#was this the one where i was supposed to make up my own questions

[jarl-deathwolf]

EXCELLENT!

Ooo that is a lot of FANTASTIC information, I pulled up a document and got to work taking notes. I'll have to spend some time sorting it out into a handy reference sheet but even as-is this will help a lot.

I'm really glad I asked because this includes a lot of details that I wouldn't even know to ask, like the acidic/neutral/alkaline distinctions between forests. Between that and the wet/dry divide, now I can look at a map of around where the characters are and sus out roughly what they're looking at. It really does take away a lot of the stress when

Better yet, it gives me options so I can pick some possible environments to suit what I need in the story. Like choosing a wet forest if I need treacherous terrain, or a Celtic Rainforest to enhance the splendor of a moment.

Best of all, this gives me a vocabulary of things that I can then look up references for, and a bank of plants and animals I can pull up to add life to a scene.

One thing I've really struggled with in this story has been giving the region its own distinct feel compared to other woodlands. Which is doubly important since the entire story revolves around people desperately trying to save it (and their culture) from being destroyed by colonization and conquest.

That section was pretty thorough, so I'll have to digest it for a while before I've got more questions there.

Anyway, getting into more specific comments, as well as the map, below:

(map by @noanieactuallydrawingalot) So this is the continent where the stories take place as a whole. I may or may not have made the Fells (Fantasy Wales) something like five times as large as its real counterpart. Here is more specifically the Fells, with the three big rivers named (I assume there are many more rivers and small lakes, these are just major ones) and the historic realms of the Fells marked out

I've tentatively named some broader regions, but I'm not confident about those just yet. Red dots denote major cities. The yellow line is where the old empire's borders were - those five Fellish realms are still fully under foreign rule, with four more ruled by Marcher Lords, which is just more tenuous foreign rule.

Let me know how I did with the geography and such! I've done a lot of free time studying and took a college course about it, but things like the effects of ocean currents and wind patterns always tripped me up. Anyway, I'm glad I ended up pretty close with Old Man Ash. I think he would be fine with the informal version - the other name he gets called in the story is Grandad, so I get the sense he cares more about people being comfortable in his presence than formality. Although keep me updated on if your inlaws have a different opinion - I'll need to contact my editor to update the PDF, so I'd rather do that just once. With what you said about broadleaves being exclusively what makes up the old growth forests, I wonder if that would mean that all Dagfolk would be based on broadleaves? 🧐 Since I'm sending pictures, here is the (now properly named) Hynafwr Onn:

(art by dinwardo over on twitter)

Before I move onto the next thing, just a quick question: I have another Dagfolk (like Grandad up there). His current placeholder name is the Great Oak, and he's considered the wisest and most powerful of the Dagfolk. A personal friend of King Arthur.

I don't suppose you'd have a suggestion for a name?

I am delighted that you bring up bards because I made the main character a Fellish bard by the name of Llywela ferch Marared. She plays a crwth and I like to have her make subtle references to Welsh songs like Sebona Fi and Yma O Hyd. I gave her uncommonly red hair to imply a connection with Annwyn.

(I realize that's not the usual spelling of Annwn, but I chose it so I wasn't directly cribbing mythology and making it harder for people to learn about those myths) I also have some commissioned art of Llywela, plus the Lady of the Lake and the Merlin analogue, for what it is worth. You mentioned faeries with the peat bogs. I don't think faeries will be making a huge appearance in this story (mostly just one knight), but I'd be glad to hear about Welsh-specific faerie lore if you've got it on hand.

You also said that cheeses were a big Welsh cultural touchstone. Are there Welsh specific varieties that you can tell me about? And what sort of dishes are they made into?

Also on that train of thought, you mentioned a plant that flavors mead - would that be the go-to alcohol of choice, or are there others floating around? Both for a lord's table and what you might find in an inn.

And thanks again for the response, this really has been a treasure trove of great information for me!

Hi hello! I'm writing a story in my original world, set in a Fantasy Wales. A King Arthur Returns type story, if that matters.

I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Welsh ecology? And possibly also some cultural details?

Thanks ahead of time! And I understand if you decline or don't respond!

YES OH MY GOD YES HELLO

[potchi-fics]

2:27 am (part four of attention)

i | ii | iii | iv | v

      sevika wakes up with a sore body. strangely, she notices that her body is patched up, wounds clean and all, hell, even littered with bandages and gauze. she checks the aged clock that is nailed on the wall: 2:27. her gaze falls to her window, seeing its still dark— its 2:27 in the morning. a groan of pain emits from her trying to sit up which she did, almost dying in the process. however, soft snores and breathing catch her attention.

its you. 

what are you still doing in here with her? you’re supposed to leave. but who is she kidding, you look soft like an angel–  your hands wrapped around a pillow on your chest, and your head laying on top of it. she doesnt know it but a small smile is on her rugged face: foolish woman. only does she stop staring at your figure when she sees a shiver from your figure to get you a blanket.

but her heavy footsteps cause you to wake up and groggily ask her.

“where you goin’?” your voice laced with sleepiness.

Sevika signals for you to take the couch, “to find a blanket.”

      you are about to protest except she shushes you with a look, successfully shutting you up. she disappears into another room as you quietly move to the couch. you lay down face-first, sleep taking over. 

“here,” the blanket gets thrown on your back, “use it.”

     you thought she was gonna stay but she heads for the door. pushing through your exhaustion, you lift your head up to ask her the same question.

“where you going, sevika?” you glance at the clock, “its 2:33 in the morning, come back here on the couch.”

      without looking back at you, she pulls out a cape.

she takes a few seconds, “job’s not finished.”

“atleast take a couple of more hours to rest,” you argue back.

      you stand up to block her way– determined to somehow find a way to stop her. you look up at her, she’s a massive woman and you hate that you like it. 

sevika frowns, “step aside, topsider.”

“im serious, youre hurt,” your voice holds concern, “and youre hurt bad.”

“and im serious, step aside.” 

      she takes a step forward but you dont budge. you only cross your arm before poking her side, the moment you see her wince, you raise your eyebrow. 

she swats your finger away, “dont touch me.”

      you poke her again, wanting to prove your point. you wont back down easily. she’s hurt and you will do everything in your power to stop her. unexpectedly, she roughly grabs your wrist and pushes you against the nearest wall– pinning you. 

“youre real stubborn,” sevika pushes her thick hips onto yours.

you discreetly swallow, “im just sayin’.”

“stay out of my way, topsider,” she leans down, close enough that you can see every minute detail on her face.

      you dare to get closer, one gust of wind and your lips will meet. she gazes at your lips for a split second, returning to your eyes immediately. your own admire her scars, how the blue blends well with her skin, how it sends fire to your abdomen– again.

yet one question lingers in your mind.

“why do you care?” she pulls away.

      she beats you to it. why do you care? you’ve only met her a couple of days ago. your mind racks up to try and formulate an answer but nothing comes.

sevika’s voice slices through the tense silence, “this means nothing.”

      the both of you withdraw from each other, chests heaving due to just what happened. a horndog is what you are, dont even deny it.

her footsteps get quieter as she exits the door– you look fixedly at the floor, your arms falling back to your side. reality sinks in: yeah, this means nothing. why do i care? the click of the door makes you grit your teeth; frustrated at not only sevika, but yourself as well because what are you doing? why do you care for a woman who youve only met days ago? 

this means nothing.

      you throw yourself into your work after that altercation. all you have done is work all day and all night, not bothering to take a break and it is evident on your face– tired eyes, not sleeping and eating properly, and exhausted. nonetheless, she’s still in your head. you cant seem to get her out of your mind. 

you lean back on your chair, “get out of my fucking head.”

“get who out of your head?” a british woman stands in the doorway of your workshop.

you perk up, “caitlyn, what are you doing here?”

“im here to ask you if youre gonna come to progress day.” caitlyn leans on the frame of your doorway. “also, ive heard you havent been eating well. or resting, in general.”

your chair creaks as you lean back, “ill think ‘bout it. and im fine, caitlyn.”

      she’s a friend of yours, she stops by your shop every once in a while to help her with the maintenance of her gun. although you consider her a friend, she doesnt know about your secret trips to the undercity nor your interaction with silco’s righthand woman, sevika. she raises her eyebrow but you dismiss it, working back on your project. 

“really, im okay, officer kiramman,” just in time, her mother calls out for her, “and your mothers calling you. say hi to her for me.”

“take care of yourself, will you,” caitlyn bids you goodbye.

      the grip on your small screwdriver loosens up and it drops on your table with a thud: get out of my head, sevika. 

she consumes all of your thoughts: her scent, her body, her nose, her. you think back to when she pressed herself against you, how solid and hard she was, how she was much bigger than you, how she could pin both of your hands using only one from her. god, it sends heat throughout your body, you cant help it. the things she’s doing to you even when she’s not around. one day, ill kill her myself– you bang your forehead on the table.

note: is it obvious that this is a slow burn

[sleepyanya]

□—┆SOMETHIN’ STUPID , frank sinatra

— prompt… he really couldn’t help but admire your raw beauty as you spoke so gracefully. you always seemed to maintain a captivating smile throughout conversation, no matter the topic. and for a split second, a moment of peace bristled by… the unanticipated words of “i love you” fall from his lips. wait… what?

