#Barb was relatively recent too

[strangerwheelerthings]

Just saw an ask about Nancy’s lack of social behaviors that inspired some thoughts. I didn't want to intrude on them with my disagreements. They make a couple of reasonable points, but I believe they're missing some aspects of Nancy’s personality to interpret them. Obviously, some of this comes down to personal interpretation, but this is my understanding of Nancy Wheeler.

Addressing their points: Canonically, Nancy isn't a social person. She didn't reach out to Robin at all in the year after Starcourt Mall. The only people we see her regularly hanging out with, after Barb's death, is whoever her current boyfriend is. These are all facts. I personally feel her questioning Robin's presence in season 3 was less a 'I have absolutely zero idea who you are' reaction, and more of a 'why the heck is this new person helping us fight a monster and making comments, since when?' type reaction. This is up for interpretation though, so I won't argue that point.

However, Nancy’s lack of social life is not an indicator of a lack of desire for friendship. Nancy struggles with opening up to people. She finds emotional vulnerability and genuine connection both difficult and terrifying. We see this aversion present itself in her relationship with Mike, as well as signs of it presenting in her dysfunctional family. 

Barb was her only real friend in the beginning of the show. We see her change herself, to try to conform to Steve's group, but even then she is very distant from everyone but Steve and Barb. She relied on previous bonds in a social situation, and made no attempts to create new ones. Granted, Tommy and Carol weren’t people she cared to be friends with. However, this seems to be a pattern of behavior, as indicated by her social situations throughout the show. Another example is the party in season two, when she got drunk and only actually talked to Steve.

Nancy stays inside a social comfort zone. She is not outgoing without a purpose. She’s good at listening, but she doesn’t talk to people without an external reason, such as a story. What some people may forget, is that once Nancy is comfortable with someone, many of those barriers go away. She actually stays quite close to people she likes and feels comfortable with, especially in a distressing situation. She made Barb come to the party for this exact reason. 

The Upside Down dangers created the perfect situations to create deep bonds with Steve and Jonathan. They were forced into situations that lowered guards and allowed them to be genuine with each other. There’s a reason she ended up dating both of them, and essentially relying on them for connection over the years. It wasn’t just trauma bonding, but also that barrier free connection. 

Jonathan was the one to distance himself from Nancy in between season one and two. We see Nancy still reaching out at the beginning of season two. He had been placed in the comfortable zone, and as such, she was quite social with him, despite not dating yet. She ends up distanced from Steve because ex status took him out of that zone, alongside lack of communication in their relationship and the inability to be emotionally vulnerable with him. 

Then we go into post-season three territory. Nancy and Robin don’t talk after Starcourt. Why would they? The two saw each other in a dangerous situation, but they never actually connected. There was no bond, and I highly doubt that Robin took the initiative to attempt to develop one afterwards. Steve started dating Nancy because he put persistent effort into showing his interest. She’s not exactly the type to reach out first. Once within the trust and comfort zone, then yeah, she will initiate contact with a person, but she struggles before then. 

As for people outside of the Hawkins Gang, alongside her natural social aversion, there’s also the barrier of being unable to be completely honest with them. This is a major thing for Nancy, who likely values genuine friendships, and has little respect for superficial ones. This, alongside the trauma surrounding Barb, hinders her quite a lot.

After Jonathan moves away, Nancy is left relatively alone. She has working relationships with people in the newspaper, but not much beyond that. Perhaps there was the possibility of a friendship developing over time with Fred, but that was cut short. Even then, once again, the person she’s closest to got there because they were placed in a situation where she had an external reason to initiate contact.

Does that mean she doesn’t really care to make any more friends aside from Jonathan? Turn now to the famous line: "Does that make us friends? As in, officially?"  

Look at that smile, and try to tell me that she isn't ecstatic to have Robin confirm their new relationship.

This girl desperately wants a friend. She just doesn’t know how to make one. Looking just at that scene, Nancy is visibly nervous. She doesn’t say anything until Robin drops the friend-word, and then she feels the need to confirm it with her. She wanted it so badly, and was so relieved when Robin revealed that she felt the same way. This wasn’t a little thing to her.

How do they even get to that point in season four? First, Robin puts herself in Nancy’s orbit, despite Nancy’s discomfort. People have a tendency to discount her ideas and not listen to her. She was an unknown variable in a stressful situation. However, the situation allowed them to really talk and the start of a connection was created. Robin had listened to her, and had validated her theory. 

Nancy was starting to like her.

What did she do next? Take advantage of the situation they were in, to sneakily attempt to grow closer. It wasn’t just the fact that Robin was competent and Nancy respected her after the library, but because she wanted to spend time with her. There were plenty of options within the group of competent people, yet Nancy repeatedly singled Robin out. Nancy was trying to become friends.

I say take advantage of it though, because it is a lot less stressful to initiate conversations with someone if you have an excuse. ('They were in a dangerous situation, it wasn't about wanting to be her friend, whaaatt.' Lies.) Suddenly a lot of the normal social pressure and anxiety around initiating contact is decreased. And look at what Nancy does in that scenario, she immediately reaches out. 

Give her a reason, or a purpose, and she can go up and talk to anyone about anything. Take that away, and she gets too stressed or anxious to be the first. 

Anyway, to sum up, Nancy sticks to people she’s comfortable with. Robin, and maybe Steve depending on how the romance is handled, have managed to maneuver themselves into her comfort zone by the end of season four. She has confirmed friendship with Robin, and as previously established, once Nancy likes you, she is social. She will reach out to you, and spend time with you. 

Outside of danger, she likely takes a while to trust people, so anyone who wants to join in the hangouts would need to be willing to put in some effort and be patient with her, but it isn't impossible. She wouldn’t avoid them, just stick close to comfort people.

She's not completely anti-social. Nancy is an introvert who struggles to trust, but once you have that trust, she is a reliable friend.

[devildom-moss]

December poll story

NSFW - Solomon x Barbatos x MC

(Barbatos x Solomon x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (dom-leaning-switch!top!Barbatos / sub!bottom!Solomon / dom!top!MC) (MC with a dick or strap on; oral/blowjob - Sol for Barbs; jealous sex; pre-cum tasting; anal fingering - Sol receiving; slightly bratty Solomon; mostly gentle dom MC; sadistic Barbatos; double anal - Sol receiving; Solomon's hands restrained by Barbatos; slight overstim; anal creampie; standing/against the wall sex; no explicit mention of MC orgasm sorry; Solomon is so whiny and needy and desperate for reader)

Word Count: +2,800

You were delighted that Barbatos not only had the night off but was willing to come over to Cocytus Hall and help you cook dinner. Cooking at the castle had its positives, like high-end tools and an enormous pantry, but seeing Barbatos in the relatively humble kitchen at Cocytus Hall felt more intimate. It wasn’t as if you could peacefully prepare a meal with Solomon here. Sometimes, you just wanted someone to help you in your kitchen without being worried that something was going to explode or that your entire meal would be ruined.

“I’m back,” Solomon yelled from down the hall. “It smells amazing in here. What are you –”

Solomon stopped dead in the doorframe, jaw clenched tight. The only movement on his end was the darting of his eyes between you and Barbatos. His stunned silence caused you to turn around and see what was wrong. Barbatos followed your gaze, looking over his shoulder at the recently returned sorcerer.

“Solomon,” Barbatos greeted him coldly – losing every ounce of emotion he had given you mere minutes ago.

“Barbatos, what are you doing with my – my . . . apprentice?” Solomon questioned him cautiously, almost allowing a more affectionate term to slip from his lips.

“He’s helping me make dinner,” you informed him. “Is that why you malfunctioned?”

“I didn’t malfunction. I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone else in our kitchen.”

“Is that so?” Barbatos hummed, turning his head so he could get back to mincing the garlic.

Solomon narrowed his eyes in annoyance briefly and rolled up his sleeves. As he walked towards the kitchen sink, he insisted, “Well, let me assist you, too. I’m sure I can help.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Barbatos replied.

“We’ve got everything under control, Solomon, really. You can relax,” you reassured him, hoping the sweetness you mustered up in your tone would be enough to ward him off. Solomon’s shoulders dropped, and he frowned but made no move to leave. You turned back around to continue chopping the vegetables. Maybe you could convince Solomon to take a nice long bath while you and Barbatos finished dinner.

Just as you were about to gently urge Solomon to get out of the kitchen, you felt Barbatos come up behind you. He put one arm up – coincidentally between you and Solomon – and reached for the cupboard above your head. His body was pressed firmly against your back and his breath was hot on your skin. “Ah. My apologies, MC. Your hands were busy, and I didn’t want to disturb you, but I thought I saw the spices that I brought over for you the other day in here. I must have been mistaken.”

“Pantry. Front of the shelf – just below eye level,” you informed him. Barbatos chuckled and went to check the pantry. You didn’t particularly want him to move, but if Solomon was forced to witness that for a second longer, you were certain he would come for Barbatos’s throat. You could feel Solomon’s anger from across the room.

“Let me help, instead.” Solomon insisted, catching Barbatos by the shoulder as he made his way to the stove. “You should go home, Barbatos.”

“Don’t be rude. Barbatos came all the way out here, and he’s helping prepare dinner for you, too.”

“It’s fine.” Barbatos offered you a polite smile before turning to face Solomon. “After all, Solomon doesn’t mean to be rude. He’s simply being a needy little brat, desperate for your attention.”

Solomon gasped quietly. His face flushed a light pink – tinted with shame and anger. He hated being so jealous and desperate for you, and he hated that Barbatos was the one to point that out even more. You continued dicing vegetables, hiding your smirk from Solomon’s eyes.

“I believe a punishment might be in order. What do you think, MC? Do I have your permission to handle him?” Barbatos asked you, still staring down Solomon.

“What about my –” Solomon started to protest, but his complaint was silenced when Barbatos kissed him roughly, pushing him back towards the doorframe.

You stopped to look over your shoulder, ensuring that what you thought had just happened was, indeed, the case. It was certainly something to behold: Barbatos pressing Solomon’s back against the doorframe, tongue in his mouth, pulling out the softest moans from the sorcerer. You weren’t sure if you should keep watching or let the two have their privacy – as much privacy as you could offer them while still preparing the stew. The latter seemed to be the best option. After all, the sounds of Solomon whimpering were just arousing enough to turn you on while not distracting you too much.

By the time Barbatos finally broke the kiss, Solomon was in a daze with his cheeks tinted red. You could hear him panting slightly as you tossed the potatoes into the stock. Barbatos took a step back and held Solomon’s chin with one gloved hand.

“I take it that was sufficient enough to earn your permission as well, right Solomon? Now, get on your knees and suck my dick. I spent all this time keeping your apprentice company, helping cook for you. You really should be more grateful.” Solomon’s eyes widened, and he looked in your direction – searching for guidance. You weren’t even watching him. Barbatos turned Solomon’s face back to look at him. “Come on, little sorcerer. If you want MC to watch, put on a show for them. Show them you’ve had a change in attitude – that your rude little mouth can repent.”

