#writing style action

[delsheree]

Action Scenes: Storytelling

Bring your action to life by incorporating sensory information while keeping it consistent with the style and tone of the larger story.

Action scenes may seem like islands within the bigger storyline at times, but it is important to match the action to the overall story and to write it in a way that shows the reader what’s happening rather than telling them it happened. Matching Action and Story An action scene needs to fit the story’s overall tone and pacing. It will seem out of place if the majority of the story’s style is…

[mumblesplash]

heartbreaking: this viral post is saying things you completely agree with in the most irritating way possible

[lifesliced]

#LIFESLICED //* ♥ or ↻ if you're interested interacting with a multimuse featuring josh washington from until dawn (2015), a slew of original characters (including a "slice of life" cast, in which this url is derived), sabito from kny, a chunk of death note characters including beyond birthday and agent stephen gevanni, and others !! written by hal, 31, he/him, always busy. absolutely no minors or personal blogs, this blog is 21+ only —— minors and personals will be blocked immediately! originally est. in march 2020. canons non-fandom affiliated.

please note: slice of life cast is connected to my other blog —— hehosts. you might also recognize me sometimes from namenoted!

[faeriescorpio]

resisted writing my time travel peter maximoff fic for one singular day WIP

A/N: For the purposes of this fic i am ignoring Dark Phoenix because this is based off a really detailed dream i had

When Magneto had joined the X-Men (as coined by Raven) after the events of Apocalypse, Peter had thought “this might be my chance to tell him”. But as the weeks passed, and Erik stayed, Peter’s confidence plummeted. He stopped thinking, “is this the right moment to tell him?” and started thinking “what if he asks why I waited so long to tell him?”. Ororo and Raven both tried to nudge him into action, but their pushes only made him curl up tighter into his metaphorical shell. It didn’t help that Erik signed up to be a teacher, and help out with the children, and Raven must have told Charles something because Peter found his schedule included Erik’s class. He hadn’t even agreed to go to school there. As far as Peter was concerned, his days of school were over. He’s just a grown man living in his mom’s basement, occasionally saving the world. Except now he had a class schedule where his father was his teacher, he had a room of his own at Charles’s mansion, and someone must’ve told his mom because she actually called him to let him know that she was so proud that he was “pursuing further education”.

Great. Just great.

Having Erik as a teacher was surprisingly…. normal. Erik was teaching history, of all things, but Peter held back from cracking any joke relating age to knowledge of history. He was trying to make his dad like him, first. And Erik was a good teacher; he was encouraging, he didn’t lash out, though he rarely gave much more than a tight-lipped smile when anyone answered a question right.

Peter soaked up any time with Erik like a sponge. He didn’t attend the X-Men training, so all Peter had was class and the times after class, during mealtimes that Peter normally would’ve rushed off after cleaning his plate. Instead, Peter found himself even loitering outside Erik’s class during study hours, scuffing the ground with his shoe. If the wooden floor was worn down outside Erik’s door, no one would know it was because of Peter. Except, you know, Charles. And probably Raven. And maybe Hank because Raven told Hank everything. And Ororo. And Jean. And Scott because Jean tells Scott everything. And Kurt because Scott can’t keep his mouth shut. And-

The point was, if Erik had any suspicions about Peter spending a lot of time outside his door, he didn’t let on. He treated Peter almost like any other student, save for more tight-lipped smiles. It was probably because he remembered Peter broke him out of the Pentagon, or something, but the almost unnoticeable special treatment gave Peter hope. Not enough hope to do anything about it, though.

Peter kept loitering around Erik. Raven kept pushing him. Nothing came out of Peter’s mouth.

They were fighting a villain when it all came to a head. It was a dangerous mutant, more powerful than the average mutant, one who had been attacking other mutants in some sort of lashing-out moment, furious at their own differences and taking it out on their people instead of the humans. It wouldn’t have mattered who the mutant was lashing out about, as the X-Men would’ve come to save the day either way. But the mutant was strong, strong enough to take out Scott in a single hit, so Magneto and Raven were even on their side to help take down the villain. Or “A misunderstood, hurting individual,” as the Charles in Peter’s head chides. Not the real Charles, mind you, just Peter’s interpretation of what Charles might say in this moment. God, he must drive Charles up the walls every time the telepath takes a peek inside the speedster’s head.

They were fighting the villain, Scott was down and thus Jean was preoccupied. Ororo was cooking up a storm and Raven was planning something with Hank, but whatever their plan was, it wasn’t happening fast enough. It was essentially Erik and Peter alone against the villain.

“What a duo we make, huh?” Peter tried to say as he dodged the mutant’s blows with ease. He wasn’t really sure what the mutant’s powers were. Super strength, for sure, but there was something else there that made the telepaths useless. 

“Less talking, more taking down the threat,” Erik snapped back, summoning metal to throw at the man with a curl of his fingers. Right. Right right right.

Peter threw a hit at the mutant and then bounced away as the mutant released some sort of force field that would’ve blown him backward if Peter hadn’t been out of range already.

“We’ve got something, just buy us some time!” Raven shouts into the earpiece over comms. What were they even doing before then, if not buying time? Peter wonders sarcastically, but keeps the snark to himself. He lands another two hits on the mutant, but it’s hard to get up close to the villain as Erik is shooting metal from all directions at the mutant.

“Got it!” Raven barks, and the mutant jerks his head in the direction of the blue duo. Peter takes advantage of the distraction to leap forward and land another hit.

“Peter look out!” Erik barks suddenly, and Peter turns to see Raven pointing some sort of mechanical contraption, no doubt built by Hank, at the mutant. Which means, by extension, it was pointed at Peter. He steps backward, alarmed, but he trips over some debris and goes down.

