#like the whole thing with hap. she draws from her own experiences

[femmefitz]

When Fitz actually engages with her kids she's not a TERRIBLE parent. It's just that her biggest parenting flaw is neglect and she never ended up correcting that.

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Let’s talk PTSD on Outlander!

Let’s talk PTSD: Roger, Bree, Ian, Jamie, Claire, literally everyone.

Buckle up, because I have some thoughts on this. This whole thing is spoilers.

I’ve been reading so many comments from the last two seasons about how the characters are handling trauma and how the story is dealing with the aftermath. A quick recap: Bree was raped and got pregnant, Roger was hung and was supposed to die, something very obviously happed to Ian that screwed him up, not to mention giving up everything he’d ever known to turn himself over to a wild village of people he didn’t know anything about, Fergus had his hand chopped off trying to defend his adopted father/family, Marsali left her home behind (not as traumatic as the other experiences, but still a lot)... Jamie was raped, tortured, beaten, imprisoned, indentured, lost his baby, almost died in war, begged for death x2, lost his wife and a child he’d never meet, lost his father and his mother and his brother when he was young. Claire literally fell through time and lost her husband, watched as her new husband was beaten and tortured, tried to heal Jamie when he wanted to kill himself, had a stillborn baby, was sent away by the love of her life, went back to marriage that turned super unhealthy, lost the first husband again, said goodbye to her daughter, traveled across the ocean and was kidnapped, and so much more. Claire has SEEN some shit. They all have.

Okay, now that that’s done, let’s talk about the response. I’ve obviously never had half this stuff happen, but I am a suicide survivor and I was raped. I’ve seen so many comments talking about how Bree can’t let this Bonnet thing go and how she’s always drawing him, always paranoid. FUCKING OBVIOUSLY. Sexual assault is horrific and you don’t just forget about it once things get back to normal. Bree’s apprehension at Jem meeting an Irishman is valid. Her fear that Bonnet took him is pretty unlikely, but valid. Your trauma doesn’t have an expiration date. Bonnet haunts Bree, and she’s trying her best to live with the forever reminder of what happened. You never forget it. Sometimes it quiets down, but it never goes away.

Roger was literally hanged and could feel life slipping away from him. No wonder he didn’t talk! How do you ever come back from that?! Surviving an incident when you were supposed to die is so surreal. I remember someone telling me once, “But isn’t it a blessing to be alive?” and now, ten years later, the answer is yes. But for Roger, it’s been three freaking months. He isn’t okay. He couldn’t be. Depression is so real and it can make you feel like there’s no hope. Everything is dark and heavy and nothing can pull you out. Bree did the right thing by finally asking him if was going to fight for their family, because now it’s time to start healing, but it’s FINE to give Roger a minute to process what happened to him.

Now, as for little things reminding Bree of Bonnet or Roger of the barrel being kicked out from under him, or Jamie refusing to touch Claire because all he could see was BJR, or Claire having a panic attack remember the soldiers that were killed in France right in front of her before in WWII as Jamie was training for Prestonpans... trauma comes back at the most inappropriate and inconvenient times. I think the show is doing a good job of showing the characters growth, while showing them struggle. It doesn’t just heal between episodes.

Roger wasn’t weak this week. He wasn’t struggling just for shits and kicks (pun intended). He was processing. Like they’ve all had to do. Ian did the same thing after Geillis’ kidnapping. When Roger sees his hanging in quick silent movie cuts, that’s honestly how it feels to me (I’m not saying the execution was the best, but the comparison was spot on). You can feel so unattached from the event.

This is a lot of words to say that from my personal experience (and everyone’s is very different) that I like how the show is dealing with the aftermath of trauma. With all the time travel, this feels real and I’m glad for it. It feels like my experiences are reflected back in a show I care about. Just some thoughts while I sip on whisky in this quarantine.

(Also please if you’re struggling with your own trauma or things in this show are triggering you, please know it’s okay to stop watching/reading. Please take care of yourselves.)

[final-fantasy-mama]

A face like a Goobbue

Emet Selch X WOL

This is backstory for Amaurot, non canon, just me playing around with ideas and trying to build a story. This is the official first chapter of my fic and all other chapters will follow a general plot line and the main story of SHB. It probably sucks but meh, enjoy! Again I will say this is non canon so if small things are different than the game dont kill me. Im using the title of Altima (ultima, virgo) for the wol just because thats my zodiac and my favorite summon from ff12.

************************************** 

"Before the sundering there was one world. A world that knew naught but peace and prosperity. Until it was faced with a crisis. Unprecedented. Terrifying. Civilization found itself perched upon a precipice, staring into oblivion." ~ Emet Selch

"You weren't impressed I take it?" Hythlodaeus asked as he and his companion walked down the darkened streets of Amarout. A city as grand and opulent as Amaurot never truly slept and even at the wee hours of nightfall people could be seen going to and fro, couples joined in hand for a moonlight stroll, folks walking in and out of pubs and eateries, and beings like Emet Selch and his friend Hythlodaeus returning from another long winded convocation meeting. This one had gone on longer than needed but much was needed to be covered and introduced as it was not every day a new member was added to their elite ranks. The moon was high in the sky and gave enough soft light for them to walk about unbothered.

"Hmmmm." Emet grunted beneath his mask. "Considering how they spoke not more than 5 words during the whole meeting and seemed to be seated just for decoration, I would say I’m not so much unimpressed as I am simply disappointed. The convocation made it seem like our 14th member was something to be astounded by and yet all I saw the entire session was some meek mewling lamb shaking in their robes. The title of Altima is not given freely nore easily so on earth did they earn it?"

His friend had to chuckle, and they trotted along under the lamp lit streets of their great city, the tall buildings and spires filling the skyline against a dark blue sky. Their robes gently swept the ground as they moved at a steady pace in the direction of home. "It is just as you say, the title of Altima is not given easily so shouldn't you give them the benefit of the doubt? It was their first day, mayhap they were nervous? Goodness knows the state of affairs in the world right now would make anyone feel awkward."

"Awkward enough to call on someone who obviously lacks experience...What do you imagine they look like under that white mask they wear?" Emet suddenly pondered in a mocking way.

"Like any other of our kin." Hythlodaeus shrugged.