You caught Solomon dropping to his knees out of the corner of your eye. He stared up at Barbatos with the small hint of defiance that had somehow escaped the smothering effect of that kiss. “. . . Fine.”

If only you and Barbatos had made more progress before Solomon returned home. The stew would already be simmering, and you could have focused more of your attention on the source of the noises behind you.

Everything from the sound of Barbatos undoing his pants to Solomon’s noisy licking and sucking to the first gentle moan that left Barbatos’s lips tempted you to turn around and watch. You heard Solomon whimper as he struggled to take Barbatos – the way he began to moan on Barbatos’s cock, slowly starting to enjoy himself. Even as Barbatos moaned again, rolling his head back against the door frame and rocking his hips forward, eager to get deeper down Solomon’s throat, you focused on the task at hand. Just a few more steps, you kept telling yourself until, at last, everything was prepared, and you could leave the stew to simmer on low.

You turned away from the stove and admired the sight of Solomon licking the tip of Barbatos’s cock before taking him in his mouth, bobbing his head eagerly. Did he know you were watching or was he just that into it? Either way, as much as you wanted to keep watching, you also wanted to reward Solomon for being such a good boy while you finished cooking.

“I’ll be right back,” you announced – although you were mostly speaking to Barbatos. He grabbed the back of Solomon’s head and pulled him close until he was choking on his cock, giving you a few more inches to squeeze behind Solomon. As you passed behind him, you ran your fingers along his shoulders, earning a pleased whimper.

You retrieved a bottle of lube from your bedroom (and a strap-on, if necessary) before returning to the hallway. Barbatos had been polite enough to let Solomon resume his blowjob as opposed to being left to choke. He spotted you through half-lidded eyes as you walked down the hall and grinned – almost as if to say, “he’s good at this, but I’d rather have you.”

Barbatos combed his gloved hand through Solomon’s hair before quickly pulling him back. The movement was so sudden that Solomon still had his tongue sticking out as he stared up at Barbatos. “There, there. That’s enough. Your sweet apprentice brought you a gift.”

Solomon turned to see you standing in the hallway, just outside the kitchen doorway, holding a bottle of lube. You motioned for him to come to you, and he was quick to get to his feet and bury his blushing face in the crook of your neck. His embrace nearly pushed your back against the wall. Barbatos followed and stood behind Solomon. He chuckled and slowly pulled his gloves off, tucking them in his coat pocket, before taking the lube from your hand.

Barbatos tugged the back of Solomon’s pants and underwear down, coated his fingers in a generous amount of lube, and slipped a finger into Solomon. A soft yelp, muffled against your skin, left Solomon’s lips. Still clinging to you, Solomon pulled back just enough so he could kiss you. The taste of Barbatos’s precum was still on his tongue, but if he knew you could taste it, he would have refrained from kissing you with the urgent desperation he had now. Between Barbatos’s skilled fingers slowly stretching him out and your lips – and attention – finally on him, Solomon was reduced to moans and whimpers all over again.

A spark of sadism ignited in Barbatos. He tugged at Solomon’s hair with his free hand, forcing him away from you, and captured your lips instead – all while continuing to finger Solomon. Irritated by the interruption, Solomon reached behind to stroke Barbatos’s cock, knowing the demon was still hard. Barbatos moaned, but that moan quickly slipped into a growl as he pulled away from your lips.

“Who said you could touch me again?” He growled into Solomon’s ear, plunging his finger deeper into Solomon’s ass.

Solomon arched against your body with a smug grin, biting his lower lip to hold in his moan – anything to annoy Barbatos further. “It worked. You stopped kissing my apprentice.”

His attempt to annoy Barbatos was a success. Barbatos slipped a third finger into Solomon in retaliation, quickly and without warning, making Solomon whine and cling to your shoulders. His face was flushed bright pink up to his ears with his mouth agape. He struggled to get the words out. “I-it hurts, MC.”

Tears prickled the corners of his eyes but failed to fall. You kissed down his cheek, shushing him affectionately. “You’re okay, baby. I’m right here, let me help you.”

As you kissed his neck, you slid your hand down his chest until you reached the hem of his pants. You undid his pants, finally allowing them to slip completely down his thighs, and tugged the front of his underwear down until his hard cock was free. You stroked him slowly. Solomon buried himself against your neck, muffling his needy whines. While he wasn’t paying attention, Barbatos stole a quick kiss from you over Solomon’s shoulder. You focused your attention on thumbing Solomon’s tip as Barbatos curled his fingers against Solomon’s prostate. Drowning in pleasure and too blissed-out to speak, the only warning Solomon gave you was nuzzling into your neck and tightening his grip around you before he came all over your hand with a loud moan. Solomon’s knees buckled, but neither you nor Barbatos were done with him yet.

“Can you keep going, baby?” you asked him. Solomon’s only response was to kiss you while fumbling to undo your pants, revealing your dick/strap on. Meanwhile, Barbatos tugged Solomon’s pants and underwear down all the way, making it easy for the sorcerer to step out of them and kick them off to the side – all while he was still exploring your mouth with his tongue. Barbatos pumped more lube into his palm before chucking the bottle on top of Solomon’s pants. He reached around Solomon, pressing his still-hard cock against Solomon’s ass, and applied the lube to your cock/strap on, stroking you a few times until you were completely coated.

Finally, you were ready to fuck him. You wrapped Solomon’s legs around your waist while Barbatos pinned Solomon’s wrists against the wall just above your head with one hand. Your eyes met Solomon’s, silently requesting permission.

“I want it. Fuck me,” Solomon whispered through his panting. He opened his mouth slightly and leaned in to kiss you again.

With your hands preoccupied, digging into Solomon’s thighs to hold him up, Barbatos used his free hand to help ease you into Solomon’s ass. Moan after moan escaped Solomon and flowed into your parted lips as you slowly bucked up into him. Something about Solomon’s desperate, hungry kisses, and the image of his flushed cheeks and damp eyes as he told you he was in pain earlier made you want to be gentle with him.

Barbatos, on the other hand, was not so sweet. Rubbing his hard cock against Solomon’s ass while the little brat writhed on your dick with his hands pinned was not nearly enough. Barbatos bit Solomon’s neck, earning a whimper, before blowing on the bite mark and whispering in Solomon’s ear, “Be a good boy and relax for me.”

In a daze of pleasure, Solomon could barely make out the words – let alone understand them – before Barbatos was slowly pushing his cock into him. Solomon immediately broke the kiss, lolling his head back with a gasp. He struggled to catch his breath as the feeling of being so full pushed him closer to the edge. Solomon was already tight, but with Barbatos inside, pulsing against you, your thrusts slowed as you tried to get the poor sorcerer used to it. Solomon wanted to wrap his arms around you, but Barbatos still had his wrists pinned. He whined and struggled, rubbing his throbbing cock against your stomach. You could feel him twitching. That pleasured look on his face, a deep blush, and the slightest hint of drool dripping from the corner of his lip told you that you could have been a bit rougher with him from the start. He might have enjoyed any pain you caused him.

“You can cum, it’s okay,” you reassured Solomon, thrusting into him with rapid, shallow movements.

“I’m close, too, MC,” Barbatos growled. “Can I cum inside him?”

In any other situation, Solomon would have been annoyed that Barbatos was treating him like he was your toy, but in that moment, he wanted it. Solomon whined, “hurry. Cum in me.”

“You heard him,” you chuckled, leaning in to suck on Solomon’s neck. Before you could leave a proper hickey, you felt Barbatos twitching inside of Solomon’s ass, and with a soft grunt followed by a content sigh, he pumped Solomon full of cum. Perhaps some of Barbatos’s sadism had rubbed off on you because you continued to thrust into Solomon – much easier than before after the additional lubricant. Moans and whimpers filled the hall as you overstimulated Barbatos, fucking the cum deeper into Solomon’s ass, and gave your baby boy every ounce of pleasure he needed to cum all over your shirt.

Slowly, your thrusts came to a stop. Solomon was still whining, and his eyes were damp. As weak as he was, he struggled against Barbatos’s grip again, desperately craving touching you.

“Patience, brat,” Barbatos hissed. Solomon’s struggling only overstimulated him further. Barbatos groaned as he carefully pulled out of Solomon, scraping a few drops of cum out as he did. However, Barbatos kept his grip tight on Solomon’s wrists and held your gaze. “Your turn, MC – or do you plan to stay inside him all throughout dinner?”

Solomon yelped, and you laughed, knowing you couldn’t possibly tease him that much. You eased out of him halfway before quickly thrusting back into him, earning another pathetic yelp. With wide, damp eyes and a pout on his lips, Solomon stared at you, begging you to be gentler with him. Okay, that’s enough teasing. You pulled out completely, and lowered Solomon’s legs until he was standing on his own feet again. He looked adorable: flushed, panting, in a blissful afterglow, with cum leaking down his thighs.

Satisfied, Barbatos released Solomon’s hands. Surprisingly, Solomon’s first move was to grab your hands and hold them, playing with your fingers nervously. He hadn’t realized until now what a mess he had made all over you. In a weak, timid voice, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled at him and ran your thumbs over his hands. “You were so sexy.”

Solomon looked up at you with a shy grin. Slightly annoyed by the softness you seemed to share with Solomon, Barbatos sighed, and despite himself, he told you, “Give me a minute to get cleaned up in the bathroom. Then, I’ll finish getting dinner ready while you and Solomon take a shower together.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and leaned over to kiss Barbatos on the lips – gentle and sweet.

Barbatos turned to leave, but Solomon let go of your hands to grab him and pull him closer. Solomon kissed Barbatos, too – albeit a shorter, self-conscious kiss. When he pulled away, Barbatos was wide-eyed and surprised while Solomon was blushing harder. “Thank you for everything. You can stay the night after dinner – if you want to.”

Barbatos chuckled, a smile reaching his eyes. “Oh? Aren’t you all docile and welcoming now.”

“I still have a pact with you, you know?” Solomon glared.

“I’m well aware.”

A/N: I hope this one came out okay. I kinda rushed it a bit because I'll be away from my computer from the rest of the month and I didn't want it to go up late. At this point, I feel like it's well established how much I adore whiny, desperate Solomon. I want to ruin him. I hope that desire was enough to make a good fic. I'm scheduling this to post on the 31st, so don't forget, I'll post a new poll for January's story at midnight on the New Year PST. It'll be a little different this time, and I hope you'll all like it.