— gn.reader x (pre-crash) curly , small fic i cooked up >_<

— cw; perchance some angst

captain curly, the type of man who you’d dream about in your deepest slumber. someone who exudes such charisma and brilliance was hard to come by—an attitude so confident you’d think he was faking it. but he wasn’t, he was true. he was real. so when you’d first met the captain, you were slightly taken back. smile so charming it made you fuel with slight jealously. then, you’d remember how hard you had taken your first month on the tulpar. heart aching and mind reaching out for the safety back on earth. it was non other than the captain who’d console you, warm hand rubbing circles on your back. his voice was, oh so, deep and sweet as he spoke positive affirmations into the stuffy spacecraft air. it sure was hard to be jealous of a man with such greatness. from then on, you never doubted curly as captain.

he had your trust. truly the only member amongst the crew you found yourself coming to when free from your daily duties. even though it was unlikely the both of you would be on break together, the moments you did were filled with flashed smiles and shy laughter. you recalled a particular night where oatmeal was served for dinner. you sat across curly who made easy conversation with you. well, that’s what it seemed like to you. the man beside you who should’ve been long retired, grumbled out “quit flirting and eat your damn food.” before abruptly standing up and leaving the dinner table. it was safe to say curly avoided you a few days out of sheer embarrassment. not very leader like of the captain, you thought that night with a small smile.

“—no meteor’s in sight. 312 days left in counting.” you can hear curly’s voice from the other side of the cockpit door. judging by his words, he most likely was journaling the day’s activities. you hear curly huff, the quiet sound of his chair squeaking under his weight. you raise your knuckles and knock against the metal door. immediately, the doors open automatically.

“am i interrupting?” a small smile plays at your lips. curly turns in his seat, his face softening at the sight of you. his head shakes, the curls framing his face bouncing as he did so. “of course not. come on in.” he gestures with a smile of his own. you walk in and take a seat at the open spot next to curly, the doors closing themselves behind you. if you were anyone else besides jimmy, he wouldn’t allow you to sit close at the cockpit for safety reasons.

“what brings you in?” it was only then you realize how tiresome curly’s voice sounded. a part of you wishes he got more rest, but you suppose thats one of the many sacrifices he makes as captain. you shrug. “what? can’t come say hi to my favorite captain?” your smile was big and wide, akin to a child successfully stealing candy from the convenience store. curly laughs. “im the only captain here, though? unless… you count jimmy as captain too.”

your face converts at curly’s insinuation. he takes notice of your face scrunch and laughs once more. “why that face?” he says in between chuckles. and for a moment, you found yourself a lost for words. not because of his question but rather because curly was undeniably perfect. his laugh was perfect, his personality was perfect, his face was especially perfect. you quickly shrug that honey of a feeling away, attempting to ignore the heat spreading across your face.

“nothing.” you simply excuse. before you could allow curly’s curiosity to grow, you continue. “a-anyway! earlier today i was talking to daisuke, right?” it didn’t take a genius for curly to know a ramble was brewing. he didn’t mind, rather, he preferred it. curly whole heartedly believed he could hear you talk for hours on end—and that wasn’t an overstatement. the speed in which you talked, showcasing the excitement in which what you had to say along side your frantic hand gestures… it was enduring. he sits quietly, listening to every thing you spoke of with such intensity it almost felt like he was tucking the information into the safest parts of his mind. which he was.

“and did you know he has a gameboy!? you know what that is, right?” you continue with such fever that curly didn’t have enough time to answer your question. his lips were left parted but slowly curled upwards once more into a soft smile. his skin tints a red hue at the apple of his cheeks, his gaze focus on nothing only but you—arms crossed, planted into his seat until you grew tired from bubbling away. and suddenly, you pause with your lips sealed in silence. curly doesn’t realize the fact he grows uncomfortable. without your voice, the quiet begins to irritate him. perhaps you finally realized how curly eyed you with such raw want and endearment?

and before curly could allow you to get another word out, he murmurs—“I love you.” so earnest and faint you could’ve nearly missed it. you blink, your mind slowly taking the weight of his words into comprehension. and then, your eyes widen with realization and so does his.

“please, step out.” curly breathes out. it was so fast you swear you could’ve gotten whiplash from it. at first, you thought he was just embarrassed, but the look on his face loudly states otherwise.

your expression was fast to morph into one of confusion. “w-wait, hold on, curly—” his name passes your lips so smoothly, so used too addressing him by his actual name instead of his title. that mere fact always enlighten a fire in curly’s chest so bright and big— but he knew he had to extinguish it.

he then stands up from the cockpit chair, his tall figure looming over you. “it’s captain to you.” he states, voice plain and bland. he was the captain for crying out loud. relationships were strictly prohibited on the tulpar for multitude of reasons—this being one. he had a job to get done yet he was wasting his time on… you.

you examine his fallen expression, noting the furrow of his thick eyebrows and frown displaying on his lips. your heart clenches to the point it nearly hurts. how could a few simple words break you so fast? you found yourself swallowing down the urge to cry.

“where is this coming from? y-you’re the one who said it.” tone full of hurt was the first thing curly picked up on. you didn’t mean to protest—but something within you wanted to resolve this as quickly as possible because a part of you knew your relationship wouldn’t go back to what it was.

curly lets out a heavy sigh, his hand running through his messy, blonde hair you grew to love. “look, it just came out. it was an accident. i-…” he stops mid sentence, his eyes finding yours. curly sees the heartbreak in your eye and doesn’t miss the glossy build up ready to spill.

“—i didn’t mean it…” he finishes but it comes out unsure—nearly seeming like a question directed towards himself. the silence after is defining, alike a thick blanket being placed over the both of you. tension so tight, it might as well suffocate the both of you. it was only then he realizes he won’t ever have the pleasure of hearing your joyful rambles after this. not after saying what he said. then, he feels regret, incredibly so and his mind flashes to him wrapping his arms around you—hand finding purchase on the back of your head and muttering out countless apologies before pulling you into a soft kiss that may speak more than his pitiful sorry’s.

but he only imagines. instead, he watches you finally blink away the tear that once threaten to spill. it glides down the soft of your cheek then falls once dipping past the edge of your jaw. you quickly wipe the wet off your face and stand up. curly’s hands twitch, full on ready to grab you by your uniform and bring you into his chest.

“have a good rest of your evening, captain.” it stings. it shouldn’t have but it does. the door slides open to allow you through and the only thing accompanying curly’s ears is the sound of your fading footsteps.

as you round the corner, you spot jimmy who stands crossed arm near the cockpit door. you pause for a moment before scoffing. a smirk lengthens across his wrinkled face when you walk past him.

“a captain’s gunna do what his gotta do.” jimmy mumbles under his breath.

POSTED- 11/29/24. do not translate/steal my work |

[kingkat12]

omg I love your fics so so so much and I think you would absolutely nail a fanfic where roman is teaching reader how to smoke? or something like that 😭 like it being really intimate and stuff ughh idk but roman smoking just makes me go absolutely feral

Roman..... teaching reader.... how to smoke....?

do you.... want to give me..... a heart attack......?

THIS WAS SO DAMN HOT IT MADE MY BREATH HITCH WHEN I READ THIS, you BET i want to write this!!! you know me, i love writing reader having her first time doing anything at all lol, this was PERFEEEECT!! hope i've done your request justice, thank you so much for this one!!<3333

nymphomaniac (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, smoking, mentions of sex, angst, flirting deluxe, Roman's mouth is FOUL

summary: not all lessons are good for you-- especially the ones taught by the notorious Roman Godfrey, who you also happen to have a history with

word count: 2,425

a/n: and this is NO WAY an encouragement to smoke, i don't smoke myself so... heh. read at your own risk i suppose, and be critical of what you read on the internet PLEASE!! mwah

How to smoke – a thorough guide by Roman Godfrey. That was a book I wouldn’t buy in a million years; why give a millionaire more money?

Thankfully, I didn't have to pay anything to get a free trial from the author of said imaginary book.

Roman sat next to me on the porch leading up to the house of the party we were at, having asked me to follow him outside to escape all the noise. I wouldn’t have gone with him, had I not started to get a headache from what I could frankly only call ear-rape. “It’s too fucking loud in there,” I muttered, shifting on the uncomfortable step. “There’s a reason I don’t go to these things very often.”

Roman shrugged, patting down the pockets of his jacket. “It’s not usually this bad when someone else hosts. But I heard this guy is notorious for being legally deaf, so that might explain it,”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if he did that to himself,”

With a laugh, Roman pulled out an orange-hued box of cigarettes, shaking his head. “It’s too bad you don’t attend parties that often. I never see you anymore, y’know? Just bring some earplugs if you’re so bothered by the damn noise,” 

Oh. My heart jumped with a jolt of pain. I cleared my throat; “Of course you don’t see me anymore, Roman… We broke up two months ago,” 

Despite seeing it coming from miles away, it had been the hardest breakup of my life. I knew whom I had gotten into a relationship with, knew exactly what kind of a guy Roman was, so I had been emotionally prepared for it when it all fell apart. The relationship had been more of a whirlwind thing, a lust thing, which had left me with a very bad case of being-walked-in-on PTSD. That one time Roman decided he wanted to go down on me at school, only for my math teacher to walk in on us in the classroom, was a memory I was sure I would never forget. Sadly. 

However, the bliss of being sexually compatible couldn’t carry the relationship forever, and I was aware of that long before he was. Around the time we hit the one-month milestone, I could see in his gorgeous green eyes that he was tired. Roman needed to be free to function, free to fuck any girl that walked by, and free to disappear for hours and come back whenever it pleased him. 

And what did I need? I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

If I were to use my brain and ponder that question once more, I would conclude that I needed to stop sitting next to my hot ex-boyfriend who was now lighting one of his classic cigarettes. Roman knew I didn’t approve, knew how many times I had told him it was cancer on a stick—still, I settled for the fact that he wasn’t scared of death. Actually, he probably wasn’t scared of anything other than real commitment. 