"Like a Goobbue I'm sure." He mocked and then suddenly stopped. Across the street in a darkened area sat a rusty gate covered in ivy and morning glories. The lot had been vacant for a while with an old mansion on the grounds, unable to be resold as most people regarded it as condemned or unlivable. Now though, the old mansions murky windows were lit, and a pleasant sound drifted from its inner gardens. Someone was living here.

His friend noticed how intently he stared at it and mentioned, "Oh looks like someone finally moved in. A blessing to be sure, that mansion was in need of repair."

A burst of light from the garden and wave of Aether made them both gasp and look at each other. "Who purchased this residence?" Emet asked suspiciously.

Hythlodaeus shrugged and adjusted his grey mask accordingly. "I'm not too sure. It must have been recent if neither of us have heard rumor of it."

Emet eyed the garden beyond the gate. "Creation magic that powerful shouldn't be used willy nilly in a public space."

Again, there was another burst of light and Emet crossed the street with his friend running to catch up. "What are you doing?!"

"That sort of Aether output should not be so hap hazardously used in such a setting without any supervision, I'm going to see what this perpetrator is up to!" Emet huffed.

"First off you're not one to make judgements like that due to your own tarried record!" Hythlodaeus scolded. "Second, you are breaking and entering!"

Emet rolled his eyes. "Then stay here if it frightens you so!" and gingerly opened the gate and stepped inside.

"Have you lost your mind!?" His friend hissed and then threw up his hands. "Do as you like but I’m not going to face any charges for your reckless snooping!" He turned on his heel and stomped away as Emet untangled himself from the ivy of the gateway and carefully made his way towards the garden.

Music gently filled the area as he turned the corner of the mansion as was greeted by a large open courtyard filled with trees and flowers of all species and colors. They sprang out of the ground in no particular order, completely at the will of nature making the are seem more like a jungle than a courtyard. Lanterns hung off the tree limbs casting soft light over everything as a gazebo sat in the center of it all and in the center of the gazebo sat a person, hunched over a small table and scribbling furiously into a large notebook.

Their back was turned to Emet Selch so all he could glimpse was the provocative expanse of bare back and the trailing ruffles of a white nightgown, its wearer so consumed by their scribbling they scarce noticed the intruder. A gramophone played soft music next to them as they looked up from their book, snapped their fingers and a burst of light filled the area. Emet hid himself in the shadow of the nearest tree as something chirped and landed on the back of the creator’s chair. From the light a winged creature kin to a bird but with an absurdly large beak, gray feathers and a rather grumpy face appeared. It flapped its new wings a few times from its perch as the creator patted their head affectionately.

Then the figure stood up and stretched long feminine arms over a head full of long silky hair, looking up at the moon in the sky and reaching for it as if they could pluck it from the expanse, before turning in a way that Emet could see their features. In the privacy of her own home, her face was barren of any mask or covering and when she turned in his direction fully, he felt his heart stop in his throat. A beautiful face with glaringly sharp eyes and soft features looked directly at him.

Time seemed to stop for him as this white dressed goddess took a step forward, her soft nightgown hanging loosely off her shoulders and dragging on the ground behind her as if it were a wedding gown. She raised a graceful hand and pointed a finger at him before shouting a command and something struck Emet hard behind the head. It sent him flying forward and onto the ground face first. He didn’t even manage a shout as he rolled onto his back and a long leg and dainty foot planted itself hard enough into his chest he grunted in pain. The woman in white stood over him, a scowl on her face, hands on her hips as she dug her foot in deeper.

"You'd better have a good excuse for being here!" She growled as a small black cat raced up her leg, around her chest and rested on her shoulder. She had used her creatures to attack him whilst he was preoccupied.

He tried to speak but her foot on his chest made it difficult so he croaked. "Madam you misunderstand!"

"Misunderstand what?!" She exclaimed. "You're trespassing in my garden and spying on me like some....some pervert!"

"Creation magic used outside the security of the hall of concepts is strictly prohibited! Only members of the higher echelons and the convocation are allowed to create outside those restrictions. You have a lot of nerve calling me a pervert when you are so openly disobeying sacred law!" He snapped back.

"Frankly what I do on my own property is none of your business." She said matter of factly.

"I am of the convocation! Now would you kindly take your foot off of me so I may further explain myself!" He growled, finally losing his cool under the circumstances. He slapped her foot off as he stood up and dusted the grass off his black cloak.

She looked him up and down before saying. "If you're on the council then you should know better than to go sneaking around a lady's home in the dead of night."

He huffed as he straightened himself out and bowed rather begrudgingly. "Emet Selch, the Architect, at your service."

She paused and stared so hard at him she might have bore holes through him. "Oh. You." She said simply as if it was no matter.

"What do you mean, Oh you? Accosting a council member is so uncouth one would have to ask where you acquired your lack of manners!"

She smirked. "Not as uncouth as a man staring a girl down in her nighties."

He felt heat creep up his neck. "I was investigating the misuse of creation magic! Nothing more! I was most certainly not admiring your lithe form beneath the moonlight...uh, that is I was not admiring you at all!"

She giggled, the atmosphere turning instantly to something mirthful while she walked back to the gazebo. "I've heard of you Emet Selch and rumor has it you're not a paragon of justice and order, in fact I heard you and Hythlodaeus are quite the troublemakers." She waved for him to join him at the table and he did reluctantly as she snapped a tea set into existence. After pulling up a second chair for him and sliding a hot glass of tea his way, she sat back down herself and pushed her large notebook aside. Emet could see that it was filling with drawings and diagrams, all hand drawn in dark pencil. The current page she had been working on had a drawing of the bird that sat at her back and under it a name. "Shoe bill".

"You're concepts?" Emet asked as he calmed himself down on tea.

"I never create anything unless I’ve drawn it out first and written myself detailed instructions. As you say, the misuse of such magic is costly and dangerous, so do good fellows like yourself need not be worried about little old me." she smiled and put a few lumps of sugar into her own drink.

"And you are...?" He dared to ask.

Emet watched her as she drank her tea down and noted the subtly bobbing of her lovely throat as she swallowed. She was without a doubt the most enchanting creature he had ever seen and when she told him her name, he wished he could go back in time and take back everything bad he said about her, for he had never been more wrong in his life. Oh, Emet sometimes you need to put your mask where your mouth is, this was one filly you needn't mess with.

