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silverb0wties · 2 days ago

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Lemonade - Part 5

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah. But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary: the aftermath of your concussion

Warnings: pregnancy, self-harm, disordered eating, bullying

a/n: sorry if this chapter is a little bit dark in parts. if you're still reading the series, thanks so much for sticking with me. I appreciate it more than you know.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

PART 5

You woke up on a plastic bed in a room that smelled like the awful cream your Mummy would rub on her legs after Netball, surrounded by a million different kinds and colours of sellotape.

You could hear voices, and you looked over to the corner of the room to find your Aunty Leah consoling your Aunty Lessi as she cried. She looked distraught, her eyes red and puffy with tears.

“I should have known it would overwhelm her. I was just so excited to share this with her…”

“Babe, she’s going to be okay. We’re still learning all this, yeah?”

“But we’re meant to protect her, and… and I- I…” Aunty Lessi choked on her words before Aunty Leah cut her off.

“And I should have had a tighter grip on her when I saw she was panicking. Like I said, we’re both still learning how to do this. The medics said she’s got a bit of a concussion, but she’ll be alright. We know how concussions work, so we’ve just got to keep our eyes on her and make sure she gets lots and lots of rest.”

There was a quiet knock at the door, before an important looking lady with a clipboard came in.

“Less, sorry but we need to know if you’re going to play the second half or not?” she asked.

As your Aunties turned toward the door, they realised that you were awake.

“Oh Bunny, sweetie, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” your Aunty Lessi rushed over to you, her hands coming down to gently cradle the sides of your head.

You looked up at her a bit stunned, rather confused about why you were where you were and why everyone seemed so upset.

“Does your head hurt? Do you feel sick or dizzy at all?” she asked, her hand softly brushing through your hair.

You tried to think about if you felt sick or dizzy, but all you could really feel was a powerful throbbing rattling through your head. You also felt really, really tired. But you had just woken up, so that could perhaps explain that. You don’t remember going to sleep though, which was starting to concern you.

“I feel okay,” you replied, trying to brush away your Aunty’s concern.

“Alessia, sorry, we need t-” the lady at the door began to ask again.

“I won’t be playing, sorry. My family is more important right now,” Aunty Lessi told her.

“Less, you should go play. I’ll stay with Bunny and make sure she’s-”

Your Aunty Lessi whipped around to face Aunty Leah. “No, Leah. I’m not leaving her. She’s hurt. We’ll get a car to take us back to the training centre so we can go home early,” she insisted firmly.

Aunty Leah replied with a sad smile and a nod. “I’ll go get our stuff packed up then, yeah?”

“I’m okay Aunty Lessi, you should play!” you tried to insist.

“No Bunny, there would be no point in me playing anyways. I would be so distracted out there and worrying about you I would probably kick the ball into the wrong goal by mistake.”

By the time you finally got back home that night, your head was still pounding and you were struggling to stay awake. You were trying your hardest to be big and brave and pretend like you were okay, but as soon as you stepped into bath, your whole façade fell apart. As the warm water lapped at your tense muscles, which you now realised you’d been clenching in an effort to distract from the pain in your head, your resolve melted and you began to weep.

You brought your knees up to your chest and dropped your head forward, your hands entwining at the back of your head as your little body shook with each sob. The tears and jagged breaths only intensified the pain in your head though, which in turn caused more tears and jagged breaths. You tried your hardest to stay as quiet as possible, but you were aware that your cries were becoming increasingly vocal.

There was soon a soft knock at the door, followed by your Aunty Lessi’s voice. Whilst making sure you still got clean and dressed, your Aunties had always tried to give you your privacy while bathing and dressing, which you appreciated. They were your Aunties, but it still felt weird being undressed around people who weren’t your parents.

“Bunny? Are you okay?” she called through the closed door.

“It hurts” you cried in response.

“What hurts honey?”

“Everything. My head hurts most.”

“How about we give you some medicine to make it hurt less, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“And then we can get you to bed, and you can try and get some rest, alright?”

“Okay.”

There was a short pause. You’d assumed your Aunty had gone away to get the medicine, but then you heard her voice again.

“Bun, you don’t always have to try and be big and brave y’know? If you’re hurting, you can tell us. Always. I promise you won’t be in trouble or we won’t make fun of you or anything. We just want you to feel okay.”

“Okay.”

You didn’t fully believe her. You wanted to, but a part of you still believed that there was only so much love and affection to go around and you needed to space that out at least until Lemonade arrived. You didn’t want to use it all up on this incident.

So you tried your hardest to push the pain down and away as you quickly washed yourself. You managed to get yourself up and out of the bath and wrapped in a towel before there was a knock at the door again.

“You can come in,” you mumbled, making sure the towel was secured tightly under your arms.

Your Aunty Lessi entered with a little cup filled with pink medicine and a cup of water. She kneeled down to your height as she offered it to you.

“Now it says strawberry flavoured on the bottle, so hopefully it won’t taste too bad.”

You gingerly took the cup and gulped the medicine down, wincing at the distinctly fake strawberry taste. You quickly grabbed the cup of water from your Aunty’s other hand and skulled that down to wash away the lingering flavour.

“Good job, Bun. Now let’s get you into your PJ’s and into bed, yeah?”

By the time you were under the covers, arms tightly wrapped around your beloved Arthur, the pain in your head had dulled to only a mild ache.

“Goodnight sweet girl” your Aunty Lessi whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Night Aunty Lessi” you mumbled back.

It was the first time you slept through the night without waking up to a nightmare since the fire.

You woke up to the smell of Aunty Lessi’s lasagne wafting through the house. However, as you opened your eyes and came to your senses, you immediately panicked.

You were not in your own bed.

You were in your Aunties bed.

You had no idea how you’d come to be in their bed. The last thing you remembered you were lying on the floor in the loungeroom studying one of the books the Arsenal girls had given you about football. You were trying to understand where all the different positions were on the pitch and what responsibilities each position had. You had been figuring out the difference between a centre-back and a full-back when you had… fallen asleep.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Whilst it had been a few days now since your accident and you’d had a couple of days off school and your head no longer hurt, you were still feeling extra extra tired from your concussion. You’d spent most of that day at school trying to hide your yawns from your teacher and classmates. When you’d been given some free time after finishing one of your activities ahead of the rest of the class, the same group of students that always seemed to catch you at your weakest had caught you dozing off in the corner of the room where you’d been reading. They’d tied your shoelaces together and were starting to draw on your arm when you woke up. You hadn’t realised they’d also put rolled up pieces of paper in your hair braid until your Aunty Leah pointed them out when she picked you up.

You’d tried to brush it off and said it was just a game all the kids were playing with each other, but the concerned frown your Aunty gave you implied she didn’t quite believe your lie.

“You know you can tell us if there’s anything going wrong at school, yeah? If anyone’s picking on you or calling you names or anything?”

You just nodded. There was no way you would ever tell your Aunties what was really happening at school. You would just deal with it like a big girl. Push through. Be brave. They had bigger things to worry about than some kids putting paper in your hair and saying mean things. Your Aunty Leah was growing a human AND mending her busted knee for heaven’s sake! You could deal with some silly paper in your hair.

When you’d got back to the house, you went straight to your room to undo your braid and pluck all the little pieces of paper from your hair. You’d counted them (23 in total) before scrunching them up and throwing them in the little wastepaper basket beside your desk.

As the paper hit the basket, a tiny ball of raging heat began bubbling in your chest. You didn’t know what to do with it or how to describe it, but it made you want to stomp your feet and hit a wall and scratch at your skin. You’d never been the best at describing emotions, but you were pretty certain this wasn’t sadness. Perhaps, this was anger? Frustration? Disappointment?

The tiny ball continued to bubble and grow as you lunged for your bed where Arthur lay. You attempted desperately to use your tried and tested method of rubbing his ear against your cheek to calm the feeling, and whilst it felt nice, it did nothing to soothe your need to stomp or hit or scratch.

You searched your room urgently for something else to ease the searing heat in your chest, even gulping down the remnants of a cup of water on your bedside table. But nothing worked. You needed to stomp or hit or scratch. You knew couldn’t stomp your feet or hit a wall, because that would be loud, and your Aunty would hear and come ask what was wrong. So, you decided to scratch.

You had to pick somewhere not too visible so that if you left a mark, nobody would see and ask what happened. So, you tugged up the hem of your school dress and pushed down your tights and began scratching at the skin at the top of your right thigh.

The relief was instant.

The second your nails dug into your flesh, the little ball of heat in your chest began to cool. You scratched and scratched, and scratched some more until it finally, finally disappeared. By the time you eventually stopped, your skin was stinging, and your fingers were cramping. But the little ball of heat was gone, and that was all that mattered.