With a sigh, Roman nodded to himself. “I’m aware, but I’m still allowed to miss the sight of you,” He turned to me, his strikingly green gaze piercing mine— I held my breath. This was getting intense. Nonetheless, the next thing that rolled out of his mouth caught me off guard; “Do you have a lighter?” 

… What? “Roman, you know I don’t smoke,”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Worth a shot. I had hopes that you’d at least managed to become an arsonist in our time apart, maybe then you’d carry a lighter around with you,” Like this, faced with his heartbreakingly beautiful smile beneath the hues of the moonlight, I was reminded of the first thought I ever had when I met him; he was so… cool. Roman always looked so damn cool. I loved the way it made my heart flutter— the feeling of being with the coolest guy at school was still the most thrilling feeling of all. I felt cool, knowing he wanted to sit next to me instead of being inside the loudest party of the year hunting down his next lay. 

It was impossible not to smile back. “Don’t be so disappointed. At least I’m still a cannibal,”

Humored, Roman chuckled; “Glad to hear it,”

“And you’re still a nymphomaniac,”

That seemed to strike a nerve— Roman let out an offended huff, now patting down the pockets of his jeans. “Forget it. I never go anywhere without my lighter, anyway,” he mumbled.

Oh no. “I didn’t mean it as an insult! We were joking, Roman. You’ve never been the type to hide that you like… sex—” 

“Don’t fucking talk to me about sex right now, I’m too tipsy,” Roman’s words were harsh, snappy. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, now fishing out his usual red lighter; I hadn’t seen that one in a while. “No sex-talk. None.”

“Fine, Jesus!—”

“Thanks to you, I now have to smoke away the taste of you. Thank you,” he grumbled, a slight twitch appearing beneath his left eye as he brought the cigarette to his plush lips— oh, how I missed those. “Your perfume isn’t helping, either. So don’t talk about sex, because then I’ll start thinking about sex with you, along with how you taste after I’ve been going down on you for about ten minutes, squirming, whining, and then I start thinking of how much I miss it. So could you just—just shut up for a minute, okay?”

I stared at Roman in disbelief, my lips parting as my jaw threatened to hit the floor. He must’ve had a few beers too many to be talking so openly about… anything. I would go off on him about his use of words, telling me to shut up, but I was too stunned to think properly. With my mind still buzzing, I scooted closer to Roman on the cold steps of the porch, daring to lean my head down on his shoulder like I used to do when we were together. “You’ve only proved my point,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “Nympho.”

I knew him too well— I knew Roman would appreciate casual physical contact. He didn’t have enough of that in his life, anyway. Chuckling, amused, he lit his cigarette, inhaling with a quiet moan— something told me he had been waiting for a hit for some time. And just as I opened my mouth, ready to start my usual smoking-is-bad lecture, Roman cut me to it; “Don’t start talking about cancer now, either,”

“It is a cancer stick,”

“I don’t care,”

“You should!”

“But I don’t,” With a sigh, Roman exhaled, watching the smoke evaporate into the warm summer air. He leaned his head on top of mine, and I couldn’t help but think how the smell of the cigarette clashed with the comforting smell of his shampoo. It ruined everything. 

This conversation was one we’d had tens of times, and I wasn’t too keen on repeating it. “Roman…” I reached for the cigarette he lazily held between his fingers, feeling the softness of his hand against mine. “Maybe you don’t care, but I do. You need to take care of yourself.” I didn’t need to look at Roman to know his brows were drawn together as I took the cigarette out of his hand, holding it away from him. 

He sighed again, slower this time; “If you’d ever smoked, you’d see the appeal,”

“Yeah?” It was hard not to roll my eyes— “The appeal of cancer?”

With a low laugh, Roman turned his head, kissing the top of my head out of habit. Weirdly enough, it felt platonic for the first time ever, yet it didn’t fail to evoke a hard thump in my chest. It felt like I was being electrocuted from the inside, and my eyes sprung open—I was happy he couldn’t see that. “Not cancer, don’t be stupid,” he huffed. “Just use that pretty little brain of yours, I know it’s in there somewhere,”

If only he knew my brain was currently working overtime. “I’ll never see the appeal of inhaling crap that ruins your lungs. If anything, you’re the stupid one,”

Roman rolled his eyes, gently giving my head a nudge with the shoulder I was leaning on, motioning for me to sit up. “Let me show you, just once. If you don’t like it, you’re allowed to call me a nicotine-addicted nymphomaniac until the last day of high school,”

“And the day after. An extension for your favorite ex,”

“Nope. The day of graduation, and that’s it,”

I turned to look at the blindingly pretty smile on Roman’s face— how was it possible not to fall for this guy? He was gorgeous. “Fine,” I mumbled, knowing I would call him that no matter what behind his back until the day he died. “So how the fuck do I do this?”

Something in Roman’s green, green, eyes shifted. Maybe he was wondering why he had ever let me go in the first place— maybe he was thinking about the word to describe the color of my hair as it mixed with the grays of the moonlight? He cleared his throat, turning his body towards me as I mirrored him; “The first step is easy,” he said, reaching forward to place his hand behind mine, bringing the cigarette to my lips. 

My skin burned. Fucking burned, with every touch. 

Roman’s eyes were already big, which is why I was surprised to see they could get even bigger when he gazed down at my lips. “Open up,” he breathed, absentminded. 

Now, I could be sure he wasn’t thinking about the color of my hair. Maybe he was back to reminiscing about the taste of me? Or other nasty nympho things, as per usual.

I placed the cigarette between my lips, but Roman let out a short, alarmed sound that nearly made me yelp. “Now comes the trick,” he urged, leaning closer— I was unsure whether he was aware he was inching towards my face or not. The closer he got, the easier it was to focus on the single strand of his dark hair that lay over his forehead, straying from his stylings. It was so damn attractive— I had to hold myself back from smiling, now that I remembered the one time I caught him pulling it out of his gelled updo to lay it there on purpose. Cutie.

“The trick?” I echoed, realizing he had frozen to his spot just staring at my lips. I pulled the cigarette away from my mouth; Roman hadn’t said anything for about five seconds. This was bad. This was dangerous. It made me want to jump him and let him fuck me right here on the porch. 

“Uh—” Roman cleared his throat, letting out a breathy chuckle as he shook his head. “Sorry. The trick, right…”

God, I was two seconds away from bursting into flames like a phoenix. Was I still breathing?

“For your first time, you should— because this is your first time, right?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?”

“Roman!”

“Alright, alright!” Roman laughed, biting his lip as he tilted his head just a little. Had the cigarette not forced a space between us, I would’ve started wondering when he would kiss me. “The trick is to not inhale too much smoke for your first time. I don’t want you to cough up your left lung on my new shirt. And hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment, let it cool down, and only inhale it when you’ve taken the cig out of your mouth.”

If Roman one day actually did decide to write a smoking-guide, I could at least be sure the content would be explained simply and concisely. “Seems easy enough,” I mumbled, watching Roman’s pupils widen as I placed the cigarette back between my lips and sucked in a small amount of smoke into my mouth.

It felt like I was getting a mild burn on my tongue— it wasn’t pleasant. For a second, I got scared my eyes would pop from the shock, and I closed them to ensure the blood at least wouldn’t splatter anywhere if I happened to be so unlucky. But when the burning subsided, I finally dared to inhale.

My eyes sprung open, meeting the fascination in Roman’s green gaze as my previous headache caused by the loud music disappeared. My brain suddenly felt like it was buzzing with pleasure and energy. Before I knew it, I was half giggling against Roman’s mouth, letting my cigarette-clad hand fall by my side. “Wow,” I breathed, in awe of the satisfying whirring in my head. 

Roman looked like he was two seconds away from cooing at me, right in my face; “There you go, good girl,” he purred. “Do you get it now?”

God, I hated myself. Still, what I hated more, was that my hot ex-boyfriend was blatantly right. “I think I do,” 

Roman hummed, smirking as he reached for the cigarette in my hand, smoothly brushing his fingers across my skin on his way down. With a content sigh, he looked into my dazed eyes as he pressed his free fingers over the pulse of my wrist— “I still make your heart jump,” he breathed, leaning in so close I could feel the hotness of his breath against my cheek.

I swallowed. “You always will. It doesn’t mean anything,” My eyes flickered back and forth between Roman’s green eyes and his plush, pink lips despite knowing I shouldn’t. 

“It doesn’t?” he echoed, visibly amused as he raised his brows. 

“… Nope,”

Roman hummed, nudging the tip of my nose with his just as he always did—was this maybe just a habit, or was he going to…? The atmosphere was so thick, I could reach out and touch it. My breath had long caught in my chest, but Roman’s next words only made it worse; “Let’s talk about sex again,” he whispered against my lips, his lashes hanging heavy over his eyes.

“No. This is over. We’re just sharing a cigarette,”

“We could share a bed too,”

“Stop it,” I breathed, hoping he’d spot the desperation in my eyes. “It’s been two months. Aren’t you over this?” Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.

Roman stilled. With the next beat of my pulse against his fingers, his eyes softened with a new realization beneath the moonlight; 

“Over you? Never,”

[hookhausenschips]

Shades of Deception

Chapter 2 of The Game of Seduction

Navigation

Summary: Breaking through Lando Norris’s guarded demeanor wasn’t about brute force; it was a game of subtlety, slipping through unnoticed cracks and leaving just enough intrigue to keep him coming back for more. Yet, as Y/N played her part, weaving calculated charm and wit into every interaction, both began to sense the lines between their masks and true selves starting to blur—a dangerous dance where neither could afford to falter.