"We met earlier today. I am Altima, the 14th member of the convocation...and probably not as Goobbue faced as you imagined. You and your friend should speak more quietly when in public, you never know what manner of creatures might be listening in on you." She smirked as she rested her chin in her hand.

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Three

summary: Christine and Nancy go to a party, but nothing goes according to plan. word count: 4.5k warnings: drinking, bullying, more second-hand embarrassment  [ masterlist ] [ FF.net ]

Jenny Fischer’s house was…large. Much larger than Christine had expected it to be. For only living a few blocks away, Jenny was clearly in a different tax bracket. The lawn was sprawling, covered hap hazardously with parked cars and plastic cups. They were only an hour and a half late, but clearly the party was in full swing. 

It had taken them another hour to escape the Wheelers’ house, Nancy’s mother not fully satisfied they were going to study as much as they were saying. Nancy had smuggled out her outfit in her backpack—a cute pair of jeans and a shirt she’d bought earlier in the day. 

Christine had no such luxury. It had taken forever to pick her closet apart, looking for something that would be even remotely suitable for the situation. The jeans were fine, her boots a given, but she wasn’t satisfied with any of the sweaters or blouses she owned. Steve had seen her in worse, of course. He saw her in her normal clothes every day—and nothing would look so awful as her work uniform. Still, she wanted to look especially…something. 

After an eternity of looking, she’d settled on a white tank top, one of her father’s worn flannels, and an oversized denim jacket. The layers, she figured, would give her a chance to alter her look after she got to the party, once she got a look at what everyone else was wearing. Then Nancy had helped her with her makeup, which she had much more experience with. 

Christine had been going for effortless grunge, cute without trying too hard. But now, standing in front of Jenny Fischer’s too large house with the music playing too loud inside, the only thing she felt was disheveled and nauseous. 

Nancy kicked an empty beer can on the curb, and Christine picked at the edges of her cuffs. Neither of them moved, just staring at the impossible feat that lay before them. Christine broke the silence. 

“Alright, I’m gonna say it,” she sighed, throwing her arms in the air. “I can’t do this. I can’t go in there.” 

“What? No!” Nancy turned to her, adamant. “You have to go in there. Steve asked you to go in there!” 

“I know! But I can’t. He should probably know that. There’s no way I can do this.” 

“Christine, of course you can do this. You’re gonna be fine.” 

“Right,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re great under pressure. I am not like that. I turn into goo under pressure. I’m gonna go in there and freeze, and I’m gonna make an idiot of myself. Again.” 

“Hey, stop.” Nancy sighed, gently taking Christine’s arm and tugging her around to face her. “You are super smart, you’re super funny, and as for performing under pressure…well, you’re working on it. You had a whole conversation with Steve today, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah. Starting to think that’s enough social interaction for the day.” 

Nancy was unamused. Changing tactics, she released Christine’s arm, fixing her with a commanding glare instead. 

“No, you know what? You dragged me all the way to this party. I put off studying for my test, I lied to my parents, I rode on the back of your stupid bike and then walked all the way here—all because you asked me to. So you are going to go in there and give Steve Harrington everything you’ve got. Make him regret every second of physics he’s spent not talking to you. Got it?” 

Christine sighed, wringing her hands together as she stared at the house. 

“Got it, Christine?” 

“Fine! Yes! I’ve—I’ve got it. Sorry.” 

Nancy’s annoyance dropped instantly, and she offered Christine her arm. “Come on. I’ve got you.” 

Christine linked her arm through Nancy’s and held onto her like a lifeline. Together they walked up the lawn, between all the cars and cans, and pieced their way up to the door. Christine shot Nancy a side glance. 

“Do…Do we knock, or do you think we just…?” 

Nancy laughed, and pushed the door open. 

There were more people than Christine had imagined. It looked like every single teenager in Hawkins was there, crammed into one house. Still, part of her expected the party to stop the moment she walked in, for everyone to turn and look at her like the fish out of water that she was. 

 But nobody did. Everyone just went around their business, running down the hallways, screaming conversations over the loud music, drunkenly dancing in the living room. An overplayed Duran Duran song was practically shaking the floor. It was overwhelming. She had no idea where to start. 

Nancy, thankfully, took the lead. Squeezing Christine’s hand gently, she began weaving through the partygoers, making her way into the house and tugging Christine along with her. Still, it didn’t seem like they were moving in any particular direction. They looped the first floor, casing the building for someone they might know. And just when Christine was starting to worry, she heard that all too familiar voice. 

“Hey, you made it!” 

Steve materialized out of nowhere, swooping down on them with a smile a mile wide. He was wearing the same clothes he had been earlier, but he still seemed to fit right in with the crowd. Christine tugged nervously on her jean jacket, trying not to think about how many times she’d changed her outfit. 

“Hi, Steve,” Nancy said with an easy smile, immediately drawing his gaze. 

“Miss Wheeler,” he said, giving her a small bow. “Miss Walcott.” 

He bowed again, and threw her a small smirk when he looked up. Any nerve Christine had built up to say hello immediately went out the window. Steve didn’t seem to mind though. 

“Let’s get you ladies some drinks, huh?” 

He stepped between them, breaking their connection and throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. Christine let out a small squeak as he tugged her against his side, pulling her with him as he moved through the crowd. She could only pray that he hadn’t heard her. 

Steve led them to the kitchen, where it was slightly less crowded. Empty bowls that had once contained snacks lined the counter, but the food was long gone. All that remained were a few packages of beer, stacks of cups, and a large bowl of alarmingly red liquid. 

“So what can I get you?” asked Steve, stepping behind the counter. “We’ve got beer, punch, some beer, and uh…oh, look at that. Some punch.” 

Nancy laughed softly, and answered for both of them. “Punch is fine, thanks.” 

He grabbed two of the cups, scooping generous portions of the red liquid into them and holding them out. Nancy reached for hers, only for Steve to pull it back at the last second. 

“Oh, uh, I should mention—you’ve gotta chug the first drink.” He smirked, jiggling the cups in front of them. “House rules.” 

Christine shared a worried look with Nancy. She didn’t have to look inside the cup to know that it held more alcohol than she’d ever had in a drink. She’d had a few sips of her dad’s drinks, sure, maybe spilt a couple of beers. But she’d never chugged a drink in her life. 