“Are you fucking kidding me-” Peter starts to say, just as the machine blasts a beam that surrounds him. It’s bright, too bright, and he closes ihs eyes against the blinding light as pain consumes him. He lets out a shout, and Erik lunges forward, but Peter is already gone.

[catominor]

continually troubled by how i can never seem to describe my characters as hornily as colleen mccullough does

[pocketscribbs]

my favorite thing is when Sonic artists get creative and consider the characters’ abilities/personalities when drawing them in action

my personal favorite example is Tangle the Lemur and her fabulous tail

she ziplines down grind rails, she’s probably fast enough to spin dash regularly but she instead uses her tails to create her own “spiral dash”(this is what i’m calling it)

just one of the many reasons why I think Tangle is such a fun character, her excitable and thrill-seeking attitude mixed with her powerful, stretchy tail makes for some creative and entertaining visuals

[eemoo1o-tfrmoo]

Poor Bumblebee—having to go from meeting Charlie in the 80s and then twenty years later being partnered up with Sam? Someone better put him up for a suicide watch.

[ikemenomegas]

Omega!Gojo Satoru x Alpha!Reader

I believe we are fated to do the things we choose anyway*

gege akutami is the kind of mangaka who makes fun of almost all their characters. with utmost affection, gojo deserves to be bullied a bit. we love that he's a little heartless, a little frivolous, that he's powerful as a fact, that he cares a little bit strangely, so doing him a bit of justice, here's the mirror to Getou's youth story

tw: canon character death, spoilers for the manga, gojo's emotional constipation and egotism

Toji Zenin cut so many threads the day he arrived on the Tokyo school grounds, but the one between you and Satoru survived. It's already a miracle that Riko was the only one who died that day. The miracle of surviving should have been enough, but now you've lived long enough to find out how much you could love someone too. You get to see how afraid someone is of loving you. Gojo Satoru had one friend. Gojo Satoru had one mate. That was it, that was all he could let himself have.

Springtime Tokyo is still cold. Not as cold as up north in the mountains, but the winter uniforms are blessedly warm. An assistant manager drops you off at Tokyo Jujutsu Technical School on a milky March morning where you are met by Yaga-sensei, the first year teacher.

This teacher has some kind of idea about building community, which is why he's clustered the four of you first-years in the same building, around a loud blue-eyed boy who barely takes one look at you, squinting around a pair of blackout sunglasses, at your purposeful non-expression, before he is grinning, far too wide and it feels like he gets even louder, movements expansive to pull you into the range of an argument he's having with a tall slim boy with long hair tied at the back of his head.

Yaga-sensei just shakes his head and introduces you to Ieri Shoko, who is physically leaning away from the noise as if to escape some blast radius and has the most distant smile you've ever seen in your life on her face.

It's unsettling is what it is. The dark haired boy is just rolling his eyes at the one who had somehow both dismissed you and pulled you into his orbit. The automatic response is to try and get that attention back, but you have at least a little more self respect than that. You climb the stairs to take a room on the same floor to Shoko-san's and leave them to their snipping. You don't see Gojo fall silent for half a second before carrying on bickering, Yaga now stepping in to separate them.

School hasn't quite started yet. It's a boarding school so everyone is just around, getting the lay of the school, setting up their rooms, exploring Tokyo, running into one another and trying to figure out how their pieces fit together.

Satoru has already sorted you all into neat little piles of adjectives

Polite: the boy with the long dark hair, Getou Suguru, although this doesn't necessarily mean nice he notes gleefully. Self righteous and reactive, as in he can be baited into a no holds barred fight, which is new for him. He hasn't been able to fight someone who could hold their ground for more than a minute since he was thirteen. Subversively irreverent.

Morbid: the shortie with the short hair, Shoko Ieri. She discovered her abilities somewhere and even Satoru has to admit some of the diagrams she pulls up are admirably disgusting. Neutral. Satoru has never met someone else who sticks so close to their own whims before but she isn't like anything he expected, dismissive, meandering, goading. And she can't explain how she does what she does, which is aggravating because he can't do it.

And you, the new one. The last to arrive. Fresh meat. Quiet, wary.

You catch him not following you, but showing up near where you are a little too frequently to feel coincidental while you're making a point to meet the upperclassmen. He adds opportunistic and watchful to the list when he notices you do this, but some of the older students seem to find it vaguely endearing - the clan ones like a small animal they can toss treats, the recruited students who aren't trying to suck up to the clan kids with the cautious familiarity of greeting another outsider.

He tries tossing you a treat, granting you some offhanded attention in the common space of what is now the first years' block. Suguru laughs at him when you mostly look confused and apologetically tell him you've never seen either of the movies he wants to debate before refilling your water bottle and wandering back out onto the school grounds with your umbrella.

School starts regardless with some tentative unspoken agreement between the four of you to try and be friends, or at least classmates. There is after all, no one else to be friends with.

Class is boring, so Satoru watches his classmates. Where Shoko is passive and watchful and Satoru is staring into the air, you're openly attentive and Suguru more casually mirrors your attention. Which makes him want to call you another boring small-town bumpkin

Except you are in the same the advanced mechanics elective he is, and you and Shoko become animated discussing the curse anatomy lectures. Yaga takes you away to practice hand-to-hand with his dolls while he lets Satoru and Suguru pummel each other, which makes him think you must be too fragile to handle the two of them. Most people are, so he doesn't think much on it.