[drdemonprince]

hey, i love your blog & your advice & wanted to seek some of my own if thats okay. i made a friend recently who i think is great - we've been through very similar mental health struggles and we're both autistic and i've had many a time where he's told me really compassionate and helpful things, and he's very accepting of my struggles & seeks me out to hajg out, which a lot of people don't do - but i just can't shake the feeling that he's subtley making fun of me or insulting me? he definitely has a sense of humour prone to teasing, which i am very sensitive to, and i've expressed this to him... but it's just like, these little things, like when he wanted me to come to something with him but i have plans, he'll say something like 'dissapointed you didn't come with me...' or 'well if you were COOL you would have come with me' and it makes me very upset? like i said i've brought it up to him multiple times, but it seems like it's just his sense of humour, but it's beginning to seriously weigh on me. he's said he wants to do better by me and asked me what the line is but i feel like i don't know, sometimes our running jokes about me being a bottom are funny and then they suddenly get too much, and it feels like i'm reacting to the lightest comment (like when he comments that i'm late to things a lot or asks me if im going to be late) sometimes, i don't know how to express what i'm actually getting upset at. do you think there's anything i can do to make this situation better? i really don't want to lose him as a friend, and i want to work on my sensitivity, i just don't know if this is something i can work through

This is tough, but you're doing the important work of communicating about it. I'm a lot like your friend sometimes -- I notice patterns in how people cancel or turn up late to things, and then will state directly that I've observed it, or make predictions based on that pattern, which hurts people's feelings even when I mean it in a completely neutral or even affectionate way. Sometimes when intimacy between me and another person builds, I want to show that closeness by kind of play-fighting with them or making little sarcastic jokes or remarks, which can be wonderfullll when the energy is met, but it can also misfire and really hurt people. I'm putting this out there so that you and any one else reading can feel free to ask about this perspective. For me, it's not intended to be cruel, it's intended to show that I know and accept someone as they are, and find their traits endearing, and I LOVE when people playfully rib me too. it may also be an outgrowth of PDA and attachment trauma -- a way I can feel safe with getting closer is by pretending to keep a distance.

That said, I also HATE when someone guilts me for not being available for something, not wanting to do something, or not showing up. Again, it's the PDA there. I would really really hate someone giving me shit for not going to an event with them, as your friend did, I find that stuff incredibly manipulative and unpleasant, and I personally would be very bothered by those remarks too. So I can understand, I think, both sides of things here!

My question for you would be how your friend responds when you tell him that his remarks have hurt your feelings. I think there is room for a middleground in such matters -- he should work on calibrating his barbed remarks, and you can remember the goodness of the friendship and temper your reactions to some things sometimes, but he HAS to view your concerns as legitimate and be willing to apologize first. Does he freak out and self-victimize or blow things out of proportion when you speak up? Has he stopped making any specific kinds of remarks because you asked? Have you asked? Are you comfortable telling him that something bothers you, even when you can't fully explain why?

I think that if this friendship is going to negotiate both your approaches, it will be done in the gray areas. Sometimes you'll feel triggered by a relatively benign remark, and that deserves talking about! Sometimes he'll say something in completely the wrong way, and he'll need to apologize, and that should be talked about too! It's never inappropriate for you to bring up your feelings, even if you can't give him perfect guidelines as to what he should say or not say. And he should have some leeway to express his care for you in his own way, to an extent, too -- this doesn't mean you should let him do things that hurt you, more that you should try to operate with the base assumption that anything he says comes from his position as your friend who cares about you. That's IF he has actually consistently shown he cares about you and your feelings. If he hasn't, that's another matter.

I hope that makes sense! tldr; keep talking about it. Keep sharing how you feel. Listen to him and watch his patterns of behavior, and if he shows consistently that he does care about your feelings, then you can let that trust help you to process and temper some of your hurt when he accidentally hits your insecurities sometimes.

[professoruber]

Alastor vs Lucifer rivalry

Really loved the quickly developed mutual dislike and rivalry between Alastor and Lucifer. I hope we get to see more of it in future episodes before things escalate too much in terms of whatever grand status quo wrecking plans Alastor apparently has.

Like; imagine if word go around that Alastor was hanging near the King of Hell (likely one of the few sinners to do so given his apparent reclusive nature) and trading barbs at one another. Of course in reality these two are probably only barely holding back from outright throwing hands by the fact it wouldn't end well for either (getting smited by Lucifer would obviously disrupt any plans Alastor has, meanwhile Lucifer would also not want to hurt his only recently repaired relationship with his daughter by smiting her business partner.

But still. Imagine the Vees and other sinners freaking out at seeing Alastor and Lucifer together, wondering if this is part of some plan or if they're going to enter some deal...

When in reality this specific action isn't part of any plan (presumably), they just really have a mutual dislike of one another and get into a petty rivalry which results in them being in frequent enough proximity that others assume there is something deeper to their interactions.

Just a random thought. Really enjoying Hazbin Hotel so far even if its rather fast-paced (although that seems mostly due to the relatively short episode number to be fair).

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #5: Stamp

It was raining.

He pointedly ignored the footsteps behind him. They, in their kindness, pointedly did not speak up. Not that there was much to hear over the storm that intensified over their heads. To everyone else it was a moment to hole up, to wait, to keep their heads down in the outskirts. To him it was a sign. A bad one. Good. The electrope tether hummed in his hands as he spun the end of it in rote motion. How far up, this time? His practiced eyes spotted anchor points all the way up the structure. Checking them off like they were a puzzle to solve, like something one might work on over a morning coffee. There wasn’t any need for the shorter hops today. No point in taking a path with the handholds and stopping spots close together. That would be for The tether slammed into the ground as his fist met stone. The blood dripped down his knuckles; the rain washed it off. The pain hadn’t arrived yet, but it was no mercy there. He looked at the exposed, sliced flesh. He flexed his hand, over and over, as if he could grip the half-formed memory that got away from him. Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine. Ignore the extra set of footsteps behind you that’re the wrong ones His other fist hit the stone. Then he picked up his tether.

Putting his climbing claws and boots on was a bit more difficult now. He appreciated the extra time to get rained on, at least, while he was still on the ground. It felt therapeutic in a way that little else could. Indulging in misery in the preparation for something that was supposed to bring him joy. Indulging in rage as his manufactured claws bit into the same stone that he’d used to draw his blood. Better than a fistfight he knew he’d lose. Better than a conversation with someone who understood. The wrong footsteps were still down there. He punched his way through an old window, shattering it in tune to a thunderclap as he hauled his way inside. Even now he couldn’t help but evaluate the insides for valuables, for safety, for picking out the interesting things to give as examples He slumped against the wall. He landed in the shards. He could feel them cut him through his gear. He knew he’d have to clean himself up. Who knew what was on these old windowpanes. He could get infected. …It was so hard to care. Or, rather, he wished it was. He wished it was. That was half the problem, wasn’t it? Forgetting made it so easy to lose your grip on all the other emotions from it. Forgetting made it so easy to pretend everything was fine. It was hard to let his hate pull him down like gravity when it could find no purchase on him. When hate had no barbs with which to anchor. When pain could barely substitute. Self flagellation barely got him anywhere besides a response of hoping it didn’t get infected.

He shifted to bring his bag around to his side. Fished in it for a long moment as if to pretend he didn’t know each and every pocket in it and where everything was- even if he’d thrown it around in a rage before. Even if he’d realized things were missing His bloodied fist closed around a piece of metal and electrope. His regulator flashed to life in the wake of a thunderclap as he held it up in the dark room. But his eyes weren’t on it. A shadow in the lightning flash. “…Galena,” Came the voice of the wrong footsteps. That soft, diffuse green glow of a presence that he’d wished stayed on the ground. The gentle and kind hand that reached out with a comforting touch- His tether snapped taut and yanked him to his feet before it could. Before his eyes could fall on the other. She wasn’t who he wanted to see. That wasn’t the name he wanted to hear She knew it, too. He climbed back out into the rain.

He couldn’t remember reaching the top. It had been struck relatively recently. The old infrastructure not meant to take direct bolts like that, not meant to sustain that kind of damage. Frankly it was impressive the building was still upright with a giant hole blown in the top of it. The rain could get in now. Rot the insides, rust them and corrode them, and slowly warp the structure until it would slam into the earth without warning. He wondered how long it would take. He stared at the regulator in his hand. He wondered how long it would take.

The heel of his boot crunched something metal and worn. The sparks caught like lightning against the wet stone. Like a poor mimicry of rage. Like a half-thought copy of something real. Slop made by a rusted mind. He anchored his tether to the one last support column that could handle his weight.

He leapt from the tower.

[cdyssey]

Advocate

Prompt (@kalikoke​):

CW: Alcohol Mentions

AO3 Link

As they’re walking out to their cars, Barbara insists on going out to dinner that night to celebrate the reigning Read-a-Thon champ.

Her treat.

“Oh, so you’re takin’ me out on a date, huh?” Melissa grins widely, full of piss-and-vinegar. She loves to flirt with Barbara Howard—married woman, woman of God—thinks it’s fun to see her nearly bend over backwards trying not to accidentally flirt back. Meanwhile, the second-grade teacher has long made her peace with the fact that after nearly thirty years of friendship, the two of them talk like old lesbians who probably own a cat named Fred Astaire.

It’s just one of the occupational hazards of being work wives.

Somewhere along the way, they started to sound like actual wives too.

She likes that.

A lot.

Much more than she reasonably should.

They stop in front of Barbara’s car, a gray sedan that is meticulously washed every weekend. The windshield is completely white with recent sleet, and both of their breaths gather in pockets next to their faces.

“As a matter of fact,” Barbara only harrumphs, at once pompous and playful, a teasing glint in her eyes, “I am. Wear something befitting your winner status.”

“I got a new thong from Victoria's Secret the other day?” She immediately suggests, arching a positively lecherous brow. “Red. Matches my hair ‘n everything.”

Melissa tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything to her when Barbara visibly swallows at these words, when her dark pupils dilate, when the heavy binder in her arms abruptly slips from her grasp and onto her knee, causing her to cluck at Melissa like a mother hen.

“Lord Almighty! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” The other woman moans, rubbing her leg as Melissa bends down to retrieve the binder, snickering silently.

“Yeah, and everyone else too,” she replies in her most suggestive voice.

“Melissa!”

But the second-grade teacher just laughs and laughs—and she carefully ignores the way Barbara’s cheeks have flushed—and she laughs.

This is all she ever feels comfortable asking for, these infinitesimal moments with Barbara Howard, snatched from the relentless march of time. She cups the nanoseconds in her palms just to hold them, if even for a little bit—which is precisely how long that a moment lasts anyway.

There and then gone, lived and then a fragmentary relic of the past with all the rest.

But, Jesus, how they kiss her fingertips so gently—these moments, these relics, these precious nanoseconds—dusting them, like falling snow.

—

A few hours later, they’re sitting across from each other at a booth in Mamma Mia’s, a relatively new and upscale pizzeria that used to be a laundromat a couple of years ago until the feds finally figured out it was another front for the Philly Mob. (None of Melissa’s idiot cousins were involved this time, thank God. Even they weren’t stupid enough to launder money in a goddamn laundromat.)

All of the washers and dryers and probable bloodstains were removed a few years back, and a yuppie couple has since gutted the rather sizable space, remodeled it, and turned it into the talk of the town. Barbara, completely unaware of its history, has been begging to try it out for lunch sometime. 