WC: 3k

Warnings: Violence, Emotional Conflict, Manipulation, Intimacy, Y/N’s usual charm and Lando’s

Taglists

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Breaking down a man like Lando Norris wasn’t about crashing through his defenses—it was about slipping through the cracks he didn’t know he had.

It started with little things. A well-timed insight, a carefully chosen question. And, of course, just enough distance to leave him wanting more. I knew how to play the game, and Lando? He was a puzzle I was determined to solve.

The first time I saw a crack in that cold exterior was during one of our “coincidental” meetings. I had slipped into the bar at the McLaren HQ, draped in a fitted black dress that hit just the right balance between elegance and allure. The neckline teased, the hem flirted, and every inch of the fabric told him I was someone he couldn’t quite place.

When he walked in, his gaze flickered over me like it always did—careful, assessing, a man who didn’t trust the ground he walked on.

“Funny running into you again,” I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass as he approached.

Lando’s mouth quirked into a smirk, but his eyes stayed guarded. “You seem to make a habit of showing up where I am.”

I leaned back, my lips curling into a slow smile. “Or maybe you’re the one following me, Mr. Norris.”

His chuckle was soft, almost reluctant. He slid into the seat across from me, setting his own drink on the table. “I don’t follow anyone.”

“Not even when they’re worth it?” I asked, tilting my head.

His dark crystalline eyes held mine, and for a second, I thought I’d gone too far. But then his smirk returned, this time with a spark of something warmer. “That depends on how much trouble they bring with them.”

---

I should’ve ignored her. Walked away like I’ve done a hundred times before.

But something about Y/N always pulls me in, like the moment you lean too close to the edge just to see how far down it goes.

Tonight was no different.

She sat there, draped in that dress, her legs crossed like she owned the place. Her confidence was maddening, her charm effortless. Most people in my world tried too hard—too eager to impress, too desperate to get close. But her? She acted like none of it mattered.

“You enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?” I asked, watching her sip her drink with deliberate ease.

She laughed, the sound low and full of mischief. “I don’t stir anything. I just happen to know where the spoons are.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile I didn’t want her to see. “You’re dangerous.”

Her lips parted slightly, her smile softening into something almost intimate. “Maybe,” she said quietly, “but only to the ones who deserve it.”

For a second, I didn’t know how to respond. There was something in her tone, a shadow of something real beneath the playful words. It caught me off guard.

And that wasn’t supposed to happen.

---

Over the weeks that followed, I became a constant in Lando’s orbit. Not too much, not too little—just enough to make myself impossible to ignore.

One night, we were in his private lounge, a room with walls lined in dark wood and soft lighting that made everything feel more intimate than it should have. He leaned against the pool table, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, watching as I lined up my shot.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low. “The table’s unforgiving.”

I smirked, glancing at him over my shoulder. “So are you.”

His laugh was quiet, but it softened something in the air between us.

The cue ball ricocheted, missing the pocket entirely. I straightened, placing the cue stick on the table with a theatrical sigh. “Well, there goes my flawless reputation.”

“You’re not perfect?” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriating way that always made me want to smile back.

I turned to him, folding my arms and meeting his gaze head-on. “Not even close.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his expression shifting into something I couldn’t quite read. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Nobody is.”

I wasn’t sure why the words hit me the way they did, but for a second, the air felt heavier. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but I couldn’t risk peeling back too many layers too soon.

“Your turn,” I said instead, stepping aside and gesturing to the table.

He didn’t argue, but as he lined up his shot, I caught him glancing at me. Like he was trying to figure out if I’d seen something he didn’t want me to.

---

She’s breaking me down, and I hate it.

Every time she’s near, it feels like she’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know were there. Her wit, her confidence, the way she looks at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking—it’s maddening.

And yet, I keep inviting her back.

She’s careful, I’ll give her that. She never pushes too far, never asks questions I can’t answer. But she has a way of making me feel like I’m the one being tested. Like she’s the one deciding whether I’m worth her time.

It’s infuriating. And addictive.

---

The line between business and personal blurred with every passing day.

Y/N had a way of drawing Lando out of his carefully constructed shell, challenging him without ever making him feel threatened. Her flirtations were sharp, her insights sharper, and for every moment she pushed, there was another where she pulled back, leaving him wanting more.

But there were cracks forming on both sides.

For Y/N, the growing connection was becoming harder to ignore. Lando wasn’t the reckless mob boss she’d expected. He was careful, calculating, and surprisingly human in the quiet moments they shared.

For Lando, Y/N was a puzzle he couldn’t put down. Her confidence intrigued him, her intellect impressed him, and her warmth—however fleeting—made him feel things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

Late one evening, as they sat in his lounge, the space between them felt heavier than usual.

“You know,” Y/N said, swirling her drink lazily, “for someone who doesn’t trust people easily, you’re letting me get awfully close.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. “Maybe I’m waiting to see if you’re worth the risk.”

She met his gaze, her smile softening into something genuine. “And what do you think?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes lingering on her for a moment too long. “I think you’re dangerous,” he said finally, his voice low.

Her laugh was quiet, almost bittersweet. “Only to the ones who deserve it.”

For once, Lando didn’t argue. Because deep down, he was beginning to wonder if she might be the exception to every rule he’d ever lived by.

---

Lando wasn’t a man who gave away his attention freely. He didn’t have to. His reputation, his power, and the sheer magnetism he exuded meant there was no shortage of people—particularly women—willing to do whatever it took to be noticed by him.

But Y/N was different.

She didn’t fawn over him, didn’t chase him, and certainly didn’t flatter him with empty compliments. Instead, she played the game on her own terms, treating him not as untouchable but as an equal. Her confidence was a challenge, one that both frustrated and fascinated him.

It was a dangerous dance, the back-and-forth between them. He knew better than to let her in, but he couldn’t seem to stop the pull.

---

“I see you’re enjoying the show,” she teased, her voice light but edged with mischief.

We were in one of the smaller lounges at the McLaren estate, a space I used for quieter evenings when the noise of the main floors became too much. Tonight, it was just the two of us, the flickering light from the fireplace casting shadows along the room.

“I wouldn’t call it a show,” I said, my lips curling into a smirk as I leaned back in my chair, swirling the glass of bourbon in my hand.

“Oh?” She raised a perfectly arched brow, crossing her legs as she leaned forward slightly. The movement was deliberate, her burgundy-red dress catching the low light. “What would you call it, then?”

“A distraction,” I said simply, watching for her reaction.

Most people would’ve bristled at the dismissal. But Y/N? She just smiled.

“Funny,” she said, her voice dropping just a touch. “You don’t strike me as the type to let anything distract you, Mr. Norris.”

There it was again—that sharpness, that ability to parry my words without flinching. She was quick, always quick, and it was maddening.

“And yet,” I said, my tone quieter now, “here you are.”

Her smile widened, a challenge in her eyes. “Here I am.”

---

The tension between them was palpable, a constant push and pull that neither seemed willing to break. Lando flirted just enough to keep her guessing, and Y/N never backed down, meeting him at every turn with her own clever quips and calculated smiles.

But for all her charm, Lando wasn’t the type to be led blindly.

One evening, after Y/N had left the estate, her laugh still echoing faintly in his mind, Lando sat in his office with a single thought nagging at him: Who is she, really?

“Find out everything you can about her,” he told Oscar Piastri, his most trusted lieutenant.

Oscar raised a brow but didn’t question the order. “Anything specific you’re looking for?”

“Everything,” Lando said simply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

---

Oscar worked quickly, and by the next morning, Lando had a folder on his desk.

“Raised in the Caribbean,” Oscar began, summarizing the contents as Lando flipped through the pages. “Moved to Europe for school. No criminal record, no obvious ties to anyone suspicious. She’s clean.”

Lando frowned, his fingers pausing on a photo of Y/N laughing with a group of friends. The Caribbean? It made sense—the warmth in her voice, the confidence in the way she carried herself. But something about the lack of dirt made him uneasy.

“Too clean,” Lando muttered, setting the folder down.

Oscar hesitated. “Want me to keep an eye on her?”

Lando’s eyes flicked up, sharp and calculating. “Do it.”

---

The next day, Y/N spent the afternoon out with her friends, a rare break from the mental chess match she played with Lando. The group wandered through the city’s high-end shopping district, laughing as they browsed boutiques and caught up over cocktails.

But even as she enjoyed herself, Y/N’s instincts buzzed with a familiar tension.

A sleek black car had been trailing them for hours, always keeping a careful distance. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Y/N wasn’t most people. She’d been trained to watch for these things, and the presence of the car felt like confirmation of what she already suspected.

Lando didn’t trust her.

After parting ways with her friends at the end of the day, Y/N took a detour down a quieter street. She slowed her steps, waiting until the car pulled closer before turning on her heel and striding directly toward it.

Y/N strode toward the car with deliberate steps, her heart pounding in her chest despite the calm facade she wore. She hated being watched—hated the feeling that someone thought they could keep tabs on her without her noticing.

The car had been trailing her for hours, always keeping just enough distance to stay inconspicuous. But it wasn’t enough. Y/N had been trained to spot shadows, and this one had Lando’s name written all over it.

Reaching the driver’s side, she raised her hand and knocked sharply on the tinted window, her expression cool and unbothered.

She waited, the street eerily quiet except for the distant hum of the city. When the window finally rolled down, she wasn’t surprised to find Lando sitting in the passenger seat, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Lando,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “What a surprise.”

---

From the passenger seat, I watched as Y/N approached the car.

She moved with the same confidence that had drawn me to her in the first place, her chin high, her shoulders squared. She wasn’t scared—if anything, she seemed amused.