Satoru sometimes goes out alone to train when he can't sleep. He lashes out at the wooden dummies on the practice field, ducking under wooden arms and lashing out to see sections of it spin faster. On one of these nights, a week or two into the first year, he sees you standing outside the track, leaning on a railing, face buried in a thick scarf. He's aware of your vague attention, watching him without any particular interest, like how one might watch water sliding under a bridge, but when he sneaks a glance around the practice dummy, you're just as often more fixated on the sky. The moon is full and you're watching the clouds chase across the deep blue expanse, listening to Gojo Satoru's knuckles impacting on wood. And then at some point, he looks over and you're gone, your weird cursed energy signature fading in the dark.

Satoru only sees your technique the first time a substitute makes you spar with everyone else during training while Yaga is away. Apparently the teacher is someone you know because you get into the first argument he's ever seen before you send a spear flying so fast it hits the center of a target and topples it over.

The same teacher makes you fight Satoru, to already defeated attempts at appalled refusal. He'd usually help you push back just on principle, but he hasn't gotten to go on a mission with you yet and his sometimes oppressive curiosity has settled on whether you actually can keep up with him after all.

You can't, but this is Gojo Satoru at fifteen, not fully realized, and the first time he fights you he amends how he feels about "opportunistic". He flies right at your face and swears he makes contact, but you step back at the last minute and he feels an impending impact from his left that is almost the same strength as his own attack. He tries again and you twist out of the way much faster than he had expected. He tries to throw you and you end up descending slowly to the ground, trying to get the teacher to end the bout. Eventually Satoru overwhelms you and breaks your arm when you try to block too many hits in rapid succession. Shoko fixes it, and you wince with gritted teeth and tears in your eyes but don't cry or sob or glare at him with the kind of face that is calling him names you can't say out loud. The demonstration has him, fortunately or unfortunately, folding you into the energy of your little first year group like you'd been there all along.

He's a shaman clan kid, so it's interesting to see you now as not necessarily opportunistic but curious about the other sorcerers, about other people. What a novelty, to be inconsequentially curious. If he'd been too curious as a child he would be either lectured on responsibility or nearly drowned in related gifts meant to appease his moods

You don't appease his moods and the attention of him, one of the strongest sorcerer of the generation, doesn't appease you.

Satoru tries to bait you and things go right over your head. He tries to disrupt your silent, invisible schedule and you let him drag you away with minimal fussing, especially when Shoko or Suguru is involved, but will wander to the side on outings and either find some accidental trouble or something that makes him a little surprised at the intensity of your focus.

He forces you into a combat-determined wager that demands you stop using honorifics with his name and Suguru's name and Shoko's name (without asking the other two) and there's no way for you to get out of it or win so that forces some artificial closeness that becomes real. Language is very important for creating distance, for creating hierarchy and Satoru somehow isn't interested in a hierarchy between you.

He is however far more self conscious of his omega status than Suguru is. He won't say it, but it's a relief when none of you make a big deal out of it when you find out and also a surprising comfort when you and Shoko who don't have to suffer through the literal additional headache of heats try and make them comfortable

For Satoru this involves distracting him by playing video games with him, watching movies, or tossing balls of paper at him while he tries to stop it with his technique. Mostly he's with Suguru, especially if they sync up, but Satoru doesn't have the same heat symptoms as him. During first year even though he sleeps more than he does as an adult, it's typically less than the rest of you might want. Where Suguru gets tired, Satoru will get cranky and mean because he's bored and feverish and Suguru is too tired to entertain him. His family also was never very comforting during his heats so he knows what to do as far as nesting, but having people around is new for him.

He likes to call and text you if you're on missions during these times, which is typical given his clan's sensitivity to him being around alphas at these times.

So even when you're on campus, you and Shoko only spend a few hours with him at a time. Sometimes you play games and the heat makes him almost slow enough to beat on a DS link game. Sometimes he makes you do his homework. Sometimes he likes to throw throwing things at you to see how you use your technique to deal with it.

He adds "sentimental" to the list of adjectives when he realizes he can so easily pressure you in these times into revealing more of yourself to him than you usually do. He's bored and there's only so many things to talk about before you start telling him about an encounter with one of the rare cats that will tolerate living around the cursed energy of the campus, when you grimace and tell him about a terrible noodle stand in Yamanashi province that you still crave somehow, when you tell him about saving fallen leaves in a heavy dictionary you use for that purpose, or the one time you reveal that you've kept every pair of shoes your parents bought you to wear on the first day of school. You tell him these things and it makes him feel like maybe, someday, he might want to tell you things too.

It's not soft but there's a softness to it. A genuineness in the four of you together, in Satoru's and Suguru's growing strength and self surety. Satoru tries to make himself the center of the world, because it's fact that is where he has been all along. But he's not so easily the center of your world. You didn't come from his world.

Satoru doesn't fall. He doesn't think hard about why it becomes so. He barely thinks about it all. He just knows at some point that you're one of his. You're one of his and he wants you to pay him the attention he' accustomed to as center of the world (except he doesn't maybe. He'll be able to say it one day that what he loved was you treating him like he was as human as he could be)

He's terrible at acknowledging whether this possessiveness is anything in particular. After a sparring session, you watch Shoko patch a cut on Suguru's arm with so much longing and a pang of something worms its way in Satoru's chest. He crowds in next to Suguru before Shoko's done, draping over Suguru's shoulders. You don't see the way Satoru's eyes flicker from Shoko's steady hands to your wide-eyed gaze.

He's jealous the way a child is jealous of a favorite toy, hooking his arm around your neck if any omegas outside of school talk to you in the street. If you brush him off when he's trying to use you as a tool for self-affirmation, he sulks around until you acknowledge him in some other way and he will not admit to a single soul why it matters. When he's forced to go home for holidays like oban and returns in a terrible pique, you may fight with him if he lashes out in the worst, most personal ways. You push back and talk to instead of around him or through him and you also don't realize that is why he backs off.