Nancy shot Steve a very unamused look, but accepted the cup. She took a deep breath, and then threw her head back, draining the cup in one shot. It took her a few seconds, and she came up coughing, but there was still a bright smile on her face. 

“Alright!” Steve cheered, holding his free hand up in surrender. “Damn, Wheeler.” 

“Thanks,” she mumbled, refilling her cup. 

“Walcott,” said Steve, offering the cup again. “Come on, right down the hatch. You’ll be great.” 

Christine was fairly certain she would not be great, but she didn’t see much of a choice after Nancy’s show. She could refuse, and look like a loser, or she could try and fail, and still look like a loser. But she’d made it this far. There was no going back. 

She took the cup from Steve, trying not to think about how much punch there was. Instead she focused on the science of it. It wasn’t carbonated, which was one thing in her favor. All she had to do was relax her throat and make sure it went down her esophagus instead of her trachea. Easy. 

 Nancy sent her a supportive smile, Steve another smirk—and she threw her head back. 

It was disgusting. Easily one of the most disgusting things she’d ever tasted. The punch part was too sugary sweet, the alcohol so bitter she was afraid she might vomit on the spot. It was like drinking nail polish remover. She tried to hold her breath, hoping it would help the taste. She could feel the punch dripping down her chin as she leaned back too far, but she was too desperate for it to be over to really care. 

 And just when she thought she’d reached the end, she choked. 

Christine spluttered forcing down the punch that was still in her mouth and doubling over as it fought to come back out. She hacked uncontrollably, eyes filling with water. She could barely make out Nancy’s shoes next to her, so it was probably her that was patter her back. The cup disappeared from her hand, and she clamped it over her mouth. It didn’t do much to smother her coughing, and it was still a few seconds before she could get her breath back. 

“Are you okay?” asked Nancy, helping her upright again. 

“Yeah,” Christine lied, though the sound barely croaked out. “Too fast.” 

“Here,” Steve offered, passing her back a full cup. “That’ll help. Take it easy, champ.” 

Christine couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eye. 

They followed Steve down the hall and into the den, where Tommy and Carol were tucked away in a far corner. Carol was slung across his lap in an armchair, and there was a loveseat where Steve must’ve been sitting before. He ushered the two of them onto the couch, and returned a moment later with a chair he’d procured for himself. 

“See?” he said, nodding to his friends in the chair. “Told ya she’d come. Pay up, asshole.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy grumbled. 

He weaseled a hand into his back pocket, making Carol squeal and jump in his lap. He fished out a wad of bills, which he passed to a grinning Steve. 

Christine’s heart sank further. “You made a bet?” 

“Oh, not until like twenty minutes ago,” said Steve, waving off her concern as he pocketed the cash. “Tommy wasn’t sure you two would show. Ye of little faith.” 

He aimed a kick at Tommy’s ankle, and Tommy angrily kicked him back. Carol had to smack him on the shoulder to get him still again. 

“Actually that was my fault,” said Nancy. “My parents wouldn’t let me go until after dinner.” 

“Your parents know you’re here?” asked Tommy, surprised. 

“Oh, no way,” Nancy laughed. “Are you kidding? They’d kill me?” 

“What’d you tell them?” asked Steve. 

“That I was going to Christine’s. She’s supposed to help me study for my chem test.” 

“Nice,” said Carol, quirking an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had it in you, princess.” 

Tommy jolted his knee under her, and Carol quickly shut her mouth. But Nancy was already shifting uncomfortably. 

“What about you, Chrissy?” asked Steve. “Where do your parents think you are?” 

“Oh, uh…” Christine cleared her throat, raising her voice to a volume that might actually be audible. “Actually it’s just me and my dad. And he’s on a business trip.” 

“Wooh! Party at Walcott’s!” Tommy whooped. “So we’re going to yours next, right?” 

Christine forced herself to smile awkwardly. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. So she took a deep gulp of her punch. It wasn’t so bad when she knew what to expect. 

“Actually, your dad probably wouldn’t mind,” Nancy mused. “He’s always talking about drinking responsibly and getting out more.” 

“Nance, do we always have to talk about my dad?” 

“Why?” Carol demanded, sitting up a little straighter. “Is your dad hot?” 

“Damn, Wheeler’s into older dudes,” Tommy laughed. He kicked Steve’s leg again, and winked. “Sorry, man. Looks like you’re not her type.” 

Christine had never seen Steve Harrington look mortified before. She wasn’t entirely sure that he could look mortified. But that was the best word she could think of for the horror on his face when Tommy spoke. It was shock, it was anger, it was panic, and it was gone as quickly as it came. 

Steve turned to Christine, a carefree smile on his face that was at odds with his rushed words. 

“Oh, by the way, Chrissy—you were so right about the movie. It sucked. I’m so sorry you have to listen to that every weekend. I really should’ve asked for my money back.” 

“Uh…sorry,” Christine offered lamely. 

“No, no, no, totally not your fault. It just—It really sucked. Uh…how was the rest of your shift?” 

“Fine.” 

There wasn’t much else to say on the subject. She’d only been at work for an hour after he’d left, something he already knew. It seemed an odd question to ask, all things considered. 

“You sell any more Bottlecaps?” Tommy snickered. “Oh, sorry. I mean Gobstoppers.” 

“Dude, let it go, alright?” Steve snapped. “She made a mistake.” 

But Tommy was still laughing at his own joke. Just like Christine had known he was going to. And even though she’d known it was coming, she still couldn’t think of anything to say. She shook her head, pretending that it was more annoying than hurtful, and took another few gulps of punch. 

Nancy was watching her closely, and suddenly cleared her throat. 

“Yeah, Tommy. Or maybe she was telling you to stop talking, and you just can’t take a hint.” 

Everyone gaped at her. It was hard to tell who was more shocked—Tommy who looked like he’d just been slapped, Steve, who looked like Christmas had come a month early, or Christine, who had never heard anyone talk back to someone like Tommy H in her life. 

After several seconds of silence, Carol burst into laughter. Steve was quick to join in, and even Tommy let out a surprised chuckle. 

“Shit, Tommy, you better watch out,” Carol giggled. “Looks like the princess has got claws.” 

“I will drink to that,” said Steve proudly. 