Oscar glanced at me, his hand hovering over the window controls. “You want me to—”

“Do it,” I said, leaning back in my seat.

The window lowered, and Y/N’s face came into view. She looked as poised as ever, her curls framing her sharp features, her expression calm but laced with challenge.

She didn’t look scared.

Most people would’ve hesitated—maybe turned the other way, pretended they didn’t notice the car. But Y/N? She walked right up to us, bold as ever, her confidence almost daring me to explain myself.

I leaned back in the seat, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she greeted me like an old friend.

“Lando,” she said, her voice smooth. “I thought I told you I didn’t like being followed.”

I smirked, keeping my tone light. “I’m just making sure you’re not getting yourself into trouble.”

Her eyes flicked to Oscar briefly before returning to me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t trust me.”

“And if I didn’t know better,” I replied, “I’d say you’re not surprised.”

She tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Should I be flattered or insulted?”

“Whichever keeps you interesting,” I said.

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and for a moment, I found myself caught in it.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I said, my voice calm.

Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Why would I be? You’re predictable.”

I raised a brow at that, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “Am I?”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Oscar, sitting stiffly behind the wheel, before locking back onto mine. “Sending your second-in-command to tail me isn’t exactly subtle.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened at the remark, but I waved him off before he could speak. “I thought you liked a little mystery, Y/N.”

“Oh, I do,” she replied, leaning her forearms on the window. The scent of her perfume reached me—a subtle, intoxicating mix of warmth and spice. “But this?” She gestured toward the car. “Feels more like paranoia than mystery.”

“Next time,” she said, leaning closer, “just ask me what you want to know. Saves everyone the trouble.”

Before I could respond, she straightened and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement.

As I watched her go, Oscar let out a low whistle. “She’s bold.”

I didn’t respond. Because for all her boldness, all her charm, there was one thing I couldn’t shake.

She hadn’t denied it.

---

I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t expect me to confront him—not like this.

He thought I’d pretend not to notice the car, that I’d let him play his little game of cat and mouse. But I didn’t have the patience for it.

“So,” I said, tilting my head slightly, my curls brushing against my bare shoulders. “What exactly are you looking for, Lando? Because if you want to know something, you could just ask.”

His smirk deepened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually answer me. But instead, he leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into mine.

“And if I did?” he said, his voice low and edged with challenge. “Would you tell me the truth?”

The question hit harder than I expected. I forced myself to hold his gaze, my smile never faltering. “Why don’t you try me and find out?”

He didn’t respond immediately. The tension between us hung thick in the air, a battle of wills neither of us wanted to lose.

Finally, he leaned back, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Maybe I will.”

---

The sound of Y/N’s heels echoed against the pavement as she walked away, her head held high. The confrontation hadn’t gone as planned—not that she had expected it to. Lando was impossible to read, his flirtations always a step removed from his true intentions.

Still, she’d held her ground, and that was what mattered.

In the car, Lando watched her go, his expression unreadable.

“She’s sharp,” Oscar said after a moment, breaking the silence.

“She is,” Lando replied, his tone more thoughtful than wary.

“You think she noticed anything?”

Lando’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “She noticed everything. That’s the point.”

Oscar frowned, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “You still want me to keep tabs on her?”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the street where Y/N had disappeared, the echo of her laughter still fresh in his mind.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “But don’t get too close. She’ll see you coming.”

Oscar nodded, but his unease was evident. “You think she’s hiding something?”

Lando let out a low chuckle, his smirk turning into something colder. “Oh, she’s definitely hiding something. The question is whether she’s better at it than I am.”

---

The night felt colder as I walked back to my apartment, my earlier confidence giving way to a restless tension.

Lando was playing a game, and I was caught in it. But I wasn’t just a piece on his board—I was playing my own.

Still, the way he looked at me, the way his voice dipped when he asked if I’d tell him the truth—it rattled something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I couldn’t let him get to me. Not now.

As I unlocked the door to my apartment, I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see another car parked nearby. But the street was empty, the silence pressing against me like a warning.

Inside, I dropped my keys on the counter and sank onto the couch, letting out a long breath. My phone buzzed beside me, the screen lighting up with a text.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Enjoying the attention, Y/N?

My blood ran cold.

I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen. I hadn’t given Lando my number—or anyone else in his circle.

A second message followed almost immediately.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Careful, darling. You’re not the only one watching.

The weight of those words settled over me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt the walls closing in.

Lando wasn’t the only one playing this game. And whoever had sent the message wasn’t interested in flirting.

This was a warning. Or worse—a threat.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Series Taglist: @laptime-deleted

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @laptime-deleted

[marigold-hills]

The Black Wizard (part 2)

PART ONE

There’s a man looking at him, upside down. Black hair framing a slender face. Eyes like diamonds.

Remus has his head thrown back against the chair. The man stands over him, a curious glint of an expression.

“And who are you, prey tell?”

Remus scrambles up and off the chair, falling to the floor in the process. Hears a snort of laughter like wet logs popping in a fire.

The man raises one perfect eyebrow, watches him closely. White billowy shirt just open at the collar, showing dark ink of tattoos. Tight (tight) black trousers. Necklaces and rings and delicate gems adorning him, reflecting light, maybe radiating their own. 

The Black Wizard is much more handsome than the stories gave him credit.

Remus is staring, and the Wizard stares right back.

“Remus. Remus Lupin, sir.”

The Black Wizard visibly flinches. “Don’t call me sir,” he responds, and the cheerful tone of voice seems forced, “that’s what people called my father.”

“My apologies, umm… my lord?”

There is a laugh from the fire, and a louder one from the Wizard. It sounds like the bark of a dog. Sudden and unrestrained.

“Definitely not that. Sirius is just fine.”

For a moment Remus thinks this is a test. One isn’t supposed to get chummy with wizards. That’s how one gets their heart eaten.

But Remus is a monster. His heart is as good as gone anyway. What difference does it make, if he gets a bit too close and personal with the handsome man?

“Pleasure to meet you, Sirius.”

It’s a strange situation they find themselves in. Remus, still on the floor, limbs in a disarray of knees and elbows. Sirius, immaculate, perturbed and amused about it, like he’s waiting on the punchline.

“How did you get into my Castle, Remus?”

“It stopped and let me in?” Remus answers but it comes out like a questions, like: front door was open so I walked right in. Didn’t you know?

“Has it now? It doesn’t do that.”

Remus bristles. “I’m not lying.”

“My apologies,” Sirius takes a strange little bow. Nobody has ever bowed to Remus before. “I didn’t mean to offend. I merely meant it doesn’t do that for just anyone.”

Sirius leans down, extends a hand to where Remus is (still) half sprawled out. It’s soft to the touch but strong when it pulls him upright.

He’s surprised to find that he’s taller than the Wizard. It doesn’t seem right to be towering over a man with such a fierce reputation, yet there he is: towering. The top of Sirius’ head is rather fetching.

“If you excuse me,” the Black Wizard says with a strange flourish of his hand, “I had a rather long night. The last room at the top of the stairs is empty, if you wish to use it. James!” He shouts towards the fire, already half-way up the stairs, “be a darling and warm up the water for my bath.”

@tealeavesandtrash

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@wannabelilybriscoe

@quiethauntings

@veganbutterchicken

[silverhalla]

Seleny Merlot, 8:92 Blessed

Teia had looked far too pleased when she asked him to dinner. That should have been the first clue.

Viago didn’t trust restaurants. In all honesty, he detested them. He could only test for so many poisons at once, and had only developed his immunity to a few dozen. A restaurant was danger. It was his life, in the hands of an unknown chef, in the hands of many unknown persons with many untold reasons to perhaps want him dead. As a rule, he avoided them, but Teia was... insistent. She owned the little bistro, though, and had personally vetted anyone with access to his food for the evening. It was a touching gesture, truly, to make him feel more comfortable in a place he felt deeply, uniquely exposed.

It should have been his second clue.

(also on [ao3]!!)

The establishment was irritatingly nice. Candles flickered on every table, although theirs was the only one taken. If he’d been on edge before, his concern was certainly peaking now.

"You're planning something," he groused after the waiter walked away, pulling out Teia's chair for her. She sat delicately, looking up at him through her lashes as he sat down across the table.

"I am not," she insisted, sounding far too smug.

Viago sighed. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Oh, hush. Drink some wine." She reached for the menu, smiling at him in a way that reminded him far too much of a satisfied cat. "Try to enjoy yourself for once."

"I'm enjoying myself," he huffed, not enjoying himself at all. "Hand me the wine list."

“Of course,” she said, taking a quick glance at it before passing it over. "Seleny Merlot, 8:92 Blessed. Isn’t that Rook’s favorite?”

Viago squinted at her, unamused. “Why do you know that?”

“Oh, it just came to mind.” She waved a hand dismissively, returning to her study of the menu. “It came up recently in conversation.”

That was news. “You saw Rook?”

“No,” Teia purred, batting her dark, pretty eyes at him. “I saw Lucanis.”

Viago’s voice went deadly serious. “Andarateia.”

“He was thinking of buying a bottle or two,” she hinted, “or so I heard.” She leaned forward, barely hiding a smirk, and he could feel a vein at his temple begin to throb.

"Why is a Dellamorte..." - he hissed the name through his teeth - "...buying expensive wine for my protege?"

Teia fluttered a hand, looking nonchalant. “Oh, I’m sure there was a reason. Perhaps her nameday?”

“Half a year ago,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You planned her trip to the coast.”

“Did I? I must have forgotten.” Teia bridged her fingers and rested her chin upon them, blinking up at the man innocently. “Well, friends buy friends gifts. Like the dagger she got for him, or so the vendor mentioned.”

