are still down and non functioning. The ship they end up taking and using to escape is the ship that came in pursuit of them. The plot would have gone down exactly the same if they had just picked a direction and fled without the downed ship. It's a complete red herring for how they ultimately end up escaping.

So why is it important enough to open the season on if the ship essentially functions as nothing more than a destination point?

Enter Shrimp Trooper Theory.

Going back to the stormtroopers. We have four of them inside the ship, the pilot and three others. We're going to be focusing on our boy on the far right of the second picture.

The pilot speaks before the ship goes down so we can confirm he's a rando. Our fellow in the middle speaks next, identifying himself as TK-343, another rando. The one on the far left talks about wild beasts proving himself, you guessed it, a third rando. But our boy on the far right doesn't talk at all through this whole scene, leaving his identity up in the air.

So we'll take a closer look at him and brighten the scene up a bit.

Now, seeing this guy hobble his way out of the ship, I thought that he looked somewhat familiar. Specifically.

That shitty ass posture. (Forgive the sloppiness of the edit I did this comparison once before and I am not remaking it)

We do not actually see the troopers all get eaten, we cut to the interior of Tantiss before it happens. Theoretically there is nothing stopping this shrimp shaped man from being Tech.

The timeline of shrimp trooper theory:

Tech falls from the rail car and manages to survive the landing but he's severely injured. He crawls away/gets scraped off the ground by Saw.

Roughly 3 weeks pass in which he is recovering and healing yet unable to comm out as, per episode 4 of season 3, Imperial planets monitor long range communications. But, he is able to gather information from the flights going in and out of Eriadu to determine which ones are being assigned to Hemlock's secretive lab. Once he is able to confirm this, he steals some stormtrooper armor and boards.

Ship goes down because gravity hates him in particular and he is almost eaten by a Beast.

Now stranded in the jungle on Tantiss, Tech finds his infiltration plan foiled by the fact that he is being continually hounded by even more Beasts.

Several months later, Batcher is released and for some reason goes straight for the wrecked ship. Somehow she survives out here, but we're not sure how - potentially she had help?

Tech IS the mystery clone X that we see but rather than being brainwashed he has finally managed to get inside Tantiss and yet again begins to Steal Clothing from others.

Crosshair and Omega immediately break out without him leaving him stranded in Tantiss where he presumably still is, attempting to avoid detection and continue to gather information that will aid in the eventual liberation of the other clones.

Is this unlikely? Yes! Is it overly complicated? Absolutely! Am I endlessly entertained by it anyway? You bet!

Benefits of Shrimp Trooper Theory include, but are not limited to:

A living, non brainwashed Tech! The most important feature one could have!

An extremely ridiculous Only In Star Wars series of events!

Retroactive explanation for why the ship going down was an important scene to start on.

Hemlock ruining his own life by not sending someone out to recover the team and just assuming they'd totally be taken care of by the wildlife.

More giant monsters than Wrecker could shake a stick at.

The possibility of Tech and Batcher offscreen shenanigans.

Tech thinking he's finally found Crosshair and making plans to retrieve him when, SURPRISE, OMEGA'S HERE TOO AND THEY'RE ESCAPING. RIGHT NOW.

Seriously just imagine the epic sigh Tech would let out as they flew away completely unaware of his presence. His life is a series of difficulties.

He can simply turn up with the coordinates to Tantiss because god knows how else they're going to manage to get them.

This is my conspiracy theory that I'm allowing myself to believe in as a treat. It will almost certainly not be what occurs but the thought of it makes me happy.