She’s heard that their salads are excellent.

And Melissa, entirely aware of its history, has always entertained the proposition with a secretive chuckle at the thought of her very proper friend unwittingly stepping foot into a building where at least two men have definitely died.

Yeah, sure, Barb. Let’s go.

Which is how they end up here for dinner, blissfully sipping on their Merlots as they wait for their waitress to come back and take their order. Melissa is indeed wearing something befitting her victory over Janine—a short, green dress with sleeves that billows out around her wrists—but she thinks Barbara has her beat, so elegant in a teal blouse and black vest. Her fitted slacks—also black—accentuate the shapely curves of her hips.

Melissa appreciates the way her friend looks.

(Again, much more than she decently should.)

“You know,” Barbara begins without looking up. She’s been busy scanning the menu for the past few minutes, her readers delicately perched on the bridge of her nose. Melissa’s own menu is still on the table, unfolded and untouched. “I didn’t get to have one blessed slice of pizza today. My kindergarteners were simply voracious.”

“Mine too,” Melissa chortles, recalling how she’d had to tell at least five kids not to chew so fast. They were gonna get indigestion! “And I gave my leftovers to little Benji.”

Sweet kid, Benji Andrews—the youngest in a family of seven.

There sometimes isn’t enough food to go around at his place, so she and Barbara—(who’d had Benji in her class two years ago, and they'd both had several of Benji's siblings)—worked out an agreement with the lunch ladies to make sure that he gets sent home with extra meals a few times a week. 

“Ah, that’s my Melissa,” Barbara murmurs fondly, her gaze flicking upwards from the glossy foldout.

“Yeah, well, you would have done the same, ya schmaltzy gagootz,” she readily deflects—never one to accept unadulterated praise without a fight—but even still, she can’t help but smile at the quiet intimacy of being called Barbara's own.

Damn her and God bless her, she always knows how to tease the softness right out of Melissa.

“Oh!” The older teacher suddenly gasps, glasses slipping a little down her nose. “Shame on me—I almost forgot. Melissa, would you like me to call out some menu items for you? There’s a spinach-ricotta calzone that might have your name on it.”

And Barbara glances at her perfectly unopened menu then, apology flashing in her eyes, but Melissa only shakes her head. She’d taken one look at the front of the pamphlet, seen its kookily stylized typeface, and quickly placed it down before any of the letters started doin’ any funny business.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says firmly. “I looked at their menu online before we got here, and I'm fine if you just wanna share a pizza."

“Are you sure?” Barbara frets, conscientious about her reading struggles—always—from the very moment she found out about them some two decades ago when she was the first person to ever realize that Melissa only rarely peruses menus at restaurants.

And that’s only if the font is just right or if there are helpful pictures or if there’s not too damn much happening on the page at one time.

Before the Internet really took off, and Melissa didn’t have a reliable way of checking a menu before she went to a restaurant she was unfamiliar with, she’d just ask the waiter for the specials and choose one that sounded the most appetizing to her—far too humiliated to spend the necessary time trying to decipher a block of text that almost looked comprehensible to her. She didn’t have the luxury to chisel the individual words out, unit by unit, as she did at home with her books. The someone sitting across from her was unfailingly impatient. Her siblings. Some of her antsier friends. Her own ma. 

Joe.

He got so freaking annoyed when she took forever to order, even though he knew she had a hard time with menus.

He just swore up and down that she needed better glasses.

But Barbara, from the very moment she found out, approached the matter far differently than her ex-husband, which is to say with the same determination and kindness that governs most of her actions. She suggested that she could read some parts of the menu aloud for Melissa—so as to provide her with options—and for years upon years, she’s done so every time they’ve tried a new restaurant together.

Melissa hated that at first.

Hated that her weakness had been seen and so thoroughly identified by another.

Hated that someone would ever have the guts to call her out on it.

Hated that all of her dozens of coping techniques were stunningly powerless against a goddamn laminated piece of paper.

Hated that it was so obvious if anyone cared to notice.

Which the kindergarten teacher absolutely did.

But then again, Barbara notices a lot of things about Melissa, even the all-too-vulnerable details that she refuses to articulate aloud.

She notices baseball bats firmly taped under desks and irrational fears having to do with ever facing away from a door. She notices new scrapes on her knuckles from bar fights and dark shadows turning circles beneath her eyes after restless nights. She notices when Melissa is having trouble with dinner menus and eighty-paged curriculum updates and legalese from divorce papers that get served to her two days before her fifty-fifth birthday.

And yes, she once hated all of that—Barbara's keen eyes and Barbara's annoying inability not to intervene.

Barbara's hero complex.

And Barbara's pity.

Melissa hated the pity most of all.

But time and trust and her repeated exposure to her friend's particular way of being in the world have ultimately softened her initial understanding of this point, have made her come to terms with the fact that Barbara Howard doesn’t exactly pity her when she reads menus aloud to her, when she sends her emails in big, uncrowded fonts, when she helps her mark up stupid administrative packets with their stupid, tiny text.

She accommodates her.

And this is to say that she loves her.

“I’m positive,” she nods vigorously, well-aware that it takes a lot of verbal and physical gesturing for her friend to ever drop something. She doesn't necessarily want to talk about her insecurities right now—has had to think about them a lot these past few days with Maya, dredging up so many memories—but she damn well won't be responsible for Barbara feeling bad about herself because of them too. “I’m covered tonight.”

As to be expected, though, Barbara, still holding on to her guilt with a frown, sighs deeply.

“You shouldn’t have to be, though,” she insists, vaguely waving her menu around. “It’s absolutely absurd that no one considers how hellacious this font can be on the eyes.”

“Hah!” Melissa snorts, propping her chin up on her fist. “I know you’re angry when you start pullin’ polysyllabic words outta your ass.”

“I’m not angry,” Barbara sniffs (clearly angry). “I’m just disappointed in the lack of accessibility.”

“You should write an op-ed for the Times.”

“Melissa,” she pouts, now finally placing the menu down, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’m being utterly serious.”

And Melissa readily softens, knows that every word is true. Barbara cares so much about making sure that the world is a just place—for her students, for her family, for Melissa herself.

There’s a wheelchair accessible ramp at Willard R. Abbott Elementary School not because some egghead at City Hall gave a rat’s ass.

But because Barbara Howard is a goddamn amazing teacher who fought for it.

There's a reason why she's the best of them all.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles sadly, impulsively reaching over and offering her upturned palm, an olive branch. But she waits, with remarkable patience, for the inevitable moment when Barbara unbends her arms and takes it, interlinking their fingers together over the checkered tablecloth. She squeezes once and desperately wishes that they could stay like this forever, suspended in time, connected by touch, but the elegant ring on Barbara’s fourth finger shimmers in the light from the tabletop candle.

And so she lets go in the end.

She always does.

(Relics and nanoseconds.)

“I gotta say, I'm... disappointed too,” she goes on with a heavy sigh, pulling her now free hand through her hair. “Had a talk with one of my kiddos today whose parents won’t let her get tested for dyslexia."

“Oh, Melissa,” Barbara murmurs, understanding dawning in her eyes, gentle and profound care. Her best friend knows the very specific way that this situation hits close to home.

It’d been a matter of time for Melissa’s ma. 

Or, well, for the lack of it more accurately.

She had five children all under the age of ten to take care of, and she didn’t have the energy to wonder why her eldest daughter sucked at reading beyond thinking that she just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

How hard, after all, could it be to read Dr. Seuss?

“I taught her one of my tricks—y’know, highlighting the first parts of words,” she adds quickly, as though to blow past the sentimentality of everything, of it all, “but it made me sad for my kid t’think that she doesn’t have an advocate…”

Maya's parents had been afraid—afraid for their child to get a label, afraid for her to be different, afraid for her to be perceived as less than.

She'd kinda wanted to key their car after that disastrous conference, but she also gets it—she really fucking does.

“She has you,” Barbara immediately says, adamant, adoring and so perfectly convinced. “You were her advocate today. You were there for that baby girl in a way that she will never forget.”

Melissa blinks rapidly, unable to stop a lump from rising to her throat as she suddenly recalls Mrs. Myrick, the teacher who had given her that book about a sad child who was also different all those many years ago. 

She’d sat with Melissa in the hallway and taught her how to steady a highlighter against a page without messing things up.

But even if you do mess up, Melissa, the teacher had murmured, brushing a stray curl behind the then six-year old’s ear, that’s perfectly okay too.

You’re enough, Melissa, she finished, soft and so kind. You're always enough.

“I’m so proud of you,” Barbara intones in the exact same cadence some fifty-odd years later, eyes gleaming in the dim lighting of the restaurant, radiant with quiet affection.

Melissa falteringly opens her mouth to say something then, to tell Barbara thank you.

For reading menus aloud to me.

For making sure the school has a wheelchair ramp.

For not pitying me.

For loving me.

For always being in my corner.

For never once betting against me.

Other people have me?

Well, I have you.

You’re my advocate.

And I love you.

But their waitress comes up to them then, a slight, young thing who might be Kit or Kat according to the slightly distorted name tag pinned on her chest, and she’s asking if they know what they’d like to eat. So she closes her mouth again, the words dying away on her tongue.

“A pizza then?” Barbara asks, a smile rising to her plump lips. “To celebrate the fact that you’ve taken the prize home once again, Ms. Schemmenti?”

“Oh, hon,” she smirks, easily shifting back into utter asshole mode. “How can you say that when I haven’t even introduced you to my folks yet?”

“Girlfriend!” Comes another scandalized groan, Barbara pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now is not the time!”

And Melissa laughs with all her belly as Barbara hastily explains to the waitress that they're not dating, they're just very good friends—(which somehow sounds even gayer)—and Melissa is merely being facetious. And she doesn't do anything to refute her, just savors the moment, reveling in the blush that has delicately darkened the skin around Barbara's nose.

[madeimpact]

Public vs private knowledge ( Pokémon verse )

Note: any worldbuilding details here are open to discussion to better meld with your headcanons!

Public knowledge ( information everyone can know )

Prompto Argentum is a recent member of the Galarian kingsguard.

By way of Noctis sharing his power with his friends, Prompto can also materialize weapons. He cannot warp, however; only Noctis can.

Prompto is trained with and licensed by the kingsguard to wield firearms. Under Galarian gun law, he is only permitted to shoot in life-threatening situations.

Prompto has a shiny Altaria named Sunny, an Armarouge named Ember, an Inteleon named James ( he jokes that his full name is "James Pond" ), and depending on the point in the timeline, an Espeon named Pryna.

Prompto attended the same school as Noctis and is his best friend.

Prompto loves photography and would like to do it professionally in the future.

Prompto works out. He enjoys running and will periodically go on morning runs with his Pokémon.

He has his finger on the pulse of modern technology. Noct considers him a "technophile."

He ADORES Pokémon and gets easily excited around them.

He can't cook to save his life.

He can drive. He's not very good at it though.

He has a barbed wire tattoo wrapping around his left wrist, and a star right above it on the back of his hand.