There was a gentle knock on the door as you speedily pulled your tights back up, wincing as they brushed against your newly tender skin.

Your Aunty Leah popped her head in through the door, “Bun, do you want a snack? I got some blueberry muffins from the bakery…”

“Oh… um, yeah, I’ll be right down, just getting that paper out of my hair,” you mumbled, quickly running your fingers through the ends of your messy blonde mane.

“Alright, I’ll pop them in the microwave to warm them up,” she replied before heading back downstairs to do so.

As you heard her footsteps fade away, you turned around and pulled your tights down again, trying with all your might not to release a pained noise as the fabric ripped away from your newly raw skin. The area you’d scratched was an angry red colour and the skin seemed wet, but there was no blood, which whilst a relief, made no sense to you.

Not wanting to keep your Aunty waiting, you hastily pulled your tights the rest of the way off and threw them in your laundry hamper. The house was warm enough, but you decided to grab your soft little blanket that had purple and grey clouds, as well as the book on football you had been reading and the little notebook you’d been making notes in (and Arthur of course), and head downstairs.

“Perfect timing Bun, just took them out of the microwave. Do you want a drink?”

“I’m okay. Thank you, Aunty Leah, this looks lovely” you replied, climbing up onto a stool in front of the kitchen bench where a little plate with a yummy looking blueberry muffin sat.

“Well, we all know the kitchen is Aunty Lessi’s domain. That woman can cook like a dream! But I’m not too shabby at picking out a good pastry. I guess you could say bread and bread-adjacent foods are my domain,” she teased.

You giggled as you tucked into your muffin, appreciating your Aunty Leah’s silly jokes about how bad at cooking she was and how limited the range of foods she ate was. Your extended family often seemed to tease her a bit about being a picky eater and she would usually laugh it off or join in on the joke. But you knew it was something she was actually a bit self-conscious about.

A few days into your stay here you’d gone to the fridge to grab some milk for your cereal and had accidentally knocked a container off a shelf. As you bent down to pick it up, you noticed a little letter stuck to the lid that read “Leah, my love, it’s okay if you can’t eat this. I know you tried and I’m proud of you. Please just make sure you eat something or at least have a protein smoothie. For you and for ‘L’. Love you – xx Less.” You’d immediately felt guilty for reading it as you rushed to put it back on the shelf, knowing you’d intruded on a bit of your Auntie’s privacy. You’d seen a few similar little notes stuck to containers since then. At the time you’d been very confused about what “for you and for ‘L’” meant, but you had since figured out it meant ‘for you and for Lemonade’.

When you finished your muffin, you wriggled off the stool and headed over to place your plate in the dishwasher.

“Are you done with your plate too, Aunty Leah?” you offered.

“Oh, thanks sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” she replied as she passed you her plate with a smile. “Feel free to watch something on the telly if you want. I’ve got a bit of boring adult housework stuff to catch up on before Aunty Lessi gets home.”

“Is there anything you need help with?” you asked.

“No, no. I’ve just got to do a couple of loads of laundry and there’s no way I would make you deal with Aunty Lessi’s gross smelly training socks! It’s bad enough poor little Lemonade is stuck with me and can’t escape from it,” she laughed, jokingly shielding her belly from the smell.

“Is it okay if I just read in the loungeroom?” you asked.

“Of course it is! Just remember if your head starts to hurt or you’re feeling too tired or anything, to have a rest, yeah?” she smiled at you, stroking her fingers affectionately through your hair.

“I will, thank you.”

So, you made yourself comfortable in a little spot on the loungeroom floor, surrounded by a couple of cushions, the blanket you’d brought down from your room and, of course, Arthur. Soon you were laying on your belly, nose deep in the book and jotting down notes in your notebook all about what a penalty shootout was and what circumstances led to one. You drew a little picture of the goal and the line markings and where the goalie had to stand and where the other players had to stand, before turning back to the book to read about in-game penalties when slowly but suddenly you… were… asleep.

The next thing you knew you were waking up in your Auntie’s bed to the smell of your Aunty Lessi’s lasagna.

The realisation hit you like a hundred bolts of lightning.

You’d slept in someone else bed.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Bad things happen when you sleep in someone else’s bed.

The last time you’d slept in someone else’s bed, your house burned down, and your Mummy and Daddy had died.

You jumped out of the bed as though it was burning you, panic rattling all through your little body.

“Bad. Bad. Bad.”

Your right hand began hitting at the side of your head before you even knew it was happening.

“Bad. Bad. Bad.”

Your other hand clawed at the skin of your neck, scratching determinedly at the tender skin there.

“Bad! Bad! Bad!”

You tried so hard to stop them, but your feet began to stomp loudly, your whole body seemingly moving with a mind of its own. Everything around you seemed like it was spinning. You thought you could smell smoke and when your eyes began to water you weren’t sure if it was because you were crying or if it was because there was actually smoke.

You vaguely heard a commotion and saw the door swing open, but everything around you continued to spin making you feel like throwing up. You couldn’t throw up in your Auntie’s bedroom!

“Bad! Bad! Bad!”

“Bunny? Sweetie, what’s going on?”

You could hear your Aunty Lessi’s voice and feel her presence, but the only word you could think was ‘BAD’.

“Bad! Bad! Bad!”

The word kept falling from your lips and you continued to stomp and hit and scratch.

“Okay, Bun. I’m going pick you up so you stop hurting yourself sweetie. I need to make you nice and safe, alright?”

Again, you heard your Aunty but all you could think was ‘BAD’.

“Bad! Bad! Bad!”

Carefully you felt your Aunty wrap her arms around you, trapping your arms and lifting you off the ground. You struggled as your body fought to keep hitting and scratching and stomping, but she gently tugged your hands away from your neck and head, tucking them tightly against her chest.

“You’re okay, lovely. You’re safe, I promise. It’s just you, me and Aunty Leah here okay. Nothing bad is going to happen alright? We’re safe. You’re safe. Everything’s okay…”

“Bad. Bad. Bad.”

“What do you mean by bad, Bun?” Aunty Lessi asked.

You shook your head, unable to explain yourself. All you could say was “bad.”

“Oh sweetie, you haven’t done anything bad. You’re not in any kind of trouble. I promise. And nothing bad is going to happen either, okay?” she whispered.

You began to slowly unclench in her arms, comforted by the soothing way she was swaying gently. Eventually you opened your eyes to see your Aunty Leah standing in the doorway watching on, her face red and blotchy as though she’d been crying.

You immediately came back into your body, realising whatever you’d just done had upset your Aunty Leah. You tried to wriggle slightly to free yourself from your Aunty Lessi’s grip, but she tightened her hold.

“Not yet sweetie. I need to what’s going on? What happened?” she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed with you in her lap.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean to be bad and upset Aunty Leah. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Darling, you didn’t upset me” your Aunty Leah assured you as she came over to sit next to Aunty Lessi on the bed.

“But your face is blotchy like you’ve been crying” you replied, your Aunty Lessi finally loosening her grip on her as your reached toward Aunty Leah.

“Well, it’s because I have been, but it’s not because you upset me. I’m just worried about you is all. Why were you hurting yourself?” she asked, taking your hand in hers.

“I just had to. I don’t know. I just did. I was bad.” You jumped off Aunty Lessi’s lap and started pacing on the floor in front of her and Aunty Leah. “I woke up in this bed and I had no idea why I was in your bed and all I could think was ‘bad’ and I just did it without realising.”

“I washed your sheets and they’re in the dryer. So, when you fell asleep on the loungeroom floor, I just put you in here for your nap. I didn’t mean for it to upset you so much, sweetie,” Aunty Leah explained, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“You didn’t upset me, I just I don’t want you and Aunty Lessi and Lemonade to die too!”

You heard your Aunties gasp at your explanation, but you just kept pacing, trying to figure out a way to stop the inevitable from happening.

“Bunny, oh my goodness, why would Aunty Leah and Lemonade and I die because you had a nap in our bed?”

“Because that’s what happened when I slept in Mummy and Daddy’s bed!”

You watched as your Aunties exchanged a series of looks. The seemed confused and shocked, which was confusing and shocking to you, because it all seemed so obvious.

“Darling, your Mummy and Daddy didn’t die because you slept in their bed,” Aunty Leah tried to tell you.