He leaned out of his chair, knocking his cup into Nancy’s before chugging everything he had left. Tommy and Carol were whooping, Nancy laughing delicately behind her hand. Christine took another sip of her punch, and tried to ignore the sour feeling in her stomach. She was already starting to regret coming to this party. 

She wished she could say it got easier after that. There was definitely less tension in the rest of group—they all talked and laughed without pause—but Christine was still having a hard time thinking of anything to stay. Her brain seemed to be moving at half the speed of the discourse. By the time she thought of something interesting to contribute, she’d realize everyone else was already two topics further along. Even if someone asked her something directly—usually Nancy or Steve—she only got a few words out before someone else would chime in. 

The longer the party went on, the less she seemed to be talking. And the less she talked, the more she drank. It was nice to have something to do besides stare as the conversation slipped past her. The punch wasn’t even that bad once she got used to it. In fact, it was kind of addicting. 

The first time she went for a refill, Nancy insisted on coming with her. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, once they were safely out of earshot. 

“Yeah, fine,” Christine sighed. “You know, just completely blowing my shot. As usual.” 

“Hey, don’t let them bother you. Tommy’s an idiot, and Carol’s a jerk. Just be you.” 

“Well, ‘me’ tends to clam up and not have anything interesting to say.” Christine rolled her eyes at herself as she scooped up more punch. She sipped it slowly, bumping her hip gently into Nancy’s. “Thanks for sticking up for me, though. That was like, insanely cool.” 

“God, I don’t even know where that came from,” Nancy laughed. “Was I way harsh?” 

“Um, no? Like you said, Tommy’s an idiot. Anyway, Steve seemed to think it was pretty amazing.” 

Nancy blushed, and wrapped an arm around Christine’s waist. “Come on. Let’s find something you know you can talk about.” 

True to her word, Nancy had deliberately steered the conversation toward movies. Christine had seen just about everything that had come out in the past two years, and she was at the rental store at least twice a month. She had plenty of material to go on. 

Unfortunately, that conversation didn’t go exactly as planned. 

“We all stayed over Christine’s house last night to watch Friday the Thirteenth,” Nancy announced. “It’s her favorite.” 

“What’s that? Horror?” asked Steve. 

“Uh, yeah,” Christine answered. “It came out a couple years ago. I’ve seen it like…nine times.” 

“Cool. So what’s it about?” 

“Well, it’s…” 

“Oh shit, is that the camp one?” Tommy interrupted. “Yeah! All these kids go away to some shut down summer camp, and then Jason comes back from the dead and slaughters them all. Bleeeaargh!” 

He rattled Carol in his lap, miming slicing her throat while he laughed. She snorted. “Gross. I hate all that horror shit. Blood and guts and girls that won’t stop fucking screaming. Ahh! Ahhhhhhh! Oh no, please don’t kill me!” 

“Actually we were just talking about that the other day,” said Nancy, giving Christine a pointed look. “Chrissy, what were you saying about horror movies having rules or something?” 

Everyone turned to look at her and Christine felt her throat go dry. It was one thing to talk about her nerdy theories in the comfort of her own living room. But telling the popular kids that her favorite pass time was watching the popular kids get murdered in horror movies? Seriously? 

Nancy nudged her encouragingly, and she cleared her throat. 

“Well…yeah, they are kind of stupid,” she agreed, nodding at Carol. “The girls I mean. But that’s usually why they end up getting killed. If—If you’re stupid, or if you’re mean, or if…if you sleep around or whatever, you usually get killed off. That’s just the way it works.” 

“Dude,” Tommy scoffed, grinning up at the ceiling. “I’d be so fucking dead.” 

“Oh for sure,” Steve chuckled. “You’re a triple threat, man—horny, mean, and stupid.” 

“Yeah, keep laughing, Harrington. Jason’d slice you up good, the amount of girls you’ve screwed.” 

“Not these two, though,” said Carol, sneering at Nancy and Christine. “Pristine little virgins that’ve never broken a rule in their lives.” 

Nancy flipped Carol the bird, which made everyone laugh. Christine returned to her punch. 

 “Hey, lay off,” added Steve, swatting Carol’s shoulder. “That just makes them hero material, you know? Someone’s gotta save our asses.” 

“Yeah, some of us have pretty nice asses,” Tommy agreed, before groping Carol. She squealed, and smacked him again, which somehow led to the two of them making out in their armchair. 

Steve rolled his eyes, ignoring them. “So, Nancy, what’s your favorite movie?” 

“Oh, um…probably Risky Business?” 

“Hey, I loved that movie! That guy was so good, that uh…” 

“Tom Cruise, yeah. He’s great.” 

“Yeah, he was the whole reason Carol dragged us to see All The Right Moves in the first place. What was the other thing he was in this year? Um…” 

“The Outsiders. Which was also like, so good.” 

“Why does that sound familiar?” 

“It’s a book, by S.E. Hinton. It’s pretty popular. You might’ve read it for class.” 

“Shit. I was probably supposed to read it for class.” 

He winked at her, and Nancy giggled. Still, Christine stared at her punch. 

The second time she went for a refill, Nancy did not feel the need to come with her. 

The third time she went, she returned only to find that Tommy and Carol had vanished from the armchair. She didn’t bother asking where they’d gone. Chances were they’d finally moved their party upstairs and were commandeering on the of the Fischers’ bedrooms. Or a bathroom if they weren’t picky about space. 

She’d plopped into the vacant chair, placing herself between Nancy and Steve, but it didn’t have any effect. Nancy’s eyes never left Steve’s, and Steve’s never left hers. They continued to talk about a bunch of classmates Christine didn’t know—what their families were up to and how they’d changed since they were kids. Christine barely recognized any of the names. 

The fourth time she refilled her cup, she came back to find Nancy sitting alone on the sofa. Christine���s heart soared as she plopped down next to her, smiling for the first time in what felt like hours. 

“Where’d everybody go?” she asked, leaning her head on the back of the couch. 

“Well, Carol and Tommy aren’t back yet,” Nancy answered, “and Steve just went to the bathroom.” 

“Bathroom,” Christine repeated. Then she giggled, for absolutely no reason at all. “That sounds like a good idea.” 

Nancy turned to her, eyes full of concern. “Christine, are you alright?” 

“Mm, ya. Why?” 

“How much of that punch have you had?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly using a measuring cup here.” 