He realizes slowly that he has to be careful with you. He forgets sometimes that you're more fragile that Suguru, that you need help Shoko doesn't need. On what you call the "worst school trip in existence" and Shoko calls "lucky we didn't all die" and Suguru smiles and calls "well we all made it out in the end", even Satoru got injured, yet he feels invincible, like he caught a bullet and threw it back.

When Toji nearly kills him and everyone he ever cared about, he awakens with the power to keep it from happening ever again. He thinks he can carry the world for all of you, for everyone, reveling in his power. He doesn't realize that his presence, the gravity well he made in the monster class's lives, doesn't exist the same way while he's not there because he has a tendency to think everything will be easy for him to fit back into when he returns, or not to think on the fact things could change at all.

Then Suguru leaves and the center of Satoru's world, his reference point, collapses

You're there in Shinjuku the day it happens. It's getting cold again. You're there to meet Shoko. Suguru has gone missing, Satoru is... away. Again. Still. He's been absent whenever he is around anyway. The jujutsu world doesn't have the resources to devote to hunting curse users in particular so the effort to find Suguru has been halfhearted at best and even if he's on your minds, you have jobs to do still.

You're there in Shinjuku and when you don't find the person you're looking for, you find someone else, It shouldn't happen, but it does. You run into Satoru, mind reeling at Suguru's betrayal. You nearly don't see him and he nearly doesn't see you except he sees everything and he's been walking around the district like a ghost.

He appears like a ghost too, tall and pale and ridiculous eyes. You'd tried to see if the world reflected in them once, but now it's more obvious to you than ever that it's just him, nothing more and nothing less.

"Let's go back," he says, and for the first time in months, you return to the college, side by side on the train, feeling like there should be more people in the near-empty car. You get as far as you can before you get to a station that's closed where you can no longer transfer and then you get out and walk in silence.

You walk like there's another person jostling for space between you. When you get to the school, Shoko meets you at the red tori gates. When you get to the mostly empty dormitory building, now a little emptier, Satoru looks at you. And looks and looks and looks. This time, he feels like you might disappear in the pre-dawn light casting your faces in blue.

Maybe it's because he's already lost one precious thing long before he noticed it was gone that he grips your shoulders tight, so tight you almost wince, but turn into it instead, tilting your head as though, were you less careful people, you might brush your cheek against his hand. Just for a little bit of comfort, for a little familiarity.

Then Shoko makes a noise at the top of the stairs, the scuff of her foot, the tap of her palm on the banister. What a terrible day it must be if Shoko is interfering. And you step away.

Satoru doesn't go to bed. For the first time in his life he feels like he doesn't know who he is. He watches your light come on and then go off. He doesn't see you stand at the mouth of the hall leading to Suguru's room with a blanket around your shoulders until eventually you turn away and fall asleep on one of the common room couches, near to where a year of his body in the same spot had left an indent. He doesn't think about the world where you aren't here, where he never sees you again, because he can't quite fathom it.

Because even when he was gone, he never felt like he had let any of you go

It makes him feel sick to his stomach, the closeness of someone else, but it feels worse to push you away so you sit shoulder to shoulder with him some time in the morning. He pretends not to see the new dark shadows in your eyes. You sit and watch the mist burn off and pretend his warmth can hide how the world is a little colder.

*I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you ― Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

[cirrus-grey]

I know it's kind of the point, the passions of man versus the indifferent cruelty of nature, but it is amazing to me how much the Whale in Moby Dick just does not give a fuck.

The whole book sets it up as this malicious, intelligent demon that has it out for humans and wants to kill them all, and then when the Pequod finally catches up to it it's just... puttering along, enjoying the weather, having a grand old time. Even after they attack it and it destroys one of the boats it just kind of sits in the water nearby swatting at debris with its tail and ignoring them. Even at the end, the final destruction of the ship and deaths of all the crew, it kind of just has this attitude of like. Hey. You. I thought I told you to fuck off. Like -

Ahab: From Hell's heart I stab at thee!

The Whale: Oh, not you again. 🙄

[rukafais]

"Now, most readers grow sophisticated via the Internet, and message boards and the like require adverbs (emojis, at least) to avoid misunderstanding. That’s come back to the novels. If I don’t tell a reader that somewhat said something “sarcastically,” they often won’t catch it. This is truer now than it was in 1987.

Similarly, message boards and the like attribute all dialogue. It used to be that you could have characters holding conversations without attribution. Now, it’s harder to do that because it’s easier to lose readers on who’s saying what.

Don’t even get me started on the lack of sophistication regarding the concept of unreliable narrator.

I don’t say any of this as a put-down to today’s readers. People evolve. We are now digesting written language differently than when I was younger, just as I, a product of a childhood with television, absorbed things differently than, say, my college professors."

Reading interviews that Salvatore has had over the years is really interesting because sometimes he talks about his change in writing style and so forth and its like, oh, okay, the sparseness in description is a stylistic choice, the way he has sort of this kind of cinematic, over the shoulder camera sort of focus for his characters makes a lot of sense. How he focuses the narrative camera and how a character colours their personal 'camera' is deliberate. He's writing it like a tv drama or a movie because he grew up with those things, and the 'language' he writes in is different, and his style changed over time to accommodate readers who grew up differently from him.

[ferronickel]

Writing scenes Marvel Method is so funny, like I sure did draw that character making an expression, I wonder what they're saying. They look upset, it's probably something important. Guess I'll find out later!

[chibishortdeath]

Some attempts at a design for Selena :3. The second image is inspired by the wedding in Haunted Castle, but I changed Simon’s outfit cause idk I just can’t picture him being comfortable in a suit.