His Rotomphone is the same royal make and model as Noct's.

Semi-private knowledge ( information select groups know )

Prompto was adopted out of Kalos as an infant by a family from Wyndon.

After helping an injured Eevee as a child, he eventually learned that Eevee belonged to Lunafreya, who sent him a letter as thanks and asked him to befriend the withdrawn Noctis at school.

Ember has been with Prompto for as long as he can remember. His parents say that Ember was with him when they adopted him.

Prompto is not especially close with his parents.

Private knowledge ( information only Prompto and loved ones know )

Amid Prompto's freckles, there are a few dots that stand out more prominently as being...well, not freckles. He's written these off as a weird birthmark.

As a child, Prompto was quite shy and had difficulty making friends. He kept to himself and found solace in taking photos.

Prompto started running after an awkward attempt at befriending Noctis as children went awry. He tripped and fell, and Noctis remarked that he was "heavy" upon helping him up. After this encounter, Prompto resolved to lose weight and work on his shyness in order to become someone the prince would want to be friends with. He eventually grew to enjoy his runs independently of his initial motivation for starting them.

Prompto's love for photography was helped by progress photos he took on his weight loss journey.

Secrets ( information ONLY Prompto knows )

Prompto is deeply insecure about his status relative to his friends. Being of common birth, he feels like a fish out of water with his noble-born friends.

He secretly worries that if his friends were to learn about his hangups, they would leave him.

Occasionally, Prompto hears whispers from Pokémon's hearts and crystals. This is a rare occurrence he doesn't understand. Given that Ignis and Gladio can't hear them, he's concluded that the phenomenon is not a result of Noct's powers. He's too afraid to ask him to confirm.

Depths of the Iceberg ( information not even Prompto knows* )

*He might know these, depending on the point on his timeline a thread takes place at. He may have also told his friends about this information at later timeline points. Generally, though, he doesn't know this information by default.

Prompto is a clone of Verstael Besithia, resulting from Lysandre Labs' duplicative project.

As an infant, an Interpol agent operating on a tip broke into Lysandre Labs' lower levels, absconding with Prompto and Ember. The agent entrusted him to the people that he would eventually call his adoptive parents.

Prompto's classification in Team Flare's database is RP:D:3234.

His "weird birthmark" is actually Team Flare branding.

He has a tracker injected into his right wrist, but given that the technology predates the one in Silva by eight years, it's less refined. Over the years, it eventually broke.

In threads set after Prompto's eventual recapturing by Lysandre, he has this tracker replaced.

Prompto's ability to intermittently hear the hearts of Pokémon and crystals is a result of Team Flare experimentation after he turned out to be a stable and successful clone.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #172

I expected that today I would rest with Rune Factory 4, but M found a game called Necesse, and he requested that I play it with him, so that is what I did today.

It's a lovely game. It's kind of like Core Keeper. But it's also like Terraria, and it's also like this other game called RimWorld. There's exploring and mining and farming and animals to raise, and settlements to build, and you have to keep your villagers happy and all that stuff. You can ask them to prioritize certain tasks, like gathering wood or farming crops or tending the animals or crafting things. And sometimes you get raiders, and sometimes you have to fight zombies and vampires.

I don't really like the fighting part; mostly I just like to build neat little houses for the people, and I like to tend to the crops in the farm. I like to refill the hay for the cows and the sheep. M usually handles the fighting and the gathering of resources, and then I take the things he gathered and build with them. We make a good team, because he likes the fighting and the exploring and stuff, but not so much building or settlement planning; the fact that we like different things enables us to get more done very quickly.

Like with Core Keeper, I am in the midst of building a huge, sprawling farm with lots and lots of crops! But I'm not done with it yet, so I didn't take any pictures of it.

I did, however, get a couple short videos of the rains we had recently. I dunno if you remember, but in my last letter, I said I would post it up for you, so here it is:

It's short and not very fancy; my cellphone camera's audio likes to get weird sometimes, so only a little bit of what I got was usable. But still, I… I imagine that someone like you sometimes misses a warm, pleasant rain; I can't imagine that it rains very much over at the Edge of Creation, so… I wanted to try to give you something a little nice, maybe.

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like the feeling of the rain on your skin? Do you like the feeling of the wind on your face and hair? Do you like the sound of the wind and the rain in your ears? Do you like the way they smell? I like these things; I thought maybe you might, too. I like a breezy day, especially when there are tree poofs or milkweed poofs, or dandelion poofs in the air, or when there are small petals falling from flowering trees. I like when the wind carries the scent of lilacs, or of someone cooking outdoors. I wish you could sit with me and enjoy these things for a little while.

I imagine that the air over at the Edge of Creation must be very still. And I imagine it must be a very quiet place, too. And you know… I imagine that the quiet can be nice for a little while, especially after a tumultuous life full of obligations and expectations and horrifying consequences if you do not fulfill them. But at least for me, if the silence stretches on for too long, the shadows of the memories I carry in my mind end up shaping themselves into pointy, barbed things that close in on me, and then existence starts to really hurt.

I get worried sometimes that maybe it's kind of the same for you as how I described it just now. I also think of all the little details about living that I like, such as the breeze and the rain and the scent of the flowers, and I feel sad that you maybe don't get to enjoy those things over there. And I guess… between these two things, I worry about you a lot. I hope you're staying safe, both in body and in mind. And I hope that if you feel all alone over there, maybe somehow my words can reach you and give you a little strength by reminding you of good things.

Hey, Sephiroth, how in the world did you even get all the way over there to that empty place, anyway? Is that your physical form over there, or is it just your essence manifested into something shaped like you? What are your circumstances like? Are you doing relatively okay over there? I wish I knew more about what it is that you're going through right now so that maybe I could do something to help you, but… I suppose, like anyone else who is waiting for news about you with bated breath, it'll probably still be a few years before I know anything.

…because… ya know… it's not as though you can talk to me, obviously. but still, just in case… if my words reach you, maybe you might tell me something i can do. maybe there's something in particular you'd like me to write about, or maybe there's a question you have, or maybe you might like some practical advice about how to deal with having a mind that carries a lot of scary memories. or maybe something as simple as having someone around to listen to you talk about your things for a while would be nice for you. i don't know. there's so much i don't know, and sometimes i get overwhelmed by how much i don't know, and also all of the things that i don't know that i don't know…

Sephiroth, if it's difficult and scary and lonely over there for you, then please do your best to keep yourself together, okay? Please do your best to remain gentle and soft and kind. And if you're struggling and you need help in order to remain as such, then please remember to reach out; there are lots of very kind people in this place who would do their best to try to help you feel a little better, or at least make it so that you're not alone while dealing with all the unimaginably difficult things you're carrying on your shoulders. There are lots of people here who would express love and care towards you in all the ways they are able, so… don't lose hope, okay?

…And don't push yourself so hard that you break again, okay? Please. You gotta remember to take good care of yourself if you wanna save everyone for real, because you're a squishy mammal, and we can't hold ourselves together very well if we tire ourselves out from trying to operate like machines. And when you try to save everyone, you gotta remember that you count as part of "everyone". You gotta remember that you matter. You gotta remember that you're important and that people love you - not for your phenomenal power or for what you look like, but simply because you're YOU - compassionate, caring, brave, and so many more lovely adjectives that describe a kind, gentle person with a conscientious attitude and a good heart.

Sephiroth, you can do it. You can make good, gentle, and loving choices, because you have a smart and flexible brain. I believe in you.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow, okay? So please stay safe…

Your friend, Lumine

[kopw]

top watches for september

from this month:

will ospreay vs naomichi marufuji, noah naomichi marufuji debut 25th anniversary show 09/17 — not only my favorite match of the month but my most anticipated one as well! i think it's always interesting to see ospreay be taken out of his usual pace and perform with more breathing room between spots (even if his snappier sequences are what drew me in initially). there are a lot of quiet moments in this match, mixed with that devoted eagerness that ospreay had while he was a junior. it's also a match that is able to tap into something very special thanks to the emotional padding behind it that i think ospreay's other big match from this month (vs yota tsuji) is unable to match

syuri vs mayu iwatani, stardom 5star grand prix day 14 09/03 — syuri is my favorite joshi to watch currently! she wrestles such a loud, hard-hitting style that still feels fresh in the technical scene and she has great in-ring chemistry with mayu here. mayu's reversal of the syu-sekai though... gah! a relatively short match and one of my favorites from the entire gp

bryan danielson vs ricky starks, no disqualification strap match, aew all out 09/03 — the singular non-puro match on this list, which should already give you an idea of how truly great it is. ricky has been a highlight on collision pretty much since it began airing, and the natural charisma that shined through there is ever-present in his recent matches. bloody, brutal, and better than the follow-up texas death rematch in terms of cohesion

zack sabre jr. vs ryohei oiwa, njpw road to destruction 09/08 — i was ecstatic to have boltin oleg in a high-profile match! ...and then it didn't happen. but worry not! oiwa stole the show. it definitely didn't feel as one-sided as it would've if it was oiwa pre-excursion pitted against zack. excited to see more from him

takayuki ueki vs baliyan akki, baka gaijin + friends vol. 8 09/20 — the mad doctor takes on akki, returning superstar of the show, after mecha mummy fails to drill a hole through harashima and is subsequently defeated. it's as silly as it sounds

back catalogue:

shinsuke nakamura vs the great muta, noah the new year 2023 — positively overwhelming presentation in terms of the entrances. misting as a metaphor for relatedness rather than corruption. unstoppable force meets immovable object, up until the object embraces the force. a sentimental finish that stuck with me

katsuyori shibata vs kazuchika okada, njpw sakura genesis 2017 — a holistically tactile bout full of sweaty contact and undying resolve. okada finds himself in the rare predicament of not being the fan favorite! practically impossible to look away during this one

pheromones (danshoku dieno & yuki iino) & shunma katsumata vs akito, kazuki hirata & yuya koroku, ddt sweet dreams! 2023 tour in shinjuku ~ fire! ~ — a typical pheromones match in that it contains loads of their trademark spots (synchronized striptease routines, dramatic jockstrap reveals, "accidental" ass to mouth action) however! this time shunma is there to act as their pup (which he is very much into). a must-watch for fans of public kink in wrestling

atsushi onita vs hayabusa, no ropes barbed wire current mine explosion time bomb deathmatch, fmw 6th anniversary show 1995 — hayabusa comes off as a trapped animal within onita’s environment, only delaying the inevitable with each move. feels and looks like a horror movie, with the counter droning on in the first half and the smoke wafting through the cage of barbed wire in the second. explosions galore!

shotaro ashino vs koji doi, wrestle-1 grand prix 2018 finals — this was my first exposure to ashino and let me tell you... he's so good. his entrance is fuel by metallica, he's cocky, he goes hard in the ring. i'm genuinely shocked he's not a bigger name internationally. nothing too extravagant aside from a few high-impact spots but worth a watch