Christine snorted, and took another sip of her drink. She grinned, scrunching up her face and patting Nancy on the knee to reassure her. For some reason, that didn’t seem to work. 

“You think maybe you should take a break?” she suggested gently. “Have some water instead?” 

“Nah, I’m fine. Really. I finally found something I’m good at! You—You’re good at talking to cute guys, and people, and having conversations, and I’m—I’m good at drinking. Quietly.” 

“Christine…” 

“Nancy,” she mimicked, heaving a dramatic sigh. She held up a hand, stalling Nancy’s concern. “Seriously though, the—the bathroom sounds like a good idea. I’ll be right back.” 

She stood up again, giggling as the music shifted the floor underneath her. Nancy grabbed her arm, already half out of her seat. But Christine was adamant. She forced Nancy back onto the couch, shushing her like a small child, and backed away the way she came. 

“No, no, no. I’m good. I’m fine. Totally cool. Be right back. Bye. Hold on.” 

It took her a while to actually find a bathroom. Even then, the door was slammed in her face with screams of privacy. So she’d had to find another one. She, at least, was still sober enough to lock the door behind her. 

‘Drunk’ was not a particularly good look on her. The bright bathroom light wasn’t doing her any favors, but the party had clearly taken a toll on her. She hadn’t done anything but move back and forth between two rooms and sit on a couch, and her hair was still all over the place, her skin flushed and sweaty, her carefully applied eyeliner creating thick rings around her eyes. The punch was staining her lips too—not in a cute lipstick way, but in a lopsided blur that she couldn’t seem to scrub off. Her teeth were turning pink. It almost looked like she’d coughed up blood. 

Christine shed her layers, tying the flannel around her waist and shrugging the jacket back on. It was too hot, but she wasn’t ready to walk around in just her tank top. She splashed some water on her face as well. It didn’t help her appearance, but it did make her feel a little better. 

For a moment, she considered curling up on the cold tile floor. Something told her it would feel amazing, give her a chance to appreciate the thin curtain of silence that draped the room. But she also knew she’d be extremely reluctant to get up again. Maybe it would be better to cut her losses and call it a night. 

Bracing herself for the crowd once more, Christine pushed her way out of the bathroom and back toward the den. She’d just tell Nancy she wanted to go home. That wouldn’t be a shocker. Nancy already seemed to notice that she was two drinks too far into drinking her problems away. They’d go home, eat leftover pizza, and they could forget tonight ever happened. 

She rounded the corner to the den, and stopped dead in her tracks. Nancy was still sitting exactly where she’d left her, but Steve was finally back. Steve, who had taken Christine’s seat on the couch. Steve, who had one arm around Nancy’s shoulders and the other on her waist. Steve, who was kissing her fiercely, and Nancy, who was kissing him back. 

Suddenly, forgetting seemed like a very slim possibility. 

“Ugh, gross,” said a voice, and Tommy appeared on Christine’s left. “Took ‘em long enough.” 

Carol snorted on Christine’s right, and patted her on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, Einstein. Tough break.” 

“Hey, plenty of fish in the sea, right?” Tommy slung an arm around her, shaking her roughly. “Yo, if you still wanna hook up with someone, I could probably find you a guy. I bet you’re a real freak under that whole brainy thing.” 

Christine shoved him off her, pushing him so hard he collided with the wall. Her cup fell to the floor, leaving punch stains all over Carol’s stockings and making the girl jump back. 

“Hey! Watch it, psycho bitch!” 

They were drawing too much attention. People were starting to look at her, people she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Laugh? Apologize? Start swinging punches? 

So Christine turned tail, and she ran. All she wanted to do was put as much distance between her and that house as possible—that house, and everyone inside of it. 

Later, she would wonder how she’d made it so far so fast. The world around her was dark and blurry. She could barely feel her fingers, and her teeth were gently chattering. She clamped a hand over her mouth as she turned onto her street, slowing down to a jog, a walk, a stop. All she had to do was walk up the steps to her door. But her legs didn’t want to move anymore. 

Christine looked around the empty street. It was dark save for the streetlamps. The houses seemed vacant, sleeping. No one would mind if she stopped for just a minute. 

She sank to the asphalt, sitting on the curb and hanging her head between her knees. It was stupid. The whole thing was so stupid, stupid, stupid. She was stupid. And now she was paying for it. 

Tears streaked her cheeks, and it was hard to breathe through all the snot in her nose. She ripped the flannel from around her waist and tried to wipe her face, but it didn’t make her feel any better. 

 She felt sick. She felt tired. She felt sad. More than anything, she felt alone.

[insomniiyac]

Finished my third (and hopefully last) BNHA baby, Anthony~. I tried to copy the whole ref thing and failed horribly. 10/10 will never do again ;__;

Sorry for the low quality, I had to use freaking Google Slides for the text ;__;

She’s totally open for friends and such, so reblog if you’re interested

██████  G E N E R A L //  I N F O

“If it wasn’t illegal, I’d have my birthday suit as my hero suit.”

name : Anthony DeLosReyes (

アンソニー・デロスレイズ)

nickname(s) : “Aunt Anthony”, “The Secret Weapon” (Neito) hero name : Inka age// birthday : 18 ll February 28th gender : female height // weight : 5'7 [172.72 cm] // 168lbs blood type : undetermined

nationality:  Venezuelan-American

class :  1-B (temporarily) / 3-A

██████ B A T T L E  // I N F O

quirk type : Blood Ink

quirk description :  Anthony’s quirk is a mutation of the illness hematidrosis. Hematidrosis, also referred to as blood sweat, is a rare condition in which a human being sweats blood. It is very rare, so it is not very understood. However, the blood sweat generally happens in times of fear and stress. With her quirk, it is the combination of her father’s excess blood quirk and her mother’s ink manipulation quirk. Her blood is a combination of red blood cells and specialized ink cells that she can control at will by drawing it out of her pores and manipulating it.

ability1: (Ink Typhoon)- Anthony wields her ink blood as a huge wave, drowning those in it. Can cause anemia.

ability2:  (Bullet Bonanza)- Combining her ink blood with keratin, she hardens it and shoot at her opponents. Very painful with strong chances of tearing of the skin.