The last two of these are way more headcanon-y lol. They’re under a cut mostly in case my headcanons and story ideas change d(^^ ). One of them was inspired by a Kikuo song I was listening to while drawing lol, the song “Let’s Go to Heaven”.

[tres-fidelis]

((I really really really REALLY have been craving some threads with Jayden going into the Metaverse for the first time. Or just her generally getting used to Mementos and her newly acquired powers and dealing with her Persona. The itch has been VERY STRONG LATELY!!!))

[tennessoui]

me writing baby obi-wan: you are the cutest kid in the world you are the devil incarnate you are too sweet and innocent you are the phantom menace 

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie⁓

This week i've doubled the usual post, just 'cause i feel the urge to catch up with the chapters on AO3.

I've liked writing this part, jumping between feelings, digging a little into this kink i find interesting. I would like to explore it just a little futher, but i need to...contextualize it (at least from Ghost's point of view. I don't think he's a "kink" kinda guy. I'll convince him somehow).

I can see how my english writing style is still a bit rough compared to how i write in italian (wow, i'm goddamn Captain Obvious). I would like to improve, to let it be more fluent, more descriptive, more...melodious? Does it make sense?

So I'll keep on.

Like, forever. I hope.

It's a curse. I'm cursing all of you to read my work for the eternity.

Sowwy

DISCLAIMER (Does someone read them?): how Dom/Sub relationship work (not an expert, but a fan); unrealistic military life (i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm doing it); bad jokes; yelling (again); leather collar (fastest apparition ever); unsubordination, but make it somehow tolerable; Soap and Gaz doing a great job being normal in this chaos; now you've got a roommate; Ghost tries to be nice (we've got you gorgeous, we know you're doing your best).

................................

Fifth part here:

................................

The morning after, Soap runs at you with breakfast already made (he learned how to make your chocolate oatmeal) and an official communication with your name on it.

«…what in the actual-?»

«No comment» the Sergeant swallows chocolate and coffee together, thrilled and suspicious at the same time while you're going to faint in front of what seems to be a threat of imminent death.

You turn and fold the communication letter in every angle, almost expecting to find a tiny "that was a joke, lol" written somewhere. But you don't.

«Waitwaitwait»

Gaz spawns behind you, sipping his morning tea; he looks at the sheet with a critical sight. «You must have fucked up so bad this time, little one»

«I've done nothing wrong!» you burst, watering the table with the hair you thought you would have time to dry.

«But here we are:» Soap points at the sheet as if he's Sherlock Holmes in front of evidence «You've been  officially included in the special operation team's selection…will take place under the supervision… blah blah blah… of Task Force 141 . It's written right here» he signs at the exact line. 

«No»

You waste no time denying the obviousness. The communication is sent away from you on the table.

«No» you repeat, convincing yourself. «I can't. I'm just…i can't»

«'S not a matter of will. Ye've been called, laddie» 

«Cooper and Allan will be there too…» Gaz reads on the list: five names are written, five promising soldiers who are gonna be tested on the field, and maybe will end up being a new special task force. Five reliable people.

You don't understand why the hell someone put you in there.

You fit a big spoonful of oatmeal in your mouth, chewing hopelessly. 

«Why? I don't want to, I'm good being a rookie, I'm too green for this…»

«Maybe» Soap gives you his most sarcastic smile «'S 'cause  someone threw herself in that risky mission in the middle of weapons traffic…if ye know what i mean»

You sigh. Your wet hair dances on the table as you almost slam your forehead next to the oatmeal mug, hoping to accidentally give your stupid brain some damage.

«Is like someone's trying badly to keep an eye on you»

Gaz's speech awakens you. 

«…whaddya mean?»

«Special training's normal shit that happens from time to time. But this wasn't expected, we'd been told 'bout it this morning, just like you. I bet he rushed up everything, and put your name on it»

« He who??» your hand grip the table. «Gaz don't be an ass, just spit the name out!»

«You know who I'm talking 'bout». And he smiles: he smiles like a dick since he knows well you're not gonna like the news, but he just enjoys your red face so much that he tastes every second before spelling with heart-shaped lips:

«Ghost»

You're screaming internally till the morning.

And he,  he , is standing there, in front of you,  he  who's just managed to turn your quiet soldier's life into a little training nightmare.

You want to slap your own face so badly for having thought about doing the heroine for one goddamn mission.  One . You didn't even think it was so hard as a mission, you've done it by guts, and now you're stuck in that training, and you know it's because of  him .

'Cause Gaz told you, after half an hour of interrogation, that  he  is, in fact, one of whom decides which recruit submits for the training.

You're dying, sitting next to a guy you've barely talked to since you're at the base, and who's looking at you…oddly.

Like he's studying you. Like he's waiting for you to…confess something.

With just a slap of his hands, Ghost manages to have everyone's full attention, and the meeting starts.

It goes on for a whole hour and a half: one hour and a half of specific technical terms, workout powerpoints, tactical expectations and probable missions to be done (if the recruit's team will show itself reliable). 

Your brain's 68% melted, 30% asleep and 2% trying to concentrate an hate-beam on the Lt. thick ass.

«Hey, uhm…»

You're about to run away from the meeting room as soon as possible when your brand new desk-mate approaches you with a grin you don't really appreciate. He seems almost amused for whatever reasons, but you don't have time to waste and just glare at him with the most annoyed: «Aha?» a human has ever said.

«He made you a big surprise, didn't he?»

You frown. 

«Who?»

«Lt. I heard a fight in his office recently…it was you, right? You two don't really get along well, are you?»

And that's the exact moment you become suspicious. Your eyes sharpen under the pressure of the distinct feeling he's going to get at a point you don't want to go with him to. 