[geodetojoy]

so cozy in this inbox- you’ve even got fruit snacks in here! im stayin forever if that’s okay

rng selected questions from the “distracting asks” this time! and yes more proofreading yayyy

23, 18, 10, 15, 3

carry on fellow pb blossom member o7

hello again dearest mads!!!! little did you know the fruit snacks were a lure you have no choice but to stay now >:)

23. talk about a WIP?

oh man ive got a lot on hold at the moment, buuut ill go with my tati/barb painting im working on (that I believe i sent you the current version of- its been a bit lmaoo)

i mean first of all i just really wanted to give my girls at least a bit of happiness. is it temporary? in canon? definitely not. but they deserve to have each other to lean on and to feel safe with

and i really love the concepts of bi/aro barb and lesbian/aroace tati so. they dont have a defined relationship, they just love each other and thats all that matters.

ive got a few ideas in my head of how their relationship would come to be, but i think its something they both tried to view from analytical lenses if that makes sense? especially with barb, my poor heteronormative victim. she definitely does not like the idea that she might care for tati in a more realistic way than she did with curt until she tried to put her fears behind her and consider it from a position of just what would make her happy. when she realized the answer to that question was tati, she was both extremely relieved and utterly terrified. with tati, she was so afraid of how easily barb was peeling back the walls she had built up so meticulously, but after she realized that it was probably healthier for her, she accepted the care with loving, almost desperate arms.

they definitely started out as incredible friends, both being able to bond over their shared experiences of discrimination in their jobs over being women in the 50s and 60s in such male-dominated places of work. and for some reason, tati finds it extremely easy to open up to barb and barb just cares so much and just wants to take care of her so bad and that love is always reciprocated, out of fear of losing barb at the beginning, but then out of sheer appreciation and adoration as time passed.

theyre in an incredibly healthy relationship, both because they had no pressure as women to be devoid of emotion and because i think they would talk about their emotions sooooo much with barb as a scientist and tati as a healing trauma survivor.

anyways! got a bit sidetracked, but my WIP is a painting of them cuddling on a couch in their shared apartment :3 the blinds are closed, ofc, and the place is scarcely decorated aside from the necessary furniture, but to them its the most beautiful home ever because they have the other there with them

the idea for the finished piece is to have the orange glow from the sun beaming through the blinds illuminating the room just enough to see them, but have it dark enough to enshroud them in shadow, hiding from the rest of the world. but what we can see is safe, warm, cozy, and quiet :3

18. Dream Job?

Game dev baby!! I wanna make every single aspect of a game entirely on my own one day, but honestly id settle for doing any part of the process in a company or group as long as i can pitch in!!

10. Favorite animal?

im so bad at choosing just one. so im giving you two :)

fennec foxes and red pandas!!!!!

15. Favorite subject?

(im assuming this to be school subject bc subject in general is. entirely too vague lmaoo)

Any and all math!!! im a nerd from head to fucking toe and i am PROUD OF IT

3. 5 songs you have been recently obsessed with?

YIPPEE MORE MUSIC QUESTIONS I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MUSIC I LOVE

(btw one of these is gonna be an album bc it has five songs on it and i cannot bear to exclude others for the sake of putting all five of them)

DoNotReadMe.wav by Charlie Slimecicle. is anyone surprised by this? if so that means i need to post about it more

The Wisdom Saga from EPIC the musical!!!!!! been listening to it since its release im obsessed!!!!

Facade from Cinderella's Castle!!! its just!!!! gah!!!! it sounds so good!!!!

Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter. im blaming joel for this one even though it was like a month ago

Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads. i thiiiink this is the one? if not they keep playing a song just like it at work and every time i try to remember it later to figure out what song it is i forget how the melody goes and i lose my shit but its taken over my every thought I JUST WANNA KNOW WHAT SONG IT ISSSSS

ty for the ask again mads!!!! love ya forever and always my pb blossom buddy <333333

[heartbinders]

Public vs private knowledge ( Pokémon verse )

Note: any worldbuilding details here are open to discussion to better meld with your headcanons!

Public knowledge ( information everyone can know )

Prompto Argentum is a recent member of the Galarian kingsguard.

By way of Noctis sharing his power with his friends, Prompto can also materialize weapons. He cannot warp, however; only Noctis can.

Prompto is trained with and licensed by the kingsguard to wield firearms. Under Galarian gun law, he is only permitted to shoot in life-threatening situations.

Prompto has a shiny Altaria named Sunny, an Armarouge named Ember, an Inteleon named James ( he jokes that his full name is "James Pond" ), and depending on the point in the timeline, an Espeon named Pryna.

Prompto attended the same school as Noctis and is his best friend.

Prompto loves photography and would like to do it professionally in the future.

Prompto works out. He enjoys running and will periodically go on morning runs with his Pokémon.

He has his finger on the pulse of modern technology. Noct considers him a "technophile."

He ADORES Pokémon and gets easily excited around them.

He can't cook to save his life.

He can drive. He's not very good at it though.

He has a barbed wire tattoo wrapping around his left wrist, and a star right above it on the back of his hand.

His Rotomphone is the same royal make and model as Noct's.

Semi-private knowledge ( information select groups know )

Prompto was adopted out of Kalos as an infant by a family from Wyndon.

After helping an injured Eevee as a child, he eventually learned that Eevee belonged to Lunafreya, who sent him a letter as thanks and asked him to befriend the withdrawn Noctis at school.

Ember has been with Prompto for as long as he can remember. His parents say that Ember was with him when they adopted him.

Prompto is not especially close with his parents.

Private knowledge ( information only Prompto and loved ones know )

Amid Prompto's freckles, there are a few dots that stand out more prominently as being...well, not freckles. He's written these off as a weird birthmark.

As a child, Prompto was quite shy and had difficulty making friends. He kept to himself and found solace in taking photos.

Prompto started running after an awkward attempt at befriending Noctis as children went awry. He tripped and fell, and Noctis remarked that he was "heavy" upon helping him up. After this encounter, Prompto resolved to lose weight and work on his shyness in order to become someone the prince would want to be friends with. He eventually grew to enjoy his runs independently of his initial motivation for starting them.

Prompto's love for photography was helped by progress photos he took on his weight loss journey.

Secrets ( information ONLY Prompto knows )

Prompto is deeply insecure about his status relative to his friends. Being of common birth, he feels like a fish out of water with his noble-born friends.

He secretly worries that if his friends were to learn about his hangups, they would leave him.

Occasionally, Prompto hears whispers from Pokémon's hearts and crystals. This is a rare occurrence he doesn't understand. Given that Ignis and Gladio can't hear them, he's concluded that the phenomenon is not a result of Noct's powers. He's too afraid to ask him to confirm.

Depths of the Iceberg ( information not even Prompto knows* )

*He might know these, depending on the point on his timeline a thread takes place at. He may have also told his friends about this information at later timeline points. Generally, though, he doesn't know this information by default.

Prompto is a clone of Verstael Besithia, resulting from Lysandre Labs' duplicative project.

As an infant, an Interpol agent operating on a tip broke into Lysandre Labs' lower levels, absconding with Prompto and Ember. The agent entrusted him to the people that he would eventually call his adoptive parents.

Prompto's classification in Team Flare's database is RP:D:3234.

His "weird birthmark" is actually Team Flare branding.

He has a tracker injected into his right wrist, but given that the technology predates the one in Silva by eight years, it's less refined. Over the years, it eventually broke.

In threads set after Prompto's eventual recapturing by Lysandre, he has this tracker replaced.

Prompto's ability to intermittently hear the hearts of Pokémon and crystals is a result of Team Flare experimentation after he turned out to be a stable and successful clone.

[vampirelover890]

Corpse of the Corporate Ladder (2/?)

(CW: Depictions of death, corpses, gore, decapitation, deception, and janitorial work ahead)

The new janitor is... strange. Pale as a ghost and as anti-social as could be; I don't think anyone's had the chance to hold a conversation with her. I've asked around the office to find that no one's even seen her in town after hours. That wouldn't be so odd if New Wallachia wasn't such a small city. I approached Lance in HR and asked what'd happened to Jeanie. He said that upper management found that her performance as janitor was sub par, and as such, had been replaced by one of the C.E.O.s relatives. She recently came into hard times and needed this job to survive. It was the least he could do.

The people in the office have been almost afraid of the new janitor, which was fair. Barb, the gossipy bitch she is, has been spreading rumors about her since she started, telling people that she eats rats and lives in the janitor's closet. During lunch today, I approached the new janitor. Up close, you could understand where Barb was coming from. Her skin was devoid of almost all color, and her outfit seemed to barely hang off her malnourished frame, like a big shirt on a child. She stood in the corner of the warehouse underneath the office, holding onto her mop like it was the only thing keeping her safe from the ground. I approached and with as much kindness in my voice as i could muster, asked, "Hi! I'm Dylan, what's your name?"

From her hollow frame came a strained voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard and a frog had made passionate love in her throat which replied, "Si- Sio- Siobha... n. Siobhan."

Her voice was quite shocking, but I pressed on, asking, "Well- Siobhan... how are you feeling today?"

"Hunger... y. I'm always... so... hungry."

The story that Lance had given seemed to hold up. She really did seem to be on hard times. I felt awful. Siobhan looked and sounded like she was seconds away from dying, and if it weren't for that fact that she stood and spoke before me now, I'd think she was.

"Siobhan, is there any way I can help you feel better?"

In response to my question, Siobhan dropped the mop and extended her arms for a hug. As I went in, she gave me a great toothy smile and-

Siobhan sunk her teeth into Dylan's shoulder and ripped his flesh off of his shoulder, locking him in a firm grasp with strength betraying her physique. Dylan began to wriggle like a snake in the claws of a hawk. His screams were to no avail. The warehouse was empty, his co-workers none the wiser, eating lunch. Siohan finally loosened her bear hug on Dylan after crushing his ribs and popping his heart. Siobhan dragged Dylan's corpse into her closet. Her sacred room where no one dare enter. Where she may too enjoy her lunch break. After removing his head, she picked the flesh off his spine and indulged on the gooey desert that was his brain.

[casspurrjoybell-25]

The Healer of Shakkara - Book One

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 2 - Bruises - Part 2

Books were rare in Thryn.

Children were taught to read... everyone was expected to understand signs and posted notices and later written missives passed among the Guard but knowledge took a back seat to more physical talents.

When Galen showed a passion for it, though, Harrald had made an effort to acquire whatever volumes he could, whenever he could.

He'd given them to Galen on his birthdays or on high festival days and Galen treasured every single one.

It had to be admitted that Harrald was not particularly discerning, however and the selection was borderline comedic.

Galen owned a book of Yuthi recipes most of which called for ingredients he'd never heard of a dry, classic History of Sakkara and a pamphlet titled Treatise on the Relative Discordance of the Celestial Primaries at Variable Temporal Foci and the Possible Arcane Applications Thereof... written by someone named 'Tim' among various other tomes.

He loved and treasured each of them, even if he understood less than half of what they contained.