ability3: (Ink Poisoning)- Blood Ink gets released as toxic gas, poisoning those in the area (up to 25 sq feet). Only available under times of intense stress when skin is heated enough. ability4: (Magenta Magic)- She can harden her blood and wield them as weapons such as gauntlets and bats. quirk drawbacks : This is a very unstable and dangerous quirk for its user, so if Anthony isn’t careful she may end up hospitalized from severe anemia. To use this quirk effectively, she has to keep a healthy workout regime and food palette with lots of nutrients as well as staying within a certain weight class. Stats:    power: [4/5] B    speed  [2/5] D    technique[3/5] C    intelligence [5/5] A    cooperativeness[5/5] A

██████ P E R S O N A L //  I N F O

personality :  Anthony, as described by most, is a very relaxed individual. There isn’t much that she’s particularly fazed by and often keeps up an air of optimism wherever she goes. She is also very hardworking and persistent in her goals. Despite growing up with a “literal IV needle in her arm” as she would describe it, it never stopped her from traveling overseas to become a hero.

likes : >>Spicy food. Everything needs spice- even lollipops. She refuses to eat one if it isn’t covered in chili flakes. >>Hair cuts. She prefers her hair short and loves the look of a fresh cut from time to time. >>Lighters. She doesn’t smoke or anything, but she is an avid collector of antique lighters. >>Music. Any in general, really. She has no real preference. Being naked. She’s very confident in her skin and wishes the world was the same way.

dislikes : >>Injustice. Only a villain would like that. >>Lazy, entitled people. She’s had to work hard to get to where she was today and she expects others to put in that same energy. >>…That’s about it, really. She’s fairly open-minded to things.

history : Anthony grew up as an only child to a biker father and a tattoo artist mother in New Mexico, America. Her quirk manifested at the very early age of two which made it very uncontrollable for those around her. She was often dehydrated and sick, often waking up to the horror of being in a pool of her own blood. She had to walk around with an IV needle in her at all times to keep her from passing out and was home schooled up until junior high where they felt she could control her quirk a little better. There, she was able to meet friends and develop the social life she never had growing up. She often hid her quirk and pretended to be quirkless for a while as to not freak anyone out for sweating literal ink blood. However, she drew inspiration from her favorite Japanese hero, Vlad King, whose blood manipulation quirk was similar to hers. Studying her favorite hero closely- she attempted time and time again to manipulate her quirk, mostly with damning results. She’d stay out in the school gym for longer nights as she trained herself to become a hero just like her idol. When she hit eighth grade, a huge opportunity had rise for her. Her school (which was a middle to high school) had recently developed the Hero Acceleration Program (or HAP). The HAP is an international program created for other schools to learn and replicate the same practices and experiences that are offered at Yuuei. A select amount of students are handpicked all over the world to be sent to Yuuei for free through this program and report their experiences back to their home countries. The requirements are that they are to have at least 200 hours of volunteer work, fluent in Japanese speech and writing, a GPA of 3.75, and have at least passed two AP Hero Courses with an A. They tend to pick out those from freshman to sophomore year and is automatically set up with an internship of their choice. Sacrificing the perks of high school life and social interaction, she dedicated herself to meet these requirements; studying kanji and spoken formal and informal Japanese, constantly doing volunteer work after school and on weekends, and loads of studying as well as physically training her body to its limits. She was able to fulfill all of the requirements by sophomore year, though there was one problem… her parents. They didn’t trust her to go overseas without them due to fear of her quirk taking over and killing her and them not being able to do anything about it so they held her back for another two years. Anthony trained harder, hard enough to prove to her parents that she can control it and that she was responsible enough to live out there on her own. She refined her Japanese, learned her social norms, and also lived her social life she never had the ability to years ago. They finally relented and flew her out to Japan where she attends Yuuei. There she met her childhood hero and got so emotional from the fact that he had accepted her to mentor. They set her back as an extra in 1-B so she can get used to how things worked in there for a semester. She wasn’t able to participate in the Sports Festival or the School Field Trip due to her HAP status in the school, but she participates in the training exercises and regular class time. During the duration of her time in 1-B, she took on the nickname “Aunt Anthony” due to her laid-back attitude and her tendency to play a secondary mentor to the others. Recently, due to her level of intelligence and quirk control, she was placed up to 3-A.

██████ R E L A T I O N S H I P S//  I N F O

Sekijiro Kan

: Her biggest idol growing up as well as her mentor. They have a very father-daughter relationship that her actual father gets jealous of- but can’t really blame him. Kan often looks out for Anthony despite her class change and will do random checks with the teacher to make sure she doesn’t get too comfortable. The fact that she even interns under him is still surreal to her.

Pony Tsunotori

: She took a huge liking to Pony Tsunotori who shared her nationality as foreigners from America. They frequently speak to each other in English, Anthony teaching her a bit of Japanese to hopefully combat Neito’s influence on the poor girl.

Neito Monoma

: Neito’s crush is pretty one-sided, though he mostly shows it through passive-aggressively making jabs at her and other genuine mischief. He’s secretly happy that 1-B has a very capable student in their class that can probably rival majority of 1-A despite it all. Anthony knows this and continuously plays along in entertaining his crush, possibly even developing one for the sap.

██████ T R I V I A L //  I N F O

“Aw babes, don’t make that face. I’ll always be your Aunt Anthony, no matter what~!”

Family:   DeLosReyes, Gael (41) - Alive  Quirk Type      Blood Overgeneration     DeLosReyes, Ximena (38) - Alive   Quirk Type      Ink Manipulation

Friends:  Pony Tsunotori, Itsuka Kendo, Neito Monoma, Ibara Shiozaki, (all of Class 1-B really, lol), Izuku Midoriya, Kirishima Ejirou

hobbies :

drawing intricate patterns and artwork.

fun facts + headcanons:

1) Anthony is actually fluent in three languages: English, Spanish, and Japanese.

2) She managed to sucker her mom into tattooing her body as a parting gift before she left to Japan.

3) She was originally supposed to be shipped with Tetsutetsu (in which I have a fic that I may or may not post >u>)

4) She’s a nudist which is mainly why her costume shows so much skin. She uses overheating mainly as an excuse.

[bluering8]

for the dnd meme, i'm gonna send you the same prompt someone else sent me: prime numbers!