“Yes, they did! They did. They DID! I know they did! It’s the only thing different I did that night from all the other nights. I had done so so good all summer getting into my big girl routine and kept it up really well for the first couple of weeks of school. But then… then I slipped up, and I was bad and I asked to sleep in bed with Mummy and Daddy that night. And and th- the fire happened. And if I had of been in my own room, I could have got myself out. Because we’d practiced. Daddy made sure we practiced. And and and then… then Da-Daddy wouldn’t have needed to get me out and he could have helped Mummy because of her leg. And they could have got out too. But I was bad. I slept in a bed that wasn’t mine. When I should have just slept in my own bed, like a good girl. Like a big girl. And now they’re dead. They’re both dead. And it’s my fault. And now what if you die too!?”

#woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso fanfic #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x alessia russo x reader #woso fic #woso x reader #alessia russo #leah williamson #lemonade #child reader

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sleepyparalysisdmon · 2 days ago

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SVT helping a partner with trauma

Requested? Yes! (and they are still open!)

Genre: comfort

TW/CW: Implications of trauma

A/N: This will be less of a discussion about traumatic events themselves (if mentioned it’s brief only to give context), but rather the feelings and responses one might have afterwards. Trauma is varied and so is everyone's reactions to it, so I tried to include a variety of scenarios so there’s a little bit of something for everyone.

A/N #2/Warning: Please use caution when reading if you might find the topic triggering. This is meant to be comforting, but if you find that it isn’t, come back later or skip altogether.

Seungcheol

Money is an interesting topic between the two of you. At first, he thinks that you just like to keep a tight control over your finances, and he respects it immensely, applauding you for being money-smart. But he notices that you deny yourself a lot of things in an effort to penny pinch, and flat out refuse when he offers to ease your burden on little things like needing to replace something around your apartment or pay a bill that has an upcoming due date. In a vulnerable moment, you tell him the abbreviated version of the story - you depended on someone financially and then they left you with nothing, and you refuse to be stuck in that situation again. From then on he encourages your financial independence and for the most part respects your wishes for him to not spend a lot on you, even if it pains him sometimes. But you best believe the moment you accept it he’s already sliding you his card or heading to the store himself. Wants you to know that you can rely on him, but knows he has to earn that.

Jeonghan

You’re a flirt. It’s one of the things that he loves most about you. He's kissed you a few times since starting to date, but he notices how you pull back sooner rather than later, putting space between the two of you. You feel safer with words than you do with touch. He’s okay with that. If you ever try to explain yourself - doesn’t matter if it's a simple ‘I want to wait’, or a more detailed reason - he’ll shake his head. “You come to me if and when you're ready,” he’ll say simply without an ounce of teasing. I do believe that if and when you do approach him, he’ll want to have a not-so-sexy but still very needed conversation to make sure you’re both on the same page and he understands your boundaries.

Joshua

On the very first date, you tell him you don't drink and don’t really like to be around alcohol. Noted, he thinks, and doesn't order another drink beyond the one he already has in front of him. He also doesn’t have a problem not keeping it at home. However, there’s a social element to drinking that is sometimes unavoidable. He sticks to non-alcoholic drinks with you when you have to go to these events and takes you home before anyone you’re with can be too far gone. You’ll tell him that he can have a drink if he wants and that he doesn't need your permission - but he's supposed to be the one that makes you feel safest, so he’ll shrug it off. He doesn’t miss it.

Jun

Absolutely respects your work ethic and even admires it. But sometimes he’s concerned by how you always go in early and stay late, take on way too many responsibilities, and never, ever take a sick day or vacation. When he asks you about it, you simply say that you can’t lose this job. He can sympathize because it would be devastating to not be able to do what he does for a living, but he recognizes that it’s not passion, but rather fear, that drives you to overwork yourself. Does little things like driving you to work so you show up on time rather than super early, or making plans right after work so you can’t stay late. He’ll also book a vacation to somewhere that you just can't refuse. Anything to encourage rest, really.

Hoshi

Bless his heart, but he's trying to be funny. He hears you come in and hides behind a door, jumping out at you when you enter the room. Does not expect for you to cry and panic, and cries and panics himself, profusely apologizing. Once you both are calm, he doesn't press for details, accepting your explanation that someone that used to be in your life used to do that sort of thing, but that it wasn't all fun and games. Will never, ever be doing that again, and if you're ever around his group members and they get a bright idea, expect that he'll put a stop to it before it even starts.

Wonwoo

You’ve lost someone close to you. Whether it was a shock or not, whether you were there or not, doesn’t matter. He’s sympathetic to the trauma of losing someone and knows there isn’t a ton he can do to fix it. But he’ll do the little things. He’ll make sure you eat, even if it’s a little and even if he needs to feed you. He’ll make sure you shower, even if he has to get in and wash your hair for you. He’ll make sure you find a balance between sleep and activity, even if he has to gently drag you outside for some fresh air or carry you to bed himself. Also knows you can't really acknowledge any of it right now, but he’ll keep doing it anyway.

Woozi

You guys don't fight, well, ever. You both are too laid back. But something big happens and you both have had bad days. Jihoon’s not proud when he loses his temper a bit, shouting. Immediately does not like how you fold into yourself and back away. You’ve confided in him before that your home life involved a lot of arguing growing up. He kind of feels like he’s looking at a kid version of you in the past and it makes him feel nauseous. He takes a deep breath, apologizes, and says that you both should cool down. Later that night, you two sit on the couch, talk it out, and promise to call a timeout next time one of you gets upset. Will absolutely never raise his voice at you again.

He checks your phone for something, not trying to be invasive, but because you had something he needed. He accidentally stumbles across quite a few reminders that you're way overdue for a check up at the doctor’s office. He apologizes that he was accidentally nosy, but asks if you’ve been able to schedule it yet. He can tell that you’re uncomfortable, bordering on scared at the mention of it. You’ve told him before that you were sick as a child and spent a not-so-insignificant time in the hospital and have since then hated clinical settings. So, so understanding, but also so, so insistent that you should take care of yourself. He’ll take off work in a heartbeat to go with you and hold your hand if it will help.

Mingyu

You both are working on a grocery list and you ask him to add another case of bottled water. He looks at you quizzically because you already have an untouched case in the closet and the fridge is stocked. You pause, frowning. “But what if we run out?” You’ll say in a small, worried voice. He knows you’ve lived through a natural disaster or two before you moved here. You don't talk about it much, but he’s seen clips on TV before about what that can be like. He nods. “You’re right. I’ll get another one.” He gets two. That closet will never be empty if it makes you feel better.

Minghao

You’re getting repeated phone calls from a random number. When you tell him this, at first, he nods, kind of shrugging it off. Spam calls happen all the time. (God only knows I get like ten a day from telemarketers.) Still, he watches your anxiety spike every time it happens and gently presses for a bit of an explanation. You tell him shortly that you’ve gotten harassing phone calls in the past and have had to change numbers a time or two because of it. From that point forward, if he's with you and your phone rings from an unknown number, he's holding his hand out expectantly. Doesn't matter if it’s a telemarketer or not. Will always answer the phone for you or simply get you a new number until you’re comfortable.

Seungkwan

Listen, I think he's ready to fight any day. He’s kind of surprised when you ask if he wants to meet your parents and especially surprised at how anxious you are about it. He sees why immediately because they aren’t nice people. Tolerates very few negative or demeaning comments directed at you and certainly won't tolerate any displays of violence, so I expect this to be a short visit ending with him deciding it’s time to go. Also won’t accept any apology from you for how they behaved and after some consideration will encourage you to limit contact.

Vernon

When you tell him early on that you don’t drive, he just shrugs. He’ll take the bus or walk with you any day. But one night, you guys have gone out. When you walk out to go home, you realize it’s raining and that you’ve missed the last bus. Vernon shrugs, saying he’ll just call an uber or taxi. You panic and he’s kind of surprised. Still, he puts his phone back up and waits for the rain to stop with you before walking home. You tell him you got into a car accident years ago and your injuries were minor, but you still don't like driving or riding in cars. You say it’s one of the reasons you live where you do, so you can just walk everywhere. Will always stick by you no matter what mode of transportation you choose.

Chan

You express that you don't like your new job and he’s surprised, mostly because you were so excited to start it. You tell him your coworkers are kind of cliquey, and you don't feel like you fit in. He understands, telling you that they don't have to be your friends as you can work with them. Still, you tell him you can handle a bit of rejection, but you're afraid that they might become mean or hostile, like the catty women in the last place you worked. He encourages you to focus on work for now and feel out the situation for a little bit longer. It’s not the end of the world if it doesn't work out because you still have him. Cheesy, I know, but it does make you feel better.

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felassan · 4 hours ago

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The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard preview pages Part Two, under a cut due to spoilers. Preview pages come from Google Books.

[Foreword]

[Part One]

In Inquisition you had your advisors in the war room. We liked the idea of bringing the whole team in with you and the opportunity for friction it provides.