«Eavesdrop is not polite» you mutter, containing your will to punch him in that stupid grin he's stretching his mouth with.

«I was passing by…ya know-»

«No. I don't»

You move beyond him, focusing on the door. It's already been a terrible day, and all you want is your bed. Not even the dinner, not even Bernadette's joke about her sister's future husband. A  bed .

And it leaves you quite nervous seeing your roommate standing in front of your door as you approach the way to your personal, hoped-for night heaven.

Bernie and her glorious gel-greased red ponytail are waiting for you, tapping her toes on the ground. Female's base section is tiny, and you're glad some God has found you a room with a normal human being with a goddamn deep sleep schedule.

«Oi» you wave at her. She doesn't seem amused. «Don't tell me there's something wrong with the bed sheets again, please»

«Bed sheets are good enough» she murmurs, patting you on the head (she's a tall girl). «Is something…different»

«Whaddya mean?»

She escorts you into the room, closing the door behind you as she's about to tell you some incredible secret about how the aliens are among us.

But she doesn't. She shows you something else.

And your blood freezes.

Next meeting is the morning after, just right before the first training session under Task Force 141 supervision.

There are twenty minutes left before the start, and you're already rushing through the base with your pocket stuffed with something metaphorically heavy. 

You slam the door open with enough force to dismantle the hinges, and your eyes search for one of the three men around the desk crowded with documents.

Johnny's about to wave at you, but his hands stop in the middle as he sees you walking like a rampage toward Ghost.

You aim at him with eyes so cold he could hibernate. 

«I want you to stop » you speak crystal clear under the rage and the exasperation « now, whatever game you're playin' with me»

Soap and Gaz are freezed at the other side of the table, considering themselves lucky to have a solid desk between them and your rusty, piercing voice. Ghost, though…

He falls of a tree.

He can't even manage to keep a stern voice as he says: «…what?» looking at you rummaging in your pocket just to throw something in his hands.

And he finds himself holding a goddamn leather collar, complete with metal chain.

In any other scenario of your life you'd rather jump from a window to check if it was possible to glide on the grass instead of putting together that show. But, oh well, you're neither a flying squirrel, nor a fortune-teller.

And there you are, stone solid against Ghost, who's lost the speaking skills and seems to be in the middle of a math problem resolution with his inner demon.

His eyelids glitch at you a couple of times, but you don't give him time to reply, not this time. 

«Do me a big favor -would ya?- and  go to hell . Thank you so much»

You don't even care if tomorrow someone will send you to fuck yourself away from the base, since you've yelled to a goddamn Lieutenant as if he is your cat-lady neighbor who complain about noises at four pm. 

This is the end of your patience, the end of you being nice, calm and collected; the end of you trying to not be so direct about what it's happening between the two of you.

'Cause it sounds so clear in your head that it was  him who left that stupid joke of a collar in front of your room, that you didn't even think about other possible suspects.

And so, the meeting starts with him being completely silent, sat and still as a statue, while Soap and Gaz don't even know what they're speaking about since they should have done just the training part of the day.

Ghost's looking at the recruits, so intensively, so vividly you can feel his eyes scanning all of you, and you don't give a damn about it.

He can just go where you've sent him, and rest in peace.

The walk toward your room is a forced march on disassembled legs. Task force did its best to organize a training to destroy every inch of flesh and bones, but it was so  good  to unload the stress with physical pain that you can't even complain.

You're about to go for the door knob, ready to disappear in bed, when a known voice reaches you with an embarrassed: 

«Hey»

You turn: and the goddamn eavesdropper from the training is behind you, and you're already preparing to yell the hell out of him but…he's evidently uncomfortable. He doesn't even look at you as he almost bows his head saying:

«…I-i came just to…apologize. I'm sorry for having bothered you. It was just a joke, i didn't mean…» He kinda starts to justify something, making a step forward that immediately dies. «Sorry, i…i-i just wanted to have some fun, it was a joke. Sorry» he ends up muttering, mumbling with eyes buried in the ground.

Your jaw drops. You're about to grab him by the neck and give his skim a peeling session on the wall, but you spit an hard and sharp:

«The collar. It was… you ?»

And he left you like this, with no more words, nearly running away from your sight, so embarrassed he could have dug by himself a hole to hide in the pavement.

Next day, he isn't even at the meeting with the Task force.

You can't deny you were about to skipp the daily training too. 

You feel slightly, almost imperceptibly, just a tiny bit  bad . But it's the "tiny bit" that makes you pretend to be part of the seat in the meeting room, just an innocent piece of plastic, so well hidden in the chair.

The specific, vivid memory of you rushing to your superior, slapping that damn collar in his hands as if the joke was his responsibility, is kinda cursing your mind in a black, noisy cloud of embarrassment. Oh, and that smart little brain of yours is also reminding you how proud you were to send him to hell.

You decide to become a turtle, digging the neck into the shirt collar.

FUCK , it's the only, big, huge sign you're throwing at yourself, so focused on melting on the chair that you don't even feel his presence next to you.

«'Ve told ya we've got a dignity in here»

You jump, raise your eyes and suddenly bury them again on the floor. Ghost is standing on your left, not even looking at you, and you silently thank him for his sensitivity (if that's even a matter of sensitivity). 

You're collecting some sensible excuses, trying to look like an adult, a responsible one, but he surprises you with a sudden:

«I'm sorry»

He's the second one in half a day who gives you an apology, but if the first one was unexpected, this is almost incomprehensible; and without getting aware, you're looking at him in surprise.