2. Your favouritecharacter that someone else has played.

My favourite character was probably Pax! Her player is nolonger around because Reasons, but I still love Pax. She was hilarious and anabsolute delight, top-quality belligerent homeless drunkard with more arms (four)than brain cells.

Favourite character who is still active is maybe… Glitz??That’s a really hard choice because I particularly love the entire Navarenegroup, the Glitz-Levin-Aradi trio is super fun for me to watch interacting becausetheir personalities bounce off each other in really entertaining ways.

3. Your favouriteside quest.

I don’t think we really… do side quests… Numenera iskind of like Side Quests: the RPG, the whole point of it is that you’resupposed to explore and get distracted by random shit and race off in twentydifferent directions at once.

5. Favourite NPC.

Ssenofyn Srelthyn Syntysus! Ssen’s hilarious to me because he’sso consistently deadpan in the face of wacky shenanigans and questionablesocial skills. He cares only for science and it’s delightful. It also means he’sreally good at the job of Being A Party NPC: all he wants is for the party tokeep running around and exploring, so he’s content to stand in the backgroundand only help out when asked. He lets the PCs do all the Fun Stuff, and it makes sense for his character that he’d act that way.

7. Your favouritedowntime activity.

We don’t really… do downtime either… I mean, we could do downtime, but I’m a veryimpatient man and want lots of things to be happening at all times. Okay, wejust jumped out of a plane after encountering/rescuing a new PC and there’snothing immediately important happening, this would be a really good time torelax and take stock and have some RP where we get to know our new teammateright? Well, we could do that, or wecould investigate this weird space lego in a nearby pond let’s do thatinstead!!

11. How often do youplay and how often would you ideally like to play?

We play pretty irregularly? Mostly as a side-effect of wowthere are so many different time zones and conflicting schedules at play here.We’ve switched to play-by-post rather than having actual sessions, which has helpeda lot with the scheduling issues, but we still don’t play very often. I’m like68% sure we’re maybe on hiatus until the new books come out?

13. Introduce yourcurrent party.

There are three!

Draolis party: Tom Sideways (Charming Jack who Works theBack Alleys), useless layabout on a quest to locate a gun which fires weird timebullets and also an occasional pawn in his crime lord brother’s scheming; Aeli(Clever Glint who Crafts Illusions), a con artist who got herself involved inOracle’s political shenanigans; Styx (Ultraterrestrial Glaive who IntegratesWeaponry), a boisterous adventurer from the Timelands who found herselfstranded in the Ninth World by accident and is seeking to repair her worldlineshifter; Oracle (NPC), an overdramatic “””terrorist””” who likes to yell aboutpolitics a lot.

Navarene party: Enodyne (Perceptive Nano who Abides inCrystal), an imperious supervillain with a mysterious backstory; Levin (WeirdNano who Rides the Lightning), Aeon Priest, mom friend, and also an avidknitter; Glitz (Manipulative Jack who Possesses a Shard of the Sun), a fancyboy who wears impractical shoes and is super Extra at all times; Aradi (GuardedSeeker who Manipulates Force), a Gaian who is just here to explore ancientruins and doesn’t know why these strange people keep talking to her like shetolerates them.

Techhunter party: Mote (Mystical Jack who Fuses Mind andMachine), a space ape from space on a quest to find her lost god; Flux Dynamo(Mercurial Glaive who Employs Magnetism), who is ADHD as hell and loves spaceso much you guys so much; Ssenofyn(NPC), who is just here to do science.

17. What are somehouse rules that your group has?

Anyone who draws an art gets an experience point, AKA therule which lets Hap advance at approximately the ten times the rate of everyoneelse put together (I’m not deliberately spamming art specifically for the purposeof XP gain, I’m just Like This). The GM insists this is fine.

The new books are gonna be introducing Player Intrusionsalso, which presumably is gonna mean players get to spend an XP to make goodthings happen to themselves. The GM’s said that if there’s no mechanism to letplayers make bad things happen tothemselves they’ll houserule it in just for me, which on the one hand I feelkind of offended but on the other hand shit yes time to shoot myself repeatedlyin the foot!! I promise to use this power responsibly and only cause disastersfor myself so I don’t ruin the game for other people. On the gripping hand thisshould go some way to correcting the ridiculous amount of XP I’ve accidentallyaccumulated with my constant fanart, so it all balances out in the end I guess.

19. Do you or yourparty have any dice superstitions?

Nope! Except that back when we were using physical diceinstead of a dicebot Jack’s dice hated them, which was less superstition andmore objective fact because one time we had a session while they were visitingme and they borrowed a set of my dice and suddenly they could make non-shittyrolls.

23. Do you usepremade modules or original campaigns?

Mostly original stuff I think? Don’t look at me, I only haveaccess to the character-creation books, I don’t know how much of what goes on is canon and how much the GM makes up on the spot. Fortunately all my characters areeither foreigners or complete idiots so my relative ignorance of the NinthWorld doesn’t matter super much.

29. Do you prefer RPheavy sessions or combat sessions?

As a GM? RP sessions, mostly because the game I’m GMing usesa ridiculously ruleslite system so there’s not really anything interesting youcan do with combat. This might change if I ever get organised enough to runsomething with more than a single page of rules. But also, when the players are RPing and treating their PCs like characters instead of sticks to solve problems with, that’s super super pleasing for me because it feels like they’re enjoying themselves and getting engaged with what’s going on.

31. What is yourfavourite class? Favourite race?

My favourite type is jack! They seem to be, like… the bestset up for interacting with the world in the way I want to interact with it. Ilike having the variety in what I can do and I’m not super bothered by the lackof high-powered/specialised skills. It looks like the new book’s going to bemaking jacks their own Thing instead of just being a nonspecialised mishmash ofall the other character types so iunno, we’ll see how that one shakes out.

Numenera doesn’t really doraces the way DND does races. You get races, but they’re in place ofdescriptors rather than a separate trait. I ain’t give a shit about function orbuilding a mechanically-optimised character, if you tell me I can either pick aspecies trait or a character trait I’ll pick the character trait. So I guess Iprefer the default “race” (which is… not necessarily human, Mote’s a spaceape but she still counts as the default mechanically) because then I can picksomething else interesting to have going on. I did super enjoy playing an ArtificiallyIntelligent character one time, but the GM let me pick two descriptors so I wasAI/Mad and honestly if I could’ve only picked one, Mad all the way.