It was a trap, he knew, and he walked into it anyways. “When?”

“A few months, give or take.”

That was a horrifying concept – how long he’d gone without spotting it. "Months!?"

“Oh, don’t be so glum,” Teia teased, “I’m sure it's nothing. She would’ve said something. To one of us, at least.”

There was a beat, where Teia smiled serenely and his fury simmered.

"Did she say something to you?" he asked tersely, already regretting the question.

"Nothing comes to mind." She pretended to think about it carefully, her brow furrowed. "I suppose she hasn't had much time lately. The last time I saw her was..."

"When you were planning Caterina's funeral," Viago finished, wheels turning in his head. "...and he brought her with him."

"For moral support, wasn't it? He needed her close by, just in case." She paused, tilting her chin thoughtfully. "Now that I think about it, there was a comment..."

"Teia...," he groaned, his eyes pleading.

She waved a hand dismissively. "I had complimented her. And insulted you in the process, of course."

"Of course," he said, sarcastic as ever.

"And Lucanis got a little..." Teia paused, considering her words carefully. "...defensive."

Vi's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"He told me not to flirt with her." That, at least, seemed like a decent idea.

"For once, something he and I agree on," he said, casting her a scathing look.

She ignored him, continuing. "And he looked absolutely pitiful about it," Teia added, "...and he called her his colleague."

There was another shoe that had to drop, surely, but he had to know. “Is that it?”

"Oh, but he almost didn't. 'Teia, don't flirt with my... colleague'!" she mimicked, affecting his slightly posher accent, "Like that."

"Like he wanted to call her something else." Viago frowned, brooding. "Did she seem surprised?"

Teia's grin only grew. "She blushed. To the tips of her ears."

Viago cursed, leaning back in his chair. It was a bigger problem than he'd thought. If Lucanis was smitten, he'd kill him. If Rook was smitten, he could give her a strong talking-to and make thinly-veiled threats. Of course the fool had to fall for a Dellamorte, of all people. It was irritating how easily she shaped up plans to ruin her own life. If it were a one-sided crush, yes, he could deal with that. Find a way to dissuade her, or to threaten him. But if that interest was mutual... Mierda.

“Maybe we’re reading too much into it,” he said hopelessly, desperate for another explanation. "Plenty of Crows send out gifts for well-struck contracts. Maybe a gift for a job well done?"

“Perhaps,” Teia conceded, going back to perusing the drink menu. Her eyes kept flickering back up to him, though, a mischievous look on her face, which he ignored for as long as he could manage.

Finally, after a minute of terse silence and furtive looks, he sighed. “What?”

“Nothing! I’m just thinking about that wine,” Teia hinted, “It must be good.”

He considered deeply whether he’d done something stupid recently. Stupid enough, at least, that she’d poison him for it. It wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t built up a tolerance for, but it would certainly make for an unpleasant evening.

The waiter, seeming to sense his acquiescence, materialized at the table. “Signora?”

“A glass of Antivan White,” Teia said sweetly, flashing the boy a dazzling smile that had him stammering as he turned to take the other assassin's order.

“And… and for you?”

“I’ll try the 8:92,” Viago sighed, annoyed that he had to take the bait, “…a glass, but only if you have a fresh bottle. We’ll uncork it here.” The odds of getting poisoned at one of the Cantori’s restaurants were low, but never zero. He untucked the tester kit from his sleeve regardless.

“Of course, signore. If you enjoy the vintage - well, it should be much easier to come by in these next few months.”

“Is that so?” Teia chimed, flashing the boy one of her dazzling smiles, one she'd used on Viago on plenty of occasions. It politely demanded conversation.

“Yes. The winery is under new ownership, you see. And under strict orders for restaurants to keep a reserve.” He returned the Seventh Talon’s smile, every bit as starstruck and moony-eyed as would’ve been expected, faced with Teia’s interest. The comment did not go unnoticed.

Viago recovered as best as he could, already on edge. “What do you mean?”

The boy launched into a long demonstration that he didn’t comment on simply because he was fuming, and feeling utterly foolish, and because language seemed to escape him. The Dellamortes hadn’t just bought the wine, the sommelier had explained cheerfully. They’d bought the whole vineyard.

Teia smirked, and Viago nursed a headache that began forming almost immediately. Somewhere, he was sure, he had a poison that could end this misery.

“On second thought,” he grumbled, “…I will take the whole bottle.”

[rikas-things]

🗣️Rika's Yappfest Hours🗣️

⚠️¡¡WARNING!!⚠️

This post contains light spoilers for Twisted Wonderland Book 7! Read at your OWN RISK

💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚

Hello, fellow Twist fans! I just wanted to bring something like this into question since it's been on my mind for a minute since the latest chapter update for Book 7.

I've been seeing a lot of unrest in regards to the pacing and/or additions of the character cards and whatnot and I thought I might want to add my two cents to this.

The biggest questions are what if the addition of the other dream segments were just there for padding/card development? And what if Book 7 ends up with a rushed/unsatisfied ending where Malleus or Idia don't get any spotlight?

For the first question, I think most of the unrest mainly comes from waiting for the next releases of each part. As a long time manga fan, I know the full pain of having to wait for your favorite series to get new content (cries in One Munch Man ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠˙̫̮⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ) and I'm sure you guys know that whole song and dance too.

A LOT of the comedic stuff can be annoying when all you wanna do is get to the juicy ✨drama✨ but I'm willing to bet had the part been done all the way through like the other books, they wouldn't have stung as hard.

Upon replaying certain parts (and fights) the pacing didn't come off as painful and I'm sure, again, once the part is over, we'll all have a great memory of it.

And as for the later, I think only time will tell. I think, with the wait time of each piece being the way that it is, that I doubt Yana and the writers would willingly put subpar chapters given how they want to tie everything together, themes and such included.

Asides

This is even more of my ramblings, things that aren't necessaryly related to the main talking points above. Can't you tell I wrote this late at night? 🤪

*Speaking of the dream segments, I remember there was some mention of how stuff like Savanaclaw Rook and Kalim's school could have been vignettes and on hindsight I'm just wondering...how could these be vignettes?

I only say this bc of the fact that the dream segments are supposed to be desires/thoughts of the people in the dreams, and I doubt the Twist team would want to make an entire vignette on something that was essentially a flashback.

They probably wanted to answer the burning questions of what Rook looked like before he transferred, or like, in Kalim's case, they wanted to tie up any loose ends that were not addressed in the earlier chapters.

Let's be honest: aside from Riddle and Idia, everyone's (the Overblotters) trauma didn't really get handled with a lot of the seriousness it should have been- or at least, there was a lot swept under the rug, and I think the dream segments could be a means to really explore the inner mechanics of the characters as well as how they plan to handle that trauma from here moving forward.

*"How was Silver able to keep using his magic without overblotting or building up blot?" ...I actually have a theory about this. Remember what Lilia said while confronting Malleus?

This would explain why many others can use their magic so freely, Silver included. Bc the dream world makes it so that the bodies of the hosts aren't affected apart from being put to sleep. I mean, it would be pretty lame if you're in a dream world and you could only do so much due to your magic not being the best, right? But what do you think?

That's all I gotta say for now. Think I'm wrong? Or maybe you agree with me? I'd like to discuss it. Thank you and bye bye!

[twosdays-trash]

Everything in its right place Part 1

Enea-centric hurt/comfort Shapeshifter Au- 3K

heres some art i drew for this au too :D! -=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-=+=-

As a kid growing up in Italy and a fan of racing you automatically become a Valentino Rossi fan, it's a right of passage Enea supposes, and he's no stranger. He admired the man, the god himself, Valentino, which is why he was shocked that the man approached him. 

It was the hours following free practice and Enea's stomach was growling, and he had forgotten to put some fresh food into his fridge, so he figured the best course of action was to go out to the store and get something easy to make. Peeling himself off of the couch in his motorhome and grabbing his wallet he made his way out the door and started walking in the direction of the closest store. Only, he couldn't get more than four steps away from the motorhome when he was stopped by none other than Valentino Rossi.

“Hello,” Valentino Greeted, a small smile on his face. He is wearing his merch or something that looks like it. There is a little helmet and VR48 with something written below, but Enea can't tell what it says. The jacket he's wearing isn't too far off from regular Valentino Rossi Merch so Enea doesn't bat an eye at it too much.

“Ah, Hello Mr Rossi,” Enea greets back, shakey and weirdly out of breath despite the fact he has hardly moved. 

“Mr Rossi!” Valentino Guffaws, “Please kid, just call me Vale. Mr Rossi makes me feel old!”

You are old Enea thinks offhandedly, but does not voice this though. “Sorry.”

Vale waves a hand through the air placidly, “Bah, it's no worries. Besides, it's only a natural response right?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,”  Enea shrugs. He's not sure if this is how the conversation between his literal idol and himself should have gone. It probably would have been a lot smoother if he weren't processing this on the fumes of what he had for breakfast before practice. 

 “So…” 

“Hm?”

“What did you need?”

“Ah! that right! I came here to ask you a question for next year!

Puzzled, Enea cocks his head to the side and furrows his brows. Next year? Does he mean my seat or something else?

“you mean for what seat I'm going for?”

“yes! I was wondering if you would like to join the Academy?-”

THE academy team that he started this year?

“-There is an open space and we were wondering if you would like to join. We’ve been watching you all season and looked into your past seasons in other categories and we like how you’re doing things!”

“So. you're asking me if I want to join the Academy team next year?”

“yep,” Vale nods, a smile on his face.

“What is the academy like?”