Absorbing himself with his most recent acquisition... a fascinating study on the various insects found throughout Sakkara... he was only roused from it by the slam of the back door, signaling that Harrald had finished his work for the day and would soon be ready for his meal.

Galen set aside his book with care and descended quickly to the kitchen.

The bread was done, the stew still hot and he carried both to the table, wincing again as the strain hurt his injured wrist.

He sat and waited for Harrald to descend from his room.

The old man came down a few minutes later, drying his hand on a cloth.

His other arm ended at the elbow.

That wasn't the injury that had finished his career in the Guard, though... that was the twist in his back from when his horse had fallen in battle and crushed him beneath her.

Lowering himself into his seat with a groan, Harrald waited while Galen served him, ladling steaming stew into a large wooden bowl, along with a square of bread topped with fresh butter mixed with honey... a small luxury.

Then he waited a little longer, while Galen served himself.

"Delicious, as always," Harrald said, slurping a spoonful of stew.

"If you get bored of medicine, the best kitchens in Tal p'Nir could do worse than to hire you."

"As if," Galen scoffed.

The Sakkaran capital was known for its fine cuisine.

Galen was certain vegetable stew and masa bread were not on the menu.

Besides, cooks were little more valued that healers, though both were necessary to keep warriors alive.

But Harrald often suggested such things, as if even being a lowly healer might be too dangerous for someone like Galen.

"I'm serious," Harrald said, glancing up over the rim of his bowl.

His frizzled red-blonde hair was mostly gray now and his rugged face was lined and crisscrossed with scars but Galen could still see how he might have been a handsome man, once.

He'd always wondered why Harrald had never married.

"They'd be lucky to have you. If you can make a few veggies taste this good... I'd love to see what you could do with better fare."

Galen's mouth twisted and he bit off a piece of dry bread and chewed it, hoping to disguise his expression.

It was a compliment... he knewbut it had unintended barbs, nonetheless.

If Galen were a fighter, he'd be in the Guard, making a decent salary and they'd have enough money for 'better fare.'

So, too, if he managed to get an apprenticeship in the Capital, he'd be able to send money home and make a name for himself at the same time.

Earn 'honor,' in his own way.

He swallowed and then Harrald reached across the table and grasped his arm.

"I didn't mean it that way, Gale," he said, his wiry brows pinched.

"I mean you're good at what you do. Worthy of praise. You know I don't give it, otherwise."

This was true and Galen sniffed and nodded.

Harrald was a man of few words and he didn't waste them.

When he spoke, he meant what he said.

Then Harrald squeezed Galen's wrist in a gesture of reassurance and Galen flinched and withdrew his arm.

Harrald froze.

"Are you hurt?"

Galen shook his head.

"Galen..."

Galen shut his eyes and sighed.

When his adoptive father used that tone, he knew there was no point in trying to hide.

He pulled up his sleeve, exposing the bandages.

"I fell," he said.

"It's nothing."

"Hmm."

Harrald sat back, arms crossed.

"Show me."

Reluctantly, Galen lifted his soft cotton shirt, revealing the bruises on his abdomen and chest.

Harrald scowled, his eyes traveling Galen's thin form, taking in every detail.

"How did this happen?"

"I told you. I fell..."

Harrald cut him off in a sharper tone.

"Galen. How did you get those bruises and where is your pendant?" 

There was a reason he was among the foremost

Watchers in the Guard... nothing escaped him.

Galen bit his lip.

He'd never been good at lying to his father but the stranger had warned him not to speak of him and the last thing Galen wanted was to bring trouble on Harrald's house.

"I wasn't paying attention," he said, which was true enough.

"And I fell. I must have lost my pendant at the same time."

"Where?"

"The forest," Galen admitted.

"Where in the forest?" Harrald pressed.

Galen bit his lip.

"Near... Out near the Wild Green."

Harrald's eyes narrowed and Galen braced himself for the full interrogation.

To his surprise, Harrald drew a breath through his nose and returned his attention to his meal.

"Perhaps it's for the best. That necklace was a piece of the past, and it's best to leave the past be."

He chewed a piece of masa bread, swallowed carefully and took a bracing gulp of ale.

Then he spoke the words that Galen feared.

"But you're not to go into the forest again, understand?"

Galen bristled.

"But Father... I have to. All the best ingredients are..."

Harrald clunked his mug on the table with a force that made Galen start.

His voice was rough and carried the authority of the former Captain he was.

"I said no. You're to stay within the region patrolled by the Guard and you're not to stray so near the Wild Green again. Do you understand me, Gale? If you can't defend yourself, then..." he huffed in frustration and rubbed his hand over his grizzled face. Galen lowered his gaze and studied the rough surface of the table.

Not high craftsmanship but sturdy and strong and... useful.

Unlike him.

"Yes," he whispered.

"I understand."

No longer hungry, he rose and gathered up his bowl and utensils.

"Gale, wait. I didn't mean..." Harrald tried to rise as well but sat back down with a grunt.

He'd been hard at work all day and his back undoubtedly hurt him.

"I'll bring you some mint salve, later," Galen said.

"And some willow tea. Don't worry about the mess."

Taking his bowl to the kitchen, he washed it and left Harrald to enjoy the rest of his meal in peace.

As he brewed the tea and prepared the salve he'd promised, though, he made a vow to himself.

As much as he hated it, he would learn to fight... so that the next time someone tried to take something that was his... he'd be able to defend himself.

With honor and valor.

And even if it killed him, he'd make Harrald proud.

Luckily... he had the perfect teacher in mind.

[lycianlynx]

"I gave you my fuckin' answer," Chad snaps back, this time without missing a beat. His words are all barbs, warding the other off, a warning, bright colors on a snake, fangs, claws and bristling fur on a feline. As much as he doesn't want to antagonise someone so important, he knows they won't meet in his time, and by the looks of it, he isn't even all that important yet. "I think you're nuts. Are you hearin' yourself? Do I look that foreign to ya?"

Still, he's impressed. Erk's question might have even worked if Erk were the one from the goddamn future, if he didn't have relative proximity with both Clarine and Klein, with General Cecilia, if Chad were any less aware of the politics of Elibe. Hell, the latter was pretty recent, too, just to keep tabs on things to make sure he's never caught off guard again.

"Fine. Lord Reglay of Etruria," he replies smoothly, a lie. "Pent Reglay." They huff derisively, kicking a broken gauntlet as they rise to move on. "Which I'd guess you'd know. You just from the area, or is there some sorta relation?"

A light diversion as the cherry on top, just in case.

[In the Same Inflection as "BEYONCE?!"] MAGE GENERAL ERK?!

Lance +1

[arctimon]

The Beta Team That Never Was - Fanfiction Corner (BH6 Edition)

So all of this Peni Parker comic talk actually got me thinking about the process of her being included in my fanfiction.

I wish I could tell you it was a long and arduous process, but...

OK, maybe some of it was hard.  But when you have a virtually endless supply of Marvel characters that you can use for possible teammates for Big Hero 6, you have to go with your gut.

We all know that the team will be Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen (eventually), and Kate.  But there were six other candidates that could have been in the mix as well.

And five of them have their emblems here:

These were made before I actually knew how to make hero emblems properly.

Some of them you might recognize.  Some you may not.  But we’re going to go through them all, from left to right.

And to start...it’s really hard to draw tiny hearts.

1.) Riri Williams/Ironheart - Ironically enough, it was around the time that Hiro started chasing Sirque around the town in “Portal Enemy” that I started brainstorming her.  A teenage genius, stuck as to what to make, sees “Captain Cutie” and the chase on the news and gets brainstorming.

Thus, the Power Armor is born.

And she gets so excited that she bolts off to San Fransokyo to show her idol what she’s created.

And then, as per the Big Hero 6 Fanfiction Clause states...shenanigans ensue.

It was an interesting possibility, but the thought of Ironheart was really late into me doing the backstories of the people that I had chosen, so she was pushed aside.  I don’t personally see me revisiting her in the future, but who knows?

2.) Nadia Van Dyne/The Wasp - Back when Karmi had first been pulled out of SFIT, there was a young woman who wanted to recruit her into a special organization.  It was one that brought together the greatest female minds in their fields, and Karmi was on said recruitment list.

The organization?

Genius In action Research Labs, or G.I.R.L. for short.  And it was led by the Wasp’s daughter, Nadia Pym (later changed to Nadia Van Dyne).

Plot-wise, this was probably the person that I got the farthest with, since the story would’ve been more of a focus on Karmi than anyone else.  Also, the idea of writing someone with Bipolar Disorder (which Nadia was confirmed to have in her latest solo run) was intriguing if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it sort of dried up from there.  A lack of a central conflict, uncertainty as to how many of the other girls (Taina, Priya, Shay, and Ying) to have, and how to handle her actual powers stopped it cold.

But seriously, how do you write in the ability to shrink to microscopic size?  That’s not really a thing, even in a world as futuristic as San Fransokyo.

3.) America Chavez/Ms. America - The mere idea of a Superman-esque Latina teenager was enticing, especially because America, in her relatively short comic history, was with the Ultimates and the West Coast Avengers (meaning there was a possible Kate/Hawkeye angle).  Making start-shaped portals was the Silent Sparrow angle, and the all-around badass, headstrong attitude would be the counter to Honey Lemon’s more nurturing personality.

But being from an alternate universe (which has very recently been retconned in the comics in part because she will be appearing in the MCU and Doctor Strange 2), no real villain to play off of, and becoming possibly way too overpowered for the BH6 universe, she was scrapped.

It’s quite a shame.  I really like her in the comics that she’s in.  Perhaps there will be an opportunity for her somewhere down the line...

4.) Alison Blaire/Dazzler - A pop star with light-based powers?

Or better yet, a struggling artist with acoustikinesis?

Her power to convert sound into light was what originally drew me to her.  Something that could be made into a technological ability, unique enough to put a (pardon the pun) spotlight on it.

An actual blonde instead of whatever HL’s hair color is.

Heck, she even has a half-sister named Lois that could have been the antagonist (death tough, destruction waves, and the like).

But she quickly got lost in the fold.  Better ideas (like Kate and Doreen) got more of my brainstorming, and she was eventually given up on.

But funnily enough...

It’s almost like she’s already in the show.

(See, for the people who may be new, one of the many Marvel theories that I’ve touched upon is that High Voltage is actually this universe’s version of Dazzler.  Juniper is Alison and Barb is...well...Barbara London, Alison’s mom).

Hey, @baymaksu​ totally agrees with me kinda sort of.

5.) Cindy Moon/Silk - I knew right from the get-go that I wanted a Spider-person on the beta team.  I also knew that I didn’t want Peter.

No offense to Peter Parker.  He’s fine.  But there’s a billion other Spiders out there, and I wanted someone out of the normal vein of Peter, as well as even Miles and Gwen.

And in came Cindy.

Locked away in The Bunker because of her spider powers manifesting, she was eventually released by Peter and thus began her entrance into the main Marvel world.