«Taking into consideration a shithead like that for a new task force project… I wasn't that forward-looking. Should have identified a scumbag from the start»   

He speaks so sternly but so…easily, as if he's telling you about how many peanuts he'd eaten at breakfast. Then he sighs, about to go away; and you don't know  how , but you find the boldness to shout out a rushed:

«I'm…I apologize. I  need to… I'm sorry» you murmur, feeling like a stupid child excusing a broken vase. 

«'S ok»

You can hear your heart skipping a couple beats. Your eyes widen as you sense the slightest amount of what you classify as  warmness in his words. 

It doesn't last that long, as he adds: «But we're not done with this»

«…no, I-I can understand sir-»

«We need to talk». The "need" part is silently underlined, but the "we" is just a replacement for a more impellent "I", since it is  him who's burning his neurons, crashing them together to let them cooperate like in the good old days, when he succeeded in avoiding unnecessary emotions from the sunrise to the dawn. And he really thought he would be able to spend his whole life with the "I care for you" part of his brain on strike, as he really used to.

You're ruining his plans. And he can't allow himself to grow softer.

That is what boils in his guts for the whole morning, making him so absent-minded he almost shot Gaz on the training field.

"War's not a place for sentimentalism. There's no place for enjoying love here, we can't get compromised"

He repeats it as a mantra, waiting for you in Price's spare office (since his has got the door to be repaired. It may be that he made a hole in it out of anger).

He doesn't even know  why they give him an office. He's not a bloody secretary.

«Sir?»

He jerks at the door, relaxing a bit when he sees it's just you: you, who're avoiding his direct sight; you who're still sweaty and panting from the training; you, with the t-shirt that exposes the bandage on your arm, reminding that stupid infiltration mission you shouldn't even get involved in the first place.

You, who call him  sir just when feeling uneasy. 

«Come in. Sit»

His voice does his best to modulate a softer tone, failing miserably, with the result of making him more nervous. He goes searching in a drawer, and when he hands you that damn collar, you sigh. 

«I-I don't think i want it back, sir»

«Cut out that "sir" thing. It doesn't suit you»

Your cheeks are on fire. You grab the leather things, holding it tight in your fists.

And you feel upset, really upset , as a crescendo of excitement grabs your nerves, making you feel oddly, suspiciously  good . 

He makes you come back to reality: «Seems like we have to speak more quietly»

You sigh. And he keeps on: «Eavesdropping's a dick move, especially if ya do it outside a superior's office. He's gonna clean the shit out of our toilets for the rest of his stay»

Said so, one topic of the day is considered closed. 

He takes a long breath before starting the more important matter:

«Are ya used to this?»

Apparently, half measures are for the weak. He points his sight at the collar you're holding with both hands, almost like you're waiting for someone to take it and put it on you. 

You can't help it: it's an old habit.

«I…was» you murmur. 

«What 'bout now?»

«Does it matter?»

«Yes»

«Why?»

«It matters to  me »

Fists clench around the leather.

«Is an old story, i've drop it»

«Doesn't seem so»

Then, silence. 

Dense silence, pudding-consistency silence, and if Ghost had got a spoon he could have eaten the room's atmosphere to get to you. He realizes his self-confidence has been thrown out of the window as he catches his fingers scratching the nose tip through the mask. Digits are immediately moved away and stuck in pockets. 

«'M not asking to make fun of you. Neither out of personal curiosity» and almost every synapsis screams " liar " at him. 

«You're a…reliable soldier, little one». It costs him a little bit of pride to say it. «We don't wanna waste good soldiers for stupid reasons. I don't want this» his sight spot the collar «to compromise you»

«You can stop worrying about it»

You're a knot curled on yourself on the chair, feeling as if there's a martial court in front of you who's laying you bare, exposing your guts, releasing the skeletons collection hidden in your closet.

That's when he takes the collar from your hand, so gently, pulling it away from you as if he's releasing you from a burning stone that was consuming your hands. 

You're impressed. And your sight rises again, and he's ready to catch it.

«Were you forced to do it?»

You're about to ask "what", but as always, you already know what he's referring to. You shake your head.

«No. I've…enjoyed it. I was lucky at first»

«Why?»

«I…» remembering it brings you a little smile «…I found someone I could trust with this…game»

«A friend?»

«No. No, he wasn't a friend. He…»

Voice remains hanging for a moment, as he makes a step back to give you space. He's waiting; he could wait the whole day if it's necessary, and you're so not used to him treating you softly.

Maybe it's just a trick to make you speak. 

And it works so perfectly.

«Sub-Dom relationships are not easy. Well, you could build one in no time if you force it, but a  real one is based on trust. And it is the most difficult thing to achieve. Is not just a matter of obedience and…and sex play» you blush at the statement. «I trusted my Dom with all my whole heart. That's why I enjoyed the experience»

He mutters a low monosyllabic sound, as a confirmation that he's following your speech. When you get silent again, he makes a step forward:

«Then why did that collar affect you so much?»

And he hits a spot. Of fucking course he does. 

«'Cause most of the time, someone who calls himself a "Dom" just wants a body to humiliate»

Your cheeks are burning again, your tongue is trapped between the hold of your teeth. You finish with a whispered: «That's why I went out of that business»

«But you react at the memory of it» 

Your head disappears into the collar shirt as you nod, almost imperceptibly.

«Do you feel the urge to be under someone's orders?»

A «No» is rushed out so quickly it surprises him. «I've told you: it's a matter of trust». 

And you suddenly fall from your tree, feeling like the "soft-spoken" part of the meeting is totally gone. You freeze on the chair, almost replying as sharply as you can: «I've not chosen to be a soldier 'cause I like being ordered, if that's what you're implying»

«I'm not implying anything.»

«Then why ask?»