“What is it like?”

“yeah, how does training work? Is it group or individual programs? How would it work?”

Vale crosses his arms, furrows his brows, and squints his eyes, thinking, “Hmm… well, yes to both things you asked about the groups or individuals.” he unfurls himself and starts gesturing with his hands loudly and continues talking.

“most of the training and practice comes in groups. I like to think of the academy as a little family of sorts, so we normally do things together. A majority of the time training takes place at my ranch in Tavulia where we review races together, practice riding on the dirt tracks, and also work out sometimes.”

Ah, so they do everything together basically.

“We also do some one-on-one things if you have specific concerns about something, or if there is something that you or we feel the need to change. Most of the boys in the academy have a room at the ranch for when they are staying for more than the day, so you could also have your own room. No shared room though!”

Enea nods his head along to everything that Vale is saying. Group everything. Gosh, that sounds like heaven and hell all at once. He would have the ability to talk to people, hang out with Valentino fucking Rossi, AND ride bikes as much as he wants. However, the never-ending togetherness, and the ability to practice, process, and perfect his craft all by himself would be hellish. 

The thought of not having the ability to workout alone without the group sounds horrible. On a good day, he can hardly handle going to public gyms during rush hour when it's mostly older men, but that same amount of time but with teenagers his age or younger working out together in an enclosed space does NOT sound productive in his mind.

He also thinks of his shifting abilities. How he can’t go for that long without shifting, and still has his times where he accidentally shifts because of too many emotions happening all at once. More times than Enea can count he has shifted the moment he got behind closed doors from all the excitement of the day finally getting out. He thinks about the times when he accidentally shifted before getting to his motorhome and having to hide, feeling all too big while hiding between or underneath whatever thing was closest to his giant furry body. He thinks about the many times when he accidentally scratched Carlo, Mr. Gresini, or his parent with his giant claws and gangly limbs. Of all the animals that Enea could shift into a Bear was probably the worst one.

“That all sounds wonderful, but could I get some time to think about it?”

A soft smile crosses Vales's face and Enea feels a soft tingling at his fingertips that he ignores.

“Of course you can.”

“Is there a final date you need an answer by?”

“Yep, by the end of the season.”

Ok. the end of the season is in a few months, that should be enough time to figure out his response, right?

…

…

It does end up being enough time. The next day after qualifying, Enea brings up his conflicts with the offer to his manager, Carlo. He brings up all the beautiful things that Vale brought up, but also all the things that he's worried will or might happen. He brings up his worries of shifting in front of them, and how that would end horribly, especially with the animal that he is. 

Carlo had stated that he believes that Enea should stay there at Gresini, but if he felt it was necessary to leave then he could do so. Enea didn't want to leave though, he loved this tight-knit family of a team that he had the luck to be a part of. With Mr Gresini being almost like a second dad to him, it just felt wrong to leave that alone, but Enea also felt that the team was getting stronger and was going to go far in the coming season.

So on Saturday night, Enea made it his choice to find Valentino and reject his offer as softly as possible. Maybe he would do the whole ‘it no you, it's me’ to Vale, and a snicker manages to force its way out of Enea's mouth as he walks down the motorhome lane. Making his way towards the VR46 homes he tries to script the rejection in his brain as softly and swiftly as possible.

Hello Vale, no that sounds too formal. Hi Vale, I’ve come here to discuss your inquiry? to discuss your offer. The offer is better. Ok. Hi Vale, I'm here to discuss your offer, could we talk inside maybe? Would that be rude since I'm inviting myself into his motorhome? Wait, it's not even his! Oh god, this is going to go terribly.

—————————

MotoGP Rookie year

Even though he had turned down Vale's offer he still sometimes joins the Academy in some of their escapades and training sessions despite not being a part of the academy. It is nice having friends in such a cutthroat sport like MotoGP, but Enea has sadly (or gladly, he supposes) that he has never had the chance or time to build such a close relationship with the other drivers that a falling out would be a devastation. Like how the falling out with Marc and Vale went. The topic has become taboo in the Ranch household, even though you cannot mention racing without either Marc or Vale without there being the intertwining of the two. It's beautiful in a strange way, he supposes. 

Despite this, the bond of the Academy drivers, both Ex and current, is unbelievably strong. A lot of times Enea feels like an outsider to the group though, which he is in a way, but it's still strange. 

There are references and inside jokes that are made that he doesn't understand. Sometimes a joke is made and some of the academy members will give me this wide-eyed panicked look, like he’ll be learning whatever secret reference they made with a four-word joke. 

Enea is a people person, an extrovert. He loves talking and chatting and hanging out with people he holds dear and strangers all the same. So when he starts feeling like he's not wanted somewhere it stings a little bit, but it's nothing new. he knows he's chatty and he knows when to stop based on facial and body language alone. But seeing this behavior come from his friends hurts on a whole new level.

Sometimes it's unbearable. Like there's a tension settled over the house whenever he's there, and Enea knows that it has to do with him. On the bad days, he can always feel someone watching him, staring at him at almost constant times. He asked about it before, sort of.

 Typically on these days, someone from the group is missing, whether that's Vale, Pecco, Bez, Cele, Mig, Franky, or whoever, someone is always missing, and when Enea enters the building and asks “Where are they?” It's like he asked if he could invite Marc Marquez to the ranch or like he killed someone's grandma.

He doesn't understand, and they don't try to help him understand, so he stops trying. When he sees someone missing he stops asking. When they make a joke he doesn't understand he looks at his phone or away to pretend he isn't listening. He starts making excuses now and then so that he doesn't have to go to the ranch and so that he doesn't feel like an outsider with his friends. More and more often it starts to feel like Family PLUS Enea, and he just can't stand that feeling.

It's a slow process, pulling away. He tries to do it slowly, missing a few meets throughout a couple of months, then slowly adding more and more excuses to the board. It gets to the point where he starts scheduling hangouts with other people and sponsoring events on the days that their get-togethers happen. Putting so much effort into missing these hangouts makes Enea feel like an asshole, it weighs on him and he sure as hell hopes that no one can see the amount of pressure it's putting on him. 

These get-togethers were some of the few times when he could hang out with his friends with no worries about the media or anything, but now that he's hardly talking to them the pressure is building and building. Similar to how he can't go too long without shifting, he also cannot go a long time without interactions with his friends. Speaking of, Enea figures now would be the best time to shift during this weekend. It's Thursday evening and he's completed all the media and video requirements earlier in the day. He thinks that this will probably be the only free time he will have in the coming future. 

The TV in his Motorhome is playing softly on a random cartoon station, Enea hoped it would bring him comfort but after staring blankly at the little characters on the screen for 30 minutes he resigned himself to shifting for the night. He's always tried to hold off shifting for as long as possible, simply on the count of how dangerous and destructive his animal form is. Not because he goes feral or loses all inhibitions, no, it's because of his size and physical attributes that come along with being a black bear. 

He finds that it's hard to hide while a bear, especially if he shifts to places like cities or towns not near forests at all. Not only hiding is hard but so is moving in the safety of his motorhome. Since bears are so big the floor always creaks dangerously when he walks and he always ends up tearing or breaking something in the home. The amount of times he's torn the blankets and pillows on his bed from trying to cuddle them is too many to count. Not to mention all of the glasses and bowls he's broken when trying to get something to drink. 

After a day or night of shifting, Enea always feels a pit of dread and embarrassment. It's always so embarrassing to go up to his manager and mumble I’ve ripped the sheets again or I broke some more glasses.  Maybe Enea should start asking for plasticware instead of glass so that he doesn't have to deal with that conversation. He should also look into some heavy-duty blankets and pillows so that he doesn't have to confront the team again, to see their pitying looks at something he can't control.

Enea, tiredly sits forward on the couch, resting his head in his hands and sighs. He can only put off shifting for so long, so pushing his hands on his knees he stands up and makes his way to the kitchen to get some things ready for his shift.

A big metal bowl for water, a giant bag of nuts and dried fruit trail mix, another giant metal bowl to put the trail mix into, and a couple of large towels to place under the water bowl. Hands full he brings all the materials into his room, placing the bag on the bed, an empty bowl next to the door, and the large towels next to the bowl. He brings the other empty bowl back into the kitchen to fill it with water, before carefully making his way back into his room and setting it down softly on the towels.

Sighing heavily he turns around and grabs the bag of trail mix, tears it open, and pours it into the food bowl on the ground. God, he feels like he's feeding a dog. An animal. Which, he supposes he is but this just feels a little demoralizing. 

Once the bag is empty he walks back to the kitchen to throw the bag away, checks the door is locked, windows are closed, and everything is prepared for the shift he makes his way over to the couch. Enea has always found it easier to have a distraction while he shifted so that it wasn't too abrupt or painful, so he sat down on the floor in front of the TV and let the transformation happen. 

The shift happens both too fast and too slow, the tingling sensation starting at his fingertips and making its way up his arms, into his chest, legs, and head. He feels so heavy and light at the same time like a weight is being lifted from his human shoulders and being placed into the belly of his bear form.

He blinks and the world has shifted, it's a little taller, more daunting. Carefully Enea moves his paws around, making sure he has full control of all his limbs when he hears the careful but sharp knocks at his door.

If I don't move or do anything they will walk away. Surely.

“Enea?”

Uh oh. This is the worst. Seriously? Of all times for Vale to try and talk to me? The ONE time where I willingly shift. God.

Enea sits as still as he possibly can, controlling his breaths so carefully to make sure the heavy breaths that naturally come with being a bear aren't heard through the door. 

It's silent for another minute when Vale knocks again, “I'm not sure if you can hear me Enea, but I can hear the TV so I assume you're on the couch.”