Part Two: Joplin

Top: Solas continues to taunt you and guide you through dreams. Middle: The suggestion of romance at sea. Bottom (1): Solas is nearly triumphant, but you reveal that you know about the last elves. Bottom (2): A stealthy, aquatic infiltration in Tevinter. Text: Story Art – After Dragon Age: Inquisition shipped, and all the DLC was complete, we focused our full attention on the sequel. It was going to have a fantasy spy theme, which was eventually modified to “covert commandos”. We were travelling to a new part of the map to hunt down the most dangerous man in the world. The beat boards continued. As the story started to take real shape, we asked if the artists could be moved into the same room as the writers. We could then get real-time updates to the story and create quick storyboards. Previously, most people working on the game didn’t know the full story until all the pieces had been put together in a take-home build (months from shipping the final game). For the first time ever, we could show the whole team what the story was intended to be near the beginning of the project, rather than the end. The biggest benefit of this was that the story could received feedback from a wider cross-discipline audience and could then be iterated on more than ever before. This also helped unblock the art team in an unprecedented way. Being able to look at the whole story in one glance meant that we could begin to prioritize our efforts. For example, we could tell which locations would feature most heavily, so we could spend more time designing their architecture, props, and clothing. It also forced us to do quick first-pass designs without overthinking, knowing that later we could come back and refine things if they changed. This method also takes a lot of pressure off and prevents things from feeling “overbaked”.

Top: The team is at its lowest. Middle: Sparking an uprising. Middle (2): Ghilan’nain is defeated. Bottom: In a dream, Solas is furious with you.

Top: You meet with the Archon of Tevinter. Middle: You stop Solas’s ritual, but something (or someone) escapes. Middle (2): Elgar’nan. Bottom: The patchwork team doesn’t get along at first. Bottom (2): Exploring the Anderfels.

Top: Solas reconstructs the lyrium dagger from the idol. Middle: The team discovers the body of Elgar’nan’s Archdemon. Middle (2): Ghilan’nain. Bottom: Tranquilizing himself, Solas recloses the Veil around himself and the Blight.

Top: This sequence was an early fail state. Solas succeeds in his ritual, life as Thedas knows it comes to an end, and the ancient elves return. Middle: Storyboards had played a critical role in the development of Inquisition. We wanted to integrate them into our process even earlier. To that end, we created an interactive storyboard. Starting with the early drafts of the story, we sketched it all out, including any major choices. These boards were then stitched together into a playable choose-your-own-adventure-style game. It meant that years before the real game was up on its feet, an early draft of the entire story could be played from beginning to end. This was invaluable in receiving early feedback from the team and planning out what visuals would be needed to support the game. Bottom: A rather covert entry into Tevinter remained a consistent element in the story right to the end.

Top: Rook and a team track a mysterious idol to a black-market auction. Middle: You’re not the only team that has been tracking the idol. Bottom: The remnants barely escape. Text: While we worked quickly, these sketches helped reveal where to best spend our efforts later. It turned out we spent far more time in particular locations. Some factions were over- or under-represented. In one case we discovered a unique creature that would have taken ages to build but would have only appeared for ten seconds before disappearing forever (it was cut).

Middle: These quick sketches are often used to approve new ideas as fast as possible. In this case, exploring a “hidden in plain sight” meeting place in a Thedas nightclub. Bottom: Icons from the interactive storyboard, where you could decide whether your Inquisitor had disbanded or preserved the Inquisition, and whether they stood opposed to Solas or not.

Top: Solas reaches out to Rook in dreams. Middle: Exploring new sections of the Deep Roads. Bottom: With the help of the Wardens, you defeat Elgar’nan. Text: After a round of feedback, the story was revised. For the next batch of drawings, we added more polish. This helped us design the game before designing the game. At this stage, we weren’t too precious about anything, so we could make visual design decisions quickly, purely to tell the story. Many designs made during this stage remained largely intact.

Top: A version of the deserts of Nevarra. In this case, trying something with very high contrast: white ash and sharp black obsidian. Bottom: The eastern Tevinter town of Ventus. This Tevinter location is a little less oppressive than the megapolis of Minrathous. You can see the hanging gardens, and in the background are magical statues keeping Arlathan Forest from encroaching any closer.

Top: Another fail state was that if you couldn’t find a way to block Solas from your dreams, he would be able to kill you remotely. Bottom: Solas lures his greatest threats to one location and wipes them off the board.

Top: Some visual backstory for Solas’s cut “bad cop” right hand, Reva. Middle: In disguise at a fancy Necropolis ball, waited on by the undead. Bottom (1): As you sneak into the ball, you sneak into the host’s office, only to find Reva one step ahead of you. Bottom (2): Reva reports back to Solas.

Top: In one draft of the story, Solas manipulated Tevinter and the Antaam into open war, with the goal of performing the biggest blood-magic spell since the creation of the Veil. Bottom: Rook would have to covertly approach both sides of the conflict to plead for peace. Should Rook fail at diplomacy, Solas also planted magic-collecting orbs around the battlefield. Sabotaging them would be Rook’s last option.

Top (1): Solas’s magical ritual in Arlathan Forest has already begun. Top (2): Elves loyal to Solas’s cause stand in your way. Middle (1): You finally reach Solas, just as he plunges his lyrium dagger into the Veil. Middle (2): Reva reveals a monstrous “Dread Wolf” creature. Bottom: Solas is stopped, but you begin to learn that you’ve unleashed something far worse. Bottom (2): The biggest advantage to working like this is turnaround time. You can show someone a drawing and say, “Like this?” and then quickly revise it.

Top: Imshael, having previous joined Solas, turns out to be a loyal double agent. Middle: Kal-Sharok dwarves perform a ceremony in the grip of an ancient Titan. Bottom: Solas tranquilizes Ghilan’nain (above) and, as his last act, performs the same procedure on himself.

Ghilan'nain reveals herself to the world.

[no caption]

Top: A final message from the Inquisitor. Bottom: Defeated, Solas enters the Black City alone.

Top (1): Team members betray you. Top (2): A sacrifice opens the Black Eluvian. Middle: A happy ending with your love interest. Bottom: Secret instructions from Charter.

[no captions]

The ship was a great backdrop for the interpersonal conflict of the team. We enjoyed thinking about how to make it unique, like including the collection of curiosities seen above. We also liked including the idea that Isabela procured it for you, but as a fixer-upper. Nothing like a scrappy but lovable ship to call home.

Preview pages end here.

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #injury cw #blood cw #gore cw #smoking cw

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gem-de-lune · 3 days ago

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Daily Vibe Check 11/10

Seunghan only today (I am still doing all members every other day so I will do them all tmw)

How is he feeling today?

2 of Pentacles + 8 of Swords

He is feeling a bit anxious and stuck waiting in this situation. Simultaneously he is juggling a lot of responsibilities and has a lot to think about and prepare for in regards to this situation. It's not very negative, just kinda meh. He may just be physically tired is what I am getting tbh. (I literally like fell asleep for a few miniutes during my meditation before pulling)

What is he thinking a lot about today?

Queen of Wands + Knave of Pentacles

He is mainly concerned about how to protect himself, his peace and his assets

He is moving things around and preparing for a gloomy day because he does not want to be burned again. He is thinking a lot about how he can prevent this.

How does he feel about his chances of coming back to Riize?

7 of Pentacles

He believes that with hard work and patience it's not something impossible. He is feeling very optimistic about this. It's funny to note that is this a 7 card too! I think he is feeling confident and hopeful.

Checking up on SM's stance/what are they doing?

The Emperor + Ace of Wands + Knave of Chalices + The High Priestess

The first thing that came to mind in seeing these cards all together was "Alchemy" or literally like "cooking" in a sense that we are trying to find a bunch of ingredients for the perfect dish we have never made before in history. Essentially, with the Emperor, we have an emphasis on external endeavors and maintaining control. With the Priestess we have an emphasis on the internal and seeking out truths that may be hidden to bring them to light. Then with the Ace of wands- which btw I pull frequently when discussing SM's stance on Seunghan's return- we are seeing action being taken quickly with an intentional and pointed purpose. With the Knave here, it's very introspective energy.

In regards to what we know SM to be, i would say that they are very much active regarding the situation despite silence. They are planning but they are also monitoring, where did they go wrong? How can they prevent this? What will happen if they bring him back? I do not see that there is push back on whether they want to, it is about how to do so effectively without stirring the pot too badly. It's about making sure things stay in control regardless of the outcome. They may want to do a certain thing, and they may try- but they will ultimately DO what ends up being more stable. They are, right now, trying to figure out what avenue is more stable, or how to make their decision more stable.