«Just wanna make sure your not gonna fall for the first big man who waves a riding crop at you»    

He steps on horse shit, and he realizes as fast as the word "riding crop" slips through his own mouth. He can swear to god he was trying his best not to be rude, but somehow that part of him (that he was trying so desperately not to bury under a cozy warm blanket of emotions) had decided to show itself just at the wrong moment.

How lucky he is.

He suddenly jerks the sight at you with the haste of someone worried about having run over an innocent cat on the street, and he really hopes you've not heard his last sentence.

But you have. 

And your eyes are tilted toward him, cheeks are red and fists are clenched so hard that knuckles are going to come out. 

«Can I ask you» you rush out, in the most professional way, forgetting again you're speaking with a Lieutenant «Why do you always end up being a dick?»

................................

[adultish-momma]

Bonus Scene: Pay the Price

Yuu is not going to fall into the trap of doing the work without the title and the benefits thank you very much.

Warnings: The whole thing is just dialogue. I didn't write a single thing that wasn't being spoken out loud. It's mainly two separate conversations between two characters, but there are like, five 'speech bubbles' at the very end that is four distinct speakers, so feel free to ask me for clarification on who is speaking if you get confused!

A/n: While not fully on the "slander-Crowley" bandwagon (thank you weird complicated relationship with management/direct authority figures), no one is safe from Yuu's wrath. So let's cook some carrion.

P.S. If you want to place this in a timeline, the first conversation happens right after the beginning of Book 2, and the last conversation would be occurring soon into the interim of Book 2 and Book 3

"Crowley, I'm going to say this in the most polite and respectful way I can, but what the hell?"

"Language! Such aggression against your poor Headmage! Whatever have I done to deserve this treatment from my own student?"

"Did you or did you not just get out of another housewarden meeting?"

"Why yes, the meeting was actually quite productive for once. We were able to clear up some final details on an upcoming inter-dorm tournament. All because of my gracious guidance of course."

"An inter-dorm... Crowley, how many times do I need to tell you to invite me to Dormleader meetings? There is a student registered under my care, I have to know things! Like an inter-dorm tournament!"

"Yes yes yes, I'll remember next time, for I am oh so caring about my poor students' desires and needs. But would you look at that, I must be getting back to work, busy busy, running a school full of such unruly - I mean! Such energetic young men. Run along now Prefect, shoo, shoo"

--------

"Ah Headmaster, welcome back!"

"What- Wh- Prefect just what is the meaning of this?!"

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just updating my schedule with all of the Dormleader meetings you have planned for the rest of the semester. Oh! I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty to make a copy of last meeting's notes as well, since I was already here and all."

"Prefect, this is completely out of bounds. I let you get away with a lot, for I am ever so gracious, but breaking into my office to steal confidential information is beyond crossing the line. The Prefect of Ramshackle you may be, but you are not a housewarden. You do not have the same level of access, nor the same privileges that they receive. You would do well to remember this."

"Mmm. Is that so? Well, alright, message heard loud and clear. I'll be going now, good luck with all that paperwork."

"Paper- Prefect what is this stack of papers you're leaving behind!? This is nearly as tall as my beak is long!"

"Oh, all that? That's all the paperwork every dorm has to have completed for the school. Stuff like budgets and activity proposals and student reports. There's some extra in this stack since Ramshackle is being re-established, so some of this is things like drafts of the dorm code of conduct and mock-ups of uniforms for the Ramshackle students. At least 20 pages are just the building inspection "this absolutely needs to be fixed" checklist."

"And why have you decided to leave your paperwork behind on my desk?"

"Because that's all paperwork for the dorm leader to fill out. And I'm not a dorm leader. So when a dorm has no house warden or vice house warden, that dorm's assigned staff member takes on the duties of house warden until a student replacement can be assigned as the new dorm leader. And seeing as you're Night Raven's esteemed HeadMage, I'm sure you're well aware of the fact that you are the assigned staff member for Ramshackle dorm."

"O-of course I knew that. And as the esteemed HeadMage of this institution, I am much too busy to be doing so much paperwork for only one dorm. I would love to help my poor magicless student, for my heart is filled with such sorrow thinking about your tragic situation. But I am afraid that if I take on the house warden paperwork for Ramshackle, on top of all the ever-so-important duties I have as HeadMage of Night Raven College, I will never be able to search for a way to send you home Prefect."

"Are you trying to blackmail me into doing the work of a dorm leader, but receiving none of the benefits that come with that title?"

"Why I would never do such an outrageous thing! Me, blackmail a student? Why, I was just lamenting over how terrible your situation already is, and how much potential it has to get even worse."

"Speaking of my situation, I bet it would make such an interesting story to the news outlets and reporters throughout Twisted Wonderland. The magicless student from another dimension, brought here against their will, started as a janitor and is now the top student in their grade at the revered Night Raven College for the Arcane Arts. What an underdog story. Personally, I think Professor Ambrose at RSA will enjoy hearing about just how generous you've been to poor pitiful me."

"Yuu, are you blackmailing me?"

"Dire, do you want me to do the Ramshackle paperwork?"

...

...

"What exactly is it that you want?"

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

"Oh! Prefect, I didn't expect to see you here. Crowley hasn't arrived yet if you were looking for him. But you'll have to make it quick, for we should be trying to start our House Warden meeting fairly soon after he gets here."

"Oh thank you Riddle, but I'm here for the meeting."

"Oi, Herbivore, your ears are working, right? House Warden meeting. As in, not for cubs like you. So move along, before that crazy crow comes. Can't get a moment of peace if he sees his 'precious Prefect'"

"Ah well you see, the thing is-"

"Amazing! I see everyone is here and ready for the meeting to start. First order of business. I'd like you all to meet Yuu, the new Ramshackle House Warden."