Her “unique ability” is her improved Spider-Sense, which Peter has said is even better than his own.  That, plus her other powers, brought her the closest out of anyone to being a member of the Big Hero 6 Beta Team.

As we all know, however, Peni ended up getting the spot over Cindy (for the family angle with Hiro and the giant robot that she pilots).  On the other hand, Cindy would later make her debut in the stinger of the last chapter of Along Came The S.P.I.D.E.R., along with Miles, Anya, and Joey.

Unlike Riri, Nadia, America, and Alison, Cindy and the rest of Peni’s little Spider Society are going to be showing up in future stories.  And if I can get everything in order, they will be starring in their own story set in the Big Hero 6 universe.

Finally, I have no emblem for them, but the honorable mention goes to...

6.) Lunella Lafayette/Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur - Yes, there was a point in time where I was seriously considering putting a nine-year-old super genius and a giant red T-rex into my stories.

Ignoring the giant...”red flag” here, the reason why Luna never made it is the same reason why I haven’t put Rishi in anything yet.  It’s because I don’t really know what to do with supergeniuses that young.  Hiro is at least a teenager and thus has teenager-y problems to fall back on (like puberty and Karmi and all that jazz), but a nine-year-old?  That’s a little too extreme for me.

When I was nine, I was busy playing with sticks in my backyard with my brother, not solving unsolvable puzzles from Bruce Banner.

...All that, and the giant dinosaur.

But hey, at least Disney is jumping on the MG/DD train.  That’s good to see.

Crossover potential, perhaps?

P.S. - As I was finishing putting this post together, it occurred to me that I may get this possible question in the comments, so I’m going to head it off at the pass.

“You know that all of your possible superheroes are girls, right?”

First of all...sexist.

Second of all...true.

That was about 90% on accident.  The actual team (Robbie, Aspen, Peni, Doreen, and Kate) has only one guy on it (two if you count Eli, three if you count Tippy-Toe).

I don’t really have a good explanation for that.  I like all superheroes, but I think that the girl and woman superheroes need some spotlight, you know?  I could have pulled people like Namor or Miles or the male Hawkeye into the mix, but to be honest, I find the characters I chose more interesting than a lot of the guy characters I was contemplating.

Of course, nothing is stopping any of you from using those characters in your stories.  Be my guest, not that you really need my permission or anything.

But you can’t take Aspen.  Aspen is mine. (Spoiler: Aspen is not mine.)

[robins-whump]

Gently, gently

Read the tags!!!

Tristan frowns, hands hesitating as they smooth down the back of Finn’s shirt.

“This is a little big on you. Did the tailor not measure you correctly?”

Finn looks over Tristan’s shoulder, eyes fixed on a point in the hallway entrance. He tracks the chandelier glinting in the bright sun streaming in from open windows and the front door propped open with some ridiculous fancy doorstop just a few feet away.

He takes a deep, restrained breath. “It’s been a while. Maybe it stretched.”

Finn doesn’t say he’s hungry, doesn’t say he’s starving and can count each rib, does so every night with aching fingers tracing his slow destruction. He doesn’t say he thought he knew how to be hungry but he knew nothing and all he knows now is that he cannot say the reason his shirt doesn’t fit is because he’s so fucking hungry he wants to kill Tristan a little more every day. So. He tells his captor another comforting lie and hopes it soothes.

Thumbs hook into his waistband, testing the space between the hem and his skin, too loose even with his belt cinched tight. Tristan tugs at the waistband, then pinches the skin at Finn’s hips. The crease at his forehead deepens.

“Hmm. Trousers are a bit loose too. I’ll send a new tailor.”

Finn doesn’t ask where he’ll find another man with the level of discretion Tristan requires.

Tristan continues whatever sort of weird inspection he’d been doing under the guise of caring for his property. Hands gripping his head and tilting it to the left, eyes glinting at the bruise ghosting his jaw.

Finn knew the real reason his captor brought him upstairs sometimes when the manor was particularly empty and Tristan had been shouting down the phone at gold digging relatives for hours. He doesn’t say anything whenever Tristan decides to stick him in a corner of his office and start drinking, complaining about his fucking perfect life and how the new City Council won’t take his bribes, drunken barbs growing into blunt fists until he’s curled up shielding his head. Biting back after being told again that drugged up street rats like him were an infestation and he was lucky to be polluting the streets no longer was only worth doing once. He liked his back un-flayed, thank you very much.

Tristan traces Finn’s jaw with one hand, the other gripping his waist with a steel grip belied by his easy smile. How no one else notices the intensity in Tristan’s eyes Finn can’t figure.

“You’ve been a good boy recently.” Warmth seeps into Tristan’s tone, but Finn’s not a fucking idiot. His heart thuds right through to his fingertips. Now is when he might be given food, or warmth, if he keeps his mouth shut. Or he’ll be taken further upstairs and have his mind turned blank and leave with new bruises concealed by what he’s coming to call his uniform. Or maybe Tristan will just trick him into breaking some rule and crush him back into nothing.

Tristan’s thumb pressing into his bruised jaw brings Finn back to himself. “Why don’t you stay up here for a bit, hmm? I know you won’t try anything.” Not a question.

Finn nods. Swallows the lump in his throat. Looks again to the doorway, three steps away. Outside, colour is returning to the trees, new growth blindingly bright against the last vestiges of winter. Buds have started bursting and coat the ground a pale pink in rings. Someone’s mown the lawn recently because he can smell it, fresh-cut grass damp with the final melting snow of the season. The last time he glimpsed outside the world was still dead.

He tears his gaze away, eyes resting somewhere just left of Tristan’s face. This close, woodsy cologne stirs bile in his gut. “Yes sir,” he whispers.

His voice doesn’t really work anymore, but Tristan cares less than he pretends to when he’s not finding an excuse to hit him. Maybe Tristan just needs that justification for himself, that he steals people because they’re talented and skilled and not just because he likes having pretty things to hurt in private. Pretty things no one will look for or notice. Eventually, even a battered partner withdrawn for too long will be missed by someone.

His eyes wander past Tristan through the doorway. The sudden grip on his jaw elicits a flinch and a flash of fear. The apology slips past his lips before he knows what he’s sorry for.

Tristan’s eyes flash. “Don’t bother,” he says, and its worse than being hit. Tristan pulls him around by the jaw and green is replaced with the open door to the cells along the hall.

Visions of shoving Tristan away flashed through his mind. Finn imagines him flailing backwards, tripping onto his back and cracking his head on marble. Blood seeps across white stone and Tristan goes still save for the twitching. Then, Finn walks into the kitchen and returns with a knife, stabbing Tristan through his expensive fucking shirt again and again until even the twitching stops and he can’t smell the cologne over the stench of blood.

He blinks and refocuses. Tristan’s leading him into the study and pushing him onto his knees in the space between the desk and the couch. Finn follows the movement, falling rather sitting. He doesn’t remember being moved from the hallway, didn’t notice Tristan’s grip changing. It scares him, and he knows its not the first time. When he’s alone in his cell, he lets the blankness wash over him, lets fuzzy hallucinations obscure his vision, banished easily as they are by Tristan’s footsteps down the stairs.

It’d be easy to say the hunger makes him absent, but deep-down Finn knows his brain is broken in a way food can’t fix. He’s so fucked up and empty and all he can do is let himself be led deeper into the stupor that permeates everything.

Glasses clink and an amber drink is being pressed into his hand. The smell of it turns his empty stomach. Tristan’s on the couch, and a quick glance confirms he’s probably not going to be mad if he leans against the desk. He does so, untucking his legs and staring at the wooden grain between his feet. Tristan takes a sip so Finn does too, almost grimacing.

Tristan’s staring him down so he takes another sip, drains his glass.

Tristan’s right there pouring him another.

“Drink up, darling.”

Why Tristan suddenly wants to get him drunk is unclear. It’s not like Finn can stop him from doing whatever he wants sober. Maybe he’s becoming boring and he just hasn’t realised it yet.

He drinks, slower, and Tristan takes longer to refill his glass. Tristan’s on his second whisky already, or his third.

Daylight has begun receding from the room, long shadows drawn in arcs across the panelled walls. There’s no house help to turn on the lights for the evening and draw the curtains against the chill. Finn wouldn’t be upstairs if there were anyone else in the house tonight.

Finn startles at a sudden movement, but it’s only Tristan laying a hand on his head. He freezes, waiting for a word or a hit that doesn’t come.

It’s minutes later when he’s finally relaxing in increments– whiskey softening his edges whether he wants it to or not – that Tristan speaks.

“You’re the longest one I’ve kept.”

Finn can’t help that every fight of flight instinct in his body has been morphed into a frozen silence. For a minute long, he stills under the hand holding him captive by even the suggestion of disapproval.

“How long?” he asks, voice steadier than expected.

Tristan twists his hair to turn his head and they lock eyes.

“That’s not for you to know,” and Tristan laughs, even as Finn flinches in anticipation of a hit that doesn’t come.

It’d only been a few months. Probably. Did he miss a whole year of seasons in the dark? He hasn’t starved to death yet, so he can’t have.

Tristan pours more whiskey into his glass. “Drink.”

Finn obeys. Three drinks in and the world blurs at the edges, mind wandering gently away from the man on the couch above him.

There’s green velvet at his right side that he reaches out to touch. Soft beneath calloused hands quick to return to his glass before Tristan’s head turns and sees a filthy thing like him touching his other property. Or maybe he isn’t filthy. Today he could be pretty, or pitiful, or fragile, or rebellious or disrespectful depending on the whims of the only higher power that matters. He’s a chameleon – only he doesn’t get to decide what colours to wear.

He looks up at Tristan, slumping slightly against the velvet couch, eyes a touch softer and he thinks tonight is going to be gentle.

He must have done something right, at some point, to be kept this long.

The voice in his head that whispering he’s just taking longer to kill you is lost beneath the buzz.

Tristan’s saying something, a low murmur above him.

“I don’t want to have to get rid of you just yet.”

Finn’s breath catches. “I’ll be good,” he whispers, and he means it. He’ll morph into anything Tristan wants, so long as there’s a chance of spilling blood in return.

“We’ll see,” and the hand smoothing down his hair is meant to be comforting and not sickening.

He doesn’t lean in, but he doesn’t lean away either. He’ll stay here, a statue, until Tristan gets tired of treating him almost like a person and locks him away until he’s bored again. Finn waits, hollow in more ways than one, hunger clawing at him even as Tristan ignores the classy bowls of refreshments left on his desk.

For a second, he’s slamming an elbow into Tristan’s gut and throwing him to the floor, stomping on his throat until he can’t hear the gurgling and there’s no one to stop him from eating as much as he wants until he’s sick.

Blink, and he’s on the floor and there’s a hand in his hair he’s not allowed to shake off. He’s growing cold among the creeping shadows, almost shivering in his too-big shirt.

Tristan’s still fucking touching him.

Finn knows one thing for certain. There are only two ways this ends.