Final Notes:

I want to reiterate that SM is a corporate entity. Just because they want to do something doesn't mean they will. Just because they say they'll do something doesn't mean they will. And thats when they will say "it didnt work out/could not come to an agreement". This is what I meant by showing them what would happen if they brought Seunghan back. We also need to expend some effort to make coming back a welcoming and positive thing that cannot be overshadowed by OT6 outrage. To do this, we have to create a positive and highly visible image for Seunghan across Korea. Let's work hard!

#astrology #kpop #tarot #riize is 7 #riize is seven #smsupportsbullying #riize #seunghan #anton #eunseok #sungchan #shotaro #sohee #wonbin #bring back seunghan

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tlbodine · 3 days ago

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Tips for Talking to Conservative Friends & Family

In the wake of the election, with the holidays around the corner, some of you may be wondering how to deal with friends, family members, coworkers, etc. who voted for Trump and/or who espouse his policies.

This guide is by no means meant to be authoritative and won't work in every circumstance. I accept no responsibility for what happens if you use any scripts and it goes horribly awry. But I did want to share some of my personal experience in this vein, as someone with a great deal of conservative people in my life whom I generally love and respect and would like to maintain a civil relationship with (and, hopefully, bring them back to center if not my side). I've had decent luck with these strategies in the past.

First: Only engage if it is safe to do so.

Do not get into political discussions that might endanger your job, your living situation, your access to care, or your physical and emotional safety. However, do engage if you are able to do so safely and your doing so might help someone in a more vulnerable position. What the fuck is privilege for if not using it to protect people?

Second: Identify your goal.

Do you want to de-escalate a situation so someone can get out of immediate danger? Do you want to establish a boundary? Or do you want to actually attempt to convert someone over to your side? Each goal has different tactics. Be realistic with yourself about what you're going to accomplish. If you do not have a close relationship with the person, you are extremely unlikely to change their mind about anything, and it's frankly not worth the effort. Let someone who is close to them do that work. De-escalate, set a boundary if possible, and gtfo.

But if you do have a close relationship -- if this person generally likes and respects you -- then you might have a shot at challenging their views.

We're going to assume a scenario where you're dealing with people you know and who you can generally count on not to be immediately aggressive. Somebody else will be better-equipped to talk about strategies for dealing with protests and people on the street etc.

De-Escalation & Setting Boundaries

This is your first line of defense against family members acting shitty. If someone tries to start a debate, makes an off-color joke or comment, or is otherwise behaving inappropriately, try:

Let's not talk about this over dinner.

I don't think this is appropriate conversation right now.

That's an awful thing to say.

I don't understand that joke, can you explain why it's funny?

I'm sorry, I won't listen to any more of this (leave the room)

That's not okay.

What you want to do here is make an appeal to correct standards of behavior. You want them to feel ashamed for acting out of line. In order to make this work, it is essential that you:

Remain calm and keep an even, light-but-firm tone of voice. It needs to be clear that you're not joking around, but you also cannot sound upset. (Yes, this is really hard. I'm sorry.) Practice your very best "I'm not angry, just disappointed" tone for maximum effect. If you can manage it, eye contact and a neutral or even slightly concerned or sad expression will make it even better.

Avoid insulting or attacking them. Do not say things like, "Stop being an asshole" or "I can't believe you're acting like this" no matter how much you want to. Do not say "That's racist/sexist/ableist/homophobic." These types of replies, no matter how accurate, will make them defensive, and defensive people shut down and stop listening. If you come off as angry, that gives THEM permission to be angry right back. But if you come off as the normal one, them getting angry makes them look like a dick.

Do not laugh. Avoid the urge to chuckle nervously or joke it off. It WILL feel uncomfortable. It WILL be awkward as fuck. That's the point. They are misbehaving by violating a standard of appropriate behavior, and you are setting down a boundary. The awkwardness will fade and, frankly, they'll often start behaving better pretty much immediately.

Follow through on your consequences. If you say, "Dad, if you continue to bring up Trump, I will not call you anymore," you have to stick to it. Holding firm to your boundaries is HARD AS FUCK but if you don't do it then all you do is teach them that they can wear you down. Think of it like training a dog. Consistency is key.

You're not going to change anybody's closely-held beliefs with this strategy, but you WILL make a case for what is allowable around you. If you model this behavior, and encourage and embolden other people you know to do the same, you might be surprised. A lot of times, people's inappropriate behavior is a boundary-testing mechanism -- they tell the racist joke because they want to see if they can get away with it -- and if you shut them down, they often just...stop. Or at least retreat into their little hole to talk to fellow gremlins instead of you.

Challenging Views, Changing Minds

Okay. You actually want to engage them in conversation. You want to challenge their views and help them change their opinion. How do you do that?

Again, it's essential that you remain calm. If you can't have this discussion without getting heated, it's not the time to have the discussion. If they start to get heated, be prepared to de-escalate and walk away: "I cannot continue this conversation with you right now. Let's talk again some other time when we've cooled off."

But if you can keep calm, here is what actually works (sometimes):

Listen to them. No, really. Hear them out.

Help them feel heard by empathizing with them. Repeat back your understanding of what they said and how that must feel.

Remind them that for other people, THEY are feeling xyz emotion, too.

Ask them questions. Instead of telling them they're wrong, ask questions that will lead them to draw that conclusion themselves.

Make appeals to emotion rather than starting with facts and logic. You'll know what kind of emotion to draw on because you've been listening to them and empathizing. Hint: almost always, bigotry (at the personal level) is rooted in fear.

If this is going well, THEN you can start citing some sources, statistics, and facts.

Invite them to share THEIR sources with you.

Thank them for doing such a good job at being calm and discussing this with you, reaffirm your close relationship, and encourage them to come talk to you about this at any time. It's very possible that you are the only person they might feel safe bringing this stuff up to now and you want to keep that channel of communication open.

Very often (not always, or often), conservative-leaning individuals are people who lack the education or knowledge that left-leaning people do. They may be accustomed to being insulted, yelled at, and made to feel stupid. They are conditioned to believe that folks on the left are smug, holier-than-thou, stuck-up assholes. Whatever you can do to poke a hole in that perception will simultaneously make it easier to talk to them AND cause them to question that rhetoric the next time they encounter it.

This tactic won't always work. It probably won't work at all the first conversation. It's something you'll have to chip away at over time. But sometimes, it's worth it.

And if it's not? Well. As they say.

#talking to conservatives #surviving thanksgiving #communication tips #us politics #election 2024

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theoutcastrogue · 2 days ago

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Bounded Accuracy, why it was necessary, and why it doesn't have to apply to skills

"Why Bounded Accuracy?", by Justin Alexander

"Let’s start by talking about bounded accuracy. Endless ink has been spilt on this topic, but I think one of the clearest way to understand bounded accuracy — what it is, why it works the way it does, how it’s supposed to be used — is to look at the design lineage which created it.

To do that, we need to go back about twenty years to the development of the Epic Level Handbook for 3rd Edition. The concept was to extend play past 20th level, allowing players to continue leveling up their characters forever.

The big problem the designers faced was that different classes gained bonuses to core abilities — attacks, saving throws, etc. — at different rates, which meant that their values diverged over time. By 20th level, the highest and lowest bonuses had already diverged so much that the difference exceeded the range of the d20 roll. This meant that any AC or DC you set would either be an automatic success for some PCs or impossible for others.

The designers of the Epic Level Handbook tried jumping through a whole bunch of hoops to solve or ameliorate this problem, but largely failed. As a result, the Epic Level Handbook was a pretty flawed experience at a fundamental level (and its failure may have actually played a major role in Wizards of the Coast abandoning the OGL and the doom of 4th Edition, but that’s a tale for another time)."

[The Rogue notes: I think the big problem with 3.5 was that the breaking of the d20 roll (where the AC or DC you set could be auto-fail for some and auto-success for others) happened LONG before epic levels, if players made characters with different levels of optimisation. Which was sometimes a result of, well, studying, pouring through splatbooks and looking up combos on the internet, but other times it just happened, without any effort. Some classes had to jump through hoops to keep up with the rest, and that was bad.]

"On that note, fast forward to 4th Edition: The designers knew this was a problem. (Several of the designers had actually worked on the Epic Level Handbook.) They wanted to avoid this problem with the new edition.

Their solution was to level up everyone’s bonuses across the board: Classes would be strong at some things and weak at others, but the values wouldn’t diverge. This methodology was, furthermore, wedded to 4th Edition’s design ethos of “level up the whole world with the PCs” and more or less fundamental to its My Precious Encounter school of encounter design.