Shit.  

“-that's ok, I don't always want to answer the door either! So, I figured that I may as well talk to you through the door.”

Enea holds his breath, hoping for Vale to just get this over with. He just wants to go back to his bed, try to cuddle the blankets again, and sleep the night away. 

“I and some of the others have noticed that you've been missing a lot of get-togethers, and that's not an issue since you're a rookie. You have a lot of obligations to attend to, I understand. But, you’ve missed over half the get-togethers that have happened this year and were worried.” Enea can hear a muffled sigh from Vale. 

He didn't want to worry them, that's why he tried to carefully pull away.

There is a shuffle outside the door and Vale starts up again, “It's ok for you to be struggling, it's normal and we are here to support you through thick and thin. We want to help you.” he starts to sound exasperated, “Let us help you. Whatever is wrong, just tell me.”

He can hear Vale take a deep breath, a calming breath probably. Enea can just imagine the look on his face, a look that is rarely given to him simply because he tries to make sure there is nothing to worry about with him. 

He's seen the look directed at Pecco, Bez, Luca, and honestly, most people are a part of the Academy. But since Enea has always kept high spirits, never talking about his worries or fears, the look has never been angled his way. 

When Vale looks worried it's like seeing a dad worried about his kid who just fell off their bike and scraped their knee. He knows that they will be ok, it's just a scratch, but he still worries because he never wants his kid to hurt. The way that Valentino's brows furrow, wrinkling his forehead, makes him look his age. His mouth always ticks down in a little frown before pursing, listening to whatever issue is being discussed. He will always kiss his teeth and wave his hands around, moving around sharply but fluidly, showing that it's okay and things can be fixed. 

Enea wished he could see the look directed at himself for once.

“I’ll leave you alone now, but when you feel up to it, talk to me. Please?”

Silence.

“ok, I’ll see you later.”

There's another pause, then the muffled sounds of Vale walking down the stairs and away from the motorhome. Enea makes sure not to move for another few minutes before deeming it safe for him to move. 

He shifts himself forward to stand on his paws and chuffs to himself, upset that he's managed to worry Vale when he tried so hard to make sure he didn't disappoint or worry anyone. maneuvering his body around the living room he takes soft but creaky steps towards his bedroom. Briefly Enea stops at the doorway to drink water and eat some of the trail mix he left for himself before climbing onto the bed. the springy mattress creaking and groaning as he settles into the middle. 

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

[ph0bia-archives]

Interpretation is entirely personable and I do not mean to argue against your own opinions and views but. Personally cannot see DiMA as some manipulative monster. This is just me ranting cause he’s one of the best written fallout 4 characters imo. Obviously spoilers ahead :3

For one— he doesn’t maliciously manipulate Kasumi. From the sounds of it, he just asks her questions that lead her to believing she’s a synth. She was isolated, and felt that she stood out even in her own family. She wanted a reason to leave, to think that she was connected to machinery more than it being a personal comfort. Acadia is a refuge for synths. It makes no sense for DiMA to lure normal people there?

For two— of course he acts like the institute! His whole existence is to form a personality around experience. He grew up in the institute, taking in their methods and morals. The only expressed reason he grew disillusioned to them is because Nick suffered. But that’s still all his first experiences. The institute, and people hurting synths.

For three— I don’t think it’s ever explicitly said what far harbor was like before the sole survivor gets there/before synth Avery. Maybe they were hostile towards synths, or Acadia. At the very least, they’re still hostile towards the children of atom, a group who 1. Before Tektus we’re (if I’m not mistaken) relatively peaceful, and 2. Did not react negatively or with hostility towards Synths. This is a simple baseline, but remember. DiMA went from only knowing people who hurt synths for their own gain to sitting alone in a cave for a year, to people who didn’t want to hurt him. The safety of synths is his first priority. Replacing Avery is extremely fucked, yes, it’s exactly what the institute does. Because that’s the first things DiMA knows. If far harbor was aggressive against Acadia, what should DiMA have done? Probably definitely not murdered a woman and replaced her, but from his perspective, that was probably the least damaging option, rather than letting his synths die, or killing the harbormen. He removed the memories likely because that’s how the institute functions! He was acting like them! The people who hurt the person he considered family!

Four— I didn’t actually choose/explore the routes where you’re with the institute or the brotherhood of steel, so. Can’t really say for certain my thoughts on his reactions, but. I think it would make most sense for him to act peacefully if you say that before giving him the tapes, because he wouldn’t have an idea of how he’d reacted previously. He wouldn’t know he had the experience of combatting groups who’d want Acadia exterminated, he doesn’t know the extent he’d go to preemptively keep Acadia safe.

Five— with the replacing tektus plan, it goes back to perhaps WHY he removed the memory of replacing avery. That’s what the institute does. If he remembers that experience of doing the same thing as his creators, maybe he’d integrate that into his personality. I don’t know if it’s fleshed out HOW DiMA’s mind works, if it’s like an actual person who can pick and choose what they learn from, or if it’s all turned into gained knowledge, or if I’m a dummy who needs to brush up on lore (good time to say that most of my interpretations came from my play through of far habit which I didn’t know existed until I accidentally started it, so. If anything I say or think is in contradiction to another route or such. Blame the naivety). But after he has that tape, he knows this is 1. Something that worked and 2. Something he’s willing to do with all the same reasoning as before. So he does it again.

Over all. I think if DiMA is hypocritical it works. He’s a machine over a hundred years old. That’s a lot of experience for a mfer who’s mind is supposed to develop and base itself on experience! His mind likely grows and changes rapidly based on events that happen to him. I can’t imagine he’s hypocritical without being written that way. Everything bad he does is for Acadia. I cannot interpret him as some malicious leader who wants to wipe out the other factions. Just someone who’s learned that sometimes the ends justify the means.

Anyways sorry autism rant OVER

Fo4 Far Harbor DLC spoilers

Replaying Far Harbor and watching vids abt the different lore it’s impossible to see DiMA as anything but an evil, hypocritical, and downright stupid monster. I don’t get how so many people love him.

He’s a murderer who had plans to obliterate an entire people and who did murder and replace an innocent woman. When you confront him about those memories that he purposefully removed bc he couldn’t live with how evil he is he’s like “I can’t believe I did that :’( we should totally do it again tho that’s a really good idea.” And then you can!!! It’s literally the exact same horrible things that the Institute does! He manipulates Kasumi (who we can determine by talking to the Institute, the people she knows, and by killing her in an Institute quest is not a synth) into believing she is a synth and lures her to the island with this manipulation!! He manipulates many others like this too to get his evil desires done in pretty obvious ways. I would count many of his synths, Nick, and the player among his targets.

If you’re sided with the Institute and you tell him and his synths to come back to it he says no but that he will not run and will not attack you. He condemns all of the synths in his ���sanctuary” by taking not action and allowing you to go report back their existence to the Institute so that coursers can come reclaim or kill everyone there!! Same thing happens if you tell him you’re with the Brotherhood and synths existence is an affront to humanity he’s like “okay but we’re not gonna leave still” and then you can bring the Brotherhood forces to murder them all.

If you blow up some of the factions on the island he’ll be like “You’ve only brought death here >:( I hope you can live with yourself you monster!” Like that wasn’t his WHOLE ASS PLAN that he removed his memories of bc he couldn’t live with himself!!! Fucking hypocrite!!! This is only a few of his crimes. He is so evil and stupid it hurts.

[kyouka-supremacy]

---

[gay-fordeath]

.

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[airyairyaucontraire]

well it's Sunday morning and I have no plans for this afternoon so if a fairy and/or a walrus wants to test this out I'm game

I've asked this question before and been surprised by the results, now I have access to more weirdos it's your problem:

It is the middle of a Sunday afternoon. You have nothing on, and aren't expecting visitors, deliveries or post.

Unexpectedly, there is a knock at the door.

[giraffeter]

I often see posts about curating your own online experience that make the point, “content creators aren’t your parents.” And, yes, that is absolutely true! And I try not to be like “as a parent,“ but as a parent…

EVEN PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO ENCOURAGE RESPONSIBLE READING/VIEWING BEHAVIOR. NOT filter everything ahead of time for their kid.

When my kiddo was 5, his pediatrician was asking him the usual Well Child Visit questions (“What are your favorite foods? What do you do to get your body moving? Do you know what to do if you get lost in a public place?” Etc.) and she asked, “What do you do if you see something on TV that scares or upsets you?”

I piped up like, “Oh, he doesn’t watch TV without one of us in the room,” which was true at the time and is still largely true now. She said, “Yes, but that won’t always be the case, so make sure you’re talking to him about what to do if he sees something that upsets him.”

So we started talking to him about that, and the answer is simple: “Turn it off or leave the room, and talk to someone you trust about what you saw and what you’re feeling.”

The answer is NOT “Ask your parents to make sure you never see anything upsetting again,” because that’s just not possible — and ultimately that would be doing the kid a disservice, since sooner or later he’s going to be out in the world where we can’t control what he watches or reads. That doesn’t mean we don’t try to make sure he’s watching/reading age-appropriate stuff, it just means that’s not the only safeguard he has — and that’s a good thing.

So yes, content creators aren’t your parents and aren’t responsible for making sure you never see anything you don’t like — but also, your own parents should have taught you what to do when that happens. So if they didn’t, take it from me, your internet mom:

Turn it off.

Walk away.

Talk to someone you trust about how you’re feeling.

And leave the person who created the thing that upset you alone.

[shatterthefragments]

I SWEAR TO FUCK IF HE DOESNT FUCKING RESPOND THOUGH