Fast forward again, this time to 5th Edition: The 4th Edition of the game had burned down, fell over, and then sank into the swamp, and 5th Edition’s mission was to win back the D&D players they had lost. The whole “level up the world” ethos was widely identified as one of the things people who hated 4th Edition hated about 4th Edition, so it had go.

Bounded accuracy was the solution. Importantly, bounded accuracy was about two things:

Controlling AC & DC so that the target numbers never become impossible for some of the PCs.

Controlling bonuses so that the results don’t become automatic successes for some of the PCs.

In other words, all of the results exist within that boundary. Hence, “bounded accuracy.”

If you go back to the original problem experienced in 3rd Edition (and which metastasized in the Epic Level Handbook), you can see how this solves the problem. It also avoids the 4th Edition problem where your numbers get bigger, but your results never actually improve because the numbers increase in lockstep: As long as the DCs remain consistently in bounds, the moderate increases to the PCs’ bonuses will see them succeed more often as they increase in level, resulting in high-level characters who feel (and are!) more effective than 1st level characters."

– Justin Alexander | The Alexandrian, September 2022

Commentary: Bounded Accuracy and Skills

This very well-written summary was part of an article roasting the 5e skill system, and specifically arguing that Expertise is bad because it breaks Bounded Accuracy, and Reliable Talent makes it worse. And with this, I disagree.

I think that Bounded Accuracy is excellent for combat's standard rolls: attack vs AC, and saving throw vs DC. That's when you need numbers that challenge the whole party: some characters may have a better chance than others, sure, but the d20 roll doesn't become irrelevant because this one is guaranteed to succeed and that one is doomed to fail.

But for otherwise interacting with the world, I actually don't think the numbers need to challenge the whole party. I think immersion and simulation (I like these!) are better served by making such challenges tricky. Occasionally they will be too easy for some, and/or too hard for others, depending on where the characters focused their training. And when that happens, it's up to the party to figure out ways to make up for it, to look for other, creative solutions rather than get stuck on a skill check that one or more of them are doomed to fail, and in the end to acknowledge that some tasks are suited for only some of them.

So maybe half the party auto-failing to scale that wall means they need to find another way in, or use their spells, or have the athletic ones climb up and throw down a knotted rope. That's good! It's a complication that requires a solution other than rolling a single check! Maybe only the Wizard (with 2024 rules) has a chance of making that extreme Arcana check about a long lost artifact. That's great! It makes sense and it's immersive, they should be the only one able to make it. And maybe, if your goal is to stealthily scout ahead, don't send forth the clanging armoured warriors, only send the sneaky rogues. That's fantastic! It's basic tactics! What's not to like?

I have BIG beefs with the 5e skill system, on account that it's half-baked (and 5.5 is somehow even less baked), and doesn't give details or DCs even for the most bog-standard skill uses that you expect to come up at every campaign. A generic DC table from very easy to nearly impossible is great as a guideline for niche cases, and crazy things the players came up with. But things like climbing walls and picking pockets should come with instructions and numbers. As is, the DM is either winging it every time and the players are in the dark, or the DM is doing the designers' work for them, and homebrewing DC tables for everything. But bounded accuracy is not the problem here, imo.

#trs #Justin Alexander #crunch #d&d #how to rogue #5e #5.5 #d&d history #bounded accuracy #3.5 #4E #skills #3.0 #Epic Level Handbook

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sketchyartthings · 3 days ago

Text

While I was drawing/looking at reference images, I realized that the king doesn’t look like he was killed by anything void related at all. His eyes don’t drip with void like every other character killed by overexposure to void in game, so what happened? What if he sealed himself away not to save himself, but to preserve the kingsoul? I mean, if I wanted to preserve an important object within me, I would think the dream realm would be a very suitable place to go. Evidently, the king hasn’t survived this, but it doesn’t look like there was a struggle. There was no evidence of the formation of a void creature in the room to have killed him the old fashion way, and no injury on the body itself. Nothing but a force of nature like the knight was ever going to get in or out of that room past all of those saw blades, and based on that, I don’t think the king planned on leaving that room. It looks to me that the king simply let himself wither away on his throne, and that he did it on purpose. The king was by no means a fool. He did not assume that locking himself in a room forever would be safe, and even if he did, he would’ve done more to solve his problems. The king had no workshop for him to toil in, no library to research from, and there was no effort made to stop the infection after he resigned himself to that room. The king was not there to save his kingdom in safety, and he was most certainly not there because he wanted to outlast the infection. The king wanted to die somewhere that was near impossible to reach. Somewhere in a near impregnable dream behind a nigh unwalkable path. But I don’t think that’s because he didn’t want to be found. After all, the king has tried tasking his children with a near impossible task in the hopes one will rise to meet the challenge before, and it worked. If we trust The White Lady’s perspective, The Hollow Knight was the perfect vessel before it was “tainted by an idea instilled,” so the idea that the king trusted the strength of his children enough to predict, or at the very least hope that one of them would reach the king would despite these measures, is not out of the question. In fact, the increased security of a task like this would make sense as a more intense test of the purity of a vessel. If the parkour skills needed to define THK as hollow were as simple as escaping the abyss, then the saw blades could certainly be explained as either a revised test of a vessel’s purity, or its will. Maybe the king predicted the creation of the void heart? If the vessel’s will is being tested, it would support the idea that the king knew about the possibility of the void heart, as it unites the void behind the bearer’s will. If this is true, then it may explain why The White Lady gives you the white fragment with the following quote. “I have a gift, held long for one of your kind. When united, great power is granted, and on the path ahead, great power it shall need.” This is most definitely referring to the unification of the king soul, but what if it were also a thematic parallel to the great power granted with the unification of the void? If this is the case, I don’t believe that the white lady was informed about all of the details, but likely just that a vessel was needed to end the infection, and that she must give the white fragment to a vessel she deems worthy. To ask the last question about this theory I could think of, why is the corpse of the king in a room dark with what is likely void if void is not what killed him? It could be deduced that the king’s regrets’ darkening of the room was meant to be a more subtle nod to his disposition at the time of his death than a hint as to what killed him, as the void tears found on those killed by void serve that purpose well and wouldn’t have impeded his design, but a darker room alone would be an interesting thematic note as evidence of a nagging question in the king’s head: “Have we payed a cost this great for nothing?” Anyways. Call me a deranged lunatic in the notes.

#hk pk #hk knight #hk ghost #hk hollow #hk #hk the knight #hk thk #hk pale king #hollowknight #hollow knight #the hollow knight #pale wyrm #pale king #hollow knight thk #hollow knight the knight #hollow knight theory #thk hk

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nametakensff · 3 days ago

Note

That prompt list you just posted awakened something in me hahah Wb “Do you have a cat?” and "Humiliated" for Eddie? 👀

Yaayy thank you for the prompts! 💕

I cooked up 1.7k of E/ddie having a terribly timed allergy attack whilst dealing weed to a regular client who, unbeknownst to him, has a cat he is horribly allergic to 🐱

Shockingly I have not projected the fetish onto either character in this fic?? It's fun to mix things up from time to time, I guess!

~~~~~

Content:

M sneezes, mentions of M/F, F OC for sake of plot, cat allergy sneezes, spray, mess, handkerchiefs, nose rubbing, nose blows, embarrassment, mild comfort + caretaking, build-ups, rapid sneezes, talking through sneezing

CW: mentions of drug and alcohol consumption (It should go without saying but both characters are 18+)

SFW but minors please dni!!

Eddie brought his fist down on Laura Paulson’s front door, trying not to get irritated at the fact he had been pounding on it for at least three minutes already. The blaring music inside masked the sound of his efforts and that of the doorbell. He pointedly ignored the sneers of the three guys skulking in the front yard, who clearly knew some way of getting in and out the building but had no intention of filling him in, and he had no intention of asking. This was so fucking dumb. He just wanted to make some sales and fuck off.

Laura was okay. She never asked for freebies, always paid what he asked and wasn’t especially shitty to him. They’d made out a couple of times in his van, even, when she found out her stupid jock boyfriend was going with other girls behind her back. He didn’t much like being used on the low, but it was also somewhat thrilling sticking his tongue in a cheerleader’s mouth and having her pull his hair in response.

She’d even mentioned that he should stay and hang out at the party, if he wanted to, but he could tell she was only inviting him because she seemed to think she had to. Like she felt bad about being pleasant to him when they were alone, and an ice queen when they weren’t. He turned her down for both their sakes, trying not to look offended when she failed to mask her relief.

He struck the door again, even more forcibly this time, and finally, finally it was opening. Laura smiled at him, clearly several drinks deep. He raised the lunchbox in his left hand by way of greeting, offering a half-smile as she moved to one side and let him in. He’d never been inside her house before, and it was as swanky as he’d pictured it would be.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s loud in here.” She sing-songed over the racket, sounding friendly but not sorry in the least.

“No biggie.” He smiled at her, feeling better in the presence of her admittedly contagious happiness, substance-related or otherwise. He’d been expecting a much colder reception. “So, do you wanna…?”

“Oh, yeah, this way!”

Eddie followed her up the stairs, realising she must be even tipsier than he thought if she would openly lead him up to her room whilst several curious onlookers watched them do so. He checked his wristwatch; only 19:00. Girl meant business when she partied, he guessed.

Her room was unextraordinary. Girly, neat, plastered in photos of her and her friends, and several more of her and her meathead boyfriend. He hoped said boyfriend knew where his girlfriend was and wouldn’t suddenly barge into the room, wasted and charged up by some stupid whispering about the pair of them sneaking off together.

“Sit, sit!” Laura said, inviting him to perch next to her on the edge of her baby blue bedsheets whilst she rummaged through her purse.

“You good for your usual?” Eddie said, opening his box and taking out the little baggie he’d set aside for her. He sniffled, briefly pressing his wrist to his nose against a sudden errant tickle.

“Uh-huh.” Laura replied, seeming distracted. “Shoot,” she muttered after a second, getting up a little too fast and staggering. Eddie reached out to balance her with one hand on her waist.

“You okay?” He asked, then winced at how stuffy his voice suddenly sounded. His nose still tickled and his eyes were starting to feel suspiciously itchy. Fuck. He was probably having some kind of reaction to her perfume or some shit, which was weird because hers had never bothered him before, but not unheard of. When she righted herself and moved to her chest of drawers he indulged in a violent nose rub, mashing his nose around with the palm of an open hand, desperate to quash the tickle before it blossomed into a sneeze. He hoped she couldn’t hear the wet clicking sounds the motion induced, and grimaced in dismay when it seemed only to urge the tickle along.

“I know I have more cash in here somewhere…sorry, one sec…”

“All good.” He said, even though it was not all good, it was bad, and he’d had enough allergy attacks in his life – hell, this past week - to know he was about to sneeze his fucking head off. He sat rigid, pressing a ringed finger underneath his twitching nostrils, pink and damp from the prior manhandling, and pushed hard against his philtrum. It did very little at all, and he bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to stave off the starts of an embarrassingly hitchy build-up.

He glanced at her back as she dug through the drawer, silently pleading with her to hurry up, when his eyes drifted to the lint roller on top of the chest. He squinted at it, realising it was covered in…oh, double fuck.

“L-Laura?” He asked, lowering his hand and scrambling through his pockets for his bandana. He was going to sneeze no matter what at this point, and he at least wanted to do so not all over her pristine upholstery.

“Hmm?”

“Do you hh’have a hh-!!...cat?”

“Yeah, Mittens! She’s probably sleeping under the bed right now, ‘cuz there’re so many people around. Ooh, okay, nice, found a twenty!”

She spun round, grinning in triumph, only for her face to fall in confusion at the sight of him. He averted his eyes, even as they started to slam shut, burying his face in the bandana he had been raising and continued to allow his breath to hitch – audibly, now that the gig was up and she could not only see him, but was actively watching him build up to a fit of tickly allergic sneezes. He felt his face flushing with heat, absolutely humiliated, but there was nothing he could do. He gasped pathetically, chest expanding under his Metallica t-shirt as the tickle finally crested.

“Eddie?”

He managed to shake his head, just once, before he was pitching forward into the bandana, clutched to his face with both hands as the sneeze burst out of him with so much force it brought tears to his eyes.

“EhhHGK’TSCHSS’IEWww!! Shit, sorry, I’m-!! Ihkg’tchieww!! AhhGK’TISSHH’IEwww!! Ohh…”

He felt the bed dip as Laura sat down beside him, blushing even harder as she placed a tentative hand on his back, expanding and contracting erratically under his leather jacket as he hitched his way towards the rest of his fit.

“Hh-Hh! Ehh-! HAH’GKkt!! EHh’NGXt’TSHh-NGXT’tshiew!! HdDT’TSCHH’U! ‘DDZZSh’iewww!!...Shit, I’m…I’m allergiii’CKK’SHIEeww!! Allergic-to-cats-!”

“Fuck.” He heard Laura mutter, sounding genuinely concerned, which heartened him and yet paradoxically made him feel terrible. The whole thing was mortifying, and the more he sneezed, the more the tickle seemed to tease.

To make matters worse, Mittens, the very source of his misery, seemingly roused by the cacophony above her sleeping space, had come to investigate. Through bleary eyes he peered at her in resignation, preparing to sneeze again. She tilted her fluffy, tortoiseshell head at him, mewed once, and then, to his horror, started to rub herself affectionately all over the shins of his jeans.

“Mittens, no!” Laura reached for her in an instant, snatching her away as she meowed her displeasure, but the damage had been done.

“HhHH’GCKT’TShhieww!! ESHH’IEWww!! EHh’NGXtt’TSCHh!! EhHH’TSCCH-TSSHH’IEww!! h’Ohh GoddD’TSXCHHhh!! IGSHH’Uu-IGKSHHhh!!”

Eddie could barely breathe between each explosion, eyes streaming as he sprayed into the bandana over and over, clutched between both steepled hands. The last few left mess bursting out into the cloth and dripping down over his lips, mercifully hidden from view. He sniffled reflexively, instantly regretting it as the tickle peaked with such intensity the resulting gasp made his chest squeak.

“EIISSHHHhh!! HaH’GKkt-GXK’TShhu-GSHHHh!! Hh’HH!! HAH’ENGXTt’TSSsHIEww!! AESHH’IEww!! iihHH’KhG’TSSHHUuu!!”

He trembled as they overpowered him, cruel and unrelenting, one leg jerking up as his body almost curled in on itself from the force before stamping back on the ground. He made the mistake of using a lull in sneezes to fold his bandana over and look for a clean spot, hands shaking, totally unprepared for when the tickle ground once more against his sinuses.

“’YYISCHHH’IEWW!!” He sneezed violently, dramatically, and worst of all, totally uncovered. His eyes shot open in time to see the spray dissipating in a glittering cloud of droplets, illuminated by a nearby lamp. He clapped the bandana back to his face, cheeks burning, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“Fuck, I am so sorry.” He mumbled at exactly the same time Laura offered an audibly concerned “God bless you!”

He murmured a thanks before biting the bullet and indulging in a disgustingly wet nose blow. Laura gently patted his back, manicured, callous-free hand on his scuffed-up leather, and the sudden rush of emotions – humiliation, confusion, affection, irritation – had him lurching to his feet, even as his breath started to hitch, fucking again.

“Are you okay?” Laura asked, her hazy brown eyes looking up at him with far more kindness than Eddie could stand to face in the current moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, but…I’m sorry, I hafta-! GXXT’SHIEWWww!! Ah, fuck, shit, I-need-to-! IGSHHHH-! Ahh, Get out of here.”

“O-okay.” He felt her slip the money into his pocket. Pressing the sopping bandana firmly to his face, he began to reach for his lunchbox, which she handed to him. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s n-not your-! Not-your-f’hhault’TTSZZSH’IIeww!! Fuck!! Not your fauld’t.” He mustered up a reassuring smile, then remembered his face was obscured anyway.

“Still, I’m. I’m sorry. See you round?” She offered.

“Sure.” He said, knowing damn well the next time they bumped into each other and he didn’t have drugs on his person she would go right back to pretending he didn’t exist.

He left her there, standing awkwardly in the middle of her room, and bolted his way down the stairs, trying not to fall to his death as a series of smaller sneezes teased their way out of him half-way.

“Huh’GXTCH’zieww!! HDD’TZSCch’u! hh-HDT-!! ‘TISHH’Ieww!!”

He sneezed again as he strode past the three idiots still lurking outside, the dampness of the cloth beginning to transfer to his palm. They made sounds of disgust and derision, painfully predictable in their apery, and he fought the urge to throw the snotty rag in their direction before deciding in his current state it wasn’t worth the potential black eye and/or broken arm. He slammed his van door shut and started the ignition, snuffling and scrubbing at his tickly nostrils, which were already flaring in preparation for a repeat performance. He prayed he wouldn’t sneeze himself to an early grave on the road before he could get home and sneeze his throat raw in the shower.

#hope you like it! I had a lot of fun with it #s/tranger t/hings #nametakenfic #sneeze fic #sneeze fucker #snz fucker #snz kink #sneeze kink #snz fet #snzblr

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frodopotter7 · 8 hours ago

Text

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #dbd #dbd fanfic #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives fanfic #payneland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #Spotify #payneland fanfic #fanfic collab

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ragana62 · 17 hours ago

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I have always thought that not only would Corlys have 100% backed her if she decided she wanted to fight for her claim, but probably already had plans in motion to support her in doing so even before the council had concluded. Probably even before it had commenced. Honestly, he very well could have started the planning the day he walked out of the Small Council when she was passed over for Baelon.

He’s not an idiot. The odds of her claim, or her son’s claim, being accepted over Viserys’s claim were relatively slim once it came down to the council instead of just a family matter. Even if she had been chosen, the odds that some Lords might take issue with the idea of swearing loyalty to a Queen who threatened to undermine their own claims to their seats/future succession lines by her very existence were never zero. Either way, there’s a very real hypothetical future war there that will take some careful maneuvering, because they do have ships and a dragon and loyal banners to help support the claim, but so does most any other hypothetical faction in that conflict. It would be stupid not to plan accordingly.

That war probably wasn’t 100% hypothetical the night the verdict was read, in my opinion, particularly when there were such strong (and tbh easily offended/insulted) personalities like Corlys and her Baratheon kin supporting her. I don’t think it’s a matter of “Rhaenys could have fought for her claim, but decided not to and that shows her priorities and temperament vs. some of her kin’s priorities and temperament”. I think there was a moment where she walked into a room prepared to have to face pity and was met instead with a war table, with maps, with strategies, with men already planning her war for her and she had to say “no, I’m upset, but I’m not going to kill my cousins over this, I’m not going to burn the realm for this, I’m not going to endanger my own children over this, etc.”, and do so in a manner that forced them to listen to her over their pride.

For me, that’s also a lot more powerful. It’s not a simple “oh I care more about my family than I do my own power” or even an “I’m clever enough to know it wouldn’t be good for anyone to burn half our crops and kill half the houses in the kingdoms only ~100 years after the conquerors did it and rule over the ashes to spare my pride”. It’s a “I chose to wield my power, the same power that makes me qualified for the very throne I was just denied, not to take the throne, but to actively prevent others for taking it for me because I am intelligent and compassionate enough to know it won’t be worth it when the dust settles.”.

I think Viserys and Daemon know that, or at least that Rhaenys could very easily have gone to war over it. Daemon was raising an army of his own during the council to support Viserys, that’s not something you do if you aren’t expecting a fight after. Something tells me, if Rhaenys had to actively stop the war instead of just saying “not worth it, let’s go home” before the plans were made, they don’t know that. For Daemon in particular, it shows weakness on her part, it shows she never was meant to be on the throne BECAUSE she wouldn’t fight for it, it shows she is hampered by things like sentimentality that keep her from doing what she needs to do, and that shows in how he interacts with her years after. Viserys I think has a better sense of it, or at least is sentimental enough himself to respect and be grateful for what he sees as a choice to prioritize family over personal gain. That also clearly shows in how he views her and interacts with her.

Not to go full conspiracy theorist with this, but I think that there are elements of that hypothetical war in Rhaenyra’s real war. The blockade of the gullet at the very least is too immediate to have not been a hypothetical sitting out there that just needed the word to implement. I also think that her efforts (in the show at least) to try and circumvent the war show that Rhaenys knows this is very much just her war pushed back a few decades with the cast of players shuffled slightly and even more dragons in play to raise the stakes. Both philosophically (eldest daughter/daughter of the eldest son who was raised being told the throne would be hers one day vs. younger son/son of the younger son who is at the very least a bit reluctant or ill suited to the job but is still somewhat preferred by many for reasons utterly unrelated to job performance) and practically (Rhaenyra is surrounded by people who want this war, not necessarily because they believe in her or her claim, but because they think supporting her and winning it puts them in a better position than they could have joining the opposition whether that’s through existing ties of blood or marriage or just because they can get a higher position in the Black council than the Green one at this stage and hope to leverage it or else simply settle a score of their own through the war. Rhaenys absolutely was as well even if my head cannon is entirely bullshit).

Insisting on one final attempt at negotiation (because while there is no case to justify calling Rhaenyra going in person to King’s Landing to have a little chat with Alicent in the show a good choice, “hey, I know for a fact they aren’t all all in on the war, diplomacy isn’t weakness if it saves lives and gets results” absolutely is sound council and something Rhaenyra isn’t hearing from her other councilors) can be seen as more sentimentality, more weakness. Daemon certainly sees it as such at times. Coming from someone who only a few decades prior was in the exact same position and had to pull the realm back from the brink of war herself, it also reads as “Look, I know exactly how some of these strong personalities think, that so many of these people would be happy to wage war for their own pride and ambition through you and your younger brother, and it will be horrible and costly if you let them. I see your hesitation, I see hesitation in some of your opposition. Make sure it is worth it, that it is what YOU want, and that there isn’t another way forward, before you turn them loose. Don’t go to war just because Daemon wants to fight or because it seems like there is no other way forward with all these people whispering in your ear that it is inevitable and necessary.”

I think it’s easy to write Rhaenys off as “oh, she’s just the motherly voice of compassion and reason”, in part because that is very much what her family tends to do with her as well. And she is that, at times. It’s also easy to take some of her girlboss lines from the show and her temper from the book and turn her into some bitter and angry person who only joins Rhaenyra’s war to settle her own scores of lingering resentment. She can also be that at times. But I think, on a fundamental level, what she is, is aware. Aware of the people around her and what they assume about both her and each other, aware of the fact that nothing is ever so simple as a Rhaenyra vs Aegon conflict when there are too many other voices in the council rooms who all want something of their own, aware that it is all a game at the end of the day and that like all games, there are different ways to play it and different prizes to aim for instead of it needing to be entirely all or nothing. Whether that’s taking one look at Rhaenyra and saying “you don’t actually want a war, you are hurt and you want freedom” or at Daemon to say “really, he could do without the fancy chair and crown so long as he doesn’t have to kneel and submit himself before whoever does have them, which is probably why he’s so bad at actually being in charge of most anything without getting bored or annoyed”, or taking one look at both councils and recognizing that this is their war more than either claimant’s and that if that is true there might be another way out of it once again.

She listens more than she speaks, because she knows that all speaking accomplishes is giving your claimed allies and potential enemies leverage, and that people will give away a lot when they don’t see the person in the room with them as a potential threat, or indeed even see them at all. She preaches diplomacy over combat, not because she can’t fight when required, but because she knows what battles cost and that it’s not always worth it.

It’s easy to forget (particularly because it’s not even mentioned in the show), that the whole reason the council was necessary in the first place, was because her father was killed in a war when she herself was young and pregnant and her uncle was named heir in her place before dying himself, are you really expecting me to believe she didn’t take one look at Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, losing Visenya in her grief over her father, and have to take a moment to push down the complicated emotions that brought up? Her own grief for her father and the life she could have had had he lived, the grief of losing her own children, her frustration that once again a princess was being so easily cast aside and the bitterness that even if she repeats a million times over it doesn’t bother her anymore, it still does bother her, just a little bit, when the old wound is opened again in just the right way?

So when Rhaenyra finds herself surrounded by hotheaded lords all pushing her to raise armies and burn the realm for her throne, and Rhaenys watches as she loses another child to the war almost immediately, ignores her own grief to try and present something akin to the powerful front she thinks is expected of her only to find herself still struggling to be seen or heard by the very people who claim to be doing all of this for her, of course it’s personal. Even if her grandchildren weren’t caught up in all of it, if there wasn’t a risk that either faction saw a refusal to pick sides from her as a liability and tried to eliminate her as a potential third claimant, I think she’d have been on Dragonstone to at least advise Rhaenyra if not lend her practical support. At the end of the day, it’s still her war, even if it’s no longer her name being shouted in the battle cries, at least in her mind. If it is going to be fought this time, with so little personally left to lose, she’s determined to fight it herself.

You know had Rhaenys wanted to, she could have started a war over her own claim. Corlys would have 100% backed his wife and they do have a fleet and dragons etc. But the fact that she didn’t shows her fundamental character imo.

#you can’t tell me otherwise #this woman knew it wasn’t worth it until she’d already lost just about everything that had held her back the first time #the second it was just her and her dragon my girl went off #ladies don’t start fights but they’re happy to help end them #she walked into that room and Corlys was just like #“hi honey! Quick question: would you say you are in the mood to kill your cousins yourself or would you prefer I do that for you?#rhaenys the queen who never was #and definitely should have been #and almost certainly could have been #hotd rhaenys #rhaenys velaryon #corlys x rhaenys #corlys velaryon #that man’s love language is forcing people to kneel to his wife and you know she’